Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 924 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0011 /moa/scri/scri0011/

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

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Note on Digital Production 0011 000
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Note on Digital Production A-B

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 924 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0011 /moa/scri/scri0011/

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

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 1 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York January, 1892 0011 1
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages i-2

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE PUBLISHED NQNTHLY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUNE Xl JANUARY - JUNE C1-IARLES SCRIBNERS SONS NEW YORK SAMPSON LOW MARSTON & CO. LIMITED LONDON V F COPThIGHT, 1892, BY Ca~RI~s ScBwr~s So14r8. TROW DIRECTORY PRINTING AND ROQERINDIND COMPANY NEW YORK I- / CONTENTS OF SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. VOLUME XI. JANUARYJUNE, 1892. ACCOMPLISHMENT OF AGREEABLE DEAFNESS, THE ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY, AN, Z~TNA, MOUNT. See Ascent of. AFRICA, SOUTH. See Golden Afashonaland. ALLSTON, WASHINGTON. I. Soau~ UNPUBLISHED CORRESPONDENCE OF, With frontispiece from a portrait of Aliston painted by George W. Flagg; and reprbductions of some of Mr. Alistons drawings. II. As A PAINTERUNPUBLISHED REMINISCENCES OF HENRY GREENOUGH . With engravings from paintings by Allston. AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY, FIRST PAPER With examples of the work of Elihn Vedder, Kenyon Cox, and Will H. Low. SECOND PAPER With frontispieceA Portrait, from a pastel by Will- iam M. Chase, and examples of the work of Robert Blum, IL Siddons Mowbray, Irving R. Wiles, H. Bolton Jones, Brnce Crane, F. D. Millet, E. H. Blaahfield, J. H. Twachtman, and Theodore Robin- 80Th THIRD PAPER With frontispiece Echoes of the Waltz, from a painting by C. S. Reinhart, and examples of the work of Edwin A. Abbey, Joseph Pennell, Howard Pyle, A. B. Frost, W. T. Smedley, T. de Thuistrup, 0. H. Bacher, S. W. Van Schaick, Frederic Rem- ington, A. E. Sterner, Chester Loomis, and C. D. Gibson. ARCTIC HIGHLANDER, THE With drawings by 0. H. Bacher and J. H. Twachtman. ASCENT OF MOUNT AETNA, AN With illustrations by the author. AUSTRALIA. See Station L~fe in. BAYREUTH REVISITED, BERLIN. See Unter den Linden. BOKHARA REVISITED Illustrated by drawings by Kenyon Cox, Francis Day, and W. C. Fitler, and from photographs. BOYS CLUB. See Drury Lane. BROWNING IN THE FUTURE BUSINESS AS AN OCCUPATION CASE OF CONSCIENCE, A EDWIN C. MARTIN, WILLIAM A. COFFIN, BEN~FAMIN SHARP, PH.D., A. F. JACCACI, H. B. KREHBIEL, HENRY LANSDELL, D.D., BEATRICE WITTE, PAeE 791 230 65 220 106 196 333 241 663 95 50 264 789 496 CONTENTS. CATTLE-TRAILS OF THE PRAIRIES, With frontispiece On the Great Cattle-Trail, and other illustrations by A. Castaigne. CHICAGO. See Historic ifoments: A zfemory of the Fire, and Water-Route. CHILDREN OF THE POOR, THE, Drawings by V. P6rard and Irving R. Wiles. See also Poor in Great Cities. COMMONEST POSSIBLE STORY, THE, COUNTRY PLACES, SMALL Drawings by Victor P& ard. CRIME AND THE LAW,. DANGERS OF COMFORT, THE DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS, A, Drawings by E. H. Blashfield. See also Afloat on the Nile, Vol. X., 663. ~ DETECTIVE IN PLAGIARISM, THE DOCTORS RELATIVES, THE DRURY LANE BOYS CLUB, THE: WHAT IT GREW FROM. WHAT IT Is. WHAT WE HOPE IT WILL BE, See also Poor in Great Cities. DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID, THE COMPLETEA Pic- TURE OF HOLLAND A CENTURY AND A HALF AGO, ETHICS OF UNLOADING, THE FRANCE ADOREE GIRLS CLUB. See Working-Girls. GOLDEN~ MASHONALAND, Drawings by W. L. Metcalf, H. R. Bloomer, and V. P6rard. GREENLAND. See Arctic Highlander. GREENOUGH, HENRY, REMINISCENCES OF. See Aliston, Washington. HISTORIC MOMENTS. I. THE IMPEACHMENT TRIAL II. THE FIRST NEWS MESSAGE BY TELEGRAPh, HI. A MEMORY OF THE CHICAGO FIRE, HOLLAND. See Dutch Kitchen-ifaid. IF IT COULD BE! ILLUSTRATION. See American. IMPEACHMENT TRIAL, THE. See Historic Afoments. KEENE, CHARLES, OF PUNCH, Illustrations printed from blocks furnished by the au- thor, made from the originals in the possession of the executors of the late Charles Keene. LAKE PORTS. See Water-Route. LANDSCAPE GARDENING. See Gountry Places. LAUGHTER AND DEMOCRACY LAW. See Crime and the. LOCOMOTIVES. See Speed In. LONDON. See Social Awakening In. MASHONALAND. See Golden Alashonaland. MAUPASSANT MEMORY, ILLUSIONS OF MENS WORK MISTRESS AND MAID MYSTERIES OF LIFE, THE NEW ENGLAND KISMET A, NEW PARKS OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK, THE, Drawings by V. Thirard, W. L. Metcalf, 0. H. Bacher, A. F. Jacoaci, and W. C. Fitler. PAGE CHARLES MOREAU HARGER, . . 732 JACOB A. RIls, BLISS PERRY, . . . . 257 SAMUEL PARSONS, JR., . . . 302 Superintendent of Parks, New York. FREDERICK SMYTH 26 Recorder of the City of New York. 261 E. H. and E. W. BLASHFIELD, . 32 657 121 676 250 393 643 KARL ERICKSON, FRANCES HODOSON BURNETT, CORNELIA J. CHADWICK, IDA M. TARBELL, FRANK MANDY, EDMUND G. RoSs, Ex-Senator from Kansas. JOHN W. KIRK, DAVID SWING, OCTAVE THANET, GEORGE SoMES LAYARD, WILLIAM H. BIJENHAM,. ALICE MORSE EARLE, E. S. NADAL, iv 531 455 519 652 691 178 499 262 527 185 129 658 263 295 439 CONTENTS. NEW YORK TENLAIENT-HOUSES, LIFE IN, As SEEN BY A CITY MISSIONARY With illustrations by Charles Broughton and 0. H. Bacher. See also Poor in Great Cities. NIGHT-CAP BOOKS NILE, THE. See Day With the Donkey-Boys. ~NO NEW THING OF THE BLOOD ROYAL PAINTING. See AZiston, and American Illustration of To-day. PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. I. THE COM~DIE-FRAN~AISE AND THE OD~ON, Illustrated from drawings by Eug~ne Morand, Kenyon Cox, 0. H Bacher, J. Reich, and from photographs. Ii. THE OPERA, THE OPARA - COMIQUE, AND THE CONSERYATOIRE, Drawings by Sinibaldi, Eug~ne Morand, Kenyon Cox, and 0. H. Bacher. III. TEE UNSUBYENTIONED THEATRES AND ORCHES- TRAL CONCERTS Drawings by Kenyon Cox, 0. H. Bacher, andJ. Reich. IV. THEATRE-GOING HABITS, THE CAFIi CHANTANT, SYMPHONY CONCERTS AND CRITICISM Drawing by J. Reich. PARKS, NEW YORK CITY. See New Parks. PLAYERS MOUTH, THE, POETRY UNDER OLD AND NEW REPUTE,. POINT OF VIEW, THE. Accomplishment of Agreeable Deafness, The, 791. Browning in the Future, 264. Business as an Occupation, 789. Dangers of Comfort, The, 261. Detective in Plagiarism, The, 657. Ethics of Unloading, The, 393. Laughter and Democracy, 262. Maupassant, 527. Mens Work, 129. Mistress and Maid, 658. Mysteries of Life, The, 263. POLITICS AND PUBLIC OPINION POOR IN GREAT CITIES, THEINTRODUCTION, I. THE SOCIAL AWAKENING IN LONDON, Drawings by Hugh Thomson, Irving R. Wiles, and V. Gribayedoff. II. CHILDREN OF THE POOR Drawings by V. P& ard and Irving R. Wiles. III. LIFE IN NEW YORK TENEMENT-HOUSES AS SEEN BY A CITY MISSIONARY See also Drury Lane Boys Club and Working-Girls Ulub. PUNCH. See Charles Keene of. RAILWAYS. See Speed in Locomotives and Rapid Transit. RAPID TRANSIT IN CITIES, I. THE PROBLEM, Drawings by Childe Hassam. II. THE SOLUTION lilustrations by 0. H. Bacher, H. T. Schladermund, and Hughson Hawley. REFLECTIONS OF A MARRIED MAN, THE, RETRIBUTION FOR RUSSIA REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE, THE. I. ITS WORK IN THE RELIEF os VIESSELS IN DISTRESS, II. SOME TYPICAL RESCUES BY THE REVENUE-CUT TERS With drawing by W. B. Styles. SAVING GRACE, THE 4~. SCHOLARS IN POLITICS, SEA AND LAND Drawings by Harry Feun and V. P6rard. PAGE 697 WILLIAM T. ELSING, 792 790 WILLIAM MAYNADIER BROWNE, . 515 WILLIAM F. APTHOEP. 3 350 482 628 ( 660 130 Night-cap Books, 792. No New Thing, 790. Players Mouth, The, 660. Poetry Under Old and New Repute, 130. Politics and Public Opinion, 526. Retribution for Russia, 131. Saving Grace, The, 659: Scholars in Politics,~~ 396. Spare Time, 525. Weak Point of the Specialist, A, 395. Wordsworths Arcady, 394. ROBERT A. WOODS, JACOB A. RIIS, WILLIAM T. ELSING, THOMAS CURTIS CLARKE. 526 39Q 401 531 677 567 743 ROBERT GRANT, . 365, 425, 556, 722 131 PERCY W. THOMPSON, Lieutenant U. S. H. lit. SAMUEL A. WooD, 207 211 659 396 611 N. S. SEALER,. V CONTENTS. SEA-BEACHES by J. H. Twachtman, V. P& ard, and G. Viwon. SOCIAL AWAKENING IN LONDON, THE, With frontispiece Socialism in Hyde Park, London A Meeting on Sunday afternoon near the Marble Arch, and other drawings by Hugh Thomson, Irving R. Wiles, and V. Gribayedoff. See also Poor in Great Cities. SPARE TIME SPEED IN LOCOMOTIVES. I. THE LIMITATIONS OF FAST RUNNING, IL TRAIN-SPEED A QUESTION OF TRANSPORTATION, III. A PEAcTICAL EXPERIMENT STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA,. . Drawings by Birge Harrison. TELEGRAPH. See Historic .Jfornents: The First News ffessage. TENEMENT-HOUSES. See New York. THEATRES IN PARIS. See Paris. UNTER DEN LINDEN [The fifth article in the series on The Great Streets of the World.] With frontispiece Unter den Lin- den, aud other drawings by F. Stahl. See also Great Streets of the World, Vol. X. WAGNER. See Bagreuth Revisited. WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN, THE Drawings by Carlton T. Chapman and Victor P6rard; with thtee maps. WEAK POINT OF THE SPECIALIST, A,. WORDSWORTHS ARCADY WORKING-GIRLS CLUB, A MODEL,. Drawings by W. L. Taylor. See also Poor in Great Cities. N. S. SHALER,. PAGE 758 ROBERT A. WOODS, 401 525 M. N. FORNEY 378 Editor Railroad & Engineering Journal. THEODORE N. ELY 385 General Superintendent Motive Power, Pennsylvania It. It. H. WALTER WEBB 388 Third Vice-President, N. Y. Central. SIDNEY DICKINSON,. . . . 135 PAUL LINDATJ, 579 CHARLES C. ROGERS, Lieutenant U. S. Navy. 270 395 394 109 ALBERT SHAW, WRECKER, THEChapters XIV-XXIIL, . . . ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON and (Begun in August, 1891to be concluded in Jul?,I, 1892.) LLOYD OSBOURNE, With illustrations by W. L. Metcalf. 85, 155, 315, 471, 598, 777 POETRY. AFTER SUNSET ARMISTICE ASLEEP UPON THE GRASS With a drawing by Wyatt Eaton. AT NOON COMFORT OF THE FIELDS BALLADE OF DAWN, A DEAN OF BOURGES, THE EGYPT, IN EGYPTIAN BANQUET, AN GIRL OF POMPEII, A LAMP IN THE POOL, THE MIRRORED MUSIC ON A BUST OF GENERAL GRANT With a fac-simile of a part of Mr. Lowells manuscript. PRICELESS PEARL, THE RETURN OF THE YEAR, THE SONG SO IT IS TRUE TWO PORTRAITS With a decoration by Frank Fowler. GRAHAM R. TOMSON, ELLEN BURROUGHS, ELIEA WOODWOETH, G. SANTAYANA,. ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN, HUGH MCCULLOCH, JR.,. BARRETT WENDELL, BENJ. PAUL BLOOD, T. W. HIGGINSON, EDWARD S. MARTIN, GRAHAM R. TOMSON, CHARLES HENRY LVDERS, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, JOHN W. CHADWICK, ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN, DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT, ROSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP,. LLOYD MCKIM GARRISON, . 696 104 . 206 67 . 255 . 31 . 117 627 424 . 392 105 578 267 690 675 25 219 377 vi 1* ~ pr r WASHINGTON ALLSTON at the Age of 62. (From a portrait painted by George W. Flagg.) Engraved by G. Kruell.

William F. Apthorp Apthorp, William F. Paris Theatres And Concerts. I. The Comedie-Francaise And The Odeon 3-25

VOL. XI. SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. JANUARY, 1892. PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. I. THE COM~DJE-FRAN~5AJSE AND THE OD~ON. By William F. Apthorp. No. 1. No T far from the great Halles-Cen- trales, on the corner of the new, wide, and bright rue Etienne Mar- cel, and of the old, narrow, and dingy rue Fran~aisewhich name, by the way, is still pronounced, as it used to be writ- ten, Frar~oise, at the Maison de Moli~re stands a house which few passers-by would suspect of having any interest for the antiquary. With its light-buff Paris freestone, its wealth of ornamental carv- ing and iron balconies, it has little to distinguish it from the average modern corner-house in the city par excellence of magnificent corners. Its short frontage on the rue Fran9aisein which it is No. 5its long stretches of fa~ade on the rue Etienne Marcel and the rue Maucon- seil, which runs at a slightly divergent angle behind it from the rue Fran9aise to the rue Montorgucil, make it a fair type of that bevel corner which is per- haps the most striking architectural beauty of Paris streets. It is a perfectly commonplace building, like a thousand others in the capitaL Approaching it from the rear, as you are most likely to do, up the rue Fran~aise from the rue de Turbigo and the Halles, you find it suggestive only of the flaunting mod- ern splendor of the rue Etienne Marcel, overflowing and encroaching upon the sedate dinginess of the older side streets. Its ground floor is occupied by one of those not easily classifiable places of re- freshm~zLt which are common enough in the less fashionable quarters of the city, and combine in themselves the several distinctive features of the caf& restau- rant, the brasserie, and the estaminet. Except to the hungry or thirsty, the house presents only one interesting feature: it stands on the site of the old H6tel de Bourgogne, for nearly a century the first theatre in Paris. From early in the reign of Louis XIII. the actors at the H6tel de Bourgogne were known collectively as the Troupe royale des com~diens; up to near the time of the death of Louis XIV. they held a quasi-official position. In 1600 there came about a split in the company. Half the actors seceded from it, and set up for themselves in the Marais, under the condition of paying an & u tournois, or Tours dollar, to the elder establish- ment for every performance they should give. The new company, which was known from first to last as the Gom~diens du 3larais, opened at the H6tel dAr- gent, in rue de la Poterie, near the place de la Grave. In 1632 or 1633 it moved to the jen de paume (tennis- court) de la Fontaine, in the rue Michel-le-Comte. But the people of quality and foreign diplomatists who lived in the rue Michel-le-Comte and the rue du Grenier-Saint-Lazare, soon objected to the theatre as an undesir- able neighbor, and in 1635 the Th& itre du Marais had to move once more, to a tennis - court in the rue Vicille - du- Temple, about half - way between the rue de la Perle and the rue des Cofi Copyright, 1891, by Charles 5cs~bners Sons. All rights reserved. PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. Site of the Old Th~~tre-Gu~n~gaud in the rue des Foss~s-de-NesIe, now rue Mezarine. tures-Saint-Gervais. Here it remained until the company was disbanded, in 1673. The H6tel de Bourgogne and the Th~tre du Marais were the two rivals with which Moli~re had to compete in Paris. At first there could hardly have been any question of competition, for MolThres first appearances in the capital do not seem to have been particularly brilliant, as they certainly were far from lucrative. In 1643 he joined some other actors in founding the Jllustre-Th~tre, which led a rather precarious and bailiff- 4 7- PARIS THEA TRIES AND CONCER TS. 5 ridden existence for four years, or so, in various tennis-courts on the left bank of the Seine. One wonders, by the way, what was happening to the game of tennis in those times! The number of apparently disused tennis-courts that were then found available for theatrical purposes was, as Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esq., would say, to say the least, re- markable. In four years the Illustre- Th& ~tre successively occupied three: the jeu de paume des M~tayers, in the rue des Foss6s-de-Nesle (now No. 12, rue Mazarine) ; in 1645 the jeu de paume de la Croix-Noire, in the rue des Barr~s, and, a few months later, the jeu de paume de la Croix-Blanche, in the rue de Buci. About a year after this last move Moli~re and his company left Paris for the provinces. He must, however, have laid at least the foundations of a professional repu- tation in those four hard years in the laubourg Saint-Germain, and have won enough laurels afterward in the prov- inces to pique metropolitan curiosity. For, on his return to Paris, in 1658, the first thing he did was to give a special performance by command in the Salle des Gardes in the Louvre, before King, Monsieur, and court. The bill was Cor- neilles Nicom~de, with Moli~res own Le docteur amoureux (since lost) as after-piece. Of course MoliZtre spoke an address to the King between the two plays. It is noticeable in this address, that, besides the usual soft speeches to royalty, Moli~tre went almost out of his way to pay a few highly-seasoned com- pliments to the Troape royale of the HStel de Bourgogne, intimating that he and his poor fellow-players had no no- tion of rivalling that famous company in such things as Corneilles tragedy, but that they would now, with the royal permission, play a little piece of their own in their own way (4 leur marmire), which they hoped would not prove un M. Got, Dean of the Com6die-Fran~aise. 6 PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. M. Mounet-Sully, of the Com4die-FranQaise. worthy. . . . etc., etc. Moli~re plainly knew which his best foot was, and meant to put it well foremost. The result was as might have been expected. Long before the year was out, Mo- li~tre and his company were installed in the H6tel du Petit-Bourbon, with the of- ficial title of Com~diens de Monsieuronly they had to share the theatre with the Com6die-Italienne, the latter having the right to give four performances a week. This H6tel du Petit-Bour- bon has long since disap- peared ; its exact site, espe- cially the part of it in which the theatre was, is even prob- lematical. But the h6tel is known to have covered part of the present rue du Lou- vre, between Saint-Germain- lAuxerrois and the Seine, and part of the ground now occupied by the south- east corner of the Louvre itself, with its courtyard and garden. It was torn down in 1660, to make way for the exten- sion of the Louvre; and Moli~tres com- pany was transferred to the Th6~ttre du Palais-Royalstill sharing it, however, with the Com6die-Italienne. It is im- portant to remember that this theatre was neither the present cosy little house of that name, nor the one now occupied by the Com~die-Fran~aise, both of which are within the precincts of the Palais- Royal itself; it stood on the northeast corner of the rue Saint-Honor6 and the rue de Valois. Its history is prin- cipally connected with that of the Acad6mie de Musique (the Op6ra); but Moli~res company and the great dra- matist himself did act in it for several years. It was the first theatre in Paris built especially for the purpose. Lully, who was director of the Acad~mie de Musique, had his eye upon it; but Moli~re was apparently too valuable a man, in the way of furnishing good li- bretti on occasion, for him to quarrel with just then, and Lully was content to bide his time. It came soon enough~ MolThre died in 1673, and his company had given only twelve performances after his death, when the wily Italian, who was a master M. Coquelin cadet, of the Com~die-~ran9aise. 7 in intrigue as well as in composition, very time the old Th6Atre du Marais, in had them and the Com6die-Jtalienne the rue Yieille-du-Temple, broke up, evicted from the Palais-IRoyal theatre, about half of the company entering the to make way for the Op6ra. At this HOtel de Bourgogne, and the other Site of the Old Th6& tre Frangain (16891770) in the rue den Fosn6s-Saint-Germain-des-Pr& s (now rue de Ancienne Com~die). PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCERTS. 7 8 PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. half joining Mo]ii~res troupe in a new enterprise. They and the Com~die - Italienne were they never to be delivered from that exotic Old-Man- of-the-Sea?hired the Th6~tre - Gu6ne- gaud,* and were of- ficially allowed to assume the title of Com~diens du Boy. This was no mean distinction, and the H6tel de Bourgogne showed its apprecia- tion of the fact by henceforth styling itself on its playbills: La SEULE troupe roy- ale (the omly royal troupe). Competi- tion was competition even in those days, and not an inch of vantage gronnd was to be conceded to the enemy; there might be as many Kings troupes as you please, but only one royal troupe! The Gazette, eager to do its part toward npholding the pres- tige of what was still undeniably the pre- mi~re s e n e frau- raise, followed suit in always mention- ing the H6tel de Bourgogne as la seule troupe royale. The Th6~itre-Gu6- n6gaud was the old jen de paume de la Bouteille, in the rue des Foss~s-de-Nesle (now rue Mazarine), in the fanbourg Saint-Germain. Per- rin, Cambert, and the Marquis de Sour- d~ac had had it changed into a theatre for the Acad~mie de Musique some time before Lully had jockeyed them out of their concession, and assumed the di- rection of that institution himself. In- deed, it was (167172) the first royal * The acute accent had not grown upon the second e .111 those days. opera-house in Paris. It was only fif- teen doors east of the old jeu de paume des M~tayers, in which Molii~re had made his first bow before a Paris audi- ence in the Illustre- Th6~tre, in 1643. Its site is now occupied by the passage du Pont-Neuf and the houses Nos. 42 and 44 rue Mazarine, running back as far as the rue de Seine; it stood opposite the end of the rue Gu6- n6gaud, which runs from the rue Maza- rine down to the qnai Conti and the river. The new venture was more and more snccessful; some noted actors even left the H6tel de Bour- gogne and joined the Th6~tre -Gu~n6gand, bringing with them important additions to the repertory in the shape of famous tragedies. The tragic repertory of Moli~res troupe had never amonnted to very much ; its strength lay mainly in MoliZ~res own comedies. Almost all the great tragedies of Racine and Cor- neille belonged by right to the H6tel de Bourgogne. But the wind was shifting, and the final blow was soon to come. In 1680, by order of the King, the whole Troupe royale of the Hotel de Bourgogne crossed the river and joined the Com~diems du Boy at the Th6~itre- Gn6n6gand, the two troupes thns form- ing a single organization, under the offi- cial title of COM~mE - FEAKyAIsE. The Com6die - Italienne passed over to the H6tel de Bourgogne, where it remained up to the end of the eighteenth centnry. Thus was the world-famous Com6die- Mile. R4jane, of the Od6on. ~HOM A PHOTOGRAPH. Foyer des Artistes. SW ANDREW. (At the Th~tre Frasv~rais.) 10 PARiS THEA TRES AND ~ON~ER TS. M. Sylvain, of the Fran~aise officially born and baptized. It was essentially and primarily Mo- li~tres old company, increased and im- proved by absorbing, first, a half of the troupe of the Th& ttre du Marais, and then the whole troupe of the H~te1 de Bourgogne itself, which latter already com- prised the otber half of the old Marais company. On its opening night the new-born Com~die-Fran- ~taise gave Ph?dre and the Carrosses dOr- l6ans; the receipts amounted to 1,424.25 francs (about $284.85). Tempora mutantur, box- office receipts et mutantur in illis! I have thought it worth while to go into these historical details, princi- pally to show as clearly as might be exactly what connection there was be- tween Moli~re and that wonderful institution which we all know as the Co in ~t di c-Fran ~ a is e. Moli~re was virtually its founder, although the in- stitution itself did not spring into official exist- ence until some years af- ter his death. Another aim I had in view was to give the reader some idea, not so much of the theatrical history, as of the theatrical topogra- phy, of Paris at a time when several of its most important present insti- tutions were undergoing a process of crystalliza- tion. From its foundatio in 1680, the Com~die- Fran9aise has had a pret- ty troubled existence. Its woes began soon enough. The rue des Foss~s - de - Nesle, or, if the reader prefers its present name, the rue Mazarine, ended not far from the rue Gu6n6gaud, at the rear of the Coll6ge Mazarinwhere the Institut de France now standsand it M. de F6raudy, of the Com4die-Fran~aise. Com~d ie-Francaise. PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCEP TS. 11 was soon found that the propinquity of a fashionable theatre had a deplorable effect upon the manners, not to speak of the morals, of the collegians. So the Com6die had to move on. In 1689 it~ bought the jeu de paume de lEtoile and two abutting houses in the rue des Foss~s-Saint-Germain-des- Pros (now rue de lAncienne-Com6die), running back nearly to the rue des Mauvais - Gar~ons * (now rue Gr~goire- de-Tours). Here it built itself a new theatre, Fran9ois dOrbay being the architect; its site is now occupied by the house No. 14 rue de lAncienne- Com6die, and by all but the front wall of Nos. 17 and 19 rue Gr~goire-de- Tours. Directly opposite it, in the rue de lAncienne-Com~die, still stands the once famous Caf6 de Procope; its shut- ters are down, and a placard with Lo- cal d louer hangs from them. But it has not been closed long, and its sign is still in tolerable repair. * The present rue des Mauvais-Gar~ons is in a wholly different part of the city, across the river. The Com6die-Fran~aise kept on at this theatre in the rue des Foss~s-Saint- Germain-des-Pr~s, for nearly a century, until the house reached such a pitch of dilapidation, that all further repairing was hopeless. In 1770, it moved to the Salle des Machines, in the Tuileries, and active measures were taken to provide it with a new permanent theatre. After much discussion, the site of the H6tel Cond~, in the faubourg Saint-Germain, was fixed upon, and the new theatre was built exactly where the Th~tre de lOd6on now stands. The Com~die opened it, as the Th~tre-Fran~ais, on March 30, 1782. In 1789, its name was changed to Th~1tre de la Nation, but the members of the company still re- tained their old title of Com~diens fra~npais ordirtaires du Poi. Of the subsequent history of the Com~die Fran9aise, I need say little; for many years it was too full of inci- dent to be related briefly. It will only be important for my present purpose to give the few following facts: In 1791 a Mile. Dudlay ef the Cem6die-Fran~aise. PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. series of internal dissensions in the com- his comrades at the Th6~ttre de la Li- pany, fomented in part by the political bert~ et de lgalit~ in the Palais-iRoyal, events of the Revolution, ended in the or did it stay with the other faction at withdrawal of Talma and about half the Th~tre de lEgalit~ in the faubourg the other members. These seceders, Saint-Germain? Of course both parties headed by Talma, Mine Dugazon, and claimed to be the only and original Co- Mine Vestris, m ~ d i e - Fran- crossed the 9aise. The Tal- river to the ma party was theatre now certainly the occupied by more success- the Com~die- ful of the two; Fran~aise [it itstayedonun- was built in molested in the 1788, and had P alais-Royal, been opened, while the oth- as the Th6~tre ers, forced to des Yari6t~s- quit their thea- Amusantes du tre in 1795, led Palais-Royal, a very nomadic in 1790]. Tal- existence dur- ma and his fol- ing the next lowers from four years, act- the Th~Atre de ing from time la Nation, re- to time at the opened it on Th6atre-Fey- April 27, 1791, dean, the Th6f~- as the Th6iiitre tre -Lou v o is, de la Thpub- and the neigh- lique, which boring Theatre name was de la Rue de la changed after Loi, the Thea- the famous tre-F ava rt, Tenth of Au- even at the gust, 1793, to Th~tre du Th~tre de la Maraisnot Libert6 et de the old, long- lIT~galit~t. The Mile. Reichenberg, of the Com~die Frangaise. closed one in remainder of the rue Vicille the original company of the Th& ittre de du-Temple, but a newer, smaller one in la Nation, stayed on at their house in the the rue Culture-Sainte-Catherineuntil, faubourg Saint-Germain, until it was in 1799, most of the troupe at last joined closed by order of the Comit6 du Salut- Talma and his followers. The first per- Public on September 3, 1793. They formance by the reunited Com6die-Frau- opened again, though, next year, as Th6?t- ~aise was given in the theatre which it has tre de lEgalit6, in the same house, after occupied ever since on May 30, 1799. adding to their number a whole troupe of Mile Montansiers, from the Th& ttre de la Rae de la Loi * (rue de Richelieu). The question now arises, precisely where was the Com6die-Fran~taise at this period? Did the apostolic suc- cessions of Moli~re go to Talma and * This theatre was pulled down long ago. It covered the larger part of what is now the square Lonvois, oppo- site the Bib1ioth~qneNationale on the rue de iRichelien; it is not to he confounded with the neighhoring Thditre- Louvois. Of all theatres in Paris the Th6~tre- Fran~aisby which term I mean the theatre itself, not the companyis the most evidently and unmistakably his- toric. On entering the building, every- thing that meets your eye impresses you at once with the fact that the place, and the institution which has made it fa- mous, have a history. There is hardly a picture, statue, or bust, that does not 12 PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. 13 recall some incident in the life of the stories out of one, although there is no Com6die-Fran~aise, or show the likeness visible entresoL The walls are literally of some great manstatesman, drama- covered with pictures, mostly portraits; tist, or actorwho was intimately and a fine full-length of Rachel meets you specifically connected with the history on the first landing. From this point, of the institution. There is no trace of if it be in the afternoon, sounds as of that rather vague homage to the declamation are likely to meet your ear. worlds great men, of which one finds When you reach the first floor, you find tokens in many public buildings. Here that it is well to know your way, for everything is specific ; you can safely several doors are more or less ajar, and, ask of every portrait, either on canvas if you imprudently push one open, you or in marble: What has this man or are pretty sure to come plump upon a woman done toward the glory of the young man declaiming as for dear life house? The answer will surely be: in solitary confinement, with the roll Something!, And if this is true of containing his part~~ clutched in one those portions of the building which are hand, with all the frenzy of tragic fer- open to the public, it is doubly so of the vor and imperfect memory. Retreating inner private rooms, staircases, and cor- in apologetic confusion, you may fall ridors which are affected to the use of from Scylla into Charybdis, and find the management and actors. A glimpse yourself in the sacred precincts of the behind is well worth taking. Leave the doors on the rue de Richelien and the place du Th6fitre-Fran~ais to the pro- fane throng, and go in at the door on the place du Palais-Royal, over which is inscribed Administration. Few sights in all Paris are more interest- ing. Entering through the large glass double doors, you address yourself to the blue-uniformed concierge in the rather unusually spacious loge on your left hand. Nine times out of ten you find this functionary chatting com- panionably with a small group of so- ci~taires or pensionnaires. His faith in the sacredness of the institution of which he is supposed to guard the out- er door is that of the charcoal - burn- er; he seems never to have entertained the idea that anyone would dare to at- tempt an entrance who had no business to enter. No matter what question you ask him, the first two or three words of it are hardly out of your mouth before he answers: Lescalier 4 gauche, au premier. (The left-hand staircase, first floor.) I have never known him in a single instance to depart from this for- mula ; after two or three trials you give M. Febvre, of the Com~die-Fran~aise. it up, and pass by his loge with no questions asked on either side. Turn- foyer des artistes, where two more young ing to your left, and passing through men are lustily belaboring each other more glass doors, you go up the stair- with alexandrines. But a little caution case, which ever and anon turns at a will enable you to keep to the corridor, right angle with itself, and, like almost where some antique monarch in full re- all Paris staircases, seems to make two gahia, fresh from stage rehearsal, or else 14 PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. an actor, or, still better, actress, in mod- ern dress, will be sure to answer a civil question with more than corresponding civility and graciousness. More glass doors! On the right, a little office in which an uniformed officialthe visual counterpart and moral opposite of the one downstairsis very particular in inquiring about your business; on the left, the office of M. Monval, the sec- retary, through which you passor, rather, you do not pass, if the strict truth be toldinto the sanctum of M. Jules Claretie, the director of the Com& - die-Fran~aise. M. Claretie, even before he assumed the directorship of the Com~die, was generally reputed to be one of the busiest men in all Paris; as man of letters, journalist, and acad- emician, he is equally indefatigable. M. Worms of the Com6die-Fran~aise There used to be a legend that he regu- larly turned out his thousand lines of copy every day before breakfast. Now he has practically retired from active journalism; but his direction of the Com~die-Fran9aise must be more than an equivalent for that work. Yet, noted as he is as novelist, dramatist, journalist, and director, he has one faculty which many another busy man of letters might envy him still more the faculty of be- ing utterly invisible! I know that he exists, that there really is such a man, and that he is no mere mythical Mr. Harris, because I have to thank him, and heartily too, for many helpful kind- nesses; but it has never been my privi- lege to meet him face to face. With M. Monval, however, the sec- retary, librarian, and archivist of the Society, it is far otherwise; he is ap- proachability itself. He is one of the most distinguished Molit~re scholars now going indeed, his face, with its keen, humorous eyes, and long-flowing brown-black mane, presents some- thing of a likeness to the great Jean-Baptiste Poquelin and has made his mark in the world of let- ters as a theatrical historian. But, efficient and gracious as M. Monval is at his secretarys desk in the Administration wing of the the- atre, you see him at his best in his more congenial domain, the library and archives. I have never met a man who had more, or more exact, statistical information stored in his memory. I have heard it said that Mr. Jay Gould knows every railway station in the United States by heart; the number of facts and dates in the history of the ComCdie- Fran~aise and its offshoot and com- panion, the Od~on, that M. Monval can give you at a moments notice, strike me as indicating a not less remarkable power of memory. But I have strayed into the library, which is away off on the other side of the building, on the third floor, looking out on the place du Th(~tre- Fran9ais, whereas my present busi- ness is on the place du Palais-IRoyal side. The first time I went there and mounted the staircase I have tried to describe, was by appointment with M. Coquelin, of whom I had had the good luck to see a good deal, both profes- sionally and socially, during his visit to the United States. I was a little before PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. 15 ny time, and was shown into the foyer des artistes to wait for him ; so I had a mute or two to look about me. This time I had the room to myself, as there was no partial rehears- ing going on. I am not a good hand at poetry, so I will now -eep to myself whatever feelings may have been aroused in me by my first coming into the most famons greenroom in the world. I will leave them to the imagi- nation of anyone who loves and respects the stage as mnch as I do. The foyer itself is a large, oblong, high-studded roomwe shoul call it a hallrichly dec- orated in the rococo styleat least, I think it is the rococo style, but any architect is at lib- erty to correct me here ; for aught I know, it may be the very purest Lonis XV.; I am not lear ed in these things. All I know is that the general impres- sion is one of elaborate gorgeous- ness, rendered sedate and mellow by time. The walls are covered vith pictures and mirrors; but, before I have time to examine the former, in comes M. Coquelin, who with that bustling bonhomie which is peculiarly his own, forth- with grasps me by the elbow, and hurries me off through a labyrinth of passages, upstairs and down, to see an undress stage-rehearsal of Les four- beries de Scapin, in which he himself, his brother, Coquelin cadet, and his son are to take part. Moli~res Malade imaginaire, and Fourberies de Scapin, revived with les trois f%quelin in the cast, have been among the theatrical events of the sea- son of 189091 at the Th~& tre - Fran- ~ais. This plan of bringing the three merubeis of the same family upon the tage together has been variously com- n e ted upon by the Paris critical press. I ay have my own opinion of it, but that is not to the point here. It was cer- tainl inexpressibly int& esting to me, a a stranger, to see the three Coquelins together in the same play, even though I mibht feelas was undoubtedly the casethat the more famous father and uncle rather effaced themselves, in more ways than one, so as to give greater relief to the acting of young Jean Coquelin. It is not every young pen- sionnaire who has the luck to do lead- ing business with two such partners to play into his hand, with all the sympa- thy that comes from common blood, and all the skill of veterans. But to our rehearsal! Constant vigi- lance was the price of something in his- toryI forget exactly hatand con- stant rehearsing is, and ever was, the price of the position the Com6die-Fran- (aise has won for itself among the great dramatic companies of the world. If we look into the matter closely, we find that the Com6die is perhaps quite as famous for its rehearsing as for its act- ing. It has been said often enough that, to attend a working rehearsal at the Th& ~ttre-Fran9ais was to take a lesson, not only in the ways and means of his- trionic art, but also in the great general art of painstaking, of attention to mi- nute details. Such a rehearsal is well worth seeing by anyone who likes to Mine Worms-Sarretta of the Com~d~e-Frars~aise. ENGRAVED BY C BUTLER DRAWN BY EUG MORAND. An Undress Rehearsal at the Com6diB-FrBflQ5iSB PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. 17 study the way in which things are done perfectly; it is quite as instructive in the general ethics of perfect perform- ance as in the specific art of acting. I must say, however, to begin with, that the rehearsal of the Fourberies de Scapin I saw was not a particu- larly good example. As M. Coquelin admitted to me afterward, the play was too nearly d point, too nearly ready for performance to make the rehearsal especially interesting, as a rehearsal; things went too smoothly. But, if it was not the lesson in minute painstak- ing I had expected, it was a superb example of that equally important wis- dom of doing just enough, of not wast- ing force. When Spontini was musical director of the Court Opera in Berlin, he had the name of being the most wonderful conductor of a rehearsal that had ever been known at that institution. His care for both details and ensemble, and his personal power of getting the maximum of work out of all the forces under his bAton, were well-nigh unex- ampled. But his method of rehearsing had one grave vice: it tired out both singers and orchestra. It is said that, at a first performance of a new opera of his, the whole company was sure to be half dead with fatigue before the curtain rose. I was glad to note noth- ing of this overtaxing sort of rehearsal in what I saw at the Th6Atre-Fran9ais. There was abundant painstaking and not a little fault-finding at times; some passages were repeated over and over again until they went just right; but the general guiding principle seemed to be to let well-enough alone. Interest- ing it certainly was as anything I ever saw. As I was ushered upon the stage by M. Coquelin, the scenery was nearly in place ; which fact, however, did not pre- vent some pretty sharp admonitions to the scene-shifters, coupled with exclama- tions to the effect that nothing was ever ready in time, falling from the great actors lips. After a hurried hand- shake with Jean Coquelin, I am again taken in charge by the father, who points out to me a seat in the last row of the orchestra-stalls, just in front of the parterre, and next to the baignoires on the right, with the command to put VOL. XI.2 myself there and efface myself. I am the only occupant of the half-dark salle, except one other man, who seems to be- long there, and sits where he pleases, shifting from seat to seat, as if to get a view of the rehearsal from various points of the compass. He smiles upon me benignly from time to time, and seems to invite me to make myself at home. The rehearsal begins; the actors are in their ordinary street dress, most of the men have their billicock or stove- pipe hats on, M. Coquelin wearing his pushed far back, and much on one side, which gives him rather a rakish air, curiously at variance with the part of Ar~qante. He carries his Malacca joint, probably as a conventional attribute of senilitythe only concession he makes to theatrical make-up. Besides Coque- lin ain6, as Argante, there is Coquelin cadet, as G& onte, and Jean Coquelin, as Scapin himself. I have already said that the rehearsal was hardly a charac- teristic one; as it was the only one I saw, I can give here only some general impressions. First and foremost of these is the ineffectiveness of the whole thing. It is not that the actors merely walk through their parts, for they do anything but that; they throw them- selves into their business with immense spirit and energy. But their speech and action reflect only the general drift of their lines; there is little or no at- tempt to d~tailler, as it is called in France: to throw into relief certain crucial words in a sentence, to produce effects of finesse in by-play, facial ex- pressions, or vocal inflection. It is all monotonous, and, save for the impres- sion everyone gives of being perfectly at home, and the beautiful distinctness of utterance and elegance of speech, it seems terribly like the acting of ama- teurs. You are conscious of the me- chanism, you see the wires pulled ; everything militates against dramatic effect, and makes for disillusion. It is very curious to note how a given facial expression fails in producing its in *ended dramatic impression, when you have caught the actor in the process of assuming it. Then, you find yourself constantly wanting to cry out to this or that actor: Stop, stop! my good man, 18 PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. that sentence can be made ten times as effective as you have just made it! Which goes to show, perhaps, that the acting, in spite of its ineffectiveness, must be pretty good, after all, else it would not keep you continually so near the point of dramatic illusion, and so lure you on to expecting every minute to receive a really dramatic impression. It comes near enough to a good per- formance to make you forget every now and then that it is only a rehearsaL It goes smoothly enough, almost the only hitches being occasioned by a word or two of advice to Jean Coquelin from his father or his uncle, advice which is seen to bear good fruit as soon as the passage in question is gone over again. Only once is there a serious stoppage: at the place where Scapin, lying on the ground, pretends to have been robbed and beaten by footpads. Here it takes some time fully to satisfy either father or uncle, and at last there is nothing for it but for the elder Coquelin, with his glossy stove-pipe still on the back of his head, to throw himself bodily upon his belly, and, with arms gesticu- lating and legs kicking in the air, to show by practical example how the thing is to be done. It is a sight for the gods; and the lesson does not have to be repeated, for, as soon as Coquelin the elder has once more regained his feet, down goes Coquelin the younger again, and shows this time that he is quite up with the traditions of the house. The Zerbinette of the day is Mile Kalb~ An hour or two before the re- hearsal I had heard her discuss Zerbi- nettes famous laughing speech with M. Sarcey, the critic; they both agreed that this speech was the most difficult tirade in any soubrette part in the whole classic repertory. I have not the text now by me, and cannot give the exact number of lines it contains; but it is very long, it is full of important matter, not a word of which must be lost upon the audience, and it is one uninter- rupted, ebullient, irrepressible fit of ringing laughter from beginning to end a speech for Ilosina Yokes! Being forewarned, I am all agog with curiosity as Kalb-Zerbinette trips forward upon the stage in her neat little black walk- ing-dress, swinging her tiny astrakhan muff in the air. Her bright, jovial face is, in itself, enough at any time to put one in good - humor: the most intelli- gent, humorous face of any actress I have seen in Parisas its possessor is one of the brightest women it has ever been my good fortune to meet. I am soon able to appreciate the immense dif- ficulty of the tirade; but I am not car- ried away. Not a syllable is lost, and the silvery laughter rings out bravely; but it sounds forced and monotonous, and I seem to hear the wires creaking in their sheaths. It is like the rest of the rehearsal : immensely interesting, but nothing more. I do not think the trouble lies in the absence of costume or in the occa- sional interruptions. The rather dim light, and the actors faces not being made up, may have more to do with it; for, without stage-paint, the features seem but vaguely outlined, and the fa- cial expression lacks snap and pungency. Be the difficulty what it may, only one of the company surmounts it triumph- antly, and this one is Coquelin ain6. This wonderful artist is effective through- out; every look tells, every sentence carries its full weight of meaning! It makes me think of what I once heard M. Coquelin say, in the heat of debate: I will act you the trial scene in the Juif polonais here, on this table, without scenery, or lights, or costume, et vous men direz des nouvellest I fully believe him. But, be the rehearsal what it might, the performance, two or three days later, was a different matter altogether. Not that it was an ideally fine one, for it was hardly that. The Paris press was nearly unanimous in praise of it, the only seriously dissenting voice com- ing from M. Sarceyand I must say that I pretty much agreed with him. Too much was sacrificed to les trois Coq~wlin, to the mere fact of their act- ing together in the same play. No doubt the three names looked exceed- ingly well on the posters; but what looks well on the posters does not al- ways produce the same effect on the stage. When young Jean Coquelin was in America, we could see with half an eye PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. 19 that he was a born actor, and that he had been formed in an admirable school. He has made vast strides since, and acts with more authority than any man of his short experience I ever saw; he has the coolness and self-possession of an old hand. Still, one may be an ex- cellent actor, and yet fall considerably short of filling such a part as Moli~res Scapin; to show us that perfection of heroic impudence takes the very finest art. Jean Coquelin acts the part cred- itably, but it is as yet too heavy a load for his young shoulders. Of his fathers Argante it can only be said that, like almost everything this wonderful actor does, it was perfection itself, albeit lacking something of bril- liancy of effect. Whether it was that M. Coquein intentionally took the part on a rather low key in order to give greater relief to his sons acting, or that the part itself is not particularly con- genial to him, I could not determine. It was an extremely finished and telling piece of acting, but it gave one no idea of the actors full power; in point of effectiveness it was nowhere in com- parison with what M. Coquelin does as Diafoirus in Le malade imaginaire. Coquelin cadets G& onte seemed to me thoroughly bad. The Cadet was the only one of the family I had not seen before, and my curiosity to see him was great. That he is a Coquelin, through and through, is evident at once. He has the Coquelin voice, to begin with; it is higher than his brothers, and more veiled in quality, often approach- ing the falsetto character; but it has the unmistakable Coquelin tang to it. His utterance has not or, perhaps I should rather say, does not seem to have that beautiful, clean - cut fin- ish for which his brother and nephew are notable; every syllable does not stand out in such absolute distinctness. But, by some magic, he makes you hear every word; you do not feel that he is speaking particularly distinctly, but somehow you catch without effort all he says. He has infinite personal charm; as soon as he comes upon the stage you feel that you like him. His chief fault, or rather his misfortune, seems to be that he is out of place at the Com6die-Fran9aise. He has little versatility, and is essentially a low- comediana low-comedian through and through. His forte is what might be called refined buffoonery, a sort of phy- sical drollery that would not shock you even at close quarters, in your own drawing-room, but still buffoonery pure and simple. He is the king of fun- makers; they say that his Pierrot is in- imitable, and he is especially famous in comic monologue. As Coquelin aln6 tends naturally and instinctively to- ward high comedy in all that he does, Coquelin cadet tends just as instinct- ively and irresistibly toward low com- edy and farce. Now, the opportunities an actor with this peculiar cast of tal- ent has of finding congenial parts in the repertory of the Com6die-Fran9aise are few and far between. He would be overwhelming at the Palais-Royal or the Yari6t6s, whereas he is oftener than not downright bad at the Fran9ais. And yet, curiously enough, he has unmistak- ably what the soci6taires of the Com6- die-Fran9aise call with no little pride lair de la maison the air of the house; a certain indefinable something that distinguishes the members of the Maison de Moli~re from all other actors in Paris. They say that you can tell an Etonian even in his third year at Ox- ford or Cambri~1ge; I believe that, if you saw Coquelin cadet on the Palais- Royal stage, you could tell that he came from the Com~die-Fran9aise. He has the finish, the refinement, in fine, the peculiar je ne sais quoi, that belongs to the first theatre. If anyone else had acted G~ronte as he acted the part, he would have been not bad, but simply execrable. I cannot leave this perform- ance of Les fourberies de Scapin without one word more about Mile Kalb. What she did at rehearsal gave no notion at all of the effect of her delivery of Zerbinettes laughing speech at the performance: it was overwhelm- ing, irresistible! I have heard that the late Jeanne Samary was even better in this speech, but I find it hard to believe it. To my mind, a decidedly better per- formance, as a whole, of a Moli~re com- edy was that of Le malade irnaginaire. I missed Coquelin cadet, as Purgon, for he was ill the night I saw the play; but 20 PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. Coquelin ain6, as Diafoirus, and Jean Coquelin as his son, Thomas, were two figures never to be forgotten. Habitual theatre-goers must remember certain especially effective entrances upon the stage of this or that great actor as high tides in their dramatic experience. Irvings first entrance as Louis XI., Sal- vinis as Corrado, in La morte civile, are, each in its way, moments worth many a whole act. Coquelins entrance, as Diafoirus, the doctor, followed by Jean Coquelin as Me too (alias Thomas), may be ranked with these; as soon as he came on, the others, as the French say, nexistaiertt plusthey no longer existed; it was great! If the first place in the Com6die-Fran- qaise can rightly be given to any one ac- tor, Coquelin ain6 is certainly that one. Still, there are others in the company who do not stand far behind him. Take, for instance, Got, the dean of the Com6die; he is, in certain ways, about as perfect an actor as can well be imag- ined. He has one faculty, which, con- sidering what an actors profession is, is singularly and surprisingly rare on the stage: the faculty of disguising himself. With one exception, I know of no actor whose whole physiognomy is so totally transformed by making-up, who looks so unrecognizably different in different parts, as Got. The one ex- ception is de F6raudy, in the same com- pany. Whether it is that both men have naturally rather insignificant faces, without strongly marked features, and that countenances of this sort are more susceptible of artificial change than a highly individualized physiognomy like Coquelins, I do not know; but cer- tainly, no one who did not know Got pretty well would ever recognize him as Bernard in Les Fourchambault, or the marquis de Bieux in Le due Job, after having seen him as Monsieur Poi- rier. In the same way, and to the same degree, de F& audys face is so totally different as Jean in Le duc Job, from what it is as Praberneau in Le Klephte, or the old butler in Tune famille, that you have difficulty in be- lieving him to be the same man in these three parts. Got is the most genial of actors as well as one of the most versa- tile; there are few lines of comedy in which he does not exceL To be sure, he made a resounding failure in Tar- tuffe last winter, but it is exceedingly rare to see him do a part otherwise than to perfection. His Monsieur Poirier is simply ideal; his breakfast scene with de F6raudy, in L6on Layas Due Job, is the bright spot in that otherwise dull play. Of all the famous actors at the Fran- qais, the one I was most disappointed in is Mounet-Sully; I can to a certain ex- tent understand his immense popular- ity, for the hold an actor has upon the public is often quite as much owing to his personality as to the quality of his art. The great popularity of the late John McCullough, for instance, was cer- tainly not wholly due to his acting. Mounet-Sully has at moments an air of infantine innocence and purity that is, especially to the French, very winning and hard to resist. Perhaps I should say nothing about him, for I only saw him once, and I hear that he is liable to have his bad nights now and thenper- haps I did not see him at his best. But I saw him in one of his favorite parts, Buy Bias, and I must say that I was sorely disappointed in him. I am not so unreasonable as to expect any actor to make Victor Hugos Buy Bias seem otherwise than preposterous; but I did expect Mounet-Sully to make the part at least theatrically strong and effective. I was prepared for his having a good deal of ronron and panache, * and was ready to like him all the better for it, for most of the actors at the Fran9ais read alexandrines far too much like prose for my personal tasteif I had lived in Adrienne Lecouvreurs day, I know I should have preferred Mademoi- selle Duclosand Victor Hugo, without a pretty big panache, is unimaginable nonsense from a stage point of view. But Mounet-Sully struck me as not only terribly self-conscious, but weak and in- effective. His delivery is, in general, of the most wholesale sort, and he seldom attempts to what the French call d~taii- ler a speech, to indicate the finer and * The French call ronron, or purring, what we call sing-song; pcvnache (plume, or, as the Germans would say, Federbusch) is the common term in theatrical lingo for that touch of e~aggeratiou in sctiug which is neces- sary for brilliancy of effect; it is not quite synonymous with overacting, but it tends in that direction. PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. 21 subtler shades of emotion, and, as it were, squeeze every drop of meaning out of a sentence, by means of variety of vocal inflection and frequent changes of speed. Passionate speeches, in par- ticular, he launches forth in one unvary- ing torrent. But then, as I have said, it may not have been one of his good nights; also, he may have felt the influ- ence of the rest of the performance, which, except for Baillets Don (i1~sar de Bazan, was pretty poor. Mine Broisat is by no means up to acting the Queen, and Dupont-Vernons Don Satluste was absolutely wretched. Mounet-Sully has an able follower and understudy in Albert Lambert fils, who indeed has already succeeded him in some of his parts among them, Saint-M~grin, in the elder Dumas s Henri III et sa cour. It is curious, by the way, to see how a Tuesday audi- ence at the Franqais (the most culti- vated audience in all France) now take this astonishing old play. For one thing, they certainly do not take it seriously; but they none the less follow it with great attentiveness, and are evidently fond of it. In fact, Henri III et sa cour is a sort of long-stand- ing habit with them; they have been brought up on it, and it was probably the first play that most of them ever saw at the Franqais. Accordingly they like it, and go to see it again and again, mainly for old acquaintances sake, just as one of us might now and then, of his own free will, go to see Colmans hon Chest. The way in which it was given at the Franqais last winter was as near perfection as anything I ever saw on the stage; from Wormss Henri III, and Febvres duo de Guise, to Mile Dud- lays duchesse de Guise, Mine Piersons Catherine de JiiThdicis, and Lamberts Saint -3ifl grin, everything was simply masterly. Albert Lambert seems to be one of those actors to whom a costume is a necessity; he is on& of the four younger members of the company (de F6raudy, Le Bargy, Jean Coquelin, and himself) who seem to have the most brilliant future before them, but his field is exclusively tragedy and the romantic drama. In modern society comedy he is painfully bad; he must have his doublet and hose; a frock-coat undoes him quite, as all old Delaunays sacred fire is said to have been quenched outright by a pair of trousers. Of the older men, Worms and Febvre stand well up in the first rank. Dis- similar as they are in person, they are much alike in the exquisite perfection of their art. I have been told that both are very versatile, and can well imagine either of them acting almost anything; except that I cannot quite picture to myself Worms doing anything very fiery, nor Febvre being very funny. Worms I have only seen in Henri III; but I saw Febvre in two utterly unlike parts: the duc do Guise in Henri III et sa cour, and Jacques de Tivre in Jules Lemaitres Manage blanc. In both of these parts he was perfection it- self. I only wish that I could say some- thing about this, in some ways, very remarkable play of Lemaitres, but the subject quite foils my ingenuity. As was the case with almost all the new plays brought out in Paris during the sea- son of 189091, a mere sketch of the plot of Mariage blanc is beyond the possibilities of English print. One point, however, I can mention: the wonderful acting of the part of Siinone, the consumptive young bride (or no- bride, if you prefer), by Mlle Reichen- berg.* Except for versatility, this extraor- dinary actress may be said to stand among the women of the Com~die- Franqaise as Coquein ain6 does among the men. Her range is extremely limited; she only acts ingenue parts; but within this range, for absolute, un- surpassable, despair - inspiring perfec- tion, she seeks her fellow. Her dic- tion (elocution) is famous from one end of France to the other; she is the inimitable model of French speech, whether in prose or verse. True, she is nothing but an ingenue, but then such an ing~nue! Lemaitre, I believe, wrote the part of Simone especially for her; had he written it for anyone else, one might be pardoned for thinking that he had rather overdone matters, for his Simones artlessness soars to a dizzy height of greeuness, such as * And not Eleichemberg. as it is often spelt In Paris even on the printed official list of 800i6tcl4rea andpenrion- naires of the Oom~die-Fran9aise. 22 PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. only a rather corrupt - minded Gaul could either imagine or take delight in. But Mile Reichenberg triumphs over this, as over all other difficulties; see her in the part, and it all seems the purest poetry for the time being. Any- thing more exquisite than her telling her sister .Miarthe (or rather not telling her) about her husbands kiss, I never saw on the stage. And Febvre, as the husband! What a fine finish that rough-looking, bull-necked man, whose exterior is suggestive of nothing but strength, knows how to put upon his art! With what natural-seeming ease and grace he expresses all the juice from a sentence. Another very solid actor is Sylvain, who is particularly noted for his diction, most particularly of all for the perfec- tion of his reading of poetry, either in alexandrines or in vers libres. He is a versatile actor, but his favorite field is classic tragedy. The Com6die-Fran- 9aise is rather better off, upon the whole, for male than for female trage- dians; for the last half century, or so, it has had pretty persistent ill-luck with its trag~diennes. Rachel ran away, and then died young; Descl6e died; Mile Agar, the most brilliant d6butante since Rachel, could not, or would not, stay in the company, but frittered away her ex- ceptional talents in all sorts of curious professional escapades, until she went virtually to pieces in minor theatres. Sarah Bernhardt ran away. Perhaps there is something unsettled and recal- citrant against a monotonous life inher- ent in the tragic temperament. It is true, however, on the other hand, that the Com6die-Fran9aise does not hold out overwhelmingly brilliant induce- ments to actors or actresses whose specialty is the classic repertory, either tragic or comic, and the romantic drama of 1830. The house is in honor bound to give a certain amount of Racine, Corucille, Molibre, and Regnard every season, and must see to it besides that Victor Hugo and his followers are not quite neglected; but it is not the plays of these older writers by which the house lives financially. The plays that make money for the house are the mod- ern society comedies, or else things like Sardous Thermidor; and it is the actors who act these plays that are fi- nancially the most valuable to the house, and to keep whom in the company the greatest pains are taken. Now, the greatest inducement the Com6die-Fran- ~aise can hold out to any actor is to pro- mote him, or her, from the pensionnat to the soci~tariat. It has been noticed more than once of late years, and with a good deal of heart-burning in certain quarters, that young trag~diennes and repertory comedians had a way, not per- haps of quite growing gray, but of reach- ing to a very respectable maturity as rensionnaires, while much younger and less experienced actresses of society comedy would be elected soci~taires over their heads. Indeed, one cannot long remain blind to the fact that Racine and Corneille are no longer really popular in France, and that even MolThre, of and by himself, cannot draw crowded houses except on special occasions, like auni- versaries. No doubt there is a certain class who still make it a point to go to the classic repertory with tolerable regularity, and who thoroughly enjoy it; but this class is not very large. Racine and Corneille have exceedingly little of that genuine and general popu- larity in France that Shakespeare has with us; they appeal more to connais- seurs. The only trag& lienne of real distinc- tion the Com6die-Fran9aise now has, is Mlle Dullay. She has, by persever- ance and unintermittent hard study, gradually worked her way up to the top; she is not a genius, like Rachel or Sarah Bernhardt; her talent has neither the tiger spring, nor the lighting flash; but a more thoroughly satisfying actress I have seen nowhere. One does not, by the way, often have a chance of seeing her, for her position at the Fran9ais amounts to little more than a sinecure, and she appears only about half a dozen times in a season. I only saw her as the duehesse de tluise in Henry III et sa cour, but I shall never forget her great love-scene with Saint-lliThgrin. I do not think that anything I ever saw Sarah Bernhardt do impressed me so strongly. The most popular actress at the Fran- ~ais to - day is probably Mine Bartet. Unlike Mlle Dudlay, she is almost con- tinually before the public, and acts PARIS THEA TRES AND CONCER TS. 23 oftener in a single month than Mile Dudlay does in a whole season. Her repertory is ver~ large; last winter I saw her as Camille in de Mussets On ne badine pas avec 1amoiir; as lilme de Renal in Paillerons lEtincelle; as Mime de Moranc~ in the younger Du- mass line visite de noces; as the young wife (I forget her name) in Hen- ry Lavedans 1.Jne famille ; and in the title - r~1e of Armand Silvestre and Eugl~ne Morands Gris6lidis. In all these parts it is impossible not to recog- nize the fineness of Mine Bartets art; only I must confess that, upon the whole, I find her a little tame. She has not quite the force of Mile Beichen- berg, and when it comes to the crucial moments in a part, such as the famous Elle est morte. Adieu, Perdican! in On ne badine pas, she does not strike quite hard enough a blow. I liked her best in Gris~lidis, a part of almost infinite tenuity you see the stars twinklin~ through itbut, with all its artificiality, full of a certain quasi-poetic imaginativeness. But, upon the whole, I must own to preferring Mine Barretta whom I saw, by the way, only as the step-daughter in line famille, and as Adrienne in li~t6 de Ia Saint-Mar- tin who seems to me to have all Mine Bartets art, but with somewhat a sharper edge to it. Of the younger men, de F6raudy and Le Bargy may be said already to have made their mark fully. I have already spoken of de F~raudys power of disguising his face; his versatility in style is equally remarkable. I know of few men who can act three such utterly different parts as Jean in Le duc Job, Praberneau in Le Klephte, and the old butler in line famille, equally well, and strike so characteristic a note in each one of them. Not far behind him, however, comes Le Bargy; he has not quite de F& audys force, and noth- ing of his versatility, but in his own line he is perfection itself. His favorite character is the elegant young man of fashion; he is superb in such parts as the young husband in line famille, Raoul in lEtincelle, and de (i!ygneroi in line visite de noces. He is eleg- ance personified on the stage. It will be seen that I have not at- tempted to give any complete account of the Com6die-Fran9aise; I have mere- ly dwelt upon points which interested me, and spoken of actors and actresses that struck me as remarkable. But one thing remains still for me to say: no matter how wonderful this or that act- or or actress may be, neither he nor she is nearly as wonderful as the com- pany, as the ensemble with which some plays are given. I have no doubt that things are not now at the Th6atre-Fran- ~ais quite what they were in the consul- ship of Plancus; I have seen some pretty poor performances there, and certainly one downright bad one. But when things do go aright, they go very right indeed. Such performances as I saw last winter of Henri III et sa cour and of Manage blanc, are epoch-making in the life of a theatre- goer; that utter perfection all through is characteristic of the Fran9ais at its best, and, as far as my experience goes, can be found carried to such a pitch no- where else. Before closing my inkstand, I must say at least something about the sister establishment to the Com6die-Fran9aise, the Od6on, which has for many years borne the official title of Second Th6ii- tre - Fran~ais, to which Parisians are fond of adding: et premier de l~tran- ger. It will be remembered that, when Talma and his faction seceded from the Th6~tre de la Nation in the faubourg Saint-Germain, in 1791, what remained of the original Com6die-Fran9aise stayed on at the old house, until it was closed by order of the O6mit6 du Salut-Public in 1793; and that the house was opened again as the Th6~tre de l~galit6 next year, ouly to be closed once more in 1795. Then began the four years of wandering life for this half of the Com6- die-Fran9aise, which ended in its re- uniting with the Talma faction at the present Th~tre-Fran9ais in 1799. The house in the faubourg Saint-Germain had remained closed most of this time. But on May 20, 1797, it was opened again, as the Th6iitre de lOd6on, by a company led by Poupart-Dorfenille, a school of acting being attached to the theatre. In 1799 the house was burnt 24 PARIS THEATRES AND CONCERTS. to the ground (March 18th), and the the ever-growing fashionableness of the Goni& liens de lOd*~on opened two days theatres on the other side of the Seine, later at the Salle-Louvois, in the rue until, in 1832, the whole company left it Louvois, opposite the west side of the in a body for the Th6~itre de la Porte- Th6~tre de la Rue de la Lob But it Saint-Martin on the boulevards. seemed fated that almost every company Here was total wreck! One of the finest whose proper home was the Od6on theatres in Parisand a government should, sooner or later, take to nom- theatre, at thatlying fallow for lack adism; the Com~diens de lOdi~on, burnt of a company and an audience. Before out of their own theatre, soon began to the year was out, it was determined lead a more checkered existence even that several of the other theatres in the than their predecessors of the Com6die- capital should give extra performances Fran~aise had done. It was not long be- at the Od6on, in rotation. On Septem- fore they crossed the rue Louvois to ber 15 this plan was carried into give some performances at the Th6?ttre effect, the Com6die-Fran9aise giving de la Rue de la Loi (called at that time two performances a week, besides play- Th6htre de la R6publique et des Arts), ing every night at its own house in alternating with the Op6ra; and during the Palais-RoyaL This state of affairs April, May, and June we find them continued for a little while; but the skipping about Paris, performing, some- other theatres soon tired of giving these times for only a single night, at the Th6- extra performances, and one after an- ~tre-Favart, the Th6fitre du Marais in other dropped out of the scheme. In the rue Culture-Sainte-Catherine, the 1834 the only one left, besides the Coin- Th6~tre de la Cit6-Yari6t6s, * and again 6die-Fran9aise, was the Op6ra-Comique; at the Th6~tre-Louvois. When the last- toward the end of 1837 even it gave up named house was rechristened Th6fttre the enterprise, and the Com6die was de lImp6ratrice, in July, 1804, the com- left to run the Od6on alone. Finally a pany, which had remained there since separate company was formed for the 1801, were allowed to assume the title Od4on, and it was opened as the reor- of Com~diens ordinaires de lEmpereur. ganized Second Th6~tre-Fran~ais on Oc- Not long after this the Od6on itself was tober 28, 1841. rebuilt, and the company returned thith- This title describes the theatre very er in 1808, opening it on June 15 as the well; the repertory of the Od6on is of Th& Thre de Sa Majest6 lImp6ratrice et tIre same character as that of the Com6- Reine. But ten years later the house die-Fran9aise across the river, but in was again destroyed by fire, on a Good the management of the theatre a far Friday, and the troupe had once more to greater elasticity is noticeable. At the go elsewhere, this time to the Th6iltre- Od6on tradition is less imperious than Favart, where it gave performances on at the Fran~ais, and is more frequently the 6ff-nights of the Italian Opera. In disregarded ; it is a noteworthy place for 1819 the Od~on was rebuilt for the trying experiments, bringing out new third time and the company saw itself plays, and taking old ones from a new again within its own walls on Septem- artistic point of view. And as plays are ber 30. It was in this year that the generally mounted there with a less pune- house was given the official title of tilious thoroughness of rehearsal than at Second Th6~tre-Fran9ais. The finan- the Fran9ais, these experiments waste cial prosperity of the house, however, less time and money, and are not to be had been at no time great, and now be- regretted even when they turn out to gan to go from small to less. For thir- be failures. Its company is made up teen years this Second Th6atre- largely of young material. Many an Fran9ais fought against adversity and actor at the Fran9ais has passed through This theatre, in the cite, opposite the mal the Od6on before being accepted as the Palais de Justice, was opex~ed ~ pensionnaire at the first theatre, and After a somewhat impecunious career, it was changed not a few of the actors at the Od6on Into a public dance-hall in 1846, famous as the Prado until 1855, when it was pulled down and superseded by feel, in their heart of heart, that their the closerie des Lilas (Bullier), near the Jardin dii admission to the Fran9ais will be mainly Luxembourg. The site of the Cit& Vari6t6s is now oc cupied by the Tribunal de Commerce. a matter of time. For instance, an ac SONG. 25 cident to Mile Dudlay might easily re- sult in the Oomc~die-Fran9aise snapping up Mile Antonia Laurent, the admirable young trag~dienne of the Od6on. The troupe, too, is not so close a corporation as that of the Fran9ais; at the house in the faubourg Saint-Germain an actor or actress may be especially engaged for a single part in a new play, the engage- ment to last only during the run of the play. In this way one of the most orig- inal and talented actresses in Paris, Mile R6jane, was engaged last winter for the part of Germaine in de Porto- iRiches Amoureuse. It was, artistical- ly speaking, quite a fall upstairs for Mile R6jane, who had just been acting with enormous success at the Yari6t6s in Ma cousine, a broadish farce-comedy of a far lower type than anything that is given at the Od6on. There is prob- ably no single person in the theatrical world of Paris upon whom so much interest is centred as Mile R6jane. By many she is looked upon as the coming actress of modern drama; it is even prophesied that the doors of the Fran- 9ais itself will fly open to her before very long. I certainly should not be sur- prised at it. She has indubitably a streak of genius in her composition; she has temperament and immense nervous energy. Her acting is brilliancy itself, and she has, moreover, what they call in Paris nowadays an eminently modern talent; in other words, she is a good deal of a naturaliste. She ought to go far, with that inborn magnetic power of hers. Perhaps it will all depend upon her having the stability of character ne- cessary to make her stick to hard work. But, one way or another, she seems pretty surely one who is destined to be famous. SONG. By Duncan Campbell Scott. HERES the last rose, And the end of June, With the tulips gone And the lilacs strewn; A light wind blows From the golden west, The bird is charmed To her secret nest: Heres the last rose In the violet sky A great star shines, The gnats are drawn To the purple pines; On the magic lawn A shadow flows From the summer moon: Heres the last rose, And the end of the tune.

Duncan Campbell Scott Scott, Duncan Campbell Song 25-26

SONG. 25 cident to Mile Dudlay might easily re- sult in the Oomc~die-Fran9aise snapping up Mile Antonia Laurent, the admirable young trag~dienne of the Od6on. The troupe, too, is not so close a corporation as that of the Fran9ais; at the house in the faubourg Saint-Germain an actor or actress may be especially engaged for a single part in a new play, the engage- ment to last only during the run of the play. In this way one of the most orig- inal and talented actresses in Paris, Mile R6jane, was engaged last winter for the part of Germaine in de Porto- iRiches Amoureuse. It was, artistical- ly speaking, quite a fall upstairs for Mile R6jane, who had just been acting with enormous success at the Yari6t6s in Ma cousine, a broadish farce-comedy of a far lower type than anything that is given at the Od6on. There is prob- ably no single person in the theatrical world of Paris upon whom so much interest is centred as Mile R6jane. By many she is looked upon as the coming actress of modern drama; it is even prophesied that the doors of the Fran- 9ais itself will fly open to her before very long. I certainly should not be sur- prised at it. She has indubitably a streak of genius in her composition; she has temperament and immense nervous energy. Her acting is brilliancy itself, and she has, moreover, what they call in Paris nowadays an eminently modern talent; in other words, she is a good deal of a naturaliste. She ought to go far, with that inborn magnetic power of hers. Perhaps it will all depend upon her having the stability of character ne- cessary to make her stick to hard work. But, one way or another, she seems pretty surely one who is destined to be famous. SONG. By Duncan Campbell Scott. HERES the last rose, And the end of June, With the tulips gone And the lilacs strewn; A light wind blows From the golden west, The bird is charmed To her secret nest: Heres the last rose In the violet sky A great star shines, The gnats are drawn To the purple pines; On the magic lawn A shadow flows From the summer moon: Heres the last rose, And the end of the tune. By Frederick Smyth. THE criminal law, and the methods in which it is administered, are subjected to frequent criticisms, some of which are, no doubt, just, but many of which are founded on a lack of knowledge as to the facts. I have often wished that some of the critics might serve for a few terms as jurors in our criminal courts, and they would find that the evils of which they com- plain are less numerous and less serious than they had believed. It is often said, for instance, that the criminal law is harsh; yet, as I have at times said to the petit jurors serving be- fore me, the law provides safeguards which at every step tend to preserve the innocent from any wrong, and to aid accused men to maintain their inno- cence. A person accused of crime is en- titled, under the law, to an immediate examination into the facts; his accuser must immediately be brought before him, and the committing magistrate must promptly hold an examination, so that if the accusation is plainly false, or the accused man can establish his de- fence, he may be released without fur- ther annoyance. If the committing magistrate decides that there is prob- able cause to believe that the accused man has committed the crime with which he is charged, the Grand Jury, consisting of intelligent and fair-mind- ed men, examines the case with care, and unless the accusation appears well founded the proceedings are dismissed. After the Grand Jury has formulated the charge, and the accused man is ar- raigned at the bar, if he chooses to stand mute a plea of not guilty~~ is entered on his behalf; if he is poor, counsel is assigned to defend him; if he is friendless and has no one to sub- pcuna witnesses on his behalf, he may give the names of his witnesses to the District Attorney, and the whole power of the County and of the Court is at his disposal to enforce the attendance of any one who can testify for him. The presumption of innocence which attaches to a man at the moment of the accu- sation follows him through every step of the proceedings. The presumption may, at times, be violent, as when the ac- cused man is seen in the very commis- sion of the crime; but if for any reason the evidence against him cannot be prop- erly and fully presented in Court, this presumption prevents his conviction of any offence. He may, if he chooses, take the witness - staud and testify on his own behalf; if he chooses not to testify, the fact of his silence cannot be commented upon by the prosecuting attorney, and cannot be taken by a jury as weighing against him. He is tried by a jury of his peers, and if only a sin- gle one of the jurors sees in the evidence presented sufficient reason for his ac- quittal, he cannot be convicted. He is entitled to the benefit of a reasonable doubt, which follows him at every stage of the case, and the accusation against him must be proved to a reasonable certainty. His character, unless he chooses to put it in issue, is supposed to be good, and the jury must so regard it. If the judge is led into any error as to the admission or exclusion of evi- dence, or in his charge to the jury, and such error can be considered as inju- rious to the accused man, the appellate tribunals may be called upon to pass upon the fairness of the judges rulings. So that, instead of being harsh in its ap- plication, the criminal law is extremely careful lest an accused man shall be in- CRIME AND THE LAW.

Frederick Smyth Smyth, Frederick Crime And The Law 26-31

By Frederick Smyth. THE criminal law, and the methods in which it is administered, are subjected to frequent criticisms, some of which are, no doubt, just, but many of which are founded on a lack of knowledge as to the facts. I have often wished that some of the critics might serve for a few terms as jurors in our criminal courts, and they would find that the evils of which they com- plain are less numerous and less serious than they had believed. It is often said, for instance, that the criminal law is harsh; yet, as I have at times said to the petit jurors serving be- fore me, the law provides safeguards which at every step tend to preserve the innocent from any wrong, and to aid accused men to maintain their inno- cence. A person accused of crime is en- titled, under the law, to an immediate examination into the facts; his accuser must immediately be brought before him, and the committing magistrate must promptly hold an examination, so that if the accusation is plainly false, or the accused man can establish his de- fence, he may be released without fur- ther annoyance. If the committing magistrate decides that there is prob- able cause to believe that the accused man has committed the crime with which he is charged, the Grand Jury, consisting of intelligent and fair-mind- ed men, examines the case with care, and unless the accusation appears well founded the proceedings are dismissed. After the Grand Jury has formulated the charge, and the accused man is ar- raigned at the bar, if he chooses to stand mute a plea of not guilty~~ is entered on his behalf; if he is poor, counsel is assigned to defend him; if he is friendless and has no one to sub- pcuna witnesses on his behalf, he may give the names of his witnesses to the District Attorney, and the whole power of the County and of the Court is at his disposal to enforce the attendance of any one who can testify for him. The presumption of innocence which attaches to a man at the moment of the accu- sation follows him through every step of the proceedings. The presumption may, at times, be violent, as when the ac- cused man is seen in the very commis- sion of the crime; but if for any reason the evidence against him cannot be prop- erly and fully presented in Court, this presumption prevents his conviction of any offence. He may, if he chooses, take the witness - staud and testify on his own behalf; if he chooses not to testify, the fact of his silence cannot be commented upon by the prosecuting attorney, and cannot be taken by a jury as weighing against him. He is tried by a jury of his peers, and if only a sin- gle one of the jurors sees in the evidence presented sufficient reason for his ac- quittal, he cannot be convicted. He is entitled to the benefit of a reasonable doubt, which follows him at every stage of the case, and the accusation against him must be proved to a reasonable certainty. His character, unless he chooses to put it in issue, is supposed to be good, and the jury must so regard it. If the judge is led into any error as to the admission or exclusion of evi- dence, or in his charge to the jury, and such error can be considered as inju- rious to the accused man, the appellate tribunals may be called upon to pass upon the fairness of the judges rulings. So that, instead of being harsh in its ap- plication, the criminal law is extremely careful lest an accused man shall be in- CRIME AND THE LAW. jured by any failure to effectively prove the charge against him. If there is any discrimination, it is against the commu- nity, whom the law should protect, and not against the individual accused of crime. Again, it is said that the application of the criminal law to individual cases by the judges who pass sentence is sometimes unduly severe. Sentimental persons will bewail the fate of a crimi- nal sentenced to a long term of impris- onment. If a thief on the street snatches from the hand of a poor woman a purse containing a small sum of money, and he is convicted of a serious charge, his friends flock to his support, and besiege the judge with applications for mercy; his wife and numerous small children, including at times a borrowed infant, seek to affect the heart of the judge and turn him from a proper consider- ation of his duty. I have, at times, my- self been accused of heartlessness, be- cause in spite of numerous appeals I have felt it my duty to inflict severe punishment upon criminals. I do not lack sympathy. But, my sympathy goes out rather toward the innocent person against whom the wrong is done, than toward the person by whom it is com- mitted. The woman from whom a purse is snatched loses, perhaps, all the small sum of money which she has for her immediate support; she may be on the way to purchase the necessary articles to sustain her family; she may have gathered, with economy and care, a small sum to provide for her monthly rent, and while in the public street, and trusting to the safety which the com- munity promises to her, while she is in the innocent pursuit of her daily duties, she is robbed of all that she possess- es, and compelled to undergo suffering and deprivation. My sympathies go out toward her rather than toward the criminal who has intentioully violated the laws, openly committed a crime of violence, and who is too much of a coward to attack a man of his own size and strength. If sympathy has its place, even in the administration of the crimi- nal law, it would be well to see that the sympathy is directed toward the right quarter. Some complain also that the criminal 27 law is unevenly administered. An in- telligent young man, connected with one of the daily newspapers, once asked me to explain to him why in two cases which I had just disposed of, and in which the accusations were almost identical, I had sentenced one defendant to two years in the Penitentiary, and an- other to more than four years in the State Prison. I explained to him that in one ease the accused man had never before been guilty of any serious crime; that his employers and others had con- vinced me that he had been industrious and honest for many years, and his crime appeared to be one of impulse largely, and I felt sure that the smallest possible punishment would be sufficient to convince him that a life of crime was much harder and less profitable than a life of honest work. The other crim- inal was one who had at other times been convicted of crime, whose com- panions were notoriously bad, and on whom reforming influences had here- tofore had no effect. His punishment must be severe in order to teach him to fear the hand of the law, and to refrain from further violations of it. The young gentleman was perfectly satisfied with my explanation, and saw the jus- tice of the discrimination used. While the judges, like other men, do make mistakes, my acquaintance with those who have presided in criminal courts has convinced me that they are, as a rule, earnest and conscientious in their endeavors to fix a punishment which is most just in the particular case under consideration. Many sentences imposed upon criminals have followed restless nights in which the judge was considering the different arguments for and against leniency, and frequently he has consulted with other experienced officials to the end that no unfairness toward the community or the criminal should result. There are some particulars in which I have wished that the Legislature might amend the laws under which criminals are punished in New York State. The Legislature, in many cases, has fixed a minimum and a maximum punishment for a particular crime; but there are cases in which I have thought that the minimum might well be reduced, and a CRIME AND THE LAW. 28 CRIME AND THE LAW. larger discretion given to the judge. If a man steals $24 in money he can- not be more severely punished than by a years imprisonment, and a fine; but if he steals $26 in money, while the circumstances may not be more aggra- vated than in the other case, he cannot receive less than two years imprison- ment. There is, of course, little or no moral difference between stealing a sum over $25, or under that amount, and while a distinction founded on the amount stolen may in some cases be fair, yet it would seem that the mini- mum punishment for the greater crime and the maximum for the lesser one should more nearly approach. There are frequently circumstances in which a crime comes within the technical definition of a robbery or burglary of the first degree, and yet there are cir- cumstances surrounding the case which would make a punishment less than the minimum now provided equitable. This is especially true of first offenders. I have frequently recommended that the minimum punishment for many offences be reduced. A strange omission, which is greatly to be regretted, is that the law provides, in New York City at least, no method by which young women accused of a first crime can be sent to a reforming insti- tution instead of to the Penitentiary. As to men, the law allows a convicted person between the ages of sixteen and thirty to be sent either to a Reforma- tory, State Prison, or in some cases to the Penitentiary, so that the punish- ment may be more or less severe, ac- cording to the character of the offen- der. Only one place of restraint is now provided for women, and whether the proven charge is that of murder in the second degree, or the larceny of a small amount, the woman must be sent to the Penitentiary. It is often with the greatest reluctance that J am compelled to send a young woman, who may have been brought up honestly and in a vir- tuous home, and who has only been led astray by a sudden impulse to com- mit some act of dishonesty, to a prison, where she must have as associates the vilest and the most hardened of her sex.. I have approved of, and aided in, every movement toward establishing a re formatory for women, somewhat similar to that useful institution the Elmira Reformatory for young men, but thus far without success. I sincerely hope that the State may soon be relieved from the shame of this omission in its crimi- nal statutes. The law might also well be changed in the interest of first offenders. The Courts have sometimes exercised the inherent privilege of postponing sen- tence and discharging the offender when it is evident that the boy or young man accused of his first offence may be saved from a criminal career by the care of his relatives and friends. It might be well, however, if a system somewhat similar to that which I am informed has been recently adopted in France, were incor- porated in our statutes, so that a judge might, in the case of a first offender, ac- cused of a crime of a minor degree, release him without sentence, but with the proviso that if he again, within five years of his first conviction, were guilty of a criminal act, he should be punished for his first offence; but if for five years he lived an honest and industrious life, the State should pardon the first viola- tion of its criminal laws, and he should be relieved from further responsibility therefor. In the case of offenders con- victed for a second or third time, the pun- ishment should be rendered severe, and the judges might well be allowed the discretion which now rests with the prosecuting attorney and the jury, of inflicting a double punishment upon those who had been guilty of repeated violations of the criminal law. Chief Inspector Byrnes, to whose skill and intelligence the city of New York owes much of its safety from the dep- redations of professional thieves, in an article in the North American Review, attributes much of the crime in the city to the influences surrounding the cheap lodging-houses, where many crimes of a serious nature are planned. The earlier steps in crime, however, are, in my ex- perience, largely due to the overcrowd- ing of the population in narrow and unhealthful quarters. Boys are almost compelled to seek the streets as a place of recreation after their daily work, and gather upon the nearest street-corners, and, influenced by older and more hard- CRIME AND THE LAW. 29 ened companions, they readily form themselves into associations or gangs, which sometimes degenerate into con- spiracies for committing crime. They have only uncomfortable or squalid homes, sometimes occupied by drunken parents, and it is not unnatural that they should seek elsewhere means of diversion, and should be unconsciously led into committing the smaller offences with which a criminal life usually begins. Any change in the housing of the poorer classes by which homes can be made more attractive and healthful would certainly have an influence in lessening crime. A great influence toward lessening the number of professional criminals is found in the reforming institutions for young men. The Elmira Reformatory, to which male criminals between the ages of sixteen and thirty years may be sent, has done an especially useful work in this direction. The statistics show that of those who are committed to this institution a large proportion do not return to criminal careers. They are taught a trade, if they do not already know one, and the habits of industry and study which they there acquire often influence their future lives. The judges are always ready, in proper cases, to send young men who have not previously been guilty of a serious of- fence to this institution. The law was at one time so worded that if a young man had been convicted of a misde- meanor merely, he could not, on any subsequent conviction of a felony, be sent to the Reformatory. I, however, urged, and the Legislature has enacted, a change, by which a young man may have the benefit of this institution if he has not previously been convicted of a felony. Under the rule which excluded those who had previously been convicted of misdemeanors, a boy who bad been arrested for a disturbance of the public peace by playing ball in the streets, or for some similar act, could not be sent, on his conviction of a felony, to the Re- formatory, but must instead be sent to the Penitentiary or the State Prison. The law, as it at present stands, is much more useful, and gives a wider discre- tion to the Judge in reference to the commitment of young men to this ex- cellent institution. A very large proportion of the crimi- nal offences brought to the notice of the Courts consists of those committed by boys, or young men under the age of twenty-five years. In many cases the crimes are the result of the influence of elder criminals, or are committed with- out a realization of the great wrong- fulness of the act. Sometimes, how- ever, the criminal instinct is strong in even immature youths. A boy of fif- teen years of age, who was brought be- fore me a few years ago, was convicted of a high degree of robbery, and it ap- peared that in other cases he had been guilty of similar offences, but on ac- count of his extreme youth had escaped punishment. He took part with older men in assaulting citizens on the street and taking property from their persons. The managers of the House of Refuge, to which institution I committed the boy, refused to receive him, because of his previous crimes and the bad influ- ence which he exerted upon other in- mates. I was unwilling to send him either to the Penitentiary or the State Prison on account of his youth, and be- cause I felt certain that association with older criminals would only render him more hardened in his vicious career. He was detained in the city prison for many months and finally discharged. Other instances of the early depravity of members of the criminal class have come to my attention. The fact that so many crimes are committed by persons of immature years, however sad it may be, proves that, to some extent at least, the penal- ties of the criminal law are effective in preventing crime. Young men who have had their first experience in a reforming or penal institution either learn caution, and do not again expose themselves to conviction of serious of- fences, or become convinced that honest employment at some laborious occupa- tion is, after all, more profitable than the criminal career, with its liability of detection and severe punishment. Some, of course, of the young offenders continue their lives of crime and become professional criminals. The number of professional criminals is, however, small- er than is ordinarily supposed, and in New York City, at least, the police, and 80 CRIME AND THE LAW. especially the detective force, are able to preserve the community from most of their attempted depredations. Men who belong to the professional criminal class are closely watched; every action is noted and reported at head-quarters; they are prohibited from approaching the banking district; when any suspi- cious movements on their part are no- ticed a closer watch is maintained, and most of them are soon driven from the city and compelled to seek abodes in other lands or other portions of this country. While the present system of punishment may have occasional defects it has certainly resulted in minimizing the evils to which society is exposed from the criminal offences of some mem- bers of the community. In spite of the fact that New York is the point of attraction to criminals from other lands, and has, as all great cities have, a fascination for those who lead irregular lives, I am glad to be able to believe, from my experience, that serious crimes have not increased in proportion to the growth of population. The immi- grants who seek our shores are, as a rule, industrious and worthy; but among them are many who come from coun- tries where the laws are lax and where they have been accustomed to settle dis- putes by resort to violence. These usual- ly remain in this city instead of seeking homes in other parts of the country. Another constant addition to the criminal class is from those who have been attracted from other places by the comparative freedom from observation afforded by city life, and who, freed from the restraints of home, easily drift into lawless lives. The ranks of the crimi- nals are constantly recruited from these quarters. Yet the contest which society wages against criminals has not been unsuccessful. The younger members of the criminal class frequently reform, or find resistance to organized society so hopeless that they give up the fight. Between professional criminals and the forces of law and order the contest is never ended until the criminal dies or is imprisoned for life in a State Prison. The struggle on the part of the officials representing society is to repress the evil instincts of those who are found in the criminal ranks, or to nullify their most daring efforts. The struggle will con- tinue as long as society exists, and it is to be hoped that the victories will ever be more constant and decided on the side of those who seek for the peace and safety of the community. There has been some criticism of late in the discussions of lawyers as to the advisability of continuing the jury sys- tem. I wish at this time to express my belief that any change, at least affect- ing the jury system in criminal cases, would be unwise. I have found, in a long experience, that in a great major- ity of cases the decisions of juries as to the facts of a particular case have been just and wise. It has sometimes sur- prised me to see how men belonging to the business community, and unac- quainted with the intricacies of the law have made sharp distinctions between different grades of offences, and have brought in verdicts which conform ex- actly to the legal requirements of the cases. It has sometimes happened, per- haps, that jurors have been influenced by the particular facts of a case to ren- der a verdict which does not comply exactly with the legal definition of the crime proven, but in the vast majority of cases substantial justice has been done. I know of no other method which approaches in fairness toward the ac- cused, and in justice to the community at large, the decision by a jury of the facts in a criminal case. The judges cer- tainly do not seek added responsibility. It would be unfair and burdensome to them to require that they should pass not only upon the legal questions which arise but upon the facts. The twelve jurors can pay their sole attention to the facts, often intricate and complicated, and by a discussion and a comparison of views can justly weigh them. The jury system as it now exists is the result of centuries of experience, and I trust that it will always be maintained as one of the most effective safeguards against error or injustice in the administra- tion of the criminal law. A BALLADE OF DAWN. By Hugh McCulloch, Jr. Placida notte, e verecondo ragglo Della cadente luna. THE wan east quivers, and a chilling breeze Comes trembling oer the earth; the silence lies Oppressively on all things, and the trees Don ever-changing shapes while night-time dies. From off the river feathery mists arise And clothe the shivering earth in garments rare. Changed things, that seem like uncouth monsters, glare Where late the moonlight cast a charin~d glow. The stars grow faint, and fade into the air, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. To-night has been a night of nights; great seas Of tremulous moonlight, pouring from the skies Enchanted all the earth and made surcease Of restlessness, and stilled each vague surmise. Its beauty charmed away earths laboring sighs, And brought nepenthe for its sharp despair. Strange shadows hurried oer the meadows, where The wavering mist now billows to and fro. Alas, the night is gone that was so fair, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. And with the night has fled the golden ease That filled my heart beneath the myriad eyes Of midnight. Day is near, and beauty flees Before its naked squalor. Now the cries Of birds are heard, who know that in some wise Another day must yield the wonted share Of hard-earned food. And all the beasts prepare To fight for niggard gifts their lives bestow. Days murmurs stir them in their nightly lair, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. Yet this is but a symbol; everywhere Could man find peace, if his weak heart would dare To search; the very dawn is joyful, though Its breath seems chilled with day, and toil, and care, And in the west the weary moon hangs low.

Hugh Mcculloch, Jr. Mcculloch, Hugh, Jr. A Ballade Of Dawn 31-32

A BALLADE OF DAWN. By Hugh McCulloch, Jr. Placida notte, e verecondo ragglo Della cadente luna. THE wan east quivers, and a chilling breeze Comes trembling oer the earth; the silence lies Oppressively on all things, and the trees Don ever-changing shapes while night-time dies. From off the river feathery mists arise And clothe the shivering earth in garments rare. Changed things, that seem like uncouth monsters, glare Where late the moonlight cast a charin~d glow. The stars grow faint, and fade into the air, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. To-night has been a night of nights; great seas Of tremulous moonlight, pouring from the skies Enchanted all the earth and made surcease Of restlessness, and stilled each vague surmise. Its beauty charmed away earths laboring sighs, And brought nepenthe for its sharp despair. Strange shadows hurried oer the meadows, where The wavering mist now billows to and fro. Alas, the night is gone that was so fair, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. And with the night has fled the golden ease That filled my heart beneath the myriad eyes Of midnight. Day is near, and beauty flees Before its naked squalor. Now the cries Of birds are heard, who know that in some wise Another day must yield the wonted share Of hard-earned food. And all the beasts prepare To fight for niggard gifts their lives bestow. Days murmurs stir them in their nightly lair, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. Yet this is but a symbol; everywhere Could man find peace, if his weak heart would dare To search; the very dawn is joyful, though Its breath seems chilled with day, and toil, and care, And in the west the weary moon hangs low. A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. By E. H. Blasbfield and E. W. Blashfield. I EACH one of our days in Egypt * was a delight in its ever fresh recur- rence of shining sun and shining river; and not least pleasant was the January morning of our first visit to Medinet Haboo. While breakfast was eaten in the cabin, Alee and Mahaeel packed the luncheon, and above stairs the side-saddles thumped upon the deck as Nafardy carried them to the felucca. When it came alongside cushions were thrown in, the travellers followed, and six blue-gowned figures burst into a chant as they bent to the oars, and the boat shot diagonally southwest against a stiff current. The sun was hot, but the dry air not unbracing, the water glittered, the wide sleeves of the sailors fluttered in the wind, the hum upon the Luxor bank lessened, the tall yards of the dahabee- yehs seemed to grow shorter, the tem- ple as it receded rose higher, taking its true place in the landscape, the white houses, the boats and steamers becom- ing so many dwarfs in presence of the columnar giants which marched in yel * See Afloat on the Nile, by the same authors, in Scnrauans MAeAZUIa for December, 1891. low procession against the sky, till palm- groves replaced houses and huts, dot- ting the east bank to the northward where Karnak raises its huge pilon. The Hathorites leaned back against the cushions in lazy satisfaction that for this one morning they were rid of their self-constituted attendant, Khalee- fa. Each day after breakfast that ven- erable donkey broker and vender of an- tiquities upon commission had lain in wait at the cabin door ahd asked of the sailors the destination of the Howagat. Karnak? Oh, then, he would go also, he wished to see a man there. Medinet Haboo? That was just the thing for him, he was absolute ruler at Medinet owned a house there, a camel, and a slave or two, and was almost a little scriptural king. Wherever the Hath- ors people were going, there his busi- ness and his pleasure called him, for had he not followed the big Howaga for several winters, and was the oppor- tunity of serving him to be neglected? The Socratic depression of his nose did not repel, the Socratic bulge of his fore- head indicated wise benevolence, and at first he was given entire credit. But donkeys of his provision were knife- backed or broken-winded, and were left behind by their fellows; operations in antiquitiessold by him at alleged bear market rateswere unsatisfactory when compared with purchases made through others, and it was pleasant to feel that he had not learned the days itinerary. Alas! what was that, squatting upon the very bow of the boatunwished-for figure-head to the felucca? Self-gratu- lation had been over early, there he was, looking eagerly at the western bank, where small black objects began to move along the waters edge keenly in- terested in the landing. Much has been written of the im- portunity of the donkey-boy, but the half has not been told, nor ever will be, of this impish bronze centaur. No con- dition of things where there is not in- tent to kill, wound, or even hurt could be so like a battle as a meeting between

E. H. Blashfield Blashfield, E. H. E. W. Blashfield Blashfield, E. W. A Day With The Donkey-Boys 32-50

A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. By E. H. Blasbfield and E. W. Blashfield. I EACH one of our days in Egypt * was a delight in its ever fresh recur- rence of shining sun and shining river; and not least pleasant was the January morning of our first visit to Medinet Haboo. While breakfast was eaten in the cabin, Alee and Mahaeel packed the luncheon, and above stairs the side-saddles thumped upon the deck as Nafardy carried them to the felucca. When it came alongside cushions were thrown in, the travellers followed, and six blue-gowned figures burst into a chant as they bent to the oars, and the boat shot diagonally southwest against a stiff current. The sun was hot, but the dry air not unbracing, the water glittered, the wide sleeves of the sailors fluttered in the wind, the hum upon the Luxor bank lessened, the tall yards of the dahabee- yehs seemed to grow shorter, the tem- ple as it receded rose higher, taking its true place in the landscape, the white houses, the boats and steamers becom- ing so many dwarfs in presence of the columnar giants which marched in yel * See Afloat on the Nile, by the same authors, in Scnrauans MAeAZUIa for December, 1891. low procession against the sky, till palm- groves replaced houses and huts, dot- ting the east bank to the northward where Karnak raises its huge pilon. The Hathorites leaned back against the cushions in lazy satisfaction that for this one morning they were rid of their self-constituted attendant, Khalee- fa. Each day after breakfast that ven- erable donkey broker and vender of an- tiquities upon commission had lain in wait at the cabin door ahd asked of the sailors the destination of the Howagat. Karnak? Oh, then, he would go also, he wished to see a man there. Medinet Haboo? That was just the thing for him, he was absolute ruler at Medinet owned a house there, a camel, and a slave or two, and was almost a little scriptural king. Wherever the Hath- ors people were going, there his busi- ness and his pleasure called him, for had he not followed the big Howaga for several winters, and was the oppor- tunity of serving him to be neglected? The Socratic depression of his nose did not repel, the Socratic bulge of his fore- head indicated wise benevolence, and at first he was given entire credit. But donkeys of his provision were knife- backed or broken-winded, and were left behind by their fellows; operations in antiquitiessold by him at alleged bear market rateswere unsatisfactory when compared with purchases made through others, and it was pleasant to feel that he had not learned the days itinerary. Alas! what was that, squatting upon the very bow of the boatunwished-for figure-head to the felucca? Self-gratu- lation had been over early, there he was, looking eagerly at the western bank, where small black objects began to move along the waters edge keenly in- terested in the landing. Much has been written of the im- portunity of the donkey-boy, but the half has not been told, nor ever will be, of this impish bronze centaur. No con- dition of things where there is not in- tent to kill, wound, or even hurt could be so like a battle as a meeting between VOL. XI.3 A /~. Li z Li I U I 2 C 2 a: 1- z 34 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. urged out into the stream until their saddle - girths were wet. The imps, holding up their gowns in their teeth, showed more and more of copper body as they waded about the boat and thrust in dark slender paws, seizing guide-books, umbrellas, and baskets. Shallows stopped the felucca, which was fairly mobbed. Mabmoud, scoop- ing with his hands, threw as much of the Nile as he could upon the invad- ers, and Moorhany, losing his temper, brought down his oar with a tremendous splash, missing the boys and drench- ing the ladies with water, which, how- ever, the hot sun quickly dried. Mean- time the figure-head had slipped down from the felucca, and becoming a mer- man, Khaleefa, with an accomplice, seized the legs of the lightest Howaga, lifted him from the gunwale, opened him like a compass and deposited him as- tride a donkey, which driven deep into the water, had been predestined to him by this Arab Ulysses. donkey-boys and their possible prey. The mild-mannered man who in Cairo shakes his head at the use of the cudgel, before his second excursion gets him a stick, and crc he leaves Egypt wishes he were a very Robin Hood in proficiency at quarter-staff. The stick fell from heaven, says the Arab proverb; if so, it was up- on a community of quarrelsome donkey - boys, just as Zeus sent the storks to the frogs. Each boy means to get you, if not you, then a piece of you, which means your box, your guide-book, or um- brella. A half-dozen good donkeys had been ordered for the six members of the party. Eighteen or so of the animals were galloped to the waters edge, and many of them Study of Drapery on a Windy Day at Luxor. A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 35 But the Howaga, who had been served so before. rode the donkey ashore and exchanged it for his own, to Khaleefas disgust. The other five travellers were carried through the shal- lows by the sailors, and the battle began. While Ne- fardy buckled on the side- saddles, the Howagat were bombarded with donkeys whose masters, intrenched behind them, shunted them at their victims who were bumped one against the other, the umbrellas jerking and swaying in the ladies hands. Donkeys trod upon them, they charged one wing which gave way, but were immediately enveloped upon the other side by~ donkey light cavalrymen, the latter skirmishing, slapping their high red saddles, screaming, You take it, my donkey, you donkey sick, werry bad, sit down soon! The tall sailors, Abderrachman and Urushwan, fended them off with poles, and the canary- colored gown of Mahacel, the Coptic waiter, streamed in pursuit of the lunch-bas- ket, which a guerilla donkey- boy, intent on porterage fees, had eloped with at a canter. Khaleefas benevo- lent forehead bulged as much as ever, but his soul was black, all his beasts had been re- fused. At last the saddles being fast and all the party mounted, except the sailors who would walk or run as might be, the party were off with a jingle and a shout at a sort of scuttling canter; the dozen supernumerary boys who had all become equestrian since their wares were out of the market, circled about the travellers like a Greek chorus, pre- dicting coming woe, chanting in unison dire prognostications that the beasts would become donkeys couchant, don- keys scant, that they were sick and worthless. So they galloped as far as the first Arab village, sitting their ani- mals as lightly with their naked brown limbs as the cavalrymen of the Pana thenaic frieze. With every donkey there ran a boy, and Khaleefa, upon one of the rejected, pounded along with the rest, for a day with the Howagat was always desirable to one who had much spare time. In the pouches of the sail- ors there was tobacco which could he levied upon, there would be the leav- ings of the occidental lunchunclean food, reconcilable, however, to a philo- sophic Moslem who consorted much with Franks ; then there were hypothet- ical empty bottles and sardine boxes, crumbs of all sorts from Dives table so Khaleefa rode and Rayah ran, until the plump little body of the latter tiring the brown legs, the rider took before him on the saddle this son of his old age. After crossing a long stretch of sand and fording a shallow arm of the Nile, the procession climbed the high bank, 36 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. rode along the dike and struck through the sailors patronized their goolahs, and the wheat-fields. The western shore of a few piastres were well expended on the river at Thebes is a little pastoral them; for bronze Fatmeh, black Anuba, and even mocking Ayesha~ were decorative accessories, pleasant to look at, and there was a mine of wealth in their conversation. In spite of their battle at the waters edge the Howa- gat were rather fond of don- key-boys, and moved ordi- narily about the streets of Luxor with a retinue of them; but on this day the Luxor contingent was ab- sent, it did not go to the western bank with small parties. Such visits would have entailed resentment on the party of the westerners, and beatings at their hands when the chance offered. Only when the semi-weekly battalion of Cooks tourists poured over the river to Medinet or the tombs of the Kings, needing every donkey in the district, did the Luxor boys go; for the westerners were bigger than they, and bad not been softened into effeminacy by life in the mud metropolis~ world of flocks and herds, of sheep, opposite them. Indeed, to the moralis- goats, baby camels, and donkeys too tic inhabitants of Karnak who put their young to be loaded. There are no vil- endeavor into agriculture and begging, lages like Karnak or Luxor, but wind- to the Koorneh men who devoted theirs swayed seas of wheat and barley break- to mummy stealing, and the manufact- ing against the magnificent cliffs which ure of excellent imitation scarabs, Luxor are the necropolis of ancient Thebes; is corrupt from contact with the Gia- while among the green and yellow waves our, its standard of morality low. But of grain rise, like out - lying reefs, the Luxor and Karnak alike disapproved of ruins of the Ramesseum and of Koor- Fatmeh, who had just come among the uch. water - carriers. Also they admired And now there came to meet us six disapproved because at the preposterous little Rebeccas, their long veils dragging age of nearly thirteen years she was in the dust as the bearers ran forward, still unveiled and carried a water-jar for their heads glistening with water-drops foreigners; admired because she was the splashed from their jars small jars beauty of the district. Said Yussuf which these little canephoraf carried all Mohammed, embodying the morality of day long, offering them from time to his native village, if a Howaga wants time as they ran beside the donkeys water at Karnak a boy gives it him; if fleet and tireless through the sand and a girl brought it, her parents would over the rocks. These clay bottles were stick a knife in her. Yussufs wifes full of unfiltered water, and that brought mother, like Peters, lay sick of a fever, with the luncheon was preferable, but and because the wife visited the poor~ Coptic Girl of Luxor. A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 37 old woman several times, he divorced her; it was evident that he was a moral- ist and disciplinarian. Indeed he boast- ed of it as he led the ladys donkey through the wheat, and vaunted his own abstemiousness, saying that he did not even drink coffee in the morning, but took only a little bread and a few trees (i.e., dates) for breakfast. On being scolded for beating his donkey, he ar- gued wisely I tell him twice, he not do it, then I must beat him ; yes, I beat my wife too when she give me some wordsnot much, only two or three stick. The fact that in America a wife- beater might be imprisoned and a di- 88 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. vorce obtained by the woman, overcame him utterly. Somewhere the founda- tions of society had evidently been un- dermined, who knew but that such a condition of things might reach Egypt. The lady pointing out Pharaoh on the pilon, towcring gigantic over the cap- tives he strikes down, said later, That is just like Egypt, the big man always beats the little one. Yes, he an- swered, smiling brightly, Moslem man very brave ; he beat dog, he beat wife, he beat child. Englishman only beat in bottles! (i.e., battles.) Meanwhile, if we tired of Yussufs Ibiad, the Luxor Sarber. lofty moralizing, there was much dra- matic interest in watching Fatmeh and her admirers. She was the idol of the donkey-boys, and they all, even little eight-year old Abdon, hung on her words and followed in her footsteps; our progress was regulated by her move- ments. When swift Camilla scoured the plain, sticks were swung, donkeys belabored, and regardless of their own wishes or intentions, travellers, sailors, and admirers came tearing, plunging, and hallooing after her; when she stopped to buy sugar-cane, or gossip ith the herdsmen, we trailed along at a snails pace, deserted by our respec- tive motive powers. Fatmeh was a boy- den, tall, strong as a boy, and rather pretty, with a charm- ing, subtle, Leonardesque smile, a~ d though somewhat spoiled by tourists, seemed kind and generous, dividing her dates and sugar-cane with all the others and giving an extra share to the little ones. Her conquests are over now, and she is veiled, muzzled, and married to a son of Abd-er- iRasool; it must sometimes be a trifle dreary for her shut up in a little mud-house after her free life in the open air, but she is not forgotten. All the water-carriers have inherited her name, and each one men- daciously assures you that she is the original Fatmeh. But while we were watch- ing this village idyl, two strange figures, which from a mile away had looked like twin crags rising from a tran- quil sea of rippling wheat, had grown in stature until they towered high in air, and the travellers were at the feet of the Colossi of the plain; statues of Amenophis Ill., kings and gods at once; giant Dioscuri in the Pantheon of deities who appear above and beneath the ground in this vast metropolis. They were warders to a vanished temple, and their faces, which from a height of nearly sixty feet looked across the plain of Thebes toward a great city, have vanished also ; they are A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 39 worn and crum- bled, but mighty still in their old age; one is a mon- olith, the other, shattered to the waist by an earth- quake, was restored in courses of stone by Septimius Sey- ems. The latter and northern one of the two will al- ways remain to us, not Amenophis, but the vocal Memnon of the Greeks, whose cry to his mother Aurora, whether caused by priestcraft or the action of the sun s rays upon crevices of damp rock, de- lighted the Roman seekers after marvels. From knees to feet Memnon, who had been an autograph album to ancient vis- itors, was covered as closely as a printed page with handsome Greek lettering, and it was curious to see how the vandal John Jones of to-day, who had cut his name on the monuments, became tolerable and even fascinating as he receded into an- tiquity. One liked to see where Greek mercenaries had left their mark, where Roman legionaries garrisoning some hot frontier fortress had put up an inscrip- tion, where monks had cut a rude cross, or even where Bonapartes Frenchmen had scrawled their names. Looking at the finely cut Greek inscriptions of the Colossus, and the archaistic verses com- posed by the best society of the antique world, it is easy to imagine their authors at work here. The background has changed but little since they stood in the early morning, waiting to hear Mem- non; the dawn turned the Libyan range to rosy gold, and the dew-wet beau flowers were as frequent then as now; the water of the inundation still stood here and there in the meadows reflecting the young corn in its glassy poois; the Nile twisted through the wheat-fields like a sacred dragon scaled with gold and purple; the three peaks of the Arabian chain rose pyramid-like at the end of the long, flat-topped mountain wall that guards the eastern plain; but the great temple, of which now only a few scattered blocks and prostrate col umus remain, then lay behind the Co- lossi. Thebes was still splendid with her temples and shrines ; Karnak tow- ered high above the palms at the end of her wide, sphinx-bordered avenue; to right and left of Memnon, backed against the mountains, or rising from the plain, were the temples of Ramessids, and Thothmes, and Ptolemies, still gorgeous with their old magnificence in spite of Time and Cambyses, and the Roman robbers. Perhaps Hadrian, the hand- some dilettante trifler with the arts, was roused from his sullen melancholy by all this beauty ; perhaps he was still mourning the loss of his favorite An- tinous, and even the gods voice could [7) A VCL.I I: ~r~Ki \//\\ ~ 40 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. not comfort him. Be that as it may, he came alone to hear Memnon, and it was not until some days later that he was followed by the Empress Sabina and her train. A fine spectacle it must have been! Augusta in a rage because Memnon, who like most singers had his caprices, remained obstinately silent; the house- philosopher in his Stoics cloak, carry- ing the pet lap-dog; the elegant young chamberlains, whom early rising had made a trifle cross ; the pretty painted court - ladies shielding their delicately~ tinted cheeks from the sunlight and yawning behind jewelled fingers; Julia Balbilla writing the Done and IEolian verses which in that age of archaistic bric-?i-brac, of grammarians and acad-~ emies, were much admired; then there were bearers carrying the bronze litters, half-naked, clean-limbed runners shiver- ing a little in the cool dawn; pert slave girls laden with their mistresss scarfs and parasols; a crowd of beggars and water-carriers, of porters and charioteers. A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 41 and servants servants, a whole retinue, Memnon silent, we refrained from ex- of which we and our little train seemed pressing our disappointment in archaic like a modern parody. Greek verse, and cutting our names and They were aristocratic pilgrims gen- dignities upon the statue, yet, like the erally who visited the Colossusculti- old Pagans when they stood before the vated, travelled, and aesthetically devout; god, we remembered those who love generals of the Thebaid, governors of us. nomes, poets of the Museum, priests of Then our little procession filed away Serapis, prefects of the legion and of and left the giants sitting as they have the camp, domestic patres familiarum sat since all of history that we know travelling, like Gemellus, with his dear has begun, and grown, and passed ; twin wife iRutilia and his children, celebrities guardians at the gates of human records like Strabo and Germanicus, the Em- which they have seen roll down the val- perors Hadrian and Septimius Severus, ley of the Nile, till the narrow scroll empresses, noble ladies, and such smaller broadened into the sea of universal his- fry as Decurions and Centurions, who, tory. like bluff soldiers, wrote their names in It was a long ride still from the Latin, while the finer folk affected Greek; Colossi to Medinet Haboo, the road for, since Juvenals time the Gmeculus running along the dikes which become had become a Roman institution, the only paths during the inundation; It was then the custom for pilgrims on either side the wheat- and bean-fields or travellers, when visiting a shrine or seemed greener than elsewhere in the monument, to salute the local genius in world, palms rose in graceful groups, the name of their friends or loved ones while before and behind and around at home, in order that they too might towered the rock mountains, deepest share in the blessings of the holy place. yellow against a cloudless sky, with the On the Colossus are many examples of river in their midst, a thread of silver these proscynemata or reverential saluta- upon a sea of emerald girdled with a tions offered for the absent in this sweet rampart of gold. old fashion, and after having duly ad- The people, too, in spite of dirt and mired the erudite Greek verses and the poverty, were not unworthy of this titles and honors of the dignitaries, it is glowing background; strength they a pleasure to turn to the records of less have always, and the dignity of carriage famous folk we know nothing of, save peculiar to the older races, and a cer- that when the god sang they thought tam indescribable grace born of their of those who loved them; of Helio- life in the open air, their simple, loosely dorus, who heard Memnon four times, girdled garments, and their well-trained, and remembered his brothers Teno and muscular bodies. Many of the young Aianus; or of Ca~cilia Trebulla, who men deserve the eulogies of the Arab wrote, Hearing the sacred voice of poets. Copper-colored lads, chested Memnon, I thought of thee, 0, my like Antinous, naked but for loin-cloth mother, and I made a vow that thou and skull-caps, passed us, carrying just mightst hear it also. Few who have such implements as Josephs overseers read his words will forget the Greek distributed to Pharaohs workmen; who crossed the shining river and women rode by on shaggy buffaloes; these Elysian fields, all violet starred little nude children dragged sugar-cane and scented in the still gray morning, stalks behind them, and, like Birnam saw the dawn kindle into flame behind wood coming to Dunsinane, the camels the Arabian crags, heard Memnons re- laden with great bundles of grayish- sonant cry to the goddess, and carved green canes stalked through the rustling upon the stone I, Aponius, heard at grain. By and by we skirted a mud the first hour, I wrote the proscynema village, where a big dog flew at us with of my wife Aphroditerion, why have I what might be called fierce caution, not her with me while thou singest. much rush and barking, but careful Though we, who crossed the same avoidance of striking distance, and sacred river and the same flowery where, under the rare shade of a syca- meadows in the dewy morning, found more, a tiny child with a high light VOL. XI.4 42 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. upon its shaven head, drove round and round the oxen of a huge creaking sa- keeyeh or water-wheel which, as its long row of mossy pots dipped and flashed in the sunshine, droned out as always that legendary bit of Egyptian gossip, Iskenderornein, Alexander has horns. The story is that the barber of Alex- ander the Great, sell-styled son of Am- mon, whose twisted rams horns are plain enough still on the antique coins the peasants find and sell, in cutting the god-kings hair, discovers this se- cret. Not daring to tell it, but longing for a confidant, he whispered it to the sakeeyeh, but the water - wheel was garrulous, and to this day every sakee- yeh in Egypt is turned scandal-monger, and murmurs drowsily Alexander has horns. Though the great conqueror has been forgotten except by the water-wheel, Antinous is often in the thoughts of the Nile traveller, for he not only gave his name to ruined Antinoopolis, but the memory of the straight brows, the long, heavy-lidded eyes, the ripe curved lips, above all of the widely arche4 chest of the Roman statues, lives in every Egyp- tian village; the marble has turned to animated bronze, and against some sun- lit wall in bazaar or market-place one may see again and again, silhouetted darkly, the very profile of the relief in the Villa Albani. It is not strange that he, rather than the Hermes or the Apollo is suggested, and only means that mod- ern Egypt, where female comeliness is rare, and male beauty frequent, is more akin by blood to antique Asia Minor than to ancient Greece, and that the young Bithynian of Hadrians court was but an archetype of the men who bend their magnificent torsos at the shadoof, or shine like polished bronze amid the wheat. But if these nude bronzes re- call the Vatican, the draped figures in their trailing brown and blue and rus- set woollens seem likewise strangely familiar. Under the trees, and by some creaking water - wheel, men and wom- en sit upon the river bank swathed in their long robes. As you look, the lofty palms melt together into the dusky vaulting of the Sistine Chapel, the sakee- yehs groan swells into an organ tone, for here in the east, and here only, the people of 1~Jichael Angelo walk about the earth. The head drapery, so special to the great Florentines women, is always present, even on the youngest girls. The IDelphian sibyl sits upon the shore and stares with wide startled eyes upon the dahabeeyeh; Lybica turns away just as in the fresco Cuma~ bends her head upon her hand; the turbaned prophets, the nude Titans, are all there. That bible first made pictorially living to us by the great fifteenth century masters, moves and lives upon the banks of the Nile. Every evening at sunset Raphaels women go up the bank, bearing their water-jars to the Incendio del Birgo, or the Arab village, as one pleases; even the least observant person who has passed through Italy must be instant- ly reminded of the Roman school of painting, with its robustness, its state- liness, and its draperies, muffling, or clinging, or wind-tossed. A woman may be plain, even ugly, but when her face is shrouded she becomes quite beautiful from the graceful lines of the long veil and the gown, as they stream in the wind or cling in multiplied folds to the lithe body that bends over the water- jar; the boy who runs beside your don- key is often but a smug-faced lad, but his muscular torso and slender, vigorous limbs suggest the antique athlete. Indeed, the whole land might be a studio to Leonardo, elaborating the folds of garments with his careful pen- cil; or to Benvenuto, who found pleas- ure inexpressible in drawing the small muscles that lie along the ribs ; to the student of draperies, and the lover of the nude. Unfortunately, though the Egyptian men are willing enough to sit for artists, the women run away at the mere sight of a sketch-book, they fear the evil eye, they fear the evil tongues of gossiping neighbors, they fear any- thing and everythingabove all having to sit still. Their heads are little, say the men; no wonder, poor things, for with their water-jars the Moslem women bear upon those little heads a heredity of thirteen hundred years of ignorance and con- tempt. It is not good for Arab girl to read and write, for then she will write to men, and she will not want to carry A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 43 water and make soup, says Mahmoud, the Red Sea painted in this temple of using a time-honored argument; and Rameses Ill., son to the Pharaoh of the our Captain Tanyos holds up his hands exodus. It was only a hasty impression, when told that in America girls sometimes go to school longer than the boys. Even our extraordinary custom of having a new sultan every four years is less incompre- hensible to the Oriental mind. Most fascinating of all are the children who nes- tle under the Madonna-like veils, or sit astride the shoul- ders of these women; im- agine Barbediennes bronze Cupids transformed to soft- est flesh, all melting curves and deep dimples; look through smoked glass at the round - cheeked, grave - eyed cherubs of the Renaissance; or fancy the dusky - tinted Tanagra Loves with their little cloaks and printed hoods, and heavy wreaths, dancing, frolicking, laugh- ing, and you may have some idea of the baby graces of the young Egyptians, graces that even ophthalmia, wretched feeding, and neg- lect cannot destroy. At last the gates of Med- met Haboo rose before us behind sentry - mounds of dark red rubbish, which were once the surrounding wall of the temple, the perishable River Bank. outer garment that has fall- en away while the mighty monuments however, for the little Egyptian task- within seem likely to double their pres- masters, so near to the end of the jour- ent age; the travellers went straight ney, whooped and shouted, the donkeys through the pilon doors and into a fore tore over the rubbish heaps, the cloud of court, where d6bris lies piled up in dust was so choking that our whole at- great hummocks, like billows of a rub- tention was given to keeping it out of bish whirlpool. It is a whirlpool, for eyes and mouth; in through a second the wind has circled about those square door we went, up forty - five degrees, courts for tens of centuries, here banking and then down again, and we were in the the sand high against capital and archi- main court of the temple. trave, there scooping it into gulfs; carved It is one of the noblest courts in and painted goddesses upon the walls Egypt, not particularly large, only one emerged waist - deep, files of soldiers hundred and twenty-three by one hun- were buried to their throats, chariots dred and thirty-eight feet, but showing appeared to struggle through it, till one with unusual completeness the massive had a confused sense that here might qualities which distinguish Egyptian be an overwhelming of the Egyptians in architecture; on two sides run colon- ~b Silhouettes at Sunaet along the 44 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. nades of columns Qniy three diameters in height, on the two others are huge piers showing still the Osirid figures, now sadly battered, which stood against them. White is the prevailing color of it all, with faint traces of red here and there; while strong, rich blues remain under the architraves and on the ceiling of the colonnades. About upon the walls are gods and kings and priests, the vic- tories and the triumphs of iRameses III., battles, processions, and sacrifices, and above them, in the temple eaves, the swallows scold. What a sight it must have been when the offerings were burnt, and the choral hymn went up, and the glittering procession swept down the portico past the Osirid giants that then were whole and gorgeous with color, each one a statue of the divin~ized king. After the days of the priests of Ammon came the Christian monks, building a church in this very court, breaking away the architraves and setting up columns which would seem large in any other place, but here are mere pygmies beside the work of the old Egyptians. The monks made a nave of the columns, pierced square holes for beams, and carefully plastered mud over the pict- ures of the Heathen, exorcising the devil and embalming his works for a curious nineteenth century; hammering away too under the African sun at the Colossi; going out between the hymns to hack at some royal visage until, within the sacred enclosure at least, the giants were utterly destroyed. After the Christians came desolation, then a Coptic village, and again the desolation which is now upon the place. In this temple of Hameses Ill., built by the king to commemorate his Syri- an victories, the whole triumph of an Egyptian conqueror is set forth. It is entered through a fortress-gate; on the huge pilons the royal victor grasps the conquered by the hair; in the first ball are rows of captives bound or suppliant, cornices supported on the heads of pris- oners, and over the doorway, filling sev- enty lines of deeply-cut hieroglyphics, is the record of the kings victories; just beyond lies the second court, in which the traveller makes his first stop; for Egyptians are conservative, and long ago the donkey-boys found that this is the proper place for the Howaga to dismount; if he prefers to enter the temple quietly, and to examine it con- secutively, he will have to combat not only the deeply - rooted prejudices of his donkey-boy, for they may be over- come, but those of his donkey, which are ineradicable. After all it is the finest of the three grand courts, and first impressions are worth much, so it is wiser to submit to the inevitable and begin the study of the temple here. The walls are covered with illustrations of the spirited chronicle carved above the entrance, and we can follow the king step by step as he fights, conquers, and triumphs; here he charges in his war-chariot and overwhelms the enemy with his arrows; there the captive chiefs of the Libyans are led before him, offi- cers bring heaps of hands cut from dead adversaries, while the kings scribe counts them. Then the victor at the head of the troops arrives at Thebes, prisoners are bound to his chariot- wheels, princes are his fan-bearers, and the gods themselves congratulate him on his prowess; all the charming detail of the procession in Gautiers Roman de la Momie may be admired in the panels that follow, celebrating the anni- versary of Bamesess coronation; the long lines of soldiers and priests, the strange musical instruments, the images and holy arks, the sacred hawk and bull, the statues of deified royal ancestors, the sacrifices before the flower-laden al- tars, all the minutia~ of the ceremonial still exist and we can easily picture it, the golden statues, and the helmets, and the white linen robes shining in the sun, as the procession wound over the green plain and halted at the temple gate. Only the monarch entered the court where we stand to-day, the crowd re- mained without, a few privileged nobles passed into the first court, but the priest-king alone penetrated to the sanctuary, to pour the libation and of- fer the sacrifice as pope and emperor at once, he bore to the gods the vows and prayers of his people. At present the sacred place is filled with donkeys and their drivers, antee- ka-sellers carrying fragments of mum- my, bits of gayly painted wooden cases, A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 45 handfuls of blue beads, and shining new scarabs fresh from the manufactory at Koorneh, beggars too, three blind men and their baby guides, and little naked children shivering in the wind, who have left their cotton gowns out- side the temple to excite compassion, and whose pigeon English, learnt at the mission-schools, is a source of income to their families, and of delight to the tourist. Here we dismounted and dispersed, the workers to sketch and compare texts with the original hieroglyphics, the idlers to explore every nook and corner of this most picturesque and in- teresting of Egyptian ruins. So they waded ankle-deep through the dust, loose stones, and potsherds, to the strange outlying building which has so long puzzled the archaeologists, and has been called in turn, palace, pavilion, and stronghold; its crenelated walls, its shield-shaped battlements, and its narrow gate flanked by bastions, all in- cline one to believe with Professor Mas- pero that it was a fortress-gate, a mili- tary arch of triumph, built to celebrate Rameses II1.s Syrian campaigns. With much advice and assistance we climbed to the second story of the tower, where the king still plays draughts with one slender maiden and chucks another under the chin. It is the sultan in his harem, say the donkey-boys. This game of draughts has a sym- bolical signification; it was one of the pleasures promised to the virtuous in the future llfe, according to a most re- vered authority. In the lower chamber over the gate are sculptures in low rellef represent- ing the king in the womens apart- ments, says our guide-book. Whether these slim, bejewelled girls are goddesses, symbols, or mere mortal odalisques, they are, what is more im- portant to the on-looker, decoratively charming, and are, like so many things in Egypt, nice pegs to hang theories on. With many longing looks at the cham- bers high out of reach of tourists, un- provided with scallug-ladders, wherein the Egyptian caricaturist dared to ridi- cule the god-king, and which, in this temple devoted to the apotheosis of the royal conqueror, remind one of the satirical verses sung by the Roman sol- diers marching in the tri~imph of a vie- ANEXCIJI%IC)IN (W~ OCI~fl(EY13ACK 7/: I 7 ~1~ 46 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. torious general, the little party scram- bled down and passed through the great courts, again stopping in the third to examine the stumps of columns, and the dark chambers once filled with the treasure Rameses dedicated to Ammon. Here lay gold in grains, bars of silver, pyramids of emeralds and turquoises, heaps of seal-rings engraved with the kings name, and all sorts of jewels in chests of bright copper, justifying the kings boast to Ammon, Thou hast secured gold and silver like sands on the sea- shore. What a find this precious hoard would have been for the thieving Theban brothers of the old Greek legend, in which the king Rhamsinitos is no other than this same Rameses III. IJnfortu- nately the modern treasure-seekers who cleared away the Coptic village that cov- ered the temple, found only a quantity of little blue porcelain Osirid figures, probably buried when the foundations of the building were laid, and even they, like the giants of the piers, were broken. Later excavations by M. Bouriant in the first court, have uncovered files of cruelly bound prisoners whose lips and brows are contracted by pain, and a cornice supported by four captives, of different nationalities (the Egyptian At- lantides), in which the types are much more marked than in any other sculpt- ures. From the fiat roof of the temple, which was easily reached by climbing one of the mounds of d6bris that sur- round it, was a wide view, not only of the Nile Valley, but of the temple backed against the mountain, which with its steep walls and fiat terraces covered with wind-blown sand, seemed to con- tinue the lines of the building itself. As one leaned over the broken cyno- cephali, ancient guardians of the door, once covered with golden plates which rejoiced the heart of Ammon, it was easy to understand what a safe refuge the early Christians found here behind the crenelated walls, when they filled the temple with their mud huts clustering about the church in their midst. From this roof they doubtless watched the Arabs coming across the desert befor& that last siege when they were driven out and fled to Es- neh. Meanwhile Naf- ady and iViahacel had been preparing lunch, spreading the cloth in the shade of the col- umns, and lighting a fire of newspapers and sticks under the slow alcohol lamp, to hasten the coffee boiling; Egyptians do not take kindly to modern improve- ments, our cook for some time used the oven to heat irons, and always made a charcoal fire in it under his bread. After luncheon, Fatmeh was sketched as she sat leaning against an Osirid pier; just above her head Rameses m. offered pots of precious unguent to Osi- ris; faint traces of red lingered on the kings narrow torse and straight legs; the pillar, rich asphalt where it entered the earth, paled and whitened as it neared the roof painted brightest blue and sprinkled with stars, the light re- flected from the tawny pilon on her right, and the sunny pavement at her feet turned the girls face to a delicious golden bronze. Indeed, with her dark dress and veil, her hair curiously braid- ed above her brow in classic fashion, and her home-made necklace and earrings of turquoise blue beads, she suggested one of those archaic Greek statuettes which, bedecked with real jewels, stare solemnly out of their enamel eyes. Unfortunate- ly, she was far from being as immovable and turned her head incessantly, first to where Mahacel with many chuckles was examining the sculptures of the northern wall, the heaps of cut hands appealing apparently to his sense of humor; then to the centre of the court, where Vusuf the disciplinarian and another lad were A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 47 fighting ; Yusuf, before we could inter- fere, pulling off several yards of his ad- versarys turban hand over hand, in a most diverting manner. When order was finally restored Fatmeh was no qui- eter, for the donkey - boys, finding that she was an object of interest to the trav- ellers, began to discuss her matrimonial prospects; they were soon absorbed in calculations as to how much she cost, for Egyptian parents receive a certain sum of money for their daughters from the future bridegrooms, though probably this price is no more fixed than that of any other article in this land of bar- gaining. I can get her for five guineas, said one young man, because I am her cousin, and of course she is cheaper for one of the family. They ask much money for her be- cause she brings home a great deal; the travellers give her many piastres for carrying water, added another, in ex- planation. They want seven guineas for her, that is too much, added a third pru- dent youth. He then informed us that Fatmehs parents did not live together, her mother had been divorced, and her father, pocketing all his daughters earn- ings, lived in elegant leisure, giving wife and child an allowance of two dollars a month. Yusuf, thinking that we were unfamiliar with the Moslem system of divorce, which allows the husband, like the customer of the Paris Bon March6, to change articles that have ceased to please, felt called upon to explain in English, My wife not bey me, not blease me, I tell it emshee (go away), then if I got children I eat (feed) those children, yes, I must eat um some- times two, three years. Meanwhile the subject of these dis- cussions crouched, glaring like a little panther at her calculating suitors; even our sailors gallant remark that he would give twenty or even fifty guineas for her, failed to restore her equanimity; later, however, she was quite consoled by be- ing allowed to admire the landscape through an astygmatic lorgnon and b? the gift 6f a biscuit tin. This was in- deed a treasure, it was strong box, tambourine, and mirror at once, excited the envy of all the others, and probably added several piastres to Fatmehs mar- ket value; for of all the products of western civilization, that most readily assimilated by the Arab is the tin can. Beating time on her new possession, Fatmeh ran after us Miriam-like, while we strolled off to see the sculptured sea- fight which the king, in memory of the naval victory at Migdol, had carved on this temple of triumphs. It interested us all, but to one of our party it afforded real mental solace. Nafady was our fa- vorite sailor, tireless, prompt, and won- derfully helpful; he did so much general work that sometimes it seemed as though the progress of the dahabeeyeh depend- ed on his individual exertions; so we had nicknamed him the Button, re- membering the boys definition of re- sponsibility: When youve only one suspender button to your trousers there is a great deal of responsibility on that button. The days excursion had not been a happy one to him, for Nafady was proud of the office that he shared with only one or two of the sailors, that of special attendant upon the ladies on all expedi- tions; so that when the Cairene Mahaeel stepped forward to help them with the superior assurance of the metropolis, the Button, who was a villager, felt wronged and humiliated. All day long he glow- ered at Mahaeel, and when at the end of the excursion the latter, to save his ca- nary-colored gown and red shoes, instead of wading to the small boat, was carried through the water by two sailors, his legs sticking out straight like a Howagas, Nafady turned away with a grunt of fierce contempt. But the sea-fight consoled him: a born sailor, his one joy in temples was the discovery upon their pictured walls of meralcib or boats; there are plenty of them, from the barks of Ha and Horns to the roughly scrawled da- habeeyehs, the work of contemporane- ous amateurs. Like Dickenss Cooks tourist, who passed all his time among the finest Italian monuments in finger- ing and spelling out inscriptions with a Platonic interest quite unaffected by his innocence of Latin, Nafady stood unimpressed in the giant hall at Kar- nak or the great court at Edfru, until a joyous chuckle told us that he had dis- covered a ship. Medinet Haboo, from 48 A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. his point of view, had been but a dreary waste of sculptured stone until he saw the roW~ of small boats filled with sail- ors and fighting men, then it became an object of interest meriting the whole at- tention of Nafadys mind, and not one of those monuments intrinsically worth- less, but to be tolerated because attrac- tive to howagat who employed boats as a preliminary to visiting them. While Nafady looked and admired, the big Howaga, accompanied by a pleasant-faced, middle-aged Arab, had joined us, and the latter was introduced as Abd-er-Rasool, a native of Koorneh, who, with his brother Mohammed, dis- covered the famous pit of Dehr-el- Bahari in which the royal mummies, now in the Boulak museum, were hid- den. For many years they kept the precious secret, cautiously selling from time to time the smaller objects found in the cache, but the blue statuettes and the papyri finally attracted the atten- tion and aroused the suspicions of the Egyptologists; testimony from various sources convinced Professor Maspero that these Theban brothers, like those of the old Greek legend, were plundering a royal treasury. Abd - er -Basool was threatened, imprisoned, and bastinadoed, but he kept the secret well, never open- ing his lips except to protest his inno- cence; he was finally released after ten weeks confinement, and returned tri- umphantly to his native village. A day or two after his elder brother, Moham- med, frightened at the severe treatment Abd - er - iRasool had experienced, and apprehensive that his turn might come next, quietly went to the authorities and made a full confession. Thus, this important find came to light; the hill foxes of Koorneh had unearthed the dead lions, and world-famous kings of Egypt journeyed down to Cairo to the museum of Boulak. We were amused and personally inter- ested by the fact that, only a few days before the arrest of Abd - er - Rasool, Professor Maspero and the big How- aga wandered up into the immedi- ate vicinity of the shaft, collecting pot-, sherds scrawled with Greek accounts; so to this day the Arabs believe that they found upon the sherds indica- tions which led to the discovery of the brothers secret. Nevertheless, this same Abd-er-Rasool was still very friendly with the big Howaga, and had toiled over the long hot desert road to see him and be presented to his family. The Servant of the Prophet was evidently very proud of his connec- tion with royalty, and offered to guide us to the scene of his exploits, an offer that was gladly accepted; and as the shadows grew a little longer our cavalcade filed out of the stronghold gate between the twin sentinels, the cat-headed goddesses who guard the narrow way. The road to the cache ran over the desert, honey- combed with graves long since rifled by The peasants in their search for antiqui- ties; on our left was the great rock wall of petrified Nile mud millennials, old, curiously ribbed and crevassed, here chalk white, there clay color, again pure brown ochre, while the topmost crags shone in the sun like giant nuggets of pure yellow gold. Beyond the little temple of Dehr- el - Medinet, the mountains, hollowed, buttressed, and pinnacled by primeval floods, thrust great spurs into the des- ert below, forming a series of valleys. The sand swept up the sides of the crags like a great sea, foamed over the huge rocks, and dashed even their crests with its spray; here, in one of the wildest of these gorges, at the bot- tom of a deep shaft fanged with sharp stones, Sesostris and his brother kings lay hidden for thousands of years; when and why they were carried there from their tombs is still a mystery, probably to save them from the hands of robbers or invaders. As we stood about the mouth of the pit, Abd-er-lIlasool, his bright face all frankness and sincerity, told us how the Mudeer of Keneh threw him into prison, and had him cruelly beaten again and again without being able to force from him anything but the re- peated assertion, I am a poor man, until fortitude and a persistent denial obtained his release; when his brother, though unbeaten, lost heart and gave up the secret. No warrior returning from a hard - fought victory, no Egyptian peasant limping homeward lame from the tax-collectors bastinado, with his unpaid money hidden under his tongue, A DAY WITH THE DONKEY-BOYS. 49 was ever prouder of his constancy than was Abd-er-IRasool. Just before we left he seized old Khaleefa, who was fussing about, and shook him laughing over the pit. Shall I drop him in? said this modern follower of Josephs brethren. ~ answered the sailors, he would make a good mummy; all he needs is a little gilding and paint. Khaleefa, quite undisturbed, let his leathern old face, which seventy years of Egyptian sunshine had indeed mummi- fledno paraschites could have done the VOL. XI.5 work better crack into a thousand laughing wrinkles, and we slid down the cool gray sand-slope, looking back now and then toward the mountain, that glorious sepulchre of the Pharaohs. Then we rode riverward out of the giant shadow of the crags into the ra- diant valley; the sun was sinking and the great artist was gilding his handi- work into even greater splendor, each blade of wheat was a golden spear, the palm-trunks were pillars of rough gold, and the herdsmen going home to their 50 BOKHARA REViSITED. evening meal moved like Byzantine saints against a golden background. The blue smoke curled upward from the mud villages, like the sacred sym- bol on some temple architrave, a vult- ure rose heavily into the still air, in the east the three peaks of the Arabian chain flushed orange and crimson and purple, fire opals set in the ring of a horizon of light. The people of the Bible were all around us glorified by the evening sky: Jacob tall and dark, his deep eyes burning under the linen headeloth, drove home his flocks and herds; Rebecca passed us with Isaacs jewels of gold and silver glittering on her brown arms; Esau unyoked the tired oxen of the water-wheel; Laban, white-bearded and solemn, rode by; Ruth smiled at us from where she stood waist-deep in the wheat; and just at hand, riding on an ass, a young child in her arms, yonder low-browed girl seemed the Divine Mother herself, for the whole plain and sky were a halo about her. BOKHARA REVISITED. By Henry Lansdell, D.D., M.R.A.S., F.KG.S. ON my first visit to Bokhara in since that date, that when, six years 1882, the country had been shut later, I reapproached the country, it up for centuries to such an cx- was by railway from Merv. tent that no Englishman then living had The line between these two places, been in the Khanate. So rapid, how- however, in one respect, is perhaps the ever, has been the progress of events most remarkable in the world; by rca- College of Divan Beggi, at Bokhara.

Henry Lansdell, D.D. Lansdell, Henry, D.D. Bokhara Revisited 50-67

50 BOKHARA REViSITED. evening meal moved like Byzantine saints against a golden background. The blue smoke curled upward from the mud villages, like the sacred sym- bol on some temple architrave, a vult- ure rose heavily into the still air, in the east the three peaks of the Arabian chain flushed orange and crimson and purple, fire opals set in the ring of a horizon of light. The people of the Bible were all around us glorified by the evening sky: Jacob tall and dark, his deep eyes burning under the linen headeloth, drove home his flocks and herds; Rebecca passed us with Isaacs jewels of gold and silver glittering on her brown arms; Esau unyoked the tired oxen of the water-wheel; Laban, white-bearded and solemn, rode by; Ruth smiled at us from where she stood waist-deep in the wheat; and just at hand, riding on an ass, a young child in her arms, yonder low-browed girl seemed the Divine Mother herself, for the whole plain and sky were a halo about her. BOKHARA REVISITED. By Henry Lansdell, D.D., M.R.A.S., F.KG.S. ON my first visit to Bokhara in since that date, that when, six years 1882, the country had been shut later, I reapproached the country, it up for centuries to such an cx- was by railway from Merv. tent that no Englishman then living had The line between these two places, been in the Khanate. So rapid, how- however, in one respect, is perhaps the ever, has been the progress of events most remarkable in the world; by rca- College of Divan Beggi, at Bokhara. ENGRAVED BY ANDREW. The Emir Df Bokhara and his Treasurer. 52 BONHARA REVISITED. son, that is, of the horrible des- ert over which it passes. This desert is not merely sandy, but of sand entirely, with this addi- tional drawback, that whereas the sands on the coast of the Caspian may by labor be half- fixed, those near the Oxus are at the mercy of every wind that blows. They cover the face of tbe country in barkhans, or sickle-shaped hills, varying in height up to 100 feet. The pre- vailing wind comes from the northeast, on which side the barkhans are convex and grad- ual in ascent, while the other face is concave and steep. When agitated by a strong wind they present a certain resemblance to the waves of the ocean, with spray being scattered from ev- ery billow. I first examined some of these barkhans in Khokand, and had not forgotten crossing the sands of Sundukli, east of the Oxus, in 1882, when it took twenty men, twenty horses, and a camel to get my carriage to its destination. I was curi- ous, therefore, to see what measures had been taken to cope with a like ob- stacle on the railway. A similar defence, it appeared, had been adopted to that employed in Russia against the snownamely, open pal- isades, about three feet high, placed on the side of the rails whence come the prevailing winds, but with this marked differ- ence of result, that where- as the snow thus stopped in its drift disappears with the warmth of spring, the sand remains, Costumes of Bokhara Womenon the the house. BOKHARA REVISITED. 53 The Gur-Emir, or Mausoleum of Tamerlane at Samarkand. and augments the possibilities of the line being covered. In certain places, plantations of bushes suitable to the soil have been placed beside the way, but until these grow it seems inevita- ble that from time to time, after strong winds, the rails will need to be cleared as after a snow-storm. It was by reason of this uncertainty as to what might be the condition of the road that our train, though arriving at Merv in the morning, did not leave until nearly midnight, so as to traverse the worst part of the sandy desert by day. In the gray dawn of very early morning we reached a station signifi- cantly named Pesky, after the surround- ing sand. Here we bade farewell to the few to- kens remaining of the Merv oasis, after which sunrise found us at IRepetek, where was a refreshment station, with only brackish water for making tea, and then we plunged in among the sand bar- khans, where nothing was visible all round but sand - hills; while a more desolate outlook than we had from the carriage windows, in steaming along, could hardly be imagined. I congratu- lated myself, however, upon getting over the ground west of the Oxus with infi- nitely less discomfort than I had rid- den over similar country eastward, with sand blowing in my face, and my horse sinking at every step to his knees. Finally, about six miles west of the Amu - dana, cultivation reappeared, with fortified mud - houses and walls and trees, the last somewhat larger than those of Merv. We had now en- 54 BOKHARA REVISITED. tered the oasis of Charjui, a narrow strip of cultivated land belonging to Bokhara on the west bank of the Oxus, and at ten oclock we arrived at the sta- tion Amu - dana, thus completing a journey of six hundred and seventy miles from the Caspian in sixty hours of actual travel. The local railway potentate for this part of the line was Prince Khilkoff, who had been kind enough to send to the station a carriage to take me to be guest of Colonel Nicholas Tcharykow, the Russian Political Agent (or Resident, as the English would call be one of the most polished and gen- tlemanly of Russian officers I have ever met. Though unable to go out, he made my stay thoroughly enjoyable, and knowing well my writings on Bok- hara, he was able to confirm or other- wise what had been written, and to give information upon several points con- nected with the present condition of the country. Since my previous visit the Emir Mu- zaffar-ed-din had died, and had been succeeded by his fourth son, Seid Abdul Ahad, of whom it was pleasant to hear that he had introduced certain reformB him) in Bokhara, but who for the mo- and improvements; as, for instance, ment was laid up here with a broken that, on coming to the throne, he had ankle. The Colonel spoke English flu- proclaimed throughout the country lib- ently, having received a part of his early erty to slaves. education in Edinburgh, and proved to Nominally, the slave-markets of Bok Jews of Sokhara. 55 BOKHARA kEVISITED. hara, under compulsion from the Rus- sians, had long been closed, and when I was at Charjui in 1882 I did not sus- pect the trade to be going on; but that Persian girls were brought by the Tur- komans and sold there I learned after my return to England, from Colonel Stewart, who had left eastern Persia only a few weeks previously, and I thereupon, with his consent, published his statement by way of confirmation of IMI. Stremoukhoff5 letters to the St. Pe- tersburg Gazette, stating that the odious trade was not completely stamped out in Bokhara. It was a wise and humane policy, therefore, of the Russians to advise~~ (which meant to command) the young Emir not merely to prohibit the trade, but to set at liberty those already bound, and to send special orders to the frontier towns that if any slaves were imported there, they should be immediately set at liberty. Thus, what- ever may be said in disfavor of Russias annexations, it should not be forgotten that she has by this last measure com- pleted the extirpation of slavery from the shores of the Caspian to China. On my previous visit to Bokhara it was the fashion for the Emir to send nightly, for the amusement of his guests, a troupe of batchas, or dancing boys, with musicians and buffoons. The men with tambourines sat near a charcoal fire in a brazier, over which, from time to time, they held their instruments, to tighten the parchment. The batchas were dressed, I remember, in red flow- ing robes and loose, wide trousers, but were unshod, their most striking pecu- liarity being their long hair, like that of girls. Their dances were interspersed with somersaults and other antics, while during a Persian song and dance whis- tles were introduced, the batchas snap- ping their fingers in time, and then striking in unison their wands. To us the performance soon became wearisome; but with the natives batchas represent their favorite amusement, of- ten with demoralizing and vicious infin Cemetery and Mode of Execution in Bokhara and khiva. Batchas or Dancing Boys with Musicians and Singers, Charjui, BOKHARA REVISITED. ences. One heard and read of the late Emir, when young, having in his harem a number of such boys, the keeping of whom was quite common throughout the Khanate. Colonel Tcharykow in- formed me, however, in answer to my question on the subject, that the new Emir, instead of providing boys, with their tambourine music, for the public entertainment of guests, as did his fa- ther, had forbidden batchas and ordered them to enlist in the army, though it might be that they were in some cases tolerated in private. Something similar may be said with regard to prostitution in Bokhara; for whatever may be done secretly, the Muhammadan law regarding its pro- hibition remains in force, and a case having at the time of my visit recently come to light of two parents selling their daughter for an immoral purpose, the fathers throat was cut and the mother shot, which in Bokhara is a common method of capital punishment for offences of this class. The construction of the railway, I found, speedily made its influence felt on Bokhara trade, insomuch that articles of export doubled in price. The residence, too, of a Russian offi- cer in the capital rendered less impos- sible than before the compilation of trade statistics, which were kindly placed at my service, with the warning that, by reason of the difficulty of obtaining such data, the figures must be regarded as only approximate. Exports from Bolahara. Tons. Value in Pounds. Bokharan trade with Russia. 19,446 1250,000 Bokharan trade with Persia. 37 212.000 Bokharan trade with India.. 34 42,000 19,517 1,504,000 Imports to Boichara. Tons. Value in Pounds. Bokharan trade with Russia. 10,182 1,060,000 Bokharan trade with Persia. 337 60,000 Bokharan trade with India.. 1,607 547,500 12,126 1,667,500 The amount of native capital in circu- lation in Bokhara is estimated approx- imately at 616,000; but besides na- tive merchants there are Jews, Russians, Hindoos, and Afghans, the Russians pay- ing two and one-half per cent. for ex- port and import duties, and other for- eigners double that amount. It would appear that Bokhara has foreign com- mercial relations with Persia through Merv; with Russia through Orenburg; and with Afghanistan and India through Kilif on the Oxus. The products given me in 1888 as im- ported into Bokhara according to latest information were: From Russia Tons. Iron and metal goods 3,809 Sugar and sweets 1,607 Earthenware 418 Black leather 112 Boxes of paper 225 Drugs 771 Manufactures (camel loads) 22,000 From Persia Tons. Manufactures (camel loads) 130 Skins (camel loads) 100 Hamadan leather (camel loads) 16 Green tea 154 Drugs 145 From India Tons. Green tea 1,125 Indigo 289 Drugs 13 Muslin (camel loads) 1,400 Chinkhob, or cloth of gold (pieces)... 300 Ambasara (shawls) 250 pieces (or yards) 1,555 From Khokand Tons. Silk and stuffs 96 White felt 19 Native writing-paper 11 VoL. XJ.6 57 58 BOKHARA REVISITED. On the other hand, the articles ex- ported from Bokhara were: Cotton Wool . Silk Dried fruits Cotton piece goods ]*iftda, or coarse cotton cloth (yards)... Cotton and silk, native mixtures (yards) Carpets Karakul lambskins (curly) White sheepskins (cured) Barana, or sheepskins. . . Danadav, or gray lambskins Fox skins Kunitza (skins) . Khalats, or robes Sheeps entrails (pieces) On my second evening at the Amu- dana Colonel Tcharykow gave a dinner, and invited to meet me the officers of the garrison and Captain Loewenhagen, the commander of the steamer Czar, then in course of construction on the river, as also an English engineer named Boots. It was a pleasant party, and we broke up at a sensible hour, the signal for departure being the evening muster of the soldiers, who, at the approaching shades of night, and in the midst of Muhammadan surroundings, softly sang their evening hymn and the national anthem, before retiring to rest, in view of an early rise for drilL Next morning I went, by invitation of Captain Loewenhagen, to see the Czar, then lying below the bridge alongside of the barge, or lighter, she was intend- ed to tow. The Czar is a paddle steamer, 150 feet long, 22 feet broad, and 10 feet deep, with plates ~ of an inch in thickness, draw- ing 2 feet of water when unladen, and 6 inches more when carrying 167 tons. Her engines are of 120 nominal and 500 indicated horse-power, steam being gen- erated by naphtha. Naphtha costs here two shillings a hundredweight, thanks to carriage by the railway, which has thus solved one important obstacle to the Russians in navigating the Oxus, since the wood of the saxaul, the only other fuel available, is not to be had in large quantities, is very bulky, and costs nearly sixpence per hundredweight. On examining the furnaces, it was pointed out that the fires had to be lit with saxaul, and when thus started the naphtha was Tons. supplied in the form of spray from jets giving out upward of three hundred- 14,463 weight an hour, this fuel developing 3,214 twice the heat of coal and giving little 161 smoke. 321 This steamer was intended to ply on 321 the Oxus between Petro Alexandrovsk 933,000 and Kerki. To the former place I had 18,660 4,500 floated in a barge from Charjui, and my 700.000 journey is described in Russian Cen- 800, 000 tral Asia, but Kerki is situated one 200,000 hundred and forty miles from Charjui 20,000 in the direction. Its mud- so,ooo opposite 500 walled fortress, entered by a square 10,000 gateway with fianking towers of brick 800,000 on either hand, stands on a lofty mound of earth, and in the eyes of Asiatics is considered a strong position. The oc- cupation of this Bokhariot stronghold, by consent of the Emir, was a stroke of policy of General Rosenbach at the time of the Panjdeh affair, and the place continues to be the farthest ad- vanced military post of the Russians on the Oxus southward; while, forty miles above Kerki, is Bosagha, near the Afghan frontier and inhabited by Ersari Turkomans. Farther still up the stream by forty miles is the historic Kiif, on the road to India, where Timur and Na- dir Shah crossed with their armies, and up to which point or thereabouts Brit- ish survey and intelligence officers ad- vanced at the time of the delimitation of the Russo-Afghan frontier. Colonel Tcharykow kindly arranged that I should drive, on the morrow after my arrival, to the town of Charjui, and pay a complimentary call on the native Bek or Governor. I was well pleased thus to revisit a place that had interested me exceedingly, six years be- fore, as a frontier outpost whence one looked into the desert toward Merv and longed to go but dared not, there being then no security for a foreigners life. In passing through the High Street one could see that contact with the Rus- sians, and the vicinity of the railway, were producing their effects on the na- tives, since they were less curious and excited at sight of a foreigner; though among themselves they were keeping up rigorously their old - fashioned customs BOKHARA REVISITED. at the citadel, into which I was requested to ride on horseback. The antiquated entrance, with chambers above, is one of the best specimens I remember of a Central Asian portal, and, in time of siege, would present excellent facility for speaking with the enemy in the gate (Psalm cxxvii. 5.), or parleying as did Rab-shakeh with officers on the wall (H. Kings xviii. 27). Outside the citadel, instead of inside, as one would expect, was arranged un- der a shed a very small park of old- fashioned artillery, which I suppose the Charjui natives used to fancy brought them abreast of the times. So vain, in- deed, and so ignorant were they on my former visit that, on my thinking to sur- prise the young bek by describing our 110-ton guns and their enormous pro- jectiles, he replied, Yes, ours are like that too. This young bek, a yonnger brother of the present Emir, and who when he re- ceived me had got himself up in a dandy turban and gorgeous robes, lost his post at his fathers death; and his successor had now been summoned to court to take the place of the Kush-beggis son, whom I had seen when calling on his father. I mentally dubbed him the greatest nin- compoop in the kingdom. But this was not at all the estimate put upon him by his peers, for the new Emir had taken him to his cabinet as Divan-beggi, or Minister of Finance. Colonel Tehary- kow also spoke well of him, saying that he had been a favorite with the people. No small indignation, therefore, had been recently aroused when, the Divan- beggi taking a warrant for the sale of the goods of a man who had embezzled money, the culprit shot the Divan-beggi with two bullets, so that after lingering twenty hours he died, expressing a wish, however, that his murderer might not be put to death. But the Emir con- demned the culprit, and handed him over to the dead mans relatives to do with him as they pleased. This was, first, to break his bones; next, to drag him through the donkey market (some said at the tail of an ass) ; thirdly, to behead him; and, lastly, to cast his body outside the city to the dogs. On my present visit to Charjui I was received in the usual reception-room by the acting bek and his staff, robed in their gaily colored Jehalats and white turbans, and, after speaking of my for- mer visit and partaking of light refresh- ment and sweetmeats, I returned to- ward the outer gateway between lines of soldiers and a native band. Being anxious to revisit the prison, and remembering that it was under a chamber at the gate of the citadel, I stopped opposite the entrance and asked to be allowed to go in. My gain- ing admission six years previously was a great triumph, because they had done their best to keep me from seeing their prisons, and I then discovered at Charjui not only a near approach to the black hole of Calcutta, but men wearing iron collars, through the ends of which was passed a chain to secure them all to- gether, as well as a long beam wherein the prisoners feet were made fast, and which was placed across the centre of the chamber. This beam I could not help thinking was anciently an ordinary piece of fur- niture in prisons, similar, perhaps; to that in which the Philippian jailer thrust the feet of Paul and Silas (Acts xvi. 24), and I was anxious on the pres- ent occasion to take a photograph of it. But the hot and fusty chamber, with- out windows or ventilation, and measur- ing only six paces by four, was too dark and the space too contracted to allow of operating satisfactorily; so, putting a bold face on the matter, I asked that the prisoners might be brought out into the yard, and the beam too, which was accordingly done, for the police - mas- ter looked afraid to refuse. Then I sent to the bazaar for refreshments, after eating which the prisoners were posed and photographed, much to their aston- ishment, but on terms they evidently liked. In addition to the chamber already described, I found, on this visit, another on the opposite side of the citadel gate- way, circular in form and measuring four paces across. In the former place were four prisoners chained by the neck to- gether; in the latter were eight more, one of whom had been confined for a year, others for a longer period, to- gether with a boy of thirteen whose tale 60 BOKHARA REVISITED. was a pitiful one. His father had struck him, it appeared, after which the son, finding his parent asleep, retaliated by dealing him a blow which proved fatal. The young parricide had already been in confinement for nearly a year, but I could not make out what they intended to do with him. On passing the gallows they told me that previous to the advent of the Rus- sians they used to hang from five to six hundred Turkomans a year; but that state of things had now passed away. Among sundry photographs kindly given me by Colonel Tcharykow is one of the gallows at Khiva, not as when I was there, in front of the Khans palace, but in a cemetery, with a felon sup- posed to be suspended. His foot, how- ever, is suspiciously near a mud wall, on which it looks as if the man might be posing for the photographer, but whether it be so or not, the picture il- lustrates the simple character of the Turkistan gallows, consisting simply of two posts and a linteL The distance from Charjui on the western frontier of the Khanate to the capital, by rail, is only seventy-three miles; and when my carriage arrived wherein to drive the nine miles between the station and the town of Bokhara, I recognized it as the cak~che in which, six years previously, I was drawn by two artillery-horses from Kitab to Kar- shi. It was then the only carriage in the kingdom, and was a present from the Emperor Alexander II. to the Emir Muzaffar-ed-din. I recognized, too, one of the postilions, but not the line of country through which we were to drive on a beautiful spring morning, and which presented a very different aspect from the parched appearance of the Khanate as I had last seen it in au- tumn. On arriving before the grim and som- bre-looking walls and towers of Bokhara we were taken to what was formerly the harem or womens apartments of the house assigned to me in 1882, which the Emir had now lent for the Russian Residency, pending the building of a suitable dwelling for the Political Agent near the railway station. The rooms I occupied before, in the principal court, were now inhabited by Colonel Tcharykow, and, in the same court, were the Treasury, guarded by Cossacks, and the apartments of Mr. Basil Oskapovitch Klemm, Secretary- dragoman to the Political Agency at Bok- hara, and his family, with whom were staying Madame Klemms mother and sister, Madame Olga and Mademoiselle Aphekhtine, on a visit from Moscow. There was lodging also on the prem- ises a Russified native officer and inter- preter named Mirbadaleff, whose brother had met me at Petro-Alexandrovsk. To complete the list of visitors must be ad- ded a Spanish gentleman and his wife, of whom mention had been made by the Governor at Baku as coming after me, who passed by the pseudonym of Juan de Chelva, from Yalencia, but who were said to be in reality the brother of Don Carlos of Spain, and his wife, the Duch- ess of Montpensier. An American fellow-traveller, once in- viting me to come and stay at his house, added, We will take you in, you know, boots and all; and in this fashion on my first visit to the Khanate, from the moment of crossing the frontier, I was regarded as the Emirs guest, and sup- plied with lodging, servants, food, and even raiment, and all that was neces- sary for myself and attendants. Something of the same sort was ob- served on this second visit, though I could not at first make out whether I was guest of the Emir or of the Russian Residency. The lunch brought daily to my room was of native preparation, but in the evening Madame Klemm enter- tained us at dinner; and, considering the difficulty of getting variety of food for European palates, and serving it in anything like Western fashion in the midst of a city where foreigners were so few, it was not an undeserved com- plirnent the duchess paid one evening to our hostess in observing, Comment on mange bien, Madame, chez vous! The paucity of Europeans in the town contributed largely toward making pris- oners of the ladies of the Residency; for at first their appearance in the ba- zaar, unveiled, drew together a crowd to admire or to stare as the case might be, and this was intensified when Mademoi- selle Aphekhtine appeared on horseback with a ladys saddle. BOKHARA REVISITED. 61 Accustomed, like all Muhammadans, to degrade their own wives into drudges or toys, it seemed to the natives a bold thing for women thus to appear in pub- lic; and that these sentiments were not those of the vulgar only crept out on the day of the opening railway fete, when the Residency was decked out with flags and carpets, and the nobles of Bokhara were invited to dine with Russian offi- cers and their wives, perceiving which, one of the Bokhariots high in dignity remarked that he thought the Russian ladies were not kept sufficiently in sub- iectiou! On the birth of Madame Klemms first baby there was much rejoicing and pass- ing of compliments and presents, and the young boy was forthwith dubbed a be/c, in honor of having been born in Bokhara the Noble; but I could not gather that, even with the best of Rus- sian desires to that end, there could be maintained anything like family inter- course or familiarity between Muscov- ite and Bokhariot ladies, so great was the ignorance of the latter, and so little did they understand each others cus- toms; added to which the natives were intensely suspicious that beneath every proffered kindness there lay concealed a snare. To me these indications of suspicion were not new, for so rampant were they at the time of my previous visit that our deeds and words, and taking of notes especially, we~re reported to the Emir; and, to add to the joke, some of my re- tainers one day heard two of the spies reading over what they intended to re- port. On this second visit I was less tightly in their grasp, but I recognized one of our old spies among three native offi- cials, who remained on the premises nominally, and to a considerable extent really, to look after the Emirs guests, but also, of course, to espy. On the day after our arrival, the Kush-beggi, or Prime Minister, sent a Karaul-beggi to show me the bazaar, where things were going on as of old. There sat the mender of broken china pursuing his calling with bow, drill, and spittle; and the baker flattening out his round cake of dough, placing it on a pillow, and then dabbing it against the side of the earthen oven, heated like a fiery furnace, to be roasted in a few minutes and come forth as daily bread, eaten new, and which costs only six pul, or the equivalent of a halfpenny. For those who longed after flesh, six small pieces of meat were being fixed in the cookshops on a skewer, roasted over the tiniest of fires in a brazier, and sold for one pul; but meat is not with everybody in Bokhara an article of ev- eryday consumption. Another feature common to Bokhara with other towns of Russian Turkistan, to be seen generally in the Potters Street, was the potter at work with his wheel, fashioning vases, pots, and ewers, so absolutely alike, for rich and poor, as to suggest that the least variation, from generation to generation, would be counted as heresy. From the bazaar the Karaul-beggi took me to the Kalan Minaret, said to have been built by the Arabs in the ninth century; and to the Great Mosque adjoining, out of which, before, I had been hurried, in fear lest I should be set upon as an unbeliever, whereas now I was allowed to examine everything at leisure, and even to photograph the huh- rab, or sanctuary toward which Muham- madans pray, and the Salelcaichana or place for drinking-water. Had I brought a camera six years before, its use would undoubtedly have been forbidden, but now they had seen some of the Russians practising their black art, which had to some extent softened prejudice, so that when in the mosque one of the natives was about to object, the Karaul-beggi overruled that I should be allowed to proceed. On another day, however, one old simple- ton, and a great obstructionist on my first visit, after seeing me take a photo- graph of a tomb in the cemetery, thought the proceeding so mysterious and un- canny that he declared next day it had caused him a sleepless night. I photographed this place of sepul- ture because the cemeteries of Bokhara and Khiva give the best illustration that I have seen how those possessed of devils (which in Bokhara would mean the insane) had their dwellings in the tombs (Matthew viii. 28). These tombs are built simply of clay, the ends pre 62 BOKHARA REVISITED. senting the form of a triangle with the sides bent out. Beneath this the corpse is laid, often on the surface of the ground, divested of all clothing, except a turban, and the tomb plastered up. In course of time, however, the heat of summer causes the clay to crack, and the ends being fallen, disclose dry bones and skulls within, but form a place wherein friendless maniacs, turned loose to provide for themselves (as I heard they sometimes were in Bokhara), might easily take refuge. I had heard, on my previous visit, of the barbarous manner in which the insane were kept and treated, being beaten while prayers were read over from the Koran, and then picketed, like horses, to posts in the yard of a mullah called the Ishan; but I did not then succeed in witnessing it. This house of the Ishan, therefore, was one of the places I asked now to be taken to see. It was an ordinary native dwelling, presided over by a sort of mullah-doctor, who was treating his insane patients as possessed of the devil, and was deal- ing largely in charms for all comers, consisting of extracts from the Koran, placed in receptacles, to be worn on the afflicted part of the body. He sat in his room near a window, and out- side was a little crowd of ignorant women, many of them said to be child- less, who had come to consult this man in their troubles, and pay for his nos- trums. This was sad enough, but the sight of the maniacs was truly pitiable; in the case of one man especially, Akhmet Kul, from Karshi, who had been there six months, and was chained by the ankles, but who kept violently jumping and dancing about. Unlike some of the others, when I gave him money or sweets he threw them into the air, and appeared decidedly combative. Near him, chained to the wall, was a youth who had been there ten days only. What is the matter with him ~ I asked. Oh ! said they, he has a devil, whereupon I took from his legs the chains, which they allowed me to purchase. Passing through a doorway I found myself in a stable where was a donkey, and, as little cared for, seemingly, two maniacs, one of whom was jumping and crying, the situation looking indescrib- ably miserable, and filthily dirty. Sit- ting outside in the sun, but chained, was an Afghan, and another man of un- known nationality, who was evidently vain of his appearance, for, before a small looking-glass, he was continually combing his long and plentiful hair and beard. There were others on a loft who had been there three months, but some only fifteen days, but in all cases their stay was intended to be temporary. Of course I wanted to photograph this sad and strange, but instructive, scene, for it connected itself in my mind with further characteristics of those we read of as possessed of devils. I ac- cordingly began to put up my appa- ratus, the Ishan not expressing any objection. Some of his subordinates, however, did not like it, and, too tim- id to stop me, and thinking perhaps to escape responsibility themselves, let loose the Karshi maniac, who came dancing before the camera, crying out, as interpreted to me, We dont want to be photographed, we dont want to be photographed, whereupon I de- sisted, and, by permission, returned a few days afterward to accomplish my purpose. On this second occasion there were ten patients, and Akhmet Kul, a man of middle age, but who told me he was three years old, made no objection to having his portrait taken, showing the charm he wore on his shoulder, which seemed to be the only thing they were applying for his recovery. Whether he had been beaten I have no record; some were so treated, and some, they said, beat themselves. On turning my camera in the direc- tion of the little crowd of women seek- ing the Ishans assistance, all of whom were dressed for promenade and thickly veiled, looking like walking bundles of clothing rather than human beings, they beat a speedy retreat; but my disap- pointment was not irreparable since I obtained otherwise photographs of na- tive women, in one case seemingly at an afternoon tea-party, and smoking the chilim or native pipe. Judging from this and other pictures, the Turkistan women are not nearly so pretty as the Jewesses living among them. BOKHARA REVISITED. 63 I paid a third visit to the Ishans house on my last Sunday in Bokhara, thinking to give the poor creatures a dinner of pilau, which when announced to the old obstructionist, he said, rightly or wrongly, the needed quantity of pilau could not be had in the bazaar at so short a notice. Very well, I said, then we will give them bread and sweets, as before; which accordingly was done, much to the satisfaction of the patients; and the Ishan gave me, I suppose as a compliment, one of his charms or slips of writing. On another day in Bokhara, accom- panied by one of the Emirs officials, I revisited the Jews synagogue, anxious to thoroughly overhaul a number of manuscripts and disused rolls of the law which, six years before, were stowed away in dust and disorder on a loft. But the spirit of church restoration had been abroad; the loft was removed, and the old rolls were now orderly arranged in niches in the walls and in cupboards. On asking for the most ancient, a Torah, or copy of the Pentateuch, was shown, and said to have been given by Abdurrahman Kalan, the Israelite pat- ron or founder of the synagogue, four or five hundred years ago. Just before my previous visit a woman in Bokhara had parted with a manuscript I met at Moscow, on its way to London, and which, when sold to the British Mu- seum, turned out to be of importance both to textual criticism as well as to illustration of the art of Jewish illumi- nationto be pronounced, in fact, the most richly illuminated Hebrew manu- script of the Old Testament extant. On applying a few tests on this sec- ond visit to the form of certain letters, I could not make out that this oldest copy in the synagogue would be re- garded by an expert as very ancient, or perhaps remarkable, though the writ- ing was larger than usual and carefully penned. On the next morning at sunrise I was taken again to the synagogue to wit- ness a circumcision. Many men were assembled, wearing phylacteries and prayer - shawls or scarfs, called locally sisid, but in Hebrew talith, some of which were ornamented with strips of silver and gold. The congregation sat on the ground, but sprang to their feet at the repetition of the Kodesh, or Holy, Holy, Holy! and from time to time they turned toward Jerusalem. After the usual daily morning prayers, which last for about three-quarters of an hour, two chairs were brought into the midst of the congregation near a stone lectern, said to be four hundred years old and covered with cloths of silk. The officiating rabbi or priest then took in his hand a silver rod, called the rod of Elijah, and the child was brought in by the father amid shouting and rec- itation of prayers by the congregation. A prayer was said by the rabbi, after which the infant, held by two aged men, was circumcised according to the law. In Bokhara the Jews still labor under many restrictions. They may not wear a garment of silk, for instance, with a belt and a turban, but are compelled to wear a cotton ichalat and black calico cap, and to be girded only with a piece of string. Again, they may not ride a horse in the city, and in the fields are made to dismount from an ass before a mounted Muhammadan, who, if he choose, may smite a Jew, but the Jew must not retaliate. The boys, many of whom, like their mothers, were extremely good-looking, at first were terrified at me if only I patted them on the head. Meanwhile they showed themselves well disposed toward me, some of them remembering my former visit, especially one boy to whom I had given a Hebrew New Tes- tament. Moreover, true to their char- acter, the Jews were not above turn- ing a penny where possible. The rabbi sold me a small manuscript roll of the Book of Esther, and coins and precious stones were brought for my selection, as also old embroidery, some of the last of which I was tempted to purchase and now value highly. I had thought to persist in asking to be taken to Baha-ud-din, the tomb of the local patron Muhammadan saint out- side the city. My guides had put me off from seeing it six years before, and seemed to place obstacles in my way now, upon hearing which a Jew advised me to desist, saying that there were at the shrine several fanatics, and that 64 BOKHARA REVISITED. though the Emirs men might for the moment drive them into holes and corners for the hour of my visit, yet that they were likely enough in their bigotry to set upon me as an infidel. Accordingly, to this disinterested advice I listened, remembering that it was at Baha-ud-din a man tried to kill that admirable writer on Russian Turkistan, the late Mr. Eugene Schuyler. I expressed a strong desire to see also the Zindan, or city prison of Bokhara, which they asked me not to photograph. It was a wretched place, of which they might well be ashamed, consisting of two rooms, not too large for four per- sons, but into which they had crammed forty-seven. The first room was ten paces long, the ceiling almost within reach, and containing twenty-five pris- oners, one poor fellow crying because sick, and apparently broken - hearted. The second chamber was six paces square, without boards or ceiling, the domed roof opening to the sky and con- taining twenty-two prisoners, of whom six were Persians. There was no furniture in the rooms, unless, perhaps, a piece or two of mat- ting on the bare earth, a water-vessel, and the most wretched sanitary ar- rangements. They said the man long- est there had been imprisoned eigh- teen months; and it is proper to remember that imprisonment, as such, for a term of years for instance, is not a recognized form of punishment in Bokhara; but men are put in prison, rather, until their cases can be dealt with and disposed of in a summary fashion, which may be anything be- tween a thrashing and being put to death. Joseph, my servant, had brought an armful of bread, which I would not en- trust to the keepers, but distributed myself, and on going again on a subse- quent day for a similar purpose I per- ceived in the centre of the chamber open to the sky, a hole covered over with earth and sticks, which I learned was the entrance to the bottle-shaped dungeon into which prisoners could be lowered by cords. Here it was, I make no doubt, that the English Colonel Stoddart at first was placed by Nasr-IJllah, the present Emirs grandfather, and afterward re- moved to another prison within the pal- ace, where he and Captain Conolly were said to have been persecuted by sheep- ticks; but however that may be, I had heard from Colonel Teharykow that, be- fore he came to the Residency, it was hinted to the new Emir that such abom- inations could not be allowed in a city inhabited by a representative of the Czar, in deference to which desire of his friends, the Russians, the Emir had cov- ered up the underground dungeon, and released or otherwise disposed of more than a hundred prisoners confined there- in at the death of his father. Another place I thought it might be a charity to visit was the lepers quarter, which before, at Karshi, they refused to allow me to see; nor did I subsequent- ly get more than a passing glimpse of it, and that by stealth, at Bokhara. I said, therefore, now, that I wished to give a dinner to the lunatics3 the pris- oners, and the lepers; and we rode out to a village where were reported to be two hundred persons, or houses of the infected. They were not congregated in any one building, so that all we could do was to gather a few together, ask for their head man, and give him some money to distribute. I heard of no hospital of any kind in Bokhara, though Dr. Heyfelder, on the railway staff of General Annenkoff, when resi- dent in the city, had given the natives much medical assistance, and made many friends thereby. It is not customary in Bokhara that visitors be admitted to the presence of the Emir until they have remained in the city a few days, at least three it was said on my former visit, during which time they would not let me, at Shahr-i- Sabz, go off the premises. On the pres- ent occasion the staying within was not exacted, but on the fifth day after my arrival my Spanish fellow-guest and I were to be presented to the Emir, who was staying in his summer palace at Shirbadan, a few miles out of the city. His Highness sent repeated invita- tions to Mr. Klemm, desiring that he also would come. Accordingly, we drove in a cakehe through the streets, preceded by a numerous cavalcade of outriders and servants, and after them, BOKHARA REVISITED. 65 to do honor to the occasion, the Minis- ter of Finance, lately Bek of Charjui. Added to this the people along the route were en fete, keeping the Mu- haminadan New Year, the festivities of which had been postponed on account of the Emirs absence in March. As we approached Shirbadan the crowds in- creased, for they were expecting to scramble for presents, besides which soldiers were drawn up to salute. The palace, with fairly good entrance, approached by four steps from the court and covered with an awning sup- ported by two slender wooden columns, stands in a garden of one hundred acres, and the reception-hall, with its pool of water in front, is ornamented on the exterior with arabesque painting in no way remarkable. But it was otherwise with the ceiling within, which had been painted only a year before, and was, I think, the prettiest work of art we saw in Bokhara. The room had glazed win- dows, testifying to contact with Russia, as did also the three chairs placed for the visitors, and a fourth occupied by the Emir, but I remember no other fur- niture in the room, which was richly car- peted. I had been requested not to ask per- mission to take His Highnesss portrait, though I managed otherwise to secure his photograph in full dress, wearing a richly embroidered velvet Ichalat and trousers, with a sword and a highly or- namented turban, and attended by one of his ministers. On the present oc- casion he was less gorgeously dressed, and displayed the insignia of four or five Russian and Bokhariot orders. It was pleasant for us that Mr. Klemm could speak to the Emir directly in Per- sian and thus kindly act as interpreter. After sundry remarks of a formal char- acter, and passing of compliments, we attempted to interest him with the re- cital of some of our travels. But geog- raphy, if existent at all, occupies a poor place in the Muhammadan curriculum, and it was somewhat difficult to find subjects of conversation of mutual inter- est. I thought the present Emir, how- ever, more intelligent than his father, and after a few more speeches he invit- ed us to walk in his flower-garden, and take refreshment in an adjoining m. This tea-room, as it was called, was said to be fifty years old. It was less brilliant than the one we left, and here was spread for us the usual dostarichan of fruits and sweets and pilau, of which they pressed us hard to eat abundant ly. Then we adjourned to the gardens, in no way beautiful to an English eye, after which we returned. I did not see much, this time, of the commercial affairs of Bokhara. The wholesale merchants carry on their bus- iness in caravansaries, or warehouses, built in form of a hollow square, some of which we visited, as, for instance, the Russian caravansary, which had three stories. In the lowest stand the horses and carts and camels and their attend- ants, while higher, on a platform run- ning round the court, and in alcoves or chambers giving thereon, are stored bales of goods and charpoys, or corded bedsteads, upon which to recline; while on the top story are dwelling-places for the Russian merchants or their agents, among whom, in the Nadejda caravan- sary, I found a man of British descent, named Jackson, who spoke English and appeared very much of a stranger in a strange land. The same remark was true of all at the Residency, but it was interest- ing to see how important an influence was there established, and how well the Resident and his Secretary appeared suited to their posts, and that too with- out a very large outlay to the Russian Government. The Colonel struck me as an able diplomatist, and the Sec- retary as thoroughly industrious and better acquainted than most Russians I met with Oriental languages. Hence the people, whether Jews or natives, could come with their grievances, which they frequently did, hoping that the Russians would gain them redress. Slaves sometimes came asking to be freed, and some of the discontented oc- casionally were bold enough to ask that the Czar would take possession of the country. It was not the policy of the Resident, however, to interfere more than is neces- sary in the domestic affairs of the Khan- ate, except when they related to Rus- sian subjects; and as for annexing the Khanate, why, as one asked of me, 66 BOKHARA REVISITED. should they do that? To administer the country in Muscovite fashion would cost a great deal more than the taxes would pay for, and if the Russians want anything done, they have simply to nod to the Emir and he does it. They are much too wise, therefore, to annex Bok- hara, but if need arises it can of course be done at any moment. During our stay at Bokliara I went sometimes for a drive with Mr. Mirba- daleff, or for a ride with him and Made- moiselle Aphekhtine, which gave oppor- tunities for seeing the town and noticing the curious customs of its narrow, old- fashioned streets. The Rhigistan ap- peared in no way altered since my visit there to the palace; and the steps around the pools, such as that of the Liabe house with its surrounding tea-shops, were covered as usual with loungers discuss- ing the news, and water-carriers filling their skin bottles. Going for the sake of curiosity to one of the bath-houses it was found similar to those of Constantinople, but not so clean. I visited some of the Medresses, or Colleges, of which that of the Divan- beggi, with its pool in front and shaded by mulberry-trees a century old, is one of the best. A smaller one, called Chu- chugoim, near the Residency, was in- habited by thirteen students only. One had been there three years, and intended to stay much longer, but was so poor as to be thankful for alms, which my ser- vant asked on his behalf, saying that the scholar could not beg. I gave, there- fore, like a good Mussulman for the nonce, and in accordance with the teach- ing of the Koran, which prescribes giv- ing not only to him who asks~~ but to him who is ashamed to ask a very good maxim for countries where primitive manners obtain and begging has not become a trade. One cannot say much for the archi- tectural remains of Bokhara the No- ble. In its palmy days the Khanate had a second capital in Samarkand, and there it is the native points for specimens of what were once the build- ings of his country, among which none is more interesting than the Gur Emir, or Mausoleum of Tamerlane. I could not do otherwise than revisit this interesting relic, and found it en- closed by a low wall of open brick-work. The structure is too far gone for an at- tempt at restoration to anything like its original beauty; but it was satis- factory on entering to find the interior cleaned, its marbles polished, and the whole kept in better condition than on my first visit. Truly, the times are changed, and the savage conqueror who vanquished half of Asia, and made pyramids of the skulls of his foes, is now indebted to their chil- dren for the garnishing of his sepulchre! AT NOON. By G. Santayana. WHAT god will choose me from this laboring nation To worship him afar, with inward gladness, At sunset and at sunrise, in some Persian Garden of roses, Or under the full moon, in rapturous silence, Charmed by the trickling fountain, and the moaning Of the death-hallowed cypress and the myrtle Hallowed by Venus? O for a chamber in an eastern tower, Spacious and empty, roofed in odorous cedar, A silken soft divan, a woven carpet, Rich, many-colored, A jug that, poised on her firm head, a negress Fetched from the well, a window to the ocean, Lest of the stormy world too deep seclusion Make me forgetful! Thence I might watch the vessel-bearing waters Beat the slow pulses of the life eternal, That bring of natures universal travail Infinite echoes. And there at even I might stand and listen To thrum of distant lutes and dying voices Chanting the ditty an Arabian captive Sang to Darius. So would I dream a while, and ease a little The soul long stifled and the straitened spirit, Tasting new pleasures in a far-off country Sacred to beauty.

G. Santayana Santayana, G. At Noon 67-68

AT NOON. By G. Santayana. WHAT god will choose me from this laboring nation To worship him afar, with inward gladness, At sunset and at sunrise, in some Persian Garden of roses, Or under the full moon, in rapturous silence, Charmed by the trickling fountain, and the moaning Of the death-hallowed cypress and the myrtle Hallowed by Venus? O for a chamber in an eastern tower, Spacious and empty, roofed in odorous cedar, A silken soft divan, a woven carpet, Rich, many-colored, A jug that, poised on her firm head, a negress Fetched from the well, a window to the ocean, Lest of the stormy world too deep seclusion Make me forgetful! Thence I might watch the vessel-bearing waters Beat the slow pulses of the life eternal, That bring of natures universal travail Infinite echoes. And there at even I might stand and listen To thrum of distant lutes and dying voices Chanting the ditty an Arabian captive Sang to Darius. So would I dream a while, and ease a little The soul long stifled and the straitened spirit, Tasting new pleasures in a far-off country Sacred to beauty. SOME UNPUBLISHED CORRESPONDENCE OF WASH INGTON ALLSTON. WASHINGTON ALL5TON was an altogether unique figure among the earlier Ameri- can painters, not only by the character of his performance, but by the high in- tellectual and imaginative quality which he brought to the study of his art. A particularly deep and strong admira- tion of him, of the kind which is com- monly found to have its root in a vigor- ous and vital individuality, has long prevailed among those of an earlier generation who knew him; and to any- one who looks into even the biograph- ical material already accessible concern- ing him, this is easily explicable. His will be found to be, in other respects as well as in his relations to his art, a most interesting personality, in a time and surroundings in which these were not frequent. Among the chapters in recent biography which will remain long in their readers memory, are those in Mr. Adamss Life of Richard H. Dana, Jr., which describe Allstons death, and incidentally give a glimpse of his ideals, methods, and but par- tially fulfilled accomplishment. A life of him by his nephew, Jared B. Flagg, soon to be published, will increase the means both for this estimate and for the definition of his stature and place among his contemporaries. The outer facts of his life, in so far as they need to be recalled for readers un- familiar with them, are these: He was born at Waccamaw, S. C., November 5, 1779, of mixed English and Huguenot descent; showed an early liking and tal- ent for painting ; and when sent to New- port to prepare for Harvard under a tutor, met there Malbone, the miniature painter (whose pupil he afterward be- came), and others who confirmed his inclinations. He was graduated at Harvard in 1800; and a year later, having then finally determined to be a painter, he went to England with Mal- bone, studied as a pupil of the Royal Academy (of which West, who be- friended him, was then president), and spent the next seven or eight y ears there and in France and a , studying and painting. He returned to Boston in 1809, married a sister of William El- lery Channing, went back to Europe for another eight years stay, and in 1818 (his wife having died several years before in London) returned per- manently to America. Just after his departure from London he was elected an associate of the Royal Academy. Till 1830 he lived in Boston; in that year he married again (a sister of Rich- ard H. Dana, Sr.) and removed to Cam- N From Michael Setting the Watch. [Paradise Lost, Book IV.] (From a tracing in chalk on gauze, made by Aliston from a composition afterward destroyed.)

Washington Allston. I. Some Unpublished Correspondence Of 68-85

SOME UNPUBLISHED CORRESPONDENCE OF WASH INGTON ALLSTON. WASHINGTON ALL5TON was an altogether unique figure among the earlier Ameri- can painters, not only by the character of his performance, but by the high in- tellectual and imaginative quality which he brought to the study of his art. A particularly deep and strong admira- tion of him, of the kind which is com- monly found to have its root in a vigor- ous and vital individuality, has long prevailed among those of an earlier generation who knew him; and to any- one who looks into even the biograph- ical material already accessible concern- ing him, this is easily explicable. His will be found to be, in other respects as well as in his relations to his art, a most interesting personality, in a time and surroundings in which these were not frequent. Among the chapters in recent biography which will remain long in their readers memory, are those in Mr. Adamss Life of Richard H. Dana, Jr., which describe Allstons death, and incidentally give a glimpse of his ideals, methods, and but par- tially fulfilled accomplishment. A life of him by his nephew, Jared B. Flagg, soon to be published, will increase the means both for this estimate and for the definition of his stature and place among his contemporaries. The outer facts of his life, in so far as they need to be recalled for readers un- familiar with them, are these: He was born at Waccamaw, S. C., November 5, 1779, of mixed English and Huguenot descent; showed an early liking and tal- ent for painting ; and when sent to New- port to prepare for Harvard under a tutor, met there Malbone, the miniature painter (whose pupil he afterward be- came), and others who confirmed his inclinations. He was graduated at Harvard in 1800; and a year later, having then finally determined to be a painter, he went to England with Mal- bone, studied as a pupil of the Royal Academy (of which West, who be- friended him, was then president), and spent the next seven or eight y ears there and in France and a , studying and painting. He returned to Boston in 1809, married a sister of William El- lery Channing, went back to Europe for another eight years stay, and in 1818 (his wife having died several years before in London) returned per- manently to America. Just after his departure from London he was elected an associate of the Royal Academy. Till 1830 he lived in Boston; in that year he married again (a sister of Rich- ard H. Dana, Sr.) and removed to Cam- N From Michael Setting the Watch. [Paradise Lost, Book IV.] (From a tracing in chalk on gauze, made by Aliston from a composition afterward destroyed.) CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLS TON. 69 bridgeport. During all these years his artistic activity was continuous, but varied; greatest in London and in Rome, less productive after his return to Boston; in his later years, in Cam- bridgeport, being chiefly restricted to a few great pictures, notably Belshazzars Feast. Leaving this picture still un- finished after years of work upon it, he died suddenly on July 9, 1843. Among his friends, with many of whom his correspondence was constant during many years, were S. T. Cole- ridge, Benjamin West, C. R. Leslie, Sir George Beaumont, Sir Thomas Law- rence, William Collins, Wordsworth, and many more in England; and among Americans, Channing, Dana, Irving, Gu- han C. Verplanck, Gilbert Stuart, Van- derlyn, S. F. B. Morse, Greenough, Sul- ly, Edward Everett, and, notwithstand- ing the retirement of his last years, many of the most prominent men of his time. From the letters, reminiscences, and other unpublished papers relating to Aliston, and to be included in his biog- raphy, a few extracts are here given. The most interesting portion of his life, in the light it throws upon his character, will probably always be that after his permanent return to America, when his powers were to a great degree recog- nized, but when he had entered on a phase very different from his prolific activity in Londonconcentrated upon a few large ideas and ambitions, living retired, contemplative, and absorbed with a few of the works which he hoped would be his masterpieces. So much has been written of him in this later aspect, that one is likely to forget how successful had been his part in a very active world, and how well-known and well-liked a figure he had been in Lon- don. Among the letters to and from him many glimpses may be had of his years there; but from this correspond- ence only one or two passages are taken. One, from a letter to a friend, Fraser, a young artist in Charleston written in a thoroughly boyish spirit, and with opinions which he no doubt afterward revised on some of the mag- nates of English artdates from his ar- rivaL LONDoN, August 25, 1801. Were it in my power, I would cer- tainly make an excuse for having so long delayed writing to you; but, as I have none to make, I shall throw myself on that candor which my short acquain- tance with you has encouraged me to expect. You have no doubt anticipated much, and will, I apprehend, be not a little disappointed at the account of what I have seen. I landed in this country big with anticipation of every species of grand- eur. No city, thought I then, to be compared with London, no people with its inhabitants. But I have found Lon- don but a city, and its inhabitants like the rest of the world, much in them to admire, more to despise, and still more to abhor. As to the country, it is beyond my expectation, beautiful and picturesque; and the appearance of the people, that of health and contentment; in short, every leaf seemed to embody a senti- ment and every cottage to contain a Ve- nus. But when I arrived in London, what a contrast! Figure to yourself the extremes of misery and splendor, and you will have a better idea of it than I can give you. Scarcely a luxury but you may command here ; and scarce- ly a scene of wretchedness but you may witness at the corner of every street. Indeed, the whole city appears to be composed of princes and beggars. I had no idea before of pride unaccom- panied by some kind of merit. But here no one has pride without fortune. Indeed, the most respectable among the middle ranks appear to have no conse- quence except in boasting of the ac- quaintance of someone in rank; and among the greater part, so shameful is their venality, they will condescend to flatter the most infamous for a pen- ny. It is said in their defence that every man must live, and in so populous a country one must not be scrupulous about the means. But I can conceive of no necessity that should induce a man to degrade himself before those with whom he cannot but feel an equality, and whom he has too frequently occa- sion to despise. But it is time to con- clude with this, for I know you must be 70 CORRESPONDENcE OP WASHINGTON ALLSTON. impatient to read something about the that is a subordinate excellence. In- arts. deed, were it not, the English artists You will no doubt be surprised that might well stand in competition with among the many painters in London I many of the ancient masters. You have should rank Mr. West as first. I must seen a print from Northeotes Arthur. own I myself was not a little surprised The original, I must own, is a beautiful to find him such. I left America thing. But Opie has painted the same strongly prejudiced against him; and subject, and I assure you the two pict- indeed I even now think with good rca- ures will not bear a comparison. You son, for those pictures from which I had may think I exaggerate when I say the seen prints would do no credit to a very head of Arthur is the divinest thing I inferior artist, much less to one of his ever beheld. But I assure you it is no reputation. But when I saw his gallery less. His Hubert I do not like, it is not and the innumerable excellences which equal to Northcotes. But his two vil- it contained, I pronounced him one of lains are such as the devil nourishes in the greatest men in the world. I have the cradle. They have murder written looked upon his understanding with in- on every feature; and I cannot but difference, and his imagination with con- think that Opie, like Salvator Rosa, tempt; but I have now reason to sup- must have lived among banditti to have pose them both vigorous in the highest so admirably portrayed them. degree. No fancy could have better Are these all? you will ask. All conceived, and no pencil more happily indeed, I assure you, that are worth embodied, the visions of sublimity than mentioning. I had forgot, however, the he has in his inimitable picture from portrait painters. The two first are Revelation. Its subject is the opening Lawrence and Sir William Beechy, but of the seven seals, and a more sublime even Lawrence cannot paint so well as and awful picture I never beheld. It is Stuart; and as for the rest they are the impossible to conceive anything more damnedest stupid wretches that ever terrible than death on the white horse, disgraced a profession. But I do not and I am certain no painter has exceeded include the miniature painters; that is Mr. West in the fury, horror, and de- a line I am but little acquainted with, spair which he has represented in the therefore I am not able to judge. As surrounding figures. I could mention far, however, as my judgment extends I many others of similar merit, but were can pronounce Mr. Malbone not inferior I particular on each I should not only to the best among them. He showed a weary you but write myself asleep. likeness he painted of me to Mr. West, Of Fuseli I shall speak hereafter. I who complimented him very highly. I have seen but few of his pictures, there- have seldom seen, said he, a miniature fore cannot so well judge at present. that pleased me more. I would men- They are, however, sufficient to entitle tion also some compliments which he him to immortality. Indeed, his Ham- paid me, but I should blush to repeat let alone, were it not for the picture I what I cannot think I deserve. have just mentioned, would undoubtedly Your friend White I like very much. place him in the first seat among the He has a spice of literature about him English artists. Another picture also which makes him not the less agreeable of his that I admire much represents to me, who am about (mirabile dictu) to Sin Separating Death and Satan. The publish a book. By the by, how long of attitude Satan is beyond improve- do you suppose Trumbull was about his ment sublime, and the others are such Gibraltar? It is truly a charming as none but Fuseli could have painted, picture; but he was a whole year about In short, it is the only picture I ever it, therefore it ought to have been bet- saw that was worthy of being joined ter. I have no idea of a painters labor- with the name of Milton. ing up to fame. When he ceases to ob- Opie comes next in rank; as a bold tam reputation without it, he becomes and determinate delineator of character a mechanic. Trumbull is no portrait he has not a superior. He is surpassed, painter. By this picture alone he has however, by Northcote in effect. But gained credit. But it is indeed credit CORRESPONDENCE OP WASHINGTON ALLSTOAT. 11 purchased at a most exorbitant inter- est. I have lately painted several pict- ures; but am now about one that will far surpass anything I have done be- fore. The subject is from the passage of Scripture, And Christ looked upon Peter. It contains twenty figures, which are about two feet in height, on the whole making the best composition I ever attempted. The two principal groups are Christ between two sol- diers, who are about to bear him away, the high priests, etc., and Peter sur- rounded by his accusers. The other groups are composed of spectators, variously affected, men, women, and children. Next week I shall apply for admis- sion into the Academy. The very first figure that I drew from plaster, Mr. West said, would admit me. It was from the Gladiator. He was aston- ished when I told him it was my first, and .paid a compliment (too pretty to be repeated) to the correctness of my eye. He also observed that I not only pre- served the form, but, what few artists think of, the expression of my subject. You see by this account that I am not very modest. Indeed I despise the af- fectation of it. But my principal mo- tive in being thus particular is to en- courage you, by proving that much greater men than either you or I were once no better than ourselves. And could I convince you, by flattering my- self, of the dignity of your powers, I would boast as much again. Believe me, sir, it is no proof of vanity that a man should suppose himself adequate to more than he has already performed. Confidence is the soul of genius. Great talents to a timid mind are of as little value to the owner as gold to a miser, who is afraid to use it. Great men rise but by their own exertions. It is the fools and the childs pusillanimity alone that are boosted up to fame. How are we to learn our own powers without a trial? Accident will, indeed, sometimes discover them; but are we all to wait for accident? No, sir; the principle of self-love was implanted in us to excite emulation, and he violates a law of nat- ure who yields to despair without a previous trial of his powers. A little seasonable vanity is the best friend we can have. Not that silly conceit founded on adventitious advantages, which exalts us but in our own imagination. But I mean the confidence which arises from a determination to excel, and is nour- ished by a hope of future greatness. The great Buffon thought there were but three geniuses in the worldtwo besides himself. And what was the con- sequence? His application was inde- fatigable. He was a genius and ought to surpass other men. He did surpass them. Ca~sar, giving an account of his conquest, said Veni, vidi, vici. No man, perhaps, had so great an opinion of his own strength, and no man was capable of more. When a man is thus confident he is not to be discouraged by difficulties. But his exertions rather strengthen as they increase. It was a saying of Alcibiades, and I believe a very just one, that When souls of a certain order did not perform all they wished, it was because they had not courage to attempt all they could. Why, then, my friend, should you despair? You have talents; cultivate themand it is not impossible that the name of Fraser may one daly be as cele- brated as those of Raphael and Michael Angelo. Resolve to shine, and, believe me, the little crosses of to-day will van- ish before the more substantial joys of to-morrow. In the meantime let me advise you to beware of love. Love and painting are two opposite elements; you cannot live in both at the same time. Be wise in time, and let it not be said, when future biographers shall record your life, that Mr. Fraser promised much, his genius gave symptoms of expansion beyond mortality, but love, alas! un- timely love had set a seal upon his fame. His soul, which was just about to grasp a world, is now imprisoned within the bosom of a girL Where now are those mighty schemes which were to elevate him to the summit of fame? Where are those characters which were to inscribe the name of Fraser on the front of time? Alas! a womans tears have washed them from his memory. No longer is he anxious to be distinguished from the 72 CORRESPONDENcE OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. crowd; no longer does the spirit of Michael Angelo point the way to heaven ; he is blessed with a smile from his mistress, his ambition is con- tented; he seeks no other heaven than the bed of roses on her bosom. No, Fraser, let this not be said of you. Love in its place I revere; but it is not at all times to be indulged. There are many beautiful girls in Charleston, but Raphael and Michael Angelo are still more beautiful than they. Believe me, with sincerity, Your friend, WASHINGTON ALLsToN. The first of the two following letters from Coleridge, written on a journey to Italy, shows how early one of Allstons strongest friendships had grown to an intimacy. The second, nine years later, was written just after Mrs. Allstons death. My DEAR ALL5TON: No want of af- fection has occasioned my silence. Day after day I expected Mr. Wallis. Ben- venati received me with almost insulting coldness, not even asking me to sit down, neither could I, by any inquiry, find that he ever returned my call; and even in answer to a very polite note in- quiring for letters, sent a verbal mes- sage that there was one, and I might call for it. However, within the last seven or eight days, he has called and made his amende honorable; he says he forgot the name of my inn, and called at two or three in vain. Whoo! I did not tell him that within five days I sent him a note in which the inn was mentioned, and that he sent me a message in consequence, and yet never called for ten days afterward. How- ever, yester evening the truth came out. He had been bored by letters of recom- mendation, and, till he received a letter from Mr. Richardson, looked upon me as a borewhich, however, he might and ought to have got rid of in a more gentlemanly manner. Nothing more was necessary than the day after my arrival to have sent his card by his ser- vant. But I forgive him from my heart. It should, however, be a lesson to Mr. Wallis, to whom, and for whom, he gives letters of introduction. I have been dangerously ill for the last fortnight, and unwelLenough, heav- en knows, previously; but about ten days ago, on rising from my bed, I had a manifest stroke of palsy along my right side and right arm ; my head felt like another mans head, so dead was it, that I seemed to know it only by my left hand and a strange sense of numb- ness. Every attempt to move was ac- companied by involuntary and terrific screams. Enough of it, continual vexa- tions and preyings upon the spirit. I gave life to my children, and they have repeatedly given it to me, for, by the Maker of all things, but for them I would try my chance. But they pluck out the wing-feathers from the mind. I have not entirely recovered the sense of my side or hand, but have recovered the use. I am troubled by local and partial fevers. This day, at noon, we set off from Leghorn; all passage through the Italian states and Germany is little other than impossible for an Englishman, and heaven knows whether Leghorn may not be blockaded. How- ever, we go hither, and shall go to Eng- land in an American ship. My dear Allston, somewhat from increasing age, but more from calamity and intense, painful affections, my heart is not open to more than kind, good wishes in general. To you, and you alone, since I have lert England, I have felt drawn, and had I not known the Wordsworths, should have esteemed and loved you first and most; and as it is, next to them I love and honor you. Heaven knows, a part of such a wreck as my head and heart is scarcely worth your acceptance. S. T. COLERIDGE. October 25, 1815. My DEAR Au~sTox: I could have wished to have learnt more particulars from you respecting yourself. I have, perhaps, felt too great an awe for the sacredness of Grief. But those of our household know with how deep and re- current a sympathy I have followed you: and 1 know what consolation it has been to me that you have in every sense the consolation and the undoubting Hopes of a Christian. Blessed indeed is that Gift from above, the characteristic oper ation of which is to transmute the pro- foundest sources of our Sorrow into the most inexhaustible sources of our Com- fort. The very Virtues that enforce the Tear of earthly regret, fill that Tear with a Light not earthly. There is a capa- ciousness in every living Heart which retains an aching vacuum, what and howsoever numerous its present Freight of worldly Blessings may be: and as God only can fill it, so must it needs be a sweet and gracious Incarnation of the Heavenly that what we deeply loved, but with fear and trembling, we must now love with a love of Faith that ex- cludeth fear! love it in God, and God in it! From such thoughts none but an abrupt Transition is possible. I pass, therefore, at once, by an effort, to the sphere in which you are appointed, be- cause highly gifted, to act; and in this I can but pour forth two earnest wishes. First, that equal to the best in composi- tion, and I most firmly believe superior in the charm of coloring, you would commend your genius to the univer- sally intelligible of your ~rrayyXJ.icro-~ TEXv~Expression! Second, that you never for any length of time absent yourself from Nature, and the commun- ion with Nature: for to you alone of all contemporary Artists does it seem to have been given to know what Nature isnot the dead Shapes, the outward Letter, but the Life of Nature revealing itself in the Phzenomenon, or rather attempting to reveal itself. Now, the power of producing the true Ideals is no other, in my belief, than to learn the Will from the Deed, and then to take the Will for the Deed. The great Artist does what Nature would do, if only the disturbing Forces were abstracted. With regard to my MSS., I had no other wish, and had formed no higher expectation than this: that a Copyright, as exclusive as the American Law per- mits, should be vested in some one Bookseller who should have the Copy in time enough to get it printed in Amer- ica two months before the work could arrive from England; th~t is to say, have it published in Boston or Phila- delphia at the same time of its first publication in England, and that the Bookseller, in return for the Copy and VOL. XI.7 73 Copyright, should secure to me some portion, say one-third, of his net profits. If this can be done, I shall think it worth while to continue the transcrip- tion, though the ultimate profits should be but from 20 to 0 Os. Od. One volume of 900 pages octavo contains the History of my life and opinions; the second, my Poems, composed since 1795, i.e., those not in my volume of Poems~ already printed. In the Ode on the Death of Gen- eral Ross, if I ever finish it, I shall ut- ter a voice of lamentation on the moral War between the Child and the Parent Country, a War laden with curses for unborn generations in both Countries! You may well believe, therefore, that I shall not make myself an accomplice directly or indirectly, by flattery or by abuse, in what I regard as a crime of no ordinary guilt, the feeding or palli- ating the vindictive antipathy of the one party, or the senseless, groundless, wicked Contempt and Insolence of the other. Even now it would not be too late, if the Spirit of Philosophy could be called down on Ministers and Gov- ernments. The true Policy is palpable and simple. A child, wearied out by undue exercise of parental authority, elopes, marries with an independent fortune, and sets up for himself. The matter is irrevocable; a reconciliation takes place, and the Parent himself is convinced that he had acted tyranni- cally and under false notions of the ex- tent of his authority, and that in the same proportion his child had acted justifiably. What then would a good Parent do? Evidently, treat the child with the kindness of a Parent, but with additional respect and etiquette, as now a Householder, and himself the Master of a Family; and this he will show in the character of his Messengers, in the style of his letters, etc. But if in addi- tion to the duties of family love, their two Trades or Estates played into each others hands, so that they could not really prosper without increasing their Dealings with each other (suppose the Father a Shoemaker - finisher, and the Son a Tanner - currier), then common self-love would dictate the abandonment of every act and impulse of Jealousy. Were I Dictator, I would not only send CORRESPONDENCE OP WASHING TON ALLSTON. 74 OORRESPONDENGL~ OP WASHINGTON ALLSTON. to America men of the highest Rank and Talent, with more than usual Splen- dor, as Ambassadors, Ministers, etc.; but would throw open not only the West Indies, but the whole Colonial Trade to the Americans, confident that every new City that would thence arise in the United States would add a new street to some Town in G. Britain. Alas! that the Dictates of Wisdom should be but Dreams of Benevolence, to be interpreted by contraries! The malignant Witchcraft of evil Passions reads good mens Prayers backward! and I cannot help dreading that the hot heads of both Countries will go on to make folly beget folly, both the more wrong in proportion as each is right. How little then ought we to value Wealth and Power, seeing that every nation carries its only formidable ene- my in its Bosom; and the vices that make its enemies elsewhere are but the Systole to its Diastole. I have received a most flattering letter from Lord Byron. Should my Tragedy be accepted (of which I have little doubt), I shall, God willing, see you about Christmas. Meantime may God bless you. Let me hear from you soon. S. T. COLERIDGE. P. S.Friday last (20th) my forty- fourth birthday; and in all but the brain I am an old man! Such ravages do anxiety and mismanagement make. The following letters from Allston to his friend and former pupil, C. B. Les- lie, were written in the year following Allstons return to Amenca: From Aliston to Leslie. Boston, November 15, 1819. Dz~a LESLIE: Your letter by the London packet, together with the prints, has been re- ceived. Tell Frank Collins I feel greatly obliged to him for hunting up the ad- mirable print of Lievens Lazarus, which I value more than I should twenty of Lebruns battles, fine as they are. Pray say to him that when he has col- lected for me to the amount of ten pounds, I wish him to stop, until I shall be a little more in cash, when I will write to request him to proceed. Thank him also for the present of his brothers print of the sea-coast; I am glad to have such a remembrance of the picture, and accept yourself my thanks for the print of your church. I like it exceedingly. The critiques on your Sir Roger and my Jacob, from the New Monthly Magazine, were republished here before I got the ]ilagazine you sent. I find, as I supposed, they were written by Mr. Careyindeed I thought they must have been by him, as there is not one of the London picture critics who could have done them half so well. Pray present him my best thanks for it. He has de- scribed your picture so well that I could almost copy it from the description. I heartily congratulate you on its success, and hope that it may prove a trusty pioneer for you to fame and fortune. The last, however, is only dreamt of by young painters ; a dream which becomes dimmer and dimmer as we advance in life. But no matter, the art itself has so much intrinsic pleasures for its votaries that we ought to be satisfied if to that is added but enough of the Mammon to make the ends of the year meet. Indeed I often think, with Collins, that if a painter who really loved his art had together with fame, as much wealth as he wished, he would be too happy in this world ever to be in a suitable state of mind to leave it. I hope, notwith- standing, that Collins is getting money so as to lay up something at the end of each year; for a little more than we have, I trust, would do neither of us any harm; but everything is for the best so we do our duty to Heaven. Tell him I think and talk a great deal about him (as I do also about you), talk to those whom he has never seen, but who, in feeling an interest in all I love and esteem, require not the aid of sight to admit him and you among the num- ber of their friends. How mysterious, when we ponder over it, is this communication by words, and how real and distinct an image do they create in our minds of objects far removed, even of those long buried in the grave, over which centuries have passed. Indeed, so familiar is the image CORRESPONDENCE OP WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 75 of Sir Joshua to me, his manners, hab- its, modes of thinking, and even of speaking, created by the description of him, that I feel almost persuaded at times I had actually been acquainted with him. What a world is that of thought! And what a world does he possess whose thoughts are only of the beautiful, the pure, and holy. How fearful then is his, where the vindict- ive and base and sensual make the sum. As the tree falleth, so shall it lie. I write without order whatever comes uppermost, and consequently have left myself too little room to tell you all I wished. I have painted a small picture from Spenser, and a head of Beatrice, both just sold. I shall soon proceed with the Belshazzar, then the hospital picture, and no more small pictures. Morse has spent the sum- mer here, and has just finished a large whole-length portrait of a beautiful girl wandering amid the ruins of a Gothic abbey. Tis well drawn, composed, and colored, and would make a figure even at Somerset House. I always thought he had a great deal in him, if he would only bring it out by application, which you will be glad to hear he at length has acquired. Circumstances made him industrious, and being continued, his industry has grown a habit. He leaves town this week for Washington, where he is to paint a whole-length of the President for the City Hall, Charles- ton. I have written to Mr. Howard, the Secretary of the Royal Academy, enclos- ing to him a paper he sent me for my signature, and have requested him to deliver my diploma to you, which I will thank you to have put into a deal box, and to deliver to Captain Tracy, to bring out to me when he returns. Tell me all about the artists. What is Welles do- ing? Give my best and most affec- tionate regards to Irving, and tell him I will write by the next opportunity. His Sketch-Book is greatly admired here. I like all the articles. Above all give my regards to Mr. West, to whom I have written a note enclosed to Mr. Howard. God bless you, yours ever, WAsHINGToN ALL5TON. From Aliston to Leslie. BOSTON, May 20, 1821. DEAR LEsLIE: So many things must have been done in the Art since you last wrote, that I begin to feel not a little impatient for some account of them; but as I have so long owed you a letter, I have no right to expect one from you till I pay my debts; so I must e en, lazy as I am, write to you. Of you and Newton I occasionally hear from such of our countrymen as have met you in London; but they sel- dom give any distinct account of what either of you are doing; of which, how- ever, the newspapers sometimes speak, after their manner, with more credit of their own judgment than distinctness in their criticism. The last account which I have seen of you in the latter was of your Gypsying Party, which was almost a year back. I am pleased to find that Newtons last picture, The Importunate Author, from Molii~re, was so generally admired. I can have little notion of the picture, it being a branch of art he has engaged in since I left London. But from the variety of no- tices, and all favorable, which I have seen of it, I conclude it must have been generally liked by the artists, from whom the newspaper critics, especially when they agree in praising, always take their tone. By the by, have you seen a criticism on Haydons Entrance of our Saviour into Jerusalem, in an article on the State of the Arts in Eng- land, in a late number of the Edinburgh Review? The praise it gives, I think just, but cannot say the same of all the censure; one point, however, in the lat- ter seems well foundedthe want of those subtle niceties and inflections in the outlines which make so great a part of the charm in some of the old masters; it was what I always felt the want of in nearly all the pictures of modern date. With respect to the rest of the review, it is but little better than a gross libel on the English schooL The specula- tions of the writer seem to be those of a man who, in hunting after originality, runs down a common thought till it falls to pieces, then putting it again together, and by stitching on the head where the tail was, is astonished to find what an 76 CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLSTOM extraordinary animal he has been chas- ing. It is a dangerous thing for a writer to think of his own cleverness when he is engaged in the cause of truth; the interest of the cause is too apt to become subordinate to the & lat of the pleaders wit. But it is time that I say something of myself. Various circumstances have prevented me from recommencing with Belshazzar till last September, since which I have, with one interruption, been constantly at work on it. On see- ing it at a greater distance in my pre- sent room, I found I had got my point of distance too near, and the point of sight too high. It was a sore task to change the perspective in so large a pict- ure; but I had the courage to do it, and by lowering the latter and increasing the former I find the effect increased a hundredfold. I have spared no labor to get everything that came within the laws of perspective correct, even the very banisters in the gallery are put in by rule. Now it is over I do not regret the toil, for it has given me a deeper knowledge of perspective than I ever had before, for I could not do that and many other things in the picture, which are seen from below, without pretty hard fagging at the Jesuit. * I have, besides, made several changes in the composition, which are for the better, such as introducing two enormous flights of steps, beyond the table, lead- ing up to an inner apartment. These steps are supposed to extend wholly across the hall, and the first landing- place is crowded with figures, which being just discoverable in the dark, have a powerful effect on the imagina- tion. I suppose them to be principally Jews, exulting in the overthrow of the idols and their own restoration, as prophesied by Jeremiah, Isaiah, and others, which I think their action suf- ficiently explains. The gallery, too, is also crowded, the figures there fore- shorthened as they would appear seen from below. I have written to Collins by this opportunity, and given him a list of what I have done since I have been here. Among the pictures mentioned I consider Jeremiah and Miriam A standard work on perspective. the Prophetess the best I have done here: the last, I think, is one of the best I have ever painted, in the back of which is seen the shore of the Red Sea, and on it the wreck of Pharaohs army. I have a piece of news for youno less than that I am engaged to be mar- ried. The finishing of Belshazzar is all I wait for to be once more a happy husband. Believe me, affectionately your friend, W. ALLsToN. In 1830, when Allston was already settled in Cambridgeport, and was de- voting himself almost exclusively to his Belshazzar, a correspondence with Gulian C. Verplauck took place, which sought to draw his art into public ser- vice, and called out some characteristic letters. Verplanek, who was a man of letters and a conspicuous figure in public life, was chairman of the Committee on Pub- lic Buildings of the House of Represen- tatives. From Verplanclc to B. H. Dana. WASHINGTON, February 17, 1830. My DEAR SIR: I have this moment written to Aliston about a picture for our public buildings from his hand, which, as chairman of the Committee on Pub- lic Buildings, I hope to be able to get ordered by Congress and passed in our general bill for the buildings, etc., with- out any flourish, or limiting him to any subject of the day. I hope he will an- swer me without delay, and I must rely upon you to make him do so. Before I leave Congress I trust to do the state some service by reducing the magnificent uselessness of our hail, and leaving it to my successors in a state where common - sense can be spoken and heard, and where a shrill voice or else the lungs of a stentor will not be the chief requisites of a con- gressional orator. In other words, I am very busy in studying both the theory and practice of acoustics for the pur- pose of improving the hall, and I am convinced that such a reform would do CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. more for the legislature, as well as its taste and eloquence, than any law or constitutional amendment. I feel that I cannot fill my sheet with anything worth reading, and having begun with the benevolent intention of making you act as Allstons flapper according to the Laputan usage, must end by again urging upon you that duty. Yours truly, G. C. VERPLANcK. From Aliston to lferplanclc. CAMBRIDGEPORT, MASS., March 1, 1830. My DEAR Sin: I did not get your letter of the 17th ult. until the night before last (Saturday), and I shall en- deavor, agreeably to your wishes, to answer it in a business-like manner. Though I have, I fear, but little of that laconic spirit, so essential to it, which I used so much to admire in our excellent friend, S. Williams, of Finsbury Square. Without more flourish, then, you could not desire to be more heartily thanked than I thank you for this additional in- stance of the friendship with which you honor me. These are not words of courtesy, but of grateful truth, and yet I fear there are certain formidable, and to my present apprehension, insur- mountable, obstacles to my profiting by your kindness. The subjects from which I am to choose, you say, are lim- ited to American History. The most prominent of these, indeed the only ones that occur to me, are in our mili- tary and naval achievements. Herein lies my difficulty. I will not say that I doubt, I know that I have not any talent for battle pieces; and, perhaps, because they have always appeared to me, from their very nature, incapable of being justly represented; for to say nothing of the ominous prelude of silent emotion, when you take away the excessive move- ment, the dash of arms, the deadly roll of the drum, the blast of the trumpet, forcing almost a heart into a coward, the rush of cavalry, the thunder of ar- tillery, and the still more fearful din of human thunder, giving a terrific life to the whole and all this must be taken from the painterwhat is there left for his canvas? It seems to me (at least in comparison with the living whole) caput mortuum. All these things, and indeed much more, can be made present to the imagination by words. In this the poet and historian have the advantage of the painter. I know not where, even among the great names of my art, to look for anything like the living mass of one of Coopers battles; there are besides many circumstances connected with these subjects, such as monotony of color, of costume, of form, together with a smallness of parts (ever fatal to breadth and grandeur), that make them, at least to me, wholly un- translatable in the painters language. The monotony of color alone would paralyze my hand. Such being my opinion, you will easily believe that I could have no hope of succeeding in subjects of this nature. Indeed, I know from past experience that I must fail when the subject is not of myself, that is, in relation to the powers of my art, essentially exciting. In a pecuniary view, it has been perhaps my misfor- tune to have inherited a patrimony; since it has lasted only just long enough to allow my mind to take its own course, till its habits of thought had become rigid and too fixed to be changed when change was desirable. To be more in- telligible, having in the commencement of my art and for the greater part of my subsequent life, only the pleasure of its pursuit to consult, I of course en- gaged in nothing which had not that for its chief end, the realizing of my con- ceptions being my chief reward; for though the pecuniary profit was always an acceptable contingency, it was never at that time an exciting cause; so far from it, that I have in some instances undertaken works for less than I knew they would cost. As an artist, I can- not, in spite of many troubles, regret this freedom of action, since I feel of such that I owe to it whatever profes- sional skill I may possess. But of late years, since the source of this liberty has been dried up, and the cold current of necessity has sprung up in its stead, I have sometimes, as a man, almost felt the possession to have been a misfort- une, for necessity I find has no inspira- tion; she has not with me even the forc- ing power. Willingly, most willingly, would I have been driven by her, but it 78 CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. seems that at my age it cannot be; my imagination has become too fixed in its own peculiar orbit to be moved by any- thing extrinsic. In other words, it seems to me almost morally impossible to compose, much less to finish, a pict- ure where the subject does not afford pleasurable excitement. I trust you know me too well to doubt my patriot- ism because I cannot be inspired to paint an American battle. I yield in love of country to no man; no one has gloried more in the success of her arms, or more sincerely honored the gallant spirits whose victories have given her a name among nations. But they need not my pencil to make their deeds known to posterity. Could I embody them as they deserve, or even make others feel what I have felt, as the fame of them came to me across the water, while I was in kind, hospitable old Eng- land (for such, even while a foe to my country, she ever was to me); could I send that hearty breeze from our gal- lant native land to their hearts, there would be no lack of inspiration. I would invest them with the grandeur of my art, or touch them not. But the power is not mine. I know you will not doubt the sincerity of this convic- tion, but you will better estimate the strength of it when I add, that at no time would the commission you propose be more acceptable to me in a pecuniary view than at present. But may there not be some eligible subject in our civil history? For my- self Ican think of none that would make a picture; of none, at least, that belongs to high art. But such a subject might possibly have occurred to you. If so, and I find it one from which I can make such a picture as you would have me paint, both for my own credit and that of the nation, be assured I will most gladly undertake it. I am persuaded, however, that you will agree with me in this, that no consideration of interest should induce me to accept any commis- sion from the Government that will not tax my powers to their utmost. My best indeed may be all unworthy, but less than that my country shall not have. In the meantime, that is, till a practica- ble subject is found, I must beg you to suspend, if such is in progress, the order for a picture. You will readily appreciate the motive for this request; namely, to avoid the censure which the good-natured world are ever too dis- posed to bestow on all those who seem wanting to their own interests. I know the world too well not to foresee that it would do me essential injury were it known that I declined such a commis- sion. They would not understand the impracticability I have stated, were they even made acquainted with it. Neither would they believe how grievous to me was the necessity of declining it. There is another class of subject, however, in which, were I permitted to choose from it, I should find exciting matter enough, and more than enough, for my imperfect skillthat is, from Scripture. But I fear this is a forlorn hope. Yet why should it be? This is a Christian land, and the Scriptures be- long to no country, but to man. The facts they record come home to all men, to the high and the low, the wise and simple; but I need not enlarge on this topic to you. Should the Government allow me to select a subject from them, I need not say with what delight I should accept the commission. With such a source of inspiration and the glory of painting for my country, if there be anything in me, it must come out. Would it might be so I But let us suppose itwell, supposing such a commission given, theres a subject al- ready composed in petto, which I have long intended to paint as soon as I am at liberty: the three Marys at the tomb of the Saviour, the angel sitting on a stone before the mouth of the sepub chre. I consider this one of my happi- est conceptions. The terrible beauty of the angel, his preternatural brightness, the varied emotions of wonder, awe, and bewilderment of the three women, the streak of distant daybreak lighting the City of Jerusalem out of the darkness, and the deep-toned spell of the chiaro- oscuro, mingling as it were the night with the day, I see now before me; I wish I could see them on the walls at Washington. Now as to the price, should such a dream, I will not call it hope, be real- ized, it would be eight thousand dol- lars, which I believe was the price given CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHING TON ALLS TON. 79 to Colonel Trumbull for each of his pictures. I should not indeed refuse ten thousand, should Uncle Sam take the generous fit upon him to offer it, but eight is my price for that particular com- position, which would consist of four figures, seven feet high; the picture it- self (an upright) twelve or thirteen feet high and ten or twelve wide. Were I to undertake a larger composition from another subject, and of the di- mensions of Colonel Trumbulls, which I think are eighteen by twelve, the price would be then ten or twelve thousand. I fear this last sum would frighten some of your grave members; my conscience would, however, be quite safe in making the demand, were it even more. And I think I have already given the world sufficient proof that I am not mercen- ary. Pray do not let any part of this letter get into print.. I beg you will not think from anything I have said, that I intend any disrespect to the painters of battles, or that I would under-rate such pictures. I meant only to express my own pecul- iar notions of them, as picturable sub- jects, quoad, myself. There are many of deserved reputation, which show great skill in their authors; and among those of modern date, it would be unjust not to mention, as holding the very first rank, Mr. Wests Wolf and the Death of Warren and Montgomery, and the Sortie by Colonel Trumbull. Truly you might say, our good friends laconic mantle has not fallen on the writer of this epistle; I believe if I could write shorter letters, I should be a better correspondent, but I have not the secret. Ever most truly yours, W. ALL5TON. From Verplancic to Allston. WAsHINGTON, March 9, 1830. My IDEAR Sm: Your letter only con- vinces me the more that we must, if we can, have one specimen of high art on the wall of the CapitoL By Amer- ican history, mere revolutionary history is not meant. To Scripture, I fear we cannot go in the present state of public opinion and taste. But does our ante- revolutionary history present no sub- ject? The landing of the pilgrims, a threadbare subject in some respects, has never been viewed with a poets and painters eye. What think you of that, or of any similar subject in our early history? Your townsman, Dr. Holmes, has recently published a very useful, though not important, book of Annals. A hasty glance over the first volume of this would perhaps suggest some idea. If not, I still fall back upon the pilgrims. I have read your letter to Colonel Dray- ton, who fully agrees with me in honor- ing your feeling upon this subject, and still wishes to call upon your services in embellishing our national annals. Emu- lating our friend Williams, not from choice, but from the wish not to lose the mail, I will not turn over the leaf. Yours truly, G. C. VERPLANCK. From Allston to Verplancle. CAMBRIDGEPORT, March 29, 1830. My DEAR Six: Your two letters of the ninth and twelfth have, as the busi- ness phrase is, duly come to hand; as you full well know that I cannot be in- sensible to such persevering kindness, I will not trouble you with a repetition of thanks, but proceed to answer them in as business-like a way as I can. To the first subject you propose, The Landing of the Pilgrims (not unpicturesque), I have a personal objec- tion. It has already been painted by an old friend of mine, Colonel Sargent, a high-minded, honorable man, to whom I would on no account give pain; which I could not avoid doing were I to en- croach on what, at the expense of sev- eral years labor, he has a fair right to consider as his ground. I do not like rivalry in any shape; and my picture on the same subject would seem like it. Indeed, it would give me no pleasure to beat anyone. Nor do I consider this business of beating as having any natural connection with excellence of any kind, which to be such must be in- trinsic and independent of comparison. Nature never made two minds alike; and if the artist, whether poet or paint- er, has any of the mens divinior with the power of embodying it, his produc- tion must have & distinctive excellence, 80 CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLS TON. which not a hundred bad or good ones by another can either increase or di- minish. I know this is not the doctrine of the Reviewing age, but I believe it to be true, nevertheless. Moreover, I doubt if competition was ever yet the cause of a great work. It is the love of excellence in the abstract, and for itself, that alone can produce excellence. And I believe that Raffaelle loved Michael An- gelo because he thought him his supe- rior, for that excellen7ce which he could not reach himself. There may indeed be clever imitations, got up under more ignoble impulses, a kind of second-hand originality, as Edmund Dana calls them, that might pass for it; nay, the world is full of them, mocking each other, and sometimes mocking at, and how bitter- lyBut here I am wandering off, like Tangent in the play, I hardly know where. After this excursion I will not trouble you with my objections to the other subject, the Leave-taking of Washington, lest I have no room for one of my own choosing, which I should be glad to have you approve, namely: The First Interview of Columbus with Ferdinand and Isabella, at court after the discovery of America, accompanied by natives, and so forth, exhibited in evidence of his success. As you have read Irvings book it is unnecessary for me to describe the scene. Here is mag- nificence, emotion, and everything, the very triumph of matter to task a paint- ers powers. The announcement and the proof of the birth of a new world. This is not thought of now for the first time. I have long cherished it as one of the dreams which the future, if the future were spared me, was one day to embody. But to business; the size of a picture from this would be not less than eighteen feet by twelve, perhaps twenty by fourteen; and the price fif- teen thousand dollars. As to its class, I know not what subject could be said more emphatically to belong to Amer- ica, and her history, than the triumph of her discoverer. We, who now enjoy the blessing of his discovery, cannot place him too high in that history which without him would never have been. Besides, the beautiful work of Irving has placed him as the presiding genius over the yet fresh, and we will hope, im mortal, fountain of our national litera- ture; the fame of which Columbus was so long defrauded is now restored to him, and it will endure, at least with every American heart. Pray excuse my heroics, I did not mean to get into them. May I venture to suggest one popular hint. The subject is from an American book, and a book, too, that any country might be proud of. Now I am going to take a liberty, for which I feel assured you will not require any apology. Could not a commission also be given to my friend Yanderlyn? He is truly a man of genius, who has powers, if opportunity is given to call them forth, that would do honor to his country. His An- adne has no superior in modern art; his Marius also, though not equal to that, is still a noble work. Some persons have unjustly censured him for not having painted many such pictures. The wonder to me is how, circumstanced as he has been ever since I have known him, he could have attained to the knowledge and power in the art which those works show him to possess. For, I say it not in friendship, but in simple justice, Yanderlyn is a great artist. I have known him for many years, in France and Italy, intimately, and I never knew the time when he had not literally to struggle with poverty; the process of procuring his daily bread stifling pow- ers that, if allowed freely to act, would have filled Europe with his name. I fear that like the subject of my last let- ter, he finds no inspiration in necessi- ty. Let his country now call his geni- us forth, I know he will do her honor. With this opinion of him, I need hardly say that my own commission would be doubly welcome, should I hear at the same time that an equal commission was also given to Vanderlyn. And if Uncle Sams generous mood would in- cline him, too, to commission Morse and Sully, I should then be thereby delight- ed. Morse I consider as a child of my own, and you know what I think of him. The quickening atmosphere which he is now breathing in Europe, will open some original and powerful seeds which I long ago saw in him. I am much mistaken if he has not that in him which will one day surprise. And Sully has historical powers, already CORRESPONDENCE OP WASHING TON ALLS TON. 81 (Facsimile of a pen and ink drawing by Aliston, from his painting.) proved in his Crossing the Delaware, of no common order. I am much gratified to learn the in- terest which Colonel Drayton does rile the honor to take in my behalf. I knew him some years since in London, and I have met few persons with whom I have been so much pleased on so short an acquaintance. Pray present him my re- spects and thanks. Should the com- mission be given I hope they will not limit me as to time, as I have several en- gagements that must previously be ful- filled. My interest would, of course, preclude any unnecessary delay. Faithfully yours, Mr. Verplaneks bill failed to pass the house owing to a pressure of other business, and the whole matter lapsed for several years. In 1836, however, the measure, never entirely dropped, was carried through; and a new corre- spondence, this time with Mr. Jarvis, of the committee, shows that in the inter- val he had incurred an obligation to fin- ish his Belshazzar, which weighed upon him to an almost morbid degree, and was now the leading motive of his refusal of an offer which, especially coupled with his need of money, must VOL. XL8 have presented great temptations to his mind. Apart from Allstons own ambition to finish his great picture, it was to be paid for by a subscription of $1,000 each from ten gentlemen, and a part of the money had been already advanced. GAMBRIDGEPORT, June 24, 1836. DEAR JArivls: I have just received your letter of the eighteenth inst., in- forming me of the passage of a bill by Congress for supplying the vacant pan- els in the Rotunda with pictures by American artists. For your friendly intention in my behalf, I beg you to ac- cept my best thanks; but I regret to say, that under present circumstances it is not in my power to profit by them. I had anticipated this contingency, and had long since deliberately made up my mind on the subject. I am not a free man, nor shall I probably become one in less than three years; for after the completion of Belshazzar (which I ex- pect to resume in a few weeks) I have several other pictures engaged, which I am bound in honor to finish before I undertake any new work. An expected picture at an uncertain time is an incu- bus to my imagination; I have there- fore, under this feeling, declined five Figures from Jacobs Dream. 82 CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLS TON. commissions within the last eighteen months. Could you know but the twentieth part of what I have suffered from the (compelled) delay of Belshaz- zar, you would readily believe that my peace of mind requires me to withstand to do. Even some who professed to be friendly could not forbear a hard word. I do not, however, believe there was any ill-nature in this; but words, if un- just, may be hard without ill-nature. I never quitted Beishazzar at any time the present temptation, for temptation it certainly is; but he is safe who knows when he is tempted, seeing the end in the beginning. Were I free from my imperative engagements, noth- ing would delight me more than to fill one of the panels of the Rotunda. It has often been a pleasant dream to me; but I am not my own master and must dismiss all such dreams. I would not recall, much less repeat, the many injurious speeches that have been made about me for not finishing this picture, though it was a private affair, with which the public had nothing but when compelled to do so by debts contracted while engaged upon it, and which I could discharge only by paint- ing small pictures; many of which, from being forced work, cost me treble the labor and time they otherwise would have done, and consequently left but a pittance of profitnay, some hardly enough to cover their expenses, and of course without the means of returning to the larger work. You know that I have been unremitting in my labors. For years the Sabbath was the only time that I have been absent (except on busi- ness) from my painting - room, and I Figures from Jacobs Dream. CORRESPONDENCE OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 83 never sit there with my arms folded. That I have not brought more to pass was because I was like a bee trying to make honey in a coal-hole. But, thanks to some noble - hearted friends, those dark days are now past. They have taken me out of the squirrel cage; my foot no longer falls in the same place, but every step I take carries me onward. By the assistance of these friends, my mind is now at ease; but it would not long continue so were I to accept the commission which your friendship has so kindly labored to procure me. If in a private affair the public would re- proach me for not performing an impos- sibility, they can hardly be expected to be more considerate when every man in the country might claim to be a party. Will he never finish that picture for Government? might be asked from Castine to St. Louis. No money would buy off the fiends that such would con- jure up. I am now an old man, and am besides too infirm of body to bear these things as some might; they would soon wear away the little flesh I have. A regard for my peace therefore will compel me to decline the Government commission, should it be offered me. But I must wind up this long epistle by again expressing my grateful thanks for your kindness, which I trust you know I most sincerely feel, though for the reasons assigned I cannot avail myself of it as you had hoped. That it might not be thought (from ignorance of my motives) that I had carelessly thrown fortune from me, I wish you to show this letter in confidence to Mr. Preston. I have written freely to you as an old Aliston. friend, what I could not have written to him, and it will save me the awkwardness of a more formal exposition of the rea- sons for declining the honor which the committee would confer on me. Pray present my respects to Mr. Preston. Give my best regards to Green- ough and tell him that I shall be right glad to see him. Your old and faithful friend, W. Au~srox. Michael Setting the Watch. (From a tracing in chalk.) And lo! there was disclosed but a trayful of papers. Page S6. DRAWN ev w. L. METCALF. By Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. CHAPTER XIV. rigged up a windsail on deck, began the work of rummaging the cabins. THE CABIN OF THE FLYING SCUD. I must not be expected to describe our first days work, or (for that matter) THE sun of the morrow had not clear- any of the rest, in order and detail as it ed the morning bank: the lake of the occurred. Such particularity might have lagoon, the islets, and the wall of break- been possible for several officers and a ers now beginning to subside, still lay draft of men from a ship of war, accom- clearly pictured in the flushed obscurity panied by an experienced secretary with of early day, when we stepped again a knowledge of shorthand. For two upon the deck of the Flying Scud: plain human beings, unaccustomed to Nares, myself, the mate, two of the the use of the broad-axe and consumed hands, and one dozen bright, virgin with an impatient greed of the result, axes, in war against that massive struct- the whole business melts, in the retro- ure. I think we all drew pleasurable spect, into a nightmare of exertion, heat, breath; so profound in man is the in- hurry, and bewilderment; sweat pour- stinct of destruction, so engaging is the ing from the face like rain, the scurry interest of the chase. For we were now of rats, the choking exhalations of the about to taste, in a supreme degree, bilge, and the throbs and splinterings the double joys of demolishing a toy of the toiling axes. I shall content my- and playing Hide the handkerchief: self with giving the cream of our discor- sports from which we had all perhaps cries in a logical rather than a temporal desisted since the days of infancy, orderthe two indeed practically coin- And the toy we were to burst in pieces cided-and we had finished our explor- was a deep-sea ship; and the hidden ation of the cabin, before we could be good for which we were to hunt was a certain of the nature of the cargo. prodigious fortune. Nares and I began operations by toss- The decks were washed down, the ing up pell-mdll through the companion, main hatch removed, and a gun-tackle and piling in a squalid heap about the purchase rigged, before the boat arrived wheel, all clothes, personal effects, the with breakfast. I had grown so suspi- crockery, the carpet, stale victuals, tins cious of the wreck, that it was a positive of meat, ~nd in a word, all movables relief to inc to look down into the hold, from the main cabin. Thence, we trans- and see it full, or nearly full, of unde- ferred our attention to the captains niable rice packed in the Chinese fash- quarters on the starboard side. Using ion in boluses of matting. Breakfast the blankets for a basket, we sent up over, Johnson and the hands turned to the books, instruments, and clothes to upon the cargo; while Nares and I, swell our growing midden on the deck; having smashed open the skylight and and then Nares, going on hands and Copyright, 1891, by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osoonrue. All rights reserved. VOL. XL9 THE WRECKER.

Robert Louis Stevenson Stevenson, Robert Louis Lloyd Osbourne Osbourne, Lloyd The Wrecker 85-98

By Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. CHAPTER XIV. rigged up a windsail on deck, began the work of rummaging the cabins. THE CABIN OF THE FLYING SCUD. I must not be expected to describe our first days work, or (for that matter) THE sun of the morrow had not clear- any of the rest, in order and detail as it ed the morning bank: the lake of the occurred. Such particularity might have lagoon, the islets, and the wall of break- been possible for several officers and a ers now beginning to subside, still lay draft of men from a ship of war, accom- clearly pictured in the flushed obscurity panied by an experienced secretary with of early day, when we stepped again a knowledge of shorthand. For two upon the deck of the Flying Scud: plain human beings, unaccustomed to Nares, myself, the mate, two of the the use of the broad-axe and consumed hands, and one dozen bright, virgin with an impatient greed of the result, axes, in war against that massive struct- the whole business melts, in the retro- ure. I think we all drew pleasurable spect, into a nightmare of exertion, heat, breath; so profound in man is the in- hurry, and bewilderment; sweat pour- stinct of destruction, so engaging is the ing from the face like rain, the scurry interest of the chase. For we were now of rats, the choking exhalations of the about to taste, in a supreme degree, bilge, and the throbs and splinterings the double joys of demolishing a toy of the toiling axes. I shall content my- and playing Hide the handkerchief: self with giving the cream of our discor- sports from which we had all perhaps cries in a logical rather than a temporal desisted since the days of infancy, orderthe two indeed practically coin- And the toy we were to burst in pieces cided-and we had finished our explor- was a deep-sea ship; and the hidden ation of the cabin, before we could be good for which we were to hunt was a certain of the nature of the cargo. prodigious fortune. Nares and I began operations by toss- The decks were washed down, the ing up pell-mdll through the companion, main hatch removed, and a gun-tackle and piling in a squalid heap about the purchase rigged, before the boat arrived wheel, all clothes, personal effects, the with breakfast. I had grown so suspi- crockery, the carpet, stale victuals, tins cious of the wreck, that it was a positive of meat, ~nd in a word, all movables relief to inc to look down into the hold, from the main cabin. Thence, we trans- and see it full, or nearly full, of unde- ferred our attention to the captains niable rice packed in the Chinese fash- quarters on the starboard side. Using ion in boluses of matting. Breakfast the blankets for a basket, we sent up over, Johnson and the hands turned to the books, instruments, and clothes to upon the cargo; while Nares and I, swell our growing midden on the deck; having smashed open the skylight and and then Nares, going on hands and Copyright, 1891, by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osoonrue. All rights reserved. VOL. XL9 THE WRECKER. 86 THE WRECKER. knees, began to forage underneath the burst forth and rattled in the rusty bed. Box after box of Manilla cigars bottom of the box. Without a word, he rewarded his search. I took occasion set to work to count the gold. to smash some of these boxes open, and What is this? I asked. even to guillotine the bundles of cigars; Its the ships money, he returned, but quite in vainno secret cache of doggedly, continuing his work. opium encouraged me to continue. The ships money? I repeated. By the yellow dog that bit the Thats the money Trent tramped and dicky! exclaimed Nares, and turning traded with? And theres his cheque- round from my perquisitions, I found he book to draw upon his owners? And had drawn forth a heavy iron box, se- he has left it? cured to the bulkhead by chain and I guess he has, said Nares, austere- padlock On this he was now gazing, ly, jotting down a note of the gold; not with the triumph that instantly in- and I was abashed into silence till his flamed my own bosom, but with a some- task should be completed. what foolish appearance of surprise. It came, I think, to three hundred and By George, we have it now! I seventy-eight pounds sterling; some cried, and would have shaken hands nineteen pounds of it in silver: all of with my companion; but he did not see, which we turned again into the chest. or would not accept, the salutation. And what do you think of that? I Lets see whats in it first, he re- asked. marked, dryly. And he adjusted the Mr. Dodd, he replied, you see box upon its side, and with some blows something of the rumness of this job, of an axe burst the lock open. I threw but not the whole. The specie bothers myself beside him, as he replaced the you, but what gets me is the papers. box on its bottom and removed the lid. Are you aware that the master of a ship I cannot tell what I expected ; a millions has charge of all the cash in hand, pays worth of diamonds might perhaps have the men advances, receives freight and pleased me; my cheeks burned, my passage-money, and runs up bills in heart throbbed to bursting; and lo! every port? All this he does as the there was disclosed but a trayful of pa- owners confidential agent, and his in- pers, neatly taped, and a cheque-book tegrity is proved by his receipted bills. of the customary pattern. I made a I tell you, the captain of a ship is more snatch at the tray to see what was be- likely to forget his pants than these bills neath; but the captains hand fell on which guarantee his character. rye mine, heavy and hard. known men drown to save them: bad Now, boss! he cried, not unkindly, men, too; but this is the shipmasters is this to be run shipshape? or is it honor. And here this Captain Trent a Dutch grab-racket? not hurried, not threatened with any- And he proceeded to untie and run thing but a free passage in a British over the contents of the papers, with a man-of-warhas left them all behind! I serious face and what seemed an osten- dont want to express myself too strong- tation of delay. Me and my impatience ly, because the facts appear against me, it would appear he had forgotten; for but the thing is impossible. when he was quite done, he sat awhile Dinner came to us not long after, and thinking, whistled a bar or two, refolded we ate it on deck, in a grim silence, the papers, tied them up again; and each privately racking his brain for then, and not before, deliberately raised some solution of the mysteries. I was the tray. indeed so swallowed up ~n these consid- I saw a cigar-box, tied with a piece erations, that the wreck, the lagoon, the of fishing-line, and four fat canvas-bags, islets, and the strident sea-fowl, the Nares whipped out his knife, cut the strong sun then beating on my head, line, and opened the box. It was about and even the gloomy countenance of half full of sovereigns, the captain at my elbow, all vanished Andthe bags? I whispered. from the field of consciousness. My The captain ripped them open one by mind was a blackboard, on which I one, and a flood of mixed silver coin scrawled and blotted out hypotheses; THE WRECKER. 87 comparing each with the pictorial rec- plies in the Pacific. From its outside ords in my memory: ciphering with view I could thus make no deduction; pictures. In the course of this tense and strange to say, the interior was con- mental exercise I recalled and studied cealed. All the other chests, as I have the faces of one memorial masterpiece, said already, we had found gaping open the scene of the saloon; and here I and their contents scattered abroad; found myself, on a sudden, looking in the same remark we found to apply the eyes of the Kanaka. afterwards in the quarters of the sea- Theres one thing I can put beyond men; only this camphor-wood chest, a doubt, at all events, I cried, relinquish- singular exception, was both closed and ing my dinner and getting briskly afoot. locked. There was that Kanaka I saw in the I took an axe to it, readily forced the bar with Captain Trent, the fellow the paltry Chinese fastening, and, like a newspapers and ships articles made out custom-house officer, plunged my hands to be a Chinaman. I mean to rout his among the contents. For some while I quarters out and settle that. groped among linen and cotton. Then All right, said Nares. Ill lazy off my teeth were set on edge with silk, of a bit longer, Mr. Dodd; I feel pretty which I drew forth several strips rocky and mean. covered with mysterious characters. We had thoroughly cleared out the And these settled the business, for I three after-compartments of the ship: recognized them as a kind of bed-hang- all the stuff from the main cabin and ing popular with the commoner class the mates and captains quarters lay of the Chinese. Nor were farther evi- piled about the wheel; but in the for- dences wanting, such as night-clothes ward state-room with the two bunks, of an extraordinary design, a three- where Nares had said the mate and stringed Chinese fiddle, a silk handker- cook most likely berthed, we had as chief full of roots and herbs, and a neat yet done nothing. Thither I went; it apparatus for smoking opium, with a was very bare; a few photographs were liberal provision of the drug. Plainly, tacked on the bulkhead, one of them then, the cook had been a Chinaman; indecent; a single chest stood open, and if so, who was Jos. Amalu? Or had and like all we had yet found, it had J05. stolen the chest before he proceeded been partly rifled. An armful of two- to ship under a false name and domi- shilling novels proved to me beyond a cile? It was possible, as anything was doubt it was a Europeans: no China- possible in such a welter; but regarded man would have possessed any, and the as a solution, it only led and left me most literate Kanaka conceivable in a deeper in the bog. For why should this ships galley was not likely to have chest have been deserted and neglected, gone beyond one. It was plain, then, when the others were rummaged or re- that the cook had not berthed aft, and I moved? and where had Jos. come by that must look elsewhere. second chest, with which (according to The men had stamped down the nests the clerk at the What Cheer) he had and driven the birds from the galley, started for Honolulu? so that I could now enter without con- And how have you fared? inquired test. One door had been already the captain, whom I found luxuriously blocked with rice; the place was in part reclining in our mound of litter. And darkness, full of a foul stale smell and the accent on the pronoun, the height- a cloud of nasty flies; it had been left, ened color of the speakers face, and besides, in some disorder, or else the the contained excitement in his tones, birds, during their time of tenancy, had advertised me at once that I had not knocked the things about; and the alone to make discoveries. floor, like the deck before we washed it, I have found a Chinamans chest in was spread with pasty filth. Against the galley, said I, and John (if there the wall, in the far corner, I found a was any John) was not so much as at handsome chest of camphor wood bound the pains to take his opium. with brass, such as Chinamen and sailors Nares seemed to take it mighty love, and indeed all of mankind that quietly. That so? said he. Now, 88 THE WRECKER. cast your eyes on that and own youre beaten 1 And with a formidable clap of his open hand, he flattened out be- fore me, on the deck, a pair of news- papers. I gazed upon them dully, being in no mood for fresh discoveries. Look at them, Mr. Dodd, cried the captain, sharply. Cant you look at them? And he ran a dirty thumb along the title. Sydney Morning flerald, January 3d, cant you make that out? he cried, with rising energy. And dont you know, sir, that not four ilays after this paper appeared in New South Pole, this ship were standing in heaved her blessed anchors out of China? How did the Sydney Morning Herald get to Hong-Kong in four days? Trent made no land, he spoke no ship, till he got here. Then he either got it here or in Hong - Kong. I give you your choice, my son I he cried, and fell back among the clothes like a man weary of life. Where did you find them? I asked. In that black bag? Guess so, he said. You neednt fool with it. Theres nothing else but a lead-pencil and a kind of worked-out knife. I looked in the bag, however, and was well rewarded. Every man to his trade, captain, said I. Youre a sailor, and youve given me plenty of points! but I am an artist, and allow me to inform you this is quite as strange as all the rest. The knife is a palette knife; the pencil, a Winsor & Newton, and a B B B at that. A palette-knife and a B B B on a tramp brig! Its against the laws of nature. It would sicken a dog, wouldnt it? said Nares. Yes, I continued, its been used by an artist, too: see how its sharpened not for writingno man could write with that. An artist, and straight from Sydney? How can he come in? 0, thats natural enough, sneered Nares. They cabled him to come up and illustrate this dime novel. We fell awhile silent. Captain, I said at last, there is something deuced underhand about this brig. You tell me youve been to sea a good part of your life. You must have seen shady things done on ships, and heard of more. Well, what is this? is it insurance? is it piracy? what is it about? what can it be for? Mr. Dodd, returned Nares, youre right about me having been to sea the bigger part of my life. And youre right again, when you think I know a good many ways in which a dishonest captain maynt be on the square, nor do exactly the right thing by his owners, and altogether be just a little too smart by ninety - nine and three - quarters. Theres a good many ways, but not so many as youd think; and not one that has any mortal thing to do with Trent. Trent and his whole racket has got to do with nothing thats the bed - rock fact; theres no sense to it, and no use in it, and no story to it: its a beastly dream. And dont you run away with that notion that landsmen take about ships. A society actress dont go around more publicly than what a ship does, nor is more interviewed, nor more humbugged, nor more run after by all sorts of little fussinesses in brass but- tons. And more than an actress, a ship has a deal to lose; shes capital, and the actress only character if shes that. The ports of the world are thick with people ready to kick a captain into the penitentiary, if hes not as bright as a dollar and as honest as the morning star; and what with Lloyd keeping watch and watch in every corner of the three oceans, and the insurance leeches, and the consuls, and the customs bugs, and the medicos, you can only get the idea by thinking of a landsman watched by a hundred and fifty detectives, or a stranger in a village Down East. Well, but at sea? I said. You tire me, retorted the captain. Whats the useat sea? Everythings got to come to bearings at some port, hasnt it? You cant stop at sea for- ever, can you ?No; the Flying Scud is rubbish; if it meant anything, it would have to mean something so al- mighty intricate that James G. Blame hasnt got the brains to engineer it; and I vote for more axeing, pioneering, and opening up the resources of this phenomenal brig, and less general fuss, he added, arising. The dime-museum THE WRECKER. 89 symptoms will drop in of themselves, I guess, to keep us cheery. But it appeared we were at the end of discoveries for the day and we left the brig about sundown, withou being further puzzled or further enlightened. The best of the cabin spoilsbooks, in- struments, papers, silks, and curiosities we carried along with us in a blanket, however, to divert the evening hours; and when supper was over, and the table cleared, and Johnson set down to a dreary game of cribbage between his right hand and his left, the captain and I turned out our blanket on the floor, and sat side by side to examine and appraise the spoils. The books were the first to engage our notice. These were rather numerous (as Nares contemptuously put it) for a lime-juicer. Scorn of the British mer- cantile marine glows in the breast of every Yankee merchant captain; as the scorn is not reciprocated, I can only sup- pose it justified in fact; and certainly the old country mariner appears of a less studious disposition. The more credit to the officers of the Flying Scud, who had quite a library, both literary and professional There were Findlays five directories of the worldall broken- backed, as is usual with Findlay, and all marked and scribbled over with cor- rections and additionsseveral books of navigation, a signal code, and an ad- miralty book of a sort of orange hue, called Islands of the Eastern Pacific Ocean, Vol. III., which appeared from its imprint to be the latest authority, and showed marks of frequent con- sultation in the passages about the French Frigate Shoals, the Harman, Cure, Pearl, and Hermes Reefs, Lisian- sky Island, Ocean Island, and the place where we then layBrooks or Midway. A volume of Macaulays Essays and a shilling Shakespeare led the van of the belles lettres; the rest were novels; several Miss Braddonsof course, Aurora Floyd, which has penetrated to every isle of the Pacific, a good many cheap detective books, Bob Boy, Auer- bachs Az~f der IJi3he in the German, and a prize temperance story, pillaged (to judge by the stamp) from an Anglo- Indian circulating library. The admiralty man gives a fine picture of our island, remarked Nares, who had turned up Midway Island. He draws the dreariness rather mild, but you can make out he kno~ws the place.~~ Captain, I cried, youve struck another point in this mad business. See here, I went on eagerly, drawing from my pocket a crumpled fragment of the Daily Occidental which I had in- herited from Jim misled by Hoyts Pacific Directory? Wheres Hoyt? Lets look into that, said Nares. I got that book on purpose for this cruise. Therewith he fetched it from the shelf iA his berth, turned to Midway Island, and read the account aloud. It stated with precision that the Pacific Mail Company were about to form a depot there, in preference to Honolulu, and that they had already a station on the island. I wonder who gives these Directory men their information,Nares reflected. Nobody can blame Trent after that. I never got in company with squarer ly- ing; it reminds a man of a presidential campaign. All very well, said I. Thats your Hoyt, and a fine, tall copy. Bnt what I want to know is, where is Trents Hoyt? Took it with him, chuckled Nares. He had left everything else, bills and money and all the rest; he was bound to take something, or it would have aroused attention on the Tempest: Happy thought, says he; lets take Hoyt. And has it not occurred to you, I went on, that all the Hoyts in creation couldnt have misled Trent, since he had in his hand that red admiralty book, an official publication, later in date, and particularly full on Midway Island? Thats a fact! cried Nares; and I bet the first Hoyt he ever saw was out of the mercantile library in San Francis- co. Looks as if hed brought her here on purpose, dont it? But then thats inconsistent with the steam-crusher of the sale. Thats the trouble with this racket; any one can make half a dozen theories for sixty or seventy per cent. of it; but when theyre made, theres al- ways a fathom or two of slack hanging out of the other end. 90 THE WRECKER. I believe our attention fell next on the papers, of which we had altogether a considerable bulk. I had hoped to find among these matter for a full-length character of Captain Trent; but here I was doomed, on the whole, to disap- pointment. We could make out he was an orderly man, for all his bills were docketed and preserved. That he was convivial, and inclined to be frugal even in conviviality, several documents pro- claimed. Such letters as we found were, with one exception, arid notes from tradesmen. The exception, signed Hannah Trent, was a somewhat fervid appeal for a loan. You know what misfortunes I have had to bear, wrote Hannah, and how much I am disap- pointed in George. The landlady ap- peared a true friend when I first came here, and I ~thought her a perfect lady. But she has come out since then in her true colors; and if you will not be soft- ened by this last appeal, I cant think what is to become of your affection- ate and then the signature. This document was without place or date, and a voice told me that it had gone likewise without answer. On the whole, there were few letters anywhere in the ship; but we found one before we were finished, in a seamans chest, of which I must transcribe some sentences. It was dated from some place on the Clyde. My dearist son, it ran, this is to tell you your dearist father passed away, Jan twelft, in the peace of the Lord. He had your photo and dear Davids lade upon his bed, made me sit by him. Lets be a thegither, he said, and gave you all his blessing. 0 my dear laddie, why were nae you and Davie here? He would have had a happier passage. He spoke of both of ye all night most beautiful, and how ye used to stravaig on the Saturday afternoons, and of auld Kelvinside. Sooth the tune to me, he said, though it was the Sabbath, and I had to sooth him Kelvin Grove, and he looked at his fiddle, the dear man. I cannae bear the sight of it, hell never play it mair. 0 my lamb, come home to me, Im all by my lane now. The rest was in a religious vein and quite conventionaL I have never seen any one more put out than Nares, when I handed him this letter; he had read but a few words, before he cast it down; it was perhaps a minute ere he picked it up again, and the performance was re- peated the third time before he reached the em?. Its touching, isnt it? said I. For all answer, Nares exploded in a brutal oath ; and it was some half an hour later that he vouchsafed an expla- nation. Ill tell you what broke me up about that letter, said he. My old man played the fiddle, played it all out of tune: one of the things he played was Martyrdom, I remember it was all martyrdom to me. He was a pig of a father, and I was a pig of a son; but it sort of came over me I would like to hear that fiddle squeak again. Natural, he added; I guess were all beasts. All sons are, I guess, said I. I have the same trouble on my conscience: we can shake hands on that. Which (oddly enough, perhaps) we did. Amongst the papers we found a con- siderable sprinkling of photographs; for the most part either of very debo- nair-looking young ladies or old women of the lodging.house persuasion. But one among them was the means of our crowning discovery. Theyre not pretty, are they, Mr. Dodd? said Nares, as he passed it over. Who? I asked, mechanically taking the card (it was a quarter-plate) in hand, and smothering a yawn; for the hour was late, the day had been laborious, and I was wearying for bed. Trent and Company, said he. Thats a historic picture of the gang.~~ I held it to the light, my curiosity at a low ebb: I had seen Captain Trent once, and had no delight in viewing him again. It was a photograph of the deck of the brig, taken from forward; all in apple-pie order; the hands gathered in the waist, the officers on the poop. At the foot of the card was written, Brig Flying Scud, Rangoon, and a date; and above or below each individual figure the name had been carefully noted. As I continued to gaze, a shock went through me; the dimness of sleep and fatigue lifted from my eyes, as fog lifts in the channel; and I beheld with startled clearness, the photographic THE WRECKER. 91, presentment of a crowd of strangers. L Trent, Master at the top of the card directed me to a smallish, weazened man, with bushy eyebrows and full white beard, dressed in a frock coat and white trousers; a flower stuck in his button- hole, his bearded chin set forward, his mouth clenched with habitual deter- mination. There was not much of the sailor in his looks, but plenty of the martinet: a dry, precise man, who might pass for a preacher in some rigid sect; and whatever he was, not the Captain Trent of San Francisco. The men, too, were all new to me; the cook, an unmistakable Chinaman, in his char- acteristic dress, standing apart on the poop steps. But perhaps I turned on the whole with the greatest curiosity to the figure labelled E. Goddedaci, 1st off. He whom I had never seen, he might be the identical; he might be the clue and spring of all this mystery; and I scanned his features with the eye of a detective. He was of great stature, seemingly blond as a viking, his hair clustering round his head in frowsy curls, and two enormous whiskers, like the tusks of some strange animal, jutting from his cheeks. With these virile appendages and the defiant attitude in which he stood, the expression of his face only imperfectly harmonized. It was wild, heroic, and womanish looking; and I felt I was prepared to hear he was a sentimentalist, and to see him weep. For some while I digested my discov- ery in private, reflecting how best, and how with most of drama, I might share it with the captain. Then my sketch- book came in my head; and I fished it out from where it lay, with other mis- cellaneous possessions, at the foot of my bunk and turned to my sketch of Cap- tain Trent and the survivors of the Brit- ish brig Flying Scud in the San Francis- co bar-room. Nares, said I, Ive told you how I first saw Captain Trent in that saloon in Frisco? how he came with his men, one of them a Kanaka with a canary- bird in a cage? and how I saw him afterwards at the auction, frightened to death, and as much surprised at how the figures skipped up as anybody there? Well, said I, theres the man I saw -~.-aud I laid tile. sl~et~hbefpre~ him theres Trent of Frisco, and there are his three hands. Find one of them in the photograph, and Ill be obliged. Nares compared the two in silence; Well, he said, at last, I call this rather a relief: seems to clear the hor- izon. We might have guessed at some- thing of the kind from the double ration of chests that figured. Does it explain anything? I asked. It would explain everything, Nares replied, but for the steam - crusher. Itll all tally as neat as a patent puzzle, if you leave out the way these people bid the wreck up. And there we come to a stone wall. But whatever it is, Mr. Dodd, its on the crook. And looks like piracy, I added. Looks like blind hookey! cried the captain. No, dont you deceive your- self; neither your head nor mine is big enough to put a name on this business. CHAPTER XV. THE CARGO OF THE FLYING SCUD. Ix my early days I was a man, the most wedded to his idols of my gener- ation. I was a dweller under roofs: the gull of that which we call civiliza- tion; a superstitious votary of the plas- tic arts: a cit; and a prop of restaurants. I had a comrade in those days, some- what of an outsider, though he moved in the company of artists, and a man fa- mous in our small world for gallantry, knee breeches, and dry and pregnant sayings. He, looking on the long meals and waxing bellies of the French, whom I confess I somewhat imitated, branded me as a cultivator of restaurant fat. And I believe he had his finger on the dangerous spot; I believe, if things had gone smooth with me, I should be now swollen like a prize-ox in body, and fallen in mind to a thing perhaps as low- as many types of bourgeoisthe implicitt or exclusive artist: That was a hom& word of Pinkertons, deserving to be writ in letters of gold on the portico of every school of art: What I cant see is why you should want to do nothing else. The dull man is made, not by the nature, but by the degree of his im- xuersion in a single business. AnA all. 92 THE WRECKER. the more if that be sedentary, unevent- ful, and ingloriously safe. More than one-half of him will then remain unex- ercised and undeveloped; the rest will be distended and deformed by over-nu- trition, over-cerebration, and the heat of rooms. And I have often marvelled at the impudence of gentlemen, who describe and pass judgments on the life of man, in almost perfect ignorance of all its necessary elements and natural careers. Those who dwell in clubs and studios may paint excellent pictures or write enchanting novels. There is one thing that they should not do: they should pass no judgment on mans des- tiny, for it is a thing with which they are unacquainted. Their own life is an excrescence of the moment, doomed, in the vicissitude of history, to pass and disappear: the eternal life of man, spent under sun and rain and in rude physical effort, lies upon one side, scarce changed since the beginning. I would I could have carried along with me to Midway Island all the writ- ers and the prating artists of my time. Day after day of hope deferred, of heat, of unremitting toil; night after night of aching limbs, bruised hands, and a mind obscured with the grateful vacan- cy of physical fatigue: the scene, the nature of my employment; the rugged speech and faces of my fellow - toilers, the glare of the day on deck, the stink- ing twilight in the bilge, the shrill myr- iads of the ocean-fowl: above all, the sense of our immitigable isolation from the world and from the current epoch; keeping another time, some eras old; the new day heralded by no daily paper, only by the rising sun; and the state, the churches, the peopled empires, war, and the rumors of war, and the voices of the arts, all gone silent as in the days ere they were yet invented. Such were the conditions of my new expe- rience in life, of which (if I had been able) I would have had all my confrl~res and contemporaries to partake: forget- ting, for that while, the orthodoxies of the moment, and devoted to a single and material purpose under the eye of heaven. Of the nature of our task, I. must con- tinue to give some summary idea. The forecastle was lumbered with ships chandlery, the hold nigh full of rice, the lazarette crowded with the teas and silks. These. must all be dug out; and that made but a fraction of our task. The hold was celled throughout; a part, where perhaps some delicate cargo was once stored, had been lined, in addition, with inch boards; and between every beam there was a movable panel into the bilge. Any of these, the bulkheads of the cabins, the very timbers of the hull itself, might be the place of hiding. It was therefore necessary to demolish, as we proceeded, a great part of the ships inner skin and fittings, and to auscultate what remained, like a doctor sounding for a lung disease. Upon the return, from any beam or bulkhead, of a flat or doubtful sound, we must up axe and hew into the timber: a violent andfrom the amount of dry rot in the wrecka mortifying exercise. Every night saw a deeper inroad into the bones of the Flying Scud,more beams tapped and hewn in splinters, more planking peeled away and tossed aside, and every night saw us as far as ever from the end and object of our arduous devastation. In this perpetual disap- pointment, my courage did not fail me, but my spirits dwindled; and Nares himself grew silent and morose. At night, when supper was done, we passed an hour in the cabin, mostly without speech: I, sometimes dozing over a book; Kares, sullenly but busily drill- ing sea-shells with the instrument called a Yankee Fiddle. A stranger might have supposed we were estranged; as a matter of fact, in this silent comrade- ship of labor, our intimacy grew. I had been struck, at the first begin- ning of our enterprise upon the wreck, to find the men so ready at the captain~s lightest word. I dare not say they liked, but I can never deny that they admired him thoroughly. A mild word from his mouth was more valued than flattery and half a dollar from myself; if he relaxed at all from his habitual attitude of censure, smiling alacrity sur- rounded him; and I was led to think his theory of captainship, even if pushed to excess, reposed upon some ground of reason. But even terror and admira- tion of the captain failed us before the end. The men wearied of the hopeless, THE WRECKER. 93 unremunerative quest, and the long strain of labor. They began to shirk and grumble. Retribution fell on them at once, and retribution multiplied the grumblings. With every day it took harder driving to keep them to the daily drudge; and we, in our narrow bounda- ries, were kept conscious every moment of the ill-will of our assistants. In spite of the best care, the object of our search was perfectly well known to all on board; and there had leaked out besides some knowledge of those incon- sistencies that had so greatly amazed the captain and myself. I could over- hear the men debate the character of Captain Trent, and set forth competing theories of where the opium was stowed; and as they seemed to have been eaves- dropping on ourselves, I thought little shame to prick up my ears when I had the return chance of spying upon them, in this way. I could diagnose their temper and judge how far they were informed upon the mystery of the IYy- ing Scud. It was after having thus over- heard some almost mutinous speeches, that a fortunate idea crossed my mind. At night, I matured it in my bed, and the first thing the next morning, broached it to the captain. Suppose I spirit up the hands a bit, I asked, by the offer of a reward? If you think youre getting your months wages out of them the way it is, I dont, was his reply. However, they are all the men youve got, and youre the supercargo. This, from a person of the captains character, might be regarded as complete adhesion; and the crew were accordingly called aft. Never had the captain worn a front more menacing. It was sup- posed by all that some misdeed had been discovered, and some surprising punish- ment was to be announced. See here, you! he threw at them over his shoulder as he walked the deck, Mr. Dodd, here, is going to offer a reward to the first man who strikes the opium in that wreck Theres two ways of making a donkey go; both good, I guess: the ones kicks and the others carrots. Mr. Dodds going to try the carrots. Well, my sons,and here he faced the men for the first time with his hands behind him if that opiums not found in five days, you can come to me for the kicks. He nodded to the present narrator, who took up the tale. Here is what I propose, men, said I; I put up one hundred and fifty dollars. If any man can lay hands on the stuff right away, and off his own club, he shall have the hundred and fifty down. If any one can put us on the scent of where to look, he shall have a hundred and twenty-five, and the balance shall be for the lucky one who actually picks it up. Well call it the Pinkerton Stakes, captain, I added, with a smile. Call it the Grand Combination Sweep, then, cries he. For I go you better. Look here, men, I make up this jack-pot to two hundred and fifty dollars, American gold coin. Thank you, Captain Nares, said I; that was handsomely done.~~ It was kindly meant, he returned. The offer was not made in vain; the hands had scarce yet realized the mag- nitude of the reward, they had scarce begun to buzz aloud in the extremity of hope and wonder, ere the Chinese cook stepped forward with gracious gestures and explanatory smiles. Captain, he began, I serv-um two year Melican navy; serva-um six year mail-boat steward. Sav-v-y plenty. C)ho! cried Nares, you sav-v-y plenty, do you? (Beggars seen this trick in the mail-boats, I guess.) Well, why you no sav-v-y a little sooner, son- ny? I think bimeby make-nm reward, replied the cook, with smiling dignity. Well, you cant say fairer than that, the captain admitted, and now the re- wards offered, youll talk? Speak up, then. Suppose you speak true, you get reward. See? I think long time, replied the Chinaman. See plenty litty mat lice; too-muchy plenty litty mat lice; sixty ton, litty mat lice. I think all-e-time: perhaps plenty opium plenty litty mat lice? Well, Mr. Dodd, how does that strike you? asked the captain. He may be right, he may be wrong. Hes likely to be right: for if he isnt, where can the stuff be? On the other hand, if hes wrong, we destroy a hundred and 94 THE WRECKER. fifty tons of good rice for nothing. Its a point to be considered. I dont hesitate, said I. Lets get to the bottom of the thing. The rice is nothing; the rice will neither make nor break us. Thats how I expected you to see it, returned Nares. And we called the boat away and set forth on our new quest. The hold was now almost entirely emptied; the mats (of which there went forty to the short ton) had been stacked on deck, and now crowded the ships waist and forecastle. It was our task to disembowel and explore six thousand individual mats, and incidentally to de- stroy a hundred and fifty tons of valua- ble food. Nor were the circumstances of the days business less strange than its essential nature. Each man of us, armed with a great knife, attacked the pile from his own quarter, slashed into the nearest mat, burrowed in it with his hands, and shed forth the rice upon the deck, where it heaped up, over- flowed, and was trodden down, poured at last into the scuppers, and occasion- ally spouted from the vents. About the wreck, thus transformed into an over- flowing granary, the sea-fowl swarmed in myriads and with surprising insol- ence. The sight of so much food con- founded them; they deafened us with their shrill tongues, swooped in our midst, dashed in our faces, and snatched the grain from between our fingers. The mentheir hands bleeding from these assaultsturned savagely on the offensive, drove their knives into the birds, drew them out crimsoned, and turned again to dig among the rice, un- mindful of the gawking creatures that struggled and died among their feet. We made a singular picture: the hover- ing and diving birds; the bodies of the dead discoloring the rice with blood; the scuppers vomiting breadstuff; the men, frenzied by the gold hunt, toiling, slaying, and shouting aloud: over all, the lofty intricacy of rigging and the radiant heaven of the Pacific. Every man there toiled in the immediate hope @f fifty dollars; and I, of fifty thousand. Small wonder if we waded callously in blood and food. It was perhapa abomt ten in the~ ~oi~e~ noon when the scene was interrupted. Nares, who had just ripped open a fresh mat, drew forth, and slung at his feet among the rice, a papered tin box. Hows that? he shouted. A cry broke from all hands: the next moment, forgetting their own disap- pointment, in that contagious sentiment of success, they gave three cheers that scared the sea-birds; and the next, they had crowded round the captain, and were jostling together and groping with emulous hands in the new-opened mat. Box after box rewarded them, six in all; wrapped, as I have said, in a paper envelope, and the paper printed on, in Chinese characters. Nares turned to me and shook my hand. I began to think we should never see this day, said he. I con- gratulate you, Mr. Dodd, on having pulled it through. The captains tones affected me pro- foundly; and when Johnson and the men pressed round me in turn with con- gratulations, the tears came in my eyes. These are five-tael boxes, more than two pounds, said Nares, weighing one in his hand. Say two hundred and fifty dollars to the mat. Lay into it, boys! Well make Mr. Dodd a million- naire before dark. It was strange to see with what a fury we fell to. The men had now nothing to expect; the mere idea of great sums inspired them with disinterested ardor. Mats were slashed and disembowelled, the rice flowed to our knees in the ships waist, the sweat ran in our eyes and blinded us, our arms ached to agony; and yet our fire abated not. Dinner came; we were too weary to eat, too hoarse for conversation; and yet din- ner was scarce done, before we were afoot again and delving in the rice. Be- fore nightfall not a mat was unexplored, and we were face to face with the as~ tonishing result. For of all the inexplicable things in the story of the Flying Scud, here was the most inexplicable. Out of the six thousand mats, only twenty were found to have been sugared; in each we found the same amount, about twelve pounds of drug; making a grand total of two hundred and forty pounds. By the last ~aux Francisco quotation, opium was. THE WRECKER. 95 selling for a fraction over twenty dollars a pound; but it had been known not long before to bring as much as forty in Honolulu, where it was contraband. Taking, then, this high Honolulu fig- ure, the value of the opium on board the Flying Scud fell considerably short of ten thousand dollars, while at the San Francisco rate, it lacked a trifle of five thousand. And fifty thousand was the price that Jim and I had paid for it. And Bellairs had been eager to go higher! There is no language to ex- press the stupor with which II contem- plated this result. It may be argued we were not yet sure; there might be yet another cache, and you may be certain in that hour of my distress the argument was not for- gotten. There was never a ship more ardently perquested; no stone was left unturned, and no expedient untried; day after day of growing despair, we punched and dug in the brigs vitals, exciting the men with promises and presents; evening after evening Nares and I sat face to face in the narrow cabin, racking our minds for some neglected possibility of search. I could stake my salvation on the certainty of the result: in all that ship there was nothing left of value but the timber and the copper nails. So that our case was lamentably plain; we had paid fifty thousand dollars, borne the charges of the schooner, and paid fancy interest on money; and if things went well with us, we might realize fifteen per cent. of the first outlay. We were not merely bank- rupt, we were comic bankrupts : a fair butt for jeering in the streets. I hope I bore the blow with a good counte- nance; indeed, my mind had long been quite made up, and since the day we found the opium I had known the result. But the thought of Jim and Mamie ached in me like a physical pain, and I shrank from speech and companionship. I was in this frame of mind when the captain proposed that we should land upon the island. I saw he had some- thing to say, and only feared it might be consolation; for I could just bear my grief, not bungling sympathy; and yet I had no choice but to accede to his pro- posal. We wa~Iked awhile along the beach in. silence. The sun overhead reverberated rays of heat; the staring sand, the glar- ing lagoon, tortured our eyes; and the birds and the boom of the far-away breakers made a savage symphony. I dont require to tell you the games up? Nares asked. No, said I. I was thinking of getting to sea to- morrow, he pursued. The best thing you can do, said I. Shall we say Honolulu? he in- quired. 0 yes; lets stick to the programme, I cried. Honolulu be it ! There was another silence, and then Nares cleared his throat. Weve been pretty good friends, you and me, Mr. Dodd, he resumed. Weve been going through the kind of thing that tires a man. Weve had the hardest kind of work, weve been badly backed, and now were badly beaten. And weve fetched through without a word of disagreement. I dont say this to praise myself: its my trade; its what Im paid for, and trained for, and brought up to. But it was another thing for you; it was all new to you; and it did me good to see you stand right up to it and swing right into it, day in, day out. And then see how youve taken this disappointment, when everybody knows you must have been taughtened up to shying-point! I wish youd let me tell you, Mr. Dodd, that youve stood out mighty manly and handsomely in all this business, and made every one like you and admire you. And I wish youd let me tell you, besides, that Ive taken this wreck busi- ness as much to heart as you have; something kind of rises in my throat when I think were beaten ; and if I thought waiting would do it, I would stick on this reef until we starved. I tried in vain to thank him for these generous words, but he was beforehand with me in a moment. I didnt bring you ashore to sound my praises, he interrupted. We understand one another now, thats all and I guess you can trust me. What I wished to speak about is more impor- tant, and its got to be faced. What are we to do about the Flying Scud and the dime novel? 96 THE WRECKER. I really have thought nothing about that, I replied. But I expect I mean to get at the bottom of it; and if the bogus Captain Trent is to be found on the earths surface, I guess I mean to find him. All youve got to do is talk, said Nares; you can make the biggest kind of boom; it isnt often the report- ers have a chance at such a yarn as this; and I can tell you how it will go. It will go by telegraph, Mr. Dodd; itll be telegraphed by the column, and head- lined, and frothed up, and denied by authority; and itll hit bogus Captain Trent in a Mexican bar-room, and knock over bogus Goddedael in a slum some- where up the Baltic, and bowl down Black and Jones in sailors music halls round Greenock. 0, theres no doubt you can have a regular domestic Judg- ment Day. The only point is whether you deliberately want to. Well, said I, I deliberately dont want one thing: I deliberately dont want to make a public exhibition of my- self and Pinkerton: so moralsmug- gling opium; such damned foolspay- ing fifty thousand for a dead horse 1 No doubt it might damage you in a business sense, the captain agreed. And Im pleased you take that view; for Ive turned kind of soft upon the job. Theres been some crookedness about, no doubt of it; but, Law bless you! if we dropped upon the troupe, all the premier artists would slip right out with the boodle in their grip-sacks, and youd only collar a lot of old mut- ton-headed shell-bucks that didnt know the back of the business from the front. I dont take much stock in Mercantile Jack, you know that; but, poor devil, hes got to go where hes told; and if you make trouble, ten to one itll make you sick to see the innocents who have to stand the racket. It would be differ- ent if we understood the operation; but we dont, you see: theres a lot of queer corners in life; and my vote is to let the blame thing lie. You speak as if we had that in our power, I objected. And so we have, said he. What about the men ? I asked. They know too much by half; and you cant keep them from talking. Cant I ? returned Nares. I bet a boarding-master can! They can be all half-seas over, when they get ashore, blind drunk by dark, and cruising out of the Golden Gate in different deep- sea ships by the next morning. Cant keep them from talking, cant I? WelL I can make em talk separate, least- ways. If a whole crew came talking, parties would listen; but if its only one lone old shell-back, its the usual yarn. And at least, they neednt talk before six months, orif we have luck, and theres a whaler handythree years. And by that time, Mr. Dodd, its ancient history. Thats what they call Shanghaiing, isnt it? I asked. I thought it be- longed to the dime novel. Oh, dime novels are right enough, returned the captain. Nothing wrong with the dime novel, only that things happen thicker than they do in life, and the practical seamanship is off4~olor. So we can keep the business to our- selves, I mused. Theres one other person that might blab, said the captain. Though I dont believe she has anything left to tell. And who is she? I asked. The old girl there, he answered, pointing to the wreck. I know theres nothing in her; but somehow Im afraid of some one elseits the last thing youd expect, so its just the first thatll happensome one dropping into this God - forgotten island where nobody drops in, waltzing into that wreck that weve grown old with searching, stoop- ing straight down, and picking right up the very thing that tells the story. Whats that to me? you may ask, and why am I gone Soft Tommy on this Mu- seum of Crooks? Theyve smashed up you and Mr. Pinkerton; theyve turned my hair gray with conundrums ; theyve been up to larks, no doubt; and thats all I know of themyou say. Well, and thats just where it is. I dont know enough; I dont know whats uppermost; its just such a lot of miscellaneous event- ualities as I dont care to go stirring up; and I ask you to let me deal with the old girl after a patent of my own. Certainlywhat you please, said I, scarce with attention, for a new thought THE WRECKER. 97 now occupied my brain. Captain, I broke out, you are wrong; we cannot hush this up. There is one thing you have forgotten. What is that? he asked. A bogus Captain Trent, a bogus Goddedael, a whole bogus crew, have all started home, said I. If we are right, not one of them will reach his journeys end. And do you mean to say that such a circumstance as that can pass without remark? Sailors, said the captain, only sailors! If they were all bound for one place, in a body, I dont say so; but theyre all going separateto Hull, to Sweden, to the Clyde, to the Thames. Well, at each place, what is it? Nothing new. Only one sailor man missing: got drunk, or got drowned, or got left; the proper sailors end. Something bitter in the thought and in the speakers tones struck me hard. Here is one that has got left! I cried, getting sharply to my feet; for we had been some time seated. I wish it were the other. I dontdont relish going home to Jim with this! See here, said Nares, with ready tact, I must be getting aboard. John- sons in the brig annexing chandlery and canvas, and theres some things in the Norah that want fixing against we go to sea. Would you like to be left here in the chicken-ranch? Ill send for you to supper. I embraced the proposal with delight. Solitude, in my frame of mind, was not too dearly purchased at the risk of sun- stroke or sand-blindness; and soon I was alone on the ill-omened islet. I should find it hard to tell of what I thoughtof Jim, of Mamie, of our lost fortune, of my lost hopes, of the doom before me: to turn to at some mechan- ical occupation in some subaltern rank, and to toil there, unremarked and una- mused, until the hour of the last de- liverance. I was, at least, so sunk in sadness, that I scarce remarked where I was going; and chance (or some finer sense that lives in us, and only guides us when the mind is in abeyance) con- ducted my steps into a quarter of the island where the birds were few. By some devious route, which I was unable to retrace for my return, I was thus able to mount, without interruption, to the highest point of land. And here I was recalled to consciousness by a last dis- covery. The spot on which I stood was level, and commanded a wide view of the la- goon, the bounding reef, the round horizon. Nearer hand I saw the sister islet, the wreck, the Norah Creina, and the Norahs boat already moving shore- ward. For the sun was now low, flam- ing on the seas verge; and the galley chimney smoked on board the schooner. It thus befell that though my dis- covery was both affecting and suggestive, I had no leisure to examine further. What I saw was the blackened embers of fireof wreck. By all the signs, it must have blazed to a great height and burned for days; from the scantling of a spar that lay upon the margin only half con- sumed, it must have been the work of more than one; and I received at once the image of a forlorn troop of castaways, houseless in that lost corner of the earth, and feeding there their fire of signal. The next moment a hail reached~ me from the boat; and bursting through the bushes and the rising sea-fowl, I said farewell (I trust forever) to that desert isle. (To be continued.) By H. E. Krehbiel. FOR a month last summer Bayreuth, in Bavaria, was overrun by tourists. By simply going to the Wagner Thea- tre a traveller from the United States was as sure to meet a score of acquaint- ances from home any day as he was, a few weeks later, at the Louvre, when the current of return travel whirled in the annual Parisian eddy. Between the acts the victims of the opera habit were kept as busy greeting friends in that far-away Franconian town as if the New York or London season were at its height and they seated in box or stall at the Metropolitan Opera House or Co- vent Garden. The French contingent seemed to come remittently, attracted by Tristan und Isolde rather than by KParsifal; but to the members of the General Richard Wagner Verein, who had delayed the purchase of tickets un- til it was too late, the American con- tingent was a plague of locusts. Bay- reuth was not privileged this year to sun itself in the presence of German King or Kaiser, but there were princes and dukes in plenty, and every railway train that crawled grunting down the two sides of the triangle from Schnabel- waid and Weiden carried enough Amer- ican monarchs to be considered thrice royaL At the Fantasie, one day, I looked up from my wine to see two ex- cabinet ministers of the United States shaking hands, and when I went to Angermanns for my beer in the even- ing, I found a place at a table around which a publisher, novelist, poet, paint- er, and critic had gathered. They had forgotten their natural antagonisms and were discussing the ethical problem set by Parsifal as earnestly as if it had a more vital bearing on American literature and art than either McKinley or Copy- right BilL An itinerant essayist and peripatetic humorist, of whom I had caught furtive glimpses, were not in the party. The former had probably not recovered from the fatigue caused by his carrying home the keys with which he had been invested by his lodgings keeper on his arrivaL Those keys were too large for his pockets; so he carried them in his hands and exhibited them proudly as antiquities dating back to the period of Bayreuths splendor under the old Margraves. This, to the door of my lodgings; this to the gates of the town! As for the humorist, he was doing Bayreuth witL enough impedi- menta in gowns to keep him supernat- urally solemn, and at a pace which did not allow his feet to come in contact with the ground. The visitors who came and went dur- ing the month numbered, let me say, about 25,000, of whom ~4,500 had tickets for the festival plays in their pockets, bought in advance at the rate of five dollars for each representation. The ticketless five hundred chanced it, either buying the precious pasteboards from speculative headwaiters at prices ranging from seven dollars and a half to twenty dollars, or waiting for an oppor- tunity to be booked for the gallery above the lamps, for which privilege the management, most uncompromis- ingly democratic in this particular, exacted five dollars a seat. The sum which these patient pilgrims paid into the exchequer of the Richard Wagner Theatre is reported at between $165,- 000 and $200,000. Tannh~user was this year added to the Bayreuth list, being associated BAYREUTH REVISITED.

H. E. Krehbiel Krehbiel, H. E. Bayreuth Revisited 98-104

By H. E. Krehbiel. FOR a month last summer Bayreuth, in Bavaria, was overrun by tourists. By simply going to the Wagner Thea- tre a traveller from the United States was as sure to meet a score of acquaint- ances from home any day as he was, a few weeks later, at the Louvre, when the current of return travel whirled in the annual Parisian eddy. Between the acts the victims of the opera habit were kept as busy greeting friends in that far-away Franconian town as if the New York or London season were at its height and they seated in box or stall at the Metropolitan Opera House or Co- vent Garden. The French contingent seemed to come remittently, attracted by Tristan und Isolde rather than by KParsifal; but to the members of the General Richard Wagner Verein, who had delayed the purchase of tickets un- til it was too late, the American con- tingent was a plague of locusts. Bay- reuth was not privileged this year to sun itself in the presence of German King or Kaiser, but there were princes and dukes in plenty, and every railway train that crawled grunting down the two sides of the triangle from Schnabel- waid and Weiden carried enough Amer- ican monarchs to be considered thrice royaL At the Fantasie, one day, I looked up from my wine to see two ex- cabinet ministers of the United States shaking hands, and when I went to Angermanns for my beer in the even- ing, I found a place at a table around which a publisher, novelist, poet, paint- er, and critic had gathered. They had forgotten their natural antagonisms and were discussing the ethical problem set by Parsifal as earnestly as if it had a more vital bearing on American literature and art than either McKinley or Copy- right BilL An itinerant essayist and peripatetic humorist, of whom I had caught furtive glimpses, were not in the party. The former had probably not recovered from the fatigue caused by his carrying home the keys with which he had been invested by his lodgings keeper on his arrivaL Those keys were too large for his pockets; so he carried them in his hands and exhibited them proudly as antiquities dating back to the period of Bayreuths splendor under the old Margraves. This, to the door of my lodgings; this to the gates of the town! As for the humorist, he was doing Bayreuth witL enough impedi- menta in gowns to keep him supernat- urally solemn, and at a pace which did not allow his feet to come in contact with the ground. The visitors who came and went dur- ing the month numbered, let me say, about 25,000, of whom ~4,500 had tickets for the festival plays in their pockets, bought in advance at the rate of five dollars for each representation. The ticketless five hundred chanced it, either buying the precious pasteboards from speculative headwaiters at prices ranging from seven dollars and a half to twenty dollars, or waiting for an oppor- tunity to be booked for the gallery above the lamps, for which privilege the management, most uncompromis- ingly democratic in this particular, exacted five dollars a seat. The sum which these patient pilgrims paid into the exchequer of the Richard Wagner Theatre is reported at between $165,- 000 and $200,000. Tannh~user was this year added to the Bayreuth list, being associated BAYREUTH REVISITED. BA YREUTH REVISITED. 99 with Parsifal and Tristan und significance of which is obvious in view Isolde. The old opera was decked out of the disaffection aroused by the last with brave clothes, at a cost, it is said festival, the world would not hear as (the statement is calculated to stretch much as it does about the latter-day even a Wagnerites credulity), of $125,- representations in the out-of-the-way 000. Felix Mottl and his forces did town. Fifteen years ago the spectacle some extraordinary things with its mu- presented by the first festival was so sicthings that were more extraordi- unique and extraordinary in the history nary than excellent, indeed and Ma- of music and the drama, that it was only dame Wagner disclosed some of her the performance of an obvious and im- ideas touching the familiar work. For perative journalistic duty to care for the the chief impersonator of the sainted curiosity and interest which had been Elizabeth of the play, she brought for- excited throughout the cultured world. ward a young woman who was certified In 1882 the desire to report upon the to the public as just the age which one last drama created by the poet-compos- should be who would represent the hero- er, was an equally potent incentive to me. Just how old the representative of the journalistic fraternity. With the Elizabeth was, I did not take the trouble reports upon The Nibelungs Ring to learn. It was obvious enough that and Parsifal, however, the demands she was young and inexperienced, and we of necessity were satisfied, and since have Madame Wagners word for it that then only love for the works of Wagner, she was gifted with the lack of years and or a desire to study phases of artistic experience which Elizabeth had when development which the festivals dis- she became infatuated with the renegade close, has sent the professional reviewer lover of Dame Venus. The care be- for the press to Bayreuth. If then a stowed in searching out Fr~iulein Wi- grave doubt touching the present value borgs physical qualifications was calcu- of the festival enterprise has entered lated to make one forget Wagners hunt the minds of the German critics, it is for Rheingold giants sixteen years worth while to inquire into the cause of ago. Unhappily, Madame Wagner for- such a phenomenon. Such doubts have got consistency when she cast the other been expressed. To the casual observer tragedy. Kurwenals chief representa- they seem to stand in a paradoxical re- tive had avoirdupois for two squires, lationship with their alleged causes. and the actor who essayed the part of Elements which, at first blush, would Tristan lacked at least six inches of the seem to make for good, are looked stature essential to belief in the story upon as in the highest degree disturb- that he could worst a score of King ing. Such elements are the financial Marks knights and contumeliously success of the festivals; the ever-grow- apply his sword fiatlings, as Sir Tho- ing popular interest in them, especially mas Malory says, to that monarchs among the people of the United States person. and Great Britain; the influence of But in spite of the things which to the Wagners principles of construction on common eye seemed to make for the contemporaneous composition, even in greatest success ever achieved at Bay- France and Italy. Practically, anti- reuth, the Inner Brotherhood at Anger- Wagnerism is only a phrase; it stands manns, and the Mahatmas from Leip- for nothing. There is no longer an sic and elsewhere, shook their heads effective opposition to Wagner. Its last mournfully and said that for Bayreuth, bulwark, the chauvinism of the Paris- Ragnar6k was not far away. Since ians, has gone down before Lohengrin. then they have printed their plaints. Criticism of his principles and methods And thereby hangs a tale. continues to be written; but the sanest and best of it fails to arrest the current As a rule, the writers for the press of Wagners popularity, or check his who attend the festivals at Bayreuth are influence among music students. In admirers of the dramas of Richard Wag- this we have but a repetition of the ner and upholders of his artistic prin- spectacle, which is as old as the world, ciples. If it were not for this fact, the of the impotence of obstructive argu 100 BA YREUTH REVISITED. ment, of all criticism, indeed, in the presence of a vital art-work. Wagners influence for good in the encouragement of sincerity of purpose and truthfulness of representation is universally con- ceded; his influence in emancipating the lyric drama from silly conventions, which long stood in the way of natural- ness and truth, may be seen in the com- positions which come from Vienna, Paris, Milan, London, and St. Peters- burg. Think of Cavalleria Rusticana in Italy, twenty years ago! The one unsolved question in the case goes to the value of Wagner as a model of style. Here there is room for controversy, and one might go so far as to say that the effect of his example has been, not only to stifle spontaneity and put reflection in its place, but even to put a clog upon all creative activity in the field of the lyric drama, without being a traitor to the Wagnerian cause. The bow of Ulysses is not to be bent by every suitor for the hand of Penelope. It is some- times hard to find the boundary line between spontaneous invention and the fruit of reflection in Wagners works; they often overlap each other. In Tristan und Isolde the music sounds most spontaneous when he is hewing most closely to the lineof his construc- tive theories. Besides, all creative geni- uses are not good models. Bismareks diplomatic methods, Carlyles diction, cannot be imitated successfully by men of less original strength. But peers ought not and will not be imitators. Wagners only worthy successor must be one as original as he; for him the world must wait. The feeling of uiirest, among some of the most aggressive friends of Wag- ners art, which has been visible of late was not born in Bayreuth, last summer. It is much older. Nor has the full ex- tent of the disaffection found vent in open utterance and conduct. Many eminent men who were identified close- ly with the Bayreuth enterprise while Wagner was living, are inactive in the premises now. In one instance, doubly noteworthy because of the reputation of the man and the violence of both mani- festations, a most energetic champion was transformed into a recklessly vi- rulent opponent. In 1876, Frederich Nietzsche, formerly Professor of Classi- cal Philology at the University of Basel, considered Wagner not merely the dis- coverer of a new art, but of art itself and its true relation to human society. He was a philosopher, historian, ~esthetician, critic, master of language, mythologist and inytho-poet. It seemed at least a debatable point in the mind of the en- thusiastic professor, whether a visit to Bayreuth was not enough in itself to furnish an affirmative answer to the question whether life was at all worth living. In 1888, the same man doubted whether Wagner was either dramatist or musician. He did not know whether or not the god of his previous idolatry was entitled to be called a German, or even a man (Jlliensch). He was sure however, that he was a modern Gag- liostro who had made music ill, a master of hypnotic tricks. His mu- sic was endlessness without melody, the gymnastics of ugliness on the tight-rope of unharmony, his characters a gallery of invalids. Bayreuth was grand opera, and not even good grand opera. In this instance, a discrediting personal equation was too obvious to require demonstration, but the violence with which Professor Nietzsche pro- claimed his apostasy remained inexplic- able, until the news of his mental de- rangement followed hard on the heels of his book, Der Fall Wagner. To complete the spectacle, a critic who had been relegated by the Wagnerites to the ranks of their enemies, now came forward as the champion of Wagner against Nietzsche. It was an easy task for Eduard Kulke to show that the book of 1888 was as illogical as the book of 1876. Some other noteworthy instances have been in a different case. Five years ago 1V[oritz Wirth, an enthusiastic adherent of the Wagnerian cause, said that Bay- reuth was doomed. To save what he conceived it to represent, he urged the establishment of five theatres, in as many European cities, for the purpose of giving model representations of Wag. ners dramas. Herr Wirth was again at Bayreuth last summer, and at the meeting of the General Richard Wag- ner Verein, he was the most uncompro- mising of the critics of the festival man- BA YREUTH REVISITED. 101 agement. He is probably engaged now in the preparation of the pamphlet which at the meeting he threatened to publish, the character of which may be guessed from the title: The Circus at Bayreuth. In a pamphlet written by Dr. Paul Marsop, another eminent dis- ciple of Wagner, it is argued that the Bayreuth festivals are worthless and needless. In the true spirit of pes- simism, Dr. Marsop urges that noth- ing be done to prevent them from has- tening on to that Nirvana which, in the philosophy held by Wagner, is the true goal of all things. These three men illustrate three of the view-points of Bayreuth criticism, the personal and physical, the artistic, and the philosophical. The most thorough- ly consistent, perhaps, is the last. The popularity of Wagners works means nothing to Dr. Marsop, for it is a phe- nomenon which is paralleled by the popularity of Der Trompeter von Si~kkingen. In this reflection Wagner anticipated him, using the same illus- tration. Had he lived to see the rise of Mascagni, he would have had even a more striking instance to advance. Marsop is simply a Tolstoi in music there is nothing to do except to wait for the end of all things. Here, too, he is a true disciple of his master in his lat- ter days, who writing to Friedrich Sch~5n in the last year of his life, used this extraordinary language: I no longer believe in music, and when I meet it I turn away as a matter of principle. If the prediction of our friend, Count Go- bineau, should be fulfilled, Europe be overrun in ten years by Asiatic hordes, and all our civilization and culture be destroyed, I would not twitch an eye; for then I might believe that, before anything else, our present music-mak- ing would go by the board. Herr Wirths pugnacity is due to the strained relations between the repre- sentatives of Wagner, the man, and sev- eral of the Richard Wagner societies, es- pecially that at Leipsic, of which Herr Wirth is an influential member. Ma- dame Wagner and Councillor Gross have assumed the artistic and business man- agement of the festivals, and carry them on as a private enterprise. The theatre, built by the gifts of King Ludwig II. VOL. XI.1O of Bavaria and the contributions of the old Society of Patrons, they say, is the personal property of Wagners heirs; whatever interest the Society may once have had, was extinguished by its fail- ure to rescue Wagner from the finan- cial dilemma in which the festival of 1876 left him. The present General Richard Wagner Verein, which is the successor of the Society of Patrons, organized on a plan proposed by Wagner for the pur- pose of building the theatre and pro- ducing The Nibelungs Ring, has been informed by Madame Wagner that it has nothing to do with the festivals, which belong now to the public; it lives to disseminate the ideas embodied in the writings of Wagner. The Society has a different view of its mission, de- rived from Article I. of its constitution, and the fact that it sends thirty-five per centum of all money collected by it to Bayreuth, to be applied to the payment of the expenses of impecunious mu- sicians who wish to attend the festivals. For its own tickets the Society in effect pays three times as much as the tourist, who does the festival in the same spirit as he does a bull-fight in Spain. A decadence in the festival may be charged, and its nature inquired into, without going so far as to charge that the mission of Bayreuth has been sunk in the desire to transform it into a money-making institution for the fam- ily of Wagner. The festivals have in- deed changed in purpose since 1876, but the change was suggested by Wag- ner. Theyhave degenerated artistically, but this decadence, inevitable as soon as the death of Wagner removed him from the artistic management, has been hastened by the assumption of supreme authority on the part of his widow. The bond between Wagner and the Society which for a decade helped him to execute his vast scheme, was a senti- mental one. So far as that bond seemed to imply a privileged relationship of the Society toward his institution, Wagner severed it when he began his prepara- tions for the second festivaL Whether by his own flat he could relieve him- self of the great obligation under which he rested, need not be discussed here. He exacted, not only devotion to his principles, but also affection for his per- 102 BA YREUTH REVISITED. son, from those whom he called his friends, and he received both in gener- ous measure. He is still receiving both devotion and affection, though some of those friends think that ingratitude, as well as incompetency, is undermining the fabric which they helped him to build. All this has less bearing on the artistic question involved than the fact that, with the accomplishment in 1876 of the purpose which had animated him for over a quarter of a century, Wagner entered upon a course in which it is scarcely possible to avoid seeing a loss in consistency of conduct, as well as ideality of purpose. The story of that change seems to point the old moral, that suffering is essential to true artis- tic production. Even Wagner was no exception to the rule that worldly pros- perity is subversive of ideality in art. The festival project is contemporan- eous in origin with The Nibelungs Ring. Strictly speaking, it is a little older, for when he first conceived a per- formance of his work under artistic con- ditions like those which prevailed at Bayreuth in 1876, Wagner had only a single drama, Siegfrieds Death, in mind. In a letter written to his friend Uhlig, in September, 1850, he sets down the completion of that work and its performance as the conscious mission of his life. He wanted ten thousand thalers. With this sum he would build a rough theatre at Zurich (where he was then living in exile), furnish it with the necessary scenery and machines, organ- ize a chorus of amateurs, invite orches- tral musicians, select his singers, and invite the world to a dramatic festivaL All who would show enough interest to come to Zurich should be admitted without money or price, but a special invitation was to issue to the young people of Zurich, the university, and the choral unions. After three perform- ances of Siegfrieds Death had been given in one week, the theatre was to be torn down, and the score of the drama burnt. To those who had been pleased with the thing I should then say: Now do likewise. But if they wanted something new from me, I should say: You get the money. For the next few years his mind is full of the plan. His single drama grows into a tetralogy, and with it the scope of his festival. To attain his end of creating what he conceives to be an ideal work and giving it an ideal representation, he longs to sever all connection with the contemporary stage. To do things by halves becomes a martyrdom ; with his new conception, he withdraws entirely from all connection with our theatre and public of to - day, breaks decisively and forever with the formal present. His earlier works were now intolerable to his thoughts. He asked nothing from them, save that they should bring him money; the desire of managers to produce them was to him disgusting ; his consent to yield them up to commonplace performance for gain he called his prostitution. That was Wagners ideal in the day of his adversity, nor did it change after the favor of King Ludwig told him to hope for its realization. Artistic neces- sity was still to determine everything. The theatres of Germany had degener- ated under foreign influences till they could not do justice to a work of strong native originality. The corrupted taste of the ignorant public was tending to the demoralization of the theatres. A festival performance of The Nibel- ungs Ring was therefore a necessity. Such a consummation, however, was possible only with the help of the friends who loved him. He called for the or- ganization of a Society of Patrons, and it came into being. The theatre was built, the first festival given. It left him in debt, and he was disappointed in his expectation that the Imperial Government would establish the thea- tre firmly by granting it a subvention as a national institution. He abandoned his plan to repeat the festival and sur- rendered the tetralogy to the theatres which in his opinion could not do justice to it. In a review of the festival he laid stress upon the failure of his plan to prevent the sale of tickets just as they are at any opera-house, or to give him a public different from the ordinary opera public with the usual admixt- ure of the critics, who to him were an abomination. Yet an overwhelming majority of the visitors of 1876 were the friends who had strained every nerve to enable Wagner to perform his miracle. BA YREUTH REVISITED. 103 Ii l~0 Wagner has other notions in his head. His tetralogy has been sacri- ficed to the theatres, but he has a theatre of his own and the prestige of having accomplished all that he had dreamed of twenty-five years before and more. He now conceives the plan of a series of festivals at which all of his works are to be performed, and as a first step he for- gets his antipathy to the general public. Upon the success of the performances, to be confined for the present to Parsi- fal, the procurement of the means for producing gradually all his works is to be left dependent, and a faithful compa- ny of patrons is to assume the duty of preserving the correct spirit of the per- formances for the friends of his art, even after his death. He confessed his obli- gation to the Society of Patrons for having founded his enterprise, which he felt he could now continue by appealing in the ordinary manner to the public. Two reasons led him to take this step with Parsifal : the reservation of the work for Bayreuth would guarantee its profitableness. That was an external reason; but there was also an internal one: Parsifal was a work of such unique character that the festivalswould have an educational value: by partici- pating in them, young singers would learn the elements of the new style of lyr- ico-dramatic representation, and would escape the danger which lay in their precipitation into a field already spoiled by bad habits the field, for instance, occupied by his older operas, whose man- ner of representation was subject to the ordinary operatic r6gime. For himself he was unwilling to attempt the task of preparing model performances of his older works; experience had taught him that the exertion would be useless. To the Society of Patrons he suggested a reorganization which would limit its direct connection with the festival to the provision of means to save the poorer portion of the public from exclusion by the rich, a contingency which he foresaw would result from the adoption of the ordinary showmans methods against which he had railed after the festival of 1876. The organized patrons of his art- work were now to become organized patrons of the public a Charity Soci- ety. In one respect Madame Wagner has been harshly accused. I am unable to see that she has done aught with the mission of Bayreuth than administer the trust bequeathed to her by her hus- band. How she has administered it is another question. After the manifesta- tions of last summer I can see only a speedy collapse of the proud edifice; but the seeds of destruction are not all of her sowing; Wagner scattered them broadcast when he set a new purpose for the festivals and died. All would be different were he still alive. His participation would insure a stand- ard of representation so high that com- petition with the operatic establishments of the world, in the performance of works open to them all, would benefit rather than injure the festivals. His death threw the directors and perform- ers on tradition as the conservator of his artistic intentions. Tradition is a weak reed in the best of cases, and pe- culiarly liable to become treacherous when a person of strong individuality, like Madame Wagner, constitutes her- self its sole repository and oracle. An early effect was seen in the estrangement of Hans Richter, Wagners ablest and most zealous coadjutor in the early festivals, because of disagreements with the widow concerning tern pi. An- other effect was seen last summer in the representations of Tannh~iuser. This opera was always the most be- loved of Wagners older brain-children. Doubtless much of the favoritism with which he regarded it was due to the abuse which it received in the Ger- man opera-houses. In its performance he exacted so much that, as late as 1870, he said that he knew of no capable rep- resentative of the titular r6le. The performance at Bayreuth last summer was a delight to the eye. There were pretty pictures in plenty. But if pretty pictures make Tannhiiuser, Wagners despair at ever seeing a correct perform- ance was hypocritical, and his criti- cisms of the Parisian performance of 1861 dishonest. There are settings of Tannh~user in Dresden and Vienna to-day which compare favorably with the new ones at Bayreuth. In produc- ing the opera last summer, Madame Wagner essayed a task from which her 104 ARMISTICE. husband shrunk in 1882. She measured her talent with his genius, and the re- sult cannot be summed up more truth- fully or sententiously than in the words which came, three years ago, from the embittered and deranged mind of Fried- rich Nietzsche: Tannhi~user was grand opera, and not even good grand opera. Not one of the spiritual wants which Wagner deplored, even in the representations superintended by him- self, was supplied. A crude and wofully materialistic interpretation was given to the suggestions contained in his bro- chure On the Representation of Taun- hiiuser. The tempi were dragged till ones patience was tried to the extreme verge of endurance; the players on wind instruments in the orchestra vied with the singers on the stage in tearing the musical phrases to tatters, in the belief that thereby they were heeding Wag- ners advice to phrase vocally. Iii a com- position written to a great extent in the old-fashioned lyric vein, Madame Wag- ner compelled her fledglings to declaim in the manner contemplated by Wagner in Parsifal, which, in her conception, seemed to mean the pursuit of every con- sonant to the death. Faithful friends of Wagner were amazed and aggrieved. Musicians who had come to learn were disgusted by these things, while the care- less tourists from afar were set to won- dering what they had come out for to see. For the first time in the history of the festivals, Wagners friends had to hear comparisons between Bayreuth an~I the contemned court and municipal theatres of Germany. Such comparisons are a deathblow to the interest repre- sented by the tourists. It is said that the managers of the German opera- houses have threatened to withhold from their singers the privilege of sing- ing at Bayreuth. Such a step would be foolish, because useless. Bayreuth will no longer be a rival to their establish- ments the moment it becomes one. Which is another paradox like the proof of Bayreuths decadence in the signs of her prosperity. ARMiSTICE. By Ellen Burroughs. THE water sings along our keel, The wind falls to a whispering breath; I look into your eyes and feel No fear of life or death; So near is love, so far away The losing strife of yesterday. We watch the swallows skim and dip; Some magic bids the world be still; Life stands with finger upon lip; Love hath his gentle will; Though hearts have bled, and tears have burned, The river floweth unconcerned. We pray the fickle flag of truce Still float deceitfully and fair; Our eyes must love its sweet abuse; This hour we will not care, Though just beyond to-morrows gate, Arrayed and strong, the battle wait.

Ellen Burroughs Burroughs, Ellen Armistice 104-105

104 ARMISTICE. husband shrunk in 1882. She measured her talent with his genius, and the re- sult cannot be summed up more truth- fully or sententiously than in the words which came, three years ago, from the embittered and deranged mind of Fried- rich Nietzsche: Tannhi~user was grand opera, and not even good grand opera. Not one of the spiritual wants which Wagner deplored, even in the representations superintended by him- self, was supplied. A crude and wofully materialistic interpretation was given to the suggestions contained in his bro- chure On the Representation of Taun- hiiuser. The tempi were dragged till ones patience was tried to the extreme verge of endurance; the players on wind instruments in the orchestra vied with the singers on the stage in tearing the musical phrases to tatters, in the belief that thereby they were heeding Wag- ners advice to phrase vocally. Iii a com- position written to a great extent in the old-fashioned lyric vein, Madame Wag- ner compelled her fledglings to declaim in the manner contemplated by Wagner in Parsifal, which, in her conception, seemed to mean the pursuit of every con- sonant to the death. Faithful friends of Wagner were amazed and aggrieved. Musicians who had come to learn were disgusted by these things, while the care- less tourists from afar were set to won- dering what they had come out for to see. For the first time in the history of the festivals, Wagners friends had to hear comparisons between Bayreuth an~I the contemned court and municipal theatres of Germany. Such comparisons are a deathblow to the interest repre- sented by the tourists. It is said that the managers of the German opera- houses have threatened to withhold from their singers the privilege of sing- ing at Bayreuth. Such a step would be foolish, because useless. Bayreuth will no longer be a rival to their establish- ments the moment it becomes one. Which is another paradox like the proof of Bayreuths decadence in the signs of her prosperity. ARMiSTICE. By Ellen Burroughs. THE water sings along our keel, The wind falls to a whispering breath; I look into your eyes and feel No fear of life or death; So near is love, so far away The losing strife of yesterday. We watch the swallows skim and dip; Some magic bids the world be still; Life stands with finger upon lip; Love hath his gentle will; Though hearts have bled, and tears have burned, The river floweth unconcerned. We pray the fickle flag of truce Still float deceitfully and fair; Our eyes must love its sweet abuse; This hour we will not care, Though just beyond to-morrows gate, Arrayed and strong, the battle wait. By Graham R. Tomson. FAR down in the deep, black water A golden lanthorn swings, Whose lustre widens and trembles As tremble the water rings. Above, on the purple twilight The moon in her glory shows, Bnt still with a mellower splendor The lamp in the water glows. Like a love-lamp set in a window On a starless summer night, Steadfast it gleams and beckons, A jewel of amber light. Steadfast it points and beckons, And ever the self-same way, For it hangs at the gate of a palace That knows not the light of day. The great elms leafy branches Stretch over the waters brink, Where deep in their sheltering hollows The shadows in shadows sink. But the gold lamp in the water It glimmers and beckons bright, Like a love-lamp set in a window On a murky snmmer night. For him who would rise and follow Full smooth is the path, and straight, The way throngh the glistening water That leads to the palace gate. And he who shall cross the threshold No more shall he strive nor weep, Being come to the Tower of Silence, In the Valley of Endless Sleep. THE LAMP IN THE POOL. VOL. XI.11

Graham R. Tomson Tomson, Graham R. The Lamp In The Pool 105-106

By Graham R. Tomson. FAR down in the deep, black water A golden lanthorn swings, Whose lustre widens and trembles As tremble the water rings. Above, on the purple twilight The moon in her glory shows, Bnt still with a mellower splendor The lamp in the water glows. Like a love-lamp set in a window On a starless summer night, Steadfast it gleams and beckons, A jewel of amber light. Steadfast it points and beckons, And ever the self-same way, For it hangs at the gate of a palace That knows not the light of day. The great elms leafy branches Stretch over the waters brink, Where deep in their sheltering hollows The shadows in shadows sink. But the gold lamp in the water It glimmers and beckons bright, Like a love-lamp set in a window On a murky snmmer night. For him who would rise and follow Full smooth is the path, and straight, The way throngh the glistening water That leads to the palace gate. And he who shall cross the threshold No more shall he strive nor weep, Being come to the Tower of Silence, In the Valley of Endless Sleep. THE LAMP IN THE POOL. VOL. XI.11 FIRST PAPER. may be divided into two groups: first, those which depict manners and customs and the life of men and beasts; second, those in which mens thoughts and creations ~dready given to the world in another form, as in literature and tradition, are taken and used as subjects by the artist. The earliest illustrations are as old as writ- ing, and are indeed symbolic writings recording the social, religious, and po- litical life of the people. The Egyptian and Phomician figures carved on blocks of stone, the pictures on Greek vases, and the wall-paintings at Pompeii are illustrations. All these belong in the first group. What we mean when we speak of il- lustrations to - day are included in the second group, and, unlike the earlier works which exist only in a single ex- ample, the artists designs are multi- plied a thousand - fold by the various processes of reproduction. Du Halde is authority for the statement that the Chinese printed pictures from plates or blocks as early as 1120 B.c. In the West we find the Italians printing from blocks in 1285, the Germans making prints of saints at the beginning of the fifteenth century, and Finiguerra using copper plates in Ylorence in 1461. The paint- er Botticelli gave his attention to cop- per-plate engraving, and others followed his example. Since the days of Albert Dfirer and the Italian Renaissance, painters have been drawing for repro- duction, until at the present time half of all those who use the brush have worked more or less in the field of il- lustration, as we use the~ term, and some have made in it reputations that out- shine those gained in painting pictures. We have many worthy artists who do nothing but illustrations, and who rarely paint a picture or draw in color. In the liJuited States great progress has been made in the past twelve or fifteen years. Some of the best of our paint- ers have devoted a large part of their time to illustration, and the work done by the illustrators the artists who work almost exclusively in black and white for the magazines and illustrated journalshas steadily improved in qual- ity. To-day illustration is the regular profession of a host of men and women, the gagne-pain of a number of painters, who find in it a source of income that permits them to paint pictures accord- ing to their individual tastes, without re- gard to the question of popularity with the public; and the serious occupation of others who find in some work of poe- try or fiction subjects with which their temperament is in sympathy, and an op- portunity to make drawings that are in no sense to be confounded with what is known as hack work, even when it is of such excellence that it seems unjust to apply to it a name that suggests in itself a lack of true artistic interest. By William A. Coffin.

William A. Coffin Coffin, William A. American Illustration Today. First Paper 106-117

FIRST PAPER. may be divided into two groups: first, those which depict manners and customs and the life of men and beasts; second, those in which mens thoughts and creations ~dready given to the world in another form, as in literature and tradition, are taken and used as subjects by the artist. The earliest illustrations are as old as writ- ing, and are indeed symbolic writings recording the social, religious, and po- litical life of the people. The Egyptian and Phomician figures carved on blocks of stone, the pictures on Greek vases, and the wall-paintings at Pompeii are illustrations. All these belong in the first group. What we mean when we speak of il- lustrations to - day are included in the second group, and, unlike the earlier works which exist only in a single ex- ample, the artists designs are multi- plied a thousand - fold by the various processes of reproduction. Du Halde is authority for the statement that the Chinese printed pictures from plates or blocks as early as 1120 B.c. In the West we find the Italians printing from blocks in 1285, the Germans making prints of saints at the beginning of the fifteenth century, and Finiguerra using copper plates in Ylorence in 1461. The paint- er Botticelli gave his attention to cop- per-plate engraving, and others followed his example. Since the days of Albert Dfirer and the Italian Renaissance, painters have been drawing for repro- duction, until at the present time half of all those who use the brush have worked more or less in the field of il- lustration, as we use the~ term, and some have made in it reputations that out- shine those gained in painting pictures. We have many worthy artists who do nothing but illustrations, and who rarely paint a picture or draw in color. In the liJuited States great progress has been made in the past twelve or fifteen years. Some of the best of our paint- ers have devoted a large part of their time to illustration, and the work done by the illustrators the artists who work almost exclusively in black and white for the magazines and illustrated journalshas steadily improved in qual- ity. To-day illustration is the regular profession of a host of men and women, the gagne-pain of a number of painters, who find in it a source of income that permits them to paint pictures accord- ing to their individual tastes, without re- gard to the question of popularity with the public; and the serious occupation of others who find in some work of poe- try or fiction subjects with which their temperament is in sympathy, and an op- portunity to make drawings that are in no sense to be confounded with what is known as hack work, even when it is of such excellence that it seems unjust to apply to it a name that suggests in itself a lack of true artistic interest. By William A. Coffin. Into the green-recessed woods they flew. (From a drawing by Will H. Low, to illustrate Keatss Lamia. By permission of the artist and the J. B. Lippincoth Co.) 108 AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. In considering the subject of illustra- tion we must say a word at the outset about the dictum of certain critics, who maintain that illustration, as such, is un- necessary, and that it is bad art. If an idea or a scene is portrayed in words, they contend, what reason is there for another man to attempt to do it over again in another form? If in a poem, a play, or a story, a thing is well done, the illustration will be inferior, or in a few cases, perhaps, it will be better as a work of art than the text which furnished the subject. In the first case the de- signers work is superfluous, in the sec- ond the picture will live, and the orig- inal in its literary form will be forgotten, for the world will not want both. If this is not plain, reverse the proposition and fancy a man writing a poem about a picture. What can he tell that is not already told on the canvas, and how can he express in words what the artist has only been able to convey to the senses by means of form and color? This is a specious argument, but it is not a sound one. While it may be true that a good deal of the current illustration is inferior, it serves a useful purpose in the propagation of a love of art among people who would not without it see any whatever worthy of the name. Wood- cuts and photo-gravures from the de- signs of competent artists, in the illus- trated papers and magazines, are far better food for the people in homes dis- tant from the art-centres, than the cheap chroinos and cheaper steel engravings that used to be about all there was in such houses in the way of pictures of any description. The relative merit of the illustration and its subject in litera- ture are not in question. In our own country, at least, it is indisputable that more has been done through the medi- um of illustrated literature to make the masses of the people realize that there is such a thing as art, and that it is worth caring about, than in any other way. As to the best work in the field of illustration, when the artist has found in literature something that appeals to him as a subject he would like to treat in pictorial form, we are not forced to decide which is in our opinion the bet- ter, the authors word picture or the ar- tists interpretation of it. No better ex ample of this can be found than Mr. Abbeys delightful drawings illustrating Herricks poems. We shall not forget the sweet lines of Herrick because we have seen the charming pictures the ar- tist has made to go with them, and if we remember best the poems, we shall not for that reason be blind to the beau- ty of the drawings. We shall have two things that please us where we had but one before. Further than this, a very large part of the worlds art is illustra- tion. Pictures depicting religions and historical subjects, even the frescoes of the Vatican, are in one sense illustrations. All the works of art in the great galler- ies, in which the subjects are drawn froffi mythology and legend, are illustrations in the same way. The only essential point of difference from what we call il- lustrations in our time, is that they were not made to accompany a text. Half the subjects that artists have treated, from the old masters down, have been drawn from literature in one form or another, and it is only in portraits, genre, and still life, and in our modern schools of landscape painting and p1cm air treatment of figures, that the subjects have been found in nature. In the United States the most serious work in illustration has been done by men already well known as painters of the figure. The two volumes of Keatss poems, Lamia and Odes and Son- nets, with drawings by Will H. Low; Dante Gabriel Rossettis The Blessed IDamozel, illustrated by Kenyon Cox; and The Rub6iy~t of Omar Khayy~m, with decorative designs by Elihu Ved- der, have contributed as much as their work in painting to the reputations of the artists. Mr. Low had already done a considerable amount of magazine and book illustration when he began, in 1885, the series of drawings for Lamia, and enjoyed among his fellow-artists a repu- tation as a good draughtsman and a painter of refined sensibility. The illus- tration of Lamia was a project that he conceived himself and proposed to his publishers. The idea being well re- ceived by them and the commission given, he entered upon his work with enthusiasm, and for a year and more made it his chief, almost his sole, artis- tic occupation. The drawings, taken to- A Dedication. (From a drawing by Will H. Low in Keatss Odes and Sonnets. By permission of the artist and the J. B. Lippincott Co.) 110 AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY~ gether, form a harmonious series that, so far as illustrating the poem go, is very satisfactory. The choice of subjects for the illustrations has been made by the artist with excellent judgment, and in his treatment of them he gives evidence of a sympathetic appreciation of the poets thought. There are thirty-eight drawings in the book, including titles and head and tail pieces, and the design for the cover is a charming piece of decorative work. The drawings are of unequal merit, but most of them deserve praise for beauty of conception and cleverness in the execution. It is only in a few cases that the reproach of con- ventionality of treatment may justly be made. Of some of the drawings in- serted in the text, it may be said that from the shape of the designs one would expect them to be treated decora- tively, and not in a purely pictorial man- ner. The picture for the line, And shut the chamber up, close, hushd and still, for example, is a narrow band across the page and it is not composed within its limits. The right way to use such spaces is shown in such designs as I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, which, with its single figure of Hermes descending through the clouds, is complete in itself; or in What wreath for Lamia? what for Lycius? what for the sage, old Apollonius? where it is used as simple decoration without en- closing outlines. The best composition in Mr. Lows Lamia is the picture Into the green-recessed woods they flew. The two figures are admirable in line, and the group is exceedingly well arranged and good in movement. There is a drawing in the Odes and Sonnets that shows Mr. Low at his very best. It is the one that accom- panies the Ode to Psyche. The nude figure of Psyche recumbent on the grass by the brook-side, is a marvel of delicacy and grace, beautiful in line and subtly modelled, and the figure of Cupid at her side is made subordinate, without losing importance in the group, with fine artis- tic feeling. The landscape setting is charmingly composed, the masses of light and dark skilfully distributed, and the ensemble is effective without being forced. The dedication to the Odes and Sonnets is the finest decorative page in the book, and one of the best things of its kind in modern art, shar- ing in this distinction with Mr. Coxs dedication in The Blessed Damozel. Throughout the series of drawings in this book, Mr. Low shows that he has overcome certain faults that were to be noted here and there in the earlier work, and there is a decided gain in decora- tive spirit. In soundness of execution and elegance of style, these drawings rank easily with the best modern work in the field of creative illustration. Mr. Lows drawings for the two books were made in body-color and in mono- tint, of course, and are reproduced by a photographic process. Even in the very best of these processes something is lost in the reproduction, more in some drawings than in others, but al- ways something. Taking the pictures, however, as they stand in the printed books, the artists chief characteristics are seen to be refinement and elegance of line in drawing the figure, a poetical feeling for landscape, and a genuine talent for composition. In his techni- cal expression he is sometimes too mindful of detail, but he never sins in the other direction by carelessness and affectation of breadth. In such draw- ings as the Psyche, in the Odes and Sonnets, where his little faults do not exist and his great merits are seen in their happiest expression, we find him to be an artist whose intention is seri- ous and intelligent, and whose methods are direct and unaffected. Moreover, though one does not need to be a scholar to be a good painter, it is indis- pensable to be master of ones subjects when one undertakes such a work as the illustration of the two books of Keatss poems we have just been con- sidering. A large part of it is purely creative, and it is gratifying to be able to say that, while we can praise Mr. Lows work from the artistic stand- point, we are also able to commend his scholarship whenever it comes into questionand that is a matter of no small consequence where the illustra- tion is of poems that allude to classical lore as much as do some of these beau- tiful lines of John Keats. The Blessed Damozel, by Dante Ga- briel Rossetti, with drawings by Kenyon We two will lie the shadow. (From a drawing by Kenyon Cox to illustrate Rossettis The Blessed Damozel. By permissiOn of the artist and Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co.) Some of her New Friendo. (From a drawing by Kenyon Cox, to illustrate lEtossettis The Blessed Damozel. By permission of the artist and Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Co.) AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. 113 Cox, appeared a year after the publica- tion of Mr. Lows series of drawings for Lamia, and though it is not our purpose to make comparisons between the two booksfor comparisons in art do not prove very muchit is worth not- ing that Mr. Cox followed Mr. Low in taking advantage of the opportunities his subjects offered him to essay the se- rious treatment of the nude figure. Not very much had been accomplished in this direction in illustrative art, in the United States, up to that time, with the exception of a few of the designs in Mr. Vedclers RubAiy6t of Omar Khay- yam, published in 1884. The origi- nals of Mr. Coxs drawings were paint- ed in oil in monotint, and the full page illustrations to the poem number thir- teen. There are seven other drawings that may be classed as decorative, and twenty-four initial letters drawn with the pen. In some of the work in this book Mr. Cox has attained to a very high level. Three of the drawings in particular are worthy of unqualified praise Some of her new friends, the beautiful group of three young women dancing on the sward; The stars sang in their spheres, three nude female figures admirable in line and chaste in treatment ; and With Love,~~ in which the conception is bold and orig- inal and very ably carried out. The last- named drawing is well done, not only in the sense that it is good from the tech- nical point of view, but also in the sense that such a conception as this new Eros, a pagan God of Love blessing a mar- riage in heaven, must needs carry in itself, in the way it is made to persuade us of the fitness of its presence, the justification on the part of the artist for its introduction. Considered as a picture without reference to the text, there would be no need of such justifi- cation; but the drawing is an illustra- tion, it must be remembered, and it is in just such a question as this that the thought of the artist becomes of the ut- most importance in dealing with it. In all of his pictures in this book, Mr. Cox has had to do with a niise-en-sc~nc that presented many difficulties in its repre- sentation. He has frankly made his heaven a place with tangible forms in architecture and landscape. He has discarded the old expedient of making clouds serve for all sorts of purposes, and gives us walls and casements, grass and trees, as we know them on earth. He has frequent occasion to introduce 1 ndscape, and he has adopted a sort of purist motive, suggestive of the early Renaissance, and which harmonizes ad- mirably with his figures, which are not etherealized, but solid and living, de- pending on natural beauty for their charm, and never falling into quaintness or weirdness through fancied idealiza- tion. His use of landscape in these pict- ures is especially good in the drawing, We two will lie i the shadow, where the carefully drawn foliage of spreading branches of trees and the flat meadow with a little stream winding through it, form a delightful setting for the group of two figures in the foreground. One of the finest of all the designs in the book is the dedication, with its two figures personifying the art of painting and the art of poetry. The figure of Poetry, in classic drapery, with uplifted head and a lyre in her hands, is possibly not unlike something we have seen be- fore, but the nude figure of Painting, a fine, ample type of woman with a wealth of hair and something typical of the splendid art of the Venetians in her face, is a real creation. The subject of the title drawing is a half-length figure of an angel drawing a bow across the strings of a violin. It is pure in line and beautiful in type. The lettering in this design also deserves commendation, and it may be said in passing, that wher- ever Mr. Coy, in the decorative part of his work, has had occasion to use letter- ing, he has adopted the elegant forms of the Italians. He in no case descends to anything resembling the fantastic characters which too many of our de- signers seem to fancy in some way especially fitted to decorative inscrip- tions. The pen drawings for initial letters are by long odds the best things of the kind that have come from the hand of an American artist. There is not space to speak of them separately, but of them all it is but just to say that they show great originality of concep- tion, a knowledge of the principles of design that very few artists possess, and a delicate though virile sense of beauty The Throne of Saturn. (From a drawing by Elilin Vedder, to illustrate the Rub~iy~it of Omar Kheyy~tm. By permission of the artist and Messrs. Houghton, Muffin & Co.) AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. 115 in their execution. One which is in- tended to illustrate the lines: And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames, is quite as good in its way as anything in all modern art. Mr. Coxs work in The Blessed Damozel shows him to be a master of form. His drawing is in general firm and decisive, and founded on a thor- ough knowledge of construction. He has a rare talent for composition, and his work in this respect, while it does not violate sensible traditions and go to extremes in the search for novelty, is never such as to deserve the reproach of conventionality. In his treatment of the undraped figure, these drawings give proof of a right appreciation of the beauty of the nude, entirely free from the sort of vaporing refinement that the ignorant call idealization, and pos- sessing true purity in vitality and nat- uralism. His taste is sometimes at fault from the point of view of the layman, who is not accustomed to think always of the subject as a motive primarily in the artists eyes to make a picture of, but to think of the subject as the whole of the picture and disregard th~ technical achievement. These drawings, as well as many among the large number he has contributed to the monthly magazines and other publications, entitle him to rank among the very best of American artists who work in the field of illustra- tion. He has, among other things, signed some pen drawings representing animal groups in sculpture by Baryc, that for cleverness of technique and truthful and characteristic rendering of the spirit of the originals, are surpassed by nothing that anybody has done. The illustration of the Rub~iy~t of Omar Khayy~im by Elihu Vedder, is conceived in quite a different way from that in which Mr. Low and Mr. Cox proceeded in the works we have just been considering. The essential point of difference is that the illustrations, with the exception of two The Throne of Saturn, and The Record- ing Angel are not separate pictures, but designs composed in connection with portions of the text, enclosed with an outline, the composition being ar ranged as a sort of decorative border. In almost all of the fifty-six illustrated pages in Mr. Vedders book the figure is introduced, and the drawings are in chalk, reproduced in black and white and gray, with excellent effect. The chief interest in Mr. Vedders work lies, not in his drawing of the figure, for it is not, at least in these examples, of more than respectable quality, nor in the composition of pictures, nor iu any particular point of technical skill, but in the eminently decorative tendency of his illustrations. Even in The Throne of Saturn, which is a page apart from the text, the figure on the whirling globe with the encircling ring around it, is not the prime motive of the com- position, but only a part of it, and the spirit of the drawing is derived from the fine arrangement of the great curv- ing lines of the sphere and the ring. In The Recording Angel there is more interest in the mysterious face of the angel, perhaps, than in anything else, but it is not left to tell its own story. Hands reaching up from below to the desk before him, and a group of wings about his head and those of the two angels that appear on either side of him, are introduced in a decorative manner that does not comport with purely pictorial treatment. Mr. Ved- ders fancy finds enjoyment in twist- ing draperies, curling clouds of vapor, wreathes of vines, and curious forms of animal and vegetable matter with which he surrounds his figures. In one case it is a griffin-like monster with a womans head, The Inevitable Fate, lying upon a vast pile of skulls and bones; again, it is a wine cup, The Cup of Despair, placed in the midst of a whirl of fuming vapor; and again, the winged figure of a youth, Love affrighted at the sight of Hell, standing on a cloud, and a crowd of human shapes passing below him, with serpents twining about their necks. Sun, moon, and stars, men and angels, things earthly and things celes- tial, are brought together without co- herence, apparently, but yet it is not a jumble. The artist uses whatever he finds that is weird, when weirdness is his subject, caring little for probability, and bent only on strange and quaint effects. There is a very pretty figure The Present and the Past. (From a drawing by Eiihu Vedder, to illustrate the Rubsiiyftt of Omar Kh~yyf~m. By permission of the artist and Messrs. Hongliton, Muffin & Co.) THE DEAN OF BOURGES. 117 of a boy holding a conch-shell to his from his work in the Rub~iy~t as a ear in The Present and the Past, a designer of book-covers and other forms great deal of character and expression of decoration, that are marked by origi- in some of the heads in Deaths Re- nality of conception and execution. As view, a fine group of two figures in a painter he is noted for the individual- The Cup of Death, and much feeling ity with which he invests his themes, and harmony of line in some of the and to this quality more than to tech- other drawings. nical excellence he owes most of his Mr. Vedder is widely known, apart reputation. THE DEAN OF BOURGES. JUNE, 1891. By Barrett Wendell. OLD Felix Plat, dean of the church at Bourges, Lay quiet. Through the cool cathedral aisles Went strains of holy music. All the throng Of those that knew him in his gentle life Knelt, lifting up their souls in prayer to God For his, gone to Gods presence.Then the bells Clanging harmonious told the time was come To bear him to his everlasting rest. The red-coat beadles with their ringing staves Stalked solemn first; then red-robed, chanting boys; Then, grave and reverend, spectacled and laced, The bishop with his chapter; following on, The faithful, holy clergy, robed in black, Save one with shaven crown and sandalled feet, Brown robe and ropen girdle, down-cast eye, And visage grim with fasting. High amid The pious throng, a bier whereon reposed, Beneath the broidered glories of his pall, The good old man. And following him there came Bare-headed husbands with their crapen wives, Who keep alive the worthy name of Plat In sundry cities of the Nivernais; Then last the folk that loved his gentle life, Some weeping, silent some, some whispering. Down the cool aisle they passed. The central doors Groaned on their lazy hinges. Glorious light Of summer noon-day streamed beneath the Christ Who sits enthroned above the headless saints Twice martyred in his service. So the dean Passed from the church he gave his life to; turned In solemn pomp the corner of the porch; And down the hill-side, where gray buttresses Half block the way, lacing the noon-tide sun With lines of stony shadow, passed from sights Leaving the world of men. VOL. XL12

Barrett Wendell Wendell, Barrett The Dean Of Bourges 117-121

THE DEAN OF BOURGES. 117 of a boy holding a conch-shell to his from his work in the Rub~iy~t as a ear in The Present and the Past, a designer of book-covers and other forms great deal of character and expression of decoration, that are marked by origi- in some of the heads in Deaths Re- nality of conception and execution. As view, a fine group of two figures in a painter he is noted for the individual- The Cup of Death, and much feeling ity with which he invests his themes, and harmony of line in some of the and to this quality more than to tech- other drawings. nical excellence he owes most of his Mr. Vedder is widely known, apart reputation. THE DEAN OF BOURGES. JUNE, 1891. By Barrett Wendell. OLD Felix Plat, dean of the church at Bourges, Lay quiet. Through the cool cathedral aisles Went strains of holy music. All the throng Of those that knew him in his gentle life Knelt, lifting up their souls in prayer to God For his, gone to Gods presence.Then the bells Clanging harmonious told the time was come To bear him to his everlasting rest. The red-coat beadles with their ringing staves Stalked solemn first; then red-robed, chanting boys; Then, grave and reverend, spectacled and laced, The bishop with his chapter; following on, The faithful, holy clergy, robed in black, Save one with shaven crown and sandalled feet, Brown robe and ropen girdle, down-cast eye, And visage grim with fasting. High amid The pious throng, a bier whereon reposed, Beneath the broidered glories of his pall, The good old man. And following him there came Bare-headed husbands with their crapen wives, Who keep alive the worthy name of Plat In sundry cities of the Nivernais; Then last the folk that loved his gentle life, Some weeping, silent some, some whispering. Down the cool aisle they passed. The central doors Groaned on their lazy hinges. Glorious light Of summer noon-day streamed beneath the Christ Who sits enthroned above the headless saints Twice martyred in his service. So the dean Passed from the church he gave his life to; turned In solemn pomp the corner of the porch; And down the hill-side, where gray buttresses Half block the way, lacing the noon-tide sun With lines of stony shadow, passed from sights Leaving the world of men. VOL. XL12 118 THE DEAN OF BOURGES. In the olden time When Felix Plat was born, Napoleon Still mimicked Julius conquests, and the gaze Of calm Augustus Ca~sar. Far from Bourges The father, once some petty advocate, Followed the imperial eagles, hot with hope That from their spoil his hand might gather up A baton or a throne, like Bernadotte. The mother, prayerful, trembling, left in Bourges, Went day by day into the lofty church, Five-aisled, mysterious, devastated, stern, But speaking still, she knew not how but knew, Mute messages of older, purer days, Lost in the silence of the centuries, When men had been content to live and die Loyal to God and to the fleur-de-lys. So, heavy with the child, she knelt in prayer She dared not breathe to any but the saints, That peace and purity might come again To tired, sinful Europe. And her child Was born, and looked at her with wistful eyes Blue as the evening heavens, piliowed there Beside her in the darkened room. Whereat She smiled a message, how she dreamt her boy Should do God service, not the Emperor. So when came tidings from the frozen East That she was widowed, whilst Napoleon Rode home from flaming Moscow, mid the plains Of white, unvanquished Russia swallowing up His dream imperial, she saw God at work; And, though she loved him well whose time was come Still far from throne or baton, clasped her child, And bore him to the church, wherein behind The arches of the altar, in the aisle Where glass like northern sunsets makes the light Throughout the ages dimly glorious, She made him kneel, teaching his baby lips To prattle prayer like hers for peace to come. But peace came not to France. The longed-for king Dabbled in Horace till the Hundred Days Scared him from classics and his capital. Then red-coat island folk, at Waterloo, Drove stout Napoleon, island-born, to the isle Whence could be no return; and Europe, free From one invading stranger, dared divide His toppling conquests. Gods anointed now Trod in their fathers footsteps; nothing learned Nor aught forgotten, led the way again To what they once had fled from. All the while, In quiet Bourges, the mother with her son Grew with the years togetheraged she, He manfuland together in the church THE DEAN OF BOLIRGES. 119 Knelt day by day, in prayer for peace to come. The tall gray arches twixt the pillared aisles, The cool gray vaults, the glory of the glass Wherefrom, as from the heavens, stare the saints, He grew to know for Gods mute messengers Of what hath been on earth; prophetic, too, Of what may be, would man but lift his eyes Godward again. The noisy world without Made his heart faint. For, even in sleepy Bourges, The hoydens of the chaffering market-place, The tramping soldiery with their rattling drums, The trotting lawyers with their serviettes, And bustling sin and passion imaged all The devils work on earth. Yet when he passed Sad to the five-arched portal, where the saints Gather in stony myriads at the feet Of Christ triumphant, still he knew the faith That what hath been on earth shall be again. So when to him, grown manful, came the time To choose what path his mortal feet should tread, He had no thought of choosing, gave himself To Christ, and to His Church, and to the King Who, chastened for his sins, should come at last Unto his own again. And that is all His story. Deacon, priest, then canon there, His gentle years passed by. He did the works He found to do; preached, prayed, ministered Unto Gods people, poor and rich alike, In joy, in sorrow; heard the whispered sins Of heavy hearts, spoke them consoling words; Gave alms and counsel, having little thought For aught but Gods own service. Well he knew, Ever more surely, France must bide her time, Paying her debt of sin, ere God should grant Peace to her people, with the fleur-de-lys. He closed his mothers eyes amid the days When pear-faced Orleans, by the people~s voice Not Godsmade king, sat smug in Paris; saw Those loyal ones who for a little cheered The standard of the Duchess, bid her go Suckle her child unroyal. Sin must pay Its debt ere peace might come. He lived content, Following the sinless one as best he might, Putting his trust in Heaven. So he saw The peoples king fall as Gods chosen kings Had fallen before him; saw the prating men Of Paris strive to govern; saw the Prince Who aped the Emperor as the Emperor aped The god-like chiefs of Rome, come mow them down, Thinking to lure the tinsel empire back; Saw him too vanish; saw the stormy cloud Of war come cleanse his traces from the land; Hoped a while that the white-flagged king Might know his own at last; and, very old, Saw senseless sin let prancing Boulanger 120 THE DEAN OF BOURGES. Turn hope to shameful sorrow; bowed his head, Content that Gods own work shall bide Gods time. They made him dean at eighty. Then at last He did his sovereign service. Long ago, A man of Bourges, Jacques Cceur, that loved the king, Built for the king a mighty monument, Wherein, if so it pleased him, he might lie Resting his bones in peace. And though the king Came never thither, but in St. Denis Slept with his fellows till the reckoning day When royal bones pell-mell were flung abroad To rot forgottenstill the monument Until that troublous time, there in the church, Stood royal; and above it knelt the king, Fat, blue-eyed, happy, robed in fleur-de-lys. Then, when the royal fathers paid the debts Of their lewd children, impious rabbles came, Tore down the pile, and thrust the blue-eyed king Into some cellar, where he lay forgot. There old dean Felix found him; thence he bade Men bear the image to the church again; Therein, behind the altar, bade them place The royal suppliant, where the painted glass Sheds all its glory round him. When the king Came to his own again, perchance to Bourges His feet might stray. There in the solemn chnrch His fathers form should greet him, kneeling down In prayer for France; and with its great blue eyes Look deep into his soul, speaking the truth That even as France must kneel before the King, So must the King, if he would hold his own, Kneel before God. And now at last was come Good old dean Felix time. One summer day, He breathed his soul into the hands of God; Lay for a while in state; then from his church Passed gravely forth forever. AJI the trace He left on earth of all the peace he dreamed, And prayed and yearned for through these troubled years That France is vexed with, kneels in carven stone Behind Bourges altar. But his life hath earned Such peace as France nor earth may ever know. And so he sleeps, leaving his earthly watch To fat King Louis, on his cushioned knees, Safe in the cool cathedral. THE DOCTORS RELATIVES. By Kcirl Erichson. Father mine is a silver birch-tree, Mother mine is a summer cloud, Brother mine is the rye so golden, Sister mine is the sickle moon. Spring and fall and summer weather, I am lonely as the heather: There I sing, and sing, and sing. ToPELIUs E was hunting through the Minne ~ ta hills for some embers of the Sil- verstar family, lost for years. Not that he was known by that luminous name, for deciding, while a pen- niless emigrant, not to shine with a tar- n is Ii e d aristocratic heritage, he merged himself into an- other NelsonAxel Nelsongreatly to the disgust of hjs Silfverstjerna kin in Sweden. He had seen but little of his country- men in America, having been too busy to disport himself on questions of na- tionality. But here, among the Missis- sippi bluffs, he found a bit of peasant Sweden, and the doctor was delighted. Little did the settlers, eying the man with the silk umbrella, suspect the kind- ly, almost enthusiastic, feelings he felt, at every long-drawn greeting in the dear old tongue. The clean-scoured log- houses, the womens checked head-cloths, the hive-shaped piles of winter wood, the bang of the looms, well-nigh trans- ported him. At one place where the rail fences ran far up the hill - sides, where the stumps were grubbed out, where the tinkle of bells led many sheep, he in- troduced himself as a hungry Swede. The effect was magical, and long did he remember that dinner. How he feasted on the thin bread cakes dried on a pole among the rafters; how delicately fla- vored was that indescribable dish, o4 kakaa rennet custard served with cin- namon and cream. At some such hospitable cabin he would, perhaps, discover his relatives. So he fancied. But a mysterious surprise prevailed when he inquired for the Swensons Johannes Swenson. Undoubtedly, his host reflected, the stranger held the mortgage. Doctor Axel marvelled, as he took the indicated way, that so dilapidated, washed-out, cracked, thistle-grown road could be found in young Minnesota. It might have been an antediluvian trail, growing thistles ever since those first ones in Genesis. He seemed enter- ing an enchanted region of weeds and haze. It was one of the rare Indian summer days that sometimes linger till late November, when all the Min- nesota hills are ethereally blue and divinely mysterious. Up another coolie, and he gained a view of the great river, a view granted only by leafless fall. Through the bare swamp forests flashed the water, like a revelation. In among the vast reaches of yellow marsh grass coursed the devious channels, all a dazzling Minne- sota blue. Forgotten, vanished, the dainty differences of green that tinted the August river; now it emblazons the Indian summer islands with a runi~ scroll text in blue and gold. The house was in sight; a lamentable log-cabin in a small clearing where the primeval stumps were thick. The sod roof bore weeds, tall and many, that waved above the whitewashed door. A gay pile of pumpkins relieved one wall, and a dog of somewhat paler cast at- tacked the doctors heels. He knocked. Was Silfverstjerna blood here? No response. Pushing open, he saw a stack of dry beans and a flail. Then

Karl Erickson Erickson, Karl The Doctor's Relatives 121-129

THE DOCTORS RELATIVES. By Kcirl Erichson. Father mine is a silver birch-tree, Mother mine is a summer cloud, Brother mine is the rye so golden, Sister mine is the sickle moon. Spring and fall and summer weather, I am lonely as the heather: There I sing, and sing, and sing. ToPELIUs E was hunting through the Minne ~ ta hills for some embers of the Sil- verstar family, lost for years. Not that he was known by that luminous name, for deciding, while a pen- niless emigrant, not to shine with a tar- n is Ii e d aristocratic heritage, he merged himself into an- other NelsonAxel Nelsongreatly to the disgust of hjs Silfverstjerna kin in Sweden. He had seen but little of his country- men in America, having been too busy to disport himself on questions of na- tionality. But here, among the Missis- sippi bluffs, he found a bit of peasant Sweden, and the doctor was delighted. Little did the settlers, eying the man with the silk umbrella, suspect the kind- ly, almost enthusiastic, feelings he felt, at every long-drawn greeting in the dear old tongue. The clean-scoured log- houses, the womens checked head-cloths, the hive-shaped piles of winter wood, the bang of the looms, well-nigh trans- ported him. At one place where the rail fences ran far up the hill - sides, where the stumps were grubbed out, where the tinkle of bells led many sheep, he in- troduced himself as a hungry Swede. The effect was magical, and long did he remember that dinner. How he feasted on the thin bread cakes dried on a pole among the rafters; how delicately fla- vored was that indescribable dish, o4 kakaa rennet custard served with cin- namon and cream. At some such hospitable cabin he would, perhaps, discover his relatives. So he fancied. But a mysterious surprise prevailed when he inquired for the Swensons Johannes Swenson. Undoubtedly, his host reflected, the stranger held the mortgage. Doctor Axel marvelled, as he took the indicated way, that so dilapidated, washed-out, cracked, thistle-grown road could be found in young Minnesota. It might have been an antediluvian trail, growing thistles ever since those first ones in Genesis. He seemed enter- ing an enchanted region of weeds and haze. It was one of the rare Indian summer days that sometimes linger till late November, when all the Min- nesota hills are ethereally blue and divinely mysterious. Up another coolie, and he gained a view of the great river, a view granted only by leafless fall. Through the bare swamp forests flashed the water, like a revelation. In among the vast reaches of yellow marsh grass coursed the devious channels, all a dazzling Minne- sota blue. Forgotten, vanished, the dainty differences of green that tinted the August river; now it emblazons the Indian summer islands with a runi~ scroll text in blue and gold. The house was in sight; a lamentable log-cabin in a small clearing where the primeval stumps were thick. The sod roof bore weeds, tall and many, that waved above the whitewashed door. A gay pile of pumpkins relieved one wall, and a dog of somewhat paler cast at- tacked the doctors heels. He knocked. Was Silfverstjerna blood here? No response. Pushing open, he saw a stack of dry beans and a flail. Then 122 THE DOd~oR S RELATIVES. from a dark inner room hobbled a tiny, gray, decrepit woman swathed in coarse rags; on her face fear, in her hand a tattered catechism. On the tip of her wrinkled nose rested verdigris-rimmed spectacles, and stiff short hair empha- sized her uncanny look. Whos there? she whispered, wav- ing the book. Be it the land youre after? Deliver us from the wicked. Her dialect betrayed signs of good Swedish, of the clear-cut Stockholm accent, but the doctor quaked as he reflected that he was related by the female line. Bravely, however, he announced himself as a Silfverstjerna. Silfverstjerna? she screamed, flying at him. The Barons son, my cousins son? He was the cousins grandson, but her emotion was nowise abated. Axelina! Ax-el-in-a! she called. Wheres the young un? I might fall down this hill like last summer, when I rolled into the slough. Axelina. It was a witch shot, she hoarsely explained, clasping the talismanic book to her old superstitious breast. A witchshot. The doctor found Axelina under a tree, dark and unresponsive as the hill behind her. Over her chemise was but- toned a dark-blue skirt, and the tangle of black hair fell over bare shoulders. The last scarlet sumach leaf was no red- der than her cheeks, but utter lack of animation almost cancelled their brill- iancy. Motionless she sat, watching a caterpillar crawl up her bare arm. Virtually she was a pagan, a Minne- sota pagan, a little distorted, pervert- ed Lutheran, confirmed though she had been, drilled in churchly creed and code. Fireflies were her kin, water nixies she had spoken with. At this moment she was waiting to see the worm turn in- to an angel and carry her off beyond the purple line of the farthest Minnesota hill, by the last silver glimpse of the Mississippi, to give her clothes and folks like other girls. A sulien courtesy and a silent stare returned the strangers greeting as she finally stirred to the frantic summons to Go an fetch Johannes from the fen- c~n. Her uncle this was, of plebeian ex- traction. As she ran off into the copse, the doc- tor followed across the clearing, where rye had grown among the black stumps. His namesake stopped on the steep brink of the creek, and he wondered if she got that wonderful color from the Polish countess who married into their ancestral family during the Thirty Years war, or from this glorious, exhilarating Minnesota air. She stopped and gave a shrill whistle. A flap and rustle in the water below re- sponded, and straight up the cliff flew a solitary goose, alighting in evident de- light at Axelinas feet. She cast on the fine interloper a silent, triumphant look gainsaying abject misery, petted her bird, and led into the untouched forest. In a bush-hidden cave off the precipi- tous ravine, the unkempt, meagre Jo- hannes was making whiskey. (That is, fencin.) His apparatus was ridiculously small, but his enjoyment of inverse propor- tions. These pans, screws, pails, and tin cups, were all he cared for in the entire universe, and he could have thrown Axelina over the bluff for bring- ing this man here. But the doctor, tingling with adventure, greeted him effusively, said he had come hundreds of miles to see him, and was his cousin (revelling in the admission). Johannes subsided into a garrulous boon-compan- ion, urging the doctor to remain with them indefinitely, and bestowed upon him an extravagant dose of Minnesota moonshine, scorched and burnt into the flavor of all the spices of Cathay. Axelina was back at the creek, having decided that the Indian summer water was warm enough for a bath. On hot days, how they luxuriated in the water, girl and bird, chasing each other up and down stream. The goose would beat the water into milky effervescence while Axelina, from her cracked, rusty cup, poured the silver coolness down her arms. In pure luxury of existence she often lay asleep under the black haws, her arm thrown over the bank, where, through her fingers, the water r?Lvelled out a lullaby. Once she took a moonlight bath to see the trolls and elves against which her grandmother so vehemently prayed. And she was satisfied that white drape- THE DOCTOR S RELATIVES. 123 ries trailed through the dewy bushes; that the star down, down in the water sparkled on the brow of a spirit. She was enraptured to have seen it. The doctor was snowed in for a month. Minnesota Novembers cannot be trusted, and for decades the witching Indian summer had not loitered so long or lovingly among these hills. The first night he was awakened by fingers feeling over his face. Starting up, he saw the witch-like hag holding a candle high above her gray head, and heard her mutter Baron S., Baron ere she screamed and fled at his voice. At four every frozen morning his vacation slumbers were attuned to Johanness bean-flail. Johannes, in fact, seemed to have a peculiar disinclination to work at any other hour. This enforced leisure was likely to be ruinous to a man of his moderate means, but the hill had turned white and slip- pery, awe-inspiring to contemplate. He was insulated on an impassable glacier, scarred and scarped by the howling storms and cutting sleet. Axelina was a curious study; shy and sullen. It was remarkable that a child could be so apathetic to her own misery, so unresponsive to kindness. Yet he felt a magnetism in the girl: he called it pity. But when, the roads being opened a few days before Christmas, he prepared to go, she revealed herself like the flash of a sword from the sheath. Clinging to his arm, she wildly entreated him to stay over Christmas. She fixed her eyes upon him, saying he should stay. He was amazed, confounded, but won over, to his own surprise. So here he was, astonishing the set- tlement store by his purchases, and help- ing the poor child cook and clean, while Johannes provided a festive surplus of beans. The girl, in truth, had a knack, and a zealous one, for scrubbing, about the only thing her housekeeping condi- tions left scope for. She scoured the old boards out around the door, the benches, the table, the walls, with rush bundles of her own gathering, and it gave a sense of good living to the hovel. Had it not been for her, the weeds would undoubtedly have grown as tall on the hearth-stones as they did on the roof. The day before Christmas, the doctor heard sobs in the bean shanty, and found Axelina unflinchingly plucking her dear beloved goose, which she herself had killed. Though aghast at this inferred compliment to his presence, he did not imagine how much it meant. 0, Axelina, you ought not to have killed it. Her tears streamed on the downy breast as she petted it, but her voice flashed out: I wouldnt leave it to them. You see, she explained, in a tone that carried conviction to the listener, Im goin home with you. He had planned to give her dresses and shoes, but she evidently went fur- ther. Why, child, I dont see She was unmoved by his misgivings. I kin go, an I be goin. Does youi think I kin live here a bit longer? Will you whip me if I goes? You doesnt need to take me, Ill just foller. If you does whip me, Ill foller any how. He caught his breath. Was such fire in her heart? The dark eyes glowed, carmine spots came and went in her cheeks, but the curved mouth was in- flexible. The miserable cabin seemed indeed too poor to cage her. Rolling up her sleeve, she showed a long blue mark, saying, scornfully: Johannes hit me there. If you hit me like that, Ill foller anyhow. She was more lovely and wonderful than the aurora borealis flashing its crimson banners in the winter nights. Tears filled his heart and he drew the quivering girl to his side, impulsively kissing the red, red mouth. Poor little Axelina, I will take care of you.~~ She was his only Christmas present. The angel had come. The great open fire gave semblance of cheer to Christmas Eve in the poor cabin, really very clean; and there was quite a supper, including the regulation rice mush plus cinnamon. The doctor heaved birch-logs into the chimney and wondered how to announce Axelinas departure. She forestalled 124 THE DOCTOR S RELATIVES. him, however, bysimply te]ling them she was going away. Johannes was calm, stupefied you might say, having waded the drifts to his cave, and imbibed a sling of good nature. But the frantic grandmother became a raving incarna- tion of wrath. She shrieked, waved her catechism, and cursed the child. The indignant doctor stepped sternly for- ward, but Axelina motioned him off. Fixing her luminous eyes on the old woman, she trilled out a quick strain like the call of a wild bird, and then, af- ter a brief pause, sang. The doctor stood entranced by her voice. It held the sweet sound of the Minnesota Junes, and the mournfulness of the whippoorwills. It rose and fell in minors of an old folk ballad, and gushed forth in the tender, passionate Swedish words. The expression and pathos betrayed her imagination. - And indeed, at the moment, the song was her real life. While she exorcised the demented wom- an, she herself grew almost uncon- scious of her surroundings in the rapt- ure of singing. But when the song had quieted the poor old grandmother, Ax- elina, slender child, picked her up and carried her to bed with a last mournful refrainin the hard, ragged bed, the one-time beauty who had danced with barons. They were the offscouring of the settlement; the one house where was no thrift, no store of food, no wheel, no loom. Yet both Johannes and the old woman always went to church on Christmas morning. The doctor could not sleep that night for carollings of the young Christmas voice, and he was very ready for Johan- ness three oclock summons. Service began at five, and four miles to go. Dust was blown off the hymn-books. Johannes wildly tore the autumn snarls out of his hair with a ferocious, semi- toothless, Swedish brass comb. The old woman, wrapped and rolled in quilts, was packed into a blue box-sled which Dr. Axel gallantly drew down the steep, treacherous ice-hill, around formidable frozen curves, and through the dark, crackling, frozen forest. She, meantime, muttered and mumbled prayers and peti- tions against every evil she ever feared. Over the long line of snowy Missis- sippi bluffs glittered a play of northern lights, yellow and pink. Down through the settlement lanterns twinkled and shone on every hill-path, near and far, converging to a focus at the little log church. There the fur-coated men and sheep- skin robed women found a red-hot stove to greet them. (For they did not im- port the old Swedish r~girne of freezing to death in church.) Afar shone the little temple, for it was all illuminated by candles in the win- dows, candles on the pulpit, candles in the seat backs, candles in a festive, friv- olous, straw-trimmed chandelier above the altar. A black tablet announced the hymns in polished brass numbers, and hours before sunrise, in the heart of the frozen Minnesota woods, a churchful of people rose to sing No. 55 in the Lu- theran Psalter, Bishop Wallins immor- tal hymn that every Christmas morning ascends in praise on both sides of the Atlantic: Hail, hail, thou beauteous morning hour, That by the prophets holy power, To mortal .ught was given. The doctor recalled it from childhood and sang, all the while conscious of a soprano over on the womens side that led the congregation like the motive of a Christmas symphonyAxelinas voice. She wore a queer little muskrat cap with a fur tail bobbing down her neck, and, with hands clasped behind her, sang all the long stanzas by heart. Instructed in the catechism and in- scribed in the archives, she, neverthe- less, held a cordial disrespect for church and clergymanto be deprecated, but not wondered at. The season of con- firmation had not been happy. Yalfrid, with applause, had been awarded his place to lead the boys. Axelina stood unquestionably first of all, both boys and girls, in record. But there were rich farmers to consider, the pastors daughter, respectability. So, although gentle Yalfrid said he would not be con- firmed, his proud mother and the diplo- lomatic clergyman, won, and beggar woman Swensons grandchild stood last in line in the flower- decked Pentecost church; had stood at the altar hard, THE DOCTORS RELATIVES. 125 friendless, despising the prayers and the questions she faultlessly answered. Now on Christmas morning, through tune and interlude, strophe and anti- strophe, she fixed her eyes on the boy who played the psalmodilcona primi- tive, one-stringed lute deservedly pop- ular in its day and played on accord- ing to number books. (Alas, that the psalmodikon is heard no more, even in Minnesota!) The harper was a fine- looking boy, and the doctor recognized him as from the well-to-do farmYalfrid. It was the joy of Vaifrids prosaic life to play in church, and the music in his heart was not to be measured by earth- ly harmony as he drew the solitary choral notes from the solitary string. No. 55 had required much practice, but he made no mistakes. A happy flush enlivened his delicate blonde face as he eagerly leaned over the instrument, and the gold of his wonderful hair gleamed in the light of the altar candles. He was a god compared with the buxom, green-robed angels painted above the pulpit, whose prototype was found among the heavier females of the con- gregation. They, meantime, venerated the production, as a genuine Horberg. Doctor Axel found the Scripture les- sons in Johanness cubical hymn-book embossed with leathern cherubim, and the solemn, slow responses sent him back long years. But the sermon was disturbed by the warm knowledge that a stout, home-made tallow dip in an augur-hole was blazing within half an inch of the nape of his neck. Also by the busy man in new, unpilable, sheet- iron homespun who creakingly clogged about snuffing the candles, and whose natural deliberation of motion could only be accelerated by actual contact with burning flame. Indeed, in past years hymn-books had taken fire, the fur on several old ladies hoods been seri- ously damaged, and it was miraculous that, when the people rose to sing, there was not a general conflagration of coat- tails. Before dawn the long service closed, and Axelina pressed up to the musician boy. Yalfrid, Im goin away to-morrow. With him? For how long? Forever, she asseverated with tears. She had not thought it would be so hard to leave him. No, it be-ent, he stoutly whispered, with a smile like a star. You must come back. Lyclcligjul, Lina. (Merry Christmas.) And he pressed into her slender brown hand a string of yellow glass beads. That night Axelina flew up aifrighted, lest precious time had fled, and shook the uncouth Johannes to go out and consult the stars. Shivering, he avowed that they indicated near morning. Si- dereal time was not to be disputed, so the oxen started in the cold, scintillating moonlight. Down coolies, ravines, and frozen creeks; no daylight. Slow miles squeaked past to the groan of the cart-wheels. The doctor and Axelina ran furlongs in the spectral woods. Fifteen miles; they reached stage sta- tion four hours too early. This archaic punctuality amused the doctor, but no freezing owl in the frozen forest was more solemn than Axeina as the signs of her zodiac changed. The repressed joy was so great as to be a burden, and, surcharged with the unknown, she walked as in the vision of a dream. In the next four years Axelina gave no little trouble. For a long time it was only with Dr. Axel she was tractable and somewhat winning. Her sullen moods, ignorance, and imperious will very soon caused an estrangement between the doctor and Miss Lee, his affianced wife. She wanted no such relatives. The en- gagement was broken. The doctor was too busy to brood morbidly. He hid in his heart an im- age of the Laura Lee he could have idol- ized, and worked on. Competition, dis- appointments tempering each success; ambition kept him at high pressure, kept him from seeing much of his ward. Axelina improved, yet she was seven- teen, the brightest girl in the seminary, and without one close friend. She felt the void. She saw girls kiss their fathers, and suffered agonies of longing for such an opportunity. She looked at her guardians thoughtful face and wished she could run her fingers through his dark hair. Dreaming of nights that the old grandmother held her in her clutches, she often went to Dr. Axels 126 THE DOCTORS RELATIVES. door and sat by the threshold till morn- ing. Every day she gave a passionate little caress to his slippers, and vowed to become as good as he was. Every year a few letters were written from Valfrid, and she told the doctor he was soon coming for her. Her simplic- ity provoked only a smile. But one day she broke in on him at his desk. Vehe- ment and trembling, she sobbed, Vaifrid is sick, Vaifrid. I must go at once. Axelina, child, be calm. Let me speak to you.~~ Oh, I must go. When does the train leave? she cried. Axelina, he said, a little sternly, for he felt need of fortifying himself against that power she had of accomplishing her desires, I do not want you to go. I cannot go with you, and what could we do? Next summer we will go. She threw herself on the floor, clasp- ing his knees. You know, he gently went on, you are expected to sing to-night. The little wild bird must sing. You are to do so well. The caress in his voice appeased her, and she forced herself to be quiet. All afternoon she lay on her bed, with hands tightly clasped over her breast to repress the storm. That evening her voice was truly beautiful, and Dr. Axel enjoyed her tri- umph. And he smiled as he thought of the mornings episode and of her pow- er to control that temper. He doubt- ed not it was the happiest hour of her life. She marry Vaifrid? He had a vision that, could knights and ladies from the baronial hall of their ancestors be conjured up, they would not blush to own this little Silfverstjer- na singing so sweetly, so roundly ap- plauded. Forced to reappear, Axelina stood a moment irresolute, lovely in her delicate pink dress. She saw only her guardians fine face. A chill of hopelessness shook her, of misery, of the anguish of a warm, palpitating nature to have no answering heart to know it. She felt it was black ingratitude not to feel satisfied when he had done so much for her. In this su- preme moment of her years of awak ening, the faces before her became a blank expanse illuminated by Dr. Axels smile. But he was so far away, always so far. All this in a few seconds, then, realizing he expected her to sing, she asserted herself as Axelina by bursting into a little Swedish ballad she had not thought of for years. He alone in that audience understood the words, and sat electrified at her audacity: To Eastern land. will I journey, My love, oh, my true love to see; Over valley deep and mountain, All under the green linden-tree. Over valley deep and mountain, All under the green linden-tree. The complex emotions of her heart swelled naturally into the sad, subtile cadences, and the fine air charmed every ear. The delighted listeners took it as a well-planned surprise, congratulating the doctor. So odd! Quite effec- tive! IL THE next morning Axelina was gone; without a word. Her few dollars took her half-way; then followed a week of walking, beg- ging food, starving. She loosed a boat and rowed against the Mississippi cur- rent half a day between the majestic hills that stretched homeward. Was it home? Afraid of the night river, she landed at a dusky highway, sending the boat down stream with faith it would reach the owner. She came to the old road one mellow April twilight. All the valley was pervaded by the faint April perfumes suggesting flowers. Walking on slowly, more kindly thoughts of the old life filled her mind than ever before. The poor, weak grand- mother slept under the pasque flowers, by the side of Axelinas handsome, dis- appointed mother. Perhaps Johannes was better; perhaps he had awakened to some sense of manhood. A gaunt figure reeled toward her and she tried to hide among the trees, but the man accosted her rudely. The lady would gimme someting? The fine ladylady, he mumbled, with a leer. THE DOCTOR S RELATIVES. 127 It was Johannes. In the revulsion of her almost fantastic nature, she shook with abhorrence. Her spirit denied all affinity, even sympathy. He was never kind to anyone. Let me pass! I go to the next house. Lady not can the way.~~ She sprang to the open road, thinking he meant to murder her. Waving a long switch, she pointed over the well-known hill. You live over there, and if you dont let me pass and go right home, Ill whip you, and Ill go over the creek, break your whiskey jug, and lock the cave. Do you hear, Johannes Swenson? Cowed and appalled by his Nemesis, Johannes took hands off her, slinking aside utterly confounded. Involuntarily, he touched his ragged hat to her, as she quickly disappeared in the woods. Soon she reached Yalfrids home. Breathless and weak, she watched the spring fires on all the hills, down in the Mississippi marshes, afar on the other shore. Like evil serpents they writhed up the dark, dim Wisconsin hills, as she recalled that Valfrids folks hated her the beggar-girL After contact with the depraved Johannes, she experienced far less confidence in herself. Indig- nities of the old life oppressed her heart. One window was light, but all was silent as the grave. As she knocked, the silver April moon, evanescent and white as the first April blood-root blossom, dropped its early crescent behind the familiar notch in a big black bill. Yalfrids mother opened to her. May I see Valfrid? Vaifrid? Who is it? scrutinized the tall la& y in long cloak, who stood silent, a stranger, till Valfrids sister Annie cried, Axelina! 0 Annie, let me see him, she con- vulsively sobbed. The weeping mother walked the floor in loud lamentation. Then they told Axelina that Yalfrid was dead. Dead? In all her impetuous journey she had not considered this possibil- ity. Across the yard they led her to the new house where he lay; his mother did, who had let no one touch her dar- ling, her one son. The d6licate boy-face wore a smile, and the halo of yellow hair was lighted into camaieu golds and shades. This was her true friend, who helped her when others scorned, who loved her. His plain, sweet life was ended; this lovely form was ready for the grew- some crypt. He could not hear her voice. The frantic, exhausted girl knelt be- side him. Rebellious thoughts surged unformulated through her being, terri- fying, agitating in their variable indis- tinctness. Why could not her eager, passionate longing keep Death back? Why was anything stronger than her tempestuous, sacrificing heart? She took the dainty chiselled face in her hands, and just then the candles light flickered on the dumb psalmodikon leaning against his dead arm. The lute, the hand, but no music! With a moan she fell to the floor. Nothing more she knew until, after long weeks, she saw the doctor one sum- mer day by her bed. On the quilt lay the queer old harp which she had held and fingered through all the fever. Its one string was broken, and the simple melody of her child-life was also silent. But majestic chords of harmony were latent in her chastened heart. Long days she lay weak and silent, watching Yalfrids mother and Annie work. All the kerchiefed women came one day to make cheese for the minister. She experienced a protest against life in the settlement, though never till now had she loved these people. Valfrids mother had bowed her haughty spirit in her grief, and recognized the girls nat- ure as akin to her own. Axelinas soul breathed peace. With profound thankfulness she waited to go out into the world; waited for strength to tell Dr. Axel how glad she was he had enabled her to do so. Just what she would do, she knew not. The fever had been horrible. Many times she had seen Yalfrid die. She too had died and been with him in the kingdom of the dead. In uncertainty they had floated through a universe of vapor. Again, fire serpents had coiled 128 THE DOCTOR S RELATIVES. about him in slow, torturing toils. She herself had burned, burned, burned. She had been tormented by hideous visions of a huge burning psalmodi- kon in which Yalfrid was laid out for buriaL Awakening to reality, the world seemed a river of peace. The memory of the hallowed, quiet death-chamber and the smiling boy, was calm and beau- tiful, though mournful and sad. One July afternoon the doctor brought her out on the hill in the edge of the wood. It was July, luxurious July, when Mis- sissippi breezes hurry up from the river to the high bluffs; when the even lengths of Wisconsin hills shine golden with ripe wheat. July, or Carpasapa-wi, as the Dakotahs said, the month when the choke - cherrie~j are ripe. And over Axelinas head hung profuse racemes of the glistening, black-red fruit. She was pale; no bloom but on the exquisite mouth. A white shawl in soft folds about her throat, made the doctor think of the black hair about her bare shoulders. She was very quiet, not a re- bellious feeling in her. The long jour- ney to the Gate of Mystery had stilled the stormy creature. He closed his book, seeing the word death a few lines down, and stretched at full length on the slope below her. This was his second vacation. At thirty - five he felt disappointed that life proved so realistic, so destructive of the dreams dreamed by the boy on the cliffs of the Baltic. He was not bitter, but enthusiasm had faded from his soul as surely though as slowly as the blue from a harebell. To-day, however, he felt a buoyancy long unknown. This child, this dear girl would live. Poor Axelina, and he glanced lov- ingly at her. She smiled in perfect peace. Involuntarily, almost, he put his hand over her footshe had dainty hands and feetthinking reverently of the long miles she had walked in the im pulse of her heart. Just so she had once vowed to follow him, Ocer valley deep and mountain; All under the green tin n-tree. Life was not all materiaL The spirit world touches us in life as well as death; how, otherwise, could he now be so near the impulsive faith of inex- perience? Well, Axelina; are you ready to go home with me? Yes, she simply answered, though this was the first word as to her future. She suspected no change as she looked afar down over the vast river-marshes. But there was longing in his eyes as he questioningly searched her passive face. He was very handsome, with the background to his fine looks of a good, earnest man. Come to me, Axelina ; sing me Swed- ish ballads. Can you love me well ehough to be my wife? It was a delirious moment to her; words as startling as a line of lightning. The color surged to her face and throat, her pulses bounded too quickly. Him she had adored afar; reverenced his acts as those of a superior being. She knew that with him life would be bright, be pure and great. Love him? Have the right to? Eagerly she leaned forward, looking into his waiting face, and he could hardly endure the brightness in the great black eyes as she uttered her first thought. Oh, I should love to be your wife. We know not whither the path in our garden or the road past our house doth tend. Again they went the thistle- grown - trail from the Swedish settle- ment, and it led to happiness, such hap- piness as few bridal paths do find. He never felt that he gave as much as he received ; and in the successful years she no oftener followed the reason of his disciplined mind than he the dic- tates of her loving impulse. Ox~ of the ingenious persons who make interesting paragraphs in the newspapers, put into a Boston paper, the other day, a tale of a well-to-do gentleman who had~ son. For whom, when he came of age and had finished with the customary educa- tional preliminaries, his father cast about for an occupation; and himself having no business except to nurse his income, he wrote to twenty-four friends whose indus- trial efforts had resulted successfully, ask- ing each what he thought was a good busi- ness, or profession, for a youth to start in. The paragraphers story is that each correspondent, in his reply, complained of his own calling, and advised the inquirer to try something else. Whereat the father was disconcerted, and at last account the son was still idle. The story is reasonable enough to be true. It seems not to lie in the average man who knows what success in his particular line of activity has cost him, to believe easily in another persons ability to pay the neces- sary price, escape fatal misadventures, and be favored by the indispensable lucky chances. Moreover, the thing that he has done looks small to him when he recalls the continuousness of the effort that accom- plished it. When he makes his estimate of results he usually counts in dollars and cents, and is apt to overlook what every sincere moralist is bound to regard as the most important result of all, the effect of his exertions upon himself. The effort which has made him successful~~ in the VOL. XI.13 more limited sense, has developed his strength and his manhood. That was, or should have been, the result that the inquiring Boston parent sought for his son. Recognizing that to nurse an in- come is an old-gentlemanly avocation, and hardly fit to bring out the latent qualities of youth, he wanted, doubtless, to put his youngster somewhere where burden - bear- ing would make him sturdy; but, like the rest of us, he wanted the sturdiness to be incident to the acquisition of satisfactory pecuniary gains. Generally speaking, our American con- ception of profitable work is still something that makes direct cash returns. We are perfectly aware that character is valuable, and that hard work is almost indispensable to its growth, yet our impulse is to meas- ure the value of labor in coin. Even when we dont need, or really care about, the money our work might bring, we are apt to persist, from mere force of habit, in measuring it primarily by this standard, and secondarily, if at all, by its results in ourselves. The truth is, as the experience of the Boston father illustrates, that there is scarcely any calling whose mere money returns will seem to its successful pro- fessors worth the pains they have cost. I have had to work at this job, each of the Boston mans correspondents seems to have said; IL had no choice, for IL had to make a living. But with your son it is different. He can afford to choose some- thing else. THE POINT OF VIEW.

The Point Of View The Point Of View 129-134

Ox~ of the ingenious persons who make interesting paragraphs in the newspapers, put into a Boston paper, the other day, a tale of a well-to-do gentleman who had~ son. For whom, when he came of age and had finished with the customary educa- tional preliminaries, his father cast about for an occupation; and himself having no business except to nurse his income, he wrote to twenty-four friends whose indus- trial efforts had resulted successfully, ask- ing each what he thought was a good busi- ness, or profession, for a youth to start in. The paragraphers story is that each correspondent, in his reply, complained of his own calling, and advised the inquirer to try something else. Whereat the father was disconcerted, and at last account the son was still idle. The story is reasonable enough to be true. It seems not to lie in the average man who knows what success in his particular line of activity has cost him, to believe easily in another persons ability to pay the neces- sary price, escape fatal misadventures, and be favored by the indispensable lucky chances. Moreover, the thing that he has done looks small to him when he recalls the continuousness of the effort that accom- plished it. When he makes his estimate of results he usually counts in dollars and cents, and is apt to overlook what every sincere moralist is bound to regard as the most important result of all, the effect of his exertions upon himself. The effort which has made him successful~~ in the VOL. XI.13 more limited sense, has developed his strength and his manhood. That was, or should have been, the result that the inquiring Boston parent sought for his son. Recognizing that to nurse an in- come is an old-gentlemanly avocation, and hardly fit to bring out the latent qualities of youth, he wanted, doubtless, to put his youngster somewhere where burden - bear- ing would make him sturdy; but, like the rest of us, he wanted the sturdiness to be incident to the acquisition of satisfactory pecuniary gains. Generally speaking, our American con- ception of profitable work is still something that makes direct cash returns. We are perfectly aware that character is valuable, and that hard work is almost indispensable to its growth, yet our impulse is to meas- ure the value of labor in coin. Even when we dont need, or really care about, the money our work might bring, we are apt to persist, from mere force of habit, in measuring it primarily by this standard, and secondarily, if at all, by its results in ourselves. The truth is, as the experience of the Boston father illustrates, that there is scarcely any calling whose mere money returns will seem to its successful pro- fessors worth the pains they have cost. I have had to work at this job, each of the Boston mans correspondents seems to have said; IL had no choice, for IL had to make a living. But with your son it is different. He can afford to choose some- thing else. THE POINT OF VIEW. 130 THE POINT OP VIEW. Every year the American colleges are turning loose increasing numbers of youth with the elements of education in them, whose circumstances are such that they may choose what they will do without much regard to the money returns of their labor. It is an interesting question wheth- er the prospective results of their labors on themselves are to influence these young men in an increasing degree in their choice, or whether a taste for luxury, stim- ulated by the sight of the extremely rich (whom we have always and increasingly with us in these days), is going to make vast profits seem more than ever labors most desirable return. Whatever the gen- eral tendency is, there are sure to be some candidates every year whose incentive to work is an honorable aversion to worthless- ness. A particular field in which all good Americans hope to see such young men venture is politics, and especially munici- pal politics. If the American young man who loves his work for his works sake, and need not get his bread by it, should elect to take a hand in the government of cities, the result might be comforting to that re- spectable body of citizens who are tired of being governed by men who are in that business primarily because they find it a source of income. Of course, when the man who loves his work for his works sake comes into competition in municipal poli- tics, as elsewhere, with the man who is working for his dinner, his coat must come off, metaphorically speaking, if he is to ac- complish anything. That is the beauty of it. It would be hard work, harder than yacht-racing or even polo: less vainly amusing, and less cheaply glorious; and fitter, for those reasons, to satisfy the aspi- rations of an energetic and devoted spirit. IT is still, one dare believe, at least ar- guable whether the decline of interest in poetry, that there is so industrious an ac- counting for of late, has actually befallen. In volume of production, whatever the last four or five years may show, the last twenty- five surely compare not unfavorably with any previous twenty-five in the history of English literature. Whence one may infer the survival of a fair degree of interest among the producers at any rate. And as for the consumers, what reason is there to believe that the number of students of poetry among English readers was ever larger than at this very moment? Never before were there professors and courses of poetry in all the higher schools. Never before was there such a flow from the press of reissues of the old poetry, and of issues and reissues of new and old comment there on. Mr. Gosse, indeed, detects in this par- ticular activity of the press a premonition of disaster to the present prosperity of the old poets, and argues that, since whatever is made a task grows odious, the surest way of starting a poet to oblivion is to en- wreathe him with notes and coffin him in a text-book. But it is clear that Mr. Gosse does not desire to be taken too seriously in this argument; and he, no doubt, would be the first to allow that, for the present, at least, the text-books do testify to the istence somewhere of a very earnest in- terest. Granting the decline, however, to be past further question, is the explanation of it that finds most favor quite sufficient? This explanation imputes it primarily to the com- mercial, money-making, worldly disposition of the age. To make this account of the matter good, an age pre-eminent in poetry should show weakness in the commercial, money-making, worldly disposition. With all the fluctuations in literary judgments, we now constantly concede pro-eminence in poetry to the Elizabethan age. To Shakespeare, no doubt, is due the readi- ness of the acknowledgment; but it would still be merited had the Elizabethan age, remaining in all else the same, lacked Shakespeare. For while Shakespeare was as distinctly unapproachable then as since, never before or since was poetry so in the very air of the time. Everybody wrote verses, and everybody in a measure wrote them well. A charm seemed to be on even the poetaster, so that, strive as he might, he could not do his worst. A line or two of distinction would slip into his inventions, as if in very despite. Hence Lowell, seeking a passage to fitly characterize the inspiring speech and countenance of Emer- son, could choose, out of his large store of remembered verse, two stanzas from one of the obscurest of the Elizabethan THE POINT OF VIEW. 131 poets, and from a poem that closes in this fashion: And here my pen is forst to shrinke, My teares discollor so mine inke. Nor are these lines below the general level of the poem, although Lowells quotations do not exhaust its beauties. But this most poetical of ages was far from weak in the commercial, money-mak- ing, worldly disposition. Studied in such intimate chronicles as Holinsheds, it strikes one of our time less by its oddity than by its likeness in this and in many other attributes. The merchants are grow- ing rapidly rich and using their accumu- lations to monopolize the land. The mar- kets are subject to manipulations; even the wheat corner has got evolved; and thereby w& may see, sadly reflects the chronicler, how each of us endeavoreth to fleece and eat up another. Tradesmen are grown eager, and their wares debased. The luxurious prefer foreign products to domestic. French cooks have stolen into the kitchen. Fashions in dress, through the vanity of wealth. and. the greed of tailors, change like the inconstant moon. There is, too, corruption in politics, the courtiers being many of them the worst men when they come abroad that any man shall either hear or read of. And they who make re- port of these things do it in such sorrow that, had they been of our day, they must have been rated roundly by the newspapers for calamity-howlers and pessimists. It is worth while to note, too, that this the golden age of poetry resembled ours in being regarded by the poets themselves as peculiarly unfriendly to their art. In its earlier days, and at the opening of his career, Spenser complains that his poore Ninse hath spent her spared store, Yet little good hath got, and mnch lesse gayne. This might be regarded as only an outburst of the discouragement that always attends the beginner, but Spenser repeats and en- larges his lament in after life. A little later Sir Philip Sidney finds just cause to make a pittiful defence of poore poetry, since, from almost the highest estimation of learning, it is fallen to be the laugh- ingatocke of children. And toward the close of the period Ben Jonson rages in life-long warfare against the depraved taste of the time, while Chapman in one passage regrets that the barbarous worldling, grov- elling after gain, uses Poesy with rude hate, and in another flings defiance at the wolf-faced worldlings who, caring for nothing but honours, riches, and magis- tracy, bray and bark against the muse. In view of all this, I for one should say that poetrys present want of estimation, besides being very dimly demonstrated, is also very imperfectly accounted for. Tr~ Israelites who are being robbed and driven across the border in Russia have probably as rich a sacred literature of de- nunciation and vengeance from which to derive assurance of the fate of their op- pressors as anywhere exists. It is easy to imagine them brooding with gloomy satis- faction over the solemn passages in which the Hebrew poets, more than two thousand years ago, pictured the wrath that should overtake those who dealt ill with the chosen people of the Lord. His own iniquities shall take the wicked himself, and he shall be holden with the cords of his sins, was one of the Proverbs of Solomon, the son of David, King of Israel, to which the starving refugees within the Pale doubt- less still attach the childlike and invinci- ble faith of their strangely simple, and still more strangely subtile, race. In the case of Russia the wisdom, if not the inspiration, of Solomon has been justi- fied with a swiftness that may well seem to the believers the evidence of the anger of the Lord. For it cannot be questioned that the famine that is now scourging Euro- pean Russia, and that is more extended and more terrible than any known in the mod- ern history of the civilized world, has been greatly aggravated, and may be said to be, in considerable measure, actually caused by the cruel treatment of the Jews. Over a very great portion of the grain- producing region of Russia the Jews, and they alone, have furnished the money for seed, for the culture, for the gathering, and the moving of the crops. The tillers of the soil in Russia, from the largest landed pro- prietor to the peasants of the smallest com THE POINT OF VIEW. munity, have for more than a generation been hopelessly in debt, and to an extent that has compelled them to mortgage, not merely their land, but the products of their lands, for at least a year ahead. And it is to the Jew that they have been forced to ap- ply for the means to continue their occupa- tion. With the first signs (in the winter of 189091) of the approaching general attack upon their race, the Jewish capitalists began not merely to limit their advances, but to take steps to collect their dues, and to put their property in such shape that it could be hidden andtransported when the hour of flight or of exile approached. Thus the area of tillage last year was dis- tinctly diminished by the withdrawal of the means for securing seed and labor. By spring-time the policy of plunder and banishment for the Jews had been greatly developed, and its enforcement ~vas ren dered infinitely harsher by the unbridled hatred of the people for the race whom they believed their oppressors, and knew to be their creditors. By harvest-time the infatuated peasants and proprietors had almost wholly driven the Jews from their homes, and with them the means to harvest the crops. It does not, of course, require a revela- tion to see the relation of cause and effect here. Political economy is not an inspired science. Its teachers rather boast that it is unmoral, and its critics denounce it as heartless. But in Russia its laws have worked swiftly, and with terrible justness, a result that was as certain, literally, as the seed-time and the harvest. That result might easily have been foreseen by men not blinded by hatred; but, to cite Solomon again, where there is no vision the people perish. 182 ft. A PORTRAIT. [From a pastel by William M. Chase.] See American lilustratien of To-aey.

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 2 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York February, 1892 0011 2
Sidney Dickinson Dickinson, Sidney Station Life In Australia 135-155

/ SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. VOL. XI. FEBRUARY, 1892. No. 2. STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. By Sidney Dickinson. U ST RAL IA, the island - conti- meeting the hills that should arrest their A nent, resembles, to those who are course and pour them down in showers acquainted with it, one of the upon the yearning soil; rivers, wander- atolls that lie in the tropic waters about ing inland from their sources near the it, being, in effect, a great ring of fertile shore, sink into it without causing it to soil surrounded by the barrenness of smile; its secrets are locked in perpet- ocean, and enclosing, in its turn, a deso- nal drought, and its histories are writ- late sea of rock and sand. Dwellers up- ten in the bones of men and beasts that, on the outer and inner circumferences striving to penetrate its mysteries, only of this circle look upon similar horizons, added thereto by the uncertainty of the One is formed of water, the other of land, fate that overtook them in its wilds. but both are equally flat and unbroken, Along the entire coast-line of Anstra- both su0gest infinite spaces, and both ha, and extending inland variously for tire the eye with their aspect of unre- a distance of from fifty to two hundred lieved monotony. In this inhospitable miles, is a belt of rich, arabic land, land of interior Australia all the kind- which, although not unvisited locally ly influences of nature fail. The rain- by drought in certain seasons, rarely clouds shun it or pass over it without disappoints the growers of grain and copyright, 1891, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. Hauling the Wool to Melbourne. 136 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. fruit, and of all necessary things that spring from fertile soil. In these re- gions the grass grows rankly and the wheat waves thickly under genial skies; the valleys and hill-sides are rich in or- chards and vineyards, and the slopes of the mountains are covered with a ]un- gle of scrub, out of which, like pillars in a cathedral, the boles of enormous en- calypts project themselves. Here dai- ries flourish, and apples, oranges, figs, and all other cheerful fruits ripen in the semi - torrid sun, and a thousand spouting presses pour forth juices which, by their superb bouquet, recall to trav- elled minds the floods from Burgundian wine-tubs, and choicest samples from the tuns of Bordeaux. No country ex- ists of finer possibilities (nor, when its youth is considered, of more encourag- ing achievement) than this of the Au- stralian littoral, which is already well Driving the Culls to Market. developed from Brisbane round to Ade- laide, and includes in its capabilities the growth of every food that is known to man. Between this zone of Australia Felix and the haggard desert within lies an- other region, more irregular, more diffi cult of description, and less well defined. It is a country of vast spaces and expand- ing views, now extending in level and unbroken stretches for a hundred miles, and again presenting enormous belts of stunted timber, streaked by infrequent and capricious streams; here showing shallow lakes with barren shores, and there a cone whose even slope confirms the evidence already given by the vol- canic nature of the soil. In these dis- tricts one misses both the richness of the coastal farms and the barrenness of the dead interior, yet catches sugges- tions of each. The soil is not adapted to vegetables and grain, yet the heavy growth of bush, the occasional water- ways and ponds, and the occurrence of nutritious grasses forbid its abandon- ment. Even at its best, however, it is not the place where an experienced American or British farmer would look for profit, and only after the autumn and winter rains is there a trace of green upon it. Early in the history of the colonies efforts were made to reclaim and cultivate it, but all ended in failure. The soil was obdurate, the droughts were frequent and protracted, and often STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 137 broke up in destructive floods; agricul- ture fought a losing fight for a time and then succumbed, and millions of acres in Australias middle belt would have been abandoned to the desert had it not been that Providence saw fit, in ages agone, to give to humanity one animalthe sheep. In every phase of Australian develop- inent one observes the influence of the Scotch. These people, the best of all British colonists, are found in all parts of the country, and in many towns, and conspicuously in Melbourne and Ade- laide control affairs and give the preva- lent tone to society. Observing the important part they have played in the history of the country, it is natural enough to find them credited with the inauguration of that industry which has had the chief influence in making the Australians, in proportion to their num- bers, the richest people in the world.* * The latest available statistics (1890) show that the avera e wealth of Victoria is 390 per head of popula- tion, ~and of New South Wales 360 per head. The IJuited States is second only to Australia in average wealth, 240 per head. The history of Australian wool-grow- ing began in 1793, when Mr. John Mc- Arthur, of Sydney, landed at that port a herd of eight fine-woolled sheep from the Cape of Good Hope. The success which crowned his venture, in the shape of a rapid improvement in the quantity and quality of the wool that these sheep produced, was so great that Mr. MeAr- thur, ten years later, sailed for Europe to secure some specimens of Spanish merinos, for which he believed the hot, dry climate of pastoral Australia was particularly adapted. The Spaniards, however, knew the value of their flocks, and had made the exportation of men- nos a capital offence. Therefore the Australian Jason, disappointed iu his quest for this fleece, which, if not itself golden, he believed would put much gold into his pocket, returned to Eng- land, where his enthusiastic accounts of Australia reached the interested ears of the farmer - king, George III. As MeArthurs luck would have it, the king, some years before, had been presented Making a Dan. 138 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. by his cousin of Spain with a pair of the finest of these merinos, and from the increase thereof he graciously gave to the Australian four splendid animals, with which he set sail rejoicing. These high bred sheep landed safely in Aus- tralia, and fully realized all the expec- tations of their owner; they improved the grade of wool, and so increased and multiplied that, at the end of 1890, their progeny had spread all over Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand, and num- bered 101,267,084 individuals, repre- senting, with the land upon which they pastured, at least 400,000,000.* New- fangled notions prevail but slowly in Australia, and it was not until about 1830 that Mr. McArthurs enterprise was generally imitated. Then, however, there was an important movement into the interior, and the wilds of New South Wales and Victoria were startled by the unaccustomed sight of wagon - trains trekkings across the wastes in search of a new Canaan of sheep and wooL The early squatters came with a con- quering air. Before him lay limitless regions, absolutely ownerless save of nomadic tribes of blacks, and as he as- cended some gentle slope; and saw the vast expanse of plain and forest, stream and lake that stretched around him on every hand, he extended his arms like the discoverer of a new world and cried: All that I see is mine. This act was his title-deed, and was not dis- puted until, years after, the state inter- fered to control, in some small meas- ure, its ravished domain; he pitched his tents, like Abraham, amid his flocks and herds, and apportioning territories as large as many European principalities among his sons and daughters, lived in truly patriarchal fashion, and reaped the rewards of virtue and of an eye for the main chance. It is scarcely nec- essary to say that the Scotch were con- spicuous in this hegira, and that the list of squatters throughout Australia to-day reads like the bead - roll of a Highland clan. A remarkable concurrence of fortu- nate events assisted the early squatters. The Government of the day supplied them with all the convict labor they de * The average annual increase of sheep in the last ten years, throughout Australasia, has been 3,500,000. sired in the guise of assigned servants, and for twenty years they saw their flocks increase, and clipped and sent away their wool, with very little expense to themselves. When, about the year 1850, over-production reduced profits until fat sheep were sold at a shilling a head, and the business seemed on the verge of failure, the discovery of gold drew hundreds of thousands to Victo- ria and New South Wales to devour the surplus and restore confidence. When the ensuing increase again brought supply and demand into equilibrium, the American war broke out and ad- vanced the price of wool, and later still, when the competition of the Argentine Republic began to be felt, the frozen- mutton industry arose, and again brought sheep quotations to the com- paratively remunerative figure of seven and eight shillings per head, where they still remain. It is impossible to secure information as to the total wealth that has accrued to these lucky squatters through such exceptional circumstances, yet there are many individuals whose present annual income is from 10,000 to 100,000, and one pastoral king, who owns some thirty stations in Victoria, Queensland, and New South Wales, re- cently informed me that his net profit in 1890 was 192,000. Many of the Australian stations are of magnificent proportions. Old Jim- my Tyson, as he is familiarly known, who is reputed to be the wealthiest man in Australia, and worth at least 2,000,000, pastures 70,000 head of cattle upon a single one of his prop- erties, and owns stations, both in New South Wales and Queensland, each of which is larger than Bavaria. Mr. Ali- son, of New South Wales, iii his two adjoining stations of Mergular and Can- onbar, holds an area greater than Bel- gium, and in the same colony Mr. Will- iam Hallidays Brookong station (one of the finest in Australia) comprises 200,000 acres and carries 250,000 sheep. The three stations in the Riverina district of New South Wales, owned by Mr. Henry Ricketson, upon which most of the material and illustrations for this article were secured, carry over 200,000 sheep, but are small compared with some of his other properties, one DRAWN BY BIRGE HARRISON. The Shearing, ENGRAVED BY VAN NE68. 140 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. station in Queensland consisting of over 753,000 acres, or 1,177 square miles. The stations of Fairbairn & Sons, in southern Queensland, and of Elder, Smith & Co., in South Australia, carry over half a million sheep each, and assist very materially in swelling the enormous wool clip of Australia. Fig- ures like the above might be quoted in- definitely, but it is enough to say that at present the pastoral lands of Austra- lia include an area somewhat in excess of that of all the New England States, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, the two Yirginias, Kentucky, and Tennessee com- bined. The acquisition, practically without cost, of enormous station properties nat- urally attracted the attention of the var- ious colonial governments, and after a spirited fight between interests already established on the soil and those that sought to assume possession of it, laws were passed restricting the holding of each individual, and throwing open a large part of the country to selec- tion. As the purpose of this article is descriptive, rather than statistical or historical, it is unnecessary to enumer- ate the provisions of the various laws that were passed upon this subject. It is enough to say that they were very to the present figure of 320 acres, the large station-owners managed to hold on to most of their possessions by the use of dummies. By this device the squatter himself, all the members of his family, his servants, shepherds, boun- dary-riders, station-hands, and rabbiters each registered a section, the dummies duly handing their selection over to the original holder for a slight consid- eration. Here and there a crafty one, perceiving the strength of his position, refused to surrender his selection, and set up for himself in the midst of his employers acres, where he remained, as a thorn in the flesh to the latter, until induced to move by a substantial bribe. To the present day many directors of such a coup remain, forming the class known as cockatoo farmers, who are regarded by the squatters as an intoler- able nuisancea distinction which they often seek to perpetuate by exercising their right of running roads to their do- mains through the surrounding proper- ties, leaving gates open between vari- ous paddocks and thus mixing the sheep; pasturing their own small flocks upon the runs about them, and by a thousand petty annoyances forcing the sale of their holdings at three or four times their real value. In general the Changing Paddocks. frequently evaded, and that, although laws authorizing selection upon sta- the amount of land which any one mdi- tion properties were quite unjustifiable. vidual was allowed to retain was gradu- They were passed in order to promote ally restricted, and at last brought down agricultural enterprise, but most of the STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 141 Crossing Sheep over a billaoong. land they threw open was quite unfit for the purpose, and the result has been to hamper the squatting inter- est without promoting any other. Even in the best pastoral country little else than wheat can be grown, and this is such an uncertain crop that farmers are generally satisfied if in three years out of five they ob- tain a remunerative harvest. A time may come when it will be necessary to the paddocks, as the various fields are extend the agricultural area in order to called (some of these paddocks con- accommodate the increasing population. tam 12,000 acres), and changing the That time, however, is still far distant, flocks from one to another as necessity nor can the greater portion of the land may demand, he keeps them in excellent now given up to sheep ever be utilized order; and although he has learned for husbandry without extensive and many bitter lessons from former years costly irrigation, of drought, he generally manages to Nothing can appear more unpromis- prosper in spite of apparently hostile ing to the unpractised eye, either for conditions. He has been taught to agriculture or any other useful purpose, place little dependence upon the yearly than most of the pastoral land in Aus- rainfall, and stores in damss (as he tralia. It consists chiefly of endless calls his reservoirs scooped out in the plains of sunbaked red and yellow clay, hard soil) the abundance of one season sparsely carpeted with short, dry grass, against the possible dearth of the next. which is in many places so scant that When grass is plentiful and rank, he the sheep seemed pastured upon ab- garners great quantities of it in stacks solutely bare soil. The experienced or ensilage pits, and endures a siege of squatter, however, has discovered that two or three years of famine with un- this sterile expanse produces a grass troubled mind. Losses he has in these which, while it seems to wither, retains which is one of the richest in the colonies, the land will decided nutritive qualities. Although it carry three or fonr sheep to the acre, hut can here he worked to greater profit for agricultural purposes. can support but a lilnited number of The value of stations is gauged hy the numher of sheep to the acre, it affords these few a sheep upon them. A fair average is ahout 3 per sheep, with land, huildings, implements, dams, and all other rich and fattening diet.* By watching fixtures thrown in. The host properties of Victoria and New South Wales are valued at from 4 lOs. to T, and even 10, per acre for the land alone, and in case of sales * The grazing value of Australian land varies greatly. on this hasis the stock are either sold hy auction, or Fair pastoral country will carry one sheep to the acre, taken hy the purchaser of the land at a valuation. and an average of one sheep to two, or even three acres The average income of station properties is from five is not to he despised. Even a ratio of one sheep to five per cent. to twelve per cent., according to season and acres is not unusual. In the colac district of Victoria, the skill of the manager. 142 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. seasons, of course; but they are slight compared with the ruin which often threatened him in former times, and one good year at present more than atones for two bad ones. It is a matter of con- gratulation, however, when the seasons of ripening and of rain follow each other in dtie order. The average squatter is not an emotional person, but he is nev- ertheless accustomed to rejoice loudly when he hears the tumultuous down- rushing of the autumn rain reverberat- ing upon his roof of corrugated iron, promising rich pasturage for the lamb- ing ewes and consequent strength to their offspring. It is astonishing to look forth over the expanse of these erstwhile barren plains and see how suddenly they revive at the touch of the showers. In a few hours the brown wastes of burnt earth are veiled in deli- cate green, and in a week the grass is ankle-deep, and the sheep, like the young woman observed by the elder Weller at the Ebenezer Junction tea- drinking, seem swellin wisibly before our wery eyes. The tenacity of the so rankly does it grow that the ducks and geese leave the rivers, and the cranes and herons the fens, to feed up- on its juicy substance as it lies half- sodden in shallow pools. The life and cultivation of the sheep represent the mainspring of station ex- perience; the squatters year begins and ends in the sign of the Ram. The twelvemouth which affords elsewhere four seasons, brings to pastoral Aus- tralia but twothose of shearing and lambing. Both are periods of feverish activity and arduous toil, while between them life is easy and even indolent. The shearing season, although lasting only two or three months in any one section, comprises in its complete round nearly nine months of the year. It is earliest in the hot districts of northern Queensland, where it begins in Febru- arythe August of the Souths inverted yearand slowly spreads down over the country, carrying with it the enor- mous nomadic bands of shearers, through Ne South Wales and Victoria, where it ends during October. From Victoria many shearers pass over to Tasmania and New Zealand, where, the climate b e in g cooler, shearing does not end until midsummer.* The shearer is a distinct identity, a peculiar element in the ranks of Australian labor. He holds himself aloof from the ordinary workers, and looks upon his employment in the light of a profession. He is usually well to do, and owns his horse and equipment. He is often a small selector, who takes a turn at shearing to help out his income; or the son of a prosperous farm- er. He is also, as a rule, * The wool clip in Australasia in 1890 amounted to 1,600,000 bales, of the a~- gregate value of about 25,000,00~i. About seventy per cent, of wool exported is greasy, and thirty per cent, scoured, and last years prices were, on the av- erage, l0~4d. and 18d. respectively. These prices are well up to the average of the last twenty years. There is great variation an the weights of fleeces before and after scouring. There are records of clips weighing thirty pounds each before scouring, but nearly two-thirds of the weight disap- peared when the wool was ready for manufacture; six- pound fleeces (scoured) are, however, very common. An Orphan. soil, which militates against the growth of crops, assists the grass by holding the water near the surface, where it can be drunk up by the thirsty roots; and STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 143 irugal and temperate, and by careful investment of his money may even rise in time to become a station-owner him- self. Many of the shearing fraternity, however, confess to a taste for pleas- ure, and when the season is over, and they have received their checks for 120 or 150 (for all payments for station work are made in checks, and not in cash), they settle down at some convenient bush pub. until tbey have knocked it down (to use their own expressive vernacular) for the board and lodging and poisonous liquor which the establishment provides. When their money is exhausted they are turned out, and humping blucy (shoulder- ing their blanket) and carrying a smoke- blackened billy, or tin pail for mak- ing tea, they sally forth into the hot summer weather and make thcir way northward again to await the open- ing o-f another shearing season. * In this estate they swell the noble army of * Shearers make use of an ordinary jargon, in converse among themselves, of which the stranger can make lit- tle or nothing. The following sentence was repeated to the writer by a gentleman who overheard it in a conversa- tion between two shearers in the hack blocks of New South Wales: I waltzed down to the shed, took down the tongs (shears), pulled out a blooming papillon (woolly sheep), and was going down the whipping side (right side) swagmen or sundowners, who are chiefly the fearful human wrecks which the ebbing tide of mining enterprise has left stranded in Australia, and who have earned the title above quoted by their habit of turning up at sunset at the station gates to demand a nights lodging. Their demand is seldom re- fused; in fact every well-equipped sta- tion has its travellers hut for the ac- commodation of these gentry. Nor are rations withheld. They are all provided with the regulation pound of mutton, and the pint of flour for the evening damper an unleavened cake baked upon the coals, which would confuse the digestive powers of any other stomach than that of the ostrich or a swagman. The native hospitality of the squatters accounts in part for this treatment, but it is largely abetted by the rejected sundowners habit of killing a few sheep as he passes through the paddocks, wringin~ the necks of with both blades heavily loaded (with all expedition) when the boss came up and shot me dead (discharged me). I went back to the hut with a hop, skip, and a jump, collared my swag (seized my blankets), chncked the hide on the old crocodile (saddled the horse), went down river like a frog (with long jumps at full speed), and had clipped a hundred and forty by sundown the next afternoon. The Beundary Riders Orders. DRAWN BY BINGE HARRISON. Night on the Plains, ENGRAVED BY NOMUNSLER. STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 145 stray geese, or accidentally dropping a lighted match under some hayrick or woolshed. Station-owners stand in wholesome awe of these vagrants, of whom it is not uncommon for a single station to quarter and feed as many as three or four thousand in a year. The unwritten law of station usage forbids them to remain for more than one night in any given place; having enjoyed shelter and the provisions above de- scribed, they must in the early morning resume their journey. A station at shearing time is one of the busiest places in the world. Hun- dreds of men are actively engaged in the multitudinous exercises which the occasion demands. Some are driving in the flocks from paddocks that are often forty and fifty miles away. Others are washing the sheep, drafting the va- rious kinds into appropriate pens, dip- ping those that give indications of dis- ease, and tarring the cuts made by the shears; while the shouts of the herders and the shrill barking of the sheep-dogs add to the excitement. In the long shearing-shed, roofed with corrugated iron, and furnished on one side with pens packed with sheep awaiting the rape of their fleece, a score or two of men, bent half double, and each with a woolly animal between his knees, rap- idly ply the gleaming shears. The warm and greasy coat falls around the shearer in unbroken masses; in a few minutes the sheep, a naked and gro- tesque parody of his former rounded self, is ejected through a small door in the side of the shed, and another, dragged forth by the hind leg and un- availingly kicking and struggling upon the slippery floor, is undergoing the same operation. The rapidity with which the most experienced shearers work is remarkable. A first-class hand will clip from 120 to 140 sheep in a day, and earn therefor the comfortable wage of 15 to 18 shillings. In many sheds the click of the shears has been exchanged for the whirr and rattle of the shearing machines, which, although no quicker than an experienced work- man, give a cleaner cut, and, in skilled hands, do not wound the animals. As fast as the fleeces fall they are gathered up by boys and carried to the sorters, VOL. XI.15 and thence to the presses, where they are condensed into bales, marked with the device and number of the station, and then loaded upon drays for con- veyance to the nearest railway by straining bullock teams. These pict- uresque trains of six or seven yoke of oxen are not owned by the squatters as a rule, but by professional teamsters, who follow the movements of the shear- ers, and truck the wool from the sta- tions at a price agreed upon. Arrived at the great wool stores of Melbourne or Sydney, Brisbane or Adelaide, hy- draulic presses squeeze three of the bales into the space that one occupied before, and they are then ready for their long voyage to London or Antwerp. The shearers are quartered on the station, either in the huts which sur- round the homestead buildings, or in tents pitched hard by, wherefrom at night are heard to issue gay sounds of revelry, accompanied by the dulcet strains of an accordion, or of fiddle scraped with strenuous bow. The shearers life, although a hard one, is free and healthy, and has its attractions. The shearing fraternity, like every other body of laborers in Australia, is highly organized, and has a powerful Union, with connections and ramifi- cations all over the Colonies. So im- portant has this body become of late that an opposing combination has been formed by the squatters, under the name of the Pastoralists Union, to re- sist their exactions. A contest unpar- alleled in the history of the country has recently been going on between these organizations in Queensland. The bone of contention has been the prin- ciple of freedom of contract, the pastoralists insisting that they should be allowed to hire anyone whqm they chose, and the shearers demanding that only members of the Shearers Union should be employed. There was no issue raised as to wages or hours of work, both sides being practically agreed upon these points. As the squatters refused to relinquish their rights in engaging whomsoever they wished, a general strike was ordered, every union shearer refused work just as the shearing season opened, and camps of armed Unionists were formed 146 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. upon the routes between the stations and the railways, in order to intercept any free laborers who might come to offer their services to the squatters. The country was also patrolled by mounted shearers armed with rifles and revolvers, and uttering sanguinary threats against the station-owners and all who should venture to assist them. Many woolsheds and fences were burned, and only the timely occurrence of rain prevented the use of the fire-stick upon the dry grass of the runs. The squatters sent to Melbourne and Sydney, and brought up steamer after steamer loaded with free labor, and called upon the Government to protect them. The Government responded by sending to the scene of action police, mounted troops, and Gatling-guns, and marched the laborers through howling hordes of Unionists to their destination. Many arrests for intimidation, followed by trials and imprisonment, kept the strik- ers within bounds, and after three months of obstruction on one side, and dogged persistency on the other, the shearing was completed. The expenses of the struggle to the Government, the squatters, and the Shearers Union were enormous, aggregating, it is estimated, something over $1,000,000. The most serious aspect of the case is that, al- though defeated, the Unionists show ev- ery intention to renew the fight at the first opportunity, and, by striking at the leading industry of the Colonies, to involve an enormous class of land- owners and agents, shipping, brokerage, and commercial firms in the labor war which has already hindered by twenty years Australias full development. The labor of shearing is lightened and brightened by the number who en- gage in it. The toils of the lambing season, however, fall entirely upon the permanent force of the station, which is never large, and in an unfavorable year this limited contingent has abundant work cut out for it. The visitor to Aus- tralian stations is, in fact, apt to be surprised at the small number of men engaged upon them. The invention of wire fencing permits the vast runs to be cut up into convenient sections at small expense, so that the numerous shep- herds who were formerly indispensa ble are now no longer required. Indeed, the working force of the largest modern station may be limited to a manager, two boundary - riders, and three or four hands for general work. If the summer rains have been copious, and a rich car- pet of new grass invites the pregnant ewes, there need be no apprehension of unfavorable results. But if the blazing skies of January and February have withheld their moisture, and March has come and gone without its expecte& showers, there is trouble ahead, and much vexation of spirit. The ewes, scantily fed upon the juiceless grasses, grow weak, and when their hour of trial comes fall in thousands and die of starva- tion; while their offspring, deprived of sustenance, sprinkle the plains with piti- ful fluffy balls. When these conditions~ prevail the whole station must be con- stantly patrolled, the fallen ewes assisted to rise and gently led to the water-holes, and to the hay which is carted out by tons from the station-yard, while the motherless lambs are taken to the home- stead to be nourished by hand. But in spite of all attention hundreds will die. and all the flocks be much weakened.. In former years a severe drought in. lambing-time spelled ruin, and as many as 20,000 sheep often died on a single run; but nowadays the squatters are well armed against it and regard it with little apprehension.* One frequent accompaniment of drought, however, the squatter still holds in mortal terror, and that is fire. Every dry season brings its story of acres blackened, homesteads ruined, and sheep destroyed, and no amount of fore- sight avails to avert the catastrophe. A fire on the vast Australian ranges is as. terrible as the prairie fires of the Amer- ican Northwest, and a thousand times. more destructive. Driven by the fierce north wind that often bears down with hurricane force across the whole coun- try, it passes on with the speed of an express train, leaping the rivers, climb-. * About one-third of the total number of sheep on a station are breeding-ewes, from which an annual increase. of from Beventy-five to eighty-five per cent. is reckoned. It is considered a ~bad year when a fifty per cent. in- crease is secured. About one-fourth of the flocks are sold annually, in the shape of culls for the butchera or as store sheep to the small farmers, who fatten them for the market. Those that are poorest as wool growers are selected for such disposition. STA TION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 147 ing the mountains, dissolving the for- ests, and burning to a cinder all the sheep and cattle in its path. To guard as far as possible against this calamity most stringent laws exist concerning the careless or criminal use of fire. Sta- tion hands in the dry season watch a lighted match as anxiously as if they stood upon a powder magazine, and on days when the north wind is abroad will even deny themselves their cherished smoke, lest a vingle spark falling upon the tinder-like grass should involve the whole region in flame. An equal dan- ger, in stations which front the rivers, or the tortuous creeks that empty into them, is sometimes found in fires op- posing element, water. Although the local skies are like brass, and the earth under foot like ashes, heavy floods may be collecting in the upper stretches of the river. The sheep have perhaps for days and weeks been cropping the scanty pasturage that the drought has spared upon the edge of the stream, which now consists merely of a suc- cession of water - holes between long stretches of sun-cracked mud. Then, in the middle of the night, perhaps, there comes the rush of clammy wind that forms the avant courrier of the storm, and when the morning dawns the river is running a banker, the plain s,as far as the eye can reach, are covered with a muddy sea, and down the tawny current the drowned sheep roll in thousands, entangled amid the wreck of fences and uprooted trunks of trees. Against such vicissitudes must the squatter strive lest he become too full of fatness and for- get the weak estate of mortals. The manager of a station must be a man who has had experience of these things and overcome them. In him is vested an absolute control of properties which their owner, immersed in other pursuits in Melbourne, Sydney, or even England, often leaves unreservedly in his hands for months and years togeth- er. His work is nominally light, but his responsibility is enormous. He must control every enterprise that is being carried out upon the often vast area under his supervision; attend to the stations equipment and accounts ; fore- cast, as far as possible, the occurrence of wet or dry seasons, and be prepared for either; see that the sheep are suf- ficiently nourished but not overfed, and keep himself informed as to the exact condition of every flock upon the run. He must vigilantly watch for the appear- ance of foot-rot (scab is now unknown in Australia), a neglected case of which may result in contamination that will cost his principal thousands of pounds; he must fix the date of shearing, and make full preparations for the lambing season; select the sheep for the market; separate grade from grade, and attend promptly to the thousand and one details which changing conditions thrust con- stantly upon him. The managers lieutenants are the boundary-riders, whose duty it is to patrol the estate and keep him in- formed upon every portion of it. These are young, active men, to whom fifty miles a day upon horseback is mere pastime; well educated often, not a few of them younger sons of patrician English families, all habituated to fatigue and hardship, and finding in the free, wild life of the plains a fascination from which they rarely break away. The nature of their duties may be par- tially understood from the following conversation. We had sat down to sup- per, the artist and the writer, with the station manager and two of his boun- dary-riders. One was old in the busi- ness, the other was acquiring akuowledge of his duties through stern experience. Where have you been to-day? ask- ed the manager, addressing the latter. I have been along the river for ten miles, then crossed over to No. 4 pad- dock, came down by the woolshed, and around by So-and-Sos selection to the house again. Ah! thats about thirty miles; you took your time about it. Did you find much water in the Seven-mile Bend? Well, there was a decent bit of water there. There was, was there? And how high was it? Did it touch the roots of the old red gum, or was it only up to the burnt stump? I didnt notice; it seemed a good- ish height. You didnt notice? What did you go there for if not to notice? I went there because I saw some 148 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. horses there, and wanted to see whose they were. And whose were they? They were ours.~~ All of them? Yes, I suppose so. So you dont know? Did you take any particular note of their brands? How were they marked and colored? Well, all the brands I saw were our brands. One horse was white, and there were two black ones, one of them a mare, and four bays, one with the nigh hind foot white, and a docked tail. Well, Ill be hanged! And dont you know that that is one of old Mac-Tag- garts horses? Been on the station three months, and only a matter of a couple of hundred horses on it, and you dont know their marks yet? The fence is down somewhere; did you find the break ? I didnt go to look; the fence was half a mile from where I was. You go and look to-morrow. The idea of a man supposed to be a boun- dary - rider and not knowing MacTag- garts horses! And how high is the grass in the paddock with the last batch of weaners? Oh, its a pretty good height. But how highhalf an inch or an inch? I want to know how long its go- ing to last them this dry weather. And did you see any new rabbit burrows anywhere? I dont recollect any.~~ In other words, you didnt trouble to look. Youll have to keep your eyes open better than that if you expect to do anything on a station and so on for half an hour, with questions cover- ing every paddock, gate, water-hole, and a dozen other details of locality, which the manager had as clearly before him as if he were looking upon an elaborate map of the property. The boundary- riders course of education is arduous, but when it is completed he is like a carefully indexed book of ready refer- ence, which his superior can open on the instant at any desired page. The ordinary station hands fill the post of general executive, and with no distinctive duties outside the limits of the homestead are likely to be called upon at any time for all sorts of offices. There is always plenty of work for them, for, as most stations are remote from the centres of population, many neces- sary manufactures and repairs must be done on the premises. Blacksmithing, fence-building, the erection of sheds and outhouses, the digging and brick- ing up of cisterns, and the practice of a dozen other trades are constantly in operation. Besides these employments there is branding in its season, the breaking of colts to saddle and harness, and, in many localities, such commin- gling of work and sport as is found in curtailing the superabundance of rab- bits and kangaroos. There is also land to be cleared, which is accomplished by ring-barking the trees, and leaving them to stand until the slow process of decay brings them to the earth, where they are either set on fire or allowed to rot into the soil upon which they falL The growths of eucalyptus, iron-wood, wattle, and box, by their absorption of water starve out the grass, and their destruction is essential to the reclama- tion of the soiL There are few more ghastly sights in nature than an Austra- lian ring-barked forest, whose twisted limbs of pallid white suggest the spec- tres of men who have died in pain. Be- sides the working force of stations above enumerated there is usually a China- man, who assiduously attends to the growth of vegetables, which are as es- sential here as on board ship to prevent outbreaks of scurvya disease by no means uncommon in the early days when mutton and damper constitut- ed almost exclusively the station bill of fare. There is also a black fellow or two often loafing about the home- stead degraded, shiftless characters, the unworthy remnants of once powerful and dangerous tribes. Not infrequently they are the hereditary rulers of the dis- trict which the station now occupies for tribal bouudaries were well defined and carefully regarded by the natives who willingly relinquished a birthright they had not the power to keep for a warm lodging, enough clothing for de- cency, and unlimited tobacco. Him budgery (good) man ! he will often ex- claim, with royal condescension, when he alludes to the present owner of his acres; him alla same mate blonga mine! and receive his tribute of bacca with STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 149 the air of one monarch accepting gifts from a less powerful cousin in the purple. Participation in horse-breaking is of- ten permitted to the visitor, if inclined for such entertainment. A heavy wagon is drawn out, equipped with a powerful brake, and the half-trained horses, with much kicking and squealing, and by dint of great skill and agility, are at- tached to the machine. The manager perches himself upon the lofty seat, reins firmly grasped and foot on brake, while three or four station-hands hold the vicious animals. The other partici- pants in the excursion tumble in over the tail-board as best they can; the horses are released, and plunge, and spring sidewise, and try to climb into the vehicle. The lash sings in the air and cuts cruelly, and after much com- motion and threatened capsizing, the team springs away at a zigzag gallop which may continue for a mile. The road lies through narrow gates, amid wastes of ring-marked timber, down one bank of a creek and up another, affording an exhilaration which even tobogganing or the switch-back rail- way cannot furnish. The driving, like the riding, on Australian stations is of a dare-devil sort, and an experience of either is not easily forgotten. The station-owners, who have had the courage, foresight, and endurance to develop the enormous domain of pas- toral Australia, form a distinct and characteristic class in the population of the Colonies. They are, almost without exception, men of strong physique and enormous vitality, as befits pioneers in a land which, while it has offered en- couragement to enterprise, has set the price of success very high in drafts on pluck and energy. There are few ro- mances more absorbing than the life- histories of Australian squatters, nor do the records of nations show greater mutations, conflicts, an4 revolutions. Battles with hostile tribes of cannibal blacks; storm, flood, and famine; finan- cial stringency and bewildering success in swift alternationno other race than that which sprang from the loins of England could have endured with equal complacency such enormous vicissitudes. This generation of pioneers is passing away in ripeness of years and the glow of great successes. Large families con- tinue the line, but they are not like their founders. Their life has been easy where that of their progenitors was hard; they know the ways of cities, and have had experience of travel and foreign ed- ucation, and in expanding their horizon have lost that singleness of aim and in- tensity of purpose which make the now vanishing squatter class such an Inter- esting study. The increasing luxury of colonial life, and the inevitable division of the enormous estates over which the early settlers ruled like shepherd kings, will ultimately result in the extinction of a class which may fairly be termed the mainspring of Australias wonderful development. The homes which the better order of squatters have founded are as interest- ing as themselves. Their houses are invariably well-built and commodious structures, standing amid choice gar- dens, which are like oases in the arid expanse of plain that surrounds them; furnished comfortably, and at times lux- uriously, containing libraries, and often equipped with many sorts of musical in- struments, upon which the ladies of the station perform with skill. Some of these structures are built of stone, drawn by oxen from quarries fifty, and even a hundred, miles away, and represent an enormous outlay, in that every aid to their construction has been furnished by timber merchants and ironmongers from cities which might seem to resi- dents in more settled countries almost to be on the other side of the world. Some few station-owners even possess picture-galleries of value, the most re- markable of which is that owned by Mr. F. W. Armytage, of Wooloomanata, between Melbourne and Geelong, which includes representative works by Mun- kacsy, Sir Frederick Leighton, G6r6me, and many other modern artists of note in all the leading European schools, and cost its possessor some 25,000. Most station residences have the ap- pearance of a home and a caravansary combined. The quarters of the family are usually supplemented by a commo- dious structure divided into rooms for guests, who are in the habit of appear- ing at all times and seasons, either with or without special invitation. If you 150 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. are known to the proprietor you have but to express a desire to visit him, and are quite at liberty to come, and to bring your friends as well; the latch- string is always out, and come when you wish, do what you like, and stay as long as you can is on the lip and in the eye of your host, who is but pleased when he knows that your acceptance of his h6spitality is to be protracted. The hospitality of English country-houses the truest and finest in the world maintains here. Your host, his family, and all that is his, are fully placed at your service. If you desire to ride or drive, there are horses, saddles, and traps in the stables, and the servants accept your orders as a matter of course. Are you fond of fishing, you are shown a room stored with tackle. Should you desire to shoot, here is a rack filled with well-oiled breach-load- ers, and boxes of cartridges by the score. You go and come as you like you do not even need to make yourself agreeableyour host entertains you (not you him) and is amply repaid if, on your departure, he receives the as- surance that you have enjoyed yourself. Should you wear out your welcome, you never learn of it, and, indeed, your en- tertainers are glad enough to see faces from the outside world. Rarely is such consideration and kind- huess abused, although in my experience of station life I have heard of certain curious incidents. To one station, some years ago, came a visitor of modest means and frugal mind, who, on trial, decided that he could hardly find a more comfortable situation. His orig- inal intention of staying a month was reconsidered, and he remained two; finally six months passed, and he was still there. He enjoyed himself hugely with horses, dogs, and guns, developed an encouraging appetite, and his host did not complain. He smoked the to- bacco of the master of the house, and drank his whiskey, but still his welcome did not grow cold. After about nine months, however, the hosts manner be- came less warm, his whilom, cheerful conversation flagged, and at the end of the year he spoke no more to his guest. The latter was not sensitive, however, and lingered on for the space of a sec ond year quite unabashed, even though sitting at meat three times a day, and smoking a solemn pipe in the evening, opposite a silent and glowering host. At the end of the second year he finally departed and went to visit somebody else, without ever having been told that he had stayed long enough, and would do well to leave. Such is Australian station hospitality. The life enjoyed by dwellers on the stations is far more varied and interest- ing than the casual observer might sup- pose. It is a quiet existence in general, no doubt, but in the round of the year furnishes plenty of incident. There is always bustle and excitement during shearing-time, when the horde of work- men is about, and sheep are being rounded up on the runs, driven in, washed and shorn, and afterward drafted and marked ready for return to the ranges. Those that are kept back for sale are sometimes driven a distance of a thousand miles to market, being often met by the traveller over the plains in a confused and bleating army, marshalled by dogs, and followed on horseback by bronzed and stalwart youths, who carry on their saddle-bows the simple equipment for their four or five months journey. Before return- ing to their paddocks all the sheep are counted, being for this purpose passed from pens through a narrow gate, whereat stand three men keeping tally. One has a stick on which he cuts a notch for every hundred sheep; the others check or confirm each other in the enumeration. Anyone who thinks this operation easy can convince him- self of the contrary by trying it. The sheep, urged by the shepherds and barking dogs, come rushing down like a frothy Alpine torrent, as nearly solid a mass as individual bodies can appear. The tyro begins confidently One, two, five, eleven, then two turn about and run back, and three others jump over them. Where now be his calcula- tions? He gets confused and forgets his last number, and whether twenty or three hundred sheep have passed while he was trying to collect himself he will never know. Meantime the ex- perienced enumerators have been quiet- ly and steadily at work, disdaining to STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 151 call out anything but the hundreds for the benefit of the man with the notched stick, and if, in ten or twenty thousand sheep, there is the discrepancy of a sin- gle animal between the two counters, one or other stands confessed inept in his employment. Besides the pleasant excitement of work, there is much occasion for pure recreation. There are neighbors to vis- it and to receive in tarnsome of them as near as forty miles, although this is considered a close propinquity indeed with whom there is discussion of in- dividual experiences, lawn-tennis out of doors, music and billiards within, a jovial dinner, and a stirrup-cup at part- ing. There are races, too, at the near- est township, where station-owners and boundary-riders meet within a radius of a hundred miles, and ride their horses and bet, and taste the sweets (dear to Australians, as to all other branches of the British race) of the grassy hippodrome. In the evening there is the race-ball, where all the salta- tory capers perpetuated from traditions of English dancing rules of fifty years ago are seen combined with the latest modes from Melbourne and Sydney. It is a point of honor at these assem- blies to dance until the light of morning gives pause to the revelry, whereupon there is riding home again over endless leagues by men and maidens, whom no exercise seems to tire. Then there are evening parties and hopss at some central station, the excitements of cat- tle - branding, cricket matches by the men, and, in many localities, water-fowl shooting and kangaroo hunting the pursuit last mentioned, on a swift horse, over a level plain, and behind a good pack of kangaroo dogs, being one of the most exhilarating experiences known to man. From time to time the stations are honored by visits from the rabbit in- spectors, whose duty it is to see that the pest of long-eared rodents is kept within proper limits. When the com- ing of these functionaries is expected there is great activity among the men and dogs of the station. Every home- stead has its pack of rabbit-dogsgrey- hounds, collies, fox-terriers, curs, and mongrels of all degreeswhose one aim and interest in life is to kill as many rabbits as possible. Spades, pickaxes, ferrets, and materials for making a smoke in the burrows are brought out to dislodge the game; guns are in every hand, and the entire force of the station enters upon a crusade in which hun- dreds and thousands of the bunnies are slain. The plague of rabbits in Austra- lia cannot be described without seeming exaggeration to those who have not had experience of it. Originally introduced in a colony of about a score of individ- uals by a squatter near Melbourne, who thought their familiar presence on his station would remind him of home,~~ they have kept the recollection of Eng- land so fresh in the minds of pastoral- ists as to tempt them to very treasona- ble language concerning her whenever rabbits are mentioned. The acclimat- ization of these animals in Victoria il- lustrates the mess that men are likely to make by meddling with the laws of Nature, who, as results show, evidently had very good reasons for not includ- ing rabbits in the list of native Austra- lian fauna. The step has lost the mau who took it no less than 50,000, as he himself has assured me, and he is by no means the greatest sufferer. I have heard of stations upon which the ex- penditures in rabbit bounties were 3,000 per month for a long period, while many properties have had to be abandoned altogether. The figures of aggregate Government expenditures and individual losses on account of these apparently insignifi- cant animals might well stagger belief if they did not appear in official sta- tistics. Mr. Black, chief inspector, un- der the Vermin Destruction Act, in the Victorian Lands Department, has furnished me, for the purposes of this article, besides the letters hereafter quoted, the following astonishing fig- ures from his records: Expenditures in Connection with the Destruc- tion of Rabbits in Australia for Seven Years ending December 31, 1890. Government of Victoria New South Wales.. South Australia.... Amount (approximately) expended by landowners, and loss through the destruction of crops and grass 2,700,000 Total 3,960,000 190,000 820,000 250,000 152 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. To these figures may be added Gov- ernment expenditure of 150,000 in Queensland, New Zealand, and Tasma- nia in the five years ending with 1888, and personal expenditures and losses in these colonies of at least 750,000 more during the same period, from which we may fairly conclude that the average annual cost to Australasia of the rabbit plague is 700,000, or $3,500,000. The work which these enormous fig- ures represent has a marked effect in reducing the number of rabbits in the better districts, although there is little reason to suppose that their extermi- nation will ever be more than partial. Most of the larger runs show very few at present, and rabbit - proof fencing, which has been set around thousands of square miles, has done much to check further inroads. Until this in- vention began to be utilized it was not uncommon to find as many as 100 rab- biters employed on a single property, whose working aver age was from 300 to 400 rabbits per day. As they received five shillings a hundred from the sta- tion owner, and were also able to sell the skins at eight shillings a hundred, their profession was most lucrative. Seventy-five dollars a week was not an uncommon wage, and many an unfor- tunate squatter looked with envy upon his rabbiters, who were heaping up modest fortunes, while he himself was slowly being eaten out of house and home. The professional rabbiter is not an agreeable companion. He is covered with the fluffy fur of his quarry until he bears much of the appearance of a mouldy cheese; his clothing is streaked with blood and dirt, and from his hair and beard, and, in fact, from his entire person, exhales a strong leporine odor. Not until he attains this consummation can he hope for the highest success in his profession, for the game on which he wars is gifted with keen sensibilities, and will avoid the trap or the fatal phosphorized grain that has been placed in its way by hands ordinarily clean. The fecundity of the rabbit is amaz- ing, and his invasion of remote districts swift and mysterious. Careful esti- mates show that, under favorable con- ditions, a pair of Australian rabbits will produce six litters a year, averaging five individuals each. As the offspring them- selves begin breeding at the age of six months, it is shown that, at this rate, the original pair might be responsi- ble in five years for a progeny of over 20,000,000! That the original score which were brought to the country have propagated after some such ratio, no one can doubt who has seen the enor- mous hordes that now devastate the land in certain districts. In all but the remoter sections, however, the rabbits are now fairly under control; one rab- biter with a pack of dogs supervises stations where 100 were employed ten years ago, and with ordinary vigilance the squatters have little to fear. Mill- ions of the animals have been killed by fencing in the water-holes and dams during a dry season, whereby they died of thirst, and lay in enormous piles against the obstructions they had frantically and vainly striven to climb, and poisoned grain and fruit have killed myriads more. A fortune of 25,000, offered by the New South Wales Government, still awaits the man who can invent some means of general destruction, and the knowledge of this fact has brought to the notice of the various Colonial governments some very original devices. One of the most ingenious of these is proposed by an inventive citizen of Buffalo, N. Y., in the following letter (literally transcribed): To the Government of Australia. Gentlemen, Having read in a News Papers that you have a great calamity with rabbits in your country, I hereby allow myself to give you following advice. Fence in one acre of Prairie land with a tight fence containing one gate, built up in the centre of this land an oven like for melting iron, with a I{rater on the top built around the oven a road up to the top build a good fire in it like to melt iron; chase about ten thousand rabbits inside of the fence, then shut the gate, drive them upon the road to the Erater, they very likely will fall in, and so they will be not only killed but the dead bodies also will be gone forever. If you bnild several of these ovens in different parts of your country I believe that you soon would get rid of your trouble with rabbits. This advice sounds cruel, but after all it may be no more cruel as if they are chasted and shot. STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. 153 Another suggestion coihes from India, in the course of which the writer says: The method of killing rabbits is simple. Let squads of four or six men go out at eight or nine oclock in dark nights where the rabbits are supposed to be, one man with a dark Police lantern and another with a bunch of fifty to a hundred iron rings t~ inches di- ameter and ~ inch thick to make a low gingling sound; all the rabbits about the place, on see- ing the light and hearing the sound of the rings will gaily gather together, the party may then slaughter them at pleasure by using long sticks, or if many escape Air guns. may be used, or use strong poison mixed with dough or any other food the rabbits prefer made into small balls and thrown among the rabbits as they assemble, and when the work is done the p.arty may pick up the unused poison that other ani- mals may not be poisoned. Other communications suggest, re- spectively, inoculating a few animals with hydrophobia, and turning them loose to bite the others (by which plan Australia would soon become a pleasant country to live in, with rabid rabbits all over it) ; spreading highly electrified wires which shall kill the rabbits when they touch them; introducing coyotes from California (not likely to be approv- ed by sheep-owners) and bull-snakes VOL. XI.16 from Iowa (Australia being already overrun with serpents), and scores of other absurd or crack - brained inven- tions which could have been devised only after extraordinary misapprehen- sion of the country and the dimensions of the plague. A clergymans wife in Scotland recommends a preparation of her own concoction, because the rab- bits will rather die than eat it, although how this meets the needs of the case she unfortunately omits to mention. Another great pest to the squatters is developing in the foxes, two of which were imported from Cumberland some years ago by a wealthy station-owner, who thought that they might breed, and give himself and friends an occasional day with the hounds. His modest de- sires were soon met in the development of a race of foxes far surpassing the English variety in strength and aggres- siveness, which not only devour many sheep, but out of pure depravity worry and kill ten times as many as they can eat. When to these plagues is added the ruin of thousands of acres from the spread of the thistle, which a canny Scot brought from the Highlands to Counting the Weaners. 154 STATION LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. keep alive in his breast the memories of Wallace and Bruce; the welinigh resistless inroads of furze, and, in New Zealand, the blocking-np of rivers by English watercress, which in its new home grows a dozen feet in length, and ground was covered with crawling mill- ions, devouring every green thing, and giving to the country the appearance of being carpeted with scales. It has been discovered, however, that before they attain their winged Riate they can has to be dredged out to keep naviga- easily be destroyed, and energetic meas- tion open, it may be understood that ures will be taken against them through- Colonials look with jaundiced eye upon out all the inhabited districts of Austra- suggestions of any further interference ha whenever they make another appear- with Australian nature ance. Not to be outdone by foreign impor- It might be thought that with all the tations, the country itself has shown in elemental and living enemies against the humble locust a nuisance quite as which the squatter has to contend his potent as rabbit, fox, or thistle. This experience was a hard one and his hope bane of all men who pasture sheep on of success precarious; but the riches grass has not been much in evidence which a single good year pours into his until within the last few years, when the lap atone for many a season of drought great destruction of indigenous birds by or flood, devastation by storms or insect the gun and by poisoned grain strewn pests, bad markets or general commer- for rabbits has facilitated its increase. cial depression, and his experience may The devastation caused by these insects fairly be summed up in the words of last year was enormous, and befell a KRolf BoldrewoOd, the writer who of district a thousand miles long and two all has described Australian life most hundred wide. For days they passed truly, as that freest of all free lives, in clouds that darkened the earth with that pleasantest of all pleasant occupa- the gloomy hue of an eclipse, while the tions, the calling of a squatter. By Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. CHAPTER XVI IN WHICH I TURN SMUGGLER, AND THE CAP- TAIN CASUIST. last night at Mid- way, I had little sleep; the next morning, after the sun was risen, and the Clatter of departure had begun to reign on deck, I lay a long while dozing; and when at last I stepped from the companion, the schooner was already leaping through the pass into the open sea. Close on her board, the huge scroll of a breaker unfurled itself along the reef with a prodigious clamor; and be- hind I saw the wreck vomiting into the morning air a coil of smoke. The wreaths already blew out far to lee- ward; flames already glittered in the cabin skylight; and the sea-fowl were scattered in surprise as wide as the lagoon. As we drew further off, the conflagration of the Flying Scud flamed higher; and long after we had dropped all signs of Midway Island, the smoke still hung in the horizon like that of a distant steamer. With the fading out of that last vestige, the Norah Creina passed again into the empty world of cloud and water by which she had ap- proached; and the next features that appeared, eleven days later, to break the line of sky, were the arid mountains of Oahu. It has often since been a comfortable thought to me that we had thus de- stroyed the tell-tale remnants of the Flying Scud; and often a strange one that my last sight and reminiscence of that fatal ship should be a pillar of smoke on the horizon. To so many others be- sides myself the same appearance had played a part in the various stages of that business: luring some to what they little imagined, filling some with unim- aginable terrors. But ours was the last smoke raised in the story; and with its dying away the secret of the Flying Scud became a private property. It was by the first light of dawn that we saw, close on board, the metropoli- tan island of Hawaii. We held along the coast, as near as we could venture, with a fresh breeze and under an un- clouded heaven; beholding, as we went, the arid mountain sides and scrubby cocoa - palms of that somewhat melan- choly archipelago. About four of the afternoon we turned Waimanolo Point, the westerly headland of the great bight of Honolulu; showed ourselves for twenty minutes in full view; and then fell again to leeward, and put in the rest of daylight, plying under shortened sail under the lee of Waimanolo. A little after dark we beat once more about the point, and crept cautiously toward the mouth of the Pearl Locks, where Jim and I had arranged I was to meet the smugglers. The night was happily obscure, the water smooth. We showed, according to instructions, no light on deck: only a red lantern dropped from either cathead to within a couple of feet of the water. A lookout was stationed on the bowsprit end, an- other in the crosstrees; and the whole Copyright, 1891, by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. All rights reserved. THE WRECKER.

Robert Louis Stevenson Stevenson, Robert Louis Lloyd Osbourne Osbourne, Lloyd The Wrecker 155-169

By Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. CHAPTER XVI IN WHICH I TURN SMUGGLER, AND THE CAP- TAIN CASUIST. last night at Mid- way, I had little sleep; the next morning, after the sun was risen, and the Clatter of departure had begun to reign on deck, I lay a long while dozing; and when at last I stepped from the companion, the schooner was already leaping through the pass into the open sea. Close on her board, the huge scroll of a breaker unfurled itself along the reef with a prodigious clamor; and be- hind I saw the wreck vomiting into the morning air a coil of smoke. The wreaths already blew out far to lee- ward; flames already glittered in the cabin skylight; and the sea-fowl were scattered in surprise as wide as the lagoon. As we drew further off, the conflagration of the Flying Scud flamed higher; and long after we had dropped all signs of Midway Island, the smoke still hung in the horizon like that of a distant steamer. With the fading out of that last vestige, the Norah Creina passed again into the empty world of cloud and water by which she had ap- proached; and the next features that appeared, eleven days later, to break the line of sky, were the arid mountains of Oahu. It has often since been a comfortable thought to me that we had thus de- stroyed the tell-tale remnants of the Flying Scud; and often a strange one that my last sight and reminiscence of that fatal ship should be a pillar of smoke on the horizon. To so many others be- sides myself the same appearance had played a part in the various stages of that business: luring some to what they little imagined, filling some with unim- aginable terrors. But ours was the last smoke raised in the story; and with its dying away the secret of the Flying Scud became a private property. It was by the first light of dawn that we saw, close on board, the metropoli- tan island of Hawaii. We held along the coast, as near as we could venture, with a fresh breeze and under an un- clouded heaven; beholding, as we went, the arid mountain sides and scrubby cocoa - palms of that somewhat melan- choly archipelago. About four of the afternoon we turned Waimanolo Point, the westerly headland of the great bight of Honolulu; showed ourselves for twenty minutes in full view; and then fell again to leeward, and put in the rest of daylight, plying under shortened sail under the lee of Waimanolo. A little after dark we beat once more about the point, and crept cautiously toward the mouth of the Pearl Locks, where Jim and I had arranged I was to meet the smugglers. The night was happily obscure, the water smooth. We showed, according to instructions, no light on deck: only a red lantern dropped from either cathead to within a couple of feet of the water. A lookout was stationed on the bowsprit end, an- other in the crosstrees; and the whole Copyright, 1891, by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne. All rights reserved. THE WRECKER. I am afraid am an American, naid, apologetically. Page 164. THE WRECKER. 157 ships company crowded forward, scout- ing for enemies as friends. It was now the crucial moment of our enterprise; we were now risking liberty and credit; and that for a sum so small to a man in my bankrupt situation, that I could have laughed aloud in bitterness. But the piece had been arranged, and we must play it to the finish. For some while, we saw nothing but the dark mountain outline of the island, the torches of native fishermen glitter- ing here and there along the foreshore, and right in the midst, that cluster of brave lights with which the town of Honolulu advertises itself to the sea- ward. Presently a ruddy star appeared inshore of us, and seemed to draw near unsteadily. This was the anticipated signal; and we made haste to show the countersign, lowering a white light from the quarter, extinguishing the two others, and laying the schooner incon- tinently to. The star approached slow- ly; the sounds of oars and of mens speech came to us across the water; and then a voice hailed us. Is that Mr. Dodd? Yes, I returned. Is Jim Pinker- ton there? No, sir, replied the voice. But theres one of his crowd here; name of Speedy. Im here, Mr. Dodd, added Speedy himself. I have letters for you. All right, I replied. Come aboard, gentlemen, and let me see my maiL A whaleboat accordingly ranged alongside, and three men boarded us: my old San Francisco friend, the stock- gambler Speedy, a little wizened person of the name of Sharpe, and a big, flour- ishing, dissipated - looking man called Fowler. The two last (I learned after- ward) were frequent partners; Sharpe supplied the capital, and Fowler, who was quite a character in the islands, and occupied a considerable station, brought activity, daring, and a private influence, highly necessary in the case. Both seemed to approach the business with a keen sense of romance; and I believe this was the chief attraction, at least with Fowlerfor whom I early con- ceived a sentiment of liking. But in that first moment I had something else to think of than to judge my new ac- VOL. XT.17 quaintances; and before Speedy had fished out the letters, the full extent of our misfortune was revealed. Weve rather bad news for you, Mr. Dodd, said Fowler. Your firms gone ~ Already! I exclaimed. Well, it was thought rather a won- der Pinkerton held on as long as he did, was the reply. The wreck deal was too big for your credit; you were doing a big business, no doubt, but you were doing it on precious little capital; and when the strain came, you were bound to go. Pinkertons through all right: seven cents dividend; some remarks made, but nothing to hurt: the press let you down easyI guess Jim had re- lations there. The only trouble is~ that all this Flying Scud affair got in the papers with the rest; everybodys wide awake in Honolulu; and the sooner we get the stuff in and the dollars out, the better for all concerned. Gentlemen, said I, you must ex-~ cuse me. My friend, the captain here, will drink a glass of champagne with you to give you patience; but as for myself, I am unfit even for ordinary conversation till I have read these let- ters. They demurred a little: and indeed the danger of delay seemed obvious; but the sight of my distress, which I was un- able entirely to control, appealed strongly to their good-nature; and I was suffered at last to get by myself on deck, where, by the light of a lantern smuggled under shelter of the low rail, I read the following wretched correspondence. My dear London, ran the first, this will be handed you by your friend Speedy of the Catamount. His sterling character and loyal devotion to yourself pointed him out as the best man for our purposes in Honoluluthe parties on the spot being difficult to manipulate. A man called Billy Fowler (you must have heard of Billy) is the boss; he is in politics some, and squares the office~s. I have hard times before me in the city, but I feel as bright as a dollar and as strong as John L. Sullivan. What with Mamie here, and my partner speeding over the seas, and the bonanza in the wreck, I feel like I could juggle with the. 158 THE WRECKER. Pyramids of Egypt, same as conjurors do with aluminium balls. My earnest prayers follow you, Loudon, that you may feel the way I do just inspired! My feet dont touch the ground; I kind of swim. Mamie is like Moses and Aaron that held up the other individuals arms. She carries me along like a horse and buggy. I am beating the record. Your true partner, J. PINKERTON. Number two was in a different style My dearest Loudon, how am I to prepare you for this dire intelligence? O dear me, it will strike you to the earth. The Fiat has gone forth; our firm went bust at a quarter before twelve. It was a bill of Bradleys (for $200) that brought these vast operations to a close, and evolved liabilities of upwards of two hundred and fifty thousand. 0, the shame and pity of it! and you but three weeks gone! London, dont blame your pariner: if human hands and brains could have sufficed, I would have held the thing together. But it just slowly crumbled; Bradley was the last kick, but the blamed business just melted. I give the liabilities; its sup- posed theyre all in; for the cowards were waiting, and the claims were filed like taking tickets to hear Patti. I dont quite have the hang of the assets yet, our interests were so extended; but I am at it day and night, and I guess will make a creditable dividend. If the wreck pans out only half the way it ought, well turn the laugh still. I am as full of grit and work as ever, and just tower above our troubles. Mamie is a host in herself. Somehow I feel like it was only me that had got bust, and you and she soared clear of it. Hurry up. Thats all you have to do. Yours ever, J. PINKERTON. The third was yet more altered My poor London, it began, I la- bor far into the night getting our affairs in order; you could not believe their vastness and complexity. Douglas B. Longhurst said humorously that the re ceivers work would be cut out for him. I cannot deny that some of them have a speculative look. God forbid a sen- sitive, refined spirit like yours should ever come face to face with a commis- sioner in Bankruptcy; these men get all the sweetness knocked right out of them. But I could bear up better if it werent for press comments. Often and often, London, I recall to mind your most legitimate critiques of the press system. They published an interview with me, not the least like what I said, and with jeering comments; it would make your blood boil, it was literally inhumane; I wouldnt have written it about a yellow dog that was in trouble like what I am. Mamie just winced, the first time she has turned a hair right through the whole catastrophe. How wonderfully true was what you said long ago in Paris, about touching on peoples per- sonal appearance! The fellow said And then these words had been scored through; and my distressed friend turned to another subject. I cannot bear to dwell upon our assets. They simply dont show up. Even Thir- teen Star, as sound a line as can be pro- duced upon this coast, goes begging. The wreck has thrown a blight on all we ever touched. And wheres the use? God never made a wreck big enough to fill our deficit. I am haunted by the thought that you may blame me; I know how I despised your remon- strances. 0, Loudon, dont be hard on your miserable partner. The funny-dog business is what kills. I fear your stern rectitude of mind like the eye of God. I cannot think but what some of my books seem mixed up; otherwise, I dont seem to see my way as plain as I could wish to. Or else my brain is gone soft. Loudon, if there should be any unpleasantness, you can trust me to do the right thing and keep you clear. Ive been telling them already, how you had no business grip and never saw the books. 0, I trust I have done right in this! I knew it was a liberty; I know you may justly complain; but it was some things that were said. And mind you, all legitimate business! Not even your shrinking sensitiveness could find fault with the first look of one of them, if they had panned out right. And you THE WRECKER. 159 know, the Flying Scud was the biggest gamble of the crowd, and that was your own idea. Mamie says she never could bear to look you in the face, if that idea had been mine; she is so conscientious! Your broken-hearted JIM. The last began without formality This is the end of me commercially. I give up; my nerve is gone. I sup- pose I ought to be glad; for were through the court. I dont know as ever I knew how, and Im sure I dont remember. If it pans outthe wreck, I meanwell go to Europe, and live on the interest of our money. No more work for me. I shake when people speak to me. I have gone on, hoping and hoping, and working and working, and the lead has pinched right out. I want to lie on my back in a garden, and read Shakespeare and E. P. Roe. Dont suppose its cowardice, Loudon. Im a sick man~ Rest is what I must have. Ive worked hard all my life; I never spared myself; every dollar I ever made, Ive coined my brains for it. Ive never done a mean thing; Ive lived respect- able, and given to the poor. Who has a better right to a holiday than I have? And I mean to have a year of it straight out; and if I dont, I shall lie right down here in my tracks, and die of worry and brain trouble. Dont mis- take. Thats so. If there are any pick- ings at all, trust Speedy; dont let the creditors get wind of what there is. I helped you when you were down; help me now. Dont deceive yourself; youve got to help me right now, or never. I am clerking, and not fit to cyp her. Mamies type-writing at the Phoenix Guano Exchange, down town. The light is right out of my life. I know youll not like to do what I propose. Think only of this; that its life or death for JIM PINKERTON. P.S. Our figure was seven per cent. Oh, what a fall was there! Well, well, its past mending; I dont want to whine. But, Loudon, I do want to live. No more ambition; all I ask is life. I have so much to make it sweet to me! I am clerking, and useless at that, I know. I would have fired such a clerk inside of forty minutes, in my time. But my times over. I can only cling on to you. Dont fail. JIM PINKERTON. There was yet one more postscript, yet one more outburst of self-pity and pathetic adjuration; and a doctors opinion, unpromising enough, was be- sides enclosed. I pass them both in Sl- lence. I think shame to have shown, at so great length, the half-baked virtues of my friend dissolving in the crucible of sickness and distress; and the effect upon my spirits can be judged already. I got to my feet, when I had done, drew a deep breath, and stared hard at Hon- olulu. One moment the world seemed at an end; the next, I was conscious of a rash of independent energy. On Jim I could rely no longer; I must now take hold myself. I must decide and act on my own better thoughts. The word was easy to say; the thing, at the first blush, was undiscoverable. I was overwhelmed with miserable, womanish pity for my broken friend; his outcries grieved my spirit; I saw him then and nowthen, so invincible; now, brought so lowand knew neither how to refuse, nor how to consent to his proposaL The remembrance of my father, who had fallen in the same field unstained, the image of his monument incongruously rising, a fear of the law, a chill air that seemed to blow upon my fancy from the doors of prisons, and the imaginary clank of fetters, recalled me to a different resolve. And then again, the wails of my sick partner in- tervened. So I stood hesitating, and yet with a strong sense of capacity be- hind: sure, if I could but choose my path, that I should walk in it with reso- lution. Then I remembered that I had a friend on board, and stepped to the companion. Gentlemen, said I, only a few mome~its more: but these, I regret to say, I must make more tedious still by removing your companion. It is indis- pensable that I should have a word or two with Captain Nares. Both the smugglers were afoot at once, protesting. The business, they declared, must be despatched at once; 160 THE WRECKER. they had run risk enough, with a con- science; and they must either finish now, or go. The device is yours, gentlemen, said I, and, I believe, the eagerness. I am not yet sure that I have anything in your way; even if I have, there are a hundred things to be considered; and I assure you it is not at all my habit to do business with a pistol to my head. That is all very proper, Mr. Dodd; there is no wish to coerce you, believe mc, said Fowler; only, please con- sider our position. It is really danger- ous; we were not the only people to see your schooner off Waimanolo. Mr. Fowler, I replied, I was not born yesterday. Will you allow me to express an opinion, in which I may be quite wrong, but to which I am entirely wedded? If the custom-house officers had been coming, they would have been here now. In other words, somebody is working the oracle, and (for a good guess) his name is Fowler. Both men laughed loud and long; and being supplied with another bottle of Longhursts champagne, suffered the captain and myself to leave them with- out further word. I gave Nares the correspondence, and he skimmed it through. Now, captain, said I, I want a fresh mind on this. What does it mean? Its large enough text, replied the captain. It means youre to stake your pile on Speedy, hand him over all you can, and hold your tongue. I al- most wish you hadnt shown it me, he added, wearily. What with the specie from the wreck and the opium money, it comes to a biggish deal. Thats supposing that I do it? said I. Exactly, said he, supposing you do it. And there are pros and cons to that, I observed. Theres San Quentin, to start in with, said the captain; and suppose you clear the penitentiary, theres the nasty taste in the mouth. The figures big enough to make bad trouble, but its not big enough to be picturesque; and I should guess a man always feels kind of small who has sold himself under six cyphers. That would be my way, at least; theres an excitement about a million that might carry me on; but the other way, I should feel kind of lonely when I woke in bed. Then theres Speedy. Do you know him well? No, I do not, said I. Well, of course he can vamoose with the entire speculation, if he chooses, pursued the captain, and if he dont I cant see but what youve got to support and bed and board with him to the end of time. I guess it would weary me. Then theres Mr. Pinkerton, of course. Hes been a good friend to you, hasnt he? Stood by you, and all that? and pulled you through for all he was worth? That he has, I cried; I could never begin telling you my debt to him ! Well, and thats a consideration, said the captain. As a matter of prin- ciple, I wouldnt look at this business at the money. Not good enough, would be my word. But even principle goes under when it comes to friendsthe right sort, I mean. This Pinkerton is frightened, and he seems sick; the medico. dont seem to care a cent about his state of health; and youve got to figure how you would like it, if he came to die. Remember, the risk o5 this little swindle is all yours; its no sort of risk to Mr. Pinkerton. Well, youve got to put it that way plainly, and see how you like the sound of it: my friend Pinkerton is in danger of the New Jerusalem, I am in danger of San Quentin; which risk do I propose to run? Thats an ugly way to put it, I objected, and perhaps hardly fair. Theres right and wrong to be consid-. ered. Dont know the parties, replied Nares; and Im coming to them, any- way. For it strikes me, when it came to smuggling opium, you -walked right up? So I did, I said; sick I am to have to say it! All the same, continued Nares, you went into the opium-smuggling with your head down; and a good deal of fussing Ive listened to, that you hadnt more of it to smuggle. Now, THE WRECKER. 161 maybe your partners not quite fixed the same as you are; maybe he sees precious little difference between the one thing and the other. You could not say truer: he sees none, I do believe, cried I; and though I see one, I could never tell you how. We never can, said the oracular Nares; taste is all a matter of opinion. But the point is, how will your friend take it? You refuse a favor, and you take the high horse at the same time; you disappoint him, and you rap him over the knuckles. It wont do, Mr. Dodd; no friendship can stand that. You must be as good as your friend, or as bad as your friend, or start on a fresh deal without him. I dont see it! said I. You dont know Jim! Well, you will see, said Nares. And now, heres another point. This bit of money looks mighty big to Mr. Pinkerton; it may spell life or health to him; but among all your creditors, I dont see that it amounts to a hill of beansI dont believe itll pay their car-fares all round. And dont you think youll ever get thanked. You were known to pay a long price for the chance of rummaging that wreck; you do the rummaging, you come home, and you hand over ten thousandor twenty, if you likea part of which youll have to own up you made by smuggling; and, mind! youll never get Billy Fow- ler to stick his name to a receipt. Now, just glance at the transaction from the outside, and see what a clear case it makes. Your ten thousand is a sop; and people will only wonder you were so damned impudent as to offer such a small one! Whichever way you take it, Mr. Dodd, the bottoms out of your character; so theres one thing less to be considered. I daresay youll scarce believe me, said I, but I feel that a positive relief. You mudt be made some way differ- ent from me, then, returned Nares. And, talking about me, I might just mention how I stand. Youll have no trouble from meyouve trouble enough of your own; and Im friend enough, when a friends in need, to shut my eyes and go right where he tells me. All the same, Im rather queerly fixed. My ownersll have to rank with the rest on their charter-party. Here am I, their representative! and I have to look over the ships side while the bankrupt walks his assets ashore in Mr. Speedys hat- box. Its a thing I wouldnt do for James G. Blame; but Ill do it for you, Mr. Dodd, and only sorry I cant do more. Thank you, captain; my mind is made up, said I. Ill go straight, ruat ccelum! I never understood that old tag before to-night. I hope it isnt my business that de- cides you? asked the captain. Ill never deny it was an element, said I. I hope, I hope Im not cow- ardly; I hope I could steal for Jim my- self; but when it comes to dragging in you and Speedy, and this one and the other, why, Jim has got to die, and theres an end. Ill try and work for him when I get to Frisco, I suppose; and I suppose Ill fail, and look on at his death, and kick myself: it cant be helpedIll fight it on this line. I dont say as youre wrong, replied Nares, and Ill be hanged if I know if youre right. It suits me anyway. And look herehadnt you better just show our friends over the side? he added; no good of being at the risk and worry of smuggling for the benefit of creditors. I dont think of the creditors, said I. But Ive kept this pair so longI havent ~got the brass to fire them now. Indeed, I believe that was my only reason for entering upon a transaction which was now outside my interest, but which (as it chanced) repaid me fifty-fold in entertainment. Fowler and Sharpe were both preternaturally sharp; they did me the honor in the beginning to attribute to myself their proper vices; and before we were done had grown to regard me with an esteem akin to wor- ship. This proud position I attained by no more recondite arts, than telling the mere truth and unaffectedly displaying my indifference to the result. I have doubtless stated the essentials of all good diplomacy, which may be rather regarded, therefore, as a grace of state, than the effect of management. For to tell the truth is not in itself diplomatic, and to have no care for the result a 162 THE WRECKER. thing involuntary. When I mentioned, for instance, that I had but two hundred and forty pound of drug, my smugglers exchanged meaning glances, as who should say, Here is a foeman worthy of our steel! But when I carelessly proposed fifty-five dollars a pound, as an amendment to their offered twenty, and wound up with the remark: The whole thing is a matter of moonshine to me, gentlemen. Take it or want it, and fill your glasses I had the indescrib- able gratification to see Sharpe nudge Fowler warningly, and Fowler choke down the jovial acceptance that stood ready on his lips, and lamely substitute a nono more wine, please, Mr. Dodd! Nor was this all: for when the affair was settled at fifty dollars a pounda shrewd stroke of business for my creditorsand our friends had got on board their whaleboat and shoved off, it appeared they were imperfectly acquainted with the conveyance of sound upon still water, and I had the joy to overhear the following testimo- niaL Deep man, that Dodd, said Sharpe. And the bass-toned Fowler echoed, Damned if I understand his game. At which pointthe captain and I turning to each other with an irrepres- sible crow of merriment the confi- dences in the boat stopped short. Thus we were left once more alone upon the Nora Creina; and the news of the night, and the lamentations~ of Pin- kerton, and the thought of my own harsh decision, returned and besieged me in the dark. According to all the rubbish I had read, I should have been sustained by the warm consciousness of virtue. Alas, I had but the one feel- ing: that I had sacrificed my sick friend to the fear of prison - cells and stupid starers. And no moralist has yet advanced so far as to number cow- ardice amongst the things that are their own reward. CHAPTER XVII. LiGHT FROM THE MAN OF WAR. Ix the early sunlight of the next day, we tossed close off the buoy and saw the city sparkle in its groves about the foot of the Punch-bowl, and the masts clustering thick in the small harbor. A good breeze, which had risen with the sea, carried us triumphantly through the intricacies of the passage; and we had soon brought up not far from the landing-stairs. I remember to have re- marked an ugly horned reptile of a modern warship in the usual moorings across the port, but my mind was so profoundly plunged in melancholy that I paid no heed. Indeed, I had little time at my dispo- sal Messieurs Sharpe and Fowler had left the night before in the persuasion that I was a liar of the first magnitude; the genial belief brought them aboard again with the earliest opportunity, proffering help to one who had proved how little he required it, and hospitality to so respectable a character. I had business to mind, I had some need both of assistance and diversion. I liked Fowler I dont know why; and in short, I let them do with me as they desired. No creditor intervening, I spent the first half of the day inquiring into the conditions of the tea and silk market under the auspices of Sharpe; lunched with him in a private apartment at the Hawaiian Hotelfor Sharpe was a teetotaler in public; and about four in the afternoon was delivered into the hands of Fowler. This gentleman owned a bungalow on the Waikiki beach; and there in company with certain young bloods of Honolulu, I was entertained to a sea-bathe, indiscriminate cocktails, a dinner, a hula-hula, and (to round off the night), poker and assorted liquors. To lose money in the small hours to pale, intoxicated youth, has always appeared to me a pleasure overrated. In my then frame of mind, I confess I found it even delightful; put up my money (or rather my creditors), and put down Fowlers champagne with equal avidity and suc- cess; and awoke the next morning to a mild headache and the rather agreeable lees of the last nights excitement. The young bloods, many of whom were still far from sober, had taken the kitchen into their own hands, vice the Chinaman deposed; and since each was engaged upon a dish of his own, and none had the least scruple in demolishing his neighbors handiwork, I became early THE WRECKER. 163 convinced that many eggs would be broken and few omelets made. The dis- covery of a jug of milk and a crust of bread enabled me to stay my appetite; and since it was Sunday, when no busi- ness could be done, and the festivities were to be renewed that night in the abode of Fowler, it occurred to me to slip silently away and enjoy some air and solitude. I turned seaward under the dead crater known as Diamond Head. My way was for some time under the shade of certain thickets of green, thorny trees, dotted with houses. Here. I enjoyed some pictures of the native life: wide- eyed, naked children, mingled with pigs; a youth asleep under a tree; an old gentleman spelling through glasses his Hawaiian Bible; the somewhat em- barrassing spectacle of a lady at her bath in a spring; and the glimpse of gaudy- colored gowns in the deep shade of the houses. Thence I found a road along the beach itself, wading in sand, opposed and buffeted by the whole weight of the Trade: on one hand, the glittering and sounding surf, and the bay lively with many sails; on the other, precipitous, arid gullies and sheer cliffs, mounting towards the crater and the blue sky. For all the companionship of skimming vessels, the place struck me with a sense of solitude. Then came in my head what I had been told the day before at dinner, of a cavern above, in the bowels of the volcano, a place only to be visit- ed with the light of torches, a treas- ure-house of the bones of priests and warriors, and clamorous with the voice of an unseen river pouring seaward through the crannies of the mountain. At the thought, it was revealed to me suddenly, how the bungalows, and the Fowlers, and the bright, busy town and crowding ships, were all children of yesterday; and for centuries before, the obscure life of the natives, with its glories and ambitions, its joys and crimes and agonies, had rolled unseen, like the mountain river, in that sea-girt place. Not Chaldea appeared more an- cient, nor the Pyramids of Egypt more abstruse; and I heard time measured by the drums and tramplings of im- memorial conquests, and saw myself the creature of an hour. Over the bank- ruptcy of Pinkerton and Dodd of Mon- tana Block, S. F., and the conscientious troubles of the junior partner, the spirit of eternity was seen to smile. To this mood of philosophic sadness, my excesses of the night before no doubt contributed; for more things than virtue are at times their own re- ward: but I was greatly healed at least of my distresses. And while I was yet enjoying my abstracted humor, a turn of the beach brought me in view of the signal-station, with its watch-house and flag-staff, perched in the immediate margin of a cliff. The house was new and clean and bald, and stood naked to the Trades. The wind beat about it in loud squalls; the seaward windows rattled without mercy; the breach of the surf below contributed its increment of noise; and the fall of my foot in the narrow verandah passed unheard by those within. They were two on whom I thus en- tered unexpectedly: the look-out man, with grizzled beard, keen seamans eyes, and that brand on his countenance that comes of solitary living; and a visitor, an oldish oratorical fellow, in the smart tropical array of the British man-o- wars man, perched on a table, and smoking a cigar. I was made pleasantly welcome, and was soon listening with amusement to the sea-lawyer. No, if I hadnt have been born an Englishman, was one of his sentiments, damn me! Id rather a been born a Frenchy! Id like to see another nation fit to black their boots. Presently after, he developed his views on home politics with similar trenchancy. Id rather be a brute beast than what Id be a liberal, he said. Carrying banners and that! a pigs got more sense. Why, look at our chief engineerthey do say he carried a banner with his own ands: Hooroar for Gladstone! I suppose, or Down with the Aristo-cracy! What arm does the aristocracy do? Show me a country any good without one! Not the States; why, its th~ ome of corruption! I knew a manhe was a good man, ome bornwho was signal quartermaster in the Wyandotte. He told me he could never have got there, if he hadnt have run with the boys told it me as Im telling you. 164 THE WRECKER. Now were all British subjects here he was going on. I am afraid I am an American, I said, apologetically. He seemed the least bit taken aback, but recovered himself; and with the ready tact of his betters, paid me the usual British compliment on the riposte. You dont say so! he exclaimed. Well, I give you my word of honor, ~d never have guessed it. Nobody could tell it on you, said he, as though it were some form of liquor. I thanked him, as I always do, at this particular stage, with his compatriots: not so much perhaps for the compliment to myself and my poor country, as for the revelation (which is ever fresh to me) of Britannic self-sufficiency and taste. And he was so far softened by my gratitude, as to add a word of praise on the American method of lacing sails. Youre ahead of us in lacing sails, he said. You can say that with a clear conscience. Thank you, I replied. I shall certainly do so. At this rate, we got along swim- mingly; and when I rose to retrace my steps to the Fowlery, he at once started to his feet and offered me the welcome solace of his company for the return. I believe I discovered much alacrity at the idea; for the creature (who seemed to be unique, as to represent a type like that of the dodo) entertained me hugely. But when he had produced his hat, I found I was in the way of more than en- tertainment; for on the ribbon I could read the legend H. M. S. Tempest. I say, I began, when our adieus were paid, and we were scrambling down the path from the look-out, it was your ship that picked up the men on board the Flying Scud, wasnt it? You may say so, said he. And a blessed good job for the Flying Scuds. Its a God-forsaken spot, that Midway Island. Ive just come from there, said I. It was I who bought the wreck. Beg your pardon, sir, cried the sail- or: genlemn in the white schooner? The same, said I My friend saluted, as though we were now, for the first time, formally intro- duced. Of course, I continued, I am rather taken up with the whole story; and I wish you would tell me what you can of how the men were saved. It was like this, said he. We had orders to call at Midway after castaways, and had our distance pretty nigh run down the day before. We steamed half-speed all night, looking to make it about noon; for old Tootlesbeg your pardon, sirthe captainwas precious scared of the place at night. Well, theres nasty, filthy currents round that Midway; you know, as has been there; and one onem must have set us down. Leastways, about six bells, when we had ought to been miles away, some one sees a sail, and lo and beold, there was the spars of a full-rigged brig! We raised her pretty fast, and the island after her; and made out she was hard aground, kanted on her bilge, and had her ensn flying, union down. It was breaking igh on the reef, and we laid well out, and sent a couple of boats. I didnt go in neither; only stood and looked on; but it seems they was all badly scared and muddled, and didnt know which end was uppermost. One on em kep snivelling and wringing of his ands; he come on board all of a sop like a monthly nurse. That Trent, he come first, with his and in a bloody rag. I was nearem as lamto you; and I could make out he was all to bits eard his breath rattle in his blooming lungs as he come down the ladder. Yes, they was a scared lot, small blame to em, I say! The next after Trent, come him as was mate. Goddedael I I exclaimed. And a good name for him, too, chuckled the man-o-wars man, who probably confounded the word with a familiar oath. A good name, too; only it werent his. He was a genlemn born, sir as had o~one maskewerading. One b of our officers knowed him at ome, reckonises him, steps up, olds out his and right off, and says he : Ullo, Norrie, old chappie! he says. The other was coming up, as bold as look at it; didnt seem put outthats where blood tells, sir! Well, no sooner does he ear his born name given him, than he turns as white as the Day of Judg- ment, stares at Mr. Sebright like he THE WRECKER. 165 was looking at a ghost, and then (I give you my word of honor) turned to, and doubled up in a dead faint. Take him down to my berth, says Mr. Se- bright. Tis poor old Norrie Carthew, he says. And what what sort of a gentle- man was this Mr. Carthew? I gasped. The ward-room steward told me he was come of the best blood in England, was my friends reply: Eton and Arrow bred ;and might have been a barnet! No, but to look at? I corrected him. The same as you or me, was the uncompromising answer: not much to look at. I didnt know he was a genlemn; but then, I never see him cleaned up. How was that? I cried. 0, yes, I remember: he was sick all the way to Frisco, was he not? Sick, or sorry, or something, re- turned my informant. My belief, he didnt hanker after showing up. He kep close; the ward-room steward, what took his meals in, told me he ate nex to nothing; and he was fetched ashore at Frisco on the quiet. Here was how it was. It seems his brother had took and died, him as had the estate. This one had gone in for his beer, by what I could make out; the old folks at ome had turned rusty; no one knew where he had gone to. Here he was, slaving in a merchant brig, shipwrecked on Midway, and packing up his duds for a long voyage in a open boat. He comes on board our ship, and by God, here he is a landed proprietor, and may be in Parliament to-morrow! Its no less than natural he should keep dark: so would you and me, in the same box. I daresay, said I. But you saw more of the others? To be sure, says he: no arm in them from what I see. There was one Ardy there: colonial born he was, and had been through a power of money. There was no nonsense about Ardy; he had been up, and he had come down, and took it so. His cart was in the right place; and he was well informed, and knew French and Latin, I believe, like a native! I liked that Ardy; he was a good-looking boy, too. Did they say much about the wreck? I asked. There wasnt much to say, I reckon, replied the man-o ~-war~s man. It was all in the papers. Ardy used to yarn most about the coins he had gone through; he had lived with book- makers, and jockeys, and prigs, and actors, and all that; a precious low lot! added this judicious person. But its about here my horse is moored, and by your leave Ill be getting ahead. One moment, said I. Is Mr. Se- bright on board? No, sir, hes ashore to-day, said the sailor. I took up a bag for him to the otel. With that we parted. Presently after my friend overtook and passed me on a hired steed which seemed to scorn its cavalier; and I was left in the dust of his passage, a prey to whirling thoughts. For I now stood, or seemed to stand, on the immediate threshold of these mysteries. I knew the name of the man Dicksonhis name was Car- thew; I knew where the money caine from that opposed us at the saleit was part of Carthews inheritance; and in my gallery of illustrations to the history of the wreck, one more picture hung; perhaps the most dramatic of the series. It showed n~ie the deck of a war-ship in that distant part of the great ocean, the officers and seamen looking curiously on; and a man of birth and education, who had been sailing under an alias on a trading brig, and was now rescued from desperate peril, felled like an ox by the bare sound of his own name. I could not fail to be reminded of my own experience at the Occidental telephone. The hero of three styles, Dickson, Godd- edael, or Carthew, must be the owner of a livelyor a loadedconscience, and the reflection recalled to me the photo- graph found on board the Flying Scud; just such a man, I reasoned, would be capable of just such starts and crises; and I inclined to think that Goddedael (as Carthew) was the mainspring of the mystery. One thing was plain: as long as the Tempest was in reach, I must make the acquaintance of both Sebright and the doctor. To this end, I excused myself with Mr. Fowler, returned to Honolulu, p 166 THE WRECKER. and passed the remainder of the day hanging vainly round the cool verandahs of the hoteL It was near nine oclock at night before I was rewarded. That is the gentleman you were asking for, said the clerk. I beheld a man in tweeds, of an in- comparable languor of demeanor, and carrying a cane with genteel effect. From the name, I had looked to find a sort of Viking and young ruler of the battle and the tempest; and I was the more disappointed, and not a little alarmed, to come face to face with this impracticable type. I believe I have the pleasure of ad- dressing Lieutenant Sebright, said I, stepping forward. Aw, yes, replied the hero; but, aw! I dawnt knaw you, do I 2 (He spoke for all the world like Lord Fop- pington in the old playa proof of the perennial nature of mans affectations. But his limping dialect, I scorn to con- tinue to reproduce.) It was with the intention of making myself known, that I have taken this step, said I, entirely unabashed (for im- pudence begets in me its likeperhaps my only martial attribute). We have a common subject of interest, to me very lively; and I believe I may be in a position to be of some service to a friend of yoursto give him, at least, some very welcome information. The last clause was a sop to my con- science: I could not pretend, even to myself, either the power or the will to serve Mr. Carthew; but I felt sure he would like to hear the Flying Scud was burned. I dont knowII dontunderstand you, stammered my victim. I dont have any friends in Honolulu, dont you know? 7 The friend to whom I refer is Eng- lish, I replied. It is Mr. Carthew, whom you picked up at Midway. My firm has bought the wreck; I am just returned from breaking her up; and to make my business quite clear to you I have a communication it is neces- sary I should make; and have to trouble you for Mr. Carthews address. It will be seen how rapidly I had dropped all hope of interesting the frigid British bear. He, on his side, was plainly on thorns at my insistance; I judged he was suffering torments of alarm lest I should prove an undesirable acquaintance; diagnosed him for a shy, dull, vain, unamiable animal, without adequate defencea sort of dishoused snail; and concluded, rightly enough, that he would consent to anything to bring our interview to a conclusion. A moment later, he had fled, leaving with me a sheet of paper, thus inscribed Norris Cart hew, Stalibridge-le- Cart hew, Dorset. I might have cried victory, the field of battle and some of the enemys bag- gage remaining in my occupation. As a matter of fact, my moral sufferings during the engagement had rivalled those of Mr. Sebright; I was left incap- able of fresh hostilities; I owned that the navy of old England was (for me) invincible as of yore; and giving up all thought of the doctor, inclined to salute her veteran flag, in the future, from a prudent distance. Such was my incli- nation, when I retired to rest; and my first experience the next morning strengthened it to certainty. For I had the pleasure of encountering my fair an- tagonist on his way on board; and he honored me with a recognition so dis- gustingly dry, that my impatience over- flowed, and (recalling the tactics of Nel- son) I neglected to perceive or to return it. Judge of my astonishment, some half- hour later, to receive a note of invitation from the Tempest. Dear Sir, it began, we are all naturally very much interested in the wreck of the Flying Scud, and as soon as I mentioned that I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, a very general wish was expressed that you would come and dine on board. It will give us all the greatest pleasure to see you to-night, or in case you should be otherwise engaged, to luncheon either to-morrow or to-day. A note of the hours followed, and the document wound up with the name of J. Lascelles Se- bright, under an undeniable statement that he was sincerely mine. No, Mr. Lascelles Sebright, I re I THE WRECKER. 167 fiected, you are not, but I begin to sus- pect that (like the lady in the song) you are anothers. You have mentioned your adventure, my friend, you have been blown up; you have got your or- ders; this note has been dictated; and I am asked on board (in spite of your melancholy protests) not to meet the men, and not to talk about the Flying Scud, but to undergo the scrutiny of some one interested in Carthew: the doctor, for a wager. And for a second wager, all this springs from your facility in giving the address. I lost no time in answering the billet, electing for the earliest occasion; and at the appointed hour, a somewhat blackguard-looking boats~crew from the Norah Creina con- veyed me under the guns of the Tempest. The ward-room appeared pleased to see me; Sebrights brother officers, in contrast to himself, took a boyish inter- est in my cruise; and much was talked of the Flying Scud; of how she had been lost, of how I had found her, and of the weather, the anchorage, and the currents about Midway Island. Carthew was referred to more than once wfthout embarrassment; the parallel case of a late Earl of Aberdeen, who died mate on board a Yankee schooner, was ad- duced. If they told me little of the man, it was because they had not much to tell, and only felt an interest in his recognition and pity for his prolonged ill-health. I could never think the sub- ject was avoided; and it was clear that the officers, far from practising conceal- ment, had nothing to conceal. So far, then, all seemed natural, and yet the doctor troubled me. This was a tall, rugged, plain man, on the wrong side of fifty, already gray, and with a restless mouth and bushy eyebrows: he spoke seldom, but then with gaiety; and his great, quaking, silent laughter was infectious. I could make out that he was at once the quiz of the ward-room and perfectly respected; and I made sure that he observed me covertly. It is certain I returned the compliment. If Carthew had feigned sicknessand all seemed to point in that directionhere was the man who knew allor certainly knew much. His strong, sterling face progressively and silently persuaded of his full knowledge. That was not the mouth, these were not the eyes of one who would act in ignorance, or could be led at random. Nor again was it the face of a man squeamish in the case of malefactors; there was even a touch of Brutus there, and something of the hanging judge. In short, he seemed the last character for the part assigned him in my theories; and wonder and curiosity contended in my mind. Luncheon was over, and an adjourn- ment to the smoking-room proposed, when (upon a sudden impulse) I turned my ships, and pleading indisposition, requested to consult the doctor. There is nothing the matter with my body, Dr. Urquart, said I, as soon as we were alone. He hummed, his mouth worked, he re- garded me steadily with his gray eyes, but resolutely held his peace. I want to talk to you about the Fly- ing Scud and Mr. Carthew, I resumed. Come: you must have expected this. I am sure you know all; you are shrewd, and must have a guess that I know much. How are we to stand to one an- other? and how am I to stand to Mr. Carthew? I do not fully understand you, he replied, after a pause; and then, after another: It is the spirit I refer to, Mr. Dodd. The spirit of my inquiries? I asked. He nodded. I think we are at crosspurposes,~~ said I. The spirit is precisely what I came in quest of. I bought the Flying Scud at a ruinous figure, run up by Mr. Carthew by an agent; and I am, in con- sequence, a bankrupt. But if I have found no fortune in the wreck, I have found unmistakable evidences of foul play. Conceive my position: I am ruined through this man, whom I never saw; I might very well desire revenge or compensation ; and I think you will admit I have the means to extort either. He made no sign in answer to this challenge. Can you not understand, then, I resumed, the spirit in which I come to one who is surely in the secret, and ask him, honestly and plainly: How do I stand to Mr. Carthew? I must ask you to be more explicit, said he. 168 THE WRECKER. You do not help me much, I re- torted. But see if you can under- stand: my conscience is not very fine- spun; still, I have one. Now, there are degrees of foul play, to some of which I have no particular objection. I am sure with Mr. Carthew, I am not at all the person to forego an advantage ; and I have much curiosity. But on the other hand, I have no taste for persecution; and I ask you to believe that I am not the man to make bad worse, or heap trouble on the unfortunate. Yes; I think I understand, said he. Suppose I pass you my word that, whatever may have occurred, there were excusesgreat excusesI may say, very great? It would have weight with me, doc- tor, I replied. I may go further, he pursued. Suppose I had been there or you had been there: after a certain event had taken place, its a grave question what we might have doneits even a ques- tion what we could have doneour- selves. Or take me. I will be plain with you, and own that I am in posses- sion of the facts. You have a shrewd guess how I have acted in that knowl- edge. May I ask you to judge from the character of my action, something of the nature of that knowledge, which I have no call, nor yet no title, to share with you? I cannot convey a sense of the rugged conviction and judicial emphasis of Dr. Urquarts speech: to those who did not hear him, it may appear as if he fed me on enigmas; to myself, who heard, I seemed to have received a lesson and a compliment. I thank you, I said. I feel you have said as much as possible, and more than I had any right to ask. I take that as a mark of confidence, which I will try to deserve. I hope, sir, you will let me regard you as a friend. He evaded my proffered friendship with a blunt proposal to rejoin the mess ; and yet a moment later, contrived to alleviate the snub. For, as we entered the smoking-room, he laid his hand on my shoulder with a kind familiarity. I have just prescribed fot Mr. Dodd, says he, a glass of our Ma- deira. I have never again met Dr. IJrquart: but he wrote himself so clear upon my memory that I think I see him stilL And indeed I had cause to remember the man for the sake of his communica- tion. It was hard enough to make a theory fit the circumstances of the Fly- irtg Scud; but one in which the chief actor should stand the least excused, and might retain the esteem or at least the pity of a man like Dr. llJrquart, failed me utterly. Here at least was the end of my discoveries; I learned no more, till I learned all; and my reader has the evidence complete. Is he more astute than I was? or, like me, does he give it up? (To be continued.) N I A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. By Albert Shaw. HE proportion of women whose daily lot is hard labor of some kind or other is not greater now than it has been in other peri- ods. On the contrary, it is probably smaller. But at no for- mer time has the wage-earning woman been so distinct a social and economic factor. Womans work was formerly hedged in very closely by domestic con- ditions. Her life was a part of the life of some family, and as an unattached industrial unit she was practically non- existent. Newer conditions have ob- viously changed all this; and every city has its army of young working - wom- en seeking an independent livelihood, just as it has its larger army of young men. It is no part of the ~purpose of this article to deplore the fact or to philosophize about the fact. Simply to perceive and admit a great social fact is often an important gain. The army of young working - men in great towns young men wholly unattached and fighting the battle of life upon their individual resourceshas not been very long recognized as a distinct social element, and one for which peculiar pro- vision should be made. But its recog- nition has been more general, and there has been better provision made for it than for the other army of young work- ing-women. Yet the position of the young women is much the more difficult. The kinds of work open to women are not half so numerous as those that young men can enter. And womens wages average little more than half as much as their brothers. The practical difficulties in the way of procuring employment are especially great for young women, and conventional obstacles lie everywhere in the way. Unhappily, the time has not yet come when the honest girl seek- ing honest employment is secure from insult. If any classes of women on earth have especial right to claim the protection of all men, they are those in our cities who work for their living; and there will come a time when no em- ployer of labor will dare to offend an awakened public sentiment by miscon- duct toward members of those classes. The rights, the needs, the wants of working-girls call for agitation and for organized action. And in many ways the movement has begun. It is not strange that the plan of working-girls clubs, once fairly launched in our American cities, should have been so rapidly successful; for the times were fully ripe for such organizations. Their capacity for development and for useful- ness is almost unlimited. There is no good reason why the working-girls clubs should not, in time, provide in the most varied way for the young woman legitimate requirements as to special and general culture, technical instruc- tion, social enjoyment and pleasant material environment. It matters less by what precise means the thing is done, than that the results are some- how accomplished. It is conceivable that, the movement being once fairly begun and its methods evolved and pre- scribed, the working - girls of a given locality might secure palatial club quar- ters and all the accessories by their own unaided efforts. But, just as young men go to colleges which have been endowed for their benefit, and which derive only a small part of their sup- port from the tuition fees, so it is easy to imagine that greater results for young women might accrue from institutions provided for them through the munifi- cence of the wealthy, or through the

Albert Shaw Shaw, Albert A Model Working-Girl's Club 169-178

A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. By Albert Shaw. HE proportion of women whose daily lot is hard labor of some kind or other is not greater now than it has been in other peri- ods. On the contrary, it is probably smaller. But at no for- mer time has the wage-earning woman been so distinct a social and economic factor. Womans work was formerly hedged in very closely by domestic con- ditions. Her life was a part of the life of some family, and as an unattached industrial unit she was practically non- existent. Newer conditions have ob- viously changed all this; and every city has its army of young working - wom- en seeking an independent livelihood, just as it has its larger army of young men. It is no part of the ~purpose of this article to deplore the fact or to philosophize about the fact. Simply to perceive and admit a great social fact is often an important gain. The army of young working - men in great towns young men wholly unattached and fighting the battle of life upon their individual resourceshas not been very long recognized as a distinct social element, and one for which peculiar pro- vision should be made. But its recog- nition has been more general, and there has been better provision made for it than for the other army of young work- ing-women. Yet the position of the young women is much the more difficult. The kinds of work open to women are not half so numerous as those that young men can enter. And womens wages average little more than half as much as their brothers. The practical difficulties in the way of procuring employment are especially great for young women, and conventional obstacles lie everywhere in the way. Unhappily, the time has not yet come when the honest girl seek- ing honest employment is secure from insult. If any classes of women on earth have especial right to claim the protection of all men, they are those in our cities who work for their living; and there will come a time when no em- ployer of labor will dare to offend an awakened public sentiment by miscon- duct toward members of those classes. The rights, the needs, the wants of working-girls call for agitation and for organized action. And in many ways the movement has begun. It is not strange that the plan of working-girls clubs, once fairly launched in our American cities, should have been so rapidly successful; for the times were fully ripe for such organizations. Their capacity for development and for useful- ness is almost unlimited. There is no good reason why the working-girls clubs should not, in time, provide in the most varied way for the young woman legitimate requirements as to special and general culture, technical instruc- tion, social enjoyment and pleasant material environment. It matters less by what precise means the thing is done, than that the results are some- how accomplished. It is conceivable that, the movement being once fairly begun and its methods evolved and pre- scribed, the working - girls of a given locality might secure palatial club quar- ters and all the accessories by their own unaided efforts. But, just as young men go to colleges which have been endowed for their benefit, and which derive only a small part of their sup- port from the tuition fees, so it is easy to imagine that greater results for young women might accrue from institutions provided for them through the munifi- cence of the wealthy, or through the 170 A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. bounty of the State, than could in a long time result from their own Un- helped co-operation. Perhaps the most complete and prac- tically successful working-girls club that has yet been organized, is one that has been provided through the generos- ity of a good man and his devoted wife. It is in London, at the West End, in Langham Place, just beyond Regent Street, and adjoining the well - known Langham Hotel. It is commonly known as the Girls Poly, to distinguish it from an institution with which it is closely allied, the Young Mens Polytech- nic Institute, which is universally known among young people in London as the Poly. The more precise name of the club in question is the Young Womens Institute. To get a suitable starting-point, however, it may be ex- plained that the Young Mens Poly is the outcome of a lifetime of work for the young men of London by a wealthy and sagacious man of business, Mr. Quentin. Hogg, whose high standing in the social and financial world has not prevented his giving himself, along with his money, to admirably-directed efforts for the welfare of young working-men. His Institute is the best all-round edu- cational establishment in England. It is a young mens club, with social and entertainment rooms, a great gymna- sium, the best swimming - bath in Lon- don, a fine boat-house on the Thames, the best recreation grounds for football and cricket and tennis in all England, and various other social diversions. But it also provides scores of classes, under competent instructors, where technical and scientific subjects, literary subjects, practical trades, all branches of the decorative and the fine arts, mu- sic, and many other things are taught. Not less than ten thousand young men every year have the benefit of some feat- ure of this great establishment; and nearly all these young men are appren- tices, clerks, or young working mechanics to whom the evening classes and the recreations that are procurable at the Polytechnic are almost their sole oppor- tunities for education and pleasure. So much for the original Poly. The young womens Poly grew subse- quently out of Mrs. Quentin Hoggs desire to do something for the sisters and sweethearts of Mr. Hoggs young men. In many of the class-rooms of the Poly it had come to be the prac- tice to admit young women students; but the club features of the establish- ment belonged exclusively to the young men. Mrs. Hogg frequently opened her home to the girls, and she regularly held a Sunday afternoon tea and Bible class for a hundred or more of them. At length the opportQnity came to give effect to the plan she and her husband ha~d been maturing. A building, only a few steps distant from the Polytechnic, which had been constructed and long used as a West End gentlemens club, came into the market, and Mr. Hogg leased it. The building was remarkably well adapted for the purposes of such a girls club as Mrs. Hogg desired to es- tablish. It was furnished and fitted up at Mr. Hoggs expense, and was ready for opening in April, 1888. The original accommodatioiis were re- garded as adequate for a membership of five hundred girls, and that number was fixed upon in advance as the limit. It was also decided to admit only those between the ages of sixteen and twenty five. The fact that there were eight hundred applications for membership upon the opening night, sufficiently in- dicated the actual need for such an institution. And further applications poured in continually. Mr. Hogg gen- erously set about the task of altering and enlarging the premises, and he was soon able to provide for three hundred more, making a total of eight hundred. And still there were hundreds of eager girls whose names were listed, and who were waiting for vacancies. By the ac- quisition of adjacent house-room, and the remodelling of the whole, Mr. Hogg at length made it possible, at the open- ing of 1891, to accommodate more than twelve hundred members; and, if the place were twice as spacious there would, doubtless, be more than twice as many young women enthusiastic candidates for admission. The fees for Institute mei~ibership are very smalleighteen pence per quarter, or five shillings ($1.25) per year. The establishment is open in all its parts for the benefit of the members, from A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. 171 6.30 to 10.00 in the evenings. The membership fee gives free use of sit- ting-rooms, library, reading- and music- rooms, game-rooms, recreation-grounds, and numerous other advantages, and also entitles the fortunate young woman to admission at low tuition rates to an immense range of classes and enter- tainments. The purely club features of the place are highly prized by the girls. It is no small thing for them to have a bright, cheerful establishment, that they regard as their own, where they may resort in the evenings, and in connection with which they have access to so much that is diverting and instructive. It is need- less to emphasize the importance of such a privilege, to anyone who knows how the average young working men and women of our great cities are ob- liged to live. In the refreshment- - rooms the member may procure her cup of tea and light lunch, at a cost de- cidedly less than elsewhere. And for a year or more past there has been served in the capacious dining-rooms an excel- lent and substantial dinner, in courses, at sixpence. For four-pence, a very good but less bountiful dinner may be had by the more economical young wom- an of business. These privileges are, of course, limited to members. The Insti- tute dining-rooms are vastly more pleas- ant than the cheap restaurants or lunch- rooms to which the girls might other- wise be compelled to resort, and the food at the Institute is incomparably better in quality and cheaper in price. All the influences of the place are home- like, wholesome and improving. There seems to be a tacit understanding among the young women who meet in these agreeable quarters that they must be on their best behavior must live up to their blue china, so to speak. Their self - respect is enhanced, the range of their interests is wonderfully increased, their courage and ambition are quick- ened, and they are lifted above the power of temptations which some of them might not have withstood but for the welcome of this bright open door. The large majority of the young wom- en are employed in the various work- rooms and shops of the West End, and belong to the classes most in need of such an institution. The new appli- cants for membership, in 1890, were about nine hundred; and they listed themselves as belonging to the follow- ing occupations: Dressmakers, mantlemakers, etc 330 Milliners and assistants in milliner shops. 111 Fancy workers 38 Tailoresses and sewing-machine operators 76 Clerks and bookkeepers 90 Teachers 55 Shop assistants 53 Telegraph operators, etc 31 Various trades 40 Servants and other occupations 33 At home, or occupation not stated 125 It may be assumed that the entire membership is made up, in somewhat similar proportions, of girls engaged in the callings mentioned in the above table. To hold them together and ef- fectively to attract them, it is obvious that the Institute must be broad in the range of its appointments and advan- tages. That it does attract and quite firmly hold its members, nobody knows better than the four or five hundred applicants always waiting for vacancies which will bring them nearer to admis- sion. While there is an age limit for new-comers, there is no retiring age; and it is, of course, a great advantage that there is always a large nucleus of experienced members who have learned to know the place and one another, and who give stability to a body that other- wise might be difficult to harmonize and assimilate. Mrs. Hogg had the ad.. vantage at the outset of having had much to do for years, in her weekly classes and teas, with hundreds of West End working-girls; and in the educa- tional departments of the young mens Polytechnic there had long been a large contingent of young women. So that the Langham Place establishment was opened with a constituency that had in considerable part already come under the influence of the founders. The Girls Poly is not regarded as a charity place, but as an exceedingly live and enterprising organization and com- munity, to which it is an honor for a self-respecting girl to belong. Nothing is given away; yet nothing is made un- attainably expensive. Everything is of 172 A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. the best, from the recreation-grounds to the technical instruction. The following somewhat incomplete memorandum, showing the number that entered the various classes in the opening weeks of the last autumn (1890) session, may be presented: Art classes.. 109 Ambulance (nursing, aid to the injured, etc.) 98 Instrumental music classes 161 Vocal music classes 131 Elocution classes 115 French or German classes 110 Chemistry and other science classes 98 Dressmaking and millinery classes 86 Arithmetic and book-keeping classes 81 Cookery classes 72 Civil service preliminary to examinations for clerkships, etc 61 Shorthand and type-writing classes 61 General elementary classes 35 These classes were, of course, very much enlarged as the season advanced. It should be borne in mind that in al- most every instance the class work is undertaken for thoroughly practical, bread-and-butter purposes, and not in any lackadaisical or hap-hazard way. The girls who take dressmaking and mil- linery, for instance, are employed in West End shops, and are anxious to learn the most technical and difficult parts of their trades. They are taught in small class divisions, with great advantage. Scarcely any of the two hundred or more girls usually found in one or another of the many classes of the art department, are at work for other than immediately practical purposes. Drawing, designing, modelling, etc., are accomplishments for which there is demand in a very large number of shops and manufactories in the west of London; and it is in the lines of decorative and technical art that these girls are at work, under the most accomplished instructors. One of the chief advantages of a large permanent organization such as this which Mr. Hogg maintains, is the readi- ness with which it can be made the cen- tre of a great variety of co-operative in- terests affecting the membership in very many of the relations of life. Thus it becomes a bureau of information; and its prestige and rare facilities render it a powerful agency in procuring suitable employment for those of its members who, in its various class - rooms, have shown proficiency and merit. It also affords the young women an organized ability to redress injuries, and secures for them comparative freedom from any especially unjust treatment on the part of employers. The influence of Mr. Hogg and his friends is so great in the business world of London, that few em- ployers of the labor of working-women would have the temerity to subject any members of the Young Womens Insti- tute to improper treatment or undue hardship. Moreover, the Institute in a hundred ways is a promoter of thrift. It becomes an exchange for information about lodgings, and all the practical problems of income and expenditure that concern working-girls, and thus enables them to secure the best that is available, for the least money. Its dining and lunch arrangements save many a sixpence for the girls. The very atmosphere of the place protects them, to some extent, from that spendthrift recklessness which is always a temptation to working-girls, who find little in their surroundings that encourages them to attempt to be saving and frugal. Further than this, in connection with the larger neighbor- ing establishment, the Institute main- tains a savings bank in which higher in- terest is paid upon deposits than in any other safe and reputable savings institu- tion in London. Many of the girls several hundreds of them, it would prob- ably be safe to assume have opened bank accounts and are learning to con- sider with some system the care and use of money. For their various holiday journeys and excursions, to which re- ference will be made hereafter, the girls deposit the money in small weekly in- stalments, beginning many months or even a whole year in advance; so that the exercise of a little prudent fore- thought, under the kindly stimulus and encouragement of the Institute, will have enabled them, when summer comes around, to take a glorious outing by the sea-shore, in Switzerland, in Scotland, or elsewhere. In addition to all these advantages, there should be mentioned the whole series of admirable organizations within the Institute, carefully managed under the eyes of the patrons of the place, A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. 173 which furnish co-operative accident in- surance, and which especially provide for sick funds, medical relief, and for visiting and nursing in case of illness. So obvious are the uses and merits of such societies, that it would seem quite needless to expatiate upon them. While in health and vigor, the young working- woman may seem to prosper, indepen- dent of any help or assistance from others. But if illness comes she will too often find herself in a situation most pitiful and distressing. The young women of this great club in Langham Place are protected from all these dangers by their small regular contributions to adequate funds, out of which are provided weekly remunera- tion for loss of time through illness; the best medical attendance London can afford, free of cost; proper nursing and attention, with hospital facilities if needed; andnot the least important itemthe regular and friendly visits of fellow-members who are organized into visiting committees and flower commit- tees, and who see that none of their VOL. XI.18 twelve hundred fellow-members are left without friendly sympathy when pros- trated by illness. It is sometimes rather vaguely and captiously objected to the distinct or- ganization of young working-women in- to clubs and mutual benefit associations, that such a movement is adverse to domestic life, and that it does not tend to promote the family basis of our civili- zation. No objection could be more ab- surdly ill - founded. If one should set out with the sole purpose of devising a project by which to fit the thousands of young London working-girls to become worthy English wives and mothers, it would not be easy to invent a scheme more admirably adapted to this end than such a club as the Langham Place Young Womens Institute. It encour- ages all that is best in true womanhood, teaches thrift and self-help, makes much of instruction in cookery, sewing, and household arts, and above all develops the intellectual and esthetic tastes, and supplies the innocent and wholesome pleasures which give the young women Polytechnic Young Womens Inotitute London. 174 A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. a stock of interests in common with the thousands of self-respecting, intelligent young men who are to be found thronging such establishments as the Young Mens Polytechnic Institute. The two allied establishments maintain no formal ma- trimonial bureau; yet they are undoubt- edly the means of bringing together into honorable and happy unions great numbers of young men and women. The accompanying illustrations, which show the young women of the Institute engaged in various amusements, speak almost sufficiently for themselves. It should be remarked, however, that the The GymnasiumCalisthenic Exercise. recreation-grounds maintained for the Young Womens Institute at Padding- ton, a short omnibus ride from the In- stitute, are the only similar grounds ex- clusively for women in all London, and deserve to be counted among the finest in the whole of England. They com- prise a number of acres whereon the Saturday half-holidays and in the long evenings of summer, when daylight in that high latitude continues until after 9 oclockthe young women play tennis, golf, and various other games, according to the season. They maintain within the Institute their own clubs and or- ganizations for games and athletics, and arrange their contests and special field days to suit themselves. A large gym- nasium, in another building close to the Institute, has been opened for the young women, and it is a popu- lar feature of the club. It is in charge of an ac- complished army officer, and is in high favor among the young women, both for recreation and for health and physical development. Some of the exhibitions given by the young women of the gymnasium classes have attracted wide atten- tion, and have been repeat- ed in large London halls before enthusiastic com- panies of ladies. The swimming bath of the Young Mens Polytechnic, which is the largest and finest in London, is also through the summer sea- son set apart, two even- ings in the week, for the young women, and is used as a swimming - school. Throughout the entire year, of course, various in- door games and amuse- ments are permitted in rooms of the club espec- ially set apart for such pur- poses. All these whole- some and pleasant features of the Institute are at the service of the members without additional charge; or if in some cases a small fee is required, it is so trifling as to be little more than nominal. There is no large hall or audience room in the girls club, but the young women are admitted to great numbers A MODEL WORKiNG-GIRLS CLUB. 175 of lectures by the ablest men in England, to attractive concerts, and to various popular entertainments held in the large amphitheatre of the Young Mens Poly- technic Institute; and they attend in great numbers and with unflagging en- thusiasm. Obviously, but for their in- timate connection with such a centre of light and leading as the Institute, not many of them would have had either the disposition, the opportunity, or the means to attend such lectures and en- tertainments. The young women them- selves participate frequently in simple musical affairs in the parlors of their own Institute, and have abundant op- portunity for the study of instrumental music and singing, and for choral prac- tice. The library of the Girls Institute, which has now a thousand or more volumes, has been bought with money wbich the girls themselves have secured as the result of an annual bazaar or two, at which articles of their own handiwork have been sold; and one of the pleasant- est sights in the whole Institute was a so- called working party busily engaged in preparing articles for the fair held at Christmas. Such work for the better equipment of the club, on the part of the young women, develops esprit de corps, and naturally increases the feel- ings of attachment to the place as a home. Enough has been said to show how, about such an establishment as a cen- tre, there can easily be rallied a great variety of mutual co - operative agen- cies for the protection, education, enter- tainment, and moral and social culture of working - girls. It would seem sufli- ciently obvious that, for the highest suc- cess of such an institution, there should be a stability and a continuity which would be necessarily lacking if the club were purely the creation of the young women who are its members, and if its affairs and management were altogether at their disposition. A simple co-oper- ative organization, without backing or patronage of any kind, could not so well maintain savings banks, insurance societies, sick funds, and other agencies which require permanence and financial credit. There would seem to be desir Institute Girls at Golf. 176 A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. able therefore, 1, the support and active administration of some philanthropist of large means; 2, the supervision and control of an influential society or com- mittee; 3, the support of the municip- ality or State; or, 4, the basis of an ample endowment in the hands of in- telligent trustees. For purposes of in- itiation and development, it would prob- ably be best that some one individual of ample means, or several people close- ly associated together, should control through their early years such estab- lishments as this one which Mr. and Mrs. Hogg have so successfully organ- ized. But for permanent safety and success, an endowment ought to be se- cured under control of a suitable board of managers. Mr. Hogg has already arranged for the perpetuation of his ad- mirable Institutes by securing, partly from private benefactors, and partly from the large funds available for such purposes in the hands of the Public Charity Commissioners, a sufficient en- dowment to make it certain that in the case of his death, or of his financial in- ability to further continue the large an- nual payments he has hitherto made so cheerfully, there shall be no failure or diminution of the work. It would be a mistake to underrate, as an element in the success of such an establishment, the pervasive influence of the personality of the founders. Mrs. Hoggs noble character, and the con- stant presence, and practical skill and tact, of such assistants as Mrs. Robert Mitchell and Mrs. J. E. K. Studd, have accomplished for this Institute what no merely perfunctory salaried man- agement could, in so short a time, have achieved by any possibility~. The relig- ious influence which these ladies exert over the young women of the Institute, while not obtrusive, is doubtless to be regarded as one of the vital ele- ments in the moral success of the un- dertaking. Perhaps nothing so well illustrates the many advantages that co - operation through some such agency may bring The Cooking Class. A MODEL WORKING-GIRLS CLUB. 177 to young people, as the various summer excursions that have been provided. These excursions were several years ago begun and have since been contin- ued under the management of Mr. Robert Mitchell, the accomplished and efficient secretary of the Young Mens Polytechnic. They have developed in a most astonishing way. They attracted wide attention through the months of the Paris Exposition, when Mr. Mitchell secured extensive quarters in Paris, and took over in instalments some thou- sands of young people from the Insti- tutes, giving them a weeks sojourn and exceptionally good facilities for transportation and sight-seeing, at a total expense for each excursionist of a very small sum. For this excursion young people were obliged to enter their names some months in advance, and to deposit their money in regular weekly instalments. This creation of anticipatory interest in the great fair was used by the Institute to promote much intelligent reading and inquiry; so that the Polytechnic excursionists, both young men and young women, probably obtained better and more in- telligent results from their visits to Paris than almost any other class of pil- grims who attended the last Exposition. In the summer of 1890, great num- bers of young women as well as young men were taken to Scotland for holidays of from one week to two weeks dura- tion, with the most gratifying results, and at ridiculously small expense. Many hundreds also were given outings lasting from a few days to a few weeks, at places specially arranged for on the English sea-coast. Smaller parties were also taken walking tours through Switzerland. In the summer of 1891 a large number of working-girls were con- ducted upon attractive walking tours in Switzerland, the Scotch excursions were repeated, the movement to the sea-side was larger than ever, andmore ambi- tious than anything elsea great num- ber of young people were taken for a months excursion along the coasts and fords of Norway, a steamer having been specially chartered for that purpose. This steamer made three voyages, and was able to accommodate several hun- dreds upon each trip, the round voyage lasting a month. In the previous sum- mer, it should also be said, a limited number of excursionists were taken by Mr. Mitchell on a voyage to the island of Madeira, the excursion proving a complete success. And various other minor projects of travel and recreation have been successfully carried out this year. All of these ventures have been man- aged with such consummate business skill by Mr. Hogg and Mr. Mitchell that while the cost to the young people par- ticipating in them has been perhaps not more than one-third what those trips or excursions would cost others who went upon their own individual resources, there has been in no case any deficit to be met by the Institute; but, on the con- trary, there has been in every case some slight substantial profit. It would be im- possible to over-estimate the enormous benefit that thousands of young men and young women connected with the Institute have received, physically and intellectually, from participation in these excursions. It may interest Americans to know that for some time past the In- stitutes savings bank books have been opened for the special deposits of young men and women who propose to visit America to attend the Worlds Colum- bian Exposition in 1893; and when the time comes we shall undoubtedly have the pleasure of welcoming to our shores several hundreds of these young people who wear the badges of the Regent Street and Laugham Place In- stitutes. VOL. XL19 THE post-office is so small that the post- master h as ample time for civility. He answered all the young lawyers ques- tions with fluency and a radiant good- nature, if not quite to the latters satis- faction. While he spoke he leaned his soiled shirt-sleeves over the counter and stirred the dead flies in a saucer with his little finger. Yes, sir, Lester Ridge was a right stirring little town. Growing right straight along. Big mill, Colonel Les- ters, and the Colonel was a good man. Seen the church he gave to the town? Gave a hail, too. He had done a heap for the county; very pleasant gentleman, too. No, sir; the hotel wasnt up to the town. Kept by a Yankee from Mis- sourididnt Gratton [Gratton was the questioner~ call em Yankees when they came from Missouri? No, sir, he would not call Gratton a Yankee if he did come from Boston! The difference? Well, sir! that was easy; nice folks from the North were Northerners, mean ones were Yankees. Understand? Oh, yes, sir, he could direct him to Colonel Lesters; no trouble to find the house, just back of them big water-oaks on the you side the creek; handsome mansion, painted white, big gallery, and a mighty pretty flower-gyarden. ~Gratton had a letter of introduction to Colonel Lester, and he went in search of that personage without further par- ley. His walk through the town was admiringly watched by two young wom- en in hats both shabby and gay, and one old woman in a clean sun-bonnet. Aint he got up fine! says the first young woman. Hes got a hat on jest like the feller come with the cirkiss, says the second, and sorter the same plaid clothes ; but hes a heap prettier-looking. But the old crone stopped to listen to Grattons cough, muttering He hadnt orter go without rubbers, if mud aint but shoe-mouth deep; he didnt cotch that cold yistiddy! Unconscious Gratton was puliing his fair mustache, absorbed in his own thoughts. Odd state of affairs thus his soliloquy ran if this Major Roper were killed in the morning, his son will be only an Arkansas rustic; if a few hours later, he will be an English baro- net. I daresay he could marry Belle Winslowif he wanted her! The Lester mansion was not difficult to find, being the one house of impor- tance in the village. Gratton liked its appearance, set back in its ample, old- fashioned gardens, with its trig crowd of out-buildings and its lavish and pa- triarchal air. A kind of frontier manor-house, he mused; no doubt Colonel Lester is the great man of the county. Well, in an Italian climate such as Burley says Arkansas has nine months of the twelve, with a decent house which oughtnt to be hard to get, next door to a lumber mill; directly on a railway so one could get ones gro- ceries from Pierce, just the same as if in Boston, have a capital wine-cellar IF IT COULD BE! By Octave Thanet.

Olive Thanet Thanet, Olive If It Could Be! 178-185

THE post-office is so small that the post- master h as ample time for civility. He answered all the young lawyers ques- tions with fluency and a radiant good- nature, if not quite to the latters satis- faction. While he spoke he leaned his soiled shirt-sleeves over the counter and stirred the dead flies in a saucer with his little finger. Yes, sir, Lester Ridge was a right stirring little town. Growing right straight along. Big mill, Colonel Les- ters, and the Colonel was a good man. Seen the church he gave to the town? Gave a hail, too. He had done a heap for the county; very pleasant gentleman, too. No, sir; the hotel wasnt up to the town. Kept by a Yankee from Mis- sourididnt Gratton [Gratton was the questioner~ call em Yankees when they came from Missouri? No, sir, he would not call Gratton a Yankee if he did come from Boston! The difference? Well, sir! that was easy; nice folks from the North were Northerners, mean ones were Yankees. Understand? Oh, yes, sir, he could direct him to Colonel Lesters; no trouble to find the house, just back of them big water-oaks on the you side the creek; handsome mansion, painted white, big gallery, and a mighty pretty flower-gyarden. ~Gratton had a letter of introduction to Colonel Lester, and he went in search of that personage without further par- ley. His walk through the town was admiringly watched by two young wom- en in hats both shabby and gay, and one old woman in a clean sun-bonnet. Aint he got up fine! says the first young woman. Hes got a hat on jest like the feller come with the cirkiss, says the second, and sorter the same plaid clothes ; but hes a heap prettier-looking. But the old crone stopped to listen to Grattons cough, muttering He hadnt orter go without rubbers, if mud aint but shoe-mouth deep; he didnt cotch that cold yistiddy! Unconscious Gratton was puliing his fair mustache, absorbed in his own thoughts. Odd state of affairs thus his soliloquy ran if this Major Roper were killed in the morning, his son will be only an Arkansas rustic; if a few hours later, he will be an English baro- net. I daresay he could marry Belle Winslowif he wanted her! The Lester mansion was not difficult to find, being the one house of impor- tance in the village. Gratton liked its appearance, set back in its ample, old- fashioned gardens, with its trig crowd of out-buildings and its lavish and pa- triarchal air. A kind of frontier manor-house, he mused; no doubt Colonel Lester is the great man of the county. Well, in an Italian climate such as Burley says Arkansas has nine months of the twelve, with a decent house which oughtnt to be hard to get, next door to a lumber mill; directly on a railway so one could get ones gro- ceries from Pierce, just the same as if in Boston, have a capital wine-cellar IF IT COULD BE! By Octave Thanet. IF IT COULD BE! 179 and a nice, damp atmosphere for cigars by Jove, a fellow might find a worse hermitage! He recalled a certain interview with his doctor, to which, indeed, his mem- ory was wont to hark back with a nag- ging persistence; recalled, and, for the first time, did not either sigh or scowL Stagnant, of course, no society at all; but why should I grumble at a lack of society! said Gratton, who consid- ered himself an ill - used and heart- broken man, because of the mercenary perfidy of one society young woman. Why, my modest pile would cut a great figure here; I could become a grand seignior, like Colonel Lester, I dare sayif I am man enough! He laughed at his own fantasy, and was laughing when he pulled the white bell-knob on the green gumwood door of the mansion. There was a rim of light around the three sides of the door, but it was newly painted. A responsive gleam of good - humor shone on the glossy black features of the negro man who answered Grattons ring. He wore the clean white jacket and apron of the old South, and, with much civility, ushered Gratton into a spacious and high-ceilinged room, hung in a white and gilt satin paper, such as our grand- mothers admired. There glimmered, also, a dim shine of rosewood and ma- hogany, the like of which the New Eng- lander remembered in the dark and sa- cred parlors of his childhood. The time - battered gilt frames and dusky canvasses of the family portraits showed all the dingier for their background. Gratton walked from one face to an- other, his critical man - of - the - worlds smile gradually mellowing. One an- cestor having a ruffled shirt and a se- vere dignity, him, for no better reason, he placed as a judge. The gentleman of the porcupine hair and short-waisted regimenta1~ must be an officer who had fought in the Mexican War. The dark young man whose long, uncurling locks were parted on the left temple, was a Confederate captainwitness his fresher splendor of gold and gray. Beneath the frame (which was brighter than the oth- ers) hung a sword and faded sash. The young captains countenance was of the most wooden cast i~ the world. Painted from a photograph, thought Gratton, who presently picked out the very photograph from a medley of those cartes familiar to everyone during the days of the war. The small cards were affixed, with infinite neatness and painstaking, to a gilded board, and framed in a square of sycamore balls and twigs. There were maidens in expansive frocks of white muslin, and matrons in wide-sleeved silken gowns, with bows of velvet on their hair and embroidered collars over their should- ers; there were elderly men and young men, alike in Confederate gray, with bell- shaped trousers and wrinkling sleeves. Long ago the paper had lost its sheen, and the tints were faded like the tints of a rusted blade. The spectator had the dreary sensation of one viewing a graveyard on a dull day. Ah, the poor South! said Gratton. Then he uttered an exclamation. Above this diminutive and piteous assemblage was a distinctly modern picture. Who could be the original of that beautiful girl bending a vivid loveliness out of the shadows? Here was no faded image of the past; life, humor, love, sparkled in the adorable brown eyes; it was a living creature that smiled at the young man. The fellow knew how to paint, cried Gratton; but what a model he had! She is prettier than Belle. By Jove, she is! This was his supreme praise. Belle was the destroyer of his peace of mind. He stood for a long while before the por- trait. He was really a good critic and he experienced a genuine delight. To think of such masterly drawing, such broad handling drifting into the wilder- ness! My uncle will see you immediately, sir, a sweet voice said. The Southern accent on a gentlewomans tongue is charming; but there were richer vibra- tions in this voice than Gratton often heard from his countrywomen. He whisked about to bow to the lady of the picture. My uncle begs you will take some refreshment, said she; you must have had a warm walk. Not waiting his reply, she smiled and vanished; while, like a transformation scene, in her place stood the negro, grin- ning behind a dazzle of silver, glass, and 180 IF IT COULD BE! ice, and two yellow straws sticking out of a greenery of mint. After his julep Gratton was in a mood to greet the master of such a wine-cel- lar cordially. He had heard queer sto- ries about James Lester, who, in truth, had borne his full part in the turbulent life of the frontier, holding the scales for justice and civilization, to be sure, but not always in a stainless hand. A man of honor and true as steel, so the senior partner of the firm had described him to Gratton, but not exactly a Sun- day-school superintendent, you know. But, as they say down there, he is a man to tie to. I had the good fortune to serve him once; and Im sure he will help you if he can. Gratton made it a rule not to draw pictures in advance of his eyes ; he was the less surprised, when the renowned fire-eater entered the room, to see a tall, elderly man, dressed in a summer cos- tume that included a silk shirt and white flannela handsome man of a winning gentleness of manner and cleanliness of aspect from his silver curls and smooth- ly shaven face to his daintily kept hands. I am heartily glad to see you, sir, said he; it isnt often that we all have the pleasure of welcoming our Northern friends in June. His voice was modulated into that un- conscious and caressing softness which makes any voice agreeable. He smiled in speaking, and his smile was full of good-will. Delightful old boy! thought Grat- ton. He explained that he came on busi- ness, and business may not pick its sea- son. So my friend Mr. Burley informs me, said Lester, comfortably disposing his long legs in front of him and tap- ping his knees with his fingers. No one to look at him would suppose that those white, square-tipped fingers had once griped the life out of a mans throat. But Gratton recalled one story. This is about the case, said he, smiling back again. We have an Eng- lish client who has employed us to con- duct his American investments. He bought land in Arkansas among other things. While we were looking up the title, we discovered something that may or may not be of importance to him. Our client, Sir Jasper Roper, inherited his title and a moderate sum of money from an uncle. Sir Jaspers father was the youngest of three brothers. Roper, did you say ? exclaimed the Colonel. He looked suddenly interested, almost excited. Yes, Roper. As I was saying, there were three brothersOswald, Herbert, and Edgar. Edgar was Sir Jaspers father. He died first. Then Herbert left home and was supposed to have been killed during the war in the IJnited States. News of his death came to Eng- land immediately after Sir Oswalds death. Now, Sir Oswald and Herbert had quarrelled, how or why I do not know, but Sir Oswald believed and owned himself in the wrong, and left all his small estate to Herbert Roper. Yes, sir. It was preposterous, but the Colonel had the air of a man that hears a familiar story correctly repeated. Well, the death of Herbert Roper before Oswald, you see, gave the estate and title to Jasper, son of the youngest brother. Now comes the discovery. We found, in hunting up the title of some pine lands on the Arkansas River, that the former owner of these lands had been Herbert Roper. There he was, on the deed, Herbert Reginald Sackville all his names in fulland Clara Virginia, his wife; and the date of the transfer was two months later than the date of his supposed death. You see the point, ColoneL Certainly, sir. Your client would not inherit if Major Roper was alive af- ter Sir Oswald died and left any heir. You put it very clearly. But I no- tice you give Major Roper his title; did you know him? In a way, yes, sir. But go on, please. We communicated at once with Sir Jasper, who instructed us to get at all the facts. We found the man who bought from Herbert Roper, and ascer- tained that Mrs. Roper died shortly after the transfer. We also found that Major Roper died or was killed on June 25, 18. Twenty-one years ago to-day, said the Colonel. And he sighed. We found his tombstone, or, rather, his monument, which is kept in extraor IF IT COULD BE! 181 dinary good order. It is in a little town in Garland County. On the stone was an inscription to the effect that he was accidentally killed killed by mistake the words areand that the stone was erected to him and to his wife by their only child, Willy Sackville Roper. Our informant about the land, told us fur- ther that you had known Roper and could tell us about him. He seemed in some way shy about going into particu- lars. So here I am. Can you tell me, in the first place, if this William Sack- ville Roper is alive? Very much alive, answered the Col- onel, with a faint smile; you saw her just now. Grattons eyes began to sparkle. Is it possible this Willy is a girl and not a boy? There are heaps and heaps of South- ern girl Willies and Tommies, dont you know, Mr. Gratton? Yes, sir, that was Willy Roper. She called you uncle. I adopted her when her father died. Then you will know all about the circumstances and the time of her fa- thers death, I fancy. The Colonel moved his chair, thus screening his face behind a high old- fashioned banner worked in Berlin wools. Yes, sir, I will tell you how Herbert Roper met his death. He did not de- serve it. It was a murder, a cruel, foul murder, sir! He was one of the noblest, straightest fellows that ever lived; but those were wild times, sir, and he didnt understand the country, so he allowed himself to be swindled into buying the horse of a horse-thief and murderer who kept the whole county afire, you may say. Bertie was mistaken for the villain he was not, andhe was murdered. Hanged? No, sir, the leader of the Regulators was so powerfully impressed by his man- pleading, mind you; just such manly, affecting words as would come natur- ally from a brave man who had a lit- tle motherless baby at home and must think of her. He was so touched, as I said, that though he was a dunderhead- ed fool, and believed in their idiotic evi- dence, and let them kill him, he did say, Horse-thief or no horse-thief, murderer or no murderer, heres a brave man and he shall have a soldiers death and be shot! He was shot. The speakers voice had a dull, mo- notonous firmness. Gratton wondered, but all his wits were on the chase. Do you know at what kour this happened? It was five minutes past five in the afternoon.~~ Can you help me to prove that? It is for your adopted daughters bene- fit, youunderstand. There is no scheme to suppress the evidence. The title would be something to my client, but he is an honorable man and insisted on the rights of his unknown cousin. The ti- tle, fortunately, will not be taken, Miss Roper being Miss Roper, and the for- tune is a small matter to a man of Sir Jaspers wealth he gets it from his mother, it is not in questionfifty thou- sand dollars, ten thousand odd pounds, cannot be much to him; but it is a great deal to him to obtain exact evidence of his uncles death. Yes, sir, said the Colonel, making no comment on the sum. Well, I expect I can prove the time for you. I am sure of it, because he gave me the direction how to find his home and his daughter, written on a leaf of a note-book I had about me. Pardon me. You have that memo- randum? Yes, sir. He gave it to me, and as I put it into my vest - pocket my watch somehow fell out onto the damp ground. I picked it up after after we had fired, and it had stopped at five minutes past five. Yes, sir, five minutes past five on one of the prettiest evenings I ever did see. Gratton, feeling dizzy, said, in as in- different a tone as he could assume Then you were present on the occa- sion of Major Ropers death? ~~ X -~ k~n~ X~ o~. ~kx~ ~X~o& For the first time since he had been out of knickerbockers Charley Gratton was mentally knocked endwise and had not a word to say. He nodded. The Colonel surveyed his unconceal- able amazement with a smile that held nothing bitter or cynical, but much mel- ancholy. 182 IF IT COULD BE! I dare say you wonder, he said, that I should have adopted his child. I had no option. Her mother was dead; they two were in a strange country, with no one to care for the little thing except an old negro nurse. And he trusted me. I am sure from the single glance that I had that you have been re- paid She has been the sunshine of my life, said the old Regulator, simply. Then, quite in the manner of any fond parent, he called Charleys attention to the portrait. Mr. Burley recommend- ed the artist, sir. I am right well satis- fied myself; but her aunt Mally will in- sist the way she holds her head doesnt favor her. Sister Mally used to paint herself, and of course she knows better than I. She painted this he waved his hand in the direction of the por- trait of the captain a splendid young fellow, sir, of the greatest promise, killed at Helena. He was to have mar- ried my sister. She painted it from a photograph and memory. It is a speak- ing likeness speaking. Observe the eyes; shes got the color exactly. I hope you will see my sister; of course you will let us send for your bag. The Colonel would take no excuse, and finally Charley did agree to come back to dine with them at what seemed to him the unaccountable dinner hour of half-past two. Meanwhile the Col- onel had apparently recovered his spir- its, chatted and laughed, and promised, without a shadow of embarrassment, to draw up an affidavit for Gratton, and to find the watch and memorandum against his next coming. Miss Lester came ina tall, slender, smiling gentle- woman, the feminine copy of herbrother. She attended Gratton to the very door of the mansion, in the frank hospitality of the Southwest. At the door an inci- dent occurred to prod Charleys nerve of wonder. He stood at Miss Lesters elbow, just over the door-sill; back in the hall the Colonel was fumbling at the hat-rack for a particular hat. A light shape flitted out of the dusk to stand beside him. Gratton only heard a sin- gle sentence. She said: Did you see papa this morning? The Colonels answer was muffled in a laugh, and then his footsteps echoed on the uncarpeted floor as he stepped briskly up to the guest. Well, I should very much like to know who is papa! thought the young man. He strolled about the village in a good humor, not marred by.his sense of the grotesque morality of the Colonels part in the drama. Sir Jasper, he knew, would be well content to purchase se- curity of title with fifty thousand dol- lars. He should do a good days work. For the first time in months his dreams did not drift back to certain favorite passages of bitterness. He forgot him- self in a half-humorous but vivid inter- est in these strangers. What a situa- tion! A beloved daughter who tenderly loves the murderer of her father. Yet had not Lester made the wisest and best atonement in his power, rearing his victims child thus carefully? Might not the father himself, if he could view the matter at all, view it in that light? Meditation of this sort kept Gratton so busy that time did not hang heavily on his hands, and he strolled through the gum-trees toward the Lester place in a frame of unusual charity toward the Southwest. The hour was not yet two oclock. The shadows of the lux- uriant foliage were beginning to sharp- en and deepen on the sunlit ground. The brilliant water-oak leaves were var- nished by a recent rain. A murmur of softest cadence was breathed from the willows, a winding line of which seemed to define a hidden stream. Idly enough Gratton took his course toward the noise, which directly changed into the punctured babble of water lapping the roots of trees, and he caught the glitter of waves through the delicate shrub- bery. Before him a rivulet wound be- tween its guarded banks a beamy, splashing, jewelled creature that slipped into an opalescent glory of mist. But it was not the brook that held Grattons eyes, it was the figure of a man, of Lester. The Southerner sat in an easy attitude, one knee lifted and clasped by both hands. He was talking to some person out of sight. Gratton could hear the full, kindly tones of his voice. Once or twice he laughed. As Gratton drew nearer he rose and held IF IT COULD BE! 183 out his hand. He moved it up and down, making the gesture of shaking hands. But there was no one visible, no hand on the other side. Gratton stepped out of his covert. No one, far or nearonly the Colonel pro- ceeding sedately back to the house. He showed no emotion when he perceived Gratton in his path; on his part, how- ever, Gratton did not know which way to look. Was this affable old gentleman mad? He hazarded a passive kind of smile. Did you see me? said the Colonel, coolly. Yes, I see you did. I have barely come myself, said Gratton. I ought to apologize for trespassing, but I wasnt aware that this was your grounds until just now Not the least consequence, sir; our friends caynt trespass on us, you know. Besides, I am glad you did see me. I want to talk with you. There is a plumb half-hour before dinner-time. Will you sit? Gratton took a seat on the dry log to which he motioned, thinking, If he is a lunatic he seems harmless. The Colonel opened the conversation. I expect you reckon that I am a little off color in my wits; but you shall judge of that for yourself. Anyway and any- how, I have promised Roper to tell you the whole storyif you dont mind. You will interest me, on the con- trary. Lester braced himself against this trunk of a willow-oak. He did not look at Gratton as he spoke. His voice was slow and deliberate. After we shot Bertie I went in search of his little girl. I had considerable of a hard time to find her. He had bought a cabin off in the big gum - woods on Cachenobody within a mile of them and there he was fixing to raft timber, poor fellow. He would have made mon- ey of it, too; dont mistake me, sir. Bertie was of the stuff that succeeds. But you know what had happened, and there was the poor little trick playing on the floor in front of the fire with a queer sort of doll he had carved out of wood for her himself. I declare, sir, it staggered me to see her. Directly she saw me she held out her little arms and began, Papa! papa! I dare say she called every man she saw papa, being only a year old, you know, and just be- ginning to prattle; but it was like a pump at my heart. I could feel the blood jumping out of my veins. That was the beginning of my bad time. Oh, that was a bad time! And it got worse when I discovered that Roper had told the whole cussed truth, and how that devil, Cris Medlark, had roped him in. Was that his nameMedlark? said Gratton, who remembered the name in connection with a grisly story that Bur- ley often told about the Southwest. What became of him?~ Him! Oh, I killed him, said the Colonel, carelessly. That was the first thing made me feel a little chirked up. Didnt you track him down until he jumped into the river to escape you? And then didnt you jump after, and stun him with a blow of your fist, and fetch him to shore, and then tie him to your horse, and finally hang him? Lester smiled. Somehow you have got it point - blank straight. Yes, sir, hanged him to the same tree under which Bertie was shot. You see I hadnt time rightly to get the boys together; all I could rake up at such short notice was Shorty Moselys widow and her sis- ter, and a fellow they had at the house picking cotton. But we gave him a fair trial, though I expect the widow had a little leaning against him on account of his killing up her husband once. But we made out. Widow, she lent us her clothes-line, and her mules and wagon, and the cotton-picker drove the mules off. It was done tolerably regular, after all. Very regular, under the circum- stances. But afterward? To Grattons surprise the look of al- most innocent gentleness that was the charm of Lesters face returned, a smile deepened the lines about his mouth and softened his luminous brown eyes. Ayfterward! Well, sir, here is the marvellous pyart of it all; and I reckon I caynt make it clear to you. Imagine me getting more and more petted on that baby, and my poor sister setting her heart on the little comforting, lov- ing thing, too, and yet me the plum while studying how on earth the case was going to present itself to herto 184 IF IT COULD BE! Willythat is, when she should discover that I had murdered her father. And here was I playing a blind calf on her, as we say in my country inveigling her into loving the man that had killed her father. I give you my word, sir, I used to sit and study and study un- til my head was like an empty ball with streaks of fire chasing each other through it. At last I went to the place where we killed Bertie, and I stood there in the rain, for it was falling weatherDecemberand cold enough to chill a mans heart. You see folks told all kinds of storieshow Roper was a hant * and used to projick round under the trees. Maybe, maybe not. Never mind, I was in a mental condition, sir, to grasp at any straw. And I was im- pelled, by an influence past my guessing, to make the effort. I came at twelve oclock at night, when, if ever there would be a chance, that the hants, as we call them, would be out. I stood under the tree, on the very little hurd where Bertie stood, facing the sun and the brake. The cypress-trees and the tupelo-gums all stood in the water that night like they stood that day. It was the dark of the moon, but the stars were wink- ing and blinking at me out of the black water. God forgive me, it was into that same water we threw his body. Oh, yes, sir, I know; we took it out, and I had him laid alongside his wife, and I put up the monument; but at first I tell you, it was ugly, ugly! Never mind; there I stood, and I cried out, for I was in torment, sir, in torment! Mr. Roper, I cried, if you can come back, for Gods sake do. Im here, Colonel Jim Lester. I beg your pardon. So I went on to tell him the whole story. You see, Mr. Gratton, the thing that had cut me up worst of the whole was the way, just before I stepped back to give the word, he said, I am asking a good deal from you, but I havent a friend in this strange country, and I am sure when you find that you have killed an inno- cent man ~ou will be glad you helped him to die easier. Thank you, and good-by; and with that he held out his hand. Oh, Lord! Lester stopped in a kind of groan, his hands twisted the dead branch he was stripping so Ghost. fiercely that it snapped; he flung the pieces aside. Well, said he, bitterly, I could no more mend what I had done then I can mend that stick. And what with Aunt Vineys stories of him, and my growing so to love his child, I had got to love that fellow like my own kin. Yes, sir. I had a craving I caynt make you understand to have him for- give me. I told him so. I aint afraid, said I. Come in any shape thats most convenient to you, sir; only just come and let me make you understand, and tell me what to do about Willy, and for- give me! He drew a long, deep breath. And did anything happen? said Gratton. I stood there ankle - deep in the ooze, and the owls hooted, and the dead limbs crackled in the wind like bones. You wonder, possibly, but I was so dis- appointedfor I did hope to see some- thingthat I choked up and began to cry. ThenI caynt explain it, I didnt see him, I didnt hear him, I couldnt reach out and touch him, but I was aware he was there! Do you reckon, sir, that we may have senses apart from what we name senses, now, like sight and touch and smell and those? Do you ever dream such a thing may be? I lcnew Bertie Roper was there! He didnt speak in any words that my ears could hear, yet he did converse with me and forgive me. He didnt come to my eyes; he came to my soul. I talked out loud to him, just as I would to you; looked like it was more natural, some- how. And when he came to go I offered him my hand. Well, I know he took it. It was not Grattons way to argue, therefore he let none of the questions escape that clamored behind his lips. He expressed no doubts. Gently as he might have threaded his path through a reluctant witnesss evasions, he fell into the mental gait of his companion. I have heard of such things, yet not precisely such things, said he; they interest me amazingly. A man with a hole in one lung he smiled has a sort of right to be interested, dont you know? I wish you would tell me more. Did you everI am at loss for the right wordwell, meet Major Roper again? iLLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 185 Oh, of course, sir. Why, it has been the friendship of my life. He comes often. He told me a week ago that you would be here. He has told me a great deal about himself. He is a wonderful man, sir. I never do anything without consulting him. Has he ever told you anything about his own present surroundings? The Colonel smilingly shook his head. Nothing that I can tell, said he. DoesI trust you will forgive me if I ask more than I have a rightdoes Miss Roper know? Why, certainly. I told her as soon as she could understand. If I hadnt told her she might hear it, and she would not have known how it is all for- given and made up, and her father and I are dear friends. Now it is exactly as if I had served Bertie a mean trick, and been sorry for it, and done my best to make up, and been forgiven. She thinks no more of it than that. Often she and I sit together on the bank here, and he will come and we talk. She cannot perceive him, but I tell her what he says. We have a great deal of pleasure. Yes, said Gratton. A bird pressed upward from the un- derbrush, trilling a sweet, keen melody; lovely shadows were wavering in the flashing darkness that mirrored the wil- lows. Gratton seemed to look far down into a mystical other world, a world nei- ther of laud nor waves. If it could be! he sighed. Come, said the Colonel, sister and Willy are waiting for ~ ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. By William H. Burnham. I. FEW years ago the Su- preme Court of the United States was con- fronted with a chaotic mass of seven thou- sand printed pages of testimony in the case of the Bell Telephone Company vs. The Peoples Telephone Company.* The main point at issue was whether Daniel Drawbaugh had an electric telephone in his shop prior to 1876, the year of Bells patent. Six hundred witnesses were examined. Two or three hundred per- sons most of them admitted to be honesttestified for the defence to the hearing of speech through Drawbaughs telephone before the date mentioned, or in confirmation of collateral points. It was argued by the defence that an en- tire community could not be mistaken in regard to such a remarkable event as the hearing of the human voice at a distance over a telegraph wire. So * See U. 5. Reporta, vol. 126, and an article on Daniel Drawbaugh, by H. c. Merwin, Atlantic Monthly. Sep. tember, 1888. strong seemed the evidence that three judges of the Supreme CourtJustices Field, Bradley, and Harlanwere con- vinced that, prior to Bells invention, Drawbaugh had succeeded in transmit- ting articulate speech, first by the varia- ble resistance process, then by electrical induction. In their opinion, they said: In regard to the instrument in which the principle of variable resistance was used, more than seventy witnesses were examined, who either testified to having seen it or heard it, or established such facts and circumstances in relation to it as to put its existence and date beyond a question. With regard to the instru- ment in which electrical induction was employed to produce the requisite un- dulations, some forty or fifty witnesses were produced, many of whom saw it and heard speech through it, and others either saw it, or heard it talked about in such a manner as to fix the time when it was in existence. On the question of time and result, there is such a cloud of witnesses in both cases, that it seems almost impossible not to give credence to them. The evidence and presumption against

William H. Burnham Burnham, William H. Illusions Of Memory 185-196

iLLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 185 Oh, of course, sir. Why, it has been the friendship of my life. He comes often. He told me a week ago that you would be here. He has told me a great deal about himself. He is a wonderful man, sir. I never do anything without consulting him. Has he ever told you anything about his own present surroundings? The Colonel smilingly shook his head. Nothing that I can tell, said he. DoesI trust you will forgive me if I ask more than I have a rightdoes Miss Roper know? Why, certainly. I told her as soon as she could understand. If I hadnt told her she might hear it, and she would not have known how it is all for- given and made up, and her father and I are dear friends. Now it is exactly as if I had served Bertie a mean trick, and been sorry for it, and done my best to make up, and been forgiven. She thinks no more of it than that. Often she and I sit together on the bank here, and he will come and we talk. She cannot perceive him, but I tell her what he says. We have a great deal of pleasure. Yes, said Gratton. A bird pressed upward from the un- derbrush, trilling a sweet, keen melody; lovely shadows were wavering in the flashing darkness that mirrored the wil- lows. Gratton seemed to look far down into a mystical other world, a world nei- ther of laud nor waves. If it could be! he sighed. Come, said the Colonel, sister and Willy are waiting for ~ ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. By William H. Burnham. I. FEW years ago the Su- preme Court of the United States was con- fronted with a chaotic mass of seven thou- sand printed pages of testimony in the case of the Bell Telephone Company vs. The Peoples Telephone Company.* The main point at issue was whether Daniel Drawbaugh had an electric telephone in his shop prior to 1876, the year of Bells patent. Six hundred witnesses were examined. Two or three hundred per- sons most of them admitted to be honesttestified for the defence to the hearing of speech through Drawbaughs telephone before the date mentioned, or in confirmation of collateral points. It was argued by the defence that an en- tire community could not be mistaken in regard to such a remarkable event as the hearing of the human voice at a distance over a telegraph wire. So * See U. 5. Reporta, vol. 126, and an article on Daniel Drawbaugh, by H. c. Merwin, Atlantic Monthly. Sep. tember, 1888. strong seemed the evidence that three judges of the Supreme CourtJustices Field, Bradley, and Harlanwere con- vinced that, prior to Bells invention, Drawbaugh had succeeded in transmit- ting articulate speech, first by the varia- ble resistance process, then by electrical induction. In their opinion, they said: In regard to the instrument in which the principle of variable resistance was used, more than seventy witnesses were examined, who either testified to having seen it or heard it, or established such facts and circumstances in relation to it as to put its existence and date beyond a question. With regard to the instru- ment in which electrical induction was employed to produce the requisite un- dulations, some forty or fifty witnesses were produced, many of whom saw it and heard speech through it, and others either saw it, or heard it talked about in such a manner as to fix the time when it was in existence. On the question of time and result, there is such a cloud of witnesses in both cases, that it seems almost impossible not to give credence to them. The evidence and presumption against 186 ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. Drawbaugh were so strong, however, that the majority of the Supreme Court decided that his great cloud of wit- nesses were mistaken; and a verdict was rendered for the Bell Company. Whether this decision of the Court was right or wrong, the case is psycho- logically interesting; for the testimony furnishes notable evidence of the falli- bility of human memory. A large part of the witnesses errors, it is true, may have been due to carelessness in obser- vation. But many others appear to have been mnemonic illusions of the ordinary kind that occur in daily life. Familiar though everybody is with such errors of memory, the most common forms of mnemonic illusion may be mentioned as an introduction to the general sub- ject of paramnesia,* or false memory. The Drawbaugh case furnishes typical illustrations. First, and probably most common, were errors in localization. A collateral controversy in the case, concerning the purchase of an hydraulic ram, for exam- ple, well illustrated the weakness of memory in respect to dates. An impor- tant witness, whose testimony was ob- tained nuder circumstances that proved his honesty beyond a doubt, testified that he heard speech through Draw- baughs telephone in 1874. He was positive about the date, for he never visited the inventors shop but once; and the purpose of that visit was to order an hydraulic ram. This ram, he testified, was ordered in 1874, and placed on his farm the following year. Theieupon the Bell Company brought evidence to show that the ram was not put in until 1878. Seventy-five wit- nesses were examined upon this collat- eral point, one side rebutting the testi- mony of the other, until the whole matter seems to have been left in hopeless con- fusion, and to this day the point remains unsettled. A similar controversy arose in i~egard to the carrying away of a bridge by a freshet; and throughout the case it was difficult positively to es- tablish any date of prime importance without the aid of documentary evi- dence. * The word paramnesia, formed after the analogy of paranoia, paraphasia, and the like, is used as a general term to denote illusions and hallucinations of memory. Again, the testimony illustrated the way the imagination fills the gaps in ordinary recollection. The counsel for the Bell Company complained of Draw- baughs witnesses, because in the four years of taking testimony, witnesses who remembered nothing in the first year swore the most glibly for him in the last. t Of course, an effort at recol- lection enables one to fill many lacunal in a remembered series; but, in such filling-in of details, imagination works with memory, and often does the larger part of the task. Some features of the Drawbaugh case illustrate also the way emotion and prejudice play a part in recollection. All the inhabitants, it is said, took sides, and Dans suit with the Bell Com- pany was debated nightly at every store and tavern within twenty miles of Eber- lys Mills. This gossip continued until, as Mr. Storrow said in his argument for the Bell Company, the most ignorant were ashamed not to remember, and vied with each other in their stories. fllustrations might easily be multi- plied, but the foregoing incidents are sufficient to suggest the ordinary mne- monic illusionserrors in localization in time, errors from the insertion of imagined details in half - remembered series of events, distortions of memory due to interest and prejudice. If now we analyze an ordinary act of recollection, we may be able to see how such illusions of memory arise. Psy- chologists are wont to say that there are three steps in any complete act of mem- ory, viz., reproduction of a mental im- age, recognition of it as belonging to ones own past, and localization in that past. But we seldom remember an iso- lated impression. We recall ideas in a series. And the remembrance of a se- I Such a development of memory is not unique. The following more remarkable case is cited hy Frances Power cobbe: The late Recorder of Birmingham was at one time counsel in a case called on at three separate in- tervals of three months. The shorthand notes taken by the reporters of the testimony of the witnesses at each of the trials were, of course, examined and compared with the final evidence, whereupon the curious phenomenon was presented of a regular ascending scale of certitude, and particularly in proportion as the event ought to have receded from the memory of the witnesses. On the first trial, the testimony was brief and general. On the second, it had grown longer and much more elaborate. On the third, it had become enriched with a multitude of previ- ously unknown details and clear statements regarding matters which at first had heen unremarked, or, at least, unstatedGalaxy, vol. i., pp. 1511, 154. ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 187 ries is a far more complex affair. The processes mentioned are abridged or overlap. The interesting members of a series are recalled and intensified by attention and colored by emotion. The uninteresting features are left in the background, or give place to more agree- able images of fancy. And, finally, a process of inference is continually go- ing on. In fact, a large part of the psychology of sense perception, studied so much in recent years, applies almost equally well to recollection. This is not strange; for modern psychology teaches that when an impression is re- membered the same physical mechan- ism, in a large part at least, is set at work that was involved in the original sensation. The physical correlative of a revived impression consists in the repetition of neural processes similar to thosethat functioned in producing the original impression. A comparison of the minds activity in case of the pre- sented images of sense and of the re-pre- sented images of memory may assist us. Practical utility, as Helmholtz has shown,* determines to what sensations we attend and what we ignore. We no- tice, for example, a bright object in our field of vision, but ignore which eye we see it with; and we attend to its pri- mary image upon the retina of the eye, but seldom see its after-image; for, un- less we have studied psychology, visual after-images and the curiosities of bi- nocular vision have no practical impor- tance or interest for us. The same eco- nomic habit of ignoring superfluous sensations may be illustrated more fa- miliarly. We do not notice the tick- ing of the clock, the noise of the city streets, or the roaring of the brook near the house; and even the din of the foundry or factory will not mingle with the thoughts of its workers, if they have been there long enough. When we first put on spectacles, especially if they be of certain curvatures, the bright reflec- tions they give of the windows, etc., mixing with the field of view, are very disturbing. In a few days we ignore them altogether. t It is the same with the other senses. The man with sane * Randbuch d. Physiol. Optik., p. 431 if.; also Sensa- tions of Tone, second English Edition, p. 62 if. t James Psychology, vol. i., p. 455. nerves always ignores the unimportant in his surroundings. So, too, we remember for a purpose. Of the re-presented images we attend to those that concern our own interest at the moment of recollection, and ignore the rest. Not merely when we acquire the group of concrete perceptions that make tip our knowledge of an event, do we attend to the interesting features and ignore the rest; but from the first repetition details that might be remem- bered drop out, because, apart from their original setting as elements of ex- ternal reality, they have no importance for us. To-day, for a given purpose we remember certain members of a series; to-morrow, for another purpose we re- call quite a different set. But, since our interests are tolerably constant, the habit of ignoring certain classes of ideas in recollection is soon formed; and, since ability to remember depends large- ly upon repetition, we find one person good at one kind of memory, another at something else, owing to habits of recalling only certain classes of ideas. Each of us specializes in certain direc- tions. A case of so-called weak memo- ry is generally a case of unusual special- ization. Linnteus, for example, is said to have been unable to learn a foreign language; but he kept in mind without difficulty his extended botanical nomen- clature. Men of genius, like Montaigne, who was proverbial for a weak memory, cannot remember names, dates, places, and the like, simply because they form habits of remembering other things that interest them more. The law for remem- brance is, then, similar to that for per- ception. What impressions we remember depends upon our past habits of remem- bering as determined by utility and inter- est. It has been a favorite task with psy- chologists to show how prejudice and interest bear a part in our perception of any object. Our whole past, and es- pecially the ideas and emotions of the present moment, determine how we per- ceive, or to use the technical term, ap- perceive any object. But the same prejudices and interests determine how we remember. We apperceive the past through the atmosphere of the present. Thus, if we are sad, we give the memory- 188 ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. picture rather a gloomy background. If we are gay, we brighten it with lighter colors. If some interest is at stake or passion sways us, we add to the picture as we should not do at other times. It is more or less vivid as our minds are fresh or weary; and the ideas remem- bered have significance according to the relations they bear to our present thought. In a word, just as we bring all our past experience to the perception of any object or event, and apperceive it from the standpoint of our past and through our present, so in memory the present state of consciousness, which is the product of an ever - growing past and an ever - changing environment, al- ways bears its part in determining what the remembrance shall be. Hence our recollections of an event are never ex- actly alike from day to day, and each time we recall anything, we remember not so much the original event as our latest remembrance of it. At best our recollection is but a sort of composite photograph of our original impression and of the re-presented images in con- sciousness at the different times we have recalled it. Thus the liar may come to believe an oft - repeated yarn; for his composite of the story differs little from a composite of oft-repeated recollections of an actual event. Again, as imagination enters into sense-perception, causing the savage to see the nymphs of the forest and to hear voices in the wind, making the civilized man sometimes read falsely and blunder in his experiments, and abridging for us all the tardy process of sensation by en- abling us to catch with our senses a few features of an object while it fills in the rest according to former experience; so, in remembering, we recall a few frag- ments of a series; the imagination fills the gaps. Sully, who has shown the analogy between the various classes of optical illusions and the common forms of mnemonic error, says of false memo- ries based upon true fragmentary recol- lections: This class of mnemonic illu- sions approaches illusions of percep- tion. When the imagination supplies the interpretation at the very time, and the mind reads this into the perceived object, the error is one of perception. When the addition is made afterward, on reflecting upon the perception, the error is one of memory. The fallacies of testimony which depend on an adul- teration of pure observation with infer- ence and conjecture, as, for example, the inaccurate and wild statements of people respecting their experiences of mesmerism and spiritualism, are prob- ably much oftener illusions of memory than of perception. * In still another point recollection re- sembles sense perception. Both involve a process of inference. The researches of modern psychologists, notably those of Helmholtz, have shown how largely inference enters into perceptions of sight and hearing. From the muscular inner- vation in accommodating the eyes to an object we infer its position; from the vividness of the visual image we infer its distance, and from the apparent distance we infer its size. The moon, for ex- ample, looks larger when near the hori- zon than at the zenith, because in the former position we infer by comparison with intervening objects that it is farther away and hence larger. The common visual illusions that everyone has noticed are for the most part due to errors of judgment concerning true sen- sory data, and in fact the very woof of our perceptive life is made up of a simple form of inference. Likewise, in recollection we remember parts of a series of events, we infer others. Even the filling in of imagined details already mentioned is largely a matter of infer- ence. Long experience has made us experts in this, and usually our inferred reminiscences agree substantially with facts; but it is plain that an error may easily arise. As illusions occur in sense- perception under unusual conditions, because we interpret our sensations ac- cording to past experience, so, when part of a series is remembered and we fill it out in its habitual form, we are likely to be wrong if anything has turned us from the monotonous sameness of our usual routine. An illustration sent me by a former pupil may make my meaning clearer. He writes in substance as follows of a mnemonic illusion in his own experi- ence: While spending the summer on a * See fliusions of Memory, Coruhill MagazIne, April, 1880. ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 189 ranch in Colorado, I rode one day to the post office at S. to purchase some paper and stamps. While on the ranch I never carried any money with me whatever, but on starting for S. I tied a silver dol- lar in the corner of my handkerchief. While the package was being wrapped up I untied the handkerchief and took out the dollar; and, after talking a while with the postmaster, mounted my horse to return to the ranch. After riding some distance I found to my surprise a coin in my pocket. The only dollar I had brought with me was the dollar which I distinctly remembered having given to the postmaster, who had put it in the middle compartment of the drawer from which he took the stamps; my memory with regard to having paid the man was so clear that the presence of the dollar was a mystery. But about a week lat- er, having occasion to go again to S., the postmaster convinced me that I had not paid him; and my ride homeward that day was occupied by thoughts of my marvellous memory with regard to things which never happened. This pseudo-reminiscence, so common- place that many readers can match it from personal experience, is instructive. Here evidently was a series of truly re- membered events upon which the illu- sion was based. My correspondent probably remembered taking out his handkerchief and untying the money; and inferred the rest, filling out the series in its usual form. The only re- markable feature was the vividness and detail of the pseudo-reminiscence. Simi- lar processes of inference are continually abridging the work of recollection. But our usual activity is so regular and methodical that such inferences based upon past experience are seldom wrong. Much of what has already been said applies to the process of localization in the past. Theoretically, as Ribot and Tame have shown, we localize an event by a retrogression, starting with the present moment and running over inter- vening experiences. But practically, we abridge this process by reference to cer- tain important and impressive events that stand as mnemonic milestones in our past. Like Drawbaughs witnesses, we localize an event by placing it before or since we were married, before or since the purchase of the hydraulic ram, before or since the journey to Kansas, and so on. If the first impression was vivid and the remembered event unique, we roughly approximate an accurate localization of it. But if similar events occurred before and after our mnemonic milestone, it is easy to forget one and misplace the other. Or if some circum- stance turned us from our habitual routine, false inference is likely to take the place of reminiscence, and we local- ize a series of events according to the habitual sequence of similar series. In short, forgetfulness of the larger part of our past experiences, together with the work of imagination and inference, make errors in localization most com- mon mnemonic illusions. If the foregoing analysis of the pro- cess of recollection be correct, we should expect that, of persons with equally good natural tenacity and power of attention, those would most frequently be the vic- tims of mnemonic error who have strong prejudices and weak judgment. This is precisely what experience teaches us. We distrust the memory of the preju- diced witness; and even so slight an interest as the desire to tell a good story often enables imagination to beguile the memory. To the prejudiced person im- agination suggests details that fit so nicely in a remembered series, and har- monize so admirably with his appercep- tive mood, that he does not dream of distrusting them. Again, children, the aged, and the insane are the ones most subject to mnemonic illusions. The simpler illusions of memory, that have just been described, are instructive because they show how largely the psy- chology of perception applies to recol- lection. The more remarkable forms of paramnesia remain to be considered. Th A VERY common and very tantalizing form of paramnesia is the so-called double memory, or the perplexing feeling in new surroundings of having been in the same situation before. In a typical case a new scene flashes upon one as a photographic copy of a former experience. There is a feeling that one 190 ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. knows what will happen next, and a vague anxiety, due probably to the vain attempt to localize the apparently fami- liar impressions in the past. For a single illustration, take the following case, which has come fresh to my hand, and is in many respects typi- cal: At times, writes a young lady, I have done things which it seemed to me I had done before, and in exactly the same order, although this could not have been so. One case in particular I remember now. My father was away from home, and we expected him at a certain time. Everything, or nearly everything, I did that evening until my father came home, it seemed to me I had done at some previous time. Af- ter any one thing, I half knew what was coming next. I thought at first it might have been a dream; but then again it seemed to me it could not be. I remember one time even mentioning to the persons around me that it seemed as though I had gone through all that had just happened at some former time. In most such cases, as iRibot has said, this illusion is easily explained. The new impression evokes from the past similar impressions, which, though in- distinct, confused, evanescent, still suf- fice to give to the new state of con- sciousness the appearance of being a repetition. There is a ground of re- semblance quickly perceived between the two states of consciousness which leads us to identify them. It is an er- ror, but only a partial one, for there is in reality in our past something that resembles a prior experience of this present impression. The illusion is due to forgetfulness. We remember the resemblance of the past experience to the present, but have forgotten the points of opposition and contrast. There is here also a process of infer- ence; and the illusion illustrates what Coleridge calls the great law of the imagination, that likeness in part tends to become likeness of the whole. Some have noticed a sentiment of pre-existence as characteristic of this experience; and, as St. Augustine hinted, it may have played an impor- tant rOle in developing the belief in metempsychosis. Anthropologists, not- ing this illusion among savages, have suggested the same hypothesis. Words- worths eloquent lines concerning the childs memory will occur to everybody; but not he nor even Plato was the first to notice those shadowy recollections that have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence. Pythagoras taught the transmigration of souls; and he, as the old legend runs, while in the temple of Juno at Argos, recognized the shield that he wore when he was Euphorbus and fought with Menelaus in the Trojan War. Those who love to see the ancient beliefs reap- pear in modern scientific hypotheses, may compare with the Platonic doctrine of reminiscence Sullys suggestion, based upon the modern doctrine of heredity, that children may have pre-natal recol- lections of ancestral experiences. In pathological cases this form of paramnesia is more marked and some- times assumes a chronic form. Some thirty years ago, two cases were de- scribed by the German psychologist Neumann; and since that time a num- ber have been reported. The case usu- ally cited as one of the most perfect in- stances, was observed by IDr. Pick, a German alienist. The patient gave the following account of his illusions: The first clear experiences of a double life I had in the autumn of 1868, at St. Petersburg. But these oc- curred only occasionally; for example, on visiting places of amusement, or at great festivals, and when meeting per- sons, the accompanying circumstances seemed so familiar to me that I firmly believed that I had already been in the same place and had met the same per- sons under just the same circumstances, at the same season of the year, in the same weather, the men standing in the same places, in just the same manner, and even precisely the same conversa- tion occurring. . . . After 1870 al- most every piece of work that I at- tempted in my business seemed familiar to me, as if I had already done the same in former years, in the same order, and under exactly the same circumstances; not only this, but even every chance meeting with anyone, and, in general, ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 191 everything that occurred around me, brought this feeling. It came to me sometimes at the moment of perceiving a thing, or after some minutes or hours, frequently not until the next day. In such pathological cases the ex- planation by ordinary forgetfulness will hardly suffice. Many hypotheses * have been invented to account for this strange experience. Neumann called it a sort of mental mirage; Aujel thought it due to the divorce from fatigue of processes of sensation and perception that usu- ally overlap; another psychologist has suggested that in certain conditions of excitement strange scenes appear famil- iar from an unwonted ease of appercep- tion. Others have thought that the two hemispheres of the brain some- times act asyncronously, so that when the tardy one wakes up, the dim im- pressions of the other seem like mem- ories to the normal consciousness of both. Sully, Buccola, and others main- tain that dreams are sometimes remem- bered and localized in our waking life. A satisfactory explanation of the ex- treme cases has not been given. It is, however, tolerably clear that the condi- tions that favor this illusion are fatigue, excitement, and nervous disease. Anjel tells of a lawyer who, in the strain of a difficult lawsuit, was seized with this form of paramnesia; and he noticed the same in his own experience as the result of fatigue. After spending hours in the Venetian art galleries, he suddenly felt that the paintings around him were fa- miliar, although he had never seen them before. Hughlings Jackson also has noticed this illusion as a premonition of epileptic attacks. ilL A THIRD form of false memory has been observed. It may be called sug- gested paramnesia; for the pseudo- reminiscences are suggested by pres- ent impressions. The best cases thus far reported were observed by Dr. Kraepelln. One of his patients, a young servant girl, was the victim of erotomania; and when any- * For a fuller account of the different theories, as well as for further illustrations of the different kinds of par- amnesia, see an article by the author in the American Journal of Fsyeho1ogy~ V9l, ii,, No. 3. thing unusual happeneda change of physician, removal from one hospital to another, and the likeshe would sud- denly remember, as she thought, that her lover had foretold the event. Another patient had pseudo-reminis- cences on occasion of almost every strik- ing new impression. He thought that the comic papers contained references to him, and eveu remembered the page on which a passage stood. Never find- ing what he remembered on turning to the papers, he got the idea that the edi- tions in question had been withdrawn, and that others had been substituted. Upon entering the asylum he declared that some weeks before he had heard an account of all his companions, and that he had read in the newspaper about the management of the asylum, even in its minutest details. He had given no heed to these reports at the time, he said. Not until he saw the people con- cerned and the places referred to, did it occur to him that he had been told about them already, or that he had read of them. Then he remembered all about it. For example, he said that he remembered reading in the Fliegende Bldtter a detailed account of the furni- ture of the dining-room at the asylum. After a time his false memory took a peculiar turn. Opinions that he read in the newspapers seemed verbatim re- ports of what he had previously ex- pressed in conversation. The Fliegen- de Blatter stole his jokes; and, finally, it occurred to him that many of his thoughts had been previously commu- nicated to him. In both these cases it is to be noted that the predictions or pseudo-reminis- cences did not occur to the patients un- til they saw the things concerned, or until the events occurred. Observations made by Bernheim and others show that similar pseudo - remi- niscences may be suggested in the hyp- notic sleep. The experimenter, for example, says to a subject: You re- member that we went to Potsdam yes- terday and took a drive on the Havel ? The suggestion takes effect, and the gentleman at once begins to relate his experiences in Potsdam.t Such retro- t 5ee Moll, Hypnotism, second edition, Contemporary Science Series, p. 130. 192 ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. active hallucinations, as they have been called, may be transferred by sugges- tion to waking life, and the errors of memory made to persist for weeks. Also in the dreams of ordinary sleep such errors of memory are not uncommon. In dreams, as in hypnosis, suggestion seems to be the great law of mental ac- tivity. If a distant place is suggested we do not dimly imagine it as in wak- ing life, but at once fill it out with all the warmth and concreteness of present reality, i.e., the scene shifts and we are there. If there is any suggestion of familiarity in the dream - events, imme- diately we feel at home and are well acquainted with the imagined scenes. If it would harmonize with our present to have done something in the past, forthwith we remember having done it. Any attempt at explaining the psychol- ogy of dreams must necessarily be un- satisfactory; but the analogy with the mental activity in the hypnotic trance is striking. The chief difference be- tween the two seems to be that in one case the suggestion is made by another, while in dreams it is auto-suggestion. From many cases of suggested param- nesia in dreams that have been reported to me, a few illustrations may be cited. One case in my own experience is worthy of mention because of its sim- plicity. I dreamed of receiving a pos- tal card, and at once remembered writ- ing a letter to which the card was an answer. Upon awaking I knew that I had never written such a letter. Here was a pseudo-reminiscence suggested by a present impression, with appar- ently no basis whatever in fact. A friend describes a recent dream as fol- lows: I saw Dr. C., and he inquired about the institution of learning with which I am connected. Everything is about as usual, I replied. Oh, yes, was Dr. C.s answer, I am on the in- side. Whereupon it slowly percolated through my mind that Dr. C. was a trustee of the institution. He has, however, never held such a position. A more remarkable instance is reported by Professor Royce, in the Proceedings of the American Society for Psychical Research. My friend, C. W. B., writes his correspondent, visited us recently, and spoke with Mrs. A. and me re- peatedly about his several trips to Eu- rope, describing especially his experi- ences in Spain during his last trip. A few nights later, I dreamed of looking over with him a lot of large photo- graphs of scenes in Scotland, which he took when we were in Scotland togeth- er; many of the photographs showing me very plainly in various attitudes with different groups of people. Now, Mr. B. and I were never in Europe to- gether, and I was never in Scotland in my life. Yet, as each photograph was shown I felt all the keen delight of recognition of well-remembered scenes, and frequently exclaimed, How well I remember that! or Dont you re- member the day we were there? etc. I can still remember the features of several of the pictures, parks, grounds, etc., as they appeared in these photo- graphs, and my keen interest in seeing them again, and my memory of many incidents and particulars of our being at these places together at some former time. I then dreamed, with the well- known inconsistency of a dream, that in the case of one place Mrs. A. had been with me, and I turned and asked her if she did not remember the day we were there, and what the old lady in charge of the place had said to us. * The question naturally arises: Do such suggested pseudo - reminiscences that may be induced in hypnosis, and are frequent in dreams and in some cases of insanity, ever occur in normal life? It seems probable that they do. The germs of pathological mental activ- ities are frequently found in normal in- dividuals; and Bernheim maintains that for all the phenomena of hypnosis there are analogous occurrences in waking life. He shows, moreover, that in cer- tain people delusions of memory may be induced by suggestion without their being hypnotized. Fictions confidently affirmed to them they are unable to dis- tinguish from facts in their own experi- ence. It is probable also that, in rare cases, pseudo-reminiscences may spring up spontaneously by auto - suggestion. Professor Royce has endeavored to show that some so-called cases of thought- * Proceedings of the American Society for Psychical Research, vol. i., Ne. 4, p. 567. ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 193 transference and the like may be ex- plained in this way. What occurred so frequently in Kraepelins patients, may, he 1~hinks, occur sporadically among the sane. Under exciting circum~tances certain persons may have pseudo - remi- niscences when a thing occurs, and be- lieve that it was prefigured in a recent dream or the like, when in reality the supposed presentiment succeeds its own fulfilment. Fanciful as this hypothesis at first may seem, Professor Royce has shown that in some cases it offers a very plausible explanation. The importance, from a legal stand- point, of the study of paramnesia must already be apparent. None know bet- ter than members of the bar the weak- ness of human memory. Hence a law- yer is proverbially a poor witness. His testimony is always to the best of my knowledge, if I remember rightly, and the like. He knows that even the stimulus of judicial oaths cannot insure correct recollection, and that the most honest witfiess is liable to such illusions as have been described. A pseudo-rem- iniscence that would seriously falsify ones testimony may grow up spontane- ously. A friend, himself a psychologist, has reported to me a case in point. His recollection was very vivid, he writes, of seeing a programme-pamphlet of an ap- proaching musical festivaL He recalled comparing it with the programme of the previous year, and his recollection extended even to details. He found afterward, however, that he was mis- taken, and that the programme had not been published; yet he adds: I would have taken oath without the least hesi- tation to my having seen the pamphlet within the last few days. Such mci- dents are, I believe, not unknown in the records of the law courts. Again, wit- nesses are sometimes coached by lawyers until they think they remember what really has been suggested to them. The retroactive hypnotic suggestions already described emphasize this point. Bern- heim has made people believe that they were witnesses of thefts that were pure- ly imaginary; and he cites the following recent case of judicial error due to the false testimony of an honest witness. Three Spaniards robbed and mur- dered a farmer named Pradi6s. The VoL. XJ.20 farmers wife came to his rescue and she also was killed by one of the assassins, after she had inflicted a sword-wound upon him. Two of the murderers were arrested, while the one who murdered the wife escaped. Pradi6s lived for a few days, and was able to give his testi- mony. He clearly described his wifes murderer as blonde, and marked with the small-pox: moreover, he must carry a sword-wound inflicted by his victim. But at the trial one Borras, a cousin of the arrested assassins, was accused, al- though his description did not at all correspond to that given by Pradi6s. The rumor that pointed to Borras as the third Spaniard originated in the gossip of the women of the neighbor- hood, some of whom surrounded the sick mans bed, and continually repeated their story that Borras was the mur- derer. Finally, the conviction entered the head of Pradi6s; and from that mo- ment he did not cease to say that Bor- ras had killed his wife. He was con- fronted with Borras, but insisted upon his statement. The unfortunate victim of this false testimony was condemned, but his sentence was commuted to labor for life; and after a few years the real murderer was found, and Borras was pardoned.* This case is the more remarkable, be- cause the true memory-image of a man blonde and marked with the small-pox seems to have been effaced by the sug- gested picture of a very different per- son. The poor farmers mind may have been affected by his physical and men- tal suffering; but the physicians testi- fied that it was clear until his death. With children it is especially easy to manufacture testimony. Children, as Perez has said, accept unhesitating- ly as true all the ideas which pass through their brains, and especially those which gain confirmation and pre- cision from the words or looks of grown- up persons. The extent to which this weakness of childhood may be utilized for criminal purposes was shown by the testimony of Moritz Scharf against his own father in the famous Tisza-Eszlar case, a few years ago. t A French writer, M. Motet, reports also from his~own ob * See the Revue de 1Hypnotisme, July 1, 1590. t See Revue des Deux Mondes, August 1, 1883. 194 ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. servation four cases of the false testi- mony of children; and he cites others.* Nothing, as he says, is more effective than a childs story of the details of a crime of which he pretends to have been a witness or a victim. The childs na- ~ivet6 and apparent accuracy make his testimony most impressive. Yet chil- dren with abnormally developed imag- inations probably often fail to distin- guish what has actually happened from what has been imagined or sugges~ed by others. The fallibility of memory makes it imperative that care be taken to obtain what Montaigne calls a paper memo- ry. If, as Leibnitz is said to have done, we make notes of important events, and never use them, the mere writing strengthens the impression and adds a motor memory to the sensory. The man of science takes notes on the spot. But accounts of remarkable phenom- ena observed by the untrained are usu- ally of little scientific value; for, even if they observe correctly, they are apt to trust too implicitly in mere memory. With increased knowledge of the ordi- nary defects of observation and of mem- ory, and of the possibility of manufact- uring testimony by ordinary suggestion as well as by hypnotic hallucination, less weight thanformerly is likely to be given even to cumulative testimony unsupport- ed by documentary evidence. However good ones memory, written records are indispensable for legal and scientific pur- poses. IV. THE indictment against memory is serious; but even the errors of memory are of such a nature that they scarcely lessen its trustworthiness on ordinary occasions. As Sully has said: The fact that the stereoscope deceives us every time we look into it, by forcing us to see a solid object when we know there are only two fiat photographs, does not lessen our belief in the gen- eral certainty of visual perception. Similarly, it is possible to find out that memory is a very blundering * Lea faux t~moignages des enfants devant Ia justice. Paris, 1882. witness in many cases, and yet to feel sure that she can be perfectly well de- pended on to speak the truth about things with which she may be assumed to be thoroughly familiar. It should be noted also that apparent cases of paramnesia frequently are not such at all. Many supposed errors of memory are really defects in original observation. It is not memory but at- tention which is deficient. And again, many mnemonic mysteries are explained, to speak plainly, by the ability to lie combined with the desire to appear omniscient. The illustration given by Victor Hugo in Notre Dame de Paris is typical When the old witch asserted that the tail of a cart backed against the window of her cell had broken the grating, an archer who stood by replied, Tis true enough; I was present. The novelist rightly adds: There are always people about who have seen everything. Nevertheless genuine mnemonic illu- sions of the kinds described are probably much more common than most people suppose. While suggested paramnesia may be rare, a multitude of examples of the simpler forms might be given. In view of the defects of memory that have been described, a few pedagogical suggestions are obvious. In the first place, if a trustworthy memory is desired, the prime condition is health. Not only are the more seri- ous forms of paramnesia pathological; but even forgetfulness, when unusu- al, indicates disease. Indeed memory forms a most delicate gauge of one s physical well - being. The power of committing to memory varies notably with fluctuations of ones physical con- dition; and, as everybody knows, recol- lection is rendered difficult by fatigue, and is usually easier in the morning than at night. The physiological cause seems to be that retention is conditioned by processes of nutrition, while recol- lection depends largely upon the cir- culation, as is shown not ouly by many cases of amnesia due to defective circu- lation, but also by the hypermnesias of fever and other diseases, where there is an increased rapidity of the cerebral circulation. In the second place, the trustworthi ILLUSIONS OF MEMORY. 195 ness of memory depends upon atten- tion. The true art of memory, as Johnson said, is the art of attention. But not merely by strengthening the first impression does attention aid mem- ory. The ability to recall any event de- pends largely upon the power of atten- tion at the moment of attempted recol- lection. This appears not only from introspection, but hypnotic experiments and the like seem to indicate it. In the hypnotic sleep, when the power of attention is intensified, memory is ex- alted. And in experiments in crystal vision, where the experimenter gazes at some reflecting surface a bowl of water, mirror, crystal, or the like af- ter the fashion of the old necroman- cers, the attention is fixed by the device, and forgotten scenes may sometimes be recalled. A lady who recently has con- tributed an interesting paper on this subject,* and who is herself a success- ful crystal-gazer, gives the following ac- count of one of her experiments: I had carelessly destroyed a letter with- out preserving the address of my cor- respondent. I knew the county, and searching in a map, recognized the name of the town, one unfamiliar to me, but which I was sure I should know when I saw it. But I had no clue to the name of house or street, till at last it struck me to test the value of the crys- tal as a means of recalling forgotten knowledge. A very short inspection supplied me with H. House in gray letters on a white ground, and having nothing better to suggest from any other source, I risked posting my letter to the address so strangely supplied. A day or two brought me an answer, headed H. House in gray letters on a white ground. The kernel of truth hidden under the superstitions connected with this ancient practice of divination, seems to be this: The crystal aids persons of * Proceedings of the (English) 5ociety for Psychical Research, June, 1888. unusual visualizing powers ~ to fix their attention and thus to revive latent mem- ories. Probably any device that aids attention is likely to assist recollection. Whatever may be said in regard to training the memory, it must be remem- bered that memory is not, as used to be supposed, an independent faculty of the mind that in some mysterious way may be directly strengthened by exercise, as the blacksmith strengthens his arm; but that memory as retentive is due to the plasticity of nerve-substance, and to the property of nerve-centres by which they retain in growth their function- al modifications; and that recollection depends upon physiological conditions such as the cerebral circulation and the proper functioning of nerve-cells; more- over, that a complete act of recollection is a complex process involving compari- son, inference, and the like. Hence whatever in general is conducive to vigorous health, and whatever tends to habits of clear and orderly thinking such conditions will aid recollection. And whatever is detrimental to the nor- rual functioning of the nerve-cellsfa- tigue, intense emotion, or the likeand whatever blinds the judgment, will hinder recollection. Much good advice in regard to so-called memory training may be found in some of the books about memory; but the most important aids to recollection are the conditions that favor normal mental activity in general. In short, all psychological beatitudes are on the head of him who has good health, sane emotions, and trained power of attention. But no amount of study, nor all the prescrip- tions of mnemonic doctors, from Simon- ides to Loisette (except so far as they train attention) can atone for anaimia of body or lack of the power of atten- tion. t This term is used by Galton and others to denote the power that many people possess of picturing a scene in memory with a vividness compa t~hitothat of the ott- ginaL By William A. Coffin. SECOND PAPER THE group of painter - illustrators in the United States is a large one, and includes some of the best-known of all our artists. Some of them are constant workers in drawing for reproduction, while others contribute irregularly, but often enough to have become noted in this branch of art. Every reader of the magazines is familiar with the charm- ing drawings by Robert Blum. Wheth- er it be in the delineation of scenes in America or Spain, Italy or Japan, he brings to his work the same picturesque- ness of composition, the same grace and vigor of line, and the same aptness for seizing characteristic points in figure and environment. His style, from a cleverness that savored somewhat in his earliest work of the methods of the Spanish draughtsmen, has become dis- tinctly personal, and has gained in na~vet~. With abundant technical facil- ity in the use of the pen, he unites suffi- cient knowledge of form to make his drawing always firm and solid. He uses pure white and black freely when it is needed, and is extremely skilful in the management of light and dark masses. In his wash-drawings delicacy in the relation of values and sugges- tion of color are to be noted, and in all of his work truth and character are ren- dered with remarkable fidelity. The combination of serious qualities with verve and lightness is a rare one, but Mr. Blum possesses it in a marked de- gree, and it explains much of the charm that is found in his work. It is always attractive and striking, but never flip- pant, facile but not careless, and, above all, unmistakably individuaL There is no more accomplished draughtsman among American artists than H. Siddons Mowbray, whose pict- ures of Oriental subjects, drawn chiefly from the Arabian Nights, have given him a high reputation as a painter. He learned to draw in Paris under Bon- nats instruction, and for a time gave his attention to historical compositions. He is firmly grounded in academical study, but his work betrays no trace of ultra - conventional methods. Particu- larly in the delineation of female types, such as the young women clad in em- broidered stuffs, who idle their time away resting upon soft couches in the interiors of the Orient, the elegance and simplicity of his style are apparent, and when he has to do with more ro- bust themes his work is strong and vir- ile. Like Mr. Cox and Mr. Low, he has treated the nude figure in some of his designs, and no one invests it with more charm or depicts it with more certain knowledge. Not the least of his qualities as an illustrator, is his talent for composition, and he has expressed many a graceful fancy in the way of decorative designs, in which beauty of line in single figures, and happy dispo- sition of the groups, make the ensemble complete and harmonious. He makes his drawings ordinarily in oil-color, and uses the pen but little. The subtile- ness of his modelling oftentimes makes faithful reproduction of his work rath- er a difficult matter, but though some- thing is lost in this respect, the grace- ful lines of his figures and the effective contrast of light and dark in his com- positions remain, and the charm which AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY.

William A. Coffin Coffin, William A. American Illustration Today. Second Paper 196-206

By William A. Coffin. SECOND PAPER THE group of painter - illustrators in the United States is a large one, and includes some of the best-known of all our artists. Some of them are constant workers in drawing for reproduction, while others contribute irregularly, but often enough to have become noted in this branch of art. Every reader of the magazines is familiar with the charm- ing drawings by Robert Blum. Wheth- er it be in the delineation of scenes in America or Spain, Italy or Japan, he brings to his work the same picturesque- ness of composition, the same grace and vigor of line, and the same aptness for seizing characteristic points in figure and environment. His style, from a cleverness that savored somewhat in his earliest work of the methods of the Spanish draughtsmen, has become dis- tinctly personal, and has gained in na~vet~. With abundant technical facil- ity in the use of the pen, he unites suffi- cient knowledge of form to make his drawing always firm and solid. He uses pure white and black freely when it is needed, and is extremely skilful in the management of light and dark masses. In his wash-drawings delicacy in the relation of values and sugges- tion of color are to be noted, and in all of his work truth and character are ren- dered with remarkable fidelity. The combination of serious qualities with verve and lightness is a rare one, but Mr. Blum possesses it in a marked de- gree, and it explains much of the charm that is found in his work. It is always attractive and striking, but never flip- pant, facile but not careless, and, above all, unmistakably individuaL There is no more accomplished draughtsman among American artists than H. Siddons Mowbray, whose pict- ures of Oriental subjects, drawn chiefly from the Arabian Nights, have given him a high reputation as a painter. He learned to draw in Paris under Bon- nats instruction, and for a time gave his attention to historical compositions. He is firmly grounded in academical study, but his work betrays no trace of ultra - conventional methods. Particu- larly in the delineation of female types, such as the young women clad in em- broidered stuffs, who idle their time away resting upon soft couches in the interiors of the Orient, the elegance and simplicity of his style are apparent, and when he has to do with more ro- bust themes his work is strong and vir- ile. Like Mr. Cox and Mr. Low, he has treated the nude figure in some of his designs, and no one invests it with more charm or depicts it with more certain knowledge. Not the least of his qualities as an illustrator, is his talent for composition, and he has expressed many a graceful fancy in the way of decorative designs, in which beauty of line in single figures, and happy dispo- sition of the groups, make the ensemble complete and harmonious. He makes his drawings ordinarily in oil-color, and uses the pen but little. The subtile- ness of his modelling oftentimes makes faithful reproduction of his work rath- er a difficult matter, but though some- thing is lost in this respect, the grace- ful lines of his figures and the effective contrast of light and dark in his com- positions remain, and the charm which AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. Brownings House in VeniceRezzonico Palace. (From a painting by Robert Blum.) VOL. XI.21 AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. 198 Youth and Crabbed Age. (From an nnpubliehed drawing by II. Siddons Mowbray.) proceeds from r3imple arrangement is pression of their faces. His pictures of one of the most salient features of his outdoor life in city and country also he designs. invests with an air of truth, and where Irving IR. Wiles is one of the clever- he has to deal with landscape he applies ~st of our water-color painters, and his his broad and simple treatment with kill in handling this medium makes his pleasing and 3ust effect. Not unlike drawing for reproduction among the Mr. Wiles in his methods is Herbert purest in method of any to be found. Denman, who has done a considerable It may be said here, in passing, that it quantity of excellent work in the illus- is perfectly legitimate for an artist in tration of modern city life, and whose making a drawing to be engraved or drawings are marked by much truth of processed~ to use any sort of means observation and frank treatment, attain- he may choose to arrive at his object. ing his effects principally by the careful Body - color and washes, pencil and ink study of values, and eliminating detail and chalk, may all be used in the same as far as it may be consistently done drawing, and there is no fault to find without approaching vagueness; and provided the result is good. Such a there are many points of resemblance mixture of mediums would certainly in the work of these artists with that of give a tricky look to a picture, and would Willard L. Metcalf (see drawing on page lay it open to criticism on that account, 156) and Francis C. Jones, both of whom but a drawing for reproduction is made show clever draughtsmanship in figure- primarily to be effective when printed, subjects and tender feeling in the treat- and it matters little how that end is ment of landscape. Excellent work in gained. Yet, even in the reproduction landscape, signed by the well-known ar- there is an inherent charm in a draw- tist, H. Bolton Jones, and by J. Francis jug that has been made in the simplest Murphy, Bruce Crane, and other paint- fashion, and in Mr. Wiless work this ers, appears from time to time in the is a prominent characteristic. He is pages of the magazines; and the some- amazingly clever in the use of trans- what impressionistic pictures of mead- parent washes and works most simply ow, brook, and sky, by J. H. Twachtmafl, nd directly, modelling apparently aa are familiar to the readers of SciiiBKEns. jyremier coup and rarely retouching. He Mr. Twachtman is especially successful is most at home in the delineation of in making a beautiful page with the American interiors and pretty young simplest of motives, a few wild flowers women, whose ribbons and flounces, growing in the foreground of a meadow gauzy veils and laces, he indicates with and the sky above being quite as much as much character as he puts in the cx- as he demands in the way of a subject; AMERICAN ILLUSTRA TION OF TO-DAY. but these are given with exquisite re- finement and subtile skill. Color is sug- gested oftentimes in his black and white drawings, and they are always eminently decorative. The painters who nowa- days occasionally work in the field of il- lustration are so numerous, that one runs the risk of making invidious dis 199 tinctions in selecting certain ones for notice, but there are a few not yet men- tioned whose work has been sufficient in quantity to warrant their being in- cluded in a review of American illustra- tors, and others who, if they have not produced very much, have given us a few drawings that are of such excellence as Two Portraits. (From a painting by Irving IR. Wiles.) 200 AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. to compel attention. As a painter, Will- iam M. Chase (see Frontispiece) finds on every side something that appeals to his ~rtistic sense, and his pictures cover a wide range from the nude to still-life. In his pictures of scenes in Central Park ies of Spanish types and places among other things, and has signed a few por- trait drawings. He is a masterly tech- nician, and makes the most of a simple subject through the interest he gives to his work by the way he does it. Sun in the Willows (rrom an unpublished drawing by u. Ilolton Jones.) and the pretty squares in Brooklyn, with A sober painter, with a care for de- their broad walks and benches under tail that reminds us in his pictures of the trees, he has dealt with subjects that the great Dutchmen, we find more sum- are closely allied to illustration, and noth- mary treatment in the drawings that ing could be more truthful in the ren- Francis D. Millet has made of life in dering of the accent of locality and the Balkans and other places where his character of the people. Some of these travels have led him, but they are always pictures have been printed in a leading good in character, and possess that look periodical by a photographic process, of having been made under the infin- and they are to New York much what ence of direct impressions from the actu- the pictures of the boulevards and aven- al scenes they represent, that is so im- ues by IDe Nittis are to Paris. Mr. portant a factor in the illustration of Chase, as an illustrator, has made stud- life and manners. These drawings are A Passing Storm. (From an unpublished drawing by Bruce Crane.) ItI N 202 AMERICAN ILL US TRA TION OF TO-DAY. in crayon in most cases, and are dis- tinctly crc quis in the best sense, and in that they are direct notes made on the spot, have an interest that cannot be in- fused into work made from photo- graphs. But we have not many artists who write and illustrate their own arti- cles, putting down their impressions in word and line as they receive them. Something of the same sort, however, has been done by Edwin H. Blashfleld, who, in a series of articles written by himself and Mrs. Blashfield, on subjects treating of media~val times, has shown not only technical qualities of a high order, but also true erudition in archive- ology; John La Farge, in his papers, An Artists Letters from Japan, is In Holiday Dress. (From a drawing by F. D. Millet to illustrate Modern Greece, published in 5cauBNxas MAGAZINE.) a delightful artist-author; and Messrs. Pyle, Zogbaum, Gibson, Pennell, Shel- ton, and others are among the illus- trators who are also authors, but of these we shall speak later on. Alfred Kappes is a painter of genre, particular- ly of negro life, who contributes draw- ings of much character to current illus- tration, and by Carlton T. Chapman there have been seen of late some very good pictures of the sea and ships, in which subjects that were without much material for inspiration have been treat- ed in an interesting way. Gilbert Gaul, whose pictures of skirmishes and camp- life are often seen at the Academy and other exhibitions, is a painter who has done work of excellent quality in the same line II author of a series of drawings of subjects for illustration, and more recently appears as the depicting pioneer life in Cali- fornia, that are among the best things of the kind we have to show. In two or three of them, where a large number of fig- ures are introduced, the com- position and arrangement are admirable, and while the gen- eral effect is broad and com- plete, detail is given with scru- pulous exactness. Good work in figures, and occasionally in land- scape, comes from the brush of J. Alden Weir, and Frederick Dielman is a productive illus- trator whose subjects are found mainly in scenes from American life. Some important creative illustration has been done by Walter Shirlaw in his designs accompanying Goldsmiths The Hermit, and the same artist appears also as a deline- ator of every-day types of char- acter in various scenes of city life. Mr. Shirlaw, whose art education was obtained at Mu- nich, is one of the American painters who have treated the nude figure in illustration, and he shows in his work a strong feeling for the decorative side of design. One of the ablest of the young- er painters, whose methods have ENGRAVED BY HENRY WOLF. Altar Front of Fifth Century, in San Francesco Ravenna. (From an unpublished drawing by Edwin H. Blashfield.) 204 AMERICAN ILL US TRA TION OF TO-DAY. caused them to be grouped under the general denomination of Impressionists, is William S. Allen, who, among other things, has signed a series of spirited drawings illustrating an article on surf- bathing, that shows him to be a very skilful dranghtsman with the pen, and one who depends upon the simplest means in technic~4 expression. In the use of water - color he appears as a truthful observer of values, and his drawings in this medium are remarka ble for luminousness and atmospheric quality. Theodore Robinson, who is also among those who have imbibed the principles of Claude Monet in his land- scapes and pictures of outdoor life, and whose artistic temperament is one of delicate sensibility, is a somewhat irregular contributor to the magazines; but notably in some pictures of the lit- tle village of Barbizon, where Millet, Rousseau, and other great men of the Fontaineblean group lived and worked, Winter Evening. (rrom a drawing by J. II. Twaclitman, publiehed in 5cRvaNrnts MAGAZINE.) AMERICAN ILLUSTRATION OF TO-DAY. 205 A Sardine Booth. (From a drawing by Theodore Robinson, to illustrate The Pardon of Ste. Anne DAuray, published in SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE.) he gives evidence of the possession of a a number of portrait studies from life; refined artistic sense, and of the qualities and by Wyatt Eaton, whose black and most valuable in drawing for reproduc- white work possesses much of the dis- tionsimplicity and directness of ex- tinction that marks his portraits in color pression. (see the drawing by Mr. Eaton on page Portraits are so often engraved for 206). Of course, it must not be for- illustrative purposes, from photographs gotten that the illustrated periodicals fre- or paintings, or from nature, that there quently contain character sketches that are not many drawings in this branch in one sense belong in the portrait class of illustration to point to in current of illustrations, but the place for their work. Some excellent heads in pencil consideration is not in this part of our and in charcoal have appeared by J. review, which is meant to include only Carroll Beckwith, who is an accoin- the work of the painter - illustrators as plished draughtsman, and whose mod- distinguished from that of the large body elling with the point is especially clever; of artists whom we are accustomed t& by John W. Alexander, who has made regard as illustrators pure and simple. ASLEEP UPON THE GRASS. By E/i~a Woodworth. UPoN the warm and fragrant grass I lay; Above me towered the whispering maple-tree (Whose voice, when storms march past, is like the sea), And round me was the throng of Summer-Day: Thin gnats, and dusk ephemera, at play; Tossed yellow butterfly and banded bee The large-eyed robins came and looked at me, Then briskly hopped, content, about the brae. Wee, swinging spiders slid down mist-threads, nigh; Grim, hurried ants across my palm would pass, The shortest way, and lady-bugs, unshy; Beetles came close, with backs like hammered brass, For fear had left the elves that walk or fly They said, She is asleep upon the grass.

Eliza Woodworth Woodworth, Eliza Asleep Upon The Grass 206-207

ASLEEP UPON THE GRASS. By E/i~a Woodworth. UPoN the warm and fragrant grass I lay; Above me towered the whispering maple-tree (Whose voice, when storms march past, is like the sea), And round me was the throng of Summer-Day: Thin gnats, and dusk ephemera, at play; Tossed yellow butterfly and banded bee The large-eyed robins came and looked at me, Then briskly hopped, content, about the brae. Wee, swinging spiders slid down mist-threads, nigh; Grim, hurried ants across my palm would pass, The shortest way, and lady-bugs, unshy; Beetles came close, with backs like hammered brass, For fear had left the elves that walk or fly They said, She is asleep upon the grass. THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE: ITS WORK IN THE RELIEF OF VESSELS IN DISTRESS. By Lieutenant Percy W. Thompson, U. S. N. M. PROBABLY many of your readers have seen in the newspapers, in the latter part of November of each year, the announcement that certain rev- enue - cutters had been ordered by the President to cruise along our dangerous and rock-bound coast in search of and to aid distressed vessels. But how the cutters render aid, how far off shore they go, how often they go into port, and even what size and class of vessel a revenue-cutter is, are questions very few persons living in inland towns could an- swer. By an act of Congress of December 22, 1837, the President is authorized to cause any suitable number of public vessels adapted to the purpose to cruise upon the coast in the severe portion of the season, and to afford such aid to distressed navigators as their circumstances may require. After the passage of the act a frigate, a sloop- of-war, and three brigs of the navy were ordered on that service with right of the cutters. The naval vessels proved to be too large for the coast service and were withdrawn. From this time the protection of commerce in this regard devolved upon the revenue - cutters, which have been employed nuder the act during every winter up to the pres- ent time, with such satisfactory results as to earn for the service generally a deserved popularity, especially with all persons connected with the maritime interests of the country. The latter part of November, each year, the commanding officers of certain revenue-cutters receive from the Secre The Revenue Cutter Levi Woudbury. (After a photograph by Augustine H. Folsom.)

Lieutenant Percy W. Thompson, U.S.R.M. Thompson, Percy W., Lieutenant U.S.R.M. The Revenue-Cutter Service. I.. Its Work In The Relief Of Vessels In Distress 207-211

THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE: ITS WORK IN THE RELIEF OF VESSELS IN DISTRESS. By Lieutenant Percy W. Thompson, U. S. N. M. PROBABLY many of your readers have seen in the newspapers, in the latter part of November of each year, the announcement that certain rev- enue - cutters had been ordered by the President to cruise along our dangerous and rock-bound coast in search of and to aid distressed vessels. But how the cutters render aid, how far off shore they go, how often they go into port, and even what size and class of vessel a revenue-cutter is, are questions very few persons living in inland towns could an- swer. By an act of Congress of December 22, 1837, the President is authorized to cause any suitable number of public vessels adapted to the purpose to cruise upon the coast in the severe portion of the season, and to afford such aid to distressed navigators as their circumstances may require. After the passage of the act a frigate, a sloop- of-war, and three brigs of the navy were ordered on that service with right of the cutters. The naval vessels proved to be too large for the coast service and were withdrawn. From this time the protection of commerce in this regard devolved upon the revenue - cutters, which have been employed nuder the act during every winter up to the pres- ent time, with such satisfactory results as to earn for the service generally a deserved popularity, especially with all persons connected with the maritime interests of the country. The latter part of November, each year, the commanding officers of certain revenue-cutters receive from the Secre The Revenue Cutter Levi Woudbury. (After a photograph by Augustine H. Folsom.) 208 THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. tary of the Treasury what are termed winter-cruising orders. These orders are issued by the President of the United States, the Secretary of the Treasury, and the Chief of the Revenue Marine Division. They direct the com- mander of the cutter to make prepara- tions to cruise for the relief of dis- tressed vessels; to take on board such provisions, fuel, and water as can be con- veniently stowed, and in case the marine underwriters desire to place clothing, provisions, or other supplies on board for shipwrecked crews, to take charge of them agreeably to their instructions. Thus prepared the cutter is ordered to cruise over her designated district from December 1st to March 31st, keeping generally as close to the land as the safety of the vessel will permit, exercis- ing due diligence and discretion in the search for distressed vessels. The cut- ter generally cruises near the land in order to lessen the chances of passing unseen a vessel ashore in need of help. The cutter is ordered not to go into port oftener than compelled by stress of weather, want of supplies, or other ne- cessity. She is ordered, in all cases re- quiring aid or relief, to afford such as~ sistance as may be needed. The cost of supplies furnished to distressed vessels~ the cost of fuel expended in rendering any assistance, and the estimated dam- age done to hawsers in towing, are paid by the owners of the assisted vessels to the Collector of Customs at the cutters head-quarters. A full and circumstan- tial report of each case of assistance rendered is filled out on blanks fur- nished for the purpose, and transmitted to the Secretary of the Treasury from the first port of arrivaL The navigating officer of each cutter is required to pre- pare a chart of the vessels cruising dis- trict, on which chart he lays down tracks representing all the runs made during the winters cruising. This chart is forwarded to the Treasury Depart- ment and filed. Of the thirty-five vessels of the Rev- enue Marine now in commission, only eight are designated by the President as winter-cruising vessels. These are the Levi Woodbury, with head-quarters at Eastport, Me., and cruising from the St. Croix River to Cape Elizabeth, Me.; the Alexander J. Dallas, with head-quar- ters at Portland, Me., and cruising from South-West Harbor, Me., to Cape Ann, Mass.; the Albert Gallatin, with head- quarters at Boston, Mass., and cruis- ing from Portsmouth, N. H., to Woods Hole, Mass. ; the Samuel Dexter, with head-quarters at Newport, R. I., and cruising ?rom Woods Hole to ~,~Thite stone, L. I; the U. S. Grant, with head- quarters at New York, and cruising from New London, Conn., to Dela- ware Breakwater, keeping outside of Long Island; the Alexander Hamilton, with head-quarters at Norfolk, Ya., and cruising from Delaware Breakwater to Cape Hatteras; the William H. Craw- ford, with head-quarters at Baltimore, and cruising in Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries; the Schuyler Colfax, with head-quarters at Wilmington, N. C., and cruising from Body Island, N. C., to Georgetown, S. C. It will be seen that~ in some cases the cruising district of one cutter overlaps that of another, so that portions of the coast are patrolled by two cutters. All the winter-cruising cutters, except the Colfax and Crawford, are steam- propellers. The two latter are side- wheel steamers. In respect to size the Dallas is the smallest, being only 179 net tons measurement; the Dexter comes next with 188 tons, the Gallatin is 212, the Hamilton 223, the Grant 262, the Crawford 265, the Woodbury 330, and the Colfax 369 tons. All of these vessels are slow, not one of them being able to steam more than ten or twelve knots at full speed, and most pf them not over nine or ten knots. All of the above-mentioned fleet carry more or less sail, sufficient in the case of all, except the Crawford and Colfax, to handle them safely in all kinds of weather, in the event of their machinery becoming disabled. The sister ship to the smallest of the fleet made the voyage from New York to San Francisco, a dis- tance of nearly 16,000 miles, in perfect safety, most of the way, of course, under saiL The Grant is bark-rigged, the Woodbury, Gallatin, and Hamilton are topsail schooners, and the Dexter, Dal- las, Colfax, and Crawford are fore-and- aft schooners, carrying fore- and main- sails, jib, and fore- and main-staysails. THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. 209 The Grant, Gallatin, Hamilton, and Col- fax are iron, vessels, the rest wooden. Each cutter carries four boats and enough life-preservers for one boats crew. None of the cutters mentioned in this article is provided with a steam- launch. Each cutter carries a supply of rifles or muskets, revolvers and cutl sses, be- sides a small battery of from one to four guns, generally composed of 20- pound or 24-pound Dahlgren howitzers. Several of the vessels are now supplied with 3-inch breech-loading rifled guns in place of the Dahlgren howitzers. Eight officers and a crew of from thirty to thirty-five men is the usual complement for each vessel. The crews are composed largely of foreigners usually Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians. Men of these nationalities are found to be excellent sailors, obedient, amenable to discipline, trustworthy, and peculiarly capable of withstanding the cold and hardships to which they are necessarily subjected. The crews are divided into various rates, according to the duties that are to be performed, each vessel car- rying 1 boatswain, 1 carpenter, 1 master- at-arms, 2 quartermasters, 2 coxswains, from 10 to 14 seamen, 1 cabin steward, 1 wardroom steward, 1 ships cook, 2 first-class boys, 2 second-class boys, 4 firemen, and 2 coal-passers. During November the cutters prepare for the arduous work of winter cruising. The battery is run in, trained fore and aft, and securely lashed, or stowed away in the hold. One of the light boats is put ashore, to make room for a surf- boat, with air-tight compartments, spe- cially adapted to work in high seas and for landing in the surf. The yards and light spars are sent down and stowed ashore until spring. Sometimes stump topmasts and jib-booms are rigged in place of the long ones, thus reducing the tendency to roll and pitch, and en- abling the vessel to steam to windward with less resistance. Enough sail, how- ever, is always retained to handle the vessel without steam. A fresh sup- ply of towing - hawsers, heaving - lines, ropes, oars, boat-gear, etc., is procured. Masts, sails, rigging, boats, steering- gear, ground - tackle, pumps, and, in fact, all parts of the vessel are carefully VOL. XL22 examined and repaired, or renewed if necessary. The chief engineer and his assistants thoroughly inspect all por- tions of the machinery and make them, as far as human foresight can, capable of sustaining the severe strain to which they are soon to be put. Supplies of coal, water, provisions, and ship chand- lery are taken on board. A heavy iron ice-breaker is never forgotten if the winter is likely to be severe. The ice- breaker is made of i-inch iron, and is V-shaped. It extends about eighteen inches below the water-line, and the same distance above it, and fits over the cutwater, to which it is secured by five heavy chains. Three years ago one of the New England cutters was obliged to work in such heavy ice, while assist- ing vessels, that her ice - breaker was twice rendered entirely useless; the sec- ond time it was twisted and worn so badly that a new one had to be procured. In addition to the damage to her ice- breaker, the same vessel had nearly all the copper near the water - line stripped off, her gripe torn off, the for- ward planks near the water - line worn entirely through, and her propeller so badly bent and twisted that a new one was necessary. On December 1st the cutter sails on her long cruise. Her captain is in the pilot-house. The officer of the deck, hav- ing laid aside his handsome uniform un- til spring, buttons his great-coat closely about him, dons his fur cap and gloves, takes the weather side of the bridge with marine glass in hand, and begins his vigilant lookout. A quartermaster on the lee side of the bridge, also with a good marine glass, assists in the search. From now until April 1st, whenever the cutter is cruising, at least two, and frequently four, pairs of glasses are al- most constantly sweeping the horizon on the lookout for vessels in distress. Many a poor mariner with his sails blown away, ground-tackle gone, leak- ing badly, heavily iced up, food-lockers empty, or perhaps out of his reckoning, sights the revenue-cutter in the distance bearing down upon him, and experiences feelings which a landsman cannot prop- erly appreciate. In addition to feeding the hungry, saving the imperilled, and guiding the 210 THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. lost, it is also the cutters duty to sup- press mutinies, prevent smuggling, en- force the neutrality laws and the qua- rantine regulations, protect merchant vessels from piratical attacks, protect wrecked property, and guard the timber reserves of the IJuited States against depradations. The constant and fre- quent inspection of the vast fleet of merchant vessels that trades along our coast forms a very important duty of the service, and one which, if not per- formed, would be followed by a very general neglect of the customs and navigation laws. Even with the rigid and constant inspections, from one to two thousand violations are detected each year, and reported to the proper authorities. It is not alone in the ex- amination of the ships documents, and the ascertaining that she has no smug- gled articles on board, that she is en- gaged in the trade for which she is licensed, that her marine documents are in force, that her regularly authorized captain is in command, etc., that the importance of the boarding duty is most strikingly shown. Of the twenty-five thousand or thirty thousand vessels that are every year boarded and thor- oughly examined by officers of the rev- enue-cutter service, many are found to have side-lights, anchor-bights, or fog signals of an efficiency far below what is deemed safe by the Government. These faults are corrected, and thus one of the greatest dangers of the sea, collision, is mitigated to a great degree. The benefits of the increased safety thus effected are shared, not only by the sea- faring man, but also by that immense portion of the travelling public that selects our coastwise steamers as a means of conveyance from place to place. The constant patrolling of the coast enables the cutters promptly to discover and report to the proper au- thorities the absence or imperfection of buoys, spindles, light-ships, and other aids to navigation. Although all the cutters perform use- ful and meritorious work, the two sta- tioned on the Maine coast have greater opportunities for rendering assistance than all the rest combined. Of the five hundred and twenty-six distressed ves- sels assisted by the entire service dur ing the fiscal year ending June 30, 1888, over four hundred were assisted by the Maine cutters. The large num- ber of shoals, reefs, rocks, and islands lying off this coast, combine with the very strong tides, high winds, fog, vapor, and ice, to render navigation along it as dangerous as on any other in the world. The fleet of merchant vessels that passes along the coast of Maine is im- mense, and in addition there is one of the largest fishing fleets in the world. These latter vessels are obliged to get their fish to market as soon as possible after they are caught, and hence they arrive on the coast from the fishing banks in all kinds of weather. In sum- mer they have dense fogs to contend with; in winter, vapor, thick snow- storms, ice, high winds, and rough seas. Frequently they become so iced up that they are unmanageable. Many of the reefs, rocks, and islands are out of the track of the coastwise steamers, are never visited by tugs, and cannot be seen from the few life-saving stations on the mainland. But for the cutters, many of the poor fellows wrecked on these isolated reefs would perish miser- ably from cold, exposure, and hunger. Vessel masters on this coast usually select the inside passages and channels among the islands, in order to avoid the high seas and winds which they would have to encounter off the coast. Ves- sels are frequently caught in these pas- sages and frozen in; they are also fre- quently frozen up in the harbors. The cutters keep these passages and harbors open as long as possible. They cut out vessels that are frozen in, and warn ves- sels that are discovered approaching closed passages and harbors. Assistance is rendered, as far as pos- sible, in accordance with the needs of the distressed vessel. Vessels ashore are hauled afloat, and towed to a safe harbor; those frozen in are cut out and towed to open water; those in need of water, provisions, or medicine are sup- plied; those out of their reckoning get necessary sailing directions; the dis- abled ones are towed to a safe harbor where repairs can be made, and those that are short-handed by reason of ill- ness or death are supplied with enough THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. 211 officers and men to work them into port. In rendering assistance cutters are positively prohibited from interfer- iiig with private enterprise. Life on a revenue-cutter during win- ter cruising is one of hardship and dan- ger. It is a life of constant exposure to all kinds of weather, and is so trying that only men of strong and robust con- stitutions can safely undergo it. Even in these not infrequently are sown the seeds of disease. One of the greatest dangers the reve- nue officer is called upon to encounter is boat duty. This he has to perform in all sorts of weather. Fog, snow- storm, cold, high wind, or rough sea, is seldom considered a sufficient reason for neglecting to board a vessel bound in from a foreign port. Such a vessel has usually to be boarded while under waya very difficult and dangerous undertaking, requiring the exercise of experienced judgment, prompt decision, great coolness, and considerable pluck. While on board the vessel, examining her papers, certifying to her manifest, etc., she has probably carried the board- ing officer at least two or three miles from his vessel, and he may have to make the best of his way back to her in the teeth of a strong head-wind, high sea, driving snow-storm, and with, per- haps, the added difficulty, if not danger, of approaching night. When rowing in the teeth of a high wind it is no un- usual thing for the boats crew to be- come so exhausted that no headway can be made. In such a case the boat rows directly to leeward of the cutter, from which a life-buoy attached to a long line is thrown. It is quickly swept to leeward, picked up by the boat, the line made fast to the bow, and the boat hauled alongside. Sometimes he finds it impossible to return to the cutter, and he is obliged to seek shelter on some friendly vesseL Managing a boat in the surf is perhaps as difficult and dangerous a duty as reve- nue officers are called upon to perform. Much of the supplies for the houses of refuge on the east coast of Florida are taken to them by revenue-cutters. All these supplies have to be landed through the surf on as exposed and dangerous a beach as any in the world. That no lives have yet been sacrificed, and no property lost in this work, speaks volumes for the skill of revenue officers as surf-men. Running a line to a vessel ashore or in distress requires skill and courage of a no mean order. True it is that but few revenue officers have lost their lives in the discharge of this duty, but it is equally true that an officer must indeed be young in the service who has not sev- eral times stood face to face with death. SOME TYPICAL RESCUES BY THE REVENUE-CUTTERS. By Samuel A. Wood. NOT less hardy than the rough-and- ready surfmen of the Life-saving Ser- vice who patrol our coast day and night are the officers and crews of the cruising cutters, who look so fine in sunny ports, and it is the purpose of this article to recall a few of their adventures and heroic deeds. Many acts of heroism are frequently performed in the routine of duty, and the world hears nothing of them. Not a few of these officers are the descendants of sturdy captains of old American clippers that made the gridiron a bit of bunting frequently seen and honored in ports of the Old World long ago. They have a strong hereditary love for the life they have chosen, and a coolness in time of danger characteristic of their illustrious pro- genitors. Such an officer was Second Lieutenant John U. Rhodes, of the cut- ter Dexter. His father was the skipper of the famous California packet Golden Fleece, and aboard of her, when a mere boy, he began his career as a sea-rover. His matchless courage in the disaster to the steamship City of Columbus, of the Savannah Line, off Gay Head, the west- ernmost cape of Marthas Vineyard, on January 14, 1884, won him the plaudits

Samuel A. Wood Wood, Samuel A. The Revenue-Cutter Service. II. Some Typical Rescues By The Revenue Cutters 211-219

THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. 211 officers and men to work them into port. In rendering assistance cutters are positively prohibited from interfer- iiig with private enterprise. Life on a revenue-cutter during win- ter cruising is one of hardship and dan- ger. It is a life of constant exposure to all kinds of weather, and is so trying that only men of strong and robust con- stitutions can safely undergo it. Even in these not infrequently are sown the seeds of disease. One of the greatest dangers the reve- nue officer is called upon to encounter is boat duty. This he has to perform in all sorts of weather. Fog, snow- storm, cold, high wind, or rough sea, is seldom considered a sufficient reason for neglecting to board a vessel bound in from a foreign port. Such a vessel has usually to be boarded while under waya very difficult and dangerous undertaking, requiring the exercise of experienced judgment, prompt decision, great coolness, and considerable pluck. While on board the vessel, examining her papers, certifying to her manifest, etc., she has probably carried the board- ing officer at least two or three miles from his vessel, and he may have to make the best of his way back to her in the teeth of a strong head-wind, high sea, driving snow-storm, and with, per- haps, the added difficulty, if not danger, of approaching night. When rowing in the teeth of a high wind it is no un- usual thing for the boats crew to be- come so exhausted that no headway can be made. In such a case the boat rows directly to leeward of the cutter, from which a life-buoy attached to a long line is thrown. It is quickly swept to leeward, picked up by the boat, the line made fast to the bow, and the boat hauled alongside. Sometimes he finds it impossible to return to the cutter, and he is obliged to seek shelter on some friendly vesseL Managing a boat in the surf is perhaps as difficult and dangerous a duty as reve- nue officers are called upon to perform. Much of the supplies for the houses of refuge on the east coast of Florida are taken to them by revenue-cutters. All these supplies have to be landed through the surf on as exposed and dangerous a beach as any in the world. That no lives have yet been sacrificed, and no property lost in this work, speaks volumes for the skill of revenue officers as surf-men. Running a line to a vessel ashore or in distress requires skill and courage of a no mean order. True it is that but few revenue officers have lost their lives in the discharge of this duty, but it is equally true that an officer must indeed be young in the service who has not sev- eral times stood face to face with death. SOME TYPICAL RESCUES BY THE REVENUE-CUTTERS. By Samuel A. Wood. NOT less hardy than the rough-and- ready surfmen of the Life-saving Ser- vice who patrol our coast day and night are the officers and crews of the cruising cutters, who look so fine in sunny ports, and it is the purpose of this article to recall a few of their adventures and heroic deeds. Many acts of heroism are frequently performed in the routine of duty, and the world hears nothing of them. Not a few of these officers are the descendants of sturdy captains of old American clippers that made the gridiron a bit of bunting frequently seen and honored in ports of the Old World long ago. They have a strong hereditary love for the life they have chosen, and a coolness in time of danger characteristic of their illustrious pro- genitors. Such an officer was Second Lieutenant John U. Rhodes, of the cut- ter Dexter. His father was the skipper of the famous California packet Golden Fleece, and aboard of her, when a mere boy, he began his career as a sea-rover. His matchless courage in the disaster to the steamship City of Columbus, of the Savannah Line, off Gay Head, the west- ernmost cape of Marthas Vineyard, on January 14, 1884, won him the plaudits 212 THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. of a continent and promotion in his pro- fession. No brighter instance of the valor and seamanship of the Revenue Marine officers may be found than that exhibited by the men of the Dexter at this memorable wreck. The City of Columbus left Boston for Savannah, on Thursday, January 17, 1884, with eighty-two passengers and a crew of forty-five persons; she was a stanch iron vessel of nearly two thousand tons, and was commanded by Captain S. E. Wright, who had made innumer- able passages through the treacherous waters of Vineyard Sound, and was fa- miliar with their every reef and shoal Many of the steamships passengers were invalids, going south to escape the rigors of a northern winter, and win back lost health. The night was cold, and here and there in the quiet sky stars were visible. A gale was whist- ling out of the west, lashing up a high head-sea. When the vessel was within half an hours sail of the promontory of Gay Head, and less than an hour from the open ocean, Captain Wright went below, leaving Quartermaster Roderick McDonald and Second Mate Edward Harding in charge of the pilot-house. The course of the steamship was south- west by south. Less than a minute be- fore she struck the man on lookout forward rushed into the pilot-house and exclaimed tremulously that the Devils Bridge buoy was close on the port bow. Devils Bridge is a double ledge of sub- merged rocks abreast of Gay Head light. The outer ledge is an eighth of a mile from the mainland, and on either side is very deep water. It has been the scene of many wrecks, the most recent of which was that of the United States war - vessel Galena. When the two men in the pilot-house of the City of Columbus realized the proximity of the terrible reef, they were for a mo- ment nearly unnerved. The lookout had barely told the danger before the keel of the steamship grated on the ledge. The second mate ordered the quarter- master to put the wheel to port. The order came too late. Again the vessels keel thumped on the reef. The force of the impact was so slight at first that only a few of the passengers were awakened. Captain Wright felt the gentle jar, and supposing he had run down some small sailing craft, he sprang from his bed and ran to the pilot-house, repeating the order of the second mate, Hard aport! the moment he saw what had happened. It was about three oclock in the morning. The captain saw the Gay Head light on the port bow through the land haze. He believed at first that he was not so fast on the reef that he could not work off. He signalled the engineer to back at full speed and threw the wheel over to star- board. The effort was unavailing. Then he ordered the men forward to hoist the jib, hoping to cant the vessels head to starboard into deeper water. She swung off a few points and then swerved back again. While these attempts were being made to release her from the deadly grip of the reef, not a dozen of the pas- sengers knew what had happened, and few of the crew realized their danger. As a last resort Captain Wright deter- mined to try to pass over the obstruc- tion, and he gave the engineer the sig- nal to go ahead. The steamship only pounded more on the reef. By this time all the passengers had been awakened. The purser and his assistant had gone around knocking on their state-room doors, ordering them to get up, saying that the vessel was ashore. Supplementing the verbal warnings, the passengers heard the roar of the wild sea on the reef, and throwing whatever outer garments were nearest around them, they hurried into the saloon. Many were congregated there with grave faces, mutely looking questions that they feared to ask, when the captain, who had abandoned the pilot-house, came down among them and told them what all captains of sinking ships tell their passengers, that they would be saved, but that they had better put on life-preservers anyhow. He calmed the fears of many, but he was hardly through talking when a cataract of freezing water poured down the com- panionway among them and created a panic. They crowded up the stairs and rushed out on deck. At this instant a towering sea roared athwart the ship, and every woman and child, and half of the men aboard her, were swept away. Before the giant wave struck her, about THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. 213 forty men had climbed into the rigging. Living on deck was impossible after- ward. There was a great gash in the ships port side, and sea after sea broke across her. Two boats were launched and dashed to pieces against her iron sides. The benumbed men in the rig- ging watched the Gay Head light, gleaming like an evil eye, until it was lost in the whiteness of the coming day. Now and then a body floated out of the cabin and was borne away on the foamy waves. Their hearts beat high with hope for a little time just after daylight, when they saw a steamer three miles away, bound to the westward. She was the Glaucus. Her captain did not notice that there were men in the rig- ging of the wreck, and he kept on his course. Hope in the hearts of some of the men vanished with the Glaucus, and they let go their hold on the ratlines and dropped into the sea. A boat was seen coming out from Gay Head Point at half-past ten oclock. It was manned by the Indian life-savers. They dared not approach near, as their boat would have been smashed by the floating wreckage or against the wreck itself. They shouted to the men in the rigging to jump. Six of them accepted the invi- tation and were picked up by the Indians. The boat returned to the wreck and saved others in the same way. The Dexter was laboring to the east- ward through the heavy seas while the brave Indians were working at the wreck. She came within sight of the high land of Gay Head soon after dawn. It was Lieutenant Rhodess watch. He saw through his glass the dim outlines of a vessels masts, slanting, as if she were ashore. He reported his discovery to Captain Gabrielson, and the Dexter was headed in the direction of Gay Head under all steam. As she drew nearer to the wreck, a score of men were discerned clinging to the rigging above water. All hands were called, and preparations were made for launch- ing the boats. The Dexter steamed to windward of the wreck, and the cutter was swung out on the davits and lowered into the turbulent water, with Lieuten- ant Rhodes in command. It flew to leeward on a tall wave toward the wreck. The boats crew pulled carefully, and when just under the lee of the rigging to which some of the survivors were clinging, the lieutenant ordered them to jump, assuring them that they would be saved. Thirteen men trusted their lives to him. Everyone was picked up. Two men remained dangling in the rig- ging, apparently unconscious. The plucky lieutenant determined to save them, if they had enough vitality left to stand transferrence to the cutter. It would have been courting death to have gone near enough in the cutter to take the exhausted men in the rigging off. There was only one other way to help them. Lieutenant Rhodes adopted that. He fastened a line around his waist and boldly plunged into the riot of frigid waters. A piece of wreckage struck him, and the men in the cutter, fearful for his life, dragged him back on board. He was undismayed by the ac- cident, and went overboard again. This time he reached the wreck, got the men from the rigging and brought them with him to the cutter. They died after be- ing put aboard the Dexter. After the launching of the cutter, the Dexter steamed to leeward of the wreck and anchored, in order to pick the cutter up. Her anchor - chain was tough and her holding-ground good, or she would have been unequal to the task of facing the heavy seas, into which she dipped her prow at frequent intervals. Lieutenant Kennedy had gone out in the Dexters gig with a volunteer crew to assist his daring brother-officer. He could not get near the wreck because of the light- ness of his boat, but he saved men who had drifted to leeward of the cutter, and picked up several bodies. The gallantry of the Dexters officers and crew received ample recognition. The Legislature of Connecticut, Lieu- tenant Rhodess native State, thanked him; the Humane Society of Massachu- setts gave him its gold medal, and the President of the United States ordered him to be advanced twenty-one numbers in his grade. Captain Gabrielson also received a medal from the Humane So- ciety, and certificates were awarded to the other officers. Each of the crew re- ceived a money reward. Congress rec- ognized the rescue in joint resolutions, 214 TIlE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. and the Secretary of the Treasury made it the theme of a congratulatory circular, which was read at muster on every vessel in the service. Many of the rescues accomplished by the cutters have been in conjunction with the men of the Life Saving Service. Probably the most thrilling event of this nature was the succor of the crew of the three-masted schooner Ada Barker, from an isolated rock near Outer Green Island, on January 13, 1891, by the men of the cutter Woodbury, commanded by Captain A. A. Fengar. The rock is called the Junk of Pork, and is one of the most dangerous on the Maine coast. It rises precipitously to a height of nearly fifty feet from the surface of the sea, and is encompassed with countless bowlders and jagged reefs. The Wood- bury steamed out of Portland on January 12th on her mission of deliverance. A southeasterly gale, which whipped up lofty beam seas, compelled her to pro- ceed slowly. She rolled bulwarks under now and then, and the seas washed across her decks. A cannon got adrift, but it was secured before it had a chance to do any damage. The Junk of Pork was one of the first objects of anxious observation by the officer on watch. It was hidden much of the time in a smother of foam and spray from the seas that broke in frosty shreds against its vertical sides, and swirled in chalky masses around its base. The officer thought he saw dark forms in a state of frantic activity on the flat top of the rock. A glass was levelled at the forms and they were made out distinctly to belong to six men. Two of them were flourish- ing shirts on sticks, and the others were waving their arms. The cutter was headed for the rock, and her men saw, in an interval when it was not en- veloped in spray, the shapeless outlines of a wreck far up against its windward side. The cutters whistle screeched en- couragement to the men on the rock, and she cruised around until night, hoping the sea would abate enough to permit her to drift in a line to the rock and pull one or more of the shipwrecked men through the breakers. But the sea still raged at dark, and the officers held a consultation in the pilot-house and de cided to steam back to Portland, procure dories, and make an effort to land on the rock at dawn of the next day. The Woodhurys boats, Captain Fengar said in his report of the rescue, could not have lived for a moment in the terrific breakers. It was an hour before day- break when the shivering castaways heard the welcome blasts of the cutters whistle. On her way out she had con- veyed the tidings of the wreck to the Cape Elizabeth Life-saving Station. She lay by the rock until daylight, sending up at short intervals vapory toots of en- couragement to the six anxious sailors. While her men were preparing to launch the dories and the white cutter, the life- boat frpm Cape Elizabeth, with her crew of yellow-jacketed men encircled with life-belts, hove in sight. Now, the cut- ter men looked upon the castaways as particularly their own meat (as one of the young officers expressed it), and they determined to make a strenuous effort to get to the rock first, even if they did have only ordinary open boats. The two cutters were dropped in a twinkling, and made a dash for the breakers. Captain Fengar made a little speech to the crew of the first cutter, which followed the buoyant dories. He said: Now, boys, we want you to get those men. You must not fail. God bless you! Lieutenant Howland, an old whaler, had charge of the cutter. Two seamen, who were originally as- signed to her were relieved, much to their disgust, to make room for Third Lieu- tenant J. H. Scott and Cadet Van Cott, who entreated Captain Fengar to let them go and pull at an oar. It was a splendid race for the peerless prize of human lives between the Woodburys boats and the life-boat. The crew of the life-boat were tired from the exertion of an eight-mile row through a choppy sea, and they were not able to cope with the fresh oarsmen of the Woodhury. The dory manned by Seamen Haskell and Gross was the first to reach the rock. It brought off one man and car- ried him safely to the Woodbury. The race between the white cutter and the life-boat was still on. The broad, belted backs of the life-savers bent like hickory bows under the stentorian encourage- ment of their captain, who stood in the THE kEt/ENUE-CUTTE!? SERf/ICE. stern-sheets vibrating his body to the swing of the oars. The men in the cutter pulled lustily, resolved not to let their chance of winning glory be snatched from them at the very moment when it seemed to be within their grasp. Their boat plunged into the breakers ahead of the life-boat and cleared a sub- merged reef on the crest of a comber. But she would have been swamped if Lieutenant Scott had not leaped into the freezing surf and held her against the return of the undertow. He disap- peared for a moment. Then he came up again, half frozen, but dauntless, with his hands on the cutters bow. The next roller landed her on a strip of rock. The life-savers hesitated on the verge of the breakers. They were deliberating whether they should shoot a line to the rock or risk landing. The intrepid ac- tion of the cutters crew decided them, and they headed for the rock. The stem of their boat was stove on a bowlder, and she became unmanageable. She was extricated from her peril by the men of the cutter, who dragged her up on the rock. The five rescued sailors were bundled into her and taken to the Wood- bury. They had been on the rock for forty hours, without shelter or food. The schooner had her sails blown away in a gale on January 11th, and had struck on the outer reef that night. Her bot- tom dropped out of her almost at the moment of impact. Her crew escaped from her by climbing up the foremast, which fell against the rock. The wreck of the wooden passenger steamship Metis, off Watch Hill, in Long Island Sound, on August 30, 1872, gave the officers and crew of the cutter Moc- casin an opportunity to display their courage and seamanship. The Metis was bound from New York to Provi- dence, with one hundred and four pas- sengers and a crew of fifty-two per- sons. She left New York on the after- noon of August 29th. A summer gale from the southeast, permeated with a driving rain, had churned the waters into a fury that would have been re- garded dangerous even by deep - wa- ter navigators. The little, lime - laden schooner Nettie Gushing was making her way down the Sound under short- ened sail, bound for New York. The two vessels met off Watch Hill. A mist had succeeded the rain, and the men on neither craft saw the other until colli- sion was inevitable. The bowsprit of the schooner rammed a hole in the steamers port side, a few feet forward of the line of the pilot-house. The vi- bration of the ship was so slight that not more than a dozen passengers were awakened. Captain Charles L. Burton, the Metiss commander, was not aware of the extent of her injury, as the men sent into the hold reported that she was not hurt below the water-line. The schooner, without bowsprit and head- gear, vanished astern in the darkness. The Metis was stopped for a moment, and her officers made an effort to find out the fate of the schooner. They concluded that she had gone down, and the Metis went on her course. Half an hour later the chief engineer reported that the vessel was making water rapid- ly, and that it would be a question of only a few minutes before the fires would be extinguished. The stewards were ordered to wake the passengers. This was done by smashing in the state- room windows. Nearly all hands had time to partially dress and get life-pre- servers. The women and children crowded in the cabin. The steamer was headed for the beach, but when she was within five miles of it she gave a lurch and went down, bow first, carrying thirty or forty people into the vortex. Three life-boats were launched. One was smashed against the steamers side. The others floated away, filled, as fre- quently happens on such occasions, largely with men. About fifty persons were on the hurricane-deck, which be- came detached from the hull as the steamer sank, and drifted off. The Moccasin was at Stonington, a few miles away. She received news of the tragedy from Watch Hill, where hundreds of summer residents had gath- ered, watching through glasses, and with the naked eye, the struggles of the shipwrecked ones. A northeast gale had succeeded the rain - laden south- caster, creating a high cross-sea, which broke over the Moccasins bows as she plunged toward the scene of the wreck. The hazardous work of lowering the 216 THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE.. boats was accomplished without acci- dent by the cutters skilful and nervy men. No vestige of the steamers hull was visible, but the water was strewn with her top hamper. The upper deck had broken to pieces, and clinging to them were half a hundred persons, more dead than alive. The Moccasins two boats picked up twenty-six who were alive, or in such a condition that they could be resuscitated. They also recovered fourteen bodies. On a bitter day in January, 1889, the looko~ts on the cutter Dallas, which was cruising along the Maine coast, saw protruding above the land vapor of Outer Green Island the topmasts of a vessel. It was thought at first on the cutter that the craft to which the masts belonged was under way. One of the officers made a more careful examina- tion of the masts, and noted that they were leaning toward the wind. But for this discovery the unseen and luckless stranger might have been passed. The Dallas was steered toward the island. Gradually, as she approached, the hull of the vessel materialized from the mist. She was a large Gloucester fishing schooner, the Melissa D. Bobbins. Her crew of eighteen men were seen gath- ered on the shore of the desolate isle, deliriously waving their arms and shout- ing for help. The surf-boat was lowered and the fishermen were rescued. They told the story of the wreck to their saviors. Their vessel was returning from a protracted cruise with a fine catch; bound for Portland. The skip- per lost his bearings in a dense snow- storm, during a howling gale, and came to grief on the rocky shore of Outer Green Island. Her sails were blown away the instant she struck, and within a few minutes her stern- and rudder- posts were pounded out of her. The high surf dashed in snowy masses across her decks. It seemed as if she would soon go to pieces, and the crew got some of the dories ready to launch. Several of them were crushed alongside, and the crew gave up hope of leaving the schooner. The gale moderated and the tide went down at dawn, and they saw the shore within easy roach. They made it without difficulty, but were lit- tle better off than they were on the schooner. All their provisions had been ruined, and as there was no shelter on the island, and the mainland was many miles away, their chance of being saved seemed somewhat gloomy. The day succeeding their rescue by the Dallas was one of the severest of the winter, and they would have perished but for the timely appearance of the cutter. In February, 1890, the Dallas sighted the British schooner Glen, ashore on one of the Duck Islands, small, desolate and remote from the Maine coast. She had been there a day, but was in no immediate danger of going to pieces. The Dallas bore down on her, took off her captain, and, at his request, left the crew on the island to save what they could of the cargo. The captain in- tended to return to the wreck the next day. A violent gale, accompanied by snow, arose during the night and con- tinued for twenty-four hours. While the storm was raging, attempting to rescue the Glens crew was out of the question, as the cutter could not live in the great seas combed up by the gale. The snow ceased falling on the morning of the second day, and, although the sea was still high and the wind fiercely blowing, the Dallas determined to make an effort to reach the shipwrecked men on the dreary, storm - beaten island. She bounded up and down the green declivities, whose wind-torn summits fell on her decks and dashed in spray against her spars and rigging, making her look like the mere spectre of her- self. She signalled to the poor fellows gathered on the beach that they would be saved as early as possible. There was no boat aboard the cutter fit to send ashore through the tremendous surf, and she steamed to Cranberry Island and brought back the surf-boat and the crew of the life-saving station. The shipwrecked men were found hud- dled under an old saiL Some of them were so much exhausted that they were unable to move, and were carried to the surf-boat, from which they were hoisted over the side of the cutter. Those who were able to walk were landed at South West Harbor. The others were taken to the Marine Hospital at Portland. THE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. 217 The perilous work of the cruising cut- ters is ably supplemented by that of the little harbor propellers of the Revenue Service. This is especially true of the trio of vessels stationed at New York, the Manhattan, the Washington, and the Chandler. The Manhattan is assigned to what is designated anchorage duty; that is, she keeps the channels of the East and North Rivers and the Bay clear of vessels, compelling them to anchor within the limit of the anchorage grounds laid down by the Government. Many collisions are thus prevented. She tows becalmed sailing craft out of the fairway, and makes steamers get out unassisted if they have steam up. Inci- dentally she does whatever life-saving may come in her way on her daily inside cruising. She has more than once gone to the relief of crews endan- gered by collisions in the Bay and rivers. A notable incident in the history of the cutter Chandler (until recently commanded by Captain H. D. Smith) occurred in the Lower Bay, on March 14, 1891. The Italian bark IJmberto Primo, while making port two days be- fore, went ashore in a thick fog on the Dry Romer, a dangerous shoal a few miles northeast of Sandy Hook, where many sturdier craft have met misfor- tune. A wrecking steamer went down and vainly essayed to haul the bark off. As the weather was mild, the captain and crew decided to stay aboard until the agents of the vessel sent down more help. A strong northwest wind arose on the evening of March 13th, and before dawn of the following day it had de- veloped into a fair-weather gale, stirring the seas into such a ferment that no boat from any of the wrecking tugs that hovered around could have been kept afloat for an instant in them. At noon the bark had pounded a hole in her starboard side, and the waves were leaping across her decks. Her crew were gathered on the poop under a sail that partly protected them from the showers of chilling spray that constant- ly covered the vessel. They made sup- plicating gestures to the men on the wrecking tugs, which could not go near enough to the shoal to take the Italians off. The life-savers of Sandy Hook saw the plight of the barks crew, and they telegraphed to the city for the cruising cutter Grant to come down and tow them out to the wreck in their surf- boats, as they could not row there from shore through wind-swept seas. The Grant was not in port, and Captain H. D. Smith, of the Chandler, which is no larger than an ordinary tug, was asked if he would take out the life-boats. He said he would. The Chandler was pre- paring to lay up for the night at the Battery. Although Chief Engineer Hedden had banked his fires, he had steam up in an hour, and down through the ragged seas the buoyant Chandler plunged toward Sandy Hook, with pilot John Bradley, a veteran of the service, at the wheeL Captain Smith passed the wreck on his way and signalled to the hapless sailors that he would bring them help. Seldom has so small a ves- sel entered into what is practically the open ocean in such a gale. Captain Smith put in toward the Hook, and, learning that the life-boats were around the point, he had the cutter headed that way. She had a tough battle with the seas, which sometimes leaped over her bows and crashed against her pilot- house. It is doubtful whether she would ever have been able to round the point. Fortunately she was not re- quired to do so. The ocean-tug Dalzell had anticipated her, and came out with both the surf-boats in tow. The Chand- ler accompanied the Dalzell to the wreck and helped to tow the boats to windward. The tide was unusually strong, and this made the work of the life-savers particularly hazardous. Twice the boats were nearly overwhelmed. They reached the Iark at last, took off the sailors and put them on the Dalzell, and then boarded the Chandler, which landed them at Sandy Hook. When the ferryboat Westfield blew up in her slip at the foot of Whitehall Street, the men of the Chandler and the Washington saved twenty passengers who were blown into the water. While in charge of her pilot, John McMath, at a great fire on the North River front, about twenty years ago, the Chandler pulled three ships and several smaller sailing vessels into the stream and saved them from destruction. 218 TAlE REVENUE-CUTTER SERVICE. The cutters that cruise in the waters of the polar zone have the hardest ex- perience of any of the Revenue Marine fleet. They are stationed at San Fran- cisco. They pierce the ice-clogged Arc- tic and the Bebring Sea searching for castaways from wrecked whalers, and pursuing violators of the revenue laws and the laws against seal poaching. They tow whalers caught on lee shores to good offings, supply them with medi- cine, and give the sick and injured medi- cal attention. The Corwin, on her re- turn from her cruise in 1884, brought to San Francisco ninety - eight ship- wrecked sailors. Lieutenant John E. Lutz, who ha4 been detailed in a whaleboat with two men by Captain Healy, of the Corwin, to look out for illegal scalers on Otter Isl- and, distinguished himself by captur- ing the German schooner Adele and running her to San Francisco, a dis- tance of 2,300 miles, in twenty-six days. Lieutenant Lutz seized the Adele at one oclock on the morning of September 1st. He discovered her at anchor off St. Paul Island and boarded her. Gus- tave Isaacson, her skipper, admitted that she was there for the purpose of sealing. Lieutenant Lutz took posses- sion of all the arms aboard and waited for the men who were ashore killing seals to return. They refused to get the Adele under way or to have any- thing to do with sailing her. They were ordered to step aside, and while the Lieutenant covered them with his repeating rifle, his own men worked the Adele into harbor. The Adeles crew consisted of five white men and eighteen Japanese, and her papers showed that she measured fifty Ikritish tons, and that she was built in Shanghai in 1877. Lieutenant Lutz detained five of the crew on board after the seizure and sent the rest ashore. He then used his prize, manned by a crew of natives, to chase a sealing schooner reported to be in the neighborhood. He gives the story of this chase in his report to Captain M. A. Healy, of the Corwin. He says that the stranger finally hove to when nine or ten miles off shore and waited for me. It was dusk when I drew near her, and her people could not distinguish the revenue flag until I was within one hun- dred yards of her. I then observed that the vessels name had been painted out. She immediately filled away and made all sail. My hail was answered by her people, who refused to give the schoon- ers name, and no attention was paid to the order to heave-to until boarded. I caused two shots to be fired across her bow and two into the upper part of her rigging, hailing her people after every shot and repeating the order for them to heave-to. Muttered imprecations were the only reply until after the fourth shot, when they fired into us. I then directed my men to aim lower, so as to rake the decks of the other vesseL I stopped the fire at intervals to see if she would heave-to. She fired five or six shots into us, which we returned with fifty or sixty rounds. We suf- fered no damage, and they probably re- ceived little or no injury, as they were all under cover. Darkness had set in, the wind freshened, and I finally aban- doned the chase. I saw no hope of being able to take the vessel with my small force, or at least of doing it ~with- out endangering the one already cap- tured. The Adele was unfit to go to sea in. Her timbers were rotten and her rud- der was merely hanging by the pintles. Lieutenant Lutz made an effort to run her to Ounalaska, but he was prevented by gales and fogs, and he then decided to risk the voyage to San Francisco. He feared to trust the deck to any of the Japanese, and, as his two white sailors were inexperienced, he was com- pelled to be up night and day. He kept on his rubber boots during the whole of the perilous trip, and never had a chance to change his wet clothes. The Adele was in such bad condition that her head could not be put to the sea in rough weather, and the Lieutenant was compelled to run her before every heavy gale. Her chronometer was use- less, as the record of its error and rate had been destroyed by Captain Isaac- son. After delivering his prize to the proper authorities in San Francisco, Lieutenant Lutz broke down and was dangerously ill for a long time. An old Indian deerman came aboard the bark Hunter, off Cape Behring, on June 8, 1887, with a piece of cedar SO IT IS TRUE. board on which was carved a rude in- scription, which Captain M. A. Healy, of the cutter Bear, then cruising in the Arctic, interpreted to be a message from the only survivor of the American whaling bark Napoleon, lost in Behring Sea in 1885. The Bear found the sea- man, J. B. Vincent, and brought him back to civilization. The natives who had taken care of him were rewarded by the captain with all the stores he could spare from the cutter. The following unromantic, but im- pressive, record, compiled under the direction of Captain L. G. Shepard, Chief of the Revenue Marine Service, shows the work of the cruising cutters for the decade ended June 30, 1890: Vessels assistedhauled off, towed A ,~ ~ into port, etc. ~ 0 Number of ~ Value of yes- persons ou ~ Number. sels with their board whose ~ ~ ~ o cargoes. lives were ~ imperilled. Z 1881 148 $2,166,882 1,291 141 1882 141 2,254,116 1,883 111 1883 224 4,885,115 2,491 60 1884 246 1,015,512 3,310 63 1885 214 5,568,043 2,542 60 1886 313 6,138,569 2,888 154 1881 201 4,969,450 3,106 42 1888 526 1,328,193 4,041 60 1889 122 2,541,221 1,021 26 1890 80 2,318,585 811 43 Totals 2,284 $46,381,012 22,896 160 SO IT IS TRUE. By Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. HEREs a friend who says that sorrow Comes to-day or comes to-morrow, Heres a longface who is moaning! Tell him death is far away! Let dull age go weep and pray: Heed not grief, the ghost there, groaning, Who would cloud the jocund day! Ah, they say that angui,sh found them, Men cut down with battle round them (Hear the boys there, gayly singing!) In some region far away! What care we who laugh to-day? Bring no tears, whateer youre bringing: Honor to the jocund day! Whats that sound that cools our laughter? Whats that form that follows after? Funeral music sadly sounded One more man is turned to clay. . Let dull age go weep and pray! Youth by death was neer confounded. Long shall shine our jocund day! Oh, my dear one, to my weeping Marble silence sternly keeping, Lying there in breathless blindness Death is never far away. . . Even youth can weep and pray! Lips that loved have lost their kindness; Dead are they, this bitter day! 219

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop Lathrop, Rose Hawthorne So It Is True 219-220

SO IT IS TRUE. board on which was carved a rude in- scription, which Captain M. A. Healy, of the cutter Bear, then cruising in the Arctic, interpreted to be a message from the only survivor of the American whaling bark Napoleon, lost in Behring Sea in 1885. The Bear found the sea- man, J. B. Vincent, and brought him back to civilization. The natives who had taken care of him were rewarded by the captain with all the stores he could spare from the cutter. The following unromantic, but im- pressive, record, compiled under the direction of Captain L. G. Shepard, Chief of the Revenue Marine Service, shows the work of the cruising cutters for the decade ended June 30, 1890: Vessels assistedhauled off, towed A ,~ ~ into port, etc. ~ 0 Number of ~ Value of yes- persons ou ~ Number. sels with their board whose ~ ~ ~ o cargoes. lives were ~ imperilled. Z 1881 148 $2,166,882 1,291 141 1882 141 2,254,116 1,883 111 1883 224 4,885,115 2,491 60 1884 246 1,015,512 3,310 63 1885 214 5,568,043 2,542 60 1886 313 6,138,569 2,888 154 1881 201 4,969,450 3,106 42 1888 526 1,328,193 4,041 60 1889 122 2,541,221 1,021 26 1890 80 2,318,585 811 43 Totals 2,284 $46,381,012 22,896 160 SO IT IS TRUE. By Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. HEREs a friend who says that sorrow Comes to-day or comes to-morrow, Heres a longface who is moaning! Tell him death is far away! Let dull age go weep and pray: Heed not grief, the ghost there, groaning, Who would cloud the jocund day! Ah, they say that angui,sh found them, Men cut down with battle round them (Hear the boys there, gayly singing!) In some region far away! What care we who laugh to-day? Bring no tears, whateer youre bringing: Honor to the jocund day! Whats that sound that cools our laughter? Whats that form that follows after? Funeral music sadly sounded One more man is turned to clay. . Let dull age go weep and pray! Youth by death was neer confounded. Long shall shine our jocund day! Oh, my dear one, to my weeping Marble silence sternly keeping, Lying there in breathless blindness Death is never far away. . . Even youth can weep and pray! Lips that loved have lost their kindness; Dead are they, this bitter day! 219 WASHINGTON ALLSTON AS A PAINTER. UNPUBLISHED REMINISCENCES OF HENRY GREENOUGH. glimpses given of Washington Aliston through the passages from his correspond- ence published in the last number of this Magazine are supple- mented by the following elaborate let- ter concerning the technical methods of Alistons painting, and his views as to the many difficult problems of his art, written by Henry Greenough in answer to the request of H. H. Dana, Sr., as a contribution to his proposed biography of Aliston. Much as it deals with the detail of the painters processes, it will have an interest for others than the stu- dent of technique. In the early stages of my acquaintance with Mr. Allston it was my good fortune to hear him describe his mode of pre- paring his palette for painting flesh. This led to a conversation on color, in the course of which he explained very minutely his system of coloring. As it was a subject on which he always dwelt with pleasure, and frequently recurred to, I have heard him describe his pro- cess some five or six times, very nearly in the same words; but as he often went into explanatory remarks suggested by questions interrupting him, I will en- deavor to give the result of these several conversations, using as nearly as pos- sible his phraseology, although the exact order of his remarks may not be pre- served. My present system, said he, is one which I have practised for the last fifteen years, and I may say that I am perfectly satisfied with it, because I know it is capable of producing far greater results than my lifetime will ever enable me to attain. I sometimes vary or modify my process according to my subject, but my general practice is on the same principle. If, for instance, I have a head to paint, I suppose it to be first accurately drawn in outline and dead-colored with black, white, and Indian red. This dead color I paint solidly, with a good body of color, and in a broad manner, that is, with no hard lines or attention to detail in form or color. The object of the dead color is to give the general effect of light and shade, and the masses, which should be made out accurately; so that in the next stage I shall not be obliged to think whether the eyebrows, for instance, are to be lowered or raised, but having arranged these points, my whole attention shall be given to the coloring and modelling of the head. For the next painting I prepare my palette thus: At the top I put a good lump of white; next to it some yellow (say yellow ochre, raw sienna, or Naples yellow, according to the complexion I am to paint). Then red (vermilion is the best, but I always put by it some Indian red and lake to strengthen the lowest tints if required), lastly, ultrama- rine blue, and by the side of it a little black. My palette, you perceive, now has white, black, and the three primitive colors. By admixture of white with yellow I form three tints of yellow in regular graduation from dark to light, and the same with the red and blue. These I call my virgin tints, and they form a regular scale of four different tints, from the lightest down to the crude color. Lastly, I take a little pure yellow, pure red, and pure blue, and mix them to a neutral hue, which comes as near to olive as any of the tertiaries. This is for the shadows. I used formerly to make two olives, one light and one darker, but that is unnecessary; a little Indian red, or vermilion and lake, deep- ened by black, serves to strengthen the shadows, if necessary, and comes in play to mark the deep shadow of the nostrils, the eyelids, and parting of the lips. I now take my canvas, on which I have dead-colored my head, and with a

Washington Allston. I. As A Painter - Unpublished Reminiscences Of Henry Greenough 220-230

WASHINGTON ALLSTON AS A PAINTER. UNPUBLISHED REMINISCENCES OF HENRY GREENOUGH. glimpses given of Washington Aliston through the passages from his correspond- ence published in the last number of this Magazine are supple- mented by the following elaborate let- ter concerning the technical methods of Alistons painting, and his views as to the many difficult problems of his art, written by Henry Greenough in answer to the request of H. H. Dana, Sr., as a contribution to his proposed biography of Aliston. Much as it deals with the detail of the painters processes, it will have an interest for others than the stu- dent of technique. In the early stages of my acquaintance with Mr. Allston it was my good fortune to hear him describe his mode of pre- paring his palette for painting flesh. This led to a conversation on color, in the course of which he explained very minutely his system of coloring. As it was a subject on which he always dwelt with pleasure, and frequently recurred to, I have heard him describe his pro- cess some five or six times, very nearly in the same words; but as he often went into explanatory remarks suggested by questions interrupting him, I will en- deavor to give the result of these several conversations, using as nearly as pos- sible his phraseology, although the exact order of his remarks may not be pre- served. My present system, said he, is one which I have practised for the last fifteen years, and I may say that I am perfectly satisfied with it, because I know it is capable of producing far greater results than my lifetime will ever enable me to attain. I sometimes vary or modify my process according to my subject, but my general practice is on the same principle. If, for instance, I have a head to paint, I suppose it to be first accurately drawn in outline and dead-colored with black, white, and Indian red. This dead color I paint solidly, with a good body of color, and in a broad manner, that is, with no hard lines or attention to detail in form or color. The object of the dead color is to give the general effect of light and shade, and the masses, which should be made out accurately; so that in the next stage I shall not be obliged to think whether the eyebrows, for instance, are to be lowered or raised, but having arranged these points, my whole attention shall be given to the coloring and modelling of the head. For the next painting I prepare my palette thus: At the top I put a good lump of white; next to it some yellow (say yellow ochre, raw sienna, or Naples yellow, according to the complexion I am to paint). Then red (vermilion is the best, but I always put by it some Indian red and lake to strengthen the lowest tints if required), lastly, ultrama- rine blue, and by the side of it a little black. My palette, you perceive, now has white, black, and the three primitive colors. By admixture of white with yellow I form three tints of yellow in regular graduation from dark to light, and the same with the red and blue. These I call my virgin tints, and they form a regular scale of four different tints, from the lightest down to the crude color. Lastly, I take a little pure yellow, pure red, and pure blue, and mix them to a neutral hue, which comes as near to olive as any of the tertiaries. This is for the shadows. I used formerly to make two olives, one light and one darker, but that is unnecessary; a little Indian red, or vermilion and lake, deep- ened by black, serves to strengthen the shadows, if necessary, and comes in play to mark the deep shadow of the nostrils, the eyelids, and parting of the lips. I now take my canvas, on which I have dead-colored my head, and with a WASHINGTON ALLSTON AS A PAINTER. 221 large brush, say as big as my thumb, but one which will come to a point, I lay in the shadows with olive, not thin, but with a good, firm body. With this olive I paint over the shaded side of the face; the shadows at the roots of the hair, or where the hair joins the flesh, under the eyebrows, nose, and lips. The half tints which join the shadows, such as the lower part of the lighted side of the face, and in general wherever the shadow becomes less posi- tive, I go over with olive more lightly. I then take another brush, such as I used for the olive (for I always keep one brush for the olive and another for the lighter tints), and taking on the end of it a little of the lowest of my three tints, that is, the lowest tint of yellow and white, red and white, and blue and white, I mix them on my palette with my brush only, not grinding them together with my knife, but, by a few turns of my brush, mingling them in a light and delicate manner. This broken tint I ap- ply to such parts as join the shadows. In the same manner I proceed with the middle tints, taking a little of each and gently mingling them I paint over all the portions bf the face which remain uncovered, with the exception of the highest lights. These I paint over with the three lightest tints, neutralized in the same manner as the others were. My head is now covered, and each of the three colors enters into the composition of the whole. In every part there is a blue, red, and yellow, as there is in flesh, even in the highest light. I should have remarked that, al- though I use each of the three colors in every part, I still endeavor to keep the character of the flesh. I keep the shad- ows neutral and the mass of light warm, i.e., with a predominance of reds and yellow rather than blue. This part of the process will occupy me, say half an hour. I have now not only the effect of light and shade, but the character of flesh, and the parts more accurately made out. It only remains to perfect the local colors and model up the detail. I find, for instance, that my picture has less red in the cheeks than the model has; I dip my brush into one of the virgin tints of red and break it in; if it is too light I try the next lower, and so on. The forehead may not have enough yellow; I break some in until I have corrected the deficiency in general. Wherever I find my picture wanting any color (on comparing it with my models) I touch in that color. It is real- ly wonderful how any color thus broken in will be in perfect harmony, owing to the neutrality of the irnpasto, that is, owing to its being touched into a body of color composed of three colors. It seems like magic, the effect is so strong and so true to nature. When I say that I paint my shadows in fiat with olive, you must not suppose that I leave them so; I endeavor to make my shadows as varied in color as my lights and half- tints. To be sure, shadows are gener- ally neutral in color, but if you look at the shaded side of the cheek, for in- stance, you will perceive red in some parts. You should break in red, then either pure vermilion or one of the lower tints. In fact I modify the whole of my shadows by breaking in pure col- orblue, red, or yellowjust as my eyes tell me that either of these colors is wanting. The only object of the first coat of olive is to lower the tone and neutralize the color of the tints which I afterward break in. And here I would remark that unless the shadows are painted sol- idly you can never make a brilliantly colored head. It is a very common er- ror that the shadows should be painted thin in order to get transparency. You may get a certain degree of transpa- rency by doing so, but then the whole will want force. Rubenss method of painting flesh, as described in Fields work on color, was faulty in this respect, as also in hav- ing streaks of separate colors, which always remind me of a prize - fighter, who has been bruised black and blue. The fact is, sir, IRubens was a liar, a splendid liar, I grant you, and I would rather lie like IRubens than to tell the truth in the poor, tame manner in which some painters do. His pictures are like the sophistical reasonings of a liar, to whom you have only to grant his premises and he will thereon erect a gorgeous fabric, but deny these prem- ises and it all falls to the ground. There is a traditionary saying of Rubens that 222 WASHINGTON ALLS TON AS A PAINTER. white is the poison of shadow in paint- ing. This is nearer the trnth in glazing than in the impasto or body-color paint- ing. The impasto cannot be true to nat- ure without the tints are modified by admixture of white. I often tonch into my last glazing even with pure color. In this case it becomes necessary to use tints very low in tone, sometimes even the crude vermilion, ochre, or blue. Sir William Beechey once remarked to Gainsborough that he had that day made a great discovery. It is one, said he, which I find enables me to produce great effects, and in your hands would, I think, work wonders. What is it? asked Gainsborough. Painting into glazing, sir, said Sir William. That is no news to me, said Gainsborough, but I thought I was the only man in England who knew the secret. This is a digression, however. I was speaking before of painting in body colors. It is very important in cover- ing the head, as I have already said, when you mix the three tints to do it lightly with your brush only. The mod- ern Italians mix their pearl tints with the palette-knife, which is death to all brilliancy of color. It makes mud of the tints at once. They no longer spar- kle to the eye, but become fiat as stale beer. By mingling them lightly with the brush you make a neutral tint of ten times the force of one ground up with the knife, and if you were to take a magnifying-glass and examine the tint you will find small particles of pure color which give great brilliancy. You must have observed the difference in lustre between silks woven from differ- ent-colored threads and those dyed with a compound hue. A purple silk woven of two sets of threads, one blue and the other red, cannot be matched by any plain silk-dyed purple. The first has a luminous appearance like the human complexion. This luminousness is the grand characteristic of flesh. It is what Titian calls the luce di dentro, or in- ternal light. When I first heard that expression of Titians it opened to me a world of light. It is common with painters to talk of the transparency of flesh; it is not transparent, but lumi- nous. When I was in Paris, a student, Hazlitt (author of Conversations with Northcote) was there painting a copy from Titian. We were examining the texture of the color, and he remarked upon the singularly varied character of the tints. It looks, said he, as if Titian had twiddled his colors. I dont know whether this expression strikes you as it did me. To me it is very ex- pressive, and first gave me the idea of catching up each of the three colors and merely twiddling them together instead of grinding them with the knife. I always endeavor to finish my im- pasto in one day. With ordinary dili- gence and success this may be easily done.~~ A friend who was present here ex- pressed great surprise at the idea of a head being painted in one day, so as to be ready for glazing the next; mean- ing, of course, a highly studied head and not a mere sketch. Mr. Allston re- plied: Oh, yes, even a portrait (supposing it to have been already drawn and dead- colored previously) might be painted in one day, that is, the face alone, the hair could be painted separately as well as the dress, background, and accessories. At all events, if I were a portrait-painter I would make the experiment. I would devote great attention to making a care- ful and correct outline and dead-color, but afterward, instead of taking several short sittings, I would complete the im- pasto in one long sitting, and glaze after- ward. If on a review of my work I find any part incorrect, or which does not satisfy me, I go over the shadows and the half - tints, in such parts as I wish to repaint, with a thin glaze of olive, very slightly, and touch into it. There is no difficulty in matching the lights, but it is very difficult to paint over your shadows and half-tints, unless you prepare an olive glazing to touch into. When my head is ready for glazing I give it a general glazing a day or two previous to finishing it. I mix as- phaltum, Indian red, and ultramarine to a neutral tint, and with this I just tinge some megilpthe least in the worldjust enough to discolor my me- gilp a little; this serves to lower the tone of my picture a mere shade and give harmony to the colors. I add to WASHINGTON ALLS TON AS A PAINTER. 223 the megilp some japan gold-size, which serves to make it dry firm and enables me to work it over the next day, wiping out or painting over as I please. When this is dry I prepare some megilp with asphaltum, Indian red, and blue of a deeper tint, as before, only I put little or no japan in, as I wish to prevent its drying too soon. The neutral tint mixed as I have described is what I call Titians dirt. With this I go over the face, strong in the shadows and lighter in the half-tints; with a dry brush or rag I wipe off the glazing or weaken it as I wish, and in this way model up the general form and detaiL This part of the process is very much like water- color painting, only that water-colors dry several times during the process, but here the paint is left moist. If any part seems weak in color I paint in pure color, either red, blue, or yellow, as the case may be. The effect of glazing is to deepen the tone. You may paint a bit of can- vas over with a solid body of ivory black, which one would suppose is as black as paint can represent; but let it dry and then, by repeated glazings of asphaltum and Prussian blue over a portion of it, you will deepen the tone as much as to make your first coat of black look like slate-color by the side of it. The variety of hues producible by glazing is infinite, and yet the modern Italians, and, in my time, the French, were utterly ignorant of it. When I was in Rome a German professor of painting asked me what colors I used. My colors, he said, looked like what the old masters used. I told him that I used the ordinary colors, sold by the color- men there, but that the effects he spoke of were produced by vellatura (glazing). Happening to have by me an old palette on which some colors had become dry, I took some megilp, asphaltum, and lake, and passed over some dry vermilion and showed him how much it deepened the tone; then with asphaltum and blue I glazed over some yellow and produced a beautiful green, and so with several other colors, which seemed to astonish him like a trick in jugglery. Ah, ha! said he, I have often heard of vellatura, but never knew what it meant before. I dont relate this anecdote as redound- ing to my credit at all, as I did not in- vent the system, but brought it with me from England. The French, I am told, have already greatly improved in color of late years. When I was in Paris they knew noth- ing of glazing. I was making a study from a picture of iRubens, one of the Luxembourg collection, and was pre- paring my picture as I supposed the original to have been prepared, that is, instead of painting up my effect at once, I had painted certain portions differ- ent in actual color, to be modified af- terward by glazing. I was somewhat annoyed in the course of my work by ob- serving that the French artists were de- riving great amusement from my pict- ure at my expense. They frequently watched my progress and tittered toge- ther in groups. Some of them went to Yanderlyn (who was then in Paris) and told him there was a countryman of his in the gallery whom they pitied very much; I was in a sad mess, they said, and evi- dently didnt know what I would be at. It happened, however, that one morning when I had commenced my preparation for glazing, and had com- menced glazing a part of my picture, a Roman cardinal and his suite were pass- ing through the gallery. You are aware that among the Italian clergy are many men who, having great learning and taste, devote much of their attention to the study of the fine arts, and become, in fact, much better judges of art than the present artists; not studying the art professionally, they do not, like the artists, become blinded by preju- dices in favor of this or that system, but judge by the effects. As this car- dinal was passing by me lie stopped and examined my work with evident interest. He asked me of what country I was, where I had studied, etc., and ended with a compliment. Monsieur, said he, vous vous entendez; je vous en fais mes compliments. (I see, sir, you understand what you are about; accept my congratulations.) I dont hesitate to repeat this compliment, because I con- sidered it as paid to the English school of color, where I had learned this pro- cess, and when some of the Frenchmen afterward made me the amende honorable for their previous rudeness, I disclaimed 224 WASHINGTON ALLS TON AS A PAINTER. the merit of the compliment for the same reasons. Mr. Allston one evening commenced a conversation on the subject of back- grounds, by remarking that he had been exceedingly amused that day by an anecdote of a young painter, who, un- derstanding literally Sir Joshua Rey- noldss precept, that the painter should on the background disperse all the treasures of his palette, actually com- pounded with his palette-knife all the odd tints which happened to remain on his palette, and having plastered on this muddy compound, really fancied that it gave a harmony to his picture! All that Sir Joshua meant, said he, was that the colors of the head or figure should be somewhere repeated, other- wise it would be a spot in the picture. Sir Joshua was the last man to grind his colors together. A background should be painted, however, with a solid body, whether in a portrait or landscape. If the background of a portrait, for in- stance, instead of being painted solid- ly, be washed or glazed up strongly, it will come forward too much, and the head will appear embedded into it; a thin pellicle of glazing, just enough to give harmony, is sufficient. I had an opportunity of testing the truth of what I say on a large scale. I was painting my large picture of the Angel Deliver- ing St. Peter from Prison. My figures were all drawn and dead colored; I had made out the lines of the architecture and washed in the background with umber: this gave me my effect of light and shade, and served to prevent any uncovered canvas from disturbing my eye while painting my figures. I then finished my figures, and Mr. Leslie happening to see the picture in that stage, I remarked to him, that, accord- ing to Mr. Wests theory, I ought not to touch my background again. Mr. West had at that time a theory (which I think he must have adopted late in life, as his early practice does not savor of it at all, that ~f you once lose the ground of your canvas in the background, it is not within the reach of art to supply the loss. Now, said I to Leslie, I think I can prove to you that this is an error; I will paint over this background a new one which will make it as flimsy as a gauze veiL Accordingly I pre- pared my palette with a variety of tints mixed with white and painted over a small portion, say about half a yard. I then retired a short distance to observe the effect. To my great dismay, I found it looked weak and chalky to the last degree. I had used, as I thought, very strong color, and yet, by the side of the glazed portions even vermilion and white looked like slate color. A new thought struck me. I became convinced that my principle was right, but my palette was in this case wrong. I swept it clean of the tints I had prepared; I took off a pint of paint, and then took a bladder of pure yellow ochre and emptied it upon my palette; for my red I ground two whole papers of pure vermilion, and ~o with all the colors I wanted, with the exception of ultramarine; to give body to that I added a little white; this was the only color I used with any white. I then went to work again, and with these pure colorsblue, red, and yellowI painted away fearlessly and found the result just as I had anticipated. I found that with this strong color I could match my glazed background perfectly; it was already made out, in lines, form, and chiaro - oscuro, and all I had to do was to match as I went on. The pris- on-walls were illuminated by a super- natural light, and the focus of it was on the walls behind the angel. I there used almost pure yellow ochre, and in order to make the lights upon the nail- heads of the door, I was obliged to use pure Naples yellow and vermilion. When I had done about half of it, I com- pared the two portions, the old with the new; why, sir, the stones of the wall in the glazed portion looked as if you could blow them down with your breath. I completed the whole of the back- ground in that day, and never had oc- casion to retouch it, except to give it one general wash of thin asphaltum glazing. Sir George Beaumont, in a letter to me, speaking of the background of the picture, said, the background is perfect, and 1 think I may say to you that it was as perfect as anything I ecer painted or ever shall paint. This last remark was made in so modest a manner that I felt that the en- FROM A PAINTING BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON. ENGRAVED BY ANDREW. Study for Beishazzars Feast. 226 WASHINGTON ALLS TON AS A PAINTER. thusiasm of his manner was all for the art, and that there was no personal feel- irtq in it. It was like the enthusiasm of a chemist in describing a beautiful re- sult of some darling experiment. Mr. Aliston then paused a moment and added, It was a happy accident, sir.~~ As if desirous of diselaiming all glory for himself. I was one evening present at a con- versation between Mr. Allston and a young artist, in the course of which he made several remarks which strike me as worthy of preservation in connection with his art. After some compliments and an assurance (which must have been in the highest degree encouraging, coming from such a source) that he was in the right road, Mr. Aliston continued: I have frequently been told by friends of yours, sir, that they were afraid you were running after the old masters. Now if that frightens them, I would FROM A PAINTING BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON. St. Peter and the Angel. WASHINGTON ALLSTON AS A PAINTER. 227 FROM A PAINTING BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON. Jeremiah and Baruch the Scribe. ma/ce every hair on their heads stand on the manner of your contemporaries. end! for you may depend upon it that The old masters are our masters, and you cannot go to better instructors for there is hardly an excellence in our art your art. From them you will learn which they have not individually de- the language of your art, and (will learn) veloped. With regard to preparatory to see nature as they saw it. You will studies, I should warmly recommend understand, of course, that I am not your devoting a portion of every day to recommending you to imitate, but to drawing; for this reason, that if an study, them. By studying their works artist does not acquire a correct design you will imbibe their spirit insensibly ; while young, he never will. Sir Joshua otherwise you will as insensibly fall into Reynolds always felt conscious that his FROM A PAINTiNG BY WASHINGTON ALLSTON. ENGRAVED BY ANDREW. Dido and Anna. WASHINGTON ALLSTON AS A PAINTER. 229 powers were very much limited and his works incorrect for want of the early habit of drawing. A painter may be blest with every gift of nature, but un- less he has acquired the art of design he can never express himself. If you would not be tormented by a conscious- ness of having noble and beautiful con- ceptions to which you cannot give birth, you must give much of your time to drawing. For this purpose I should recommend a course of study somewhat different from what is generally pursued. I would devote my attention principal- ly to outline. It is perhaps well enough to learn how to make a finished draw- ing, but when you have once done that, your time had better be spent in mak- ing drawings of the figure in highly studied outline only. My own practice is to make a finished outline always be- fore touching the brash to canvas. I draw the outlines of such figures as I intend to drape, making out the figure as nicely as if it were to be painted naked. I take a large, rough piece of common chalk, which makes a broad mark, and then with my finger or a bit of bread I can rub out a portion and thus get a little more or little less much better than by using a fine point. When I have arranged the contour of my fig- ure or head I trace the final outline with umber. I would recommend your stutlying your outline as highly as if it were not to be disturbed, but when you paint use your brush as freely as if you had no outline to go by. This is the only way to avoid the hardness of effect which is apt to arise from a close study of the outline. I frequently paint my figures over the outline and let my background encroach upon the contour of the figure again several times in the course of the painting. The process of shading with chalks or pencils is, more strictly speaking, painting, but it is painting with the very worst of materials. I know of no better exercise in drawing than the study of Flaxmans Illustrations; and I would make it a rule to copy two or three fig- ures from them every day. This, of course, I recommend as an initiatory study. After you have acquired a readi- ness of giving the air and spirit of the figure, preserving the proportions, you will then have recourse to nature and the antique with great advantage. The drawings of the old masters, which are now preserved with so much care, are almost all studies in outline and pen sketches. I cannot see how the modern deviation from this practice can be at- tended with any good. I would adopt for my motto that of Tintoret, The design of Michael Angelo, with the coloring of Titian. But I would mod- ify it by substituting the design of Ra- phael for Michael Angelos; for Michael Angelos style of drawing was man- nered, peculiar to his individual nature and intellect, while Raphaels was truer to nature and more suitable to form a school of drawing. Be industrious and trust to your own genius; listen to the voice within you, and sooner or later she will make herself understood, not only to you, but she will enable you to translate her laii- guage to the world, and this it is which forms the only real merit of any work of art. An artist must give the impress of his own mind to his works or they will never interest, however academi- cally correct they may be. If you work in this spirit you will often find yourself working for months and months with- out effecting your purpose, and at last some accident or chance touch will pro- duce an effect which something within you will immediately recognize as true. VOL. XL24 AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. By Edwin C Martin. WN by the sound of and angry voices, intermingled with a womans sobs and chil- drens screams, twenty or thirty people had gathered before a small, unpainted house that stood in one cor- ner of a damp, grassless, littered door- yard. The time and the locality empha- sized the harshness of the voices. Other houses thereabouts were small, but no other door-yard lacked its bit of well- kept lawn and its fresh, smiling flower- beds. The street was wide and clean, and bordered by lines of pleasant trees. And just now there was that soothing clearness andtranquillity in the air that marks the early twilight of a cool, bright midsummer day. It was the hour when families gather on the verandahs, or un- der the door-yard trees, and the men smoke their pipes and cigars, and all yield themselves to the soft evening breeze, ~that it may blow the days anxieties out of their minds and the days weariness out of their bodies. At an hour when 4he hum and murmur of its full activity pervaded the town, the noise of a family quarrel might have passed, even in this always rather quiet neighborhood, With- out much notice. But now it rang out with startling effect, and set people run- ning from all directions, under such a force of alarm that they were sensible of great relief when they learned what it all was, though they then agreed that, while not as bad as they had feared, it was bad enough. For five or ten minutes, however, they did not learn much. They stood clus- tered about the gate, none quite will- ing to enter, and gasped conjectures into each others ears as the tide of jan- gling and sobbing within rose and fell. Amidst the hubbub few words were distinguishable. The name Tony, pronounced by the wpmans voice, came out clear from the confused jabber again and again, and a sharp grunt that sounded like hout-ye, in a man s voice, occasionally rose above the gen- eral din. One moment the talk seemed to be in German, the next in English. At its fiercer outbursts, the women of the crowd, who were much the larger part of it, grew urgent with the men to rush in. But before any of them could be quite persuaded, a young girl came running out, in great excitement and cry- ing noisily, though tearlessly. Through her slatternly gown appeared traces of a trim, lithe figure; and her face, though now creased and twisted by her sob- bings and none too clean, showed marks of beauty. Nor was proof of pride of person wholly wanting: her hair was beautifully crimped. What is it, Louisa? asked the women, crowding about her eagerly as she came through the gate. Hes peatin her agin, cried the girL Beating? Who? Papa. Hes peatin mamma. He struck Elijah tooright on hes head and Gussie. He ought-a get arrested, the old devil. Hes goin t kill um. Why dont somepody go in and took im off. If there was a pliceman here, hed took im quick enough. He wanted to kill me too. I wasnt doin nothin neider. I never said one vord to im; but he shouldnt peat mamma that way, cause it wasnt ride. This the girl uttered wildly, distractedly, as if scarce- ly knowing what she said. Again the women grew emphatic that some of the men ought to go in. But they were men in whom the habit of meddling in their neighbors affairs only out of their neighbors presence was deeply rooted, and to whom, moreover, an occasion for forcible interposition was so unwonted as to rather overawe them. They were beginning now to be embarrassed, however, by a sense that something ought to be done, though they did not quite know what. Greatly relieved were they, therefore, when a moment later a sturdy figure in blue uniform pushed in among them, and,

Edwin C. Martin Martin, Edwin C. An Adventure In Philanthropy 230-241

AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. By Edwin C Martin. WN by the sound of and angry voices, intermingled with a womans sobs and chil- drens screams, twenty or thirty people had gathered before a small, unpainted house that stood in one cor- ner of a damp, grassless, littered door- yard. The time and the locality empha- sized the harshness of the voices. Other houses thereabouts were small, but no other door-yard lacked its bit of well- kept lawn and its fresh, smiling flower- beds. The street was wide and clean, and bordered by lines of pleasant trees. And just now there was that soothing clearness andtranquillity in the air that marks the early twilight of a cool, bright midsummer day. It was the hour when families gather on the verandahs, or un- der the door-yard trees, and the men smoke their pipes and cigars, and all yield themselves to the soft evening breeze, ~that it may blow the days anxieties out of their minds and the days weariness out of their bodies. At an hour when 4he hum and murmur of its full activity pervaded the town, the noise of a family quarrel might have passed, even in this always rather quiet neighborhood, With- out much notice. But now it rang out with startling effect, and set people run- ning from all directions, under such a force of alarm that they were sensible of great relief when they learned what it all was, though they then agreed that, while not as bad as they had feared, it was bad enough. For five or ten minutes, however, they did not learn much. They stood clus- tered about the gate, none quite will- ing to enter, and gasped conjectures into each others ears as the tide of jan- gling and sobbing within rose and fell. Amidst the hubbub few words were distinguishable. The name Tony, pronounced by the wpmans voice, came out clear from the confused jabber again and again, and a sharp grunt that sounded like hout-ye, in a man s voice, occasionally rose above the gen- eral din. One moment the talk seemed to be in German, the next in English. At its fiercer outbursts, the women of the crowd, who were much the larger part of it, grew urgent with the men to rush in. But before any of them could be quite persuaded, a young girl came running out, in great excitement and cry- ing noisily, though tearlessly. Through her slatternly gown appeared traces of a trim, lithe figure; and her face, though now creased and twisted by her sob- bings and none too clean, showed marks of beauty. Nor was proof of pride of person wholly wanting: her hair was beautifully crimped. What is it, Louisa? asked the women, crowding about her eagerly as she came through the gate. Hes peatin her agin, cried the girL Beating? Who? Papa. Hes peatin mamma. He struck Elijah tooright on hes head and Gussie. He ought-a get arrested, the old devil. Hes goin t kill um. Why dont somepody go in and took im off. If there was a pliceman here, hed took im quick enough. He wanted to kill me too. I wasnt doin nothin neider. I never said one vord to im; but he shouldnt peat mamma that way, cause it wasnt ride. This the girl uttered wildly, distractedly, as if scarce- ly knowing what she said. Again the women grew emphatic that some of the men ought to go in. But they were men in whom the habit of meddling in their neighbors affairs only out of their neighbors presence was deeply rooted, and to whom, moreover, an occasion for forcible interposition was so unwonted as to rather overawe them. They were beginning now to be embarrassed, however, by a sense that something ought to be done, though they did not quite know what. Greatly relieved were they, therefore, when a moment later a sturdy figure in blue uniform pushed in among them, and, AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. 231 making a path for himself through tlue crowd more lustily than to the crowd itself seemed at all needful, passed through the gate and entered the house. Their thanks were due for this relief to one of their fellows, who, when the women first grew urgent, had had the forethought to slip away and summon an officer. For a moment after the officers en- trance the turbulence in the house seemed to increase. Then it suddenly subsided, and when voices were heard at all they were pitched lower. All eyes fastened on the door, in expecta- tion of seeing the culprit dragged forth. But, for what seemed a long time, though it was only a few minutes, noth- ing happened. Then the officer came out and beckoned to the men at the gate for help. But scarcely had he done this when there followed him out a tall, broad-shouldered fellow in the blue cot- ton blouse of a laborer, who cried, I ko, I ko. I vant no droubles. I have tun nudings; but I ko. Dots pooty bad, Sophy, yen you vill have me dook by the bolice and make me shame pefore my childers. And he touched the cor- ner of either eye with the joint of his big, hard forefinger. At this a woman, with the round wondering eyes, now a little teary, and the white, chubby chin and cheeks of a good-natured baby, appeared in the doorway and answered, in a soft, plain- tive voice, Its you, Tony, makes all the droubles. The childers and me tries our pest to please you, and then you try to hurt us. She followed to the gate as her hus- band went away with the officer, and there dropped out of the house after her, shyly, one by one, a line of ragged, unwashed children. The first was a boy of ten or twelve years, tall and lank. The others, five in all and all girls, were much smaller than he, but not much dif- ferent in size from each other. Two were deformed, and all, the boy as well as the girls, looked pallid and un- healthy. The mother at once drew a sympa- thetic group about her that easily per- suaded her to a full recital of her troub- les. She spoke in the same soft, plain- tive voice in which she had spoken to her husband. There was neither re- sentment nor anger in it; and there were no signs of either, or even of fear or anxiety, in her face. The face was a little sad, but it was as unruffled as a tub of old rain-water. I dont know, said she, what makes im be this way with us. The childers and me always tries not to plague im, cause we know how he is. Its on Louisa he begins first. Seems like he had a special dis- likin to er. But she dont never do nothin to im. No, I dont never do nothin to im, interposed Louisa, whose excitement continued unabated. He come home from hes work, and I was sittin on the door-step, and he says was supper ready and why diddin I wash Susies face. And I diddin say a vord, ony yust stayed sittin there, and seems like he kep gittin vorse and vorse. And he wouldnt eat hes supper, cause he said I never cooked im any- thing he could eat, and he threw a plate on the floor, and then he hit Elijah right on hes head, and Helena too he hit. It vas Gussie, he hit, corrected Louisa. Was it Gussie? One of um he hit. And when I said to im, Tony, you dont do ride to peat the childers, he said he vas der fader and he would yust give me some too. And he did. It hurts me yet where he struck mewith his doubled-up fistright on the shoul- der hereand on the back. I tried to get im to stop, but he vouldnt. Hes always that way when he gets trinkin, interposed the girl again, and nothin a bodies can do pleases im. Hes been drinking, then? He must a-been, said Sophy, tak- ing the answeron herself, cause he never act that way if he diddin be. When hes hisself he knows well enough Louisa and me does alls we can to make im and the childers comfortable. I says to im, Tony, I says, if you give me the money, I go out and buy alls thats on the market for your supper,~ but at that he only storms worsen ever. And thats the way it always was. If I ask im for any money hes always mad, and he wants to know wheres my money, and says I give it to Louisa to 232 AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. buy her some things with, when I dont give Louisa none; ony a twenty-five cents last week to buy her some collars, when she diddin have a one, but they was all wore out. Except the young girl Louisa, none of the children showed any concern at the family disruption. The others, as their mother talked on, and they lost the little timidity they had at first felt before so many strangers, slipped through the crowd off into the street; and the boy diverted himself by throw- ~ng stones at a passing cat, while the little girls sat down at the side of the roadway and built hillocks and embank- ments out of the gravel and sand. When they had heard all that Sophy had to tell, the crowd scattered and re- turned to the now especially gracious composure of their own homes. They departed at one in the opinion that the fellow Tony was an unqualified brute, and that Sophy and her children merited all aid and sympathy. A like opinion prevailed at the police court the next morning, when Tony was arraigned for drunkenness and wife-beating. In fiat contradiction to both Sophys and Louisas testimony, Tony stoutly denied these charges. He had taken some peer~~ through the day, at the brew- ery where he worked; but that he did every daya man couldnt york mid- out a leedle peer. Naw, zir, he was not trunk; no more trunk als dese minute. Nor did he strike his wife. Any hand he might have laid on her, was not the hand of violence. She didnt do rides by him, and sometimes he got made pooty mad. But he wouldnt strike her; no, he would strike only a man. In the midst of these de- nials Sophy broke the regularity of the proceedings by whining out, Tony, you know you did strike meand Gussie too, and Elijah; well enough you know it. But Tony, without deigning to look at her, contradicted by a savage shake of the head. The doom was against him, how- ever. He was sentenced to jail for the utmost term allowed under the statute; and the court reporters lamented, in their several journals, that the term could not have been longer, and reaf- firmed that familiar regret of theirs at the departure of the whipping-post. IL HAVING seen the lawful partner of her joys and the unlawful author, as she be- lieved, of all her woes, carried off for sixty days, or some such period, to the secure lodgement of the jail, Sophy re- paired to the house of a Mrs. Welling- ton, where she was under appointment to do a little floor-scouring, a little win- dow-polishing and other like offices. Mrs. Wellington had chanced not to witness any part of the rupture of the peace of her neighborhood the night before; but she was already in posses- sion of three full accounts of that event each, it is true, more or less at odds with the others in every essential parti- cular save the unspeakable brutality of Tony. And, as she was one of those rare persons whose curiosity in the af- fairs of their neighbors is not insa- tiable, she had contemplated Sophys coming with heavy forebodings; for Sophy was no stranger to her, and had already proved herself, in the province of her domestic misadventures, the most confiding person Mrs. Wellington had ever encountered. Taint my fault, Miss Wellington, said Sophy, in her childlike, plaintive voice, and it taint the childers faults neider. Its yust Tonys meanness, thats all it tis. I dont know what makes im be so mean. But thats the way it bees all the times ever since we first got married together. Yes, said Mrs. Wellington, half re- bukefully, its a great pity you mar- ried him. Having made an altogether happy marriage herself, she could not but hold it as a kind of offence in an- other to have made an unfortunate one. Peoples said as id wisht I hadnt, cause he trinkt; and I told im I diddin want to marry im; but he kep plaguin me so, and promisin everything, and then I said I would if he diddin trink no more. And thats how it vas, Miss Wellington. And at first he was good to me, and we diddin have no troubles. ThenI dont know what made imhe changed. We was livin at Grindstown then. Its ony for him Susie and Annies crooked like they is; he beated um so. And it hurted me weeks and weeks where he beated me. And then I AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. 233 told im I couldnt live with him no more, and I comed back here where my peoples beed. So, then, you once separated from Tony? said Mrs. Wellington, this be- ing a fact to Sophys credit that she had not heard before. Yes, we was separated, and I said I never took im back. But he followed me and said I should took im back. I says to im, Tony, its no use, I says. When I took you back, you wont do whats ride by me and the childers. It will be yust like it was before. But he kep beggin and beggin, and some- times he cried and said he was so lone- some after me and the childers; and it wasnt easy for me with all them six childers so littleRetie she diddin been borned thento get on all myself. I worked so hard as ever I could, Miss Wellington; and yet it would come sometimes, no matter how hard I worked, as we wouldnt have nutting to eat, ony some bread, or somethings somebody had give me where I was workin. And I was afraid some days I was goin to die, Id be so sick; and then I diddin know what ud happen to the childers, cause fader I knowed he couldnt took um, he had enough. And then I says to imhe kep beggin me so hardI says to im, Tqny, then I took you back. And thats how it was. He had good work at the brewery then, and the childers was his yust like they was mine, and so I took im back. But its no use to took im back no more, and if he comes beggin me this time, I wont listen to im, cause I know it wont be no use. Mrs. Wellington heartily approved of the resolution in which Sophys speech concluded. No, said she, you ought not to take him back. It is folly to try to live with such a man. He ought to be made, though, to help you take care of the children. He wont help none. That other time I says to im he shall give me some of the money for the childers what he gets for his work. Taint ride, I says, I shall have um to took care of all my own self six of um they was then. But he wouldnt give me a five zents even. He says when I took im back he give me some, but not else. When Wellington came home from business at evening, he found his wife full of the subject of Sophys troubles disagreeably full of it, he thought, until, disregarding clear signs of indifference and impatience upon his part, she had forced his attention: then he got full of it too. In the general way, neither he nor she was much addicted to philan- thropy. Their own affairs exacted so much of their time that they did not need it as a diversion, and they had various reasons for excusing themselves from it as a duty. One of these was the manifest futility of much of it. Still they were neither of them much prone to self-deception, and they some- times questioned to each other whether society would not be the worse for it, if everybody did as they. This made them perhaps the prompter to extend such help as they could in a case of distress that came directly under their notice. Wellington usually had a dime ready for any red-nosed beggar who applied to him, though he was sure the fellow would spend it for drink. And Mrs. Wellington never refused at least a bit of bread to any tramp who called at her door, though she knew she was encour- aging idleness. Then, they had their charges among the needy of the neigh- borhood, whom they sought out when they had any work that these could do, and on whom they bestowed their rem- nants and superfluities. The chief of such charges, for a year past, had been Sophy. Naturally, people who were so well regulated in their own, had pronounced views as to what was rational in the conduct of others; and heretofore Sophys confessions had left Mrs. Wel- lington in rather more discontent than sympathy with her. Especially exhaust- ing to Mrs. Wellingtons patience had been her persistence in living with such a man as Tony. But now sympathy was in full sway. Since Tony was to be cast utterly off, it would be a pleasure, Mrs. Wellington said, to help Sophy all she could. And Wellington said, Yes, thats right. If shell cut loose ~from that scoundrel, she ought to be helped. She can take care of my office, if she wants to. The woman who is doing it now is a good woman, a widow, and 234 AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. does the work well; but she has a lot of other offices to do, and I am under no obligations to her. Then Ill tell Sophy. I know shell be glad to do it. And Ill speak to Mrs. Yardley and Mrs. Johns and Mrs. Thompson. They have all taken an in- terest in her and have felt just as we did, that she ought to get away from Tony; and now that shes going to, Im sure they will do all they can for her. Seven children are a good many; but if she will, she can get on. Louisa must take a place and earn something too. And the boy, Elijah, said Welling- ton, hes big enough to be at work. A feeling of great comfort sprang up in their hearts when they had got Sophys affairs all so nicely arranged for her. Wellington put the books and papers that he had gathered to spend the evening over, completely aside, and did not look into one of them. He just sat there taiking to his wife until an hour beyond their usual bedtime; and Mrs. Wellington did not know when she had seen him so bright and witty. And they were still light-hearted next morning; and Wellington went off to business trying his best, though not very successfully, to hum the tune of a song that he used to sing with some dis- tinction in small companies ten years be- fore; and Mrs. Wellington, as soon as the more pressing of her household tasks were disposed of, set off to see Mrs. Yardley, Mrs. Johns, and Mrs. Thompson. m. FOR a month their enterprise seemed to Sophys patrons to be prospering to perfection. Sophy had all the work she could do, and, as she never went home from any of their houses without some gift of food and clothing, it was clear that for these at least she was not want- ing. There had been a little failure in the matter of places for Louisa and Elijah. Sophy had objected that, with her and Louisa both from home, there would be no one to mind the childers, and that Elijah, unless his work were particularly light, would not dare un- dertake it, cause the doctor says he got the hastings consumptions on im.~~ So, as no place had yet offered for either, this part of the plan was not pressed. After the first month, however, the aspect of things grew less flattering. Sophys appointments began to be kept not quite so promptly as formerly, and the excuses she offered for her tardiness were not always sufficient. Coming one day to Mrs. Wellingtons an hour or two after her time, she said, Louisa she had to go up town, and I could not come, Miss Wellington, till she comed back, on account the childers. This might have passed but that, later in the day, she said, Louisa she tell me I shall ask you, Miss Wellington, did you have some liddle vlower or schmall piece of laze like, that you might not want to use no more your own self, so she could make her her hat with it ; and then added, ingenuously, she went up town already this morning and got her her hat, and some ribbons too she got, and shes goin to make it herself. I dont know if she can make it herself, but shes goin to try. Another day she left her work be- fore it was done, cause, as she said, Louisa shes got to go out somewheres, and she ast me wouldnt I come home early. But couldnt Louisa wait and go after supper? ~ asked Mrs. Wellington, reluctant to have the work left unfin- ished. Oh, shes goin after supper, re- turned Sophy. But if I wait till Im all drough and then go home and get supper, that makes it so late, Miss Wellington, and a young girl like Louisa, I dont like to have her out so late. But doesnt Louisa get the supper, when you are away at work? She ought to. Sometimes when I be comm away I says to er, Louisa, you shall make the supper ready agin I be comin back. But she wont do it. She says if she minds the childers then she cant be gettin supper too. I minded em many times and got supper too my own self; but Louisa isI dont know what she is; it seems of she couldnt do so well by her own self as she ought-a. Often I says to her, Louisa, I says, I cant AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. 235 be doin for you this ways always. If somethings would happen to me, I says, then what would you do? You know well enough papa wouldnt help you none.~ Occasionally Sophy defended with the plea of sickness, and at first this not only shielded her perfectly from blame, but even won her testimonies of special commiseration. Finally, however, on a day when she was reported so sick she couldnt hold her head, Mrs. Yardley, coming by chance within sight of her house, saw her hanging over the gate and gossiping comfortably with some neighbors. The care of Wellingtons office showed the same relaxing hand that appeared in Sophys other tasks, and, in despera- tion at the litter that was banking up about him under Sophys scant dustings and sweepings, he declared that he was going to pay her to stay away alto- gether. But Mrs. Wellington, having a large frugality in the expenditure of small sums, said that this would be sheer folly. Of course, if Wellington could not put up with Sophy, he must dismiss her ; but, if he dismissed her, he should not go on paying her. And, as Wellington had not the heart to cast her off entirely, he kept on with her. Thus the close of the second month found the hopes of what one may call the Sophy Aid Association greatly drooped. The members still held to their resolution to do all they reasona- bly could for Sophy, but the fire of sym- pathy in them had burned down into a very moderate flame. To further sub- due it, the fact now developed that So- phy was holding communications with Tony. The first hint of this came from Sophy herself, when she said one day to Mrs. Wellington, Tony hes begun agin plaguin me to be took back, yust like he always does. How near the rage of utter despair this disclosure must have brought Mrs. Wellington was shown by the energy (almost fierceness) with which she said, You dont mean to tell me that you have been to see that dreadful man? The look of wonder in Sophys big, baby eyes changed to one of alarm, and she made haste to answer, Oh, no, I aint been to see im, Miss Wellington; I aint been near im. He wanted me to come, but I wouldnt. He sent one of the mens from the jail to ast me to come two or three times he sent im. But I says to im, If Tony wants to see me, I says, hell yust have to want to. I got no caTh to see im; I seed im too much already. That was right, Sophy; exactly right, said Mrs. Wellington, much re- lieved; and she added, They must be very careless at the jail to let him annoy you ~ Hes talked um over to hes side. Thats Tony. If a bodies dont know im how he does, he makes urn think its all mes and the childers faults. When hes out I dont know how it will be. Its two weeks yet I think they got im in for. Then hell come beggin round, I shouldnt wonder, worse an ever. Well, Sophy, theres but one way to do; you must settle it with him right at the start. Try not to see him at all; but if you must see him, tell him at once, and tell him in a way that will make him know you mean it, that you are done with him forever. Yesm, its no use his comm back no more. Its hard for me doin for my own self this ways, and all the childers on me; and if he got hes place back on the brewery agin, that would be a great help, ony for im bein mean to us agin. But what you say, Miss Wellington, thats all I can do. A few weeks later Mrs. Yardley re- ceived a shock several degrees sharper than Mrs. Wellingtons. She saw at So- phys door a man who, she was almost certain, must be Tony. She at once communicated with Mrs. Johns, but, not being perfectly certain, she pledged Mrs. Johns to secrecy and to aid in fur- ther observations. The next day Mrs. Johns saw Tony there unmistakably, and then she and Mrs. Yardley went to confer with Mrs. Thompson. Why, yes, said Mrs. Thompson, he has been about the house every day for a week. Mr. Thompson has seen him as he passed in his way to the factory. But Mrs. Thompson did not know whether he was living there; he might merely have chanced to be there when Mr. Thompson passed. 236 AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. They went together to advise with Mrs. Wellington. Mrs. Wellington could not quite believe that Sophy and Tony were actually living together. She had seen Sophy but yesterday, and Sophy had not said even that Tony was free. She was to come again to-morrow, and Mrs. Wellington would find out. And find out she did. No, Miss Wellington, said Sophy, I aint took im back. I told im it was no good for im to talk so nice and cry and say he was so lonesome after the childers, cause I wouldnt took im back no more; and he could yust go where- ever he wanted. But he yust forced hisself back, and then I diddin say an- other vord to im, cause I saw he was bound to have his own way no matter what I said. Hes goin to get his place back, dough, on the brewery next week, I shouldnt wonder, hell get it. Iv. GA5TrNG hungrily about for one small good that might come of the folly of Sophys reunion with Tony, her baffled patrons said to themselves that at least she would now have leisure to bring her household into a little order and air of comfort. But Sophy disclosed no sense of this advantage. The little girls still rolled in the gutters, their heads un- bonneted, their hair uncombed and fall- ing in clammy strings down their backs and about their faces, and their frocks rent, and greasy; and when Mrs. Well- ington, wondering at the continuance of their sorry aspect, asked what had be- come of all the stuffs and garments that had been given Sophy, to be made up for them, Sophy explained that she diddin never got no time yet to sew. At length, hope found not even chaff to feed on, and Mrs. Wellington and her associates must now have resigned Sophy righteously and rigidly to her fate, but for a fresh misfortune, to the production of which clearly she herself had not contributed. Tony lost his place. And in his adversity Sophy dis- covered a loyalty to him that won her still further grace. Tony diddin mean to do nothings wrong that time, Miss Wellington, said she, Im sure he did- din. It was the foremans own fault. He had no ride to blame im for what he diddin done. And Tony hes got some pride and he knowed he always doned hes york ride; and the fore- man he knowed he always doned it ride too. And then to come scoldin at im, when he knowed he was quick-like any- ways. And Tony diddin knock im down ride off already. He says to im as it wasnt im he should blame; but he diddin mind, and then Tony he was made so mad that he doned it before he knowed. That wasnt ride to knock im down, and I says to im, Tony, that wasnt ride for you. But Tony he says the foreman had no business to done what he doned. And thats how he got turned away, And Im afraid, Miss Wellington, now he dont got no york he gets trinkin. He aint trinkt none yet, and he says he wont trink none neider. But I know he get very dis- courage when he dont got no york. If Tony had not already stood as low in the esteem of Sophys benefactors as possible, the occasion of his dismissal would have wrought him a decided re- duction. As it was, it simply confirmed opinion against him. For Sophys sake, however, it was agreed that the little that could be done for him, must be. For one thing, Wellington bought his winters stock of coal before he was quite ready, and gave Tony the job of carrying it from the street to the bins in the cellar. Tony achieved this task in a man- ner that raised a small commotion in the Wellington household. On coming home one evening, Wellington was in- formed by his wife that Tony was just finishing. Wellington refused to be- lieve her. In the time he had been at work, Wellington declared, Tony could not have got in five tons of coal, much less ten. But on going into the cellar to see for himself, he was moved to ex- claim, Why, Tony, you work like a steam-engine. Tony grinned like a flattered bash- ful boy. Oh, I dun knaw. Dot vas lide york, Meeser Yellnton. It vas blay along mit liftin dose kegs on der prew- ery. Dots pooty heavy, Meeser Yell-n- ton, dose pig kegs vull mit peer. Dose leedle kegs, dey dont make so much AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. 237 no, deyre lide; a schild could leeft dem, I dink, almost. Bud dem pig vellersdot makes a yeller schwed some- times Yez, you got pooty schtrong by york like dot, I dink, Meeser Yellnton. For all his long acquaintance with Tony at second-hand, this was Welling- tons first sight of the man. He found his prefigurements of him quite mis- taken. He had expected a counte- nance reddened by too deep devotion to the cup, and that he saw. He had ex- pected too a body betokening great strength, and that he saw. But the body he had preconceived was such as we associate with what we are wont to describe as the strength of an ox, a body, by the way, that does the ox injus- tice. Tonys was not of this sort. It had no grossness, and yet it made no secret of its power. It was, indeed, nearly perfect in its proportions; and, for the body of a laborer, it was remarkably straight and erect. But what most moved Wellingtons admiration was the fellows eye. The brewery and its temp- tations had as yet left that untarnished. It was a large, purplish-blue eye, won- derfu]ly alert and sparkling under its long black lashes. Wellington was pleased, too, at the neatness of his work. When all else was done, he set the cellar in as perfect order as if he had been the most care- ful of housewives. So patiently did he bore out the dust in all the corners with his broom, that Wellington grew tired for him, and said, Oh, Tony, you give yourself too much pains. Naw, your vibe she like to have it all nize, I knaw dot. Und I like mine own zelf to have it all nize doo. Dings effry-vich-vay, I not like dot, naw, naw. Now I got some dime, I vix up my yord. Yez-zir, Meeser Yellnton, you not knaw dot yord nex dime. I dell Louisa und Elijah, yen I pin zo busy, dey shall vix it up, but dey dond. Childers dey not like to york much. But I vas a great vellers always to have dings need. Yez- zir. When he had finished, Wellington put into his hand double the sum would usually expect to pay for such a service; and, much to his surprise, Tony cried, Naw, Meeser Yellnton, dots doo much. It is vort not more als halb dot, Meeser Yellnton. I not vant so much. But Wellington insisted and hinted that he might want his help again; and then Tony yielded, saying, Yell, you gif me some more york to do, den dot makes it ride. But dese vat I done now dots so leedle, und you und your vibe you been so gind to my Sophy, I charge you not one zent, but you knaw how it vas dot I aint now got no blace no more, und only for dese vat you gif me in my hand now I aint got no moneys neider. I like to york for you some more, Meeser Yellnton. Yez - zir, I like such a mans like you; and your vibe she vas a nize lady, a gind lady. Sophy she got no zuch a goot vriend als her. Yell, Meeser Yellnton, goot- pye. I must say, said Wellington on re- joining his wife, I dont believe that fellow Tony is as black as he is painted. And thats the belief I came to this afternoon, returned Mrs. Wellington, laughing. Knowing he was Tony, at first I was half afraid of him; but as I watched him passing the window with his loads, and never stopping to rest or to loiter, I became interested in it; and, finally, I went out and talked to him a little. There is something almost at- tractive about him. Yes, decidedly. No doubt hes an ugly fellow when he is angry. At any rate, I had rather not fall into his hands then. How that foreman at the brew- ery must have gone down before him! And the two now fairly shook with pleasure at thought of the unlucky inci- dent that but a few days before had shocked them unspeakably. Certainly Tony was a magician, whatever else he might be. The next day Wellington went run~- ning about town, inquiring wherever he thought it at all worth while, to find Tony a situation. He found none; but, luckily, before the resolution not to drink had worn quite through its last strand, Tony found one for himself. Then, a little later, his offence at the brewery was forgiven him, and he re- turned to service there. About this time Sophy forfeited the little favor that had been renewed to 238 AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHRO! Y. her, by bringing forth another treasure, to, as Wellington impatiently phrased it, disfigure the landscape and clog the gutters. This misdemeanor of Sophys was perhaps more severely rep- robated by Mrs. Wellington than by either Mrs. Yardley, Mrs. Johns, or Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Wellington being her- self childless. Her relations with So- phy were at once reduced to a strictly business basis. V. WHEN Sophy and Tony again fell into conflict (and, of course, fall into conflict again they must: that was in the very nature of the elements, like the conflicts between water and wind), the Welliugtons first learned of it through the newspapers; for Sophy and Tony had now removed into another quarter of the town. It had to come, I suppose; and now that they are into it, they should be left to get out as best they can. So said Mrs. Wellington, and Wellington per- fectly agreed with her. And having thus assured themselves that wisdom and duty dictated a policy of scrupulous non-interference, Wellington said that he believed he would go down to So- phys and see what could be done. They must be got together again if possible, that was certain. And herein Mrs. Wel- lington perfectly agreed with him. I aint seed im no more since ges- terday, Mr. Wellington, said Sophy, when Wellington had been let in and given a chair. About ten oclock, I think it was, gesterday morning that he been here. No, he diddin come in. He said I should let im in, but I told im he should yust go off, cause if he did- din I must got the police. But dont you think you ought to get together and straighten out your differences? asked Wellington. Took im back agin, you mean? No, I couldnt, Mr. Wellington, I couldnt took im back no more. Id been avraid to took im back, Mr. Wel- lington, after he acted the way he done. And you dont know where he is now? No, I dont, Mr. Wellington. He was goin to Chicago, he said; but he diddin gone yet, like he said he was. Annie, she saw im this afternoon at Steifels saloon. He stopped her when he happened to saw her passin, and he give her a five zents and told her she should never forget papa, and tell mam- ma and Lcuisa that we never see im no more. And Annie she comed home all cryin. if he bees trinkin agin, and thats what hes doin, youll find im there, at Mr. Steifels. If he dont be there, then I dont know where you find im, Mr. Wellington. But I couldnt took im back no more, Mr. Welling- ton. Wellington had entered the house with only the vaguest, loosest plan in mind, and he came out with no plan at all. The night was dark and muggy; there were no pavements in that part of the town, and the street-lamps were few and dim; and, as he went picking his way and, for all his care, sousing into a pool of water here and a bit of mire there, he pronounced himself little better than a fool for having left home, and resolved to get back there as soon as possible. But in the way he came upon Steifels saloon, sending forth odors that de- clared felicity at least in its name; and he concluded to look in. Tony was there, in the very act of finishing off a glass of beer; and, apparently, he was little, if any, the worse for his potations. Yez, Meeser Vellnton, dots a pooty pad schrabe we been in, said he, as in compliance with Wellingtons desire for a little private talk with him, they came forth and set off down a quiet street. My vibe she shut the door of my own house in my vace, yen I vant to got some dings dots my own. Dey tont been her dings at alL I call dot pooty pad, Meeser Yellnton. Yez-zir. But, Tony, are you sure you have al- ways done exactly right yourself? I been a goot man, Meeser Yellnton. Yez-zir, I been a goot man. No besser man in dese town. I york. Meeser Schneebad he tell you. He got no man in hes prewery vat done hes york als me. Four oclock Im up, Messer Yelln- ton, effry morgen. But my Sophy, she not up, naw; nor Louisa. I must get my breakfast my own zelfeffry mor- gen, Meeser Vellnton, I must. AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. 239 He paused as if for some comment from Wellington, but Wellington deemed it imprudent for a peace-maker to offer one just there. I say nutting, Meeser Vellnton, not so much as a vord. I go off by my york, und urn schleepin. IJnd yen I come home von my york to get my dinner und to get my zupper, how is it? Sophy she says I gif her moneys, and den I have vats petter. I gif her moneys; effry veek I gif her some, Meeser Yellnton, ten, twelve, vifteen tollars sometimes. IJnd she have some moneys too; she vorks. Yez-zir, I been a goot man, Meeser Vellnton. But its no more than a mans duty to take care of his family, suggested Wellington. I dook care of um. Effry veek, I tell you, Meeser Yellnton, I gif moneys ten, twelve, vifteen tollars, I gif. Dot tont been ride, to gif all I made. I keep some dings, cause I dink sometimes I like to bought me a house of my own. Oh, I got zome moneys; Meeser Schneebad he keep urn for me. I aint strapped. Sophy, she tont know dot. I nefer dell I got some moneys; I make dot a zecret from her. I can go vay; und I get york too. On Chicago, on St. Louis, on Zinzinnati, all dose blaces I get york. Dose prewers they knaw me, Im a goot man. Yez-zir, Meeser Yelln- ton, rm a goot man. lJnd I go vay, dots vat I do. I go on Chicago; I go to- morrow. Oh, no, you dont want to go away,~~ protested Wellington. You must stay here and help take care of your children. You know Sophy cant take care of them alone. Yez, der childers; dot makes me veel pooty pad, Meeser Yellnton. Dens yen I got mad sometimes, yen I come home und I zee nopody tont took no care of um, und der house isyell, you knaw, Meeser Vellnton. I like to have somedings need around, und de childers to be zo dey tont look zo. Louisas all the droubles. Dot tont been rid.~ for a young girl to run der streets und been zittin up zo late effry nide; und, yen I say she shall stay home und done some york, she tont mind me vat I say; und Sophy she says Im mean to Louisa, und she shall do vat she likes. IJnd dot makes a man pooty mad. I been her fader, und if she been my schild und I been her fader, den its ride I tell her vat she shall do. IJnd Elijah, hes pig now, und he not york none neider, cause he got de hastings consumptions on im. De consumptions! De lazi- ness, dots vat he got on im, all von Sophy. She yust spoil im. Naw, Meeser Vellnton, I go vay; I tont try no more. No, dont say that yet, urged Well- ington; lets have a talk with Sophy. No, I go on Chicago. I get york dere quick nough. I got some vriends dere. I gone to-day, ony for my moneys mit Meeser Schneebad; he vas avay. Well, well go and see Sophy any- how. She not zee us, Meeser Yellnton. Gesterday she shut der toor in my vace und say she not vant to zee me nefer. No, dots no use, Meeser Vellnton. Little by little, however, he yielded to Wellingtons persuasions. And Sophy did not refuse them entrance. But nothing came of the interview, and Wellington retired from it disgusted with all the parties to it, with himself not least. The next day Tony disap- peared from town. To which of the cities that stood ready to welcome a man of his merits he went, nobody knew, and probably nobody cared. For all her obstinacy in completing the separation, Sophy met the ensuing responsibilities with very little spirit, and Mrs. Wellington, Mrs. Yardley, Mrs. Johns, and Mrs. Thompson found her a heavier, more hopeless charge than ever before. In a week or two she was on the point of being ejected from her house for not paying the rent, and no sooner had she been rescued from this danger than she hung on the brink of another as desperate. She was still able, however, to indulge herself in a luxury of quite a rare sort. Next week, I think it is, she said one day to Mrs. Wellington, I get my divorce. Your divorce? exclaimed Mrs. Wellington, in wonder. Yes, I get one on the court. The neighbors they say its the ony ways to keep Tony from troublin me agin, and they tell me I should see a lawyer about 240 AN ADVENTURE IN PHILANTHROPY. it. And I went and see a lawyer, lawyer Suter it was, and he says its the ony ways too. And then I says he should get me one, cause I was afraid of Tony. Altogether, it was perhaps as welcome a piece of news as she had ever received, when one day word came to Mrs. Well- ington that Sophys sisters in Grinds- town had written that, if she would re- move there, they would find work for her and do all they could to aid her. Even the fact that Sophy lacked all means of accomplishing the removal did not les- sen Mrs. Wellingtons sense of relief. They can be got there somehow, she said resolutely, and hastened to confer with Mrs. Yardley, Mrs. Johns, and Mrs. Thompson. On a hint dropped to the township trustee, that it would be a clear gain for the poor-fund during the coming winter, that officer agreed to pay all the rail- road fares. This, the most important difficulty, thus happily surmounted, the ladies next applied themselves to bring- ing the familys apparel into a reason- able decency for the journey. Mrs. Yardley made over an old bonnet of Sophys with some ribbon from an old one of her own. Mrs. Johns regenerated an old gown. Other renewings and patch- ings and piecings were achieved with the wonted skill and economy of women in such works. And, so happy was the sum of thes3 libors, that any of her old friends must have looked twice to rec- ognize Sophy in the woman who, at last, stood in the station with a perfectly clean baby in her arms and, as the train approached, cried out, Now, you mind you dont drop nothing, Elijah, and be keerful from the cars. And, Helena, you be keerful too; took Susies and Reties hand. Took her hand, Susie and IRetie, took Helenas hand. Gussie and Annie, yous stay by mamma; catch holt to my dress. Louisa was not of the company. She had declined to go, alleging as her reason for staying behind the prospect of a place to live out. Mrs. Yardley discovered, though, or at least was per- suaded that she discovered, that what held Louisa back was a lover, from whom she was loath to part. As the train moved away Mrs. Johns said, with the sigh of one who fears his happiness is too great to last, Now, if theyll only stay! Wouldnt it be dreadful if they didnt? said Mrs. Thompson. But theyll not, said Mrs. Welling- ton and Mrs. Yardley, almost in concert. Five or six months later Wellingtons attention was attracted by something familiar in the neat figure and untidy dress of a young girl a little ahead of him in the street. At the next corner the girl turned, and they met face to face. Why, Louisa, is it you? said Wellington, more in conclusion to his own reflections than in address to her. Your mother and the children are still at Grindstown, are they? Yes, still there, answered Louisa. And your father, what of him? Oh, hes yust the same like he always was ; mean as ever. But he is not with them ? Oh, yes, he is with umthis good whiles. ~Q-dL1k~~. Harpoon and Line. THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. By Benjamin Sharp, Ph.D. IN 1813, Sir John Ross discovered an isolated race of human beings num- bering about two hundred souls, liv- ing on the inhospitable shores of North Greenland. To this community he gave the romantic name of Arctic Highland- ers, a name which unfortunately is mis- leading; for they are a littoral people and cannot inhabit the arctic highland, as it is an everlasting ice-cap, and more- over they will not even visit it, for this inland ice is to them a region of terror; a land where abide their demons and evil spirits. At the present day they number, as near as can be estimated, about the same as when the knowledge of them came to the civilized world; nor have they increased their territory, but live on the narrow strip of mountainous coast, which is left bare during the summer months, by the retreat of the winter snows. They could not be more cut off from other human beings, did they live on some small oceanic island. Practically they do live on an island, for they are surrounded by water; by great expanses of solid water; for they never pass the ice barrier of the great Hum- boldt Glacier, with its sea face of sixty miles ; they never ascend to the sum- mer foot of the ice-blink, some two thousand feet above sea-level; nor at- tempt to wander south over the vast ice-floes of Melville Bay, one hundred miles in extent. At 790 north latitude, near the southern edge of the Humboldt Glacier, is a collection of huts known as Etah, their most northern settlement, while at Cape York, in latitude 750 55 N., probably their largest encampment, is their southern limit, and which, as near as we could determine by the sign lan- guage, they call Pitanito.* Their coun- try may be said to be about one hun- dred and eighty-five miles long and from three to five miles in breadth. Living on this strip of land, upon which grows not an edible plant, they subsist entirely upon flesh and blub- ber obtained from the sea by their own exertions and eaten raw; their wants are few; their means of gratifying these wants, fewer. It is said the only vege- tal food ever obtained by these people is the half-digested moss taken from the stomach of the reindeera great deli- cacyat least to those eaters of raw flesh, these Esicimalsile, as their western brothers are termed by the Red Indians of America. From this we have our word Eskimo. Whence came they? It is held by some that they are the remnants of pre- glacial man, having retreated with the great ice cap which covered the north- ern hemisphere as far south as middle Pennsylvania and New Jersey; until now, the Arctic Highlanders remaining close to the perpetual ice are the most northern inhabitants of our globe. Their short stature, their high cheek- bones, and their almond - shaped eyes, certainly suggest a Mongolian origin, and it is probable that they are a race which has come from North America to their present abode. That they came from some wooded country is Pronounced, Pee-td,a ee-to. Toy Sled and Figure of Carved Ivory, alightly reduced in aize.

Benjamin Sharp, Ph.D. Sharp, Benjamin, Ph.D. The Arctic Highlander 241-250

~Q-dL1k~~. Harpoon and Line. THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. By Benjamin Sharp, Ph.D. IN 1813, Sir John Ross discovered an isolated race of human beings num- bering about two hundred souls, liv- ing on the inhospitable shores of North Greenland. To this community he gave the romantic name of Arctic Highland- ers, a name which unfortunately is mis- leading; for they are a littoral people and cannot inhabit the arctic highland, as it is an everlasting ice-cap, and more- over they will not even visit it, for this inland ice is to them a region of terror; a land where abide their demons and evil spirits. At the present day they number, as near as can be estimated, about the same as when the knowledge of them came to the civilized world; nor have they increased their territory, but live on the narrow strip of mountainous coast, which is left bare during the summer months, by the retreat of the winter snows. They could not be more cut off from other human beings, did they live on some small oceanic island. Practically they do live on an island, for they are surrounded by water; by great expanses of solid water; for they never pass the ice barrier of the great Hum- boldt Glacier, with its sea face of sixty miles ; they never ascend to the sum- mer foot of the ice-blink, some two thousand feet above sea-level; nor at- tempt to wander south over the vast ice-floes of Melville Bay, one hundred miles in extent. At 790 north latitude, near the southern edge of the Humboldt Glacier, is a collection of huts known as Etah, their most northern settlement, while at Cape York, in latitude 750 55 N., probably their largest encampment, is their southern limit, and which, as near as we could determine by the sign lan- guage, they call Pitanito.* Their coun- try may be said to be about one hun- dred and eighty-five miles long and from three to five miles in breadth. Living on this strip of land, upon which grows not an edible plant, they subsist entirely upon flesh and blub- ber obtained from the sea by their own exertions and eaten raw; their wants are few; their means of gratifying these wants, fewer. It is said the only vege- tal food ever obtained by these people is the half-digested moss taken from the stomach of the reindeera great deli- cacyat least to those eaters of raw flesh, these Esicimalsile, as their western brothers are termed by the Red Indians of America. From this we have our word Eskimo. Whence came they? It is held by some that they are the remnants of pre- glacial man, having retreated with the great ice cap which covered the north- ern hemisphere as far south as middle Pennsylvania and New Jersey; until now, the Arctic Highlanders remaining close to the perpetual ice are the most northern inhabitants of our globe. Their short stature, their high cheek- bones, and their almond - shaped eyes, certainly suggest a Mongolian origin, and it is probable that they are a race which has come from North America to their present abode. That they came from some wooded country is Pronounced, Pee-td,a ee-to. Toy Sled and Figure of Carved Ivory, alightly reduced in aize. 242 THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. shown by a word in their vocabulary, sigssik?the squirrel, pre-eminently a forest animal, and one which has never existed in Greenland; and furthermore, their traditions tell of their being driven out of a fair land by red men, tunuit (singular, tune/c), a word still used by mothers to frighten children into good behavior. Government they seem not to have, the oldest man of the family at most ruling that family. Of the customs, as marriage and religion, little or nothing is known, but we hope that the investi- gations of Lieutenant B. E. Peary, who is now among these people, will throw much light upon this interesting chap- ter of their story.* A few days after leaving Lieutenant Peary in his winter quarters at McCor- mick Bay, we were skirting the high wild shores of Cape York. A dense veil of fog shrouded the mountain-tops, and reaching nearly to the water, gave us but glimpses of the black rugged coast. Here and there a glacier front rose as an ice - wall from the sea, or a strip of snow in some gorge lay unmelted on ac- count of its protected position. All at once came through the fog a faint cry of Ky-mo, ky-mo! There are the Yaks ; ky-mo, ky-mo ! answered the lookout on the forecastle head. Presently we could see three con- ical skin tents perched upon the side of a bleak mountain spur. About a doz- en small creatures were running about, some waved their arms, while others skipped over the huge bowlders to get to the shore, from which ran a great ice-floe to the south and east. Before we had made fast, a kayak had been launched, paddled alongside, and hoisted with its inmate on board. He was a fine - looking fellow, this Yak, as the whalemen call these Arc- tic Higlilanders, in contra-distinction to the Huskle of southern Greenland. His copper-colored face peered through the hood of his tirniak, his bright eyes twinkled through the long straight black hair, which fell from his forehead to about the level of his nose. His jack- et, if the seal - skin coat and hood com- bined could be so designated, reached * The results of these investigations will appear after his return in the pages of Sornaxrnss MAGAZIXE. but little below his waist, but low enough to cover the tops of his knee- breeches, or koslik, made of the skin of the polar bear. His feet, encased in high moccasins or kamik, the only part of his attire from which the hair had been removed, were remarkably small, as were his delicately - shaped hands. He gazed about the vessel as if he were afflicted with stiff neck. This peculiarity was observable in all those who came aboard, and it is no doubt caused by the constant wearing of the stiff hood of the timiak, which does not allow a free movement of the head, so that when one wishes to look at some- thing at his side, the body is turned at the waist, while little or no movement is made at the neck. But little time had elapsed after the arrival of the kayaker, before the decks were crowded with men, women, and children from the village we had first seen on the mountain side, as well as from another about three-quarters of a mile to the eastward. They came run- ning over the ice, in a peculiar wad- dling fashion, their arms swinging at their sides, the palm forward and the thumbs stuck outward; their mittens scarcely covered their small hands, so that their brown wrists were left quite bare. Many of the younger women had on their backs papooses, and their little heads and bright eyes peered curious- ly out from the side of the mothers hood. The mothers seemed very affec- tionate to their children, talking and cooing to them now and again, and when the children were restless, they would dance or jump them, by working their shoulders up and down. Offer a little piece of cracker, or bit of candy, and a little brown hand would be thrust out from the mothers neck, seize the pres- ent, and be instantly withdrawn. The children who are carried, in this manner are naked, lying against the bare back of the mother, and are kept from slip- ping down the back by a thong of wal- rus hide, ingeniously secured outside of the timiak below the child and fast- ened in front by a toggle of ivory. When the mother wished to take a child out of its little nest on her back, she threw back her hood, and stooping for- THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. 2{3 ward so that her head was brought on a level with her knees, shook or hunched her back until the child had been slipped far enough out for her to grasp it by the arms; then still keeping her position, she would drag it forth. Even the little children would catch up a piece of blubber, stick one end of it into the mouth and saw away at it with a dull knife until the morsel was severed, which was then swallowed whole. The Little Auks, which fly about these Bows Strung and Unstrung. The larger children wandered about the decks, examining everything, peer- ing into boxes and barrels, and peeping into the cabin sky-lights, without a word or at most only a whisper to their com- panions. When spoken to, they would make a very solemn, hall-frightened face, but the merry twinkle in their coal-black eyes showed they thoroughly enjoyed this great event of their lives. They clambered into the deck-house, where they saw pieces of black stone put into the stove, and opening wide their eyes in amazement, when they saw it take fire and burn, they cried Ee, ee!~~ and called their parents, who appeared as much astonished as the children at this novel sight. The natives had evidently come to stay, as some of them brought their lunch in the shape of narwhal heads, which they dragged over the ice to the ship by the long spiral ivory horns. These horns were speedily hacked out of the skull and traded for a steel knife or two. When they lunched, a piece of blubber was cut from the narwhals head and one end of it put into the mouth; it was then sliced off, the knife passing close to the lips, and so very near the nose, that we expected to see it disappear every time the operation was repeated. shores in countless thousands, the rustle of their wings, as they flew over the ship, resembling the moan of the wind in a pine forest, form also a part of the food of the Arctic Highlander. With a net made of woven sinews, and stretched upon a thin piece of bone or barrel-hoop, obtained from some passing whaler, and set upon a long pole, the native lies concealed in some spot over which the flocks of these birds fly. With a quick upward sweep and twist of the net the bird is caught. Lying on deck was a landing net, which was used for collect- ing specimens; one of the men seeing it, picked it up and, standing at the break of the poop, commenced to go through the motions of catching imag- inary Little Auks; another, standing in the waist and noticing the frantic gyrations of his brother, immediately supplied the deficiency with lumps of coaL It was surprising with what ac- curacy these lumps were caught. Some Little Auks, which had been brought on board, were taken by the children and skinned. A few bites from their sharp teeth served to separate the skin about the neck; then holding the head in the mouth, the skin was separated with the fingers from the neck and shoulders of the bird, and turned back and pulled 244 THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. down to the legs, as neatly as if the skin were a glove. The pelvis was then bitten off from the body. The skin, which was covered with a thick layer of yellow fat, was rubbed by the aboriginal taxider- mist over his face until it shone again. This face washing was performed, to our surprise as well as to our amusement, by every child who skinned a bird; a habit taught them, no doubt, with as much care as our mothers taught us to use soap and water. The oil serves as a protection for the skin against the cold, and its use, together with the large quan- tities taken as food, makes the skin of the natives remarkably soft and smooth all over the body. At Saunders Island, on a low spit of ground which ran from the foot of the lofty perpendicular cliffs, there is an- other settlement of these strange people; but this at the time of our visit was de- serted. In a cache, about eight feet long, four feet wide, and four high, made of large stones, and ingeniously covered with flat, ones, hung fifty or more skins of the Guillemot or Murre, drying. They had been captured from the cliff above, where there existed a great loomery, the ledges of the crimson and gray strata being literally alive with them. In another similar cache hung the drying bodies of the birds, the clear cold air preventing decay. The skins of these birds, as well as those of the Little Auk, are sewed to- gether and made into underclothing, level of the sea, or rather ice, for at Cape York and to the eastward in Melville Bay an extensive land floes fringes the coast. In the summer time it is riven with cracks and spotted with pools of water, around which detours must be made in order to reach the shore. Following a couple of natives, a party started from the vessel to Visit one of the villages; occasionally so wide a crack would bar our progress, that we must ferry ourselves across on small pieces of ice, or the more agile would take a running jump, and would gen- erally make it. Reaching the land, we had a long walk over great bowlders and loose stones, slippery with black lichen; over a strip of snow, which lay un- melted across our path, with here and there a crimson patch of the so-called red snow ; * and fording a torrent, dashing over rocks from the melting snows above, we caine to a more level spot on the mountain side. Here three miserable conical skin tents stood. They were about eight feet high, the peak sloping over so as to make one side nearly perpendicular; in this side was the door, covered with a piece of seal-skin. The tents, supported by wooden poles or ivory norwhal horns, were held down firmly to the ground by a circle of large stones, and all looked out upon the south; out over the ice- covered sea, to the black water beyond, where here and there a great island of ice~~ loomed indistinctly out of the light fog. About the huts lay the carcasses of several narwhals and walruses, from which the men were cutting the ivory, or slicing the blubber in great masses. On the ice below, several ~ sleds and three or Arrows. ~~ ~ four seals, recently captured were being dragged ashore. Harpoons with lan- yards of walrus hide, leaned against the tents; these were gladly bartered for a knife, or a couple of steel nee- dles. The handles were formed of ~The red snow is a minute plant (Protococcus ni. salts), closely allied to the green one, forming patches on shaded rocks, or the northern sides of tree.trunks In our forests. which is worn with the feathers next the skin. The tupile, or skin tents, and the name would suggest a relationship to the word teepee or wigwam of our Western Indians, were placed at Cape York, as well as at Ittiblu (Netlik), about fifty or seventy-five feet above the 245 THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. wood, upon the end of which was se- curely lashed a square piece of ivory, slightly hollowed at the free end and a movable piece of ivory, about eight inches long, made from a walrus tusk, was secured to this by a couple of turns of raw hide, and kept from slipping by a projection which fitted i to the hollow of the fixed piece. This ingenious con- trivance was devised to prevent the handle of wood, so valuable to these people, from being broken, should the animal harpooned give a sudden wrench. On this point of ivory is set a smaller detachable piece of ivory about three inches long, into one end of which an iron or steel point is set and riveted. Through a hole in its middle the har- poon line is made fast. On the other end of this line, which is about twen- ty feet long, is fastened a float made of a whole seal skin, which can be blown up when about to be used. The princi- ple is exactly the same as that used by the sword fishermen of our coasts; the float corresponding to the keg, the har- poon head to the toggle, and the han- dle to the long iron-shod pole. When VOL. XI.25 a seal is harpooned, the head of the in- strument is driven into the body, and left there, as the handle is withdrawn; the wounded animal darting away, drags off the line together with the seal-skin float, which it cannot pull under water; with this as a guide, the hunter is always able to follow the game, which, when the opportunity offers, is despatched with a lance. In walrus hunting the float is dispensed with, the end of the line is made fast to the handle of the harpoon, which is shod with iron; this, when the animal is speared is struck into the ice. Then comes a simple question of brute strength; a question of which of the two has the greater endurance. A struggle of this kind lasts at times five or six hours, and in the vast ma- jority of cases ends in the death of the walrus. A bird (or fish) spear, with its forked barbed point sticking in the lacings of the tupik, was secured for a couple of needles, or a large fish-hook, the use of which they seemed to understand, mak- ing with the crooked finger the motion of catching fish. Cape Yo~k~ Greenland. 246 THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER~ The most interesting implements seen about the tupiks were the bows and arrows. The former, made of bone, consisted of three long pieces lashed together with rawhide, over two small pieces of bone, one on each side of the joints. Three or four strips of walrus hide were stretched on the outside of the curve in order to strengthen the bow, which was strung with a piece of hide. The wooden shafts of the arrows were tipped with iron, one or two only did we find with ivory, while only a small proportion of them were feathered ; the feathers were tied to the end of the shaft and lay flat with it, not projecting from the shaft as is seen on those ar- rows made by natives of higher civiliza- tion. The iron tips were sometimes set and riveted into a piece of bone, or the iron was pounded down to a narrow point and this lashed to the shaft. The discovery of the bow and arrow among these North Greenland tribes is the interesting, as other explorers make no fox Human Figures of Carved Ivory, actual aize, mention of their possessing such weap- ons. With these bows the Arctic High- lander kills the reindeer, the horns of which were found at every settlement we visited; and where the natives them- The walrus, seal, bear, and norwhal are killed with the harpoon or spear. Ivory Toy for the Game of Ajegaung The only other animals obtained by these people, besides the reindeer, are Arctic fox and Arctic hare. The is taken in an ingenious trap, and many of these were observed at favorable spots along the coast. An oblong box, about two and a half feet long, a foot high, and one broad, is made of rocks and covered with large pieces of the fiat sandstone which is found in large quantities all about the shores. One end of the trap when set is open; opposite this open end a stone, chipped so as to form a hook, projects into the interior and closes this end of the trap. The door, a flat piece of stone sliding perpendicularly over the opening, is fastened to a thong of hide, which passes over the roof of the trap, and enters the interior through a space left between the stones it is qi selves were seen, the pelts formed their held at the hook by the bait consisting beds. of a piece of blubber. The fox entering Lamp and Toy Cup of Soapstone, reduced about one-third. THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. 247 Toys of the Children of the Arctic Highianders. Dogs and bear of carved ivory, slightly reduced. the trap seizes the blubber and drag- picked up from among the rubbish at the ging the thong from the hook, releases side of the tent, a piece of ivory, in each the door which slides down behind him, end of which was drilled a large hole, and is held in place by two large stones and attached to its middle by a thong fixed outside the trap. was an ivory pin. Wondering what The insides of the tents were in a this could be, we asked, by means of horrible condition: the earth, which the sign language, for what it was used. formed the floor, was not much better The woman laughed, took the pin in her than a swamp, a mixture of mud, water, hand, and with an upward throw tossed and oil. At one side a large flat, trian- the other piece into the air, which she gular piece of stone, hollowed slightly caught in one of the holes on the pin; on top, held a piece of blubber; and the oil trying from it burned near the edge of the dish with a dim, smoky flame. At the back of the hut, upon a raised plat- form of stone, were piled reindeer and seal skins, upon which the natives slept. Screwing up our courage we entered a tupik, where a woman and three chil- dren lay huddled upon the skins at the back. We presented a small china doll in gaudy silk attire, to the little girl of the family, who seized it with the cry of surprise, Ee ce. The mother, as in- terested as her daughter, felt the silk of the dress and looked up inquiringly with wonder and surprise. A brightly painted rubber ball was given to the boy, and his satisfaction was complete when he found that by squeezing it, it whistled. They also had their playthings, carved from ivory: miniature bears, with long necks and small heads; dogs with pointed she made several other attempts before ears and tails curling over their backs; she succeeded in catching it again. The seals with well-marked whiskers; and principle was the same as that of the little sleds about two inches long, with cup and ball, so familiar to us. human figures carved to fit them. We We found but little difficulty in com c4 ~, A Bull-roarer. 7 ~sd54d.. r. Snow Knives and Lance-head, about one-eighth actual size. 248 THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. municating with these people by means of signs. We were anxions to find the breeding places of the Little Auk, and showing them an egg of this bird, which we had obtained in southern Greenland, they immediately recognized it, and tak- ing it in their hands, made the motion of breaking it open and said Peep, peep, by which we understood that we were too late, as the birds had all hatched. The igloos, or winter stone hnts, were not far from the summer tupiks. They were built upon the hill-side, a portion of which is dug out to form the interior. The domed roofs were made of large pieces of flat sandstone, carefully ar- ranged and held in place by pieces of bone. These protruded somewhat into the hut, and were utilized as hooks upon which hung harpoon lines, pouches of seal and bird skin, skin drinking-cups, bone-drills, etc. At the back of the hut was a platform raised about a foot from the floor. Opposite this, which served as the bed, was the opening of a tunnel six or eight feet long through which the family must crawl to enter their abode; and here the dogs find shelter during the storms of winter. The tunnel slopes down from the floor, so that water from the melting snows of spring may not run into the house. Over the inner en- trance of the tunnel, about four feet square, is another opening of about the same dimensions, which allows light to enter the dwelling. This hole is closed in winter by having stretched over it the stomach of the walrus, scraped thin and soaked in oil. At Herbert Island, several of the igloos were double, that is, two igloos were built close together, each with a separate tunnel, but the di- viding, inside, partition was left incom- plete. About the igloos grew masses of rank grass, and bunches of bright yellow poppies; jaw-bones of the seal and wal- rus, reindeer horns, and other bones were scattered about in great confusion. Near the beach at Ittiblu (Nethik), at Barden Bay, a large erratic bowlder Igloos or Winter-dwelling of the ~rcsic ligolanoer. THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDER. 249 stood, and as it was covered with soot it served no doubt as. the try works of the village. We returned to the ship on sledges, the whole population following. A crowd from a third encampment, about a mile to the eastward and consisting of eight tupiks, joined us with their sleds, at which the dogs were violently pulling. A sled was on the ice not far from the shore, about which a man was running backward and forward, crying out, in guttural tones, Uk-uk-uk, and wildly waving his arms. Presently a team of dogs came bounding over the rocks, tied together with their single raw- hide trace. They were soon made fast to the sled and we started for the ship at a gallop, followed by the population of the two villages. When the party came to a crack in the ice too wide to step across, a sled was stopped, put across the space, and with this as a bridge, all were soon on the other side, running ahead to the next crack. The sleds drove on, the dogs pulling as hard as they could; no attempt was made to stop them by calling, and no reins were used. The method of stopping the sled was as novel as it was effective, and re- called a method used by a retired Nan- tucket whaler, who always carried an anchor in his ox-cart, and stopped the team by casting anchor. Lashed to the high handles of the sled was a walrus harpoon, with its iron spike projecting six or eight inches from the wooden handle. This was driven firmly into the ice in front of the sled; the dogs pulled on the traces until they realized that further progress was impossible, when they lay quietly down upon the ice. Arriving at the ship, the dogs were cast off from the sled; two deep holes, about six inches apart, were cut in the ice and connected at the bottom, the traces were passed into one hole and out at the other, and made fast, thus effectu- ally tethering the animals. Our stay came to an end; the natives were told to leave the vessel, Sar pook, sar pook (we now go home), and they reluctantly left us. As th~ last man got upon the rail, he drew from his mitten a curious plaything, which he evidently regarded as a great prize. It was an oddly fashioned fiat piece of ivory, pierced in the middle with two holes, through which ran a deer sinew. Holding one end of the sinew in each hand, he twirled the ivory round puliing and slacking alternately, which made the toy spin rapidly in the air. How many of us have done the samae with a blacking-box lid! He held it up for the highest bidder, and soon disap- peared over the side with a pocket knife in his possession. The ice anchors were taken on board and the Oomiakschuwa, the great boat with the fishes tail, moved from their sight into the fog. Sar pook, sar pook, we cried as they faded from view, and as an echo, came back to us Sar pook, sar pook. VOL. XL26 THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. A PICTURE OF HOLLAND A CENTURY AND A HALF AGO. By Cornelia I. Chadwick. HAVE in my possession an old Dutch Cookery Book of the date 1752, revealing quaint glimpses of the manners and customs of that day. The frontispiece is a picture of the kitchen; the fire, which a maid is feeding with a piece of peat, is in the backgroundon a hearth-stone with a kettle hanging over it from a crane; two birds are roasting in front of the fire, but the legs and wings are not trussed, as they would be nowa- days. Three women are busy in the kitchen, but the drawing is not sufficiently careful to show which is the mistress. The table is evidently of dark oak with folding legs, of the kind so much prized for a drawing-room to- day. The title-page is very comprehensive, and sets forth that this is: THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. Showing How one can prepare all sorts of dishes, confections and desserts without great expense or labor so that they shall be wholesome and tasteful for Roman Catholics on Fish days and during fasts. How one may preserve everything against the Winter. What one must do at killing time. How Mol and fresh Bier can be kept through the Summer. Besides an infallible method of determining if the meat is sound during the cattle disease. How one shall set the table when one entertains friends, with some plates of tables set out. As well as some home remedies against colds & intermittent fever, to cure without fail, to strengthen the sight, etc., some food & drinks for invalids all described by a noble lady who has lately moved to the Hague. The third Edition corrected of a great many mistakes in printing. Printed after her own manuscript. Published TAmsterdam by Steven van Esweldt in the Beursteg by the Dam 1752 with privileges.

Cornelia J. Chadwick Chadwick, Cornelia J. The Complete Dutch Kitchen-Maid - A Picture Of Holland A Century And A Half Ago 250-255

THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. A PICTURE OF HOLLAND A CENTURY AND A HALF AGO. By Cornelia I. Chadwick. HAVE in my possession an old Dutch Cookery Book of the date 1752, revealing quaint glimpses of the manners and customs of that day. The frontispiece is a picture of the kitchen; the fire, which a maid is feeding with a piece of peat, is in the backgroundon a hearth-stone with a kettle hanging over it from a crane; two birds are roasting in front of the fire, but the legs and wings are not trussed, as they would be nowa- days. Three women are busy in the kitchen, but the drawing is not sufficiently careful to show which is the mistress. The table is evidently of dark oak with folding legs, of the kind so much prized for a drawing-room to- day. The title-page is very comprehensive, and sets forth that this is: THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. Showing How one can prepare all sorts of dishes, confections and desserts without great expense or labor so that they shall be wholesome and tasteful for Roman Catholics on Fish days and during fasts. How one may preserve everything against the Winter. What one must do at killing time. How Mol and fresh Bier can be kept through the Summer. Besides an infallible method of determining if the meat is sound during the cattle disease. How one shall set the table when one entertains friends, with some plates of tables set out. As well as some home remedies against colds & intermittent fever, to cure without fail, to strengthen the sight, etc., some food & drinks for invalids all described by a noble lady who has lately moved to the Hague. The third Edition corrected of a great many mistakes in printing. Printed after her own manuscript. Published TAmsterdam by Steven van Esweldt in the Beursteg by the Dam 1752 with privileges. On turning the page, there are four lines which state that none of this ed- ition is genuine unless signed by the publisher, and then follows in faded brown ink the proud S. V. Esveldt, with a flourish at the end. Evidently edi- tions were small and time plenty in that publishing house of Amsterdam. This is the what and where of the book, and next comes the why. It seems a pity to the Editor, as she sets forth in the Introduction which follows, that all the lore of this noble lady should not be for the world at large. She was one of the best blood of Hol- land and married to a great Statesman, and was noted as one of the best house- keepers of our Fatherland; her two sons to-day hold high places, and her daughters are married to their equals in birth and position. Knowing how im- portant it was to make her daughters into good house-wives and give them good kitchen - maids, she to this end wrote this celebrated work, which con- tains such things as her Excellency had learned from her own experience. Sev- eral noble ladies hearing of it, asked for a copy, which her Excellency through magnanimity could not refuse; but she could not bring herself to let the origi- nal leave her hands, so that few besides her daughters possessed a copy, which made everyone desirous to have one.~~ (Evidently it takes more than one hun- dred and forty years to change human nature.) The original Her Excellency left to one of her daughters-indaw, who, dying shortly after Her Excellency, left it to a friend of mine, who has put it in- to my hands. In order to satisfy the wish of so many ladies, I have concluded to give it to the Press with the permis- sion of those nearest concerned. The greatest change which has been made from the manuscript consists in the improving of the spelling and dis- position of the recipes. They were in a terrible disorder; so my friend has divided them into eight chapters under A, B, 0, etc., and under each heading the recipes that belong there, so that one can see the contents from a very short index. The correcting of the spell- ing was also very necessary. But one must not think that one belittles Her Excellency thereby, because one knows 251 well that ladies of birth very seldom at- tempted to learn how to spell. I should have put Her Excellencys distinguished name on the Title page if it had been permitted. As to the nec& ssity of this work, I will say there are many Dutch cookery books; but they deal with dishes made in France, Italy, and Germany, and therefore very different from those of Holland, which are more wholesome, tasty, and less expensive. It is true that some things have penetrated to us, but they are very few. To whom should I dedicate this work rather than to you, Mothers and Daughters, who put your hands to the preparation of the food? So now you will be able thoroughly to understand everything, so that you can give orders, and they will hence have more weight and make more impression. Not the least of the advantages will be econo- my and variety. And you, industrious Kitchen-Maid, who will be led to perfec- tion by this book, your health and eye- sight have been provided for; if you fol- low its rules for ease, exactness, and economy, you will not only be beloved and receive good wages, but if you marry, you will yourself become a good housekeeper, and in your old age be able to live off of what this book has saved you, while others, having lost their eyesight, sink into poverty. Skilful ladies, honored and lovely maidens, thorough housekeepers and in- dustrious kitchen-maids, use this work to your instruction and the good of the Household, and regard this dedication as a token that I truly am Your humble but unknown Servant and Friend. Not to come too hastily to the prac- tical part of the book, there is next printed a three -page poem describing the difference between a well-ordered and a disorderly household. The index, although praised as be- ing very short, is to modern ideas very full of words, every heading ending with how one shall cook it, how one shall make it, etc. The first chapter is about the killing and cutting up of beef and pork and the making of sau- sages. Among these has crept in a sau THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. 252 THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. sage made of Partridge, to be eaten fresh, which sounds quite attractive. Take partridge or chicken meat, free from all skin or bone, four times as much lard, flavor to taste. (The pork sausage is flavored with two ounces nut- meg, two ounces cloves, two ounces black pepper.) Stir some milk through it and put it in cases. Lay them in milk for a short time and fry them on buttered paper. This is a tasty dish. If they are not to be put in cases, bread-crumbs and yolks of egg added will enable you to roll them in the shape of sausages and fry in the same manner :is very good and appetizing. Thus every recipe ends with a good word for itself, a gentle blast of its own trumpet. The rule for Oly-koeks, dear to the heart of every child of Dutch descent, departs somewhat from the time-hon- ored custom of putting the raisins in the centre of each cakebut I will let the book speak for itself. Take 2 pds of wheat flour, 1 pd of raisins which have been carefully stoned, ~ pd of currants, 6 eggs, ~- pd candied lemon-peel, it pd of orange chips. The two latter can be omitted if desired. Take about 1 pt. milk & a beerglass of fresh yeast in which you have stirred a spoonful of sugar. Mix all well together & let it rise. Shape the dough into 4~akes with two pewter spoons & throw them into boiling oil & let them brown. This is good. But I must not forget that I have male as well as feminine readers, and that they will not find recipes enter- taining reading, although there are very few who do not appreciate the finished result. The noble lady is very particular about detail, the very water is sometimes pump water and sometimes rain wa- ter. In one recipe she even wants you to take half of each. It would strike a modern mind that, with the three or four kinds of spice used almost invaria- bly, it would be rather difficult for the housekeeper to determine if the cook had been exact as to the proportion of pump water. On page 135 there are a few general rules about setting a ta- ble. First. The middle dish must al- ways be the largest. Second. All oth- ers, of which there must, if possible, be two to match each other on opposite sides of the table, placed diagonally, are smaller. Some of the viands must be put on pewter dishes and some on porcelain, but the principle reiterated is, that Fish must stand over against fish, fine roast over against fine roast, etc. In summer everything is to be decorated with flowers and leaves, but in winter with sugar, gilding, and silvering; but the dishes on fast days must not be decorated. The place of honor in the dining-room is under the mirror, or the farthest from the door. In winter the nearest to the fire. When you entertain guests, the rank is counted by the women and not the men, except at family dinners, such as engagement dinners, birthday feasts or marriages, then you follow the rank of affinity. On the first day of the engagement, the brides relatives take precedence, on the second day those of the groom. For dinner at mid-day you may serve anything; at supper, however, you must not have anything hot excepting pota- toes or chestnuts or asparagus, which must always be hot. After this follow some menus. A few of them are simple enough, but how even thirty-five people ever recovered if they ate all the things named in the last table, which I here copy, remains a mystery. The various letters and figures refer to a diagram, which shows where the dishes are to be placed on the table. A, venison, a,1, salt ham, ~A,18, large cold roast, c,d, large pies; e,t,~,b, four dishes of small roasts such as chickens and doves; i,It,Lm, large pasties; 11,0, oysters or lobsters; a,b, little dishes with pickles; a,b,c,d, fruit dishes with salad; e,f, two fruit dishes with ancho- vies; g,h, two fruit dishes with caviar; i,k,1,m, four fruit dishes with chestnuts, and c,d, sauce for venison on dishes; e,f, two little dishes with mustard and cinnamon and sugar ; n,o,p,q,r,s, six fruit dishes with large fruit; t,v, creme brul6; w,x, whipped cream; y,z, aa, bb, four dishes with citron and amberlade, etc. ; cc,dd,ee,ff, four fruit dishes with small cakes; 1,2,3,4, little dishes with ball radishes; 5,6,7,8, little dishes with long radishes; 9,10,11,12, dishes with ox- tongue; 13,14, dishes with chopped smoked beef; 15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22, little dishes with small fruit, in winter THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. 253 with raisins, almonds, figs, prunes, and prunelles, etc.; 2330, dishes with but- ter; 3142, dishes with all sorts of jelly; 4346, dishes with cut and grated cheese; gg,hh, two fruit dishes with little tarts, and 12 or more sweets to fill the gaps. After this substantial outburst of hos- pitality the first part of the Cook Book ends, with the advice to give things in their season,and in order to know what is seasonable you must have the Mmanac. Then if everything goes off well, you will have the highest pleasure of a host, that your guests thank you for your kindness with pleased faces. Attached to the book I have been describing is an appendix, from the preface of which we can judge of the sensation which it first created. The poor Editor has evidently been attacked primarily on the subject of the title. The Complete Kitchen Maid, in- deed! and did she not know that many ladies of quality had other manuscript recipes and remedies which are not mentioned in the book? So the good lady says she decided to get possession as far as possible of these manuscripts, and add an appendix as large as the original. She also discovered that many young men knew nothing about carving, and often dimmed their other- wise brilliant qualities by being awk- ward at this task. Then a great many more remedies have been suggested; but they do not belong properly to a cook-book, so she has added those but sparingly, but she must say they are often very useful to the housekeeper. She now thinks it can certainly be called complete; and with some rather elaborate reasons, founded on the in- consistency and venom of fault-finders, she proudly proclaims this fact. So she again sends out her little book with the new and old parts bound together, and my copy was at once bought by Johanna Deminger, for her name ls in it with the date 1752 and a fine flourish under it. In this practical age we have dispensed with the flourish, but then it was necessary to make the signature valid, as is still the case in Spain. For this second part there are two corners turned down,which I fancy done by the fair Johanna. One points to a recipe for preserving the complexion and re- moving all blemishes, the other to an elixir by which one can live healthily many years. I fancy her turning to the first while she was still young and dainty - looking, and to the second as she grew in wisdom, but began to fade. This second part of the book has sup- plementary receipts in every depart- ment that the first had. Among the remedies we soar as high as to read: Remedy of the Grand-Duchess of Tus- cany, which instantly removes a pain (r0n in de mactg). Take three drachms of Gum of Taca- mahaca and three drachms balsam of Peru, mix them well together with brandy. Put this upon the fire until the brandy has evaporated, spread it on a piece of chamois leather and lay it on the body. It is excellent. I had hoped to find some such ex- traordinary remedies as Mrs. Delaney mentions in her letters, when she recom- mends that her nephew should try a live spider enclosed in a quill and tied around his neck; but there are none but such as the preface says are well known and have really cured people. More attention is given in this part of the work to etiquette and rules. Those which govern the actions of the host and carver are quite detailed. The Editor first reads all men, old and young, a little lecture upon the awkwardness of their situation when they are in society, if, on being asked to carve, they are obliged to reply they do not know how, or carve in an unskilful manner. Even worse, she exclaims, is it when the host has to confess his inability and ask one of the guests to do it for him. To carve well one must give attention to the following rules: 1. The carver must before all be careful that his hands are well washed and the nails are cut short and are clean. Although one seldom or never touches the food with the hand, stil~ cleanliness is necessary in this instance. 2. In case the carver has no sharp knife or fork, it is permissible to ask foi the same, as otherwise he cannot ac. complish his task as it beseems hint to do. 3. He must ask for a clean table- board to be placed at his left side, so 254 THE COMPLETE DUTCH KITCHEN-MAID. that he can lay the knife, fork, and spoon on it between times. 4. If one should soil his hands in carving, he must on no account ask for a half-soiled cloth to wipe them on, as if he were too dainty to use the clean one. This would be no compli- ment, but a reflection on the cleanliness of the hostess. Besides, with a dirty cloth he would soil his hands more, which would not be agreeable to the other guests. 5. The carver must stand and carve, because it cannot be done so well sit- ting; and also to show zeal in 8helping his friends. 6. The carver must be bare-headed, but if it is too cold, or his bodily con- dition will not admit of this, then he must make a short apology. Before be- ginning to carve he must bow to the company, and then proceed without more ado. 7. If the company is large, then the gentlemen among the guests should offer to help carve, as otherwise the host would become a slave and find no time to urge his guests to eat. 8. If anyone is asked to carve he must do so at once and not say that he cannot, because that would be the same as acknowledging that he had had no good bringing-up. 9. When all the guests are served, then the carver may help himself with what is left on the dish, having given all the best pieces to others without sav- ing the best for himself. He can then sit down quietly and eat. 10. If a guest asks for more he must at once rise to help him. He must ask of the man or maid who is serving, a clean table-board, knife, fork, an~d spoon: if he has been using those that he first carved with, for himself, he cannot after- ward use these for the other guests. The directions for cutting are appar- ently the same as nowadays. She makes one sage remark which is worth repeat- ing, As to what are the best pieces, it is well to ask each guest, because to each what he likes is the best piece. The next set of directions relate to the folding of napkins. The Editor opens her instructions with the remark, that whereas it is always customary to give brides ~nd grooms napkins that are folded like cocks, hens, peacocks, etc., such is not the case for the other guests; and then follow various simple modes of folding them. Just before the book ends we get an- other look into the past, as our Unknown Friend lays down the rules which govern the drinking of toasts. The heading is: Addition which has only come to hand after the book was printed as far as this Customs regarding the ceremonial as to the drinking of healths. As to rank in placing your guests at table, that has been treated of in the first half; but ere we close this book we give the rule about drinking healths as it is among the Burgers, so that no mis- takes may be made. 1. Offer your friends before going to table a glass of red wine, as that is good for the digestion and is a pleasant way of welcoming them. 2. With the first glass the host must wish his guests an appetizing meal. His friends must answer with a glass and wish the same to each other also. 3. If the company consists of only ten or twelve people, one can drink their health in turn, but it is useless to do it all at once, as all may not have such thirst at the same time. When you wish to drink, ask for a glass of wine of the man or maid who is serving. 4. If the company is large and there are perhaps thirty at table, it would be useless to drink everyones health separ- ately, as one would then take more wine than one cares to drink. If you please you may include two, four, or six in one salutation of your glass, beginning with those furthest off and then continuing, first on the right hand and then on the left. 5. The dispute still exists as to the propriety of kissing the lady who sits next you as you drink her health, or thanking her with a kiss when she drinks yours. Still more unmannerly is it to leave your chair to kiss the young ladies who sit at a distance from you. It is not proper to kiss a lady without washing your lips, and besides it creates confusion at table. 6. It is not well to insist upon any~ COMFORT OF THE FIELDS. 255 ones finishing his glass each time, as that would do away with the freedom of your guests, but it is quite proper to ask the lady next you if you may fill her glass from time to time. 7. With the last glass you must thank your host for a pleasant meal, and hope that your fellow-guests have en- joyed their entertainment. But you must not leave the table before you have thanked God for what you have received. You must not fold your napkin, that is the work of the servants. The book ends with an account of an ingenious machine for stuffing sausages, which is highly recommended. And here I bid good-by to my dear old friend, feel- ing that if I could remember all she has to teach me I could indeed become the complete Dutch Kitchen-Maid, and the model housekeeper she would wish one to be. COMFORT OF THE FIELDS. By Archibald Lampman. WHAT wouldst thou have for easement after grief, When the rude world hath used thee with despite, And care sits at thine elbow day and night, Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief? To me, when life besets me in such wise, Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain, And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth, To roam in idleness and sober mirth Through summer airs and summer lands, and drain The comfort of wide fields unto tired eyes. By hills and waters, farms and solitudes, To wander by the day with wilful feet, Through fielded valleys wide with yellowing wheat, Along gray roads that run between deep woods Murmurous and cool; through hallowed slopes of pine, Where the long daylight dreams, unpierced, unstirred, And only the rich-throated thrush is heard; By lonely forest brooks that froth and shine In bowldered crannies, buried in the hills; By broken beaches tangled with wild vine, And log-strewn rivers murmurous with mills. 4 / - 7 A

Archibald Lampman Lampman, Archibald Comfort Of The Fields 255-257

COMFORT OF THE FIELDS. 255 ones finishing his glass each time, as that would do away with the freedom of your guests, but it is quite proper to ask the lady next you if you may fill her glass from time to time. 7. With the last glass you must thank your host for a pleasant meal, and hope that your fellow-guests have en- joyed their entertainment. But you must not leave the table before you have thanked God for what you have received. You must not fold your napkin, that is the work of the servants. The book ends with an account of an ingenious machine for stuffing sausages, which is highly recommended. And here I bid good-by to my dear old friend, feel- ing that if I could remember all she has to teach me I could indeed become the complete Dutch Kitchen-Maid, and the model housekeeper she would wish one to be. COMFORT OF THE FIELDS. By Archibald Lampman. WHAT wouldst thou have for easement after grief, When the rude world hath used thee with despite, And care sits at thine elbow day and night, Filching thy pleasures like a subtle thief? To me, when life besets me in such wise, Tis sweetest to break forth, to drop the chain, And grasp the freedom of this pleasant earth, To roam in idleness and sober mirth Through summer airs and summer lands, and drain The comfort of wide fields unto tired eyes. By hills and waters, farms and solitudes, To wander by the day with wilful feet, Through fielded valleys wide with yellowing wheat, Along gray roads that run between deep woods Murmurous and cool; through hallowed slopes of pine, Where the long daylight dreams, unpierced, unstirred, And only the rich-throated thrush is heard; By lonely forest brooks that froth and shine In bowldered crannies, buried in the hills; By broken beaches tangled with wild vine, And log-strewn rivers murmurous with mills. 4 / - 7 A 256 COMFORT OF THE FIELDS. In upland pastures, sown wth gold, and sweet With the keen perfume of the ripening grass, Where wings of birds and filmy shadows pass, Spread thick as stars with shining marguerite; To haunt old fences overgrown with briar, Muffled in vines, and hawthorns, and wild cherries, Rank poisonous ivies, red-bunched elder-berries, And pied blossoms to the hearts desire, Gray mullein towering into yellow bloom, Pink-tasselled milkweed, breathing dense perfume, And swarthy vervain, tipped with violet fire. To hear at eve the bleating of far flocks, The mud-hens whistle from the marsh at morn To skirt with deafened ears and brain oerborne Some foam-filled rapid charging down its rocks With iron roar of waters; far away Across wide-reeded meres, pensive with noon, To hear the querulous outcry of the loon To lie among deep rocks, and watch all day On liquid heights the snowy clouds melt by; Or hear from wood-capped mountain brows the jay Pierce the bright morning with his jibing cry. To feast on summer sounds; the jolted wains, The thrasher humming from the farm near by, The prattling crickets intermittent cry, The locusts rattle from the sultry lanes; Or in the shadow of some oaken spray To watch as through a mist of light and dreams The far-off hay-fields, where the dusty teams Drive round and round the lessening squares of hay, And hear upon the wind, now loud, now low, With drowsy cadence half a summers day, The clatter of the reapers come and go. Far violet hills, horizons filmed with showers, The murmur of cool streams, the forests gloom, The voices of the breathing grass, the hum Of ancient gardens overbanked with flowers; Thus, with a smile as golden as the dawn, And cool fair fingers radiantly divine, The mighty mother brings us in her hand, For all tired eyes and foreheads pinched and wan, Her restful cup, her beaker of bright wine; Drink, and be filled, and ye shall understand! By Bliss Perry. ATKINSON, bachelor of law and writer of light verse, sat one murky August evening in his hall-bedroom, with the gas turned low, wondering whether the night would be too hot for sleep. At a quarter before ten a loiter- ing messenger - boy brought him a line from his friend I)arnel: Come around at once. Just bacic. The very greatest news. Thereupon Atkinson discarded his smoking - jacket, reluctantly ex- changed his slippers for shoes, and took the car down to Twelfth Street, remem- bering meanwhile that Darnels brief vacation from the Broadway Bank ex- pired that day, and speculating as to the nature of the great news which the clerk had brought back from Vermont. The lawyer was a Vermonter too, and it was this fact, as well as a common liter- ary ambition, that had drawn the young fellows together at first, long before Philander, on the strength of having two triolets paid for, had moved up to Thirty - first Street. Philander Atkin- son liked Darnel, admired his feverish energy and his pluck, envied his ac- quaintance with books. He had always persisted in thinking that Darnels sto- ries would sell, if only some magazine would print one for a starter; and he had patiently listened to most of these stories, and to some of them several times over. Yet Darnel had never had any luck; had never had even his de- serts; and the sincerity of his congrat- ulations whenever Atkinsons verses saw the light always caused Philander to feel a trifle awkward. He knew that the indefatigable clerk had two or three manuscripts out~~ out in the mails when the vacation began, and as he turned in at Darnels boarding - house he had almost persuaded himself that The iEon had accepted Laki, his friends Egyptian story. It was a long climb up to Darnels room, and the writer of light verse mounted deliber- ately, being fat with overmuch sitting in his oflice chair. On the third floor the air was heavy with orange - flowers and Bonsilene roses, and a caterer was carrying away ice-boxes. A whimsical rhyme came into Philanders head, and he made a mental note of it. Just then Darnel appeared, leaning over the balus- trade of the fourth - floor landing, his coat off, his collar visibly the worse for the railway journey, and an eager smile upon his thin, homely face. Hullo, D., said Philander. Here I am. Been having a wedding here? he added in a low voice, as he grasped Darnels hand. I believe so. Im just back. Come in, PhiL You got my message? Why else should I be here, old fel- low? Is it Laki, sure? Without answering, Darnel led the way into his tiny room. His trunk lay THE COMMONEST POSSIBLE STORY.

Bliss Perry Perry, Bliss The Commonest Possible Story 257-261

By Bliss Perry. ATKINSON, bachelor of law and writer of light verse, sat one murky August evening in his hall-bedroom, with the gas turned low, wondering whether the night would be too hot for sleep. At a quarter before ten a loiter- ing messenger - boy brought him a line from his friend I)arnel: Come around at once. Just bacic. The very greatest news. Thereupon Atkinson discarded his smoking - jacket, reluctantly ex- changed his slippers for shoes, and took the car down to Twelfth Street, remem- bering meanwhile that Darnels brief vacation from the Broadway Bank ex- pired that day, and speculating as to the nature of the great news which the clerk had brought back from Vermont. The lawyer was a Vermonter too, and it was this fact, as well as a common liter- ary ambition, that had drawn the young fellows together at first, long before Philander, on the strength of having two triolets paid for, had moved up to Thirty - first Street. Philander Atkin- son liked Darnel, admired his feverish energy and his pluck, envied his ac- quaintance with books. He had always persisted in thinking that Darnels sto- ries would sell, if only some magazine would print one for a starter; and he had patiently listened to most of these stories, and to some of them several times over. Yet Darnel had never had any luck; had never had even his de- serts; and the sincerity of his congrat- ulations whenever Atkinsons verses saw the light always caused Philander to feel a trifle awkward. He knew that the indefatigable clerk had two or three manuscripts out~~ out in the mails when the vacation began, and as he turned in at Darnels boarding - house he had almost persuaded himself that The iEon had accepted Laki, his friends Egyptian story. It was a long climb up to Darnels room, and the writer of light verse mounted deliber- ately, being fat with overmuch sitting in his oflice chair. On the third floor the air was heavy with orange - flowers and Bonsilene roses, and a caterer was carrying away ice-boxes. A whimsical rhyme came into Philanders head, and he made a mental note of it. Just then Darnel appeared, leaning over the balus- trade of the fourth - floor landing, his coat off, his collar visibly the worse for the railway journey, and an eager smile upon his thin, homely face. Hullo, D., said Philander. Here I am. Been having a wedding here? he added in a low voice, as he grasped Darnels hand. I believe so. Im just back. Come in, PhiL You got my message? Why else should I be here, old fel- low? Is it Laki, sure? Without answering, Darnel led the way into his tiny room. His trunk lay THE COMMONEST POSSIBLE STORY. 258 THE COMMONEST POSSIBLE STORY. upon the floor, half-unpacked, the fold- ing-bed was down, for the better ac- commodation of some of the trunks con- tents, and the desk in the corner, under the single jet of gas, was covered with piles of finely torn paper. Darnels man- ner, usually nervous and somewhat con- scious, betrayed a certain exhilaration, but he was under perfect self-controL Laki ? he said, seating himself in his revolving chair and whirling around to the desk, while Atkinson threw him- self upon the bed, Laki? Oh, I had forgotten. Its probably here. He pulled over the mail accumulated dur- ing his absence. Yes. He tore open the big envelope. The editor of The Xon regrets to say, etc. ; and he tossed the printed slip, with the manu- script, into his waste - basket, with a laugh. Atkinsons heart sank. Poor Darnel; it was not a cheerful welcome home. But Darnel was busied with his letters. And here are the others, he went on. I thank the Lord none of them were accepted. What! exclaimed Philander, turn- ing upon his elbow. Darnel looked at him with a puzzling smile. Thats why I sent for you, said he. Phil, all that Ive been writing here for three years is stuff; and Ive only just found it out. I can do something different now.~~ Atkinson stared. Darnel had rarely talked about his own work, and then in a scarcely suppressed fever of excite- ment and anxiety. Many a time had Atkinson noticed his big, hollow eyes turn darker, and his sallow face grow ashy, even in reading over with a shak- ing voice some of that same stuff. I have learned the great secret, Darnel added, quietly. You have Aladdins ring? said At- kinson. Or are you in love? Both, replied DarneL It is the same thing. Philander flung himself back upon the pillow, with a little laugh. Go ahead, D. I have found her, and myself. Let me turn down the gas a little; I see it hurts your eyes. I belong in the world now; I am in the heart of itI said to myself coming down the river this after- noonin the heart of the world. He lingered over the words. Phil, he exclaimed, suddenly, all the time I was trying to write I was really trying to lift myself by the boot-straps. I was laboring to imagine things and people, and to get them on paper. It was all wrong. Do you remember that French poem you read me last winter, about the idol and the Eastern princesshow she lay on her couch sleepingthe night was hotwith the bronze idol gazing at her with its porphyry eyes, while her brown bosom rose and sank in her sleep, and the porphyry eyes kept staring at her staring but they never saw? Well, I believe my eyes have been like that. In Laki, now, you know I wanted to describe the exact color of the stone in the quarry, and asked the Egyptologist up at the Museum to tell me what it was? He laughed at me. Very well. It was a dull-red stone, with bright-red streaks across it; I saw the same thing in Troy this afternoon, when a hod-carrier fell five stories and they picked him up from a pile of bricks. Yoare getting rather realistic, mut- tered Philander. Darnel was not look- ing at him, and went on unheeding. I have but to tell what I see. I have stopped imagining; my head has ached Phil, you dont know how it has achedtrying to imagine things. I am past that now; if you only shut your eyes and look, it is all easy. Take that old Edda story that I tried to work up, about the fellow who fought all day long against his brides father, and when night came the bride. stole out and raised all the dead men on both sides, by magic, so that the next day, and every day, the battle raged on as before. I used to plan about the magic she used, and tried to invent a charm. Why, all she did was to pass over the battle-field at night, where the dead lay twisted in the frost, and while the wolves snarled around her and the spray from the fiord wet her cheek, she stooped to touch the dead mens wrists; and they loosed their grip upon broken sword and split linden shield, their breath came again, soft and low like a babys, and so they slept till the red dawn. Look here, said Atkinson, sitting THE COMMONEST POSSIBLE STORY. 259 up very straight, youve been reading The Finest Story in the World, and it has turned your head. Oh, the London clerk who was con- scious of pre-existences, and forgot them all when he fell in love? I could have told Rudyard Kipling better than that myself. Darnel gave an impatient whirl to the revolving chair. You mean you think you can, re- plied Atkinson, sharply. As you like. He spoke dreamily, and Atkinson dropped back on the pil- low again, watching his friend as nar- rowly as the dim light would allow. Hard work and unearth]y hours had told on Darnel; he certainly seemed light- headed. Sickening heat black frost he was murmuring; marching, stealing, fighting, toilingjoy, painthe life of the raceis a man to grow unconscious of these things in the moment that he really enters the life of the race, that he feels himself a part of it? What do you think, Phil? I think, was the slow reply, that whatever has happened to you in Ver- mont has shaken you up pretty well, old fellow. They say that when some- one asked Rachel how she could play PIvdre so devilishly well, she just opened her black Jewish eyes and said, I have seen her. And I think, in the mood youre in now, you can see as far back as Rachel or anybody else. Its like being opium-drunk; if you could keep so, and put on paper what you see, you could beat Kipling and all the rest of them. But you cant keep drunk, and you cant write prose or verse on love~ delirium. Its been tried. Suppose Rachel had said, I am Ph~dre ? Atkinson lifted his stout shoulders, laughing uneasily. So much the worse. I should say, the less pre - existence of that sort the better. You might as well tell me the whole story, D. What is her name? In a moment. She loves me, PhiL She is waiting for me in her little house among the hills. I left her only this morning, and soon I shall go back and leave New York forever. I can write the story up therethe story I have dreamed of writingfor I shall always have the secret of it. I have but to shut my eyes and tell what I see; and it is because she loves me. All the life of all the pastI can call that A Story of the Road. Then there will be the future to write ofthe men and women that are to come; for we shall have children, Phil, and in them Youre making rapid progress,~~ ejaculated Philander. I shall know the story of the future. Even now I know it; I do not simply foresee it, I see it. Why not A Story of the Goal! For I belong to it do you not understand? Yet, after all, what is that compared with the present? It shall be A Story of the March! Look there! He threw his eyes up to the ceiling, which was brightened for an instant by the headlight of an elevated train as it rushed past. Do you know what that engineer was really thinking of as he went by? That would be story enough. Or what was in the heart of the bride to-night, down on the third landingyou smelled the orange-flowers as you came up? To feel that your heart is in them, and theirs in y@u But Philander Atkinson was not listening to the lovers rhapsody. He was thinking of a certain summer when he, too, had had strange fancies in his head; when his thoughts played back- ward and forward with swift certainty; when he had grown suddenly conscious of great desires and deep affinities, and for a space of some three months he had dreamed of being something more than a mere verse-maker, a master of the file. Thenwhether it was that she grew tired of him, or they both realized that some dull mistake had been made it was all over. There was still in his drawer a package of manuscript he had written that summer: in blank verse, none too noble a form for the high thoughts which then filled him; in a queer new rhythm, too, the secret of whose beat he had caught at and then lost, for the lines read harshly to him now. He looked these things over oc- casionally, as a sort of awful example of himself to himself; though he had gone so far as to borrow some of their im- agery, not without a certain shame, to 260 THE COMMONEST POSSIBLE STORY. adorn his light verse. His card-house had fallen, but some of the colored pasteboard was pretty enough to be used again. Curiously, he found that he could cut pasteboard into more in- genious shapes than ever since his brief experience in piling it; fancy served him better after imagination left him; his triolets were admirably turned, and his luck with the magazines began. Altogether it had been an odd experi- ence; half those crazy ideas of Darnel had been his two years before, but he was quite over themyes, quiteand now it was D.s turn. He listened again to something that Darnel was murmur- ing. And she is an ordinary woman, one would say; a common woman. That is the mystery and the glory of it. I do not know that she is even beautifuL There must be thousands of women like her; I can see it plainly enough, that there must be thousands of women in the world like her. There was a rever- ent hush in his voice. Atkinson choked back an exclamation. Was D.s head really turned? A com- mon woman not know whether she is beautiful? A face rose before him, unlike any face in all the world: eyes with the blue of Ascutney, when you look at it through ten miles of autumn haze; hair brown as the chestnut leaf in late October; mouth Philander trembled slightly, and rising to his feet, stood looking down at Darnel, haggardly. It was quite over, that experience of two summers before, but while it lasted he had at least never dreamed that there were thousands of women in the world like her. Sit down, Phil, I am almost through. A woman like other women, and the story, when I write it, a com- mon story. It will be the commonest possible story ; common as a rose, com- mon as a child. I am going back to Vermont, where I was born, and where I have been born anew. There will be plenty of time for the storyyears, and years, and years. I have only to close my eyes some day, and she will write down all I tell her, and I shall call the story hers and mine. But Atkinson still stood, his hands in his pockets, his heavy figure stooping, the lines hardening in his face, while he watched the rapt gaze of Darnel, and drearily reflected how strange it was that a woman should open all the gates of the wonder-world to one mans im- agination, and that some other woman should close those secret gates, quietly, inexorably, upon that mans friend. Wait, said Darnel. Must you go back to your triolets? Let me show you her picture first. He turned the gas up to its fullest height, and held out a photograph. It was the same woman! Tins comforts of life, at the rate they are increasing, bid fair to bury us soon, as Tarpeia was buried under the shields of her friends the Sabines. Mr. Hamerton, in speaking of the increase of comfort in Eng- land, groans at the trying strain of ex- pense to which our extremely high stand- ard of living subjects all except the rich. It makes each individual of us very costly to keep, and constantly tempts people to concentrate on the maintenance of fewer individuals means that would in simpler times be divided among many. My grandfather, said a modern, the other day, left $200,000. He was considered a rich man in those days, but, dear me, he sup- ported four or five familiesall his needy relations and all my grandmothers. Think of an income of $10,000 a year being equal to such a strain, and providing suitably for a rich mans large family in the bargain! It wouldnt go so far now, and yet most of the reasonable necessaries of life cost less to-day than they did two generations ago. The difference is that we need so very many comforts that were not invented in our grandfathers time. There is a hospital, in a city large enough to keep a large hospital busy, that is in straits for money. Its income from contri- butions last year was larger by nearly a third than its income ten years ago, but its expenses were nearly double its income. There were some satisfactory reasons for the discrepancythe city had grown, the number of patients had increased, extraor- VoL. XJ.27 dinary repairs had been madebut at the bottom a very large expenditure seemed to be due to the struggle of the managers to keep the institution up to modern stand- ards. The patients are better cared for than they used to be; the nurses are better taught and more skilful; conveniences have been greatly multiplied; the heat- ing and cooking and laundry work is all done in the best manner with the most ap- proved apparatus; the plumbing is as safe as sanitary engineering can make it; the appliances for antiseptic surgery are fit for a fight for life; there are detached build- ings for contagious diseases, and an out-pa- tient department, and the whole concern is administered with wisdom and economy. There is only one distressing circumstance about this excellent charity, and that is that its expenses exceed its income, and. yet its managers have not been extravagant. They have only done what the enlightened experience of the day has considered to be necessary. If the hospital has to shut down and the patients must be turned out, at least the receiver will find a well-ap- pointed institution of which the managers have no reason to be ashamed. The trouble seems to be with very many of us, in contemporary private life as well as in institutions, that the enlightened ex- perience of the day invents more necessa- ries than we can get the money to pay for. Our opulent friends are constantly demon- strating to us by example how indispensa- bly convenient the modern necessaries are, THE POINT OF VIEW.

The Point Of View The Point Of View 261-266

Tins comforts of life, at the rate they are increasing, bid fair to bury us soon, as Tarpeia was buried under the shields of her friends the Sabines. Mr. Hamerton, in speaking of the increase of comfort in Eng- land, groans at the trying strain of ex- pense to which our extremely high stand- ard of living subjects all except the rich. It makes each individual of us very costly to keep, and constantly tempts people to concentrate on the maintenance of fewer individuals means that would in simpler times be divided among many. My grandfather, said a modern, the other day, left $200,000. He was considered a rich man in those days, but, dear me, he sup- ported four or five familiesall his needy relations and all my grandmothers. Think of an income of $10,000 a year being equal to such a strain, and providing suitably for a rich mans large family in the bargain! It wouldnt go so far now, and yet most of the reasonable necessaries of life cost less to-day than they did two generations ago. The difference is that we need so very many comforts that were not invented in our grandfathers time. There is a hospital, in a city large enough to keep a large hospital busy, that is in straits for money. Its income from contri- butions last year was larger by nearly a third than its income ten years ago, but its expenses were nearly double its income. There were some satisfactory reasons for the discrepancythe city had grown, the number of patients had increased, extraor- VoL. XJ.27 dinary repairs had been madebut at the bottom a very large expenditure seemed to be due to the struggle of the managers to keep the institution up to modern stand- ards. The patients are better cared for than they used to be; the nurses are better taught and more skilful; conveniences have been greatly multiplied; the heat- ing and cooking and laundry work is all done in the best manner with the most ap- proved apparatus; the plumbing is as safe as sanitary engineering can make it; the appliances for antiseptic surgery are fit for a fight for life; there are detached build- ings for contagious diseases, and an out-pa- tient department, and the whole concern is administered with wisdom and economy. There is only one distressing circumstance about this excellent charity, and that is that its expenses exceed its income, and. yet its managers have not been extravagant. They have only done what the enlightened experience of the day has considered to be necessary. If the hospital has to shut down and the patients must be turned out, at least the receiver will find a well-ap- pointed institution of which the managers have no reason to be ashamed. The trouble seems to be with very many of us, in contemporary private life as well as in institutions, that the enlightened ex- perience of the day invents more necessa- ries than we can get the money to pay for. Our opulent friends are constantly demon- strating to us by example how indispensa- bly convenient the modern necessaries are, THE POINT OF VIEW. 262 THE POINT OF VIEW. and we keep having them until we either exceed our incomes, or miss the higher con- cerns of life in the effort to maintain a complete outfit of its creature comforts. And the saddest part of it all is that it is in such great measure an American devel- opment. We Americans keep inventing new necessaries, and the people of the effete monarchies gradually adopt such of them as they can afford. When we go abroad we growl about the inconveniences of Euro- pean lifethe absence of gas in bedrooms, the ~carcity and sluggishness of elevators, the primitive nature of the plumbing, and a long list of other things without which life seems to press unreasonably upon our endurance. Nevertheless, if the res angus& e domi get straiter than usual we are always liable to send our families across the water to spend a season in the practice of econ- omy in some land where it costs less to live. Of course it all belongs to Progress, and no one is quite willing to have it stop, but it does a comfortable sufferer good to get his head out of his conveniences sometimes and complain. Wiry is it, asks a recent English writer, that we cannot laugh? And as if to show that ~there is good reason for him, at least, to ask the question, he proceeds with gravity to consider whether it is due to the innate sadness and dulness of democ- racy. It is said, he remarks, that one may travel from one side of the United States to the other, and never in all that weary journey hear the sound of laughter. He confesses that he knows not if this be really true, but if it is, he has heard no more serious indictment of a democratic people. It might occur to any one but this writer himself that the inability to laugh is in his case due to a serious, a very serious lack of a sense of humor. But ap- parently he regards his nation as in quite as bad a way, for he asserts that in his land, or, atanvrate, in London, an audience at a comic play~~ is a melancholy sight here and there a spasmodic effort toward laughter dies away in a sardonic grin, but never an honest, open-mouthed roar of laughter in all the house. Now if there is any considerable number of educated Englishmen who have not yet visited the United States, and who are in- clined to think with this critic that a cloud of gloom has settled on England as the re- sult of the progress of the spirit of democ- racy, I am quite sure that a journey across the Continent, or even a weeks sojourn in New York, would disabuse them, so far as our own experience with democracy could influence them. Had it been their privilege to assist at a play in which the late Mr. Florence, of delightful memory, appeared, say, as Sir Lucius, and Mrs. Drew as Mrs. Malaprop, they would have heard open- mouthed, honest laughter that would have compelled them to join in it. And almost any night ~ could guide them to places of real amusement where the performance is not, perhaps, of high artistic merri- ment, but where the laughter is not only honest and open-mouthed, but an indu- bitable roar. Nor would it be improba- ble that they would hear the same cheering noise in the street, or in the public convey- ances, particularly if they fell in 4with some of these joyous play-goers on the way home. And for that matter, unless the English people have changed within a few years, I am convinced that there is laughter to be heard in London streets and play-houses, save by those who, having ears, hear not. It is possible that the explanation of the critics disheartening statement of the con- dition of the English mind and diaphragm arises from a too sweeping application of the little word we. It may be that he has mistaken the group, or remnant, to which he belongs for the people of Eng- land. There is, as we know, a considerable class in that land to whom the progress of democracy is very depressing, and not with- out reason, and even good reason. But to gaug~ correctly the temper and mood of the people one must take into account the pos- sibility that there are great numbers who laugh now who were not used to laugh, and had scant cause for it, and in whom the change may be fairly credited to that much dreaded, much overratedfor good and for evilspirit of democracy. In the first third of this century, before the extension of the suffrage began, and just before their own grim philosopher described the English people as mostly fools, laughter, if we may judge from the diaries of the times, was not a distinguishing English habit. I THE POINT OP VIEW. 263 afti persuaded that, taking the nation to- gether, it is more rather than less so now, even though we cannot laugh. IN a world where it is very desirable to be entertained, and not always easy to find entertainment, there is a great deal to be got out of a discreet consideration of the mysteries of life. They give one something to theorize about in odd moments, and to have theories about them gives one an in- terest in whole series and classes of facts which seem to fit in with such theories or to upset them. If the facts wont fit the theory, then there is the theory to change; and to have ones theory driven into a new shape is the next best thing to having it justified. There was a little tale in the newspaper the other day about Mr. Edison, that he held up his finger and bent it, and asked, What does that? Failing to get a satis- factory reply, he said he was trying to find out what is the force that pulls the strings that makes animate creatures move. That is one of the great mysteriesthe mystery of motion. It is that, we are told, that Mr. Keely, the motor-man, has been brood- ing over for several decades past. Mr. Keelys experience has not been such as to encourage any poor man to theorize on this subject for a living; nevertheless, it is a great subject for a mind to dwell upon in its leisure moments. Sir Isaac was think- ing about it when the apple fell and gave him an idea that was of value to him, and has been useful ever since. There is al- ways this advantage about having ones mind run on something in particular, that even if it does not bring down what it is aimed at, it is more likely to hit something else that is worth while than if it was wan- dering aimlessly. As witness the useful- ness of the alchemists to the science of chemistry. Even if Mr. Edisons mind fails to grasp the force that crooks his fin- ger, it is very possible that he may puzzle out some minor problem that is worth while. Indeed, it is reported already that he has a fascinating theory that attributes an indi- vidual will to every atom, and declares that matter is sentient. Another mystery, of captivating quali- tics, is that which shrouds the relation of the body to the spirit. It was the mystery whose partial solution led Dr. Henry Jekyll to make the disastrous acquaintance of Ed- ward Hyde. Describing his speculations on the duality of man and sundry chemical in- vestigations that supplemented them, Dr. Jekyll writes: A side-light began to shine upon the subject from the laboratory ta- ble. I began to perceive more deeply than it has ever yet been stated the trembling im- materiality, the mist-like transience of this seemingly so solid body in which we walk attired. . . . I not only recognized my natural body for the mere aura and efful- gence of certain of the powers that made up my spirit, but managed to compound a drug, etc. One division of this mystery embraces the subject of cures. Once get on the track of it, and every newspaper story about faith- cure, or any of the varieties of mental heal- ing, becomes a thing to be weighed, and if it seems to have substance, to be held in mind for consideration and future use. All kinds of miracles bear on this mystery. Hyp- notism and hypnotic cures are intimately mixed up with it. Telepathy has to do with it; apparitions, presentiments, and clairvoyance are more or less allied to it. Even spiritualism is interesting to the in- vestigator who has faith enough in the stories of materializations to consider them seriously. It is a mystery that is a con- stant practical puzzle in everyday life, and it has been much in mind during the five or six weeks preceding this writing, in con- nection with a pretty constant wrangling in the newspapers over the question whether Dr. Keeley cures drunkenness by infusing purposes into the spiritual parts of his pa- tients, or by letting drugs into their bodies. By the time this writing becomes reading that question may be settled or obsolete, but at present the profession says that if Dr. Keeley cures anything it is the mind. If existence is a little poky, and if you live in a quiet place and cannot afford to own horses enough to completely occupy your leisure, or if you are restless ashore and too poor to have a yacht, or if you are the husband of one wife, or the wife of one hus- band, and think it immoral to flirt, it may pay you to attach yourself to one of ~he great mysteries qf human existence. Do it not necessarily in the expectation of solv 264 THE POINT OF VIEW. ing your problem, but for the sake of pure cogitation It is a natural resource of a human being, for to puzzle over the mys- teries of life leads to a reaching out after the great Centre and Solution of all the mysteries, and to the establishment of rela- tions in which, vague and slender as they are, the mind of man finds rest. IN my admiration for certain qualities in Brownings poetry I yield to no Browning Society that exists, and certainly not to that Browning society, with a small s, which has just feebly gone out of existence over there in London. At the same time I am not so blind as not to see a rock ahead on which Brownings ship of fame is likely to come to grief. When, in the process of years, our present guileless modes of expression become obsoletewhen our clearest writers shall have become to posterity as difficult as Gower and Chaucer are to us, what, I should like to know, will happen to Robert Browning? How will Posterity treat those voluminous poetical works which are in so great part enigmatical, if not wholly unin- telligible, to the majority of his own co- temporaries? When one contemplates the possibility of even the thinnest layer of ob- scurity being added to, let us say, Sordello, one has creepy apprehensions touching the security of Brownings future. If we some- times find his utterances as indigestible as those of the Theban Sphinx if we have no very clear idea as to Who fished the murex up, and are naturally diffident about coming forward and explaining What porridge had John Keats if these points stagger us more or less, how will they strike our remote kinsmen of the year of our Lord 2392? Perhaps,. indeed and this is the only streak of light in the businessBrowning has been so far in ad - vance of his age that his subtle thought and complex expression will seem almost childishly lucid to that higher and happier civilizationthat he will, in short, speak to the future in its own familiar language, and be the only poet of the Nineteenth Century who will escape suspicions of in- sanity. This view, to be sure, involves no compliment to the intellectuality of the current period; but it is a view that must furnish infinite consolation and comfort to properly constructed disciples of Browning, one of which the acute reader has doubtless detected in me. ECHOES OF THE WALTZ. [From a painting by C. S. Reinliart.] See American Illustration of To-clay.

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 11, Issue 3 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York March, 1892 0011 3
James Russell Lowell Lowell, James Russell On A Bust Of General Grant 267-270

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. VOL. XI. MARCH, 1892. No. 3. ON A BUST OF GENERAL GRANT. By James Russell Lowell. STRONG, simple, silent are the [steadfast] laws That sway this universe, of none withstood, Unconscious of mans outcries or applause, Or what man deems his evil or his good; And when the Fates ally them with a cause That wallows in the sea-trough and seems lost, Drifting in danger of the reefs and sands Of shallow counsels, this way, that way, tost, Strength, silence, simpleness, of these three strands They twist the cable shall the world hold fast To where its anchors clutch the bed-rock of the Past. Strong, simple, silent, therefore such was lie Who helped us in our need~ the eternal law That who can saddle Opportunity Is Gods elect, though many a mortal flaw May minish him in eyes that closely see, Was verified in him: what need we say Of one who made success where others failed, Who, with no light save that of common day, Struck hard, and still struck on till Fortune quailed, But that (so sift the Norns) a desperate van Neer fell at last to one who was not wholly man. Copyright~ 1892, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. 268 ON A BUST OF GENERAL GRANT. A face all prose where Times [benignant] haze Softens no raw edge yet, nor makes all fair With the beguiling light of vanished days; This is relentless granite, bleak and bare, Roughhewn and scornful of ~esthetic phrase; Nothing is here for fancy, naught for dreams, The Presents hard, uncompromising light Accents all vulgar outlines, flaws, and seams, Yet vindicates some pristine natural right Oertopping that hereditary grace Which marks the gain or loss of some time-fondled race. So Marius looked, methinks, and Cromwell so, Not in the purple born, to those they led Nearer for that and costlier to the foe, Newmoulders of old forms, by nature bred The exhaustless life of manhoods seeds to show, Let but the ploughshare of portentous times Strike deep enough to reach them where they lie: Despair and danger are their fostering climes, And their best sun bursts from a stormy sky: He was our man of men, nor would abate The utmost due manhood could claim of. fate. Nothing ideal, a plain-peoples man At the first glance, a more deliberate ken Finds type primeval theirs in whose veins ran Such blood as quelled the dragon in his den, Made harmless fields and better worlds began: He came grim-silent, saw and did the deed That was to do; in his master-grip Our sword flashed joy; no skill of words could breed Such sure conviction as that close-clamped lip; He slew our dragon, nor, so seemed it, knew He had done more than any simplest man might do. ON A BUST OF GENERAL GRANT. 269 Yet did this man, war-tempered, stern as steel Where steel opposed, prove soft in civil sway; The hand hilt-hardened had lost tact to feel The worlds base coin, and glozing knaves made prey Of him and of the entrusted Commonweal; So Truth insists and will not be denied. We turn our eyes away, and so will Fame, As if in his last battle he had died Victor for us and spotless of all blame, Doer of hopeless tasks which praters shirk, One of those still plain men that do the worlds rough work. ~ 2 I~ t.~ Z ; jZ~ ~ 4QY; 4~e.,A ~s4 ~ - ~ :~[/ ~c~4; NOTEThis poem is the last, so far as is known, written by Mr. Lowell. He laid it aside for revision, leav- ing two of the verses incomplete. In a pencilled fragment of the poem the first verse appears as follows: 5trong, simple, silent, such are Natures Laws. In the final copy, from which the poem is now printed, the verse originally stood: strong, steadfast, silent are the laws, but steadfast was crossed out, and simple set in its place. A similar change is made in the ninth verse of the stanza, where simpleness is substituted for stead- fastness. The change from steadfast to simple was not made, probably through oversight, in the first verse of the second stanza. There is nothing to indicate what epithet Mr. Lowell would have chosen to complete the first verse of the third stanza. c. E. NORTON. THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. By Charles C. Rogers, U. S. N. F a thread be stretched upon a globe from any point in the English Channel to Toledo, pn Lake Erie, it will be found that the deviation of the St. Lawrence from it does not exceed thirty miles, this straight line connecting the greatest food-consuming country in Europe with the greatest food - producing country in America. The distance from Chicago to Liverpool by this river is 4,500 miles, one-half of which is covered by the great inland route throngh the Lakes to the Straits of Belle Isle. This line of communica- tion comprises fonr of the great lakes, with the connections between them and the St. Lawrence River, about seventy miles of which are obstructed by ob- stacles in the channel. With respect to the Atlantic, these waters are closed by ice from the 25th of November to the 25th of April; the irrcgularity of the tides and currents, the severity of the climate, and the fre- quent fogs, are also difficulties which call for vigilance and ability in navi- gating the gulf and river of St. Law- rence. Upon the lakes the conditions are milder, and the ice season shorter by, perhaps, one month; for, while the tourist there ~s often reminded in sum- mer of the equator and in winter of the poles, yet the thermometers show that the warmer means are not excessively high nor the colder ones unbearably low. Chicago is more than 1,200 miles in- land from Montreal, the nearest seaport of the St. Lawrence. As if to accentu- ate its commanding position as the head of the greatest internal water-route in the world, and as the depot and dis- tributing point for the products of the great Northwest, it has an elevation of 578 feet above the Atlantic terminus. Its shipping is second only to that of New York; from it the cereals of the Northwestern States are transported.

Lieutenant Charles C. Rogers, U.S. Navy Rogers, Charles C., Lieutenant U.S. Navy The Water-Route From Chicago To The Ocean 270-295

THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. By Charles C. Rogers, U. S. N. F a thread be stretched upon a globe from any point in the English Channel to Toledo, pn Lake Erie, it will be found that the deviation of the St. Lawrence from it does not exceed thirty miles, this straight line connecting the greatest food-consuming country in Europe with the greatest food - producing country in America. The distance from Chicago to Liverpool by this river is 4,500 miles, one-half of which is covered by the great inland route throngh the Lakes to the Straits of Belle Isle. This line of communica- tion comprises fonr of the great lakes, with the connections between them and the St. Lawrence River, about seventy miles of which are obstructed by ob- stacles in the channel. With respect to the Atlantic, these waters are closed by ice from the 25th of November to the 25th of April; the irrcgularity of the tides and currents, the severity of the climate, and the fre- quent fogs, are also difficulties which call for vigilance and ability in navi- gating the gulf and river of St. Law- rence. Upon the lakes the conditions are milder, and the ice season shorter by, perhaps, one month; for, while the tourist there ~s often reminded in sum- mer of the equator and in winter of the poles, yet the thermometers show that the warmer means are not excessively high nor the colder ones unbearably low. Chicago is more than 1,200 miles in- land from Montreal, the nearest seaport of the St. Lawrence. As if to accentu- ate its commanding position as the head of the greatest internal water-route in the world, and as the depot and dis- tributing point for the products of the great Northwest, it has an elevation of 578 feet above the Atlantic terminus. Its shipping is second only to that of New York; from it the cereals of the Northwestern States are transported. THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 271 through Lakes Huron and Erie to Buf- falo, whence they are forwarded to New York by rail or by the Erie Canal ;grain intended for Montreal may be carried over the lakes and down the St. Law- rence without once breaking bulk; and it is contemplated even to run steamers direct to England. Some idea of its lake traffic may be railway terminate here, and in a year move 43,000,000 tons of freight. Be- sides, in the central Northern, and the Northwestern States, the total freight moved is 196,000,000 tons, a fair pro- portion of which goes to Europe. Each year shows a steady increase in the trade of Chicago, which not only maintains its standing as the centre of formed from the statement that the ag- gregate entrances and clearances in 1890, for the great lakes, numbered 88,280, of which 21,054, measuring 10,288,688 tons, were at that port. The corresponding aggregate for New York is 15,283, and for the entire seaboard of the United States, 37,756. The tonnage has near- ly doubled itself in the last ten years; and it is possible to conceive of a like increase by 1900, for 54,411 miles of manufacture and distribution in the West, but promises in time to acquire that position with regard to the entire United States. The situation of the city, its facilities as the centre of the greatest railway system in the world, stretching westward into fertile and immense grain fields, bringing to its storehouses their almost inexhaustible products, and supplemented by great waterways feeding both domestic and The Chicago River, near Rush Street Sridge. 272 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. foreign markets ; combined with its proximity to supplies required by man- ufacturing establishments, are remarka- ble advantages for trade and commerce, which account for a growth almost with- out parallel, and assure a still greater activity and wealth. Its total trade for 1890 is estimated at $1,442,500,000. The wholesale trade is stated at $462,500,000; but it is as a manufacturing city, especially in iron and steel, that Chicago shows the great- est advance. There are now six rolling mills, twenty - eight foundries, eighty - nine machinery and boiler works, sev- enty galvanic iron, tin, and slate roofing works, besides car-wheel, stove, steam- fitting, and many other manufactories. In all there are 3,250 manufactories in operation, and their total output is valued at $555,000,000. Ship-building too is becoming an important indus- try; a fine steel steamer of 4,600 tons displacement was launched last Feb- ruary from the yards of the Chicago Ship-building Company for the Minne- sota iron trade, and three others are now building. The waters of Lake Michigan, which now flow northeastward to Lake Huron, are prevented by an elevation near the lake of only eight feet from flowing to the Illinois, and thence to the Missis- sippi. Communication with the latter has existed since 1848, through the Illi- nois and Michigan Canal, which extends southwesterly ninety-six miles to La Salle, on the Illinois River. This city of indnstry, indomitable will, and immense material resources, has been well chosen as the site of the Columbian Exposition; over the water- way to it will be borne much of the treasures and exhibits of foreign na- tions, aud this highway thus attains a prominence more than ever in keeping with its magnitude and importance. The course from Chicago to Lake Huron measures 330 miles ; its great- est width is one-fourth of this distance, and lies between Milwaukee and Grand Haven; its only interruption is Mani- tou County, which consists of Beaver and several other islands near the north- ern end of the lake, but which cannot be regarded as obstacles, for the chan- nels are wide and deep, the bottom in many places being far below the level of the ocean. The southern shore is but a few feet above the lake level, its chief feature lying in unprepossessing and far - stretching vistas of lumber yards. Perhaps the most pleasing prospect of the lake is Milwaukee, whose cream- colored buildings produce a peculiar and most agreeable effect. Eight rail- ways centre here after traversing a rich and rapidly improving country, whose grain forms the chief element in the citys prosperity. In entrances and clear- ances, it follows closely upon Chicago, the number last year exceeding 20,000; one of the chief contributors to this record is the line of wooden steamers to Lud- ington, in the service of the Flint & Pere Government Canal, St. Clair Flats, looking East. The Largest Steamer on the Lakes. [The steamship Owego, Union Steamboat Cosnpany: Length, 353 feet; breadth, 41 feet, 2 inches; depth, 13 feet, 10 inches; capacity, 2,550 tons. In the harbor at Buffalo.] DRAWN BY CARLTON T. CHAPMAN. 274 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. Marquette Railroad. Its vessels are built especially to contend with the lake ice they run regularly in winter and are never detained more than a few hours. The most important shipping port for the Lake Superior iron-ore district is Escanaba, also on Lake Michigan, from which 3,003,632 long tons were shipped in 1889, this amount being nearly one-half of the total shipments by vessel of Lake Superior ores during the year. The docks here are operated by the Chicago & Northwestern Rail- way Company, and represent an ag- gregate length of 4,898 feet and 828 pockets, which will contain a total of 95,- 500 tons. The steamers of the Lake Michigan & Lake Superior Transportation Com- pany, running through the centre of the lake, afford the inhabitants of this region the novelty of being in mid-sea for twenty-four hours ; a better oppor- tunity to view the industries is found in the northern Michigan steamers, which stop at the important points on the east coast. The passage to Lake Huron is through the Straits of Mackinac, which are formed by the Michigan shore on one hand, and by Bois Blanc and Mac- kinac Islands and Point St. Ignace on the other. The chief point of interest on Macki- nac is the headquarters of the American Fur Company, built in 1809 by John Ja- cob Astor, and within which the nucle- us of the Astor millions was formed. The approach to the island is beautiful and impressive ; it rises abruptly from the clear waters of the Strait, and its jut- ting crags, perfect harmony, and brill- iant colors are a pleasing contrast to the extreme monotony of the more southern coast. Its atmosphere is bright, pure, and invigorating. The view from it is Italiana deep sapphire in a cloudless sky; a delicate emerald extending along shore; and beyond the azure and the lilac resolving into an endless sheet of darkest blue. Incidental to this trade-route, and en- tering Lake Huron almost within sight of Mackinac, is the St. Marys River, the outlet of Lake Superior. The St. Marys Falls Canal, somewhat aptly termed the keystone of the great arch of water transport on this continent, is over a mile long and absorbs eighteen feet of the fall between the lakes. A lock, 575 feet long and 80 wide, was opened in 1881, but the traffic doubled in the next four years, and has increased so rapidly that greater accommodations are necessary. A new lock, 800 feet long, 100 feet wide, and 21 feet deep on the sills, is now building at an estimated cost of $4,738,865. When finished it will be the largest single lock in the world. One-eighth of the entire com- merce of the United States passes through this canal. In 1880, its traf- fic measured 1,734,800 tons, valued at about $29,000,000; in 1890, it had in- creased to 10,557 vessels, of 8,454,435 tons, carrying 9,041,213 tons of cargo, valued at $102,214,949. The freight for last year exceeded by 2,257,876 tons the entire tonnage of all nations which passed through the Suez Canal in 1889. A smaller lock (600 feet long, 85 wide, and 19 deep) is building on the Cana- dian side of the river ; as the United States has a supremacy of shipping on the upper lakes amounting almost to a monopoly, it is not probable that much traffic will be diverted thereby from New York to Montreal. During last October, a blockade near the canal was caused by a collision, in which a steamer sank and closed the channel. As nearly a week was required to release the steamer, a fleet of one- hundred and forty vessels, most of them of the largest class, was delayed for that period in the river or on the lake. It is 270 miles from Mackinac to the St. Clair River, the outlet of Lake Huron. A run of seven hours along the southern shore brings Alpena into view, where nothing is to be seen of the city but immense piles of lumber, flanked by towering black funnels emit- ting much odorous smoke. The an- nual product of its mills is 175,000,000 feet of lumber. Another journey of equal length across Saginaw Bay, and Sand Beach is reached, unless a visit be made to Bay City, which, again, owes its prosperity to lumber, and where wooden shipbuilding has reached such perfection, that the steamers of its yards are marvels of structural strength. Sand Beach has a special interest to mariners on account of its fine har THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 275 bor of refuge, formed by a breakwater eight thousand feet long; it is the on- ly port on the lower lakes to which ves- sels can fly in case of storms. This is the last stopping-place for the steamer on its way to Detroit, in full view of the comparatively flat, and extremely fertile shores. It is interesting to note on this lake, the terraces corresponding to for- mer levels, and extending for miles at heights of 120, 150, and 200 feet. On Georgian Bay, entirely within the region of Canada, are Collingwood and Owen Sound, two points of departure for the upper lakes. From them the steamers of the Canadian Pacific, of the Owen Sound Steamship, and of the Canada Transit Lines, wend their way through the countless islands, north of the Man- itoulin group, to Lake Superior. The attractions of the southern shore are served by the Northern Steamship Com- pany, from Buffalo, and by the North- western Transportation Line from De- troit, after stopping at Goderich and Kincardine, where salt-works and rail- way connections supply valuable freight. Port Huron, at the foot of the lake, is important as a railway terminus, a marine headquarters, and the site of a shipyard, dry-dock, and machine shops. Across the St. Clair is Sarnia, a popular resort for Southerners. A railway tun- nel under the river connects these towns. After a course of thirty-eight miles, the St. Clair spreads out into the lake of the same name. The navigation of the river is easy throughout. The regular steamer stops at St. Clair and Marine City, two small communities of interest as summer - resorts ; the lat- ter has a ship - building establishment, and a vein of rock - salt gives it a place among the producing centres of the State. The mouth of the St. Clair is a wide marsh, penetrated by several deep and tortuous channels. To improve this entrance the Government has construct- ed a ship canal, 8,200 feet long, 300 Entrance to the Welland Canal and Basin at Port Colborne, Oat. 276 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. feet wide, and 16 feet deep, at a cost of $650,000; and plans underway contem- plate a depth of 20 feet. The lake is so shallow that its navigable channel must be followed carefully; its transit occupies less than two hours, during which the steamer seems constantly surrounded by other vessels, the traffic bein~, such that a vessel passes any giv- en point every seven minutes. Upon reaching Belle Isle, the steamer enters Detroit River, which eighteen miles farther on enters Lake Erie, after a de- ~cent of eleven feet. Nearly opposite is Grosse Pointe, where, facing the dreamy expanse of the lake, are clustered the summer residences of Detroits wealthy men. The Detroit River is from one to three miles wide, and its rapid current of dark- green water is unsurpassed by any mountain stream. The channel varies from thirty to fifty feet in depth, and only at the Lime Kiln Crossing, near Amherstburg, is government work nec- essary in keeping it navigable to twenty feet. Several islands line the banks, some so large as to pass for part of the mainland. The shores are laid out in sloping meadows, groves, and orchards; and wealthy men are rapidly occupying available spots with handsome villas. Detroit, though smaller than Cleve- land, is more fortunate in being the metropolis of the State, with all parts of which it is connected by raiL Its loca- tion is not favorable for the enormous iron industries of its sister city, and the bulk of the lake carriers therefore pass its fine harbor for the smaller quar- ters across the lake. Its inhabitants have the consolation of knowing, how- ever, that many of these vessels are owned by fellow-citizens. Its system of lighting is by towers from 100 to 200 feet high; and 150 of which produce a beautiful effect, when seen from a steamers deck. Detroits water-front is nine miles long; and more tonnage passes it than any other point on the Deep Cut on the Long Level Welland Canal, above Allanburg, Ont. THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 277 globe. The returns of entries and clear- ances of the great seaports of the world for 1889 give New York 11,051,236 tons; all seaports in the United States, 26,983,315 tons; Liverpool, 14,175,200 tons; and London, 19,245,417 tons. The tonnage passing Detroit River dur- ing the 234 days of navigation of that year amounted to 36,203,606 tons; near- ly 10,000,000 tons more than the en- tries and clearances of all the seaports in the United States; and nearly 3,000,000 tons more than the combined foreign and coastwise shipping of Liverpool and London. The peculiar features of Lake Erie are its shallowness and generally low shores, which, on the south, are bordered by an elevated plateau, through which unimportant rivers have cut deep chan- nels. Its mean depth is only ninety feet. Owing to its shallowness it is eas- ily disturbed by the wind, and, of all the great lakes, is therefore the most dan- gerous to navigate. Its length is two hundred and fifty miles, and its greatest breadth sixty. Its islandsall near Sanduskyare adapted to grape and fruit culture ; vineyards are to be seen on every hand, and wine is the principal article of commerce. Put-in-Bay, the best known, is the centre of a large cx- cursion territory and amusement enter- prises. Toledo, at the western extremity, is nearly on the same parallel with Buffalo and Chicago; it is separated from the former by the length of the lake, and is nearly the same distance from Chicago and from the Mackinac Straits. It has a fine harbor, of sufficient depth to ac- commodate the largest vessels ; it has direct communication with Cincinnati by the Miami & Erie Canal, and is the centre of fourteen railways. A union depot of immense size affords them fa- cilities for ready transfer of freight, and there arc a dozen elevators with stor- age for more than 4,000,000 bushels of grain; for its chief imports and exports are grain and flour, in which its trade is very large and steadily growing. The manufactures in lumber, flour, iron, and steel are extensive and show a most en- couraging growth. Fifty miles to the eastward is San- dusky, whose wharves, in all seasons except winter, are thronged with ves- sels receiving or discharging cargoes. It has several machine shops, and manu- factures of railway cars, engines, boilers, and .cutlery; and exports large quanti- ties of flour, fruit, and wine. It is on the line of the Lake Shore & Michigan Guard Locks, Welland Canal, above Tkorold, Got., Lake Erie Level. 278 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. Southern Railway, and is the terminus~ of other lines to Newark, Cincinnati, and Cleveland. The position of Cleveland as the centre of twelve different lines of rail- ways draws to its wharves a large pro- portion of the shipping of the lakes. An excellent harbor and extensive dock frontage along the Cuyahoga River, for four miles from its mouth, give this port many advantages over others along the southern shore of Lake Erie as a ship- ping point by water. Thirteen lines of steamers ply between this city and the other ports of the lake system. Along the shore, inside the breakwater, are immense piles of iron ore, that have been brought over this highway. Upon other docks, coal is being bucketed into holds just emptied of iron ore, to be carried to the towns from which the latter was shipped. Cleveland, how- ever, handles only a part of the coal and ore that go to make up the record of lake traffic: Buffalo, Ashtabula, and other harbors get their share. But it is interested particularly in building and owning the fleet that handles the com- merce of the lakes, and is in a fair way to become a leader among the ship- building cities of the country. Here are the works of the Globe Shipyard, and the Cleveland Shipbuilding Com- pany, in which were built most of the new fleet, comprising more than seventy steel and iron vessels. From its yards came the six vessels of the Northern Steamship Company, by which the Great Northern Railway makes freight com- munications between the head of Lake Superior and Buffalo; those of the Mu- tual Transportation Line, plying be- tween Ashtabula and Escanaba; and of the Minnesota Iron Company, of Chi- cago ; all of steel, costing $200,000 each. But the largest line of the lakes is that of the New York Central & Hudson River Railroad ; sixteen vessels make up the flotilla of its Western Transit Line, as it is styled, some of steel and some of iron. Two of the former, the Harlem and the Hudson, cost $250,000 Tunnel of the Grand Trunk Railway, under the Welland Canal near Merritton, Ont. THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. ~79 each, and are equal in style, speed, and carrying capacity to any ocean vessel of the same dimensions. The Detroit & Cleveland Steam Navi- gation Company, operating between Cleveland and Mackinac, ranks among the finest passenger lines in the country. Its vessels, of which there are five, are of iron or steel, with latest devices for comfort, safety, and speed. They com- pare favorably with the famous steam- ers of Long Island Sound, and were built by the Detroit Dry Dock Com- pany. One of them, the City of Detroit, is 300 feet long, and 72 feet wide, has engines of 2,700 horse-power, is steered by steam, lighted by electricity, carries 2,500 passengers, and 800 tons of freight; its grand saloon is finished in mahog- any and stamped leather. Cost $350,- 000. This vessel and the City of Cleve- land run between Cleveland and Detroit, and are very fast. Their average speed exceeds 18 miles an hour, and they have steamed at the rate of nearly 21~ miles. Cleveland is also connected by canal with the Ohio River at Portsmouth. It has more than 400 manufacturing es- tablishments, with an aggregate capital exceeding $30,000,000, iron and oil be- ing the largest interests. The commercial advantages of Buffa- lo, its rival, are derived from its favora- ble position with respect to the sources of its grain, coal, ore, lumber, and other receipts, and the ready means for the distribution of these articles ; added to which are the benefits of cheap fuel, an excellent water - supply, rapid elevating and transfer of grain, quick handling of coal, extensive storage and dockage facilities, and a good harbor. Grain is received, transferred, stored, and for- warded with greater dispatch than at any other port in this country. The river, for about a mile from its mouth, is lined with immense elevators and provided with the most improved appliances for handling cereals. The iron and steel interests are second in importance to grain and flour only, and rank next to Pittsburg; they employ a force of 30- 000 men, and the capital invested ex- ceeds $35,000,000. By a recent esti- mate the annual product was valued at $55,000,000. They included eleven en- gine and ten boiler works, five steam forges, nineteen foundries, forty - eight machine shops, six furnaces, three bridge builders, and two iron works. Within an hours sail of the Welland Canal, with the lakes stretching to the westward and the Erie Canal to the eastward, to- gether with the New York Central, the New York, Lake Erie & Western, the Buf- falo, New York & Philadelphia, the West Shore, and the Delaware, Lackawanna, & Western Railroads leading east, and the Lake Shore, the Canada Southern, the Grand Trunk, the Nickel Plate, and Swing Bridge over the Welland Canal at St. Catharines Cemetery, Ont. Locks 23 and 24 Welland Canal East of Thorold, Ont, ENGRAVED DY VAN NESS. DRAWN BY VICTOR PERARD. THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 281 the Buffalo & Southwestern Railroads running west (with other lines and branches to a total of twenty), great fa- cilities are furnished for shipping prod- ucts to all parts of the United States and of Canada. Five large steamer lines ply regularly to ports in Lakes Erie, Huron, Superior, and Michigan. They are the Union, the Western Tran- sit, the Commercial, the Lehigh Valley, and the Anchor lines. Their combined fleets number about sixty steamers, with a capacity ranging from 1,750 to more than 3,000 tons. The Union Steamboat Company owns the Owego and the Che- mung, of 4,800 tons displacement and 15~ feet draught, the largest vessels on the lakes; they were built by the Union Dry Dock Company at this port, after the models of the Mallory Line of ocean steamers. Their length is 353 feet, their breadth 41 ft. 2 in., and they are equipped with the most powerful triple- expansion engines on the lakes. In- tended for fast freight traffic, they com- bine cargo capacity with high speed. The Owego has made the run of 889 miles between Buffalo and Chicago in 54 hours and 16 minutes, or at the rate of 16.4 miles an hour. They cost to- gether $560,000. The Saranac, of the Lehigh Valley Line, has averaged 16 miles an hour, for a run of 240 miles. Half of Buffalos water-front is along the Niagara River, whose falls and rapids are overcome by the Welland CanaL By it vessels are made to trav- erse readily the Niagara escarpment, which is 326j- feet above Lake Ontario, and stands out the chief abrupt eleva- tion between the Atlantic and the Rocky Mountains. This canal is the most important part of the Canadian line of inland navigation. It runs in a general northerly direction, distant from the Niagara River eighteen miles at Port Colborne, on Lake Erie, and ten and one-half miles at Port Dalhousie, the Lake Ontario terminus; its length between the entrances is nearly twenty- seven miles. The Old and the New Welland Canals form two distinct routes between Port Dalliousie and Allanburg; but from Allanburg to Port Colborne there is but one channel, an enlargement of the old one. There is one entrance from Lake Ontario at VOL. XJ.29 Port Dalhousie; two from Lake Erie one for the main line at Port Colborne, and one for the feeder route at Port Maitland; and there is also an entrance from the Niagara River at the town of Chippewa. The lake ports present novel and pict- uresque features. Unlike the rule of cities by the sea, their harbors are often open roadsteads; islands and land- locked bays are the exception and not the rule; and, instead, breakwaters or costly piers protect ships and cargoes from the waves and tempests. Their situation is generally at the mouth of rivers, whose channels, sometimes navi- gable to the heart of the city, become the harbor proper; it is thus that the river, instead of the lake front, is fre- quently the scene of mills, docks, ship- yards, immense elevators, warehouses, and railway depots. The water is cov- ered with graceful yachts, puffing tugs, great four-masters and steel propellers, a confusion intensified at nightfall by the many-colored lights and the whist- ling din of departing steamers. Chi- cago is divided by its river into three sections, thus securing a water front greater than Liverpools ; its water- works, among the wonders of the world, comprise a tower, from the base of which a tunnel extends two miles under the lake, the water entering through a grated cylinder, enclosed in an immense crib on which are a lighthouse and dwelling. Milwaukee, similarly divided, is built partly upon high bluffs; its at- mosphere seems bracing and healthful, an impression confirmed by a delightful drive along the cliffs overlooking the lake. Detroit is on lower ground, but offers the cupolas of great wheat ele- vators for a fine view of St. Clair and Erie; its opera-house is one of the finest in the country; and its avenues, radi- ating from the Grand Circus, intersect the other streets as do those of Wash- ington, and form small parks that di- versify and ornament the place. Cleve- land is so embowered in trees that little save the spires of churches can be seen through the green; a great stone via- duct spans the river valley between the two divisions of the city; and Euclid Avenue, the street of millionaires, is lined with costly residences in beautiful 282 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. grounds. Buffalo, on a plain sloping gently to the water, seeks recreation in superb parks, connected by boulevards; and from the suburban homes on the uplands are magnificent views of the city, of the lake, of the International Bridge and Canadian shores, and of that river whose thundering torrent, perhaps more than any single work of nature, symbolizes its power and grandeur, and offers a perpetual incense that reflects the token of the everlasting covenant. The Old Welland Canal passes to the westward of St. Catharines and Merrit- ton, and to the eastward of Thorold, the total rise (326k feet) being overcome by 27 locks. Its route lies also to the westward of the New Canal, and at dis- tances from it varying from 1 to ii mile at St. Catharines and Merritton, to only a few hundred feet near Thorold; the junction, as already stated, occur- ring at Allanburg. The entrance lock at Port Dalhousie has the standard di- mensions for the new canal length, 270 feet; breadth, 45 feet; and 14 feet depth on the sills; that to this route at A]lanburg is 200 feet long, and a tidal lock above Thorold has a length of 230 feet, both being 45 feet wide; but the remaining 24 locks are only 150 feet long and 26~ feet wide, having with the former a depth of 9 feet. The depth in the upper reaches of this route is such that vessels drawing 12 feet can ascend to the shipyard at St. Catharines. With- in the entrance lock is a wide basin, forming a safe inner harbor that would accommodate a large fleet of vessels drawing 15 feet. The New Welland Canal lies to the eastward of St. Catharines. In a dis- tance of twelve miles from Dalhousie to the summit-level, near Allanburg, there are twenty-five lift locks and regulating weirs; piers and abutments for twelve road and two railway bridges; six cul- verts to carry water-courses under the canal, and one for a public road; and a tunnel for the Great Western Rail- way. The level is also above the sur- rounding country, as a rule. The southern division, from the junc- tion at Allanburg to Lake Erie, is nearly fifteen miles long; it is crossed by six road and three railway bridges; there is a guard lock at Port Robinson, an aqueduct of large dimensions through the Chippewa River, a lock down to the Chippewa at Welland, and at Port Colborne a lock with four sets of gates, two heading each way. The part be- tween the junction and a point two miles south of it is known as the Deep Cut. At its intersection with all roads the canal is crossed by good swing-bridges, central-pivoted, and made of iron and wood; the central pier on which the bridge rests reduces the passage on each side to fifty feet in width. IJp to 1889, the amount expended on this work was $23,787,950. St. Catharines is the principal point on the canal and is regarded as the head of navigation on Lake Ontario. The surrounding country is very fertile, and was covered originally with maple and other hard woods; it is now a re- gion of pretty farms, owned by people of Scotch and English descent. The advantages of water-power are seen in the manufactories springing up, at this place, Thorold, and Merritton parti- cularly, as well as in the rapid growth of the towns; these advantages are es- pecially great between Thorold and St. Catharines, owing to the fall of three hundred feet in the elevation of the two places. The whaleback steamers of the Ameri- can Steel Barge Company are the larg- est vessels that have passed through the Welland Canal; they are 265 feet long, 38 feet beam, and have an average draught of 15 feet, when loaded; they ran the rapids of the St. Lawrence. Lake Ontario, the smallest of the great lakes, is 190 miles long and more than 50 miles wide; its mean depth exceeds 400 feet, and its elevation above the sea is 234 feet. It never freezes, excej~t near the shore. Oswe- go and Rochester are its principal ports on the south. The former has been in direct communication with the Hudson since 1822, by means of a small canal as far as Syracuse, and thence by the Erie Canal to Troy and Albany. Four railways converge here, and steamers ply daily to the eastern and western ports. Large quantities of grain and lumber are received, and 0 C) 0 Ge I- ii I- 0 0 It ~i 0 284 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. twenty or more mills make it one of the largest flour manufacturing cities in the Union. There are -also several foundries, machine shops, and ship- yards. Rochester, though seven miles from the lake, receives a large quota of ship- ping through Charlotte, its port; and has two important channels of trade in the Erie and the Genesee Valley Canals, the latter here uniting with the former. Its elevation above the lake is 226 feet, and its situation on the Genesee River secures the immense water-power due to its falls, and thus makes it naturally a manufacturing city. Though ranking as one of the greatest flour-producers in the world, its manufactures in cloth- ing, iron, glass, and rubber are exten- sive. It is connected by rail with every city of importance in this country and Canada. On the Canadian side, Toronto is the largest city of this and of all the great lakes. Entered by six railways, possessing a good harbor, situated in the centre of a rich agricultural dis- trict, and being at once the religious, educational, political, literary, legal, and commercial centre of the most pop- ulous province of Canada, it has ad- vanced with great rapidity. Its popu- lation is about 160,000. To the English people of Canada, Toronto is what Que- bec is to the French inhabitants. Que- bec is French; Montreal, as the meet- ing-point of all, is cosmopolitan; and Toronto is English. It has several foundries and engine works, car-shops, rolling - mills, breweries, a mammoth distillery, and many other varieties of manufacture. The Richelieu & Ontario Naviga- tion Company runs a daily line of steamers between this city, Montreal, Quebec, the Saguenay, and interme- diate ports; it owns twenty-five vessels, the largest being nearly 300 feet long and having a stated speed of twenty miles an hour. It has virtually a mo- nopoly of the steam traffic over its itin- erary. Hamilton, at the extreme west end of the lake, is the second city of Ontario in population, and the first in manu- facturing industry. Its railways fur- nish communication with the principal points of the Dominion and of the United States. It is often styled the Birmingham of Canada, and, though the comparison is presumptuous, it is not altogether unwarranted. Its fac- tories are equipped with modern plant and the latest labor-saving devices, and maintain a daily output of metal, wood, and leather products, textile fabrics, glassware, engines, and boilers. The capital invested in industrial operations is about one-thirtieth of the entire cap- ital invested in manufacturing indus- tries throughout the Dominion, and the proportion of goods is in nearly the same ratio. Cobourg, though small, boasts of a university, and ships annually to the United States 30,000,000 feet of lumber, 30,000 tons of iron ore, and 150,000 bushels of grain. Daily steamers run to Charlotte; and after leaving here, eastward - bound vessels pass well out into the lake, to avoid the great penin- sular county of Prince Edward. Kingston, at the foot of the lake, has 16,000 inhabitants, is the seat of the Royal Military Academy of Canada, and ranks as a fortress next to Quebec and Halifax. Its bay is broad, deep, and well sheltered, and in war it would become an extensive naval depot. Be- ing the port of trans-shipment for Mon- treal of three-fourths of the grain arriv- ing from the upper lakes, it is a city of some commercial importance; the grain is sent down the St. Lawrence in barges, the cost of such transfer being about one-half cent per busheL Kingston is also the south terminus of the Rideau Canal, which connects it with Ottawa. There are manufactories of iron castings, machinery, locomotives, marine engines, and leather; boat-build- ing is carried on to a great extent, and vessels for lake and river navigation are built and fitted out. From Lake Ontario to Montreal the distance is 183 miles. Just below King- ston, the lake contracts into the funnel- shaped head of the St. Lawrence River, enclosing the Thousand Islands. In reality they number 1,692 and extend forty miles, with a width in some places of seven miles. The descent of the river through them is made in well-defined channels, which, with their extensions, THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 285 are so deep that vessels of the greatest draught can pass readily between the lake and Ogdensburg. As early as 1673, the waters of this archipelago were traversed by a flotilla of two-gun barges and one hundred and twenty canoes, led by Frontenac, Governor of Canada, at- tended by the celebrated Abb6 de Fan- 6lon. Steamers ply between Cape Vin- cent, Clayton, and Alexandria Bay, on the arrival of trains at the two former places. Overlooking the islands, on the Canadian side, is Brockville, of 6,000 in- habitants, a railway junction, and below which the Thousand Islands are left, and the open river, two miles wide, is en- tered. Thirteen miles farther lies Pres- cott, a stone - built town, whose chief business is done by a great distillery and brewery, and two iron foundries. The bastions of Fort Wellington are seen on the east. The Grand Trunk Railway is nearly one mile from the town, and the St. Lawrence & Ottawa Railway begins at the river side. The river is a mile wide here, and opposite stands Ogdens- burg, with two miles of wharves and ex- tensive flour and lumber mills. It is the terminus of three railways; and its sit- uation at the foot of sloop navigation on the lakes gives it peculiar commer- cial advantages. Ten million bushels of Western grain pass this point annually; last year 16,000 tons were transshipped here for Montreala new departure, for up to 1890 such transfer was made only at Kingston. About seven miles below Prescott be- gins the chain of the St. Lawrence ca- nals proper, constructed to overcome the rapids which they flank and a total rise of 206k feet, with locks enabling lake vessels to descend and exchange cargoes with the sea - going ships at Montreal They are, in order of descent, the Galop, Rapide Flat, Farrans Point, Cornwall, Beauharnois, and Lachine Canals, of the dimensions given in the table on p. 293. Their combined length is 43~ miles, the distance between Prescott and Montreal being 119 miles. The first three are al- so styled the Williamsburg Canals. The Galop formerly comprised two distinct channels, known as the Iroquois and the Galop Canals; they were joined and now form one line. Originally, this system of canals was designed for a depth of 9 feet, but the fluctuations in the stage of the river render it difficult to maintain; at times it falls to 6 feet 7 inches. On account of the increased size of vessels, the Ca- nadian Government decided in 1871 to make a navigable depth of 12 feet through all the canals and river - shal- lows, which soon after was changed to 14 feet. Since then work has been car- ried on with this object in view, but it has not been completed. Two new locks of the Cornwall Canal are of the stand- ard dimensions (Welland size); and the Lachine Canal has been completed for 12 feet navigation, with locks and bridges adapted for 14 feet navigation, the un- touched work in it consisting of the ex- cavation of the canal prism to a further depth of two feet for more than six miles of its length. The river channel has been cleared of obstacles to 14 feet navigation from the head of Galop Rapids to the Corn- wall Canal; from the foot of the latter to the Beauharnois Canal it is navigable by the largest vessels; and a depth of 14 feet again exists through Lake St. Louis, excepting the lower four miles, in which the channel must be deepened and widened at a number of places. The Cornwall Canal overcomes the Long Sault Rapids; at St. Regis, near the foot, the forty-fifth parallel intersects the St. Lawrence, which now becomes exclusively Canadian. It is also inter- esting to observe the small width of the river near this point, and that the nar- rowest width between the United States and Canadian territory is about 600 feet, measured between the northwest side of Croils Island and the Canal bank. The St. Lawrence now expands into Lake St. Francis, 25 miles long and 5 miles in maximum breadth, and dotted with islets at its lower end. The Beauharnois Canal lies on the south side of the river and overcomes the Cascades, Cedar, and Coteau Rapids. Surveys for a new route have been made on the northern bank. It con- nects Lakes St. Francis and St. Louis, the latter in turn being connected with Montreal Harbor by the Lachine Canal. The latter consists of one channel with two distinct systems of locks, the old and the enlarged, both of which are 280 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. in use. On its banks are the Canal and Grand Trunk offices and sheds, oc- cupying a point of land on which the celebrated Victoria Bridge finds its ter- minus. Opposite the upper entrance is the Indian village of Caughnawaga, the terminus of the Montreal & New York Railway, with which the Grand Trunk connects by ferry; a railroad from Montreal to Lachine borders the northern bank of the canal. Sea-going vessels can now pass into the basins between the lower locks with coal, su- gar, and plaster for the factories in this part of the city and for the Grand Trunk works. They can also reload at the same points, where there is ample dock room. After leaving Lake St. Louis, the St. Lawrence dashes wildly down the La- chine Rapids, a descent of forty-two feet in two miles; and eight miles farther on, after passing beneath the twenty-five spans of the Victoria Bridge, one and three-quarter miles long, reaches the quays of Montreal. The purposes had in view by the Canadian Government in determining upon a depth of fourteen feet, were to enable the largest class of lake vessels at that time to carry their cargoes direct to Montreal without breaking bulk; to secure for Canada all the advantages which the possession of this magnificent waterway ought to give it; to make the St. Lawrence in its whole length the THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 287 highway by which the surplus products of the West would seek an outlet to the sea; and to put it into a position to compete successfully for the export trade of the continent with the several lines of communication on our side of the boundary. The total expenditure on the Wel- land and St. Lawrence Canals is about $41,250,000; it will require $12,750,- 000 more to complete the work, or $54,000,000 in all The construction of the lock at Sault Ste. Marie and other necessary improvements will swell this sum to $60,000,000, the final re- sult being a navigable depth of fourteen feet between Lake Superior and Mon- treaL Many careful students of the question have doubted whether the large expen- diture already incurred on the Welland Canal will ever be justified by the result. It is, of course, the connecting link be- tween the great lakes and the principal seaports of the Dominion; and the gov- ernment of the latter has been animated doubtless by the belief that the great commerce now passing from Duluth, Chicago, and other United States ports on the lakes to New York, and thence to Europe, would take the Welland Canal route, thereby making Montreal the chief port on this continent. This im- pression was supported by the consid- eration that Montreal is nearly three hundred miles nearer than New York to Liverpool A review of the traffic shows that, in 1859, thirty-six of the largest lake pro- pellers averaged about 700 tons register, with a maximum draught of 11~ feet. In 1890, the lake fleet consisted, accord- ing to Lloyds Inland Register, of 2,055 vessels, aggregating 826,360 net register ~tons, the total value being $58,125,500. The Census Bureau regards these fig- ures as excessive, though valuable in showing the development of lake com- merce through comparison with Lloyds previous estimates; its own statistics assign, instead, to the lakes a shipping of 2,784 vessels, of 924,472 register tons, the valuation by experts being $48,809,750. [See table, p. 293.] Of these vessels, 232 are steamers of over 1,000 register tons; 110 are over 1,500 tons; and many are from 1,600 to more than 2,100 tons, with a carrying capaci- ty of 3,000 to 3,700 cargo tons. The draught of these vessels is limited by the depths of the channels and harbors, but many of them could load safely to 19 and 20 feet. The average depth at present in the larger ports is 16 feet, but the policy of our government is to increase it to 20 feet. The history of marine architecture does not furnish another instance of so rapid and complete a revolution in the material and structure of floating equipment as has taken place on the great lakes since 1886. In that year the total valuation of the vessels by Lloyd was about $30,600,000. In 1889, sixty new steamers and eleven sailing ves- sels, aggregating 70,000 tons, and valued at $6,650,000, were added to the fleet. During the four winters of 18861890, the tonnage of the lakes was nearly doubled; 206 vessels, measuring 399,- 975 tons, were turned out of the ship- yards with a valuation of $27,389,000. During the same time, the number of steamers of more tban 1,500 net register tons increased from 21 to 110. The two valuations of the fleet already present- ed differ by more than $9,000,000; but either one emphasizes the fact of the very recent and extraordinary growth of this commerce, and renders it diffi- cult to predict the increase in the ton- nage and in the size of vessels upon the lakes during the nine years that remain till the opening of the next century. More than one - half of the vessels on the great lakes are assigned to Chicago, Port Huron, Detroit, Milwaukee, Grand Haven, Cleveland, and Buffalo. The number of Canadian vessels on the lakes is 647; tonnage, 132,971; val- uation, $3,989,130. [See table, p. 293.] For further comparison, it may be stated that the total of coast and inland ship- ping registered in Canada is 7,153 ves- sels, of 1,040,481 register tons, valued at $31,213,430. The increase in population of the lake ports indicates the great increase that must follow, necessarily, in the bus- iness of the lakes and also of the rail- ways tributary to them. Buffalo has increased from about 42,000 in 1850 to 255,000 in 1890; Cleveland, from 17,000 in 1860 to 262,000 in 1890; Chicago, 288 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. from 30,000 in 1850 to 1,100,000 in 1890; while Detroit and Milwaukee exhibit a remarkable parallelism in growth, the former having increased from 116,340 to 205,876 during the last ten years, and the latter from 115,587 to 204,468. The simplicity of lake commerce is one of its chief characteristics. Coal, iron ore, and lumber comprise three- fourths of the total cargo tonnage of the lakes; add to these corn, wheat, and mill products, and nine - tenths of the total traffic will be accounted for. The total dock space for ore on the lower lakes is over 10,000,000 square feet; if extended in one line, the ore docks would show a frontage of eight and three-fifth miles, with an average width of 180 feet. T1~e total storage capacity of Lake Erie ports is 6,485,000 tons, sufficient to accommodate the to- tal product for this year; for it seems now, from the diversion of the lake fleet to the grain trade, that the entire out- put of the Lake Superior region for 1891, including rail shipments which will not be more than 400,000 tons, cannot exceed 6,750,000 tons, as against a little more than 9,000,000 tons in 1890. Ashtabula leads in dock space and daily handling capacity of coal and iron ore, though Cleveland is so close behind that the race is very even. The sailing vessel has almost dis- appeared from the lakes. The square- rigged ship is no longer seen, and only a few of the great cargo - carrying schooners are left. The sailing fleet was succeeded by the propeller, as it is known locally, with its tow of one or more consorts; and it in turn is giving way to the modern steamer, maintained at little more than one - half the cost, while having a carrying capacity quite as great, a speed double that of the propeller and consort, and making two or three round trips for one of the tow. The rapid growth, too, of steam trans- portation, and the competition of lake lines with the railways, have caused continual reductions in the cost of transportation. The cost per ton per mile of carrying freight an average dis- tance of eight hundred miles, was one and one - half mill in 1889. The value of all the cargoes 27,500,000 tons carried on the lakes during that year was over $305,000,000. Had this been car- ried at railway rates, Mr. E. L. Corthell, of the Society of Engineers, estimates that the cost to the public would have been over $143,000,000; by the lake rates it was about $23,000,000 only; so that transportation on the lakes saved to the public about $120,000,000 in one year. A large part of the heavy freight has been carried for less than one and one-half mill per ton per mile. Anthracite coal is carried from Buffalo to Duluth, 1,000 miles, for 30 cents per ton. The water - rates from Chicago to Buffalo, on wheat, were two and one-half cents per bushel in 1890. The average distance for which freight on the lakes is carried is 566 miles. From this, the Census Bureau estimates the ton mileage for the sea- son of 1889 to be 15,518,360,000 ton miles. The aggregate ton mileage of railways for the year ending June 30, 1889, was 68,727,223,146; which shows that the ton mileage of the lakes is near- ly one-fourth of the total ton mileage of railways in the United States. In no other way could the relative importance of lake commerce be more effectively shown. The ship - builders of the lakes are progressive, and keep pace with all improvements in marine architect- ure. Steel vessels are built with double bottoms, water - tight compartments, triple-expansion engines, and modern electrical and steam appliances. The structural strength may be realized from the fact that a large proportion are built for the trade in iron ore. At a time trial in Escanaba, during the summer of 1887, a steamer was loaded with over 2,000 tons of ore, and steamed away from the dock in forty-five minutes after being placed under the chutes. The record shows that another vessel was loaded with 2,800 tons of coal in one hour and fifty minutes; 300 tons for fuel were put on board in another hour, so that in two hours and fifty minutes after opening the hatches, the vessel was loaded and coaled. That ordinary sea-going ships will not stand the strains of this traffic is demon- strated by the fact that four steel DRAWN BY CARLTON T. CHAPMAN. Entrance to Lachine Canal, Montreal 0 0 290 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. steamers, built on the Clyde for Cana- dian owners, had to be repaired and strengthened throughout, after one seasons work, to fit them for further service. These vessels steamed across the Atlantic, were cut into halves on the lower St. Lawrence, the sections being then towed through the canals and put together on the lakes. Two more were built on the Clyde, with the benefits of this experience and of the builders visits to our Northwestern ship-yards. The record of large cargoes is equally creditable. The Maryland, belonging to the Inter-Ocean Transportation Com- pany, of Milwaukee, has carried 3,737 net tons of ore from Escanaba to South Chicago, on a draught of 16~- feet; the E. C. Pope owned by Eddy Brothers, of Bay City, transported 3,628 net tons from Escanaba to Buffalo, on 16 feet draught, and 3,167 tons from Ashland to Lake Erie, drawing 14~ feet. The firm of Pickands, Mather & Co., of Cleveland, has contracted with the American Steel Barge Company for a steam barge and consort, to be construct- ccl after the whaleback model. They will be the largest yet built, the dimensions of the steamer being 325 feet length, 42 feet beam, and 24 feet depth; those of the tow are four feet less in length and beam, but the same in depth. They will carry 3,000 tons each on 14~ feet draught. While the lake business has thus in- creased rapidly, the waterways east of Lake Erie have hardly maintained their former traffic; this is true of the Wel- land and St. Lawrence Canals. The de- cline is due partly to the numerous com- petitors by lake and rail for the trans- portation of products to the east, but principally to the inadequacy of these canals for the shipping that, otherwise, might come to them. For example, in 1889 there were 330 United States ves- sels, of 444,192 tons, in the lakes above Niagara Falls, which drew too much water, when laden, to go through the Welland Canal, of 14 feet depth. This is about one-half of the entire lake ton- nage. The wharves for the unloading of ships at Montreal are ten feet below the level of a rev6tement wall, which extends along the entire river-front of the city; so that one standing upon the wall may see the shipping of the port spread out before him. Near the Lachine Canal are the basins for the Allan steamers to Glasgow and Liverpool; then follow steamers from the Maritime Provinces and European ports, then sailing ships and the sheds of the London Line and of the Dominion Line from Liverpool; next are the river boats plying between Quebec and Montreal; then succeed the smaller river steamers, barges, and finally sailing vessels and steamers as far as Hochelaga. Here, nearly 1,000 miles inland from the Atlantic, are vessels from all parts of the world; from Eng- land, with iron, drygoods, and gener- al goods; from the Mediterranean, with wines and groceries; from Germany, with glass and general goods; from China with tea alongside of vessels loading with return cargoes of grain, cattle, lumber, mineral phosphates, and other products of Canada. The wharves are not disfigured by unsightly ware- houses, but the river-street is as clear as a Parisian quay. Leaving Montreal, the steamer glides swiftly down the St. Mary Current, leaving on the right St. Helens Island, a prettily wooded spot, named after Helen Boull6, the young wife of Cham- plain, who charmed the wild Hurons in 1620 with her gentle manners. Still further to the right opens out Longucil Bay, exhibiting in the tinned steeple and steep roof of its village church the characteristic picture of the lower St. Lawrence in parish after parish. The river flows through a wide alluvial plain, the Laurentian Mountains far on the north, and on the south the Green Mountains; everywhere long stretches of arable land, broken only where the Lombardy poplar rears its formal shape against the sky. Below Longucil the Ottawa joins its flood finally with the St. Lawrence, hid- ing its union in a cluster of low islands. Opposite Berthier, on the right bank, the IRichelieu falls into the St. Lawrence, after draining Lakes Champlain and George. On its eastern bank stands Sorel, where most of the steamers on the river have been built. The Riche THE WATER-ROUTE PROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. 291 lieu is rendered navigable to Lake Cham- plain by a small lock twelve miles above Sorel, and by the Chambly Canal, thirty two miles farther up-stream ; these give a navigable depth of seven feet, and ac- commodate vessels 114 feet long and 23 feet wide. The St. Lawrence now opens out to a width of nine miles; arid for twenty- five miles the steamer passes through Lake St. Peter, a vast expanse of fiats through which a ship channel has been dredged. At several places between Montreal and Quebec, there were f or- merly shoal places, preventing large ves- sels from reaching the former city. Their aggregate length was nearly forty miles, divided between twenty different places, the widest being in Lake St. Peter. The work of dredging the chan- nel here began in 1844, arid continued with the increase in trade and size of ocean steamers, till, at the end of 1885, a depth of 2Th feet was reached, the total cost being $3,503,870. This chan- nel varies from 300 to 450 feet in width. As a consequence of these river im- provements, the size of vessel able to The Steamer Algerian running the Long Sault Rapida St. Lawrence River. 292 THE WATER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. ascend to Montreal has increased from the Canadian of 1,045 tons and 12 feet dranght, in 1856, to the Pomeranian of 3,211 tons and 23 feet draught in 1878; and now that the works are completed, ships of 4,000 tons or even more can navigate the St. Lawrence with safety. Another result is that the shipping of Montreal increased from 245,000 tons in 1873 to 1,149,534 tons in 1891. East of the lake lies Three IRivers, the third city of importance on the low- er St. Lawrence. Here the river first meets the tide; the St. Maurice falls in from the north, after a course of three hundred miles through an important lumber region. Further east, and run- ning parallel to it, is the St. Anne, twenty miles below which, in the St. Lawrence, occur the iRichelien Rapids, where large ships usually wait for high tide before passing, as the rocks are dangerous. The scenery now begins to lose its flatness, and in the distance the mountains around Quebec can be seen, blue and dim. On the right, near the city, is the mouth of the Chaudi~re River; and gliding on, past ships, rafts, and booms, the steamer sweeps under Cape Diamond, into the basin of Que- bec, shadowed by precipitous cliffs from which the Queen of the St. Lawrence looks down in all her quaint beauty upon a scene rarely equalled in the new world. The lower town of Quebec is built on reclaimed land, around the base of the Cape, one of its sides being washed by the St. Charles, which here flows into the St. Lawrence. At the mouth of the St. Charles, is the Princess Louise Em- bankment, enclosing a tidal basin of twenty acres, which is 24 feet deep at low water; connected with it is a wet dock, of 27 feet depth, and forty acres area. On the opposite side, at Point Levis, is the Lorue Dry Dock, 500 feet long, 100 feet wide, and ~ feet deep on the sills. The commerce of this city began with the fur trade, and this re- mains an important element. Enormous transactions in lumber go on here anun Steamer Corsican running Lachine Rapids St. Lawrence River. H a 0 ~ . 1 ~ eai~iu~ o a~. a~o~- ~ eZ P~ 0 a ~ a-. H 0 00-30 OOA 0 OOOA 00-30 00-30 -3000 a 0 00- ~ 0 ~ a a a 0 a H 00 .~ -3000,0 00 A 0 0 -~ 0 ~ 030 0000 -3. 00 A 00000 00 -~ 0-300 0 a 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 I-a p 0 0 0 0 Se 00H~~0~ ~ a ~ 0 ~ .0 ~ a a ~ 3~3~~3 ~a~g ~ a 00 -3 -3 -30 0 000W 000000 0 ~ 00 00 00330 A 0 0 -~ 00000000 -3 A 000000 -~ 00000 0 -3 000000 -3 0 000 0~0 000-30 000 -~ A 00000 -~ 0 -~ A 0 00 -~ 0 A A 00 000000 00 300 0 0000000 000 Ao 000000 a 33 a 0, 33 33 a 0 a 33 z 00 .0 H 0 0 0 a p (3~1 ~W 0. 0~ .33.... 0 a 0 a 0 a 33 a H -~ 0 -3A00-3-3 0 000 A 000000 -e0000o 03-~A0AA 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 k.~ . 1-a 0 0 0 ~n ~ 0 0 ~ 33 ~ 0 a 33 Number of -~ 00000000 0 -30-3-30000 Vessels. A OAO00000 0 0~3-3 0 0000000-3H A -30003~o ~ Toun A 300-3 A AOOO age. -~ 00000000c* 0 00-3000A0 A i-. 0 000-30 0 a 0000A - 0 OOOAOO p 0 00-300 00 -~ 00000-300 0 00000,000 0 00000000 a~a0p~ ~ a0. . ~:::a~~ aa a ~ Number of .3 0-3 0 ~ Vessels. 0 00 0 0C~ ooH A 0 000 ~ Tonnage. A 0 000 000 3 0 000 0033 0 -3 0-30 00~ 0 00 0~ Estimated 0 0 0-30 ~ ~ 0 S~P~ 0-3~ Carrying Ca- 0 0 0-30 A0~ ~ 0 -30-3 -30. pacity. 0 0 0 3~ 3~ 00 30 A 0-3-3 00 o ooo 00 a p a 0 0 fr a 33 0 0. 0 0 -3. 0 0 0 0 on p A-300 Length. ~ Lockage. ~33~ ~ WidthatSnrface. Widthatflottom. 000 3C~~ Number. Length. 0 ~ Breadth. ~ 33 33 -3 H ~oooo~~ Depth. 0 Distance to Canal ~ ~-~e~g below. ~ ~0 an ~0 3~ 0 ~ g ~ a g ~0 ?0 AO Canadian. a 033 -3 -3. 0 ~H cecl 0 00 0 A33 0~ 0 0~ 33 0 n 33 ~o oH ~ go 0 ~ Canadian. ~ 0 3.3 33 0 0 H ~ ~0 0 A -3 g 0 00 0 033 -3 0. 0 N a P A 0 h.j 0 C~~j 0 hi 0 0 0 0 -3. 0 0 0 0 00 00 .20 on -3. 0 0 0 294 THE WA TER-ROUTE FROM CHICAGO TO THE OCEAN. ally. The whole lower valley of the St. Lawrence and the northern lumber regions draw their merchandise from this centre. On leaving Quebec, far off to the left is the Moutmorenci, whose white foam shines out from the green hillside. As the steamer moves across the basin, beautiful views are afforded on all sides, including a fine retrospect of the cita- del, towering over the river. The fine island of Orleans is soon reached on the left, with its village of St. Laurent, where the expedition under Wolfe land- ed in 1759. An intervening island hides St. Anne, a pretty village to which pil- grimages are made, and where the patron saint has worked as many miracles as any in Europe. Thirty miles below Quebec is Grosse Isle, the quarantine station, and about which linger the memories of 1847, when the famine- stricken Irish poured into Canada, and six thousand are said to have been buried here in one long grave. Oppo- site rises Cape Tourmente, 1,800 feet high, the north shore now being wild and mountainous, and rising so boldly from the river as to permit no roadway along its base, and so rocky and desol- ate as to prevent habitation for many miles; while the south side for more than one hundred miles is a continuous settlement. Yet far off in the latter direction, the mountains are beginning to approach nearer, and while watching the ever-changing views, the Traverse is reached, where the river is thirteen miles wide, but the only channel avail- able for large ships is not more than 1,400 yards across. The Isle-aux-Con- dres and two large shoals obstruct its navigation, the bottom is irregular, and currents run in all directions. The travellers interest is now apt to pass from the water and the mountain heights to the seigniory of Les Eboule- ments, remarkable as an earthquake centre. Jesuit tradition relates that in 1663 the mountains were thrown down and the face of the country was changed as far as the Saguenay. Ice was thrown up in great heaps, the river ran of a changed color, a mountain was cast into the sea and became an island, the piety of the inhabitants grew more earnest, and there were never so many confessions or conversions; even liquor dealers saw the error of their ways and repented. A short run brings the steamer to a wharf where passengers land for Ri- vi~re du Loup and for Cacouna, the para- dise of fair Quebecers and famous for dancing and flirting. Nearly opposite enters the Saguenay, cleft through the mountains and nearly nine hundred feet deep for many miles. In the little harbor at its entrance died Chauvin, the enterprising Huguenot, who induced Champlain to visit Canada. Perched high above it on the cliffs, is a quaint little chapel, evincing the zeal of its founders, in a wilderness of cliffs where roads are impossible. Bic Island is the next point of inter- est; it is the last anchorage in the river, where outward bound vessels leave their pilots and many ships are found during the summer. Here in December, 1861, a Cunard steamer landed a regiment of the Guards during the crisis of the Trent affair. Finally, iRimouski is reached; the Intercolonial Railway to Halifax passes through it, and ocean steamers receive passengers and mails for the last time. The town is two miles from the wharf, and is the most important settlement in the prov- ince east of Quebec. The south bank now rapidly becomes bold and grand; the mountains have receded from the north shore, so that all the scenery is on this side. At Point des Monts, the Gulf of St. Law- rence is entered; the left shore trends rapidly to the north; little fishing sta- tions only are seen at the base of the steep hills. Anticosti becomes quick- ly visible in the distance, with a flora indicating a subarctic climate; while opposite, near the western shore, are the Seven Islands, green with turf and flowers, and forming a beautiful land- locked bay where the largest fleets could ride in safety. Whittier has made them the scene of a touching ballad, in which he aptly styles them the last outpost of summer upon the dreary coast. All along to Belle Isle are deep fords, broad bays crowded with rocky islets, salmon streams without number, and myriad inlets, the haunts of innu- merable aquatic birds; from these for- A NEW ENGLAND KISMET. 295 bidding shores, whose cold waters teem with fish in inconceivable numbers, greater wealth has been carried than from the mines of Potosi. Nor has time deprived them of a place in romance; as the steamer bids adieu to St. Law- rence waters, the eye has a final glimpse of the pretty island of Meccatina, where Roberval, the stern Huguenot, aban doned his niece, Lady Margaret, and her duenna, when her love became evi- dent. Her lover jumped overboard and swam to the island to share her fate. The duenna died, and the lover died; and after two years of solitary struggle, the lady was rescued by a passing ves- sel and carried to her home across the ocean. A NEW ENGLAND KISMET. By Alice Morse Earle. DESCRIPTION which had been given to us of an old town with old houses and old people and old china, decided us to go a-china-hunt- ing, and two days later we started on our pilgrimage. We rode prosaically in the steam-cars to Wheel- ton, a small new manufacturing town, where we spent a most dreary evening, reading old farming journals and weekly newspapers, and then retired early to rest in the hideous country hotel bed- rooms. I must confess that when we awoke in the morning we were in very low spirits; my companion exclaimed de- jectedly, Oh, everything is so new here! look at these hideous carpets and marble-topped bureaus. I know a real antique couldnt live within twenty miles of them. After a most porkly breakfast, we gloomily started out to find some towns- man who would let us hire of him a horse and carriage of some, or of any, sort, to carry us to Binge and Anthony Hartingtons house, which we were assured was the oldest and most china- hiding house of all around. We found in the largest store in the town (bear- ing the unintentionally whimsical sign Newspapers, Rubbers, and Oysters ) a thin, auburn-haired, freckled-faced Yan- kee about twenty-two years old, who answered our questions with the great- est interest, and finally offered us the use of his own horse and open wagon for the whole day for two dollars. And Ill drive fer ye too, he added, with enthu- siasm; yed never find old Harting- tons if ye took the hoss yerself, an I dunow as I can neither, without some pretty tall huntin and questionin. So off we started on the back seat of an open country express wagon, to find old Hartingtons farm. The warm October sun streamed down upon us, the great red and russet rock-broken fields stretched off into the beautiful, lonely purple mountain, heeding his sky-affairs ; the dying brakes and weeds sent forth their sweet, nutty autumn fragrance; the soft yellow and brown leaves fluttered down on us, and the ripe chestnut-burrs fell rustling by our side as we rode through the narroW wood- roads. The hard New England land- scape was softened and orientalized by the yellow autumn tints. The half-sad stillness of dying Nature and the warmth of the Indian summer, inclined us to ride quietly and thoughtfully along the country roads, but that neither Mr. Simmons, nor Jenny his steed, nor his new wagon would for a moment permit. Mr. Simmons, with true Yankee in- quisitiveness, had slyly questioned us and drawn us out, till he knew who we were, and all our hopes and quests. But why should we have grudged him this pleasure, when he in turn poured out to us such floods of historical, statistical, thaumaturgical, medical, and sociological fnformation about every plant, every tree, every farm-house and every farmer, every pasture, every wood- land, every point of road we passed? IJQ evidently regarded himself as our

Alice Morse Earle Earle, Alice Morse A New England Kismet 295-302

A NEW ENGLAND KISMET. 295 bidding shores, whose cold waters teem with fish in inconceivable numbers, greater wealth has been carried than from the mines of Potosi. Nor has time deprived them of a place in romance; as the steamer bids adieu to St. Law- rence waters, the eye has a final glimpse of the pretty island of Meccatina, where Roberval, the stern Huguenot, aban doned his niece, Lady Margaret, and her duenna, when her love became evi- dent. Her lover jumped overboard and swam to the island to share her fate. The duenna died, and the lover died; and after two years of solitary struggle, the lady was rescued by a passing ves- sel and carried to her home across the ocean. A NEW ENGLAND KISMET. By Alice Morse Earle. DESCRIPTION which had been given to us of an old town with old houses and old people and old china, decided us to go a-china-hunt- ing, and two days later we started on our pilgrimage. We rode prosaically in the steam-cars to Wheel- ton, a small new manufacturing town, where we spent a most dreary evening, reading old farming journals and weekly newspapers, and then retired early to rest in the hideous country hotel bed- rooms. I must confess that when we awoke in the morning we were in very low spirits; my companion exclaimed de- jectedly, Oh, everything is so new here! look at these hideous carpets and marble-topped bureaus. I know a real antique couldnt live within twenty miles of them. After a most porkly breakfast, we gloomily started out to find some towns- man who would let us hire of him a horse and carriage of some, or of any, sort, to carry us to Binge and Anthony Hartingtons house, which we were assured was the oldest and most china- hiding house of all around. We found in the largest store in the town (bear- ing the unintentionally whimsical sign Newspapers, Rubbers, and Oysters ) a thin, auburn-haired, freckled-faced Yan- kee about twenty-two years old, who answered our questions with the great- est interest, and finally offered us the use of his own horse and open wagon for the whole day for two dollars. And Ill drive fer ye too, he added, with enthu- siasm; yed never find old Harting- tons if ye took the hoss yerself, an I dunow as I can neither, without some pretty tall huntin and questionin. So off we started on the back seat of an open country express wagon, to find old Hartingtons farm. The warm October sun streamed down upon us, the great red and russet rock-broken fields stretched off into the beautiful, lonely purple mountain, heeding his sky-affairs ; the dying brakes and weeds sent forth their sweet, nutty autumn fragrance; the soft yellow and brown leaves fluttered down on us, and the ripe chestnut-burrs fell rustling by our side as we rode through the narroW wood- roads. The hard New England land- scape was softened and orientalized by the yellow autumn tints. The half-sad stillness of dying Nature and the warmth of the Indian summer, inclined us to ride quietly and thoughtfully along the country roads, but that neither Mr. Simmons, nor Jenny his steed, nor his new wagon would for a moment permit. Mr. Simmons, with true Yankee in- quisitiveness, had slyly questioned us and drawn us out, till he knew who we were, and all our hopes and quests. But why should we have grudged him this pleasure, when he in turn poured out to us such floods of historical, statistical, thaumaturgical, medical, and sociological fnformation about every plant, every tree, every farm-house and every farmer, every pasture, every wood- land, every point of road we passed? IJQ evidently regarded himself as our 296 A NEW ENGLAND KISMET. host, and had as evidently determined we should not return home empty- handed. The only point of difference might be our respective estimates of the value and age of the antiques he pro- vided. We rigidly determined at the start not to be turned from our search for Hartingtons by any seductive old well-sweeps, gambrel roofs, or big square chimneys, the signs manual of old, and probably china-bearing, homes, no matter how these tokens of age beckoned to us and hinted of hidden china treasures. We severely turned our faces from their siren charms and kept our way. We can stop at all these houses on our way back, said my companion, we mustnt ask for a drink of water or anything now, because we shall want to do that on the way home. We, of course, had to ask di- rections several times, but we put firm- ly away the temptation to inquire from the farmers how long they had lived there, etc.; whether they or their wives or their neighbors had any old crockery they would be willing to part with. After all, I doubt if the farmers knew more about themselves or their belong- ings than did Mr. Simmons. That mans old bachelor Jones. His fathet died last spring, ninety-two years old. He had a sell. Shut up the old house, and has gone to live with his brother. Now, if yed only been here then. Such a chance fer ye, all the old mans furni- tur went dirt-cheap (we sighed Al- ways too late ). A real good old set of hair-cloth furniture went for fifteen dollars. Two good stoves only five dollars. And the darnedest, meanest, oldest, wornedoutest melodeon ye ever see, just the thing fer ye, only a dollar. I dunow but ye might git that now. Tennerate the man as bought it put it in his barn and said twant worth a cent; perhaps hed give it to ye 1 Jenny had a swinging gait which took us over the ground at a good pace, but she had the unpleasant habit so common among country horses, of slacking up suddenly at the foot of every hilL The wagon was a jump-seat, so the back seat was not fastened in securely. At every hill (and the New England hills are countless) we and the seat were pitched forward on Mr. Simmonss back. He seemed to expect this assault and rather enjoy it. To quite counterbal- ance this sudden stoppage of progres- sion, Jenny would spring forward with much and instantaneous speed when- ever she caught sight of Mr. Simmonss short whip. This whip he used as a pointer in his many and diffuse expla- nations, so whenever our attention was called to an old house, or a poor run- out farm, or the barn old White hung himself in, Jenny emphasized the explanation to us with a twitch of our necks that brought into active play muscles little used before. At last the long hill leading to the Hartington house was reached, the lon- gest and steepest yet seen. The road was almost unused, a mere track, and spoke to our china - hunting instincts most favorably of the little intercourse held by the Hartingtons with the rest of the world. Slowly plodded Jenny over the fringed gentians, for here the road was full of them, as open and blue as the October sky over our heads. We had never seen this lovely, delicate flower growing else- where than sparsely by a brook-side or in damp ground, but here, on this rocky hill-side, in this poor soil, it opened its blue eyes in such luxuriance that the roa