THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: A MAGAZINE OF LITPRA TUBE, SCIENCE, ART, AND POLITICS. VOL. XLII.JULY, 1878.No. CCXLIX. SOME WAR SCENES REVISITED. NOTHING in actual life can come so ncar the experience of Rip Van Winkle as to revisit war scenes after a dozen years of peace. Alices adventures in Wonderland, when she finds herself dwarfed after eating the clover leaf, do not surpass the sense of insignificance that comes over ny one who once wore uniform when he enters, as a temporary carpet-bagger, some city which he for- merly ruled or helped to rule with abso- lute sway. An ex-commander of colored troops has this advantage, that the hack- men and longshore-men may rememher him if nohody else does; and he at once possesses that immense practical conven- ience which comes only from a personal acquaintance with what are called the humbler classes. In a strange place, if one can establish relations with a black waiter or a newspaper correspon(lCnt, all doors fly open. The patronage of the great is powerless in comparison. When I had last left Jacksonville, Florida, in March, 1864, the town was in flames: the streets were full of tongues of fire creeping from house to house; the air was dense with lurid smoke. Our steamers dropped rapidly down the river, laden to the gunwale with the goods of escaping inhabitants. The black soldiers, guiltless of all share in the flames, were yet excited by the occasion, recalled their favorite imagery of the Judgment Day, and sang and shouted without ceas- ing. I never saw a wilder scene. Four- teen years after, the steamboat came up to the same wharf, and I stepped quiet- ly ashore into what seemed a summer watering-place: the roses were in bloom, the hotel verandas were full of guests, there were gay shops in the street, the wharves were covered with merchandise and with people. The delicious air was the same, the trees were the same; all else was changed. The earth-works we had built were leveled and overgrown; there was a bridge at the ford we used to picket; the church in whose steeple we built a lookout was still there, but it had a new tower, planned for peace- ful purposes only. The very railroad along which we skirmished almost daily was now torn up, and a new track en- tered the town at a (lillerent point. I could not find even the wall which one of our men clambered over, loading and firinr with a goose captured between his legs. Only the blue sky an(l the soft air, the lovely atmosphere of Flor- i(la, remained; the distant line of woods had the same outlook, and when the noon guns began to be fired for Wash- sngtons birth day I could hardly con vince myself that the roar was net that of our gunboats, still shelling the woo~is as they had done so many yeals before. Then the guns ceased; the past with Copyright, 1878, by ilocouzos, OsuoOD & Co. 2 Some War Scenes Revisited. [July, drew into yet deeper remoteness. It seeme(l as if I were the only man left on earth to recall it. An hour later, the warm grasp of some of my 01(1 soldiers dispelled the dream of oblivion. 1 had a less vivid sense of ehange at Beaufort, South Carolina, so familiar to many (luring the war. The large white houses still look peacefully down the placi(l river, hut there are repairs and paint everywhere, an(l many new houses or cabins have been built. There is a new village, called Port Royal, at the railroad termnus, about a mile from my first camp at Old Fort plantation; and there is also a station near Beaufort it- self, approached by a fine shell-road. The fortifications on the old shell-road have almost disappeared; the freedmens village near them, named after the pres- ent writer, blew away one day in a tor- nado, and returned no more. A great national cemetery is established near its site. There are changes enough, and yet the general effect of the town is un- altered; there is Northern energy there, and the discovery of valuable phosphates has opened a new branch of industry but after all it is the same pleasant old sleepy Beaufort, and no military Rip Van Winkle need feel himself too rude- ly aroused. However, I went South not to see places, but people. On the way from Washington I lingered for a day or two to visit some near kinsfolk in Virginia, formerly secessionists to a man, or, to be more emphatic, to a woman. Then I spent a Sunday in Richmond, trav- ersed rapidly part of North Carolina and Georgia, spent a day and two nights in Chaileston, two days at Beaufort, and visited various points in Florida, going as far as St. Augustine. I had not set foot in the Southern States for nearly. fourteen years, but I remembered them vivi(lly across that gap of time, and also recalled very distinctly a winter visit to Virginia during college days. With these memories ever present, it was to me a matter of great interest to observe the apparent influence of freedom on the colored people, and the relation between them and the whites. And first, a.s to the material conditioc of the former slaves. Sydney Smith, revisitiwr Edinburrh in 1821 after ten years absence, was struck with the wonderful increase of shoes an(l stock. in gs, streets and houses. The change as to the first item, in South Carolina, tells the story of social progress since emancipation. The very first of my old acquaintances whom I met in that region was the robust wife of one of my sol- diers. I found her hoeing in a field, close beside our old camp-ground. I had seen that woman hoeing in the same field fifteen years before. The same sky was above her, the same soil beneath her feet; but the war was over, slavery was gone. The soil that had been her mas. ters was now her own by purchase; and the substantial limbs that trod it were no longer bare and visibly black, but incased in red-striped stockings of the most conspicuous design. Think of it! I said to a clever Massachusetts damsel in Washington, the whole world so changed, and yet that woman still hoes. In hose, quoth the live- ly maiden; and I preserve for posterity the condensed epigram. Besides the striped stockings, which are really so conspicuous that the St. Augustine light-house is painted to match them, one sees a marked, though mod- erate progress in all the comforts of life. Formerly the colored people of the sea islands, even in their first days of free. domn, slept very generally on the floor; and when our regimental hospital was first fitted up, the surgeon found with ifismay that the patients had regarded the beds as merely beautiful ornaments, and had unanimously laid themselves down in the intervening spaces. Noi~ I noticed bedstead and bedding in every cabin I visited in South Carolina and Florida. Formerly the cabins often had no tables, an(i families rarely ate to- gether, each taking food as was conven- ient; but now they seemed to have fain- ily meals, a step toward mlecent living. This progress they themselves recog nuceml. Moreover, I often saw pictures from the illustrated papers on the wall, and the childrens school-books on the 0 Some War Scenes Revisited. 1878.1 shelf. I rarely met an ex-soldier who did not own his house and ground, the inclosures varying from five to two hun- died acres; and I fouud one man on the St. Johns who had been offered $3000 for his real estate. In many eases these homesteads had heen bought within a few years, showing a steady progress in self-elevation. I do not think the world could show a finer sample of self-respecting peasant life than a colored woman, with whom I came down the St. Johns River to Jack- sonville, from one of the little settle- ments along that magnificent stream. She was a freed slave, the wife of a for- mer soldier, and was going to market, basket in hand, with her little boy by her side. She had the tall erect figure, clear black skin, thin features, fine teeth, and intelligent bearing that marked so many of my Florida soldiers. She was dressed very plainly, but with scrupulous cleanliness: a rather faded gingham dress, well-worn tweed sack, shoes and stockings, straw hat with plain black ribbon, and neat white collar and cuffs. She told me that she and her husband owned one hundred and sixty acres of land, bought and paid for by their own earnings, at $1.25 per acre; they had a log-house, and were going to build a frame-house; they raised for themselves all the food they needed, except meat ann flour, which they bought in Jack- so,nville. They had a church within reach (Baptist); a school-house of forty pupils, taught by a colored teacher; her husband belonged to the Good Templars, as did all the men in their neighbor- hood. For miles along the St. Johns, a little back from the river, such settle- Inents are scattered; the men cultivating their own plots of ground, or working on the steam-boats, or fishing, or lum- bering. What more could be expected of any race, after fifteen years of free- dom? Are the Irish voters of New York their superiors in condition, or the fac- tory operatives of Fall Rivei~? I met perhaps a hundred men, in dif- ferent l)laces, who had heen under my command, and whose statements I could trust. Only one of these complained of poverty; and lie, as I found, efirned gOOll wages, had neither wife nor child to support, and was given to whisky. There were sonic singular instances of prosperity among these men. I was told iii ,Jacksonville that I should find Cor- poral McGill de most populous man in Beanfort. When I got there, I found him the proprietor of a livery stable populous with horses at any rate; he was worth $3000 or $4000, arid was cor- dial and hospitable to the last degree. At partin~, lie (Irove me to the station with his best carriage and horses; and I regret to add that while lie was refusing all compensation his young steeds ran away, and as the train whirled off I saw my populous corporal double-quick down the shell-road, to recapture his equipage. I found Sergeant Hodges a master carpenter at Jacksonville; Cor- poral Hicks was a preacher there, highly respected; and I heard of Corporal Sut- ton as a traveling niinister farther up the river. Sergeant Shemeltella, a fine- looking half-Spaniard from St. Augus- tine, now patrols, with ~un in hand, the woods which we once picketed at Port Royal Ferry, and supplies game to the markets of Charleston and Savannah. And without extending the list I may add that some of these men, before at- taining prosperity, had to secure, by the severest experience, the necessary judg- ment in business affairs. It will hardly be believed that the men of my regiment alone sunk $30,000 in an impracticable building association, and in the purchase of a steamboat which was lost uninsured. One of the shrewdest among them, after taking his share of this, resolved to be prudent, put $750 in the Freedmens Bank, and lost that too. Their present prosperity must be judged in the light of such formidable calamities as these. I did not hear a single char~e of 1a4- ness made against the freed colored peo- ple in the States I visited. In Virginia it was admitted that they would work wherever they were paid, but that many were idle for want of employment. Rev. Dr. Piuckney, in a recent a(l(lress befqre the Charleston Historical Society, de- dares that the negroes do riot refuse to 4 Some War Scenes Revisited. [July, vork all are planting and he only complains that they work unskillfully. A rice-planter in Georgia tol(1 me that he got his work (lone more efficiently than under the slave system. Men an(l wom- en worked well for seventy-five cents a day; many worked under contract, ~vhieh at first they did not understand or like. On the other hand, he admitted, the planters did not at once learn how to manage them as freedmen, bnt had ac- quired the knowledge by degrees; so that even the strikes at harvest-time, which had at first embarrassed them, were now avoided. Another Georgia planter spoke with much interest of an effort now mak- ing by the colored people in Augusta to establish a cotton factory of their own, in emulation of the white factories which have there been so successful. He said that this proposed f~ tory was to have a capital of fifty thousand dollars in fifty dollar shares, and that twenty-eight thou- sand dollars of it were already raised. The white business agent of one of the existing factories was employed, he said, as the adviser of those organizing this. He spoke of it with interest as a proper outlet for the industry of the better class of colored people, who were educated rather above field labor. He also spoke with pride of the normal school for col- ored l)eoPle at Atlanta. The chief of police in Beaufort, South Carolina, a colored man, told me that the colored population there required but little public assistance, though two thousand of them had removed from the upper parts of the State within a year and a half, thinking they could find bet- ter wages at Beaufort. This removal struck me as being of itself a favorable indication, showing that they were now willing to migrate, whereas they were once hopelessly fixed to the soil, and therefore too much in the power of the land owners. The new industry of dig- ging phosphates for exportation to En- gland employs a good many in Beaufort County, and they earn by this from sev- enty-five cents to a dollar a (lay. 0th- ers are employed in loading vessels at the new settlement of Port Royal; but the work is precarious and insufficient, aud I was told that if they made two (101- lars a week they did well. But it must he remembered that they have mostly lit- tle patelies of land of their own, and can raise for themselves the corn and vege- tables on which they chiefly live. I asked an old man if he could supply his family from his own piece of ground. Oh, yes, marsi, he said (the younger men do not say marsr, but boss ), and then lie went on, with a curious ac- cumulation of emphasis: I raise plen- ty too, much more dan I destroy, meaning simply very much more. The price of cotton is now very low, and the sea-island cotton has lost forever, perhaps, its place in the English market. Yet Rev. Dr. Pi nckney, in the address just quoted, while lamenting the ravages of war in the sea islands, admits that nearly half as much c6tton was raised in them in 1875 as in 1860, and more than half as much corn, the population being about the same, and the area cultivated less than one third. To adopt his fig- ures, the population in 1860 was 40,053; acres unmier cultivation, 274,015; corn, 618,959 bushels; cotton, 19,121 bales. In 1875 the population was 43,060; acres under cultivation, 86,449; corn, 314,271 bushels; cotton, 8199 bales. When we consider the immense waste of war, the destruction of capital, the abandonment of estates hy those who yet refuse to sell them, and the partial introduction of industry other than ag- ricultural, this seems to me a promising exhibit. And when we observe how much more equitable than formerly is now the distribution of the products be- tween capitalist and laborer, the case is still better. Dr. Piuckneys utmost com- plaint in regard to South Carolina is that the result of the war has been injuri- ous to the whites, and not beneficial to the blacks. Even lie, a former slave- holder, does not claim that it has injured the blacks; and this, from his point of view, is quite a concession. Twenty years hence he may admit that whatever the result of war may have been, that of peace will be beneficial to both races. Iii observing a lately emancipated race, it is always harder to judge as to the Some War Scenes Revisited. condition of the women than of the men, especially where the men alone have been enfranchised. My friend the judge, in Virginia, declared that the colored men and women were there so unlike that they seemed like different races: the men had behaved admirably, he said; the women were almost hopelessly de~,raded. On the other hand, my white friends of both sexes at Beaufort took just the opposite view, and thought the women there quite superior to the men, especially in respect to whisky. Per- haps the influences of the two regions may have made the difference, as the sea islands have had the presence, ever since the be~,inning of the war, of self- devoted and well - educated teachers, mostly women, while such teachers have been much rarer in Virginia. They have also been rare in Florida; but then the Florida negroes are a superior class. Certainly it was pleasant to me to hear favorable accounts of this and that par- ticular colored woman of whom I had known something in war times. Almost the first old acquaintance named to me on the sea islands, for instance, was one Venus, whose marriage to a soldier of my regiment I chronicled in war times. Now, cunnel, said that soldier in confidence, I want for get me one good lady. And when I asked one of his friends about the success of the effort, he said triumphantly, John s gwine for marry Venus. Now the record of Ve- nus as a good lady was so very question- able in her earlier incarnations that the name was not encouraging; but I was delighted to hear of the goddess, fifteen years later, as a most virtuous wife and a very efficient teacher of sewing in Miss Botnmes school. Her other sewing- teacher, by the way, is Juno. I went into schools, here and there; the colored people seemed to value them very much, and to count upon their own votes as a means of securing these ad- vantages, instead of depending, as for- merly, on Northern aid. The schools I visited did not seem to me so good as those kept by Northern ladies during the war, at Port Royal; hut the present schools form a part of a public system, and are in that respect better, while enough of the Northern teachers still re- main to exert a beneficial influence, at least on the sea islands. I was sorry to be in Charleston only on Saturday, when the Shaw Memorial School was not in session. This is a large wooden build- ing, erected on land bought with part of a fund collected in the colored regiments for a monument to Colonel Shaw. This school has an average attendance of five hundred and twenty, with twelve teach- ers, white and black. The Morris Street School for colored children, in Charles- ton, has fourteen hundred pupils. These two schools occupy nearly half of the four columns given by the Charleston News and Courier of April 12, 1878, to the annual exhibition of public schools. The full programme of exercises is given, with the names of the pupils receiving prizes and honors; and it seems almost incredible that the children whose suc- cesses are thus proudly recorded can be the sons and daughters of freed slaves. And I hold it utterly ungenerous, in view of such facts, to declare that the white people of the South have learned noth- ing by experience, and are incapable of change. Public officials at Beaufort told me that in that place most of the men could now sign their names, certainly a great proof of progress since war times. I found some of my friends anxious lest school should unfit the young people for the hard work of the field; but I saw no real proof of this, nor did the parents confirm it. Miss Botume, however, said that the younger women now thought that, after marriage, they ought to be excused from field labor, if they took care of their homes and children; a pro- posal so directly in the line of advancing civilization that one can hardly object to it. The great solicitude of some of the teachers in that region relates to the passage of some congressional bill which shall set aside the tax sales under which much real estate is now held; but others think that there is no fear of this, even under a democratic administration. This leads naturally to the question, What is to be the relation between the 18Th.] 5 6 Some War Scenes Revisited. [July, two races in those Southern States of which I speak? I remember that Cor- poral Simon Crier, one of the oddities of my regiment, used to declare that when the war was over, he should go to Libery; and, when pressed for a reason, used to say, Dese yer secesh will neber be cibilized in my time. Yet Simon Criers time is not ended, for I heard of him as peacefully dwelling near Charleston, and taking no part in that insignificant colonization movement of which we hear so much more at the North than at the South. Taking civ- ilization in his sense, a fair enough sense, we shall find Virginia, South Carolina, and Florida holding an inter- mediate position; being probably behind North Carolina, West Virginia, and the border States, but decidedly in advance of Geor0ia, Alabama, and Mississippi. It is certain that there is, in the States I visited, a condition of outward peace and no conspicuous ontrages; and that this has now been the case for many months. All will admit that this state of things must be a blessing, unless there lies beneath it some covert plan for crushing or re~nslaving the colored race. I know that a few good men at the North honestly believe in the existence of some such plan; I can only say that I thorough- ly disbelieve in it. Taking the nature of the Southern whites as these very men describe it, impulsive and ungoverned, it is utterly inconceivable that such a plan, if formed, should not show itself in some personal ill usa~e of the blacks, in the withdrawal of privileges, in legis- lation endangering their rights. I can assert that, carrying with me the eyes of a tolerably suspicious abolitionist, I saw none of these indications. Dnring the war, I could hardly go anywhere with- in the Union lines for twenty-four hours without being annoyed by some sign of race hostility, or being obliged to inter- fere for the protection of some abused man or woman. During this trip, I had absolutely no occasion for any such atti- tude. The change certainly has not re- sulted from any cringing demeanor on the part of the blacks, for they show much more manhood than they once did. I am satisfied that it results from the changed feeling created towards a race of freedmen and voters. How can we ask more of the States formerly in re- bellion than that they should be abreast of New England in granting rights and privileges to the colored race? Yet this is now the case in the three States I name; or at least if they fall behind at some points, they lead at some points. Let us look at a few instances. The republican legislature of Connect- icut has just refused to incorporate a colored military company; but the col- ored militia regiment of Charleston was reviewed by General Hampton and his staff just before my visit. One of the colored officers told me that there was absolutely no difference in the treatment accorded this regiment and that shown toward the white militia, who were re- viewed the day before; and Messrs. Whipper and Jones, the only dissatisfied republican leaders whom I saw, admitted that there was no opposition whatever to this arming of the blacks. I may add that while I was in Virginia a bill waS reported favorably in the legislature for the creation of a colored militia company, called the State Guard, under control of their own officers, and reporting direct- ly to the adjutant-general. I do not know a Northern city which enrolls colored citizens in its police, though this may here and there have happened. I saw colored policemen in Charleston, Beaufort, and Jacksonville, though the former city is under demo- cratic control; and I was told by a lead- ing colored man that the number had late- ly been increased in Charleston, and that one lieutenant of police was of that race. The republican legislature of Rhode Isl- and has just refused once more to repeal the bill prohibiting intermarriages, while the legislature of South Carolina has re fused to pass such a bill. I can remem- ber when Frederick Douglas was cjected from the railway cars in Massachusetts, because .of his complexion; and it is not many years since one of the most culti- vated and lady-like colored teachers in the nation was ejected from a street car in Philadelphia, her birthplace, for the Some War Scenes Revisited. same reason. But I rode with colored people in first-class cars throughout Vir- ginia and South Carolina, and in street ears in Richmond and Charleston. I am told that this last is the case also in Sa- vannah and New Orleans, but can testi- fy only to what I have seen. In Georgia, I was told, the colored people were not allowed in first-class cars; but they had always a decent second-class car, open- ing from the smoking-car, with the door usually closed between. All these things maybe true, and still a great deal may remain to be done; but it is idle to declare that the sun has not risen because we do not yet see it in the zenith. Even the most extreme South- ern newspapers constantly contain para- graphs that amaze us, not only in con- trast to slavery times, but in contrast to the times immediately following the war. While I was in South Carolina the Charleston News and Courier published, with commendation, the report of a hill, passed by the Maryland legislature, ad- mitting colored lawyers to practice, after the court of appeals had excluded them; and it copied with implied, approval the remark of the Baltimore Gazette: Raise the educational test, the rigidity of the examinations for admission, or the moral test as high as you please, but let us have done with the color test. It is certain that every republican politician whom I saw in South Carolina, black or white, spoke well of Governor Hampton, with two exceptions, Mr. W. J. Whipper, whom Governor Cham- berlain refused to commission as judge, and Mr. Jones, who was clerk of the house of delegates through its most cor- rupt period. I give their dissent for what it is worth, but the opinion of oth.. ers was as I have said. We have no complaint to make of Governor Hamp- ton; he has kept his pledges, was the general remark. For instance, a bill passed both houses by a party vote, re- quiring able-bodied male prisoners, un- der sentence in county jails, to work on the public roads and streets. The col- ored people remonstrated strongly, re- garding it as aimed at them. Governor Hampton vetoed the bill, and the house, on reflection, sustained the veto by a vote of one hundred and two to ten. But he is not always so strong in influence: there is a minority of fire-eaters who resist him; he is denounced by the up- country people as an aristocrat; and I was told that he might yet need the col- ored vote to sustain him against his own party. Grant that this assumes him to be governed by self-interest; that strength- ens the value of this evidence. We do not expect that saints will have the mo- nopoly of government at South or North; what we need is to know that the col- ored vote in South Carolina makes itself felt as a power, and secures its rightful ends. The facts here stated are plain and un- questionable. When we come to con- sider the political condition of the for- mer slaves, we find greater difficulties in taking in the precise position. First, it must be remembered that even at the North the practical antagonism towards colored voters lasted long after their act- ual enfranchisement, and has worn out only by degrees. Samuel Breck, in his very entertaining reminiscences, tells us that in Philadelphia, in the early part of this century, the colored voters sel- dom dared to come to the polls, for fear of ill usage. Then we must remember that in South Carolina, the State which has been most under discussion in this essay, the colored voters were practically massed, for years, under the banner of spoliation, and the antagonism created was hardly less intense than that created by the Tweed dynasty in New York. As far as I can judge, neither the car- pet-bag frauds nor the Ku-Klux persecutions have been exa,,gerated, and they certainly kept each other alive, and have, at least temporarily, ceased to- gether. No doubt the atrocities com- mitted by the whites were the worst, in- asmuch as murder is worse than robbery, but few in South Carolina will now deny that the provocation was simply enor- mous. And it is moreover true that this state of things left bad blood behind it, which will long last. It has left jealousies which confound the innocent with the 18~8.] 7 Some War Scenes Revisited. guilty. Judging the future by the past, the white South Carolinian finds it al- most impossible to believe that a repub- lican state administration can be decent- ly honest. This is a feeling quite apart from any national attitude, and quite con- sistent with a fair degree of loyalty. Nor does it take the form of resistance to colored voters as such. The Southern whites accept them precisely as North- ern men in cities accept the ignorant Irish vote, not cheerfully, but with acquiescence in the inevitable; and when the strict color-line is once broken they are just as ready to conciliate the negro as the Northern politician to flatter the Irishman. Any powerful body of voters may be cajoled to-day and intimidated to-morrow and hated always, but it can never be left out of sight. At the South, politics are an absorbing inter& st: peo- ple are impetuous; they divide and sub- divide on all local issues, and each fac- tion needs votes. Two men are up for mayor or sheriff, or what not: each con- ciliates every voter he can reach, and each finds it for his interest to stand by those who help him. This has been long predicted by shrewd observers, and is beginning to happen all over the South. I heard of a dozen instances of it. In- deed, the vote of thanks passed by the Mississippi legislature to its colored sen- ator, Mr. Bruce, for his vote on the sil- ver bill was only the same thiug on a larger scale. T~ praise him was to cen- sure Mr. Lamar. It may be said, Ah, but the real test is, Will the black voters be allowed to vote for the republican party? To as- sert this crowning right will undoubted- ly demand a good deal of these voters; it will require courage, organization, in- telligence, honesty, and leaders. With- out these, any party, in any State, will sooner or later go to the wall. As to South Carolina, I can only say that one of the ablest republican lawyers in the State, a white man, unsuspected of cor- ruption, said to me, This is a repub- lican State, and to prove it such we need only to bring out our voters. For this we do not need troops, but that half a dozen well-known Northern republi cans should canvass the State, just as if it were a Northern State. The colored voters need to know that the party at the North has not, as they have been told, deserted them. With this and a perfectly clean list of nominees, we can carry the legislature, making no nomi- nations against Hampton. But, I asked, would not these meetings be broken up? Not one of them, he said. They will break up our local meetings, but not those held by speakers from other States. It would ruin them with the nation. ~And this remark was afterwards indorsed by others, white and black. When I asked one of the few educated colored leaders in the State, Do you regret the withdrawal of the troops by President Hayes? No, he said; the only misfortune was that they were not withdrawn two years ear- lier. That would have put us on our good behavior, obliged us to command respect, and made it easier to save the republican party. But it can still, be saved. There is no teacher so wholesome as personal necessity. In South Carolina a few men and many women cling abso- lutely to the past, learning nothing, for- getting nothing. But the bulk of think- ing men see that the old Southern so- ciety is as absolutely annihilated as the feudal system, and that there is no other form of society now possible except such as prevails at the North and West. The purse - proud Southerner, said Rev. Dr. Piuckney, in his address at Charleston, is an institution which no longer exists. The race has passed away as completely as the Saurian tribes, whose bones we are now digging from the fossil beds of the Ashley. The Yan- kees ought to be satisfied, said one gen- tleman to me: every live man at the South is trying with all his mi,ht to be, a Yankee. Business, money, financial prosperity, these now form the absorb- ing Southern question. At the Exchange Hotel in Richmond, where I spent a Sunday, the members of the Assembly were talking all day about the debt, how to escape bankruptcy. I did not overhear the slightest allusion to the 8 [July, Some War Scenes Revisited. negro or the North. It is likely enough that this may lead to claims on the na- tional treasury, but it tends to nothing worse. The dream of rei~nslavin~, the negro, if it ever existed, is like the ne- gros dream, if he ever had it, of five acres and a mule from the government. Both races have long since come down to the stern reality of self-support. No sane Southerner would now take back as slaves, were they offered, a race of men who have been for a dozen years free- men and voters. Every secessionist risked his all upon secession, and has received as the penalty of defeat only poverty. It is the mild- est punishment ever inflicted after an unsuccessful civil war, and it proves in this case a blessing in disguise. Among Southern young men it has made energy and industry fashionable. Formerly, if a Southern planter wished to travel, he borrowed money on his coming crop, or sold a slave or two. Now he must learn what John Randolph, of Roanoke, .once announced as the philosophers stone, to pay as you go. The Northern traveler asks himself, Where are the white people of the South? You meet few in public, conveyances; you see no crowd in the streets. In the hotels of Washington you rarely hear the South- ern accent, and, indeed, my Virginia friends declared that some of its more marked intonations were growing un- fashionable. Out of one hundred and three Southern representatives in Con- gress, only twenty-three have their fam- ilies with them. On one of the few day trains from Washington to Richmond, there was but one first-class car, and there were not twenty passengers, most- ly from the Northern States. Among some fifty people on the steamboat from Savannah to Jacksonville, there were not six Southerners. Everywhere you hear immigration desired and emigration recognized as a fact. My friend the judge talked to me eloquently about the need of more Northern settlers, and the willingness of all to receive them; the plantations would readily be broken up to accommodate any purchaser who had money. But within an hour, his son, a young law student, told me that as soon as he was admitted to the bar he should go West. The first essential to social progress at the South is that each State should pos- sess local self-government. The States have been readmitted as States, and can no more be treated as Territories than you can replace a bird in the egg. They must now work out their own salvation, just as much as Connecticut and New Jersey. If any abuses exist, the remedy is not to be found in federal interference, except in case of actual insurrection, but in the voting power of the blacks, so far as they have strength or skill to assert it; and where that fails, in their power of locomotion. They must leave~ those counties or States which ill-use them for others which treat them better. If a man is dissatisfied with the laws of Massachusetts, and cannot get them mended, he can at least remove into Rhode Island or Connecticut, and the loss of valuable citizens will soon make itself felt. This is the precise remedy possessed by the colored people at the South, with the great advantage that they have the monopoly of all the leading industries, and do not need the whites more, on the whole, than the whites need them. They have reached the point where civ- ilized methods begin to prevail. When they have once enlisted the laws of po- litical economy on their side, this silent ally will be worth more than an army with banners. T. W. Higginson. 1878.] 9 10 Kearsarge. [July, KEARSARGE. (On Sunday morning, June 19, 1864, the noise of the cannons was heard in English churches during the fight between the Kearsarge and the Alabama.] SUNDAY in Old England; In gray churches everywhere The calm of low res~onses, The sacred hush of prayer. Sunday in Old England; And summer winds that went Oer the pleasant fields of Sussex, The garden lands of Kent, Stole into dim church windows And passed the oaken door, And fluttered open prayer-books With the cannons awful roar. Sunday in New England; Upon a mountain gray The wind-bent pines are swaying Like giants at their play; Across the barren lowlands, Where men find scanty food, The north wind brings its vigor To homesteads plain and rude. Ho, land of pine and granite! Ho, hardy northland breeze! Well have ye trained the manhood That shook the Channel seas, When oer those storied waters The iron war bolts flew, And through Old Englands churches The summer breezes blew; While in our other England Stirred one gaunt rocky steep, When rode her sons as victors, Lords of the lonely deep. S. Weir Mitchell.

10 Kearsarge. [July, KEARSARGE. (On Sunday morning, June 19, 1864, the noise of the cannons was heard in English churches during the fight between the Kearsarge and the Alabama.] SUNDAY in Old England; In gray churches everywhere The calm of low res~onses, The sacred hush of prayer. Sunday in Old England; And summer winds that went Oer the pleasant fields of Sussex, The garden lands of Kent, Stole into dim church windows And passed the oaken door, And fluttered open prayer-books With the cannons awful roar. Sunday in New England; Upon a mountain gray The wind-bent pines are swaying Like giants at their play; Across the barren lowlands, Where men find scanty food, The north wind brings its vigor To homesteads plain and rude. Ho, land of pine and granite! Ho, hardy northland breeze! Well have ye trained the manhood That shook the Channel seas, When oer those storied waters The iron war bolts flew, And through Old Englands churches The summer breezes blew; While in our other England Stirred one gaunt rocky steep, When rode her sons as victors, Lords of the lonely deep. S. Weir Mitchell. 1878.] The Romance of a Famil~. THE ROMANCE OF A FAMILY. THE English complain that the Amer- icans, in their desire to search out their pedigrees and family histories, have in recent years bought up most of the vol- umes containing county annals, so that now it is impossible to purchase such books except at enormous prices. Some- times whole towns in America seem to be fired with the desire to discover an- cestral towns in England, and in one case at least, that of Gloucester, the enter- prise has led to pleasant interchanges and interesting results. The English and the Massachusetts Gloucesters have ex- changed visits and cartes-de-visite; and I have heard that Mr. Price, for twen- ty years representative of Gloucester in Parliament, placed on the picture of his town, sent to its namesake in Massachu- setts, the Horatian prophecy that in the future it might be debated which was the ori~,inal place. The results of in- quiries into family history have not al- ways corresponded to the motives with which they have been instituted. The rather stout sums paid for guidance along the illustrious rainbow have not led to the bag of gold supposed to have de- scended from its colors. Even as to fame, there are instances where the in- vestments at the Heralds College have been hardly remunerative. One dis- tinguished American family found its name appearing for the first time as that of an executed poisoner; and several have fulfilled almost to the letter that good story which long ago amused the readers of The Atlantic Monthly, of the solemn family conclave gathered to open the long-sealed box supposed to contain the robes of a noble ancestor, but which turned out the livery of his servant. At the same time some of these facts, however apt to cool snobbish ambition, are sufficiently striking. An eminent American family, well represented in literature, found the last and only rep- resentative of its English stem to be a cobbler; but it was also found that this cobbler was a very unique workman, and the author of a forcible political pam- phlet. Some inquiries which I have had the opportunity to make have convinced me that our own Emerson belongs to the same family which in England pro- duced the famous and eccentric Dur- ham mathematician, William Emerson. This individual, who was born at Hur- worth in 1701, and lived more than eighty years, wrote works still valued by math- ematicians. He married the Hurworth rectors daughter, but having some dis- agreement with the clergyman put all his wifes clothing, and other things which she had brought with her, into a wheelbarrow, trundled them back to the rectory, and emptied them at the door. He wrote for the Curiosa Mathematica under the name of Philofluentimechana- algegeomastrolongo. It is hardly won- derful that in a remote country district a man who indulged in algebraic signs and wrote under such a name should have been regarded four generations ago as a conjurer. But this reputation gave him at one time much disgust, more par- ticularly as he was a very determined freethinker. On one occasion a poor woman, whose husband had gone to sea, came to ask him where her husband was. In hell! thundered the irate scholar, stalking back to his library. However, it was a time and region in which dep- redations on property were very fre- quent; and finding that his reputation for skill in the black art held all depre- dators in awe, the queer old gentleman does not seem to have repudiated the supposition so warmly in later life. He was a famous angler, and sometimes stood up to his middle in water for hours together, absorbed in his favorite sport. A monument to his memory, with an ele- gant Latin epitaph, stands in Hurworth churchyard. He was childless. Since the necessary reaction against the claims of birth asserted itself in pol 11

1878.] The Romance of a Famil~. THE ROMANCE OF A FAMILY. THE English complain that the Amer- icans, in their desire to search out their pedigrees and family histories, have in recent years bought up most of the vol- umes containing county annals, so that now it is impossible to purchase such books except at enormous prices. Some- times whole towns in America seem to be fired with the desire to discover an- cestral towns in England, and in one case at least, that of Gloucester, the enter- prise has led to pleasant interchanges and interesting results. The English and the Massachusetts Gloucesters have ex- changed visits and cartes-de-visite; and I have heard that Mr. Price, for twen- ty years representative of Gloucester in Parliament, placed on the picture of his town, sent to its namesake in Massachu- setts, the Horatian prophecy that in the future it might be debated which was the ori~,inal place. The results of in- quiries into family history have not al- ways corresponded to the motives with which they have been instituted. The rather stout sums paid for guidance along the illustrious rainbow have not led to the bag of gold supposed to have de- scended from its colors. Even as to fame, there are instances where the in- vestments at the Heralds College have been hardly remunerative. One dis- tinguished American family found its name appearing for the first time as that of an executed poisoner; and several have fulfilled almost to the letter that good story which long ago amused the readers of The Atlantic Monthly, of the solemn family conclave gathered to open the long-sealed box supposed to contain the robes of a noble ancestor, but which turned out the livery of his servant. At the same time some of these facts, however apt to cool snobbish ambition, are sufficiently striking. An eminent American family, well represented in literature, found the last and only rep- resentative of its English stem to be a cobbler; but it was also found that this cobbler was a very unique workman, and the author of a forcible political pam- phlet. Some inquiries which I have had the opportunity to make have convinced me that our own Emerson belongs to the same family which in England pro- duced the famous and eccentric Dur- ham mathematician, William Emerson. This individual, who was born at Hur- worth in 1701, and lived more than eighty years, wrote works still valued by math- ematicians. He married the Hurworth rectors daughter, but having some dis- agreement with the clergyman put all his wifes clothing, and other things which she had brought with her, into a wheelbarrow, trundled them back to the rectory, and emptied them at the door. He wrote for the Curiosa Mathematica under the name of Philofluentimechana- algegeomastrolongo. It is hardly won- derful that in a remote country district a man who indulged in algebraic signs and wrote under such a name should have been regarded four generations ago as a conjurer. But this reputation gave him at one time much disgust, more par- ticularly as he was a very determined freethinker. On one occasion a poor woman, whose husband had gone to sea, came to ask him where her husband was. In hell! thundered the irate scholar, stalking back to his library. However, it was a time and region in which dep- redations on property were very fre- quent; and finding that his reputation for skill in the black art held all depre- dators in awe, the queer old gentleman does not seem to have repudiated the supposition so warmly in later life. He was a famous angler, and sometimes stood up to his middle in water for hours together, absorbed in his favorite sport. A monument to his memory, with an ele- gant Latin epitaph, stands in Hurworth churchyard. He was childless. Since the necessary reaction against the claims of birth asserted itself in pol 11 The Romance of a Family. [July, 12 itics, there have arisen those remarkable discoveries of some of the laws of he- redity which assuredly lend a philosoph- ical interest to the subject of family evolution. The development of nature through the interaction of persistence and differentiation harmonizes with f a- miliar, and yet almost mystical, facts observed in every family, and it is un- questionable that the savant now finds serious interest investing the lineal bi- ography which the democrat has dis- missed with contempt. Nor can there fail to attach some moral interest to the scientific generalizations which find their illustrations in the household. Mr. Fran- cis Galton, the accomplished author of two admirable books on heredity, has proved that every family is surrounded by forces and laws which, intelligently used, may tend to the maintenance of health, and even in the end to the pro- duction of genius! It is perhaps pre- mature to estimate with any attempt at doctrinal precision the bearings on fami- ly culture of the physical and intellect- ual laws of inheritance; but it is certain that a graver interest than formerly now attaches to the reappearance in children of the tendencies, and even the little tricks of manner, which belonged to rel- atives they never saw. For a long time, no doubt, observations of this character have exerted some influence in many families, especially in guarding against certain physical dangers; but it is prob- able that in the future they will enter more largely into the direction of edu- cation and vocation. Some of Mr. Gal- tons startling facts appear to prophesy a time when parents shall reco~nize that the choice of their boys occupation, now such a source of anxiety, has already been decided, and that they need only read the verdict as the lads early years translate it from the annals of his ances- tors. The records there of the failure of one and the success of another may possibly intimate the direction of the family genius; and if any such genuine science should arrive to fulfill the dis- appointed promises of phrenology, and intervene between the child and the con- ventionalization to which he or she is subjected, the new philosophic genealo- gist will be triumphantly vindicated. 1 happen to know an old Welsh family whose branches had long flourished by mercantile life, but to whose chief rep- resentatives there was born, fifty years ago, a seventh son of a seventh son. Enough of ancient superstition survived in their Welsh neighborhood and in themselves, at that period, to affect the destiny of this seventh son, for whom all authorities predicted second - sight and other occult powers. So they educated him to be a physician, the medical art being that which would give most play to the anticipated subtlety. But the seventh-son theory albeit originating, probably, in some earnest effort at gen- eralizing the phenomena of inheritance by a primitive Galton failed sadly. The Welsh lad from the first revealed the family talent; he out-traded all the boys at school. He had no occult pow- ers whatever, but clear common sense. If there was one thing he hated more than another it was medicine, and next to that medical study. After groaning through the College of Physicians, and wasting a year or two on a happily idle practice, he summed up all his re- medial attainments in amputatin~, all in- validism, his own included, and becom- ing what he now is, a successful and honorable merchant. Many may smile at this instance of the potency of the seventh-son superstition who yet may be determining the career of their chil- dren by notions destined to be one day smiled at in their turn, for instance, by the notion that the path of success can be arbitrarily selected. As one said of old, we are born at all adventure, and many adventures are likely to be of unhappy result, until more serious atten- tion is paid to family biography as the best interpreter of individual tendencies. It has, however, been as a branch of archmeology that the interest in genealogy has lately revealed signs of revival. So many historic facts have been discovered in old famnily papers and wills that it is pretty certain every old scrap will be overhauled and scrutinized. Some of the papers already found have been of The Romance of a Famil~y. 5uch value that it would hardly be a sur- prise if there should turn up in some old Warwickshire or London library all the missing links of Shakespeares life. At this moment the ablest and most enterprising historic arebmologist living Colonel Chester, of Philadel- phiais engaged in collecting the wills of all the poets and actors of Shake- speares time. These he will edit with full annotations, and the new Shake- speare Society for which he is acting has a very fair chance of making some spe- cial discovery with regard to Shake- speare~ while it has the certainty of ex- huming much valuable information con- cerning the literary history of his age. No one who has looked into Colonel Chesters wonderful volume of the West- minster Abbey Registers can fail to an- ticipate valuable results from the work in which he is now engaged. That volume, to which the author gave many years and much money, and which he presented to the Harleian Society (of which he was a founder), is a sufficient proof of his ability, and also of his enthusiasm. Personal friendship some few years ago brought this American archmologist to enter upon researches of a more pure- ly personal interest as it appeared than he is in the habit of making. The result, however, has been of such sin- gular interest that one may well doubt whether the expected historic discoveries for which a parliamentary committee is searching among the documents of an- cient families are any more likely to be found there than under humbler names. I have before me the volume to which I allude; it is printed for private use only, and it bears the unpromising title, Some Account of the Taylor Family. But this is one of the most instructive books I have ever read. Fletcher, of Madeley, considered that the obscurest individual life, if recorded with fislelity, would pos- sess much of high and general interest; and the saying might be with mnoie truth applied to an individual family, a liv- ing entity, at once impersonal and in- dividual, whose life is the continuous ex- perience of centuries, completin r lives that seemed cut short, justifying aims that appeared to fail, and weaving from the commonplace of one generation the romance of another. Taylor is a common enough name; antecedently, one would expect the historic tracks of it to be worth noting only if they led by the home where Jeremy, Shakespeare of divines, was born, or the dear old Pla- tonist who sacrificed the bull to Jupiter in the back parlor, or at least the wa- ter poet. But no; it is the name of a plain and respectable family of Lon- don merchants, whose story has been followed, winding hither, thither, now bright, again sombre, but clearly trace- able, through humble as well as grand homes, across seven centuries. On reading a portion of this volume, it appeared to me such a type of the family histories which might be of great importance that I have obtained the consent of the gentleman who has made this bequest to his family Peter Alfred Taylor, M. P. to publish some facts from it that seem to me of general in- terest. But before proceedin,, to those interesting facts it may be well enough to refer to one matter, of no general impor- tance except as showing the nature of the hard knots which meet the explorer of a family line, and the method by which alone they can be successfully untied. The Taylors traced their family with- out much difficulty to 1662, but there the thread was lost. They had a tradi- tion which connected them with an an- cient family of Taylards, and they had the same coat of arms; but the Heralds College had found the will of a Cardi- gan (into which family the main Taylard line had changed) in 1662 making a be- quest to a Taylard kinsman as the last of his name and fallen into pover- ty; and so they decided that the fami- ly had ended then, and that the mere coincidence of arms was no evidence of connection. But Colonel Chester inves- tigated the Taylamd J)e(higree from the fourteenth to the middle of the seven tecuth century, and foumid that the names frequent in the Taylard family during that time were repeated by time Taylor family after that time; eveim such pe- culiar names as Ursula, Vemmetia, Mar- 1878.] 13 14 The Romance of a Family. [July, maduke, and others of a kind rarely given hut for family reasons occurred re- peatedly in the two families. So soon as this identity of peculiar names was discovered, the common arms, the family tradition, and other matters were hy it cemented into a solid hridge over the genealogical chasm. But this hridge, built of dry stones over a (lusty rut where no stream has run for centuries, what is it to us? Well, it is of quite as little im- portance in itself as any Hecuba that ever existed; hut there is some little interest in the Night-Cap countries of time if we see living laws of human nature at work there. How is it that a family of aristocratic, wealthy Taylards disap- pears in Huntingdonshire, in 1662, and simultaneously a plebeian family of Tay- lors he~,ins in London, these two being one and the same family? Just there the tale begins. The Taylors gained their name as workers at the honest oc- cupation indicated by it. When they were first so called men were named after their work, and tailor was then common- ly spelt with a y. Having accumulated little by little, they appeared as a very wealthy family, who, having invested in landed estates and become gentry, modi- fied their name to Taylard. So it went on, until by omission of the normal word male in a will the vast estates and wealth of the Taylards all fell to be the portion of a little girl. This child mar- ried, at the age of fourteen, one Robert Brudenell. The entire Taylard fortune was impoverished at that marriage altar, and their wealth was alienated to become the foundation of the earldom of Cardi- gan. The rich Brudenell was at once adopted hy the nobility; the disinherited Taylards were scattered, one to New En- gland, another to the Bermudas, while their chief representative set up in Lon- don in something like the same business as that with which the family began. With a disgust at even the name asso- ciated with their family pride and its fall, this man set up his sign as plain Mr. Taylor, Haherdasher, on the spot where the Longmans now publish their hooks in Paternoster Row, and when he (lied left his family what would now be a million dollars, as the nest-ego of a new family fortune. And so it was simply on account of this reversion to the more ancient hut less aristocratic name which led the Earl Cardbran to mention the only one who retained the name Taylard as the last of his name, a hit of irony which quite nouplused the Heralds College, until it was ex- plained to them by the Philadelphian. This honest haberdasher married a sister of the Rev. John Wilson, the first preacher ever settled in Boston (Mas- sachusetts), and who was from 1630 to 1667 one of the ruling spirits of the col- ony. The same lady was the widow of one of the Rawson family, which gave the Massachusetts Colony from 1650 to 1686 that enterprising secretary of state, Edward Rawson, who served the govern- ment and persecuted the Quakers with equal zeal. The humbled Taylor family became thoroughly puritanized. It is, perhaps, to be regarded as among the many symptoms of social anarchy two hundred years ago that we find here a man and his son marrying mother and daughter. The inner nature of these primitive Pu- ritans seems to have been in every way confused. For example, Daniel Tay- lor, in his will, after sternly ordering his executors to keep his children from dancing or learning to dance, confirms gifts to his wife, such as pearl necklaces, diamond rings, and other finery. Here is the portrait of this gentleman who frowned on dancing and loved decora- tions: a right Greek nose above a pro- jecting under-face; tasseled lace collar and cuffs on a dress otherwise funereal. His widow was married to Deputy Gov- ernor Willoughby, of Massachusetts, and on his death (1671) she married a Cap- tain Hammond. One of her daughters married a Professor Salisbury, of Yale College, and no doubt the brilliants just mentioned are now heirlooms in that family. There are not a few documents here which show that the Puritans were quite as much mixed up in their theo- logical doctrines as in their notions of practical propriety. What especially strikes me is the persistency with which The Romance of a Family. these godly men were accused of So- cinianism. The most hated Puritan preacher in London at the time was Mr. Goodwin, and his most able defender was Daniel Taylor, and the charge they had chiefly to combat was Socinianism. The eminent Mr. Goodwin seems also to have been put to much pains to re- but the charge of believing too much in good works. The divine approbation, he says, is to bee obtained by good works; yet not properly nor so much by the merit of these works as by vertue of Gods law, of Gods most gracious and beautifull acceptation. Against this divine one Rev. John Vicars levels a pamphlet intituled thus: Coleman St. Conclave Visited & that Grand Impostor the Schismatics Cheat- er in Chief (who hath long slyly lurked therein) truly and duly discovered: con- taining a most palpable and plain Dis- play of Mr. John Goodwins Self-Con- viction (under his own hand-writin0) and of the notorious Heresies, Errors, Malice, Pride & Hypocrisy, of this most Huge Garagantun in Falsely Pretended Piety: to the lamentable misleading of his too credulous, soul-murdered Prose- lytes, of Coleman Street and elsewhere, collected principally out of his own Big Braggadochia, Wave-like, Swelling, and Swaggering Writings; full-fr aught with Six - footed terms, and Flashy Rhetor- ical Phrases, far more than solid and sacred Truths; and may fitly serve (if it be the Lords will), like Belshazzars hand-writing upon the wall of his con- science, tQ strike Terror and Shame into his Soul and shameless Face, and to Undeceive his most miserably Cheated and Enchanted, or Bewitched Follow- ers, 1648. One of the drollest documents found among the Taylor papers is a pardon issued by Charles II. to a boy, William Taylor, in condonation of the wicked- ness of his father, who bore an important part in the commonwealth. For this pardon the guardians of the child had to pay some five hundred pounds, equal to as many thousands now; and it seems that these compulsory condonations were a felicitous invention for keeping the ever-blessed Defender of the Faith in pocket-money. The pardon is written in dog-Latin, and makes no reference to the father at all, but condones the son, in his own name, of all manner of treacheries, crimes, treasons, . . . mis- prisions, . . . all and singular mur- ders, and so on, with an endless cat- alogue of all possible and impossible crimes; exception to the presents, how- ever, being made in case the said Will- iam Taylor (then fourteen years old!) should have been found guilty of foment- ing rebellion in Ireland, of aiding the Jesuits, of bigamy, conjuration, invoca- tion, or witchcraft. The whole docu- ment would fill eight pages of The At- lantic. Among the most interesting papers is an old MS. diary, which was found at a book-stall in Oxford Street, and gravitat- ed through strange hands to the pos- session of its writers descendant. It is the diary of a Mrs. Dorothy Turner, whose daughter married him whose par- don has just been noticed. It is admi- rably written, extending from 1644 to 1672; and surely there never was a more curious example of how little events of vast historic moment may be to a family living amid them. In January, 1649, we learn that this lady bore a still-born child, but of the execution of Charles I. in the same month there is no hint. In June of the same year another child died; what were the accession of Crom- well and Milton, the invasion of Ireland, to this mourning mother! She records the childs burial in Allhallows Bread Street by my Cousen thomas Downes; the Scriptur he spoke to was the 1: thes: the 4th and the 13th. to the end. The Restoration, the Great Plague, the Great Fire, may have had their vast in- fluence on this ladys life, probably did, for there is a gap in the diary .from 1657 to 1672, but her homely rec- ords relate only to the sorrows and joys of her own life. Among these sorrows there was one which even now, after two centuries have elapsed, it is difficult to read without emotion. A beautiful dau0hter, Susannah, aged fifteen, dies. It is to be feared the lovely child per- 1878.] 15 The 1?omance of a Family. ished of precocious piety. How pa- tionatly [writes the mother] would shee mourne for sin and that shee had done noe more for god how much Time would she say shee had lost which if shee had well improved she might have bin a growne christian wheras now shee was but weak and should god damn her he were but Just . . . shee would uter it with much vehemency powering out her Teares in abundance . . . how did shee warne her sisters of that sin of curiosity in dreseing said shee have a care the divill will perswad you this curell is not struck right and might be new done and this pin is not well till he hath drawn you to while away that time you should devote to god. There is a portrait pre- served of Susannab: here is the dainty little thing, a sort of snow-drop, around .which one can imagine nothing less pure than the snow, and looking into her clear poetic eyes I feel a pang in reading of the agonies by which she was torn. The divill knowing his time to be short set upon her with his fiery Asalts which made her cry out in this manner with tears oh said she if after all that god bath done for mee I should be Damd at last. It is a relief when one Sunday the child says, Tomorrow shall I be singing my Hallelujahs in heaven and begin my eter- nall saboth ther, and when, indeed, on that morning the gentle Lethe totiches her lips and ends her struggles with the phantasms of fear. There is something in the bare sim- plicity of these annals of people who never dreamed that any eye would look upon them which is strangely realistic, and awakens a feeling which few novel- ists have had the art to excite. Here is a history, told in a few letters written by. a mother to the young husband of her daughter, who has left his wife for a time while he is off merchandising in Dantzic. In the first letter, just four months after the marriage, the young girl is described as longing for her hus- bands return, and contains a sly inti- mation that your litell one is able to spring for ioy at youre returne come as soone as you will;~~ then comes the moth- ers death, with the childs birth; then the outpourings of the grandmothers love for the babe that had cost them all so dear; then, alas, mingled love and reproaches to the young father, who had hardly fulfilled her hopes; and finally, after three short years, the sad surren- der of the little one to the new wife, to whom, however, the old lady has the grace to write deare daughter, ifor so you must give me leave now to call you, being now in the Roome and place of my own poore daughter. The heart- broken old lady! we can almost see her lay down her pen to wipe her moistened spectacles; ah, if her gathering tear could only have been a time-lens to reveal all the interesting results which were to fol- low the event of the pretty little ladys stepping into the place of her poore daughter! Among the curiosities that turn up so frequently by the way is an account of a hail-storm that broke over London in May, 1680, of which Rebecca Sherbrooke writes to her daucrhter: It ratled in the Are: and fell at first by degres the gretest part about the bignes of a nut- meg; but intermixed with a bundance as big as eggs: som biger som wer Long som round & squar hard & Ise: many waide after taken up in to hot hands a ounce som more coz John Thorald saw one and a Gent man a nother wayed 4 ounces a pece many 7 inches . . . beside great raine and thunder; god is terible in his Judgments how should we fear be fore him . . . one com to se me tould me a Gent man he saw had his hat of complimenting to a nother: and a hail stone sudenly came & broke his head by rasing down flesh and hair together: thes warnings calls for cencer repent- ance Lord grant I nor mine may not put it of till the evil1 day comes; and so on; with the usual sermon that winds up so many letters of the period. It may be noted how this lady gathers courage as she proceeds in narrating the size of the hailstones. It is to be re~ gretted she did not name the gentleman who fell a martyr to taking off his hat to an acquaintance in such a storm, in order that we might know the politest personage of English history. 16 [Ju1y~ 1878.] Death appears to have maintained his sway as the King of Terrors in those days. Here is the fac-simile of a card of invitation to a funeral: a skeleton stands on either side, each beneath an hour- glass, ghastly on the deep black border; there are three deaths-heads, a shrouded figure, four picks and spades, and many detached human bones scattered about for further ornamentation; the whole crowned at the arched, tomb-shaped top with a big deaths-head, winged hour- glass, and scroll with Memento mon. The Taylor family was not now Puritan, but they, their clerical pastors and church neighbors, appear to have been quite as sombre in their conceptions of life and death as any who went before them. Every letter bears some shadow of the religious glooms which perhaps corre- sponded with the gay frivolities prevail- ing in more worldly circles. The pious people of the time plainly had their little enjoyments, but they were received with dolorous reflections. A gentleman thanks his niece for a briaw pig which was heartily eat & thanks drank round, but it at once leads him to reflect how much such kindness is needed because In this worlds pilgrimage all of us are to expect many Conflicts from Enemys without and within, real & imaginary, there are evill men and variety of Dis- eases, there are unruly passions & in- bred Corruptions there are foreboding and disquieting thoughts, there are vain projects & wild Imaginations, there are fruitless Cares & immoderate desires and there is superadded the great Enemy to our Souls the Devill. One has sometimes to suspect that among these formidable assailants the imaginary were made more of than the real, and the divine judgments better attended to when they came as huge hail-stones than when they came in such simple ways as is here recorded in the case of Mr. Justice Pengelly, who died of disease caught through the filthy con- dition of prisoners brought before him, from the horrible dens in which they were then kept and for some time after. The Puritan mo~ement seems to have set every one man, woman, and child VOL. XLII. NO. 249. 2 17 to preaching for about a century. Then we find the reaction, a new at- mosphere, people grown hearty, lusty, and fond of writing and singing merry songs. Instead of the funereal gentle- men of the seventeenth century, we have by the middle of the eighteenth, in this family, a hilarious old gentleman writing sonnets to all the ladies of his acquaint- ance, and chaffing his son (a clergyman) while regaling him with the latest cleric- al scandals. He writes to his reverend son as follows: When orpheus went down to the Regions below wholi men are forbidden to see he tund up his Lyre as old History shews To set his Eurydice free All Hell was astonishd a person so wise Should rashly en- danger his life and venture so far. But how vast their surprise! When they heard lie had come for his wife To find out a punishment due to the fault Old Pluto had puzzled his brain But Hell had not torments sufficient he thought So he gave him his wife back again But pity succeeding soon van- quished his heart And pleased with his playing so well He took her again in reward of his art Such power has musick in Hell. Think of this and smoake tobacco. As an offset to the lack of gallantry in the above, I might extract pages of the opposite kind, such as this: Very gallant copy of verses but somewhat silly on ye ladies fine cloths at ye ball:~~ Happy the worms, that spun their lives away T enrich ye splendor of this glorious day, Well pleased those genrous foreignors expire, A sacrifice to beautys general fire. Oh, had they seen with what superior grace, Beauty here triumphs in each lovely face, Their amrous flame had their own work betrayd And burnt ye web their curious art had made. The son to whom the many droll epis- tles, of which I have given a specimen, were written became one of the most eminent authors of his day. By his most important work, The Apology of Benjamin Ben Mordecai for embracino~ Christianity, the Rev. Henry Taylor ac- quired the name of Ben Mordecai. He had to conquer some scruples before sub- scribing the thirty-nine articles in order to enter the University of Cambridge, The Romance of a Pamily. 18 The Romance of a Family. where he matriculated (1729) and sub. sequently obtained his M. A. and a fel- lowship. At the age of twenty-four he was ordained by Bishop badly, and very soon was leading the reformers who labored to secure those changes in the prayer-book which are still the hope of the Broad Churchman. He was per- haps the most heretical man that has ever been allowed to remain as a clergy- man in the English Church, unless Bish- op Colenso be excepted. He boldly avowed Arian and Universalist opinions, and no menaces or persuasions could in- duce him to obey the law requiring him to read the Athanasian creed in his pul- pit. Among his papers are various threats from his parishioners that they would invoke the authorities unless he should comply, but he stoutly refused. He was also a political radical, and it must have been an impressive discovery to his descendant, the present member of Leicester, when, after he had these many years annually challenged the Game Laws in Parliament, he found a resolution for their abolition penned by his ancestor of four generations before! Not less must this republican representa- tive have felt his pulses warm when he read an account of the vain endeavor of certain courtiers to get Ben Mordecai to put himself out of the way to be presented to the king when the latter landed at Portsmouth, where the erratic rector re- sided as the most considerable personage of the place. It probably would have as- tonished those who were contemporary with Ben Mordecai, and not a little soft- ened the wrath with which many regard- ed him, if they could have known half as much about the man as any reader of these memoirs may know of him now. He was a gentleman after the old defini- tion; he was benevolent in small things. The daughter of the clerk at Portsmouth remembered that one Sunday, having put off the surplice for the black gown, and nearly reached the pulpit, he sud- denly turned round and walked back to the vestry, whence he presently pro- ceeded again to the pulpit. A friend learned afterwards that this incident was caused by the faot that, while arranging his surplice in the vestry he had observed a bee struggling on its back on the ta- ble; something drew his attention away at the moment, but he remembered it again when near the end of the service, and returned to set the bee right before entering on his sermon. Here are his love-letters, so sweet throughout that it must have been not time but love which has obliterated the first sentence of the earliest, and made it begin: with a Robin singing at my (torn). The robin sings all the way through, from youth to gray hairs: sings to the wife as it sang to the maid; sings to the daughter as it sang to the mother and the bride. Ben Mordecai lived a hap- py life, and mainly, I suspect, because he noted the robins which sang at his door, and possibly learned his theolo.. gy from their song rather than the hair- splitting Homoiousians of his time, a theology which may be summed up ix~ one doctrine, the Divine Love. It is amusing to note how v~ry close- ly the situation in things ecclesiastical a hundred years ago resembled that of to.- day. The rationalistic clergyman was denounced by a rigid bishop (Glouces- ter) on one side, and encouraged by a latitudinarian bishop (Winchester) on the other; the Broad Churchmen seem to have expected the speedy realization of a reformed prayer-book as confidently as their successors of the present time. We find even the familiar sermon-trade flourishing one hundred and twenty years ago. Among Ben Mordecais pa.. pers is a circular, appropriately labeled by him impudent, which runs thus: One hundred and fifty sermons, such as have been greatly admired and are but little known, engraved in a master- ly running Hand, printed on stout writ- ing paper, and made to resemble Manu- script as nearly as possible: in length from twenty to twenty-five minutes, as pithy as possible, intelligible to every Understanding, and as fit to be preached to a polite as a country congregation. As these sermons are designed for the use of clergymen only, and consequent~- ly the less known to others the more val.- nable, they will never be advertised in like Romance of a Family. the public Papers. The price of each sermon stitched in purple Paper will be only ONE SEILLING. Send a line to the Rev. iDr. Trusler, Care of Mr. Burns, King St. Covent Garden. Secresy may be depended on. Nor did the rationalist clergyman of the church in the last century lack re- minders such as are familiar to his brother of to-day of the vulnerable point in his armor. The problem often rose before Ben Mordecai, with what consist- ency he could maintain his rectory and pulpit while abjuring one of the creeds and several articles. His sympathetic sister admonishes him, on one occasion, of an adversary on his track who means to press this question, and asks, What hole will you creep out by? but the re- ply is undiscoverable. A hundred years have brought us several hundred rec- tors of similar views and position, but without eliciting any reply to that ques- tion of the shrewd and anxious sister. One of the daughters of Ben Morde- cai, Elizabeth, appears to have set up as a medical practitioner in London, to give the poor aid and advice gratis; and as this was in 1782, she may be regard- ed as the first British physician of her sex. Perhaps she did not know what a radical thing she was doing. Clearly the writer of another letter here, pro- posing to have a lady made parish clerk or pulpit reader (as she already is, virt- ually), was unconscious of the fearful- ness of his suggestion. It is even a cu- rate who writes as follows of his aged clerk: He is so weak as to be obliged to use crutches. His daughter offici- ates for him; she has an excellent voice, & reads very well indeed, & is much am proved of. When old George is called hence, I wish to recommend her as his successor. She can easily procure as- sistance for the graves: every other of- fice she can do very well: the Parish approves of her. It is plain that the process of Americanizing our institu- tions, so often denounced by Tories as a modern innovation, is of respectable antiquity. Though the Taylors had long ceased to be Puritans in religion, they seem to have preserved their political liberalism, and the sympathy of one of them with America, clergyman though he was, reveals itself incidentally dur- ing the revolutionary war. Under date of August 14, 1775, he writes : We thank Bessy for her Americais news. But do not believe above one half of it. The Ministry may for a short time hire Foreign Troops, but in the way they go on, of diminishing the Revenue by de- stroying our trade with the Americans, they will not long have wherewith to pay Foreigners or other troops. The Quar- rells of the Americans among themselves I believe to be all idle tales. Another letter of May 27, 1778, is still more in- teresting: John J4eval was born at Wexford in Ireland, by trade a Miller, he inlisted abt 3 years ago into ye 61 Compr of Marines, Portsmouth division. He was drummed out of Portsmth on 21 of Octr last for cutting off two fingers, wch he uniformly declared he did be- cause he wd not and c4 not in conscience fight agt the Americans. He declared his readiness to serve his Majesty any- where but in America. But when he pleaded Conscience agt this ye Officer was in great heat & asserted yt a Sol- dier ought not to have any Conscience abt the matter. The Soldier gave rea- sons; the Officer gave Oaths. The Sol- dier talkdof Conscience; the Officer talkd of Damnation: The man was committed to the Black Hole where with astonish- ing art, & patience of suffering, he cut off his fingers. Since this Another man wth more Character has attempted to cut his Throat to avoid this American Destination. Yet another clergyman writes (August 3, 1776): We wait here in anxious expectation of the next news from America, great things I think depend on what that may be But to Old England it cannot be good, good care has been taken of that cutting of our own throats can never increase y0 ml- portance of this empire. A thunder- clap I expect from some quarter. If Providence does let us down easy, it is infinitely more than we deserve Indi- viduals have long been gamblers. It is at this instant y case of y Nation. It has staked at one throw more than 1878.] 19 The Romance of a Family. it can afford to lose & has little or no chance of winning. This is not only gambling but gambling like a fool. One of the most curious things in this volume is an account of a Spiritualist seance in London in 1762. Under date of February 16th in that year Rebecca Taylor writes to her brother: I have lately been at London very near the Ghost of Fanny, yes! I have been among the Believers but could not help being, and owning myself an Infidel notwith- standing I was so near the spirit. Oh! that all the clergy had but as much un- derstanding in their whole composition as my Brother has in his one little Toe, they would not then give in to such ridiculous nonsense. a friend of Mrs. Frenches a person of whose veracity and whose Integrity and Honour she could depend on, was present while the following Farce was Acting he was ad- mitted at 10 oclock one night where he found about 15 more persons 3 of whom were reyds the Candle was immediately put out and silence desired. soon after a soft rapping began & scratching, but not in an angry mood. one of the cler- gymen declared the spirit was come, and asked if he should question it which was assented to & accordingly he began. Fanny are you come? to which one knock was given, (which you must know is yes; and 2 knocks is no.) are you will- ing to answer such Questions as I shall put to you? if you are give one knock if not give 2 knocks One knock given. He then proceeded with great Solem- nity to Interrogate this Female Ghost are you a spirit? one knock. are you a good spirit? one knock. are you in a state of happiness? one knock. are you in a state of progressive happiness? I mean by that an increasing happiness. one knock. are you troubled in mind? one knock. have you injurd any one? 2 knocks. has Mr Parsons injurd you? 2 knocks. has his wife? 2 knocks. Did you die an unnatural death? 2 knocks. Some persons present having heard that the Ghost came to reveal its being poy- soned, was Surprised at the answer to the last Query, but the Parson gravely said it was his fault in not Stating the Question right; he would therefore ask it again. Parson: Did you die a natu- ral Death? Spirit gave 2 knocks. Was you poisoned? one knock. Was it in Beer Tea or Purl? knocked for Purl. What is it oclock? gave 10 knocks. How many Quarters after? 2 knocks. Some persons said the Ghost was again out, for that it gone 3 quarters by S~ Sepulchres chimes the Revd Gen~ answerd that clocks might be faulty, but by real time the Spirit might be right. He then pursued his Interrogation can I be of any service to you? one knock. Would it appear that you died by poyson if your Corps was taken up one knock, yes. Would it give you satisfaction if Mr K was hangd? Yes. Will you ap- pear in a Court of justice if he should be prosecuted? Yes, one knock. Is there no one here that comes to scoff? No. Do all present come with a serious mind? Yes. How many Clergymen are in the room? One knock. Parson What only one knock? 2 knocks. Some observd there was 3 Clergymen in the room to which the parson judiciously ob- served that the 3d was a stranger & not in a Canonical habit. Then M~ French- es friend askd if it could tell the coul- our of the arsenick by which it was poisoned. One knock, yes. Was it red arsenick? yes. Now am I convinced of the imposture for red arsenick has not the least poisonous quality in it, tis white. I appeald to a physician pres- ent for my assersion. This was excused; how should a woman know such nice dis- tinctions as to the coulour. Mr Frenches friend pray Gentlemen how does she know that she took arsenick at all? she declard she lived but 3 hours after tak- ing it. its plain she did not know the Tast or she would not have taken it. Upon this much altercation ensued, at which the spirit shewd much anger by scratching. 1 hant room for more. A postscript adds: I was much pleasd with one clergyman who sayd it was a Damd Lying spirit. The history of the Taylors possesses a further interest for American readers through their intermarriage with the Courtauld family. This family, still 20 The Romance of a Family. distinguished in London by the culture and wealth of its members, is traceable to Augustine Courtauld, born in the Isle dOl~ron, said by tradition to have been brought to England as an infant, con- cealed in a pannier, soon after the revo- cation of the Edict of Nantes, when the children of Huguenots were being placed in convents. From him was descended George Courtauld, grandfather of Peter Alfred Taylor, M. P., whose life belongs to the romance of the far West. Colonel Chester writes of him that, after a life of most varied enterprise in America and England, he invested what property he finally found himself possessed of in the purchase of lands in the Western (Unit- ed) States, and died as he was about to introduce the growth and manufacture of silk in the State of Ohio. He was a man of great power of character and of great philanthropy, and it is said of him that in all his path through life he left a track of light behind him. The following narrative will fitly close my notes on the volume before me: He [George Courtauld] had frofri early youth been a radical in his polit- ical opinions, and indeed held republic- an principles. At the age of fifty-nine [1819] he once more turned his steps to the United States of America, whither he went alone, intending to purchase land wherever it might seem most ad- vantageous for the carrying out of a proj- ect he had of forming an association for the union of capital and labor on terms mutually advantageous. He purchased large tracts of uncultivated land in the State of Ohio, near the town of Mari- etta, and returned to England early in 1820, to organize the society and take over his family. On his homeward journey he went the whole distance from the Ohio River to New Orleans alone in a little skiff, navigating the Mississippi, his only guide being a little paint- ed chart. He arrived in New Orleans in safety, after facing and surmounting many difficulties and some dangers with his indomitable courage and inexhausti- ble buoyancy of spirit. Several persons and some families of different ranks in life sailed with him and most of his fain- ily from London to Philadelphia; only two of the intended members of the as- sociation proceeded with him to Ohio, therefore the whole plan fell through. Much hardship and many difficulties were encountered by him, and those of his family with him, alone in the for- est primeval, which were greatly in- creased by three years of almost unex- ampled sickness throughout the Union. All the family suffered from fever and ague, and from the fever of the country, which was of the type of yellow fever, though not so malignant. To this fever he fell a victim, August 13, 1823. This was at Pittsburgh, where he was buried. Like the rest of the family, and the Taylors also, within this century, George Courtauld was an earnest Uni- tarian, and he was a friend of Dr. Priest- ley. His letters from America reveal his strong sympathy with the political principles of Thomas Paine. I can- not but think with Mr. Payne, he writes to a reverend relative in England, that you have no Constitution; you have indeed a form of government, but how you came by that is very difficult to say,certainly it was not that form which after mature deliberation the Peo- ple of England chose for themselves. May God bless Old England! In a political sense she is corrupt and abomi- nable, but I love her private character, and her manners are congenial to my own. It has been for many years the happiness of the present writer to know a daughter of George Courtauld and his beautiful wife, Ruth Minton, of New York, who still resides at Hampstead. At the age of eighty-three this venera- ble ladys fine intellectual powers are still vigorous, and her memory undimmed. Many times have I listened to her recol- lections of that brave voyage which she shared with her father across the At- lantic and into the (then) far West. The disappointment of his and her enthusi- astic dream of a happier life in the West seemed cruel at the time, but from her serene old age, surrounded by the devo- tion of her family and friends, she is able to see all those clouds float into the tinted light of even-tide. And even the 1878.] 21 The Romance of a Family. young among her relatives may be ena- bled by this story of their forerunners to gain some of that wisdom which gener- ally is the crown of prolonged individu- al experience. Brownings Luria found too late The only fault ~ with time: All men become good creatures but so slow! It takes the life of a family to round out and complete the events and inci- dents which its individual members oft- en find so out of joint, and which have baffled the efforts of this or that gener- ation to set them right. Another reflec- tion suggested by such volumes as the one before me is the extent to which an honorable family record must influence and direct those who inherit it, and with whom it must advance or decline. The youth is surrounded by shadowy but po- tent witnesses, who look to him to fur- ther their aims and keep their scutcheon without stain.. Blood is a great deal thicker than water: the first impulses of that red tide which turns to follow some noble ideal like a moon will in the end set many waves beating on the fnr shore of solid fulfillment, and the humblest family which to-day is trying to adorn its lowly circle with genuine virtues and culture may work on with assured faith that its labors cannot be in vain. Some- where, in a future near or far, all the worth they have stored up in them- selves or their children will be ripened and reaped. Quisque patimur suos manes was seen by Virgil as the des- tiny of the dead; the ages have revealed it as the law of the living. In closing this unique work I will only add that at every stage of its tale of centuries the impression has grown upon me of the rarity with which the greatest events have been recognized at the time of their occurrence. What was the dis- covery of America to a Tailard of A. D. 1492, if he beard of it? Less, proba- bly, than to us now would be the dis- covery of a promontory north of Green- land. The many families whose lives are traced in this large volume were each, in their generation, molded in mind and fortune by the outcome of events amid which their ancestors seem to have passed with little or no gener- ally no note or comment. The fore fathers and foremothers pursued the even tenor of their way while the voice of John Knox thundered through the land, and the Queen of Scots fell be- fore Elizabeth, and the tramp of Crom- wells men shook the earth; but these events are left to be recorded in the lives of their descendants. Little was it to any one that, among the many barks which weighed anchor in En- glish ports, one named the Mayflower bore a small band of emigrants to the wild coast of New England. The news was long in reaching English ears as may be the yet unarrived light of some star that beyond the sunset a nation was born. Not a word here of George Fox and the Quakers; one or two ex- pressions of dislike sum up Wesley and Whitefleld and their revivals. The omissions are remarkable, because the writers of these letters and papers were generally people of intelligence, wealth, and position, fair representatives of the great English middle class. They not- ed faithfully and even minutely events that seemed to them of commanding im- portance; but in most cases the so-start- ling event now looks small enough be- side others that came and worked around them without observation, as per- haps may be silently working at our side to-day unnoted men and events with whom history is traveling. Owing to the freedom of the press and its enter- prise, we no doubt dwell in a larger world than our fathers, and are more in- timate with events of public import; but it must be considered also that, as a re- sult of civilization, social and political changes advance with comparatively noiseless instead of, as once, with revo- lutionary steps. It seems unquestion- able that many intelligent people have passed through revolutions without know- ing it, and there is all the more proba- bility that the more quiet, but not less profound revolutions of modern times may be eluding much contemporary am prehension. To-day is a king in dis- guise, says Emerson; and it seems as if our ideas of culture should include 22 1878.] Tke Old Man qf t1~e Mountain. 23 some means of penetrating the disguise. A curious advertisement recently ap- peared in the London Times, in which a gentleman, much occupied with his mer- cantile business, desired to employ some competent person for a few hours of each week to post him up in the current affairs of the world. He would have the key to the Porte, Transvaal, the electoral trouble in America, and so forth, and not pass his life in a mon- ey safe. But we may be victims even of what appears to us culture, if the cur- rent of temperament or any special in- terest even moral or religious be so strong as to sweep us too rapidly past the living things around, above, and be- neath us. And the same tendency to special interests may characterize a gen- eration of men. Posterity may listen to our story at the other end of our time telephone, but decide that, with all our unearthed Homeric treasures and deci- phered obelisks on the one hand, and our poetic dreams on the other, we were really, however unconsciously, dwelling in that circle of Dantes Inferno, whose spirits could see clearly the past and the future, while the present was to them dim and blurred. Atoncure D. Conway. THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN. ALL round the lake the wet woods shake From drooping boughs their showers of pearl; From floating skiff to towering cliff The rising vapors part and curl. The west wind stirs among the firs High czp the mountain side emerging; The light illumes a thousand plumes Through billowy banners round them surging. A glory smites the craggy heights; And in a halo of the haze, Flushed with faint gold, far up, behold That mighty face, that stony gaze! In the wild sky upborne so high Above us perishable creatures, Confronting Time with those sublime, Impassive, adamantine features. Thou beaked and bald high front, miscalled The profile of a human face! No kin art thou, 0 Titan brow, To puny mans ephemeral race. The groaning earth to thee gave birth, Throes and convulsions of the planet; Lonely uprose, in grand repose, Those eighty feet of facial granite. 1 Profile Notch, Franconia, N. IL The Profile viewed from a particular point, assume the marvel- is formed by separate projections of the cliff, which, one appearance of a colossal human face

1878.] Tke Old Man qf t1~e Mountain. 23 some means of penetrating the disguise. A curious advertisement recently ap- peared in the London Times, in which a gentleman, much occupied with his mer- cantile business, desired to employ some competent person for a few hours of each week to post him up in the current affairs of the world. He would have the key to the Porte, Transvaal, the electoral trouble in America, and so forth, and not pass his life in a mon- ey safe. But we may be victims even of what appears to us culture, if the cur- rent of temperament or any special in- terest even moral or religious be so strong as to sweep us too rapidly past the living things around, above, and be- neath us. And the same tendency to special interests may characterize a gen- eration of men. Posterity may listen to our story at the other end of our time telephone, but decide that, with all our unearthed Homeric treasures and deci- phered obelisks on the one hand, and our poetic dreams on the other, we were really, however unconsciously, dwelling in that circle of Dantes Inferno, whose spirits could see clearly the past and the future, while the present was to them dim and blurred. Atoncure D. Conway. THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN. ALL round the lake the wet woods shake From drooping boughs their showers of pearl; From floating skiff to towering cliff The rising vapors part and curl. The west wind stirs among the firs High czp the mountain side emerging; The light illumes a thousand plumes Through billowy banners round them surging. A glory smites the craggy heights; And in a halo of the haze, Flushed with faint gold, far up, behold That mighty face, that stony gaze! In the wild sky upborne so high Above us perishable creatures, Confronting Time with those sublime, Impassive, adamantine features. Thou beaked and bald high front, miscalled The profile of a human face! No kin art thou, 0 Titan brow, To puny mans ephemeral race. The groaning earth to thee gave birth, Throes and convulsions of the planet; Lonely uprose, in grand repose, Those eighty feet of facial granite. 1 Profile Notch, Franconia, N. IL The Profile viewed from a particular point, assume the marvel- is formed by separate projections of the cliff, which, one appearance of a colossal human face The Old .llktn of the Mountain. Here long, while vast, slow ages passed, Thine eyes (if eyes be thine) beheld But solitudes of crags and woods, Where eagles screamed and panthers yelled. Before the fires of our pale sires In the first log-built cabin twinkled, Or redmen came for fish and game, That scalp was scarred, that face was wrinkled. We may not know how long ago That ancient countenance was young; Thy sovereign brow was seamed as now When Moses wrote and Homer sung. Empires and states it antedates, And wars, and arts, and crime, and glory; In that dim morn when man was bora Thy head with centuries was hoary. Thou lonely one! nor frost, nor sun, Nor tempest leaves on thee its trace; The stormy years are but as tears That pass from thy unchanging face. With unconcern as grand and stern, Those features viewed, which now survey us, A green world rise from seas of ice, And order come from mud and chaos. Canst thou not tell what then befell? What forces moved, or fast or slow; How grew the hills; what heats, what chills, What strange, dim life, so long ago? High-visaged peak, wilt thou not speak? One word, for all our learn~d wrangle! What earthquakes shaped, what glaciers scraped, That nose, and gave the chin its angle? Our pygmy thought to thee is naught, Our petty questionings are vain; In its great trance thy countenance Knows not compassion nor disdain. With far-off hum we go and come, The gay, the grave, the busy-idle; And all things done to thee are one, Alike the burial and the bridal. Thy permanence, long ages hence, Will mock the pride of mortals still. Returning springs, with songs and wings And fragrance, shall these valleys fill; The free winds blow, fall rain or snow, The mountains brim their crystal beakers; 24 [July, 18Th.] The Old Man of tke Mountain. 25 Still come and go, still ebb and flow, The summer tides of pleasure-seekers: The dawns shall gild the peaks where build The eagles, many a future pair; The gray scud lag on wood and crag, Dissolving in the purple air; The sunlight gleam on lake and stream, Boughs wave, storms break, and still at even All glorious hues the world suffuse, Heaven mantle earth, earth melt in heaven! Nations shall pass like summers grass, And times unborn grow old and change; New governments and great events Shall rise, and science new and strange; Yet will thy gaze confront the days With its eternal calm and patience, The evening red still light thy head, Above thee burn the constellations. O silent speech, that well can teach The little worth of words or fame! I go my way, but thou wilt stay While future millions pass the same: But what is this I seem to miss? Those features fall into confusion! A further pacewhere was that face? The veriest fugitive illusion! Gray eidolon! so quickly gone, When eyes that make thee onward move; Whose vast pretense of permanence A little progress can disprove! Like some huge wraith of human faith That to the mind takes form and measure; Grim monolith of creed or myth, Outlined against the eternal azure! O Titan, how dislimned art thou! A withered cliff is all we see; That giant nose, that grand repose, Have in a moment ceased to be; Or still depend on lines that blend, On merging shapes, and sight, and distance, And in the mind alone can find Imaginary brief existence! I. T. Trowbridge. New Boolc8 on Art. NEW BOOKS ON ART. II. MR. HAMERTON, in comparing the studious perfection of detail in the ac- cessories of Mr. Alma-Tademas pictures of Roman life with the poverty which obtained in the backgrounds and sur- roundings of the classical compositions of the Jast century, states that the hab- it of the modern artist in this respect is in perfect harmony with the spirit of research which belongs to the pres- ent day. It is this spirit of research which explains the characteristic rela- tions which have been lately established between literature and art, relations, the effect of which upon art is evident, not only directly in such work as we have referred to, but in a less obvious manner in the fundamental conception of the functions of art. Under this im- pulse, more or less consciously enforced, art has gained on the intellectual side what it has lost on the sensuous or emo- tional. We have seen what heights it is capable of attaining under the latter conditions in the religious art of the fif- teenth century; we have yet to see, per- haps, what achievements are possible with such inspirations as are to be fur- nished by the nineteenth. Mr. Hamer- ton himself has contributed not a little to the discussions out of which, in great part, the new spirit of art is developing. The purely literary and speculative ele- ment in these discussions is not without its uses, but when, united with the liter- ary and theoretical faculties, practical experience in art enters the field, the probability of an ideal no longer misty and doubtful, but definite and symmet- rical, arising, like Anadyomene, from the troubled sea of dispute, is greatly enhanced. Mr. Hamertons monthly publication, The Portfolio, contains the most nota- ble and effective expositions of current 1 The Portfolio. An Artistic Periodical. Edited by PHILIP GILBERT HAHERTON. With numerous ii- English thought ~n the subject of art, and these, set forth as they are with reproductions, by the best modern mas- ters of engraving, of the best examples in English collections, are the most for- midable and business - like demonstra- tions yet made for English - speaking people against the strongholds of Philis- tinism. There is plenty of dilettanteism elsewhere, but in these pages the silent spirit of the artist, the long - suffering spirit, which has pursued its way with the brush, the burin, or the modeling- tool, undismayed by the clamorous de- nunciations of absolute amateurs and the exactions of peremptory critics, seems at last to have found a voice. Art is speaking for itself in well-chosen and deliberate words, and it is well for us to listen. The Portfolio for 1877, which is now before us, fully bears out the promise of its predecessor. Its most conspicu- ous contents are a series of articles by Mr. Sidney Colvin on Albert Diirer, his Teachers, his Rivals, and his Followers; a series by the editor on the Althorp Gallery; a continued series by R. N. Wornum on the National Gallery; and two series by the editor on Turner, and on Mr. Wyld and his sketches in Italy. The pages on Albert Diirer and his school are illustrated by a series of etch- ings, selected for comparison and con- trast, by various masters of that age, when engraving was in its first perfec- tion, and when the greatest men threw into the art their best powers of mind and body. These etchings are perfectly reproduced in these pages by the process of M. Amand-Durand, in which a new copper~plate is produced from a line en- graving or etching in such a manner that all the force, delicacy, or brilliancy of the original is preserved in the fac- simile. Among these prints the most re- markable reproduction, perhaps, is that lustrations. London: Seeley, Jackson, and HaUl- day. New York: J. W. Bouton. 1877. 26

New Boolc8 on Art. NEW BOOKS ON ART. II. MR. HAMERTON, in comparing the studious perfection of detail in the ac- cessories of Mr. Alma-Tademas pictures of Roman life with the poverty which obtained in the backgrounds and sur- roundings of the classical compositions of the Jast century, states that the hab- it of the modern artist in this respect is in perfect harmony with the spirit of research which belongs to the pres- ent day. It is this spirit of research which explains the characteristic rela- tions which have been lately established between literature and art, relations, the effect of which upon art is evident, not only directly in such work as we have referred to, but in a less obvious manner in the fundamental conception of the functions of art. Under this im- pulse, more or less consciously enforced, art has gained on the intellectual side what it has lost on the sensuous or emo- tional. We have seen what heights it is capable of attaining under the latter conditions in the religious art of the fif- teenth century; we have yet to see, per- haps, what achievements are possible with such inspirations as are to be fur- nished by the nineteenth. Mr. Hamer- ton himself has contributed not a little to the discussions out of which, in great part, the new spirit of art is developing. The purely literary and speculative ele- ment in these discussions is not without its uses, but when, united with the liter- ary and theoretical faculties, practical experience in art enters the field, the probability of an ideal no longer misty and doubtful, but definite and symmet- rical, arising, like Anadyomene, from the troubled sea of dispute, is greatly enhanced. Mr. Hamertons monthly publication, The Portfolio, contains the most nota- ble and effective expositions of current 1 The Portfolio. An Artistic Periodical. Edited by PHILIP GILBERT HAHERTON. With numerous ii- English thought ~n the subject of art, and these, set forth as they are with reproductions, by the best modern mas- ters of engraving, of the best examples in English collections, are the most for- midable and business - like demonstra- tions yet made for English - speaking people against the strongholds of Philis- tinism. There is plenty of dilettanteism elsewhere, but in these pages the silent spirit of the artist, the long - suffering spirit, which has pursued its way with the brush, the burin, or the modeling- tool, undismayed by the clamorous de- nunciations of absolute amateurs and the exactions of peremptory critics, seems at last to have found a voice. Art is speaking for itself in well-chosen and deliberate words, and it is well for us to listen. The Portfolio for 1877, which is now before us, fully bears out the promise of its predecessor. Its most conspicu- ous contents are a series of articles by Mr. Sidney Colvin on Albert Diirer, his Teachers, his Rivals, and his Followers; a series by the editor on the Althorp Gallery; a continued series by R. N. Wornum on the National Gallery; and two series by the editor on Turner, and on Mr. Wyld and his sketches in Italy. The pages on Albert Diirer and his school are illustrated by a series of etch- ings, selected for comparison and con- trast, by various masters of that age, when engraving was in its first perfec- tion, and when the greatest men threw into the art their best powers of mind and body. These etchings are perfectly reproduced in these pages by the process of M. Amand-Durand, in which a new copper~plate is produced from a line en- graving or etching in such a manner that all the force, delicacy, or brilliancy of the original is preserved in the fac- simile. Among these prints the most re- markable reproduction, perhaps, is that lustrations. London: Seeley, Jackson, and HaUl- day. New York: J. W. Bouton. 1877. 26 1878.] New Books on Art. 27 of Marcantonjos masterpiece, the por- trait of Pietro Aretino, the infamous bastard of Arezzo, considered the most consummate piece of engraved portrait- ure in existence. This fac-shnile has been made with great skill, by the me- chanical process of M. Amand-Durand, from an impression of the first state of the print, of which there are only two known examples. Mr. Colvins text is distin- guished for a very happy and, when oc- casion requires, a brilliant literary style, especially when concerned with analysis of methods in the production of artistic effects. The reciprocal influence of the Italian and German masters in the ear- liest development of the art of engraving during the sixteenth and the latter half of the fifteenth century, as explained in Mr. Colvins fourth article, is a good example of the service which literature may render to art; from the nature of the case, the essential characteristics of the spirit of a school or of an artist are often of a kind to elude expression in language; they are called matters of feeling, and the lay reader is obliged to content himself with a mystery when he seeks for a tangible fact. But the words in these papers which are directed to the analysis of the genius of Andrea Mantegna (page 57), for instance, are not used in the merely literary manner, to cover a real absence of appreciation with an affluence of high-sounding phrases, but they convey concrete ideas with ele- gance and precision; they accomplish the difficult task of making clear to the layman some of the apparently unspeak- able qualities of artistic genius, qual- ities such as poetry of the highest order sometimes succeeds in suggesting to the imaginative and sympathetic mind, but which seem to defy the resources of prose to set forthin any uninspired, deliber- ate, or merely scientific manner. This is high praise, but it may be ap- plied also to Mr. Colvins description of the Little Masters of Germany and th~iAr works. To the careful reader, not versed in the spirit of the earlier etchings and engravings of German, or, as Vasari al- ways called it, of Flemish art, these de- scriptions and comparisons must prove a revelation, not alone of the quality of~ the art, which of course is the immedi- ate point in question, but of the manners and customs of the time, the habits of thought which the art all unconsciously illustrates and embodies. Thus inter- preted, the three little subjects opposite page 136, etched by Altdorfer, and the four opposite page 152, by the brothers Beham, must assume a new significance; their importunate and often homely and unimaoinative detail, their exquisite care and finish, their quaintness of subject, their unaffected and earnest manner, these qualities are genuine and naive; to consider them intelligently is an ex- position of history. The religious art, which places the awful subject of the Annunciation in a Dutch kitchen, with a roller towel hung against the wall be- hind the announcing angel, with the lily in a clay flower-pot, and a busy street scene outside the homely casement, as shown in one of the illustrative plates, is an art which needs more explanation than is readily attainable; the secret of it lies remote among the springs of hu- man action, and, when discovered, ex- plains far more than the real meaning of a print four inches by seven; it reveals the causes of wars, treaties, and refor- mations. Hence, such literature as we are now dealing with, in throwing light upon the obscure motives which formed a certain phase of art, is benefiting hu- manity as well as art. It is not merely a curious study; it Is a contribution to essential knowledge. The art of the Italian masters from 1450 to 1550, although compact of an- tique learning and traditions, is impas- sioned and emotional. As Mr. Colvin finely says of Mantegna, founding his art upon the study of statuary and the antique, and upon the laws of perspective and geometry, he might easily have lost hold of nature and fallen into pedantry. But the art of that age in Italy was aS incapable of pedantry as of vulgarity; it can carry any amount of learning with- out being pedantic; the very fervor of the artists studies, the intensity of his devotion to science and the antique, ii grande amore, somehow pass into the 28 New Books on Art. [July, marble or canvas, and prevent the work from seeming cold or labored. The contemporary art of Diirer and his com- patriots, on the other hand, seems to have been evolved out of the necessities of their own natures; it was inspired by the res angusice domi, and shaped its ideal out of the homely stuff such as may be found in peasant lives; but it was expressed with loving and minute care, with earnestness, delicacy, and force; so that the Italians, stimulated by the knowledge and imagination of the fresh Renaissance, with their minds full of he- roes, demigods, the creatures of mytho- logical traditions and their great doings, when they fell upon these German prints, grotesque but strenuous, rugged and commonplace in theme, but pathetic, intense, and rendered with patient skill, found a new inspiration drawn from con- temporary life, and immediately adopted into their own art all the qualities out of German art which could improve their methods or humanize their genius. Of course the German ideal in contact with that of Italy was forthwith elevated to a higher plane, but it never lost its rural force and pathos. The series of plates from the National Gallery is continued in the Portfolio for last year with etchings by Flameng, Mengin, Lhuillier, and other masters, and a new series from the collection of Earl Spencer (the Althorp Gallery) is begun with etchings by Flameng, Riche- ton, Murray, and Lhuillier. Of these the works of Flameng in especial are re- markable for their happy suggestion of the element of color in the original paint- ings, without which suggestion, in fact, the raison d& re of some of these plates might fairly be questioned; but in so far as they do set forth the values of color and the chiaro-scuro, as well as the qual- ities of drawing, in the masters whose works they undertake to reproduce, they must take a very high rank in the art. The etchings of Flameng, at least, easily and surely accomplish this result. Any notice of this collection, however, would be incomplete without especial reference to the masterly etchings of Legros, in the portraits of Poynter, the English painter, and of Jules Dalon, the French sculptor. These two works are in the severe early Italian style of etching with lines running in one direc- tion, without the usual cross-hatching which was invented by the Germans. Under this exceptionally difficult condi- tion of handling, the modeling of these two heads is a triumph of technical skilL We have seldom met with such fine ex- amples of portrait design in serious mod- ern art. Mr. Hamerton himself continues his temperate but appreciative papers on Turner. They are such papers as an artist should write of an artist; they get behind the apparent face of Turners genius, and disclose the primary forina- tions beneath the surface out of which, by the series of great revolutions and upheavals to which the sensitive mind is subject, finally emerged the perfected artistic nature of the man. It is a very workmanlike and thorough piece of anal- ysis, which can enable the mind un- trained in the tecknique of the painters craft to make sense out of the shape- less iridescence and wanton aberrations by which, in the experimental stages of its career, this singular and fortu- nate imagination gave expression to its conflict with nature. It is to this task, however, that the artist critic success- fully addresses himself in these pages. We have space to quote but one general observation as an example, but this, in view of the manner in which it is cus- tomary to talk of the greatest Turner- esque effects, is worth remembering. Mr. Hamerton, in speaking of Turners distant effects, by which he made his first claim to be regarded as a master of landscape art, says: Such painting re- quires not only much good-will in the spectator, but also great knowledge, free- dom from vulgar prejudices, and some degree of faith in the painter himself. When people see a noble effect in nature, th& e is one stock observation which they almost invariably make: they al- ways say, or nearly always, Now, if we were to see that effect in a picture we should not believe it to be possible~ One would think that, after such a re 1878.] fiection on their own tendency to unbe- lief in art and to astonishment in the presence of nature, people would be fore- warned against their own injustice; but it is not so. They will make that ob- servation every time they see a fine sun- set or a remarkable cloud in the natural world, and remain as unjust as ever to the art which represents phenomena of the same order. Turner had to contend against this disposition to deny the truth of everything that is not commonplace. This, in short, is the sort of literary work which, not stooping to amuse by mere prettiness, opens to common ap- prehensions the profound and serious mission of art in these modern days, and encourages the artist to approach the higher standards of culture. The Port- folio is by no means the least among the agencies at work to bring about this re- sult. We commend it as a part of the machinery of the new civilization. Dr. Wilhelm Liibke, professor of art at Stuttgart, and author of a number of works, all of which, like the present, have been issued in repeated editions, seems to hold for his own country a po- sition somewhat like that of Tame and Viollet-le-Duc in France and Ruskin in England. The analogy is not very close, since there is nothing in him of the doc- trinaire, nothing of the warm enthusiasm of the latter two for the original views they propound with a corresponding im- patience of contradiction. Nor is he, like Tame, purely a philosopher. He appears in the more patient and labori- ous r6te of a compiler. Instead of sur- veying the field of art with a keen, fresh glance, to divine in it a meaning hitherto undiscovered, his pm~eoccupation appears to be rather to weigh judicially former systems in the various branches, to se- lect the positions he deems the best sup- ported, and to throw them together in a reliable whole for the use of those who desire a text-book in a moderate com- pass. He is reported by some of those who have listened to his lectures at Stutt- gart, which are no doubt better at first than at second hand, to be a person 1 The History of Art. By Ba. WILHELM LiIBKE. A New Translation, from the Seventh German Edi 29 of general appreciation and sympathies. Apart from a strong patriotic German bias, he certainly shows no especial pre- dilection or favoritism for one form of art over another. An important feature of the late awak- ening of interest in these matters is its extension amongst the middle classes. They cannot afford many or expensive books. They would like a work, orna- mental and attractive in itself, to present the subject fully and lie upon the draw- ing-room table for reference. It need not go into all the minor sinuosities, but it ought to contain, without omitting any, those broader, leading aspects which may be mastered without neglecting the ordinary avocations of life. Bearing in mind thoroughness and painstaking as traditional German traits, looking over the very full illustrations, there are five hundred and fifty in all, and snatching here and there some passages of graphic and picturesque description, one is inclined at first to believe that he has found something quite meeting the requirement. It has, for the moment, much of the effect of examples of the new Munich school of painting, in which the mechanism is still as perfect as of old, while the traditional German hardness and coldness are replaced by freedom and warmth. The pleasant impression lasts especially through the distinct char- acterizations of the earlier epochs of art. So great is the accumulation of matters at the present time that it is particularly desirable and this above all in a popu- lar treatise that each branch of human development should be displayed by its most distinctive side, in order that it may keep its place amid the pressure of a thou- sand new demands. The author is ap- parently aware of this, and aims to grat- ify it by tracing each successive phe- nomenon to a definite, physical cause. We are delighted with these lucid con- cepts, and astonished to find that so vast and apparently obscure a field has been so thoroughly sifted and reduced to rule. It is not until we begin to compare these neat summaries among themselves that tion. Edited by CLAaENCE cooa. New York: Dodd, Mead, & co. 1878. New Books on Art. New Books on Art~ the impression is disturbed. Then we are inclined to find that perhaps he doth protest too much. His general theory is of an intimate correlation between civilization and topography. So unqual~ ifiedly does he carry out its application that we may even have thought that, with the causes of every varied phase of development accurately spread be- fore us, it might be possible to rise to the gift of prophecy~ It seems that the indication of the localities of the next flowerings of art and their character need be nothing any longer but a mat- ter of an atlas and some tables of mean temperatures. But arriving at the end of the first volume, if we please to go back and note how the detailed expla- nations support the general scheme, we shall find some strange discrepancies. The general distribution of the matter is into four divisions: the ancient art of the East, classic art, medimval art, and modern art. Each has its natural sub- divisions, as classic into Greek, Etrus- can, and Roman, and each, again, its ap- propriate periods. Each variety is dis- cussed under the three heads of archi- tecture, sculpture, and painting. They are considered historically and critically at the same time, and for the most part preceded by general remarks upon the kind and its origin. It is in following these preliminary remarks consecutively that we come upon an apparent care- lessness; the author seems to have paid little heed to a theory of a special state of things when once it has served the plir- pose in hand, and to have confided in a similar happy forgetfulness on the part of the public. Though each explanation of causes stands fairly complete in itself, there is no thought taken to reconcile the conflict of the rise of quite similar art developments from most dissimilar circumstances, or to explain why it is, on the other hand, that from circum- stances entirely analogous to those de- picted at certain points no arts at all have arisen at other points. Such a line of treatment as the following is so com- mon throughout the first sections as al- most to serve as a formula: The ques- tion suggests itself why it was that this [July, particular branch which we know under the name of the Greek should have so far surpassed all other nations of similar origin. In order to understand this it will be necessary to study carefully the nature of the country. Its hills and valleys are then examined, and the au- thor continues: Bearing all these in- fluences in mind, we shall comprehend how a people dwelling for centuries in such a region must gradually develop such a character as we find in the Greeks. A kind of argument in a cir- cle recurs continually. Without adding any new premise to what was already known, it is concluded from an exam- ination of surfaces, as if a priori, that results of a certain kind must follow. Turning, then, to the actual situation, what do we find? The wonderful coinci- dence of the exact results predicted. It is not easy to credit such a want of re- flection, if it be that, or such an appear- ance of talking for the sake of talk, to a work of such grave and reverend char- acter, from an author of such apparent repute. It is unfortunately, however, a matter of demonstration. We need only set side by side a number of the assigned causes from which we are given to un- derstand that civilization and art took their origin. It appears that art arose in (1.) Egypt, from a great river flow- ing without tributaries through a narrow fertile belt. The spirit of the free de- velopment of the individual was lacking; hence its art development must have been chiefly in the direction of archi- tecture. (2.) Assyria, from a surface consist- ing of scattered f4tile districts separated by inhospitable wastes. Man in these circumstances (as explained by Tame in Holland, where it was doubtless the case), compelled to active exertion to subdue external nature, developed in the process a general force, which he went on to apply in other directions. (3.) India, from a vast peninsula of tropical luxuriance, watered by a net- work of rivers. It could not have been otherwise than that this should have filled the mind with brilliant pict 1878.1 ures, and also should have imparted a strong mystical and religious bias. De- velopment was exclusively limited to re-. ligious matters. Buddhism is said to have been necessary, however, to the production of genuine artistic creations, in contrast to the before prevalent Brah- minism, which had corrupted to the utmost the national mind of the Hindoo people. Inasmuch as there are no earlier records than its own, it is bard to see what it had corrupted it from. Be- sides that, it presently appears, Brah- minism has produced a multitude of no less magnificent detached buildings; and further, in China, where Buddhism had and has entire sway, a monumental and serious religious style has never arisen. (4.) Greece, from a territory cut up by mountains into numerous independent valleys opening to the sea. This in- finitely rich individualizing of the sur- face at once suggests that here, if any- where, scope was afforded for an anal. ogous development of human existence. Unlike the slavish Orientals, the Greeks afford us the picture of personal inner de- velopment, severely subordinated, how- ever, to the interests of the state. Hence, in the temple alone the art of architecture found a field for development. (But compare the statement of the exclusive- ly religious development of India above and what is said of the result of the Ro- manesque condition below.) (5.) Arabia, from a rocky, barren pla- teau, without rivers or maritime facili- ties. The topographical argument does not extend much farther. It is not carried into modern times or among the modern nations as we know them; but other good and sufficient, always very definite rea- sons are sought for each successive oc- casion, and they contradict each other, as above, with great ease. In the division of Early Christian Art it is said, So wonderful and profound are the laws of the inner life of humanity that only by this road (the adopting of antique models) the possibility of an immeasurably rich, new development could be attained. In the divisionof Romanesque Art architect- 31 ure must have been the highest form of activity, because it was a period of tran- sition and youthful fermentation. Com- pare the respectively dissimilar states of mind of Greece, Egypt, and the whole Orient, in which the latter two ~espe- cially architecture also must have been and was the leading activity. Much of this reasoning is valid and well founded by the agreement of ar- chmologists, but it is only a partial and very far from a complete solution of the conditions for which it purports to ac- count. When it is used as all sufficient, we cannot resist the desire to be told why it was that civilizations and arts did not arise by other rivers, and among other hills and valleys and plateaux, of iden- tical character; and why, if it was only the exaltation of individualism here and the repression of it there to which phe- nomena were due, the phenomena were not uniform and constant, and the most marked where the respective conditions prevailed in the extremest degree. If an ultimate principleto which every- thing is to be referred be a desideratum in a work of this kind, the race theory, so strongly insisted on by Michelet and prefaced by Ferguson to his voluminous history of architecture, seems much bet- ter adapted to the purpose. The four great original elements, unchanged and unchangeable in their essence the Tu~. ranian, idolatrous, abject, without feel- ingfor symmetry, but impressible to color; the Semitic, monotheistic, poetic, rather literary and cold than artistic; the Celtic, unstable in government, but sharply log- ical, and open to all glowing impressions; the Aryan, political, excelling in the use- ful, and without spontaneity in art are not susceptible of demonstration; yet the plan can be supported by a mass of evi- dence, and it has the merit at least of comprehensiveness and of going to the bottom. The same sort of forgetfulness is discov- erable in minor matters in Dr. Liibkes work, to an extent which much confuses the general reader and leaves him with- out a final impression. What is denied in one paragraph is quite likely to be affirmed in the next: as, to take an cx- New Book8 on Art. New Books on Art. ample at random, that Mohammedan art never succeeded in developing any uni- versal and definite model for its houses of worship, and immediately after that it is possible to reduce the forms of mosques to tw6 types. It is a puzzling line of con- duct inasmuch as the ideas are appar- ently there, and we do not feel altogeth- er prepared to say that they are not rightly understood and intended. We are at first inclined to lay it to the trans- lator, but a comparison of the texts shows that, aside from a few harmless depart- ures in the way of giving to sentences a more sonorous finish, the original is faith- fully adhered to. There is a strange thickness and roundaboutness of state- ment, a neglect of the smaller qualifi- cations and of a close observation of their. hearings, which is not only necessary to knit the argument into a perfectly logic- al whole, but without which, as we have seen, it is in parts elusive and unintelli- gible. Considering the book apart from its philosophy of causes, which, thou h val- uable, if consistent and authoritative, is by no means an indispensable adjunct of such a work, and taking it in its purely historical and critical aspects, it is pos- sible to yield again to a more favorable impression, particularly in the earlier divisions and in the portions relating to plastic art as distinguished from archi- tecture. If it does not present too ac- ceptably the reasons of their being, it at least shows clearly, in the main, the ap- pearances of things. The mysterious impassiveness of the Egyptian type, the crude, realistic tendency of the Assyrian, the wild fancifulness and luxurious soft- ness, by turns, of the Indian, are strongly grasped, and the picture of Greek art will hardly be found anywhere more sat- isfactorily presented in so small a com- pass. This is indeed largely a matter of the illustrations. The true progress of the long, charming story is read only in turning the interminable series of these; the words but expand and define the im- pression already vividly received. Here is an Egyptian hero in the pictured chron- icles of their walls, towering above men and cities, rushing along in his battle chariot, and slaughtering a myriad of in- significant enemies; here, again, Cyrus, with double wings, and mighty horns of dominion rising from his forehead, naive- ly proclaiming, in a cuneiform inscrip- tion, I am Cyrus, the kin~, the Ache- menide. Here are in turn the progress of Greek art, from the chrysalis of the Pelasgic has-reliefs to the perfect, melt- ing grace of the age of Pericles; the maj- esty of the Roman portrait statues; the conceits of the troubled early Christians in their catacombs, their symbols, and the archaic good shepherd carrying the lamb on his shoulders; the Byzantine mosaics, with their elegant embroidered patterns and stiff types forever fixed by rigid con- ventions; the unsympathetic tangle of Saracenic arabesques; the pure and noble draped statues of the cathedral porches; the lovely, symmetrical altarpieces of Andrea del Sarto and Fra Bartolommeo, and the wild, ecstatic ones of the great epic masters; the sensuous nudities of the revived classicists; their theatrical exaggerations later; the confined lights and rich shadows of the Flemings; the rise of genre, and the arrival at modern times with its wide acquaintance with all the perfections that were in their times developed each in its remote corner and under its special conditions, and its bal- ancing uneasily upon the verge of great conceptions, which it seeks but does not find, for the display of its universal knowledge. Of all this and the scores of intermediate gradations there are rep- resentative views enough to be of great value, apart from a letter - press which is not marshaled with the clearness and directness of a Lecky, but is far from being without entertaining qualities in its more successful portions. The more successful departments, it must be un- hesitatingly said, are those of the fine arts proper. In architecture the author seems to be much less at home. This appears in a failure to seize the essential meaning of forms as deduced from their constructive causes, which is the more sincrular since; as we have seen, this is the very point with which he has the air of being the most preoccupied. His de- scriptions are often in the reverse of the 32 [July, New Books on Art. real order of importance. Appearances are treated of as they might impress the uninitiated observer rather than one who knew the structural reason for their ex- istence. Thus, in explaining the Roman- esque (and Gothic) door-ways, it is said: The central point of the fa9ade was the main entrance, whose walls spread on either hand from the inside to the outside, and were often cut rectangularly, so that hollows are formed in which tiny, separate, slender columns are arranged. How much more clearly is this conception fixed in the head by the statement that the sides are thus spread or splayed simply to take off the disagreeable effect of sharp corners, and that the splaying is more marked and the angle shafts, with which the baldness of the arrange- ment is further mitigated, more numer- ous in proportion to the increasing thick- ness of the wall. Nor is the weight of evidence to the effect that the stained- glass win(10w5 were simply a decorative feature, devised to fill up the wall spaces left useless by the adoption of groined vaulting and the buttress system, but rather that this system was perfected to the utmost to give the greatest possible room for the brilliant new decoration and the elaborate traceries in which it was set, which made of the once sombre interiors vast jewel - boxes. There is, besides, an unusual and awkward tech- nical nomenclature, as the body~ and the giant for certain parts of a but- tress, what parts we are not informed, old and young servants for the primary and secondary fillets of clustered shafts, and lisenes for simple pilas- ter strips. On the whole, very little sat- isfaction will be got from br. Liibkes architecture. The reader will do infi- nitely better in this branch to turn from the German book to another, the straight- forward treatise of Rosengarten, pub- lished by the Appletons in 1876. It must be of very nearly the same extent, comprising all of Liibkes scattered di- visions in one, and there can be no com- parison in point of clearness and com- pleteness. The national bias we have mentioned manifests itself by very frequent refer- VOL. XLII. ~o. 249. 3 ences o the German mind, the at- tribution to this influence of effects which the writers with whom we have been most familiar heretofore have by no means so accurately traced to it, and the illustration of principles as far as possi- ble by German examples. It is a par- tisanship, however, that seems rather creditably patriotic. It is exerted very little to the detriment of other nationali- ties, and this by the indirect method of neglect instead of the ill-natured fash- ion we recently had occasion to note in the travels of the French architect, M. Narjoux. But, just as it may be to bring into a clearer daylight, now that the German empire has advanced so promi- nently to the front, matters perhaps too long suppressed by unfriendly framers of opinion, this new distribution of merits adds to the difficulty of comprehension, at least for those who had already made some small advances towards the subject from the points of view which we had almost considered established. The ostensible fairness of the author is manifested in such paragraphs as that in which he opens a survey of Dtirer: IMireris right fully the darling and pride of the German people, but we should not allow ourselves to forget that, being the highest expression of our excellences and virtues, he is at the same time the representative of our weaknesses and de- ficiencies. Blind idolatry is never seem- ly, least of all in connection with so gen- uinely true, so severe a master. We are not permitted to hurry over the austere, rugged externalities of his style either with indifference or pretended rapture. Including the Netherlanders among Germanic peoples, the German influence in painting must be readily admitted, es- pecially in the modern features of genre and landscape, to which attention was turned for new subjects after the up- heavals of the great religious wars, in which in the North the old ideals were destroyed. Farther back, too, than this, the quaint Dombild of Master Stephen of Cologne takes rank as perhaps the highest development of the art in the distinctively Gothic period, and Holbein and Diirer yield to none, in their respect- 1878.] 3) 0 34 The Will of Peter the Great. [July, 9 ive styles, for the boldest originality. We are tempted to wish but this is a condition perhaps inseparable from a work which has so much ground to cover that less of the narrative were a mere cataloguing of names, and that more of it were given to such full typical exposi- tions as those of Holbein and Diirer. In a final chapter, on the art of the nineteenth c~ntury, Dr. Liibke makes the claim which seems so preposter- ous even to the editor that he avails himself of a foot-note to refute it that in this period Germany takes the lead, and that it is to her we owe the truly thoughtful and promising regeneration of art. Mr. Cook, on the contrary, de- cidedly holds that we owe the revival of art in our own time to France and England. He is not far from right, we think, in estimating that nearly every- thing that Germany has done in the last hundred years must survive, if it sur- vive at all, as a warning example. We trust he does not mean to include in this, however, the Munich school of the latest date, which has done and is doing some work showing very admirable artistic qualities. The preface to this conclud- ing chapter, aiming to generalize the pe- culiar conditions and spirit of the time, is an epitome of the elusiveness, in a mass of fair-seeming, philosophic verbi age, of which we have complained, and of which we had tried to believe, in es- caping it for a time in some of the more satisfactory later sections, we bad de- rived an unjust impression. In four pages it says nothing that can be definite- ly grasped as a solution. Of the United States, in the review of national condi- tions in this period, it is only said that it shows an evident leaning towards the German schools, under the leadership of Leutze. The names of Winslow Ho- mer and Wordsworth Thompson, cer- tainly drawn out of a hat by lot, it is said, may be added, and among the numerous landscape painters, Bier- stadt, Whittredge, Colman ,and Gif- ford. That is all, and its absurdity as a concept of our art, without reference to its length, is one of the reduplicated circumstances that put it out of ones power with the readiest disposition to do so, as a recognition of the handsome form in which the book is presented by the publishers and the very full and use- ful notes of the painstaking editor to commend it as a valuable work for the purpose intended. We are not so far off as ancient Assyria, for instance, and if it be thus difficult to fix the status of the United States, the skeptical person can hardly help being troubled with mis- givings about Korsabad and Kujjunjik. THE WILL OF PETER THE GREAT, AND THE EASTERN QUESTION. THE political testament of Peter the Great, the true founder of the great Rus- sian Empire, is a unique and remarkable document. It is but little known, except to diplomatists, and is, at the present crisis of the Eastern Question, a key which may furnish a true solution of that complex problem. In this light it pos- sesses a peculiar value, and will natu- rally claim the earnest attention of every reader. In the rapid development of public events in the East, Russia is likely to become at any moment the vast, over- shadowing despotism of the world. Na- poleon I. truly declared, among his last utterances at St. Helena, that Europe in fifty years from that time (1821) would be either republican or Cossack. The revolutions of 1848 enacted the final throes and convulsion~ of the republican

34 The Will of Peter the Great. [July, 9 ive styles, for the boldest originality. We are tempted to wish but this is a condition perhaps inseparable from a work which has so much ground to cover that less of the narrative were a mere cataloguing of names, and that more of it were given to such full typical exposi- tions as those of Holbein and Diirer. In a final chapter, on the art of the nineteenth c~ntury, Dr. Liibke makes the claim which seems so preposter- ous even to the editor that he avails himself of a foot-note to refute it that in this period Germany takes the lead, and that it is to her we owe the truly thoughtful and promising regeneration of art. Mr. Cook, on the contrary, de- cidedly holds that we owe the revival of art in our own time to France and England. He is not far from right, we think, in estimating that nearly every- thing that Germany has done in the last hundred years must survive, if it sur- vive at all, as a warning example. We trust he does not mean to include in this, however, the Munich school of the latest date, which has done and is doing some work showing very admirable artistic qualities. The preface to this conclud- ing chapter, aiming to generalize the pe- culiar conditions and spirit of the time, is an epitome of the elusiveness, in a mass of fair-seeming, philosophic verbi age, of which we have complained, and of which we had tried to believe, in es- caping it for a time in some of the more satisfactory later sections, we bad de- rived an unjust impression. In four pages it says nothing that can be definite- ly grasped as a solution. Of the United States, in the review of national condi- tions in this period, it is only said that it shows an evident leaning towards the German schools, under the leadership of Leutze. The names of Winslow Ho- mer and Wordsworth Thompson, cer- tainly drawn out of a hat by lot, it is said, may be added, and among the numerous landscape painters, Bier- stadt, Whittredge, Colman ,and Gif- ford. That is all, and its absurdity as a concept of our art, without reference to its length, is one of the reduplicated circumstances that put it out of ones power with the readiest disposition to do so, as a recognition of the handsome form in which the book is presented by the publishers and the very full and use- ful notes of the painstaking editor to commend it as a valuable work for the purpose intended. We are not so far off as ancient Assyria, for instance, and if it be thus difficult to fix the status of the United States, the skeptical person can hardly help being troubled with mis- givings about Korsabad and Kujjunjik. THE WILL OF PETER THE GREAT, AND THE EASTERN QUESTION. THE political testament of Peter the Great, the true founder of the great Rus- sian Empire, is a unique and remarkable document. It is but little known, except to diplomatists, and is, at the present crisis of the Eastern Question, a key which may furnish a true solution of that complex problem. In this light it pos- sesses a peculiar value, and will natu- rally claim the earnest attention of every reader. In the rapid development of public events in the East, Russia is likely to become at any moment the vast, over- shadowing despotism of the world. Na- poleon I. truly declared, among his last utterances at St. Helena, that Europe in fifty years from that time (1821) would be either republican or Cossack. The revolutions of 1848 enacted the final throes and convulsion~ of the republican 1878.] cause in Europe. Those frantic strug- gles only proved the weakness of the un- disciplined multitude in their effort to cope with crowned heads and standing armies. Numbers succumbed to the su- perior strength of method and arbitrary power. The struggle has, to some de- gree, fastened their chains more firmly round the subject peoples. Since that period, kings and emperors have con- solidated their power, and all hope of republican triumph is gone. The autoc- racy of Russia stands forth as the sworn foe to democracy, and is the declared champion of the divine rights of kings and of the omnipotent power of absolu- tism. The prophecy of the great em- peror is about to be realized. Europe, not being republican, will become Cos- sack. He truly declared, If Russia gets possession of Constantinople, lean- ing on the Baltic and the Bosphorus, she will subjugate Europe and Asia to the same yoke. Thus the will of Peter the Great, which here follows, will be- come an accomplished reality. THE WILL OF PETER THE GREAT. In the name of the most holy and indi- visible Trinity, we, Peter the Great, unto all our descendants and successors to the throne and government of the Russian nation: The All-Powerful, from whom we hold our life and our throne, after having re- vealed unto us his wishes and intentions, and after being our support, permits us to look upon Russia ai called upon to establish her rule over all Europe. This idea is based upon the fact that all nations of this portion of the globe are fast ap- proaching a state of utter decrepitude. Fro,n this it results that they can be easily conquered by a new race of peo- ple when it has attained full power and strength. We look upon our invasion of the West and the East as a decree of divine Providence, which has already once re- generated the Roman Empire by an in- vasion of barbarians.~~ The emigration of men from the North is like the inundation of the Nile, which at certain seasons enriches with its waters 35 the arid plains of Egypt. We found Russia a small rivulet; we leave it an im- mense river. Our successors will make of it an ocean, destined to fertilize the whole of Europe, if they know how to guide its waves. We leave them, then, the following instructions, which we earnestly recommend to their constant meditation: I. To keep the Russian nation in con- stant warfare, in order always to have good soldiers. Peace must only be per- mitted to remit the finances. To re- cruit the army, choose the moment fa- vorable for attack. Thus peace will ad- vance your projects of war, and war those of peace, for obtaining the en- largement and prosperity of Russia. II. Draw unto you, by all possible means, from the civilized nations of Eu- rope, captains during war and learned men dunn,, peace, so that Russia may benefit by the advantages of other na- tions. III. Take care to mix in the affairs of all Europe, and in particular of Ger- many, which being the nearest nation to you deserves your chief attention. IV. Divide Poland by raising up con- tinual disorders and jealousies within its bosom. Gain over its rulers with gold; influence and corrupt the Diet, in or- der to have a voice in the election of the kings. Make partisans and protect them; if neighboring powers raise ob- jections and opposition, surmount the obstacles by stirring up discord within their countries. V. Take all you can from Sweden; and to effect this isolate her from Den- mark, and vice versa. Be careful to rouse their jealousy. VI. Marry Russian princes with Ger- man princesses; multiply these alliances; unite these interests; and,bythein- crease of our influence, attach Germany to our cause. VII. Seek the alliance with England, on account of our commerce, as being the country most useful for the devel- opment of our navy (merchants, etc.), and for the exchange of our produce against her gold. Keep up continued communications with her merchants and The Will of Peter the areat. The Will of Peter the areat. sailors, so that ours may acquire expe- rience in commerce and navigation. VIII. Constantly extend yourselves along the shores of the Baltic and the borders of the Euxine. IX. iDo all in your power to approach closely Constantinople and India. Re- member that he who rules over these countries is the real sovereign of the world. Keep up continued wars with Tarkey and with Persia. Establish dock- yards in the Black Sea. Gradually ob- tain the command of this sea, as well as of the Baltic. This is necessary for the entire success of our projects. Hasten the fall of Persia. Open for yourself a route towards the Persian Gulf. Re- establish, as much as possible, by means of Syria, the ancient commerce of the Levant, and thus advance toward India. Once there, you will not require English gold. X. Carefully seek the alliance of Aus- tria. Make her believe that you will second her in her projects for dominion over Germany, and secretly stir up oth- er princes against her, and manage so that each be disposed to claim the as- sistance of Russia; and exercise over each a sort of protection, which will lead the way to future dominion over them. XI. Make Austria drive the Turks out of Europe, and neutralize her jeal- ousy by offering to her a portion of your conquests, which you will, further on, take back. XII. Above all, recall around you the schismatic Greeks, who are spread over Hungary and Poland. Become their centre, and support a universal domin- ion over them by a kind of sacerdotal rule (autocratie sacerdotale); hy this you will have many friends amongst your enemies. XIII. Sweden dismembered, Persia conquered, Poland subjugated, Turkey heaten, our armies united, the Black and Baltic seas guarded by our vessels, prepare, separately and secretly, first the court of Versailles, then that of Vienna, to share the empire of the universe with Russia. If one accept, flatter her am- bition and amour-propre, and make use of one to crush the other by engaging them in war. The result cannot be doubtful; Russia will be possessed of the whole of the East and of a great portion of Europe. XIV. If, which is not prohable, both should refuse the offer of Russia, raise a quarrel between them, and one which will ruin them both. Then Russia, prof- iting by this decisive moment, will inun- date Germany with the troops which she will have assembled beforehand. At the same time, two fleets full of soldiers will leave the Baltic and the Black Sea, will advance along the Mediterranean and the ocean, keeping France in check with one, and Germany with the other. And these two countries conquered, the re- mainder of Europe will fall under our yoke. Thus can Europe be subjugated. The authenticity of this document seems to be well attested. Its existence has been known long enough to vindi- cate it from the charge of being a clever fraud of recent origin. The paper is won(ierful for its thorough comprehen- sion of the march of leading events in modern and current history, long in ad- vance of their actual occurrence, and for its prophetic insight into the territorial and political destiny of Europe and the world. The original, deposited by Peter among the secret archives of the Russian government, has been preserved with vigilant care and religious reverence as a precious heir-loom to the successors of the testator. Rumors of such a docu- ment, preserved as a profound secret by his successors, are of an early date, and even traces of its contents have been found in the writings of historians and diplomatists of the eighteenth century. Its first copy in this country appeared in the Courrier des Etats-Unis, in New York, and was declared to be a true copy of the original, obtained by an at- tache of the French embassy at St. Pc- tersburg secretly and at great risk and expense. It is there styled the secret plan of European supremacy, left by Peter the Great to his successors on the Russian throne, recommending a policy they have uniformly pursued, with a view 86 [July, The Will of Peter the areat. to the ultimate conquest of Europe and the founding of a universal empire after the manner of Cyrus, Alexander, and Ciesar. The fruits of this policy, devised with profound sagacity and followed up with untiring energy, are now visible in the wonderful a~grandizement of Rus- sia and her claimed superiority over her contemporaries in Europe in all the ele- ments of strength, territorial extent, pop- ulation, diplomacy, and power, which, in human estimation, go to make up a na- tions grandeur. Upon one occasion Napoleon, looking into futurity, said to Dr. OMeara, In the course of years Russia will have Constantinople, the greatest part of Turkey, and all Greece. This I hold to be as certain as if it had already taken place. Almost all the cajoling and flattering which Alexander prac- ticed toward me was to gain my consent to this object. I would not consent, see- ing that the equilibrium of Europe would be destroyed. In the natural course of things, in a few years Turkey must fall to Russia. The greatest part of her population are Greeks, who you may say are Russians. The powers it would injure and who could oppose it are En- gland, France, Prussia, and Austria. Now, as to Austria, it would be very easy for Russia to engage her assistance by giving her Servia and other prov- inces bordering on the Austrian domin- ions, reaching near Constantinople. The only hypothesis upon which England and France will ever form an alliance with sincerity will be in order to prevent this; but even this alliance would not avail. France, England, and Prussia united cannot prevent it. Russia and Austria can at any time effect it. Once mistress of Constantinople, Russia gets all the commerce of the Mediterranean, becomes a great naval power, and God knows what may happen. She quarrels with you, marches off to India an army of seventy thousand good soldiers which is nothing and one hundred thousand canaille, Cossacks and others, and En- gland loses India. . . . I think you will see that the Russians will either in- vade and take India, or enter Europe with four hundred thousand Cossacks and two hundred thousand real Rus- sians. When Paul was so violent against you [the English], he sent to me for a plan to invade India. I sent him a plan, with instructions in detail. From a port in the Caspian Sea he was to march on to India. Russia must either fall or aggrandize herself. In still another conversation, OMeara asked Napoleon if it was true that Al- exander once intended to seize Turkey, to which Napoleon replied, All his thoughts are directed to the conquest of Turkey. We have had many discus- sions together about it. At first, I was pleased with his proposals, because I thought it would enlighten the world to drive those brutes, the Turks, out of Europe. But when I reflected upon the consequences, and saw what a tremen- dous power it would give to Russia, in consequence of the number of Greeks in the Turkish dominions, I refused to con- sent to it, especially as Alexander want- ed to get Constantinople, which I would not allow, as it would have destroyed the equilibrium of power in Europe. I reflected that France would gain Egypt, Syria, and the islands, which would have been nothing in comparison with what Russia would have obtained. I considered that the barbarians of the North were already too powerful, and probably, in the course of time, would overwhelm all Europe; and I now think they will. Austria already trembles; Russia and Prussia united, Austria falls, and England cannot prevent it. France, under the pxesent family, is nothing, and the Austrians are so weak that they would be easily overpowered. They will offer little resistance to the Russians, who are brave and patient. Russia is the more formidable because she will never disarm. In Russia, once a soldier al- ways a soldier; barbarians who, one may say, have no country, and to whom every country is better than the one that gave ihem birth. Allan B. Magruder. 1878.] 37 88 The Dream Pay. [July, THE DREAM FAY.1 HAnK! Am I with the living, or asleep, Hearing the grass blades grow; The hush of blossoms opening soft and slow; The buzzing gnats that secret revel keep; Honey dropping tranquilly From the gold cells of the bees, Buds that on the dreaming trees A wistful night-wind wakens tenderly; Bubbles whispering in the grape; Mystic sighs that find escape From the earths oerladen breast, Stirred with springs divine unrest? Hark! hark! from overhead The soft stroke of a silver bell Pulses through the airy spell! Thrilled with some delicious dread, I hear a low and joyful song; Fleet, light footsteps of a throng To mortal sight invisible; Tiny laughters of a nIl The mountains from their white breasts spill; Gentlest kisses that the rose, Waking from the buds repose, Gives the daring butterfly That lays its deep heart open to the sky. I hear the breaking icicle; The music of the thawing frost, When the woods light boughs are tossed, And all their flashing jewels fall. I hear the dropping of the dew, Tinkling all the forest through; And every dancing columbine Clinks its cups of honeyed wine With the harebells goblet blue. Hark! I hear the bells again. T is the coming fairy train: Bees are sin0ing in the lime, Bluebells ringing softest chime. Sleeping birds that dream and sing, Every head beneath a wing! Doleful cricket! gossip fly! Wake, oh wake! the Queen is nigh! Every little brooklets fall Stir the night with madrigal! Leaf, and moss, and tiniest flower, Wake! it is the fairy hour! 1 Scherzo. Queen Mab. Berlioz. Thomass Orchestra, February 12,1877.

88 The Dream Pay. [July, THE DREAM FAY.1 HAnK! Am I with the living, or asleep, Hearing the grass blades grow; The hush of blossoms opening soft and slow; The buzzing gnats that secret revel keep; Honey dropping tranquilly From the gold cells of the bees, Buds that on the dreaming trees A wistful night-wind wakens tenderly; Bubbles whispering in the grape; Mystic sighs that find escape From the earths oerladen breast, Stirred with springs divine unrest? Hark! hark! from overhead The soft stroke of a silver bell Pulses through the airy spell! Thrilled with some delicious dread, I hear a low and joyful song; Fleet, light footsteps of a throng To mortal sight invisible; Tiny laughters of a nIl The mountains from their white breasts spill; Gentlest kisses that the rose, Waking from the buds repose, Gives the daring butterfly That lays its deep heart open to the sky. I hear the breaking icicle; The music of the thawing frost, When the woods light boughs are tossed, And all their flashing jewels fall. I hear the dropping of the dew, Tinkling all the forest through; And every dancing columbine Clinks its cups of honeyed wine With the harebells goblet blue. Hark! I hear the bells again. T is the coming fairy train: Bees are sin0ing in the lime, Bluebells ringing softest chime. Sleeping birds that dream and sing, Every head beneath a wing! Doleful cricket! gossip fly! Wake, oh wake! the Queen is nigh! Every little brooklets fall Stir the night with madrigal! Leaf, and moss, and tiniest flower, Wake! it is the fairy hour! 1 Scherzo. Queen Mab. Berlioz. Thomass Orchestra, February 12,1877. 1878.] St. Georges Company. 39 Hush, hush, it dies away, Beyond thi verge of day. Broken forever is that spell of power. Here is but common clay, Lamps, and the crowds array, The tramp of mortal tread. That wand bath dropped; those The hour has fled! dreams in darkness cower; Rose Terry Cooke. ST. GEORGES COMPANY. FOR seven years past Mr. John Rus- kin has published monthly a pamphlet letter addressed to the workmen and laborers of Great Britain. In one of the recent numbers of Fors Clavigera as this series of letters is named he in- timates that during these seven years he has been en~aged in setting forth prin- ciples which are now to have a more manifest declaration in the work of St. Georges Company, a society ordered mainly by Mr. Ruskin, who holds the post of master in it. A review of the let- ters, then, may show what St. Geornes Company is, and what Mr. Ruskin is so earnest and persistent about. It may show this, but to the casual reader the letters, taken separately, seem desultory and hap-hazard, as if the author mere- ly wrote down what happened to be up- permost in his mind at the time, with no method or thought for what should fol- low, letting chance carry the key for him. At the end of most of the letters ap- pears a body of notes and correspondence, containing letters from friends and others to the author, with rejoinders and com- inents, and clippings from current news- papers, all intended to emphasize some point in the Fors in hand, or a previous number; accounts current of St. Georges Fund or Affairs of the Company, with 1 Mr. Kuskin gives in his second letter a compre- hensive interpretatiQn of this title, by which the reader is reminded that Fors is the best part of three English words, force, fortitude, fortune, and that Clavigera may mean either club.bearer, key-bearer, copies of Mr. Ruskins own expense ac- count. Occasional photographic frontis- pieces from works of art easily beguile one into thinking that he is in the neigh- borhood of Mr. Ruskin the critic in art. A still closer examination would dis- close discussions of rent, wages, capital, and interest; comments on the Franco- German war and the Paris Commune; in- quiries whether bishops really oversee; suggestions as to the proper reading of the Bible; observations upon modern modes of education; a receipt for York- shire goose pie; translations from Plato, Marmontel, and a Swiss pastors pretty story of The Broom Merchant; passages from Walter Scotts life; comments on scenes and characters in Scott, Dickens, and Thackeray; with many bits of au- tobiography, and a wide range of minor topics illustrative of the work in hand. One might be pardoned if he failed to see precisely what Mr. Ruskins aim has been; but Mr. Ruskin would not pardon him, or rather he would waste no con- cern on the casual reader, for he exacts of his readers the tribute of close atten- tion, and has no wish to tell them any- thing that they can understand without taking trouble. Meanwhile, he has him- self, in two or three passages, summed up the main contents of his letters, and or nail-bearer. Each of these three terms being further illustrated by mythology, a body of mean- ing collects about the phrase which satisfies the reader that no two English words could possibly have served the purpose of the title.

1878.] St. Georges Company. 39 Hush, hush, it dies away, Beyond thi verge of day. Broken forever is that spell of power. Here is but common clay, Lamps, and the crowds array, The tramp of mortal tread. That wand bath dropped; those The hour has fled! dreams in darkness cower; Rose Terry Cooke. ST. GEORGES COMPANY. FOR seven years past Mr. John Rus- kin has published monthly a pamphlet letter addressed to the workmen and laborers of Great Britain. In one of the recent numbers of Fors Clavigera as this series of letters is named he in- timates that during these seven years he has been en~aged in setting forth prin- ciples which are now to have a more manifest declaration in the work of St. Georges Company, a society ordered mainly by Mr. Ruskin, who holds the post of master in it. A review of the let- ters, then, may show what St. Geornes Company is, and what Mr. Ruskin is so earnest and persistent about. It may show this, but to the casual reader the letters, taken separately, seem desultory and hap-hazard, as if the author mere- ly wrote down what happened to be up- permost in his mind at the time, with no method or thought for what should fol- low, letting chance carry the key for him. At the end of most of the letters ap- pears a body of notes and correspondence, containing letters from friends and others to the author, with rejoinders and com- inents, and clippings from current news- papers, all intended to emphasize some point in the Fors in hand, or a previous number; accounts current of St. Georges Fund or Affairs of the Company, with 1 Mr. Kuskin gives in his second letter a compre- hensive interpretatiQn of this title, by which the reader is reminded that Fors is the best part of three English words, force, fortitude, fortune, and that Clavigera may mean either club.bearer, key-bearer, copies of Mr. Ruskins own expense ac- count. Occasional photographic frontis- pieces from works of art easily beguile one into thinking that he is in the neigh- borhood of Mr. Ruskin the critic in art. A still closer examination would dis- close discussions of rent, wages, capital, and interest; comments on the Franco- German war and the Paris Commune; in- quiries whether bishops really oversee; suggestions as to the proper reading of the Bible; observations upon modern modes of education; a receipt for York- shire goose pie; translations from Plato, Marmontel, and a Swiss pastors pretty story of The Broom Merchant; passages from Walter Scotts life; comments on scenes and characters in Scott, Dickens, and Thackeray; with many bits of au- tobiography, and a wide range of minor topics illustrative of the work in hand. One might be pardoned if he failed to see precisely what Mr. Ruskins aim has been; but Mr. Ruskin would not pardon him, or rather he would waste no con- cern on the casual reader, for he exacts of his readers the tribute of close atten- tion, and has no wish to tell them any- thing that they can understand without taking trouble. Meanwhile, he has him- self, in two or three passages, summed up the main contents of his letters, and or nail-bearer. Each of these three terms being further illustrated by mythology, a body of mean- ing collects about the phrase which satisfies the reader that no two English words could possibly have served the purpose of the title. St. aeorges Company,. 40 it is quite possible to get from these sum- maries the outline of his plan so far as it has shaped itself. The reason for writing the letters is the reason for form- ing St. Georges Company: it is despair of England as it is, and hope of what it may be if there is only a return to a few simple principles of honor and honesty which prevailed in an older England. These principles he formulates at the close of his second letter: To do your own work well, whether it be for life or for death. To keep other people at theirs when you can, an(l seek to avenge no injury. To be snre you can obey good laws before you seek to alter bad ones. Honesty, Friendliness, Obedience, these are the three words by which he seeks to reform England; words easily spoken, we may say, yet wrung bitterly from Carlyle and Ruskin, and frothing a little in Tennysons Maud. Let us see what practical measures our philosopher offers to a people who pride themselves on their practicalness. He tells them that there are three material things essential to life: pure air, water, and earth; three immaterial things alike essential: Admi- ration, Hope, and Love. They vitiate pure air with foul chemical exhalations, while the horrible nests called towns are little more than laboratories for the dis- tillation into heaven of venomous smokes and smells, mixed with effluvia from de- caying animal matter, and infections mi- asmata from purulent disease; they have changed every river of England into a common sewer; they have turned their science to the invention of explosive and deathful instead of blossoming and life- giving dust. For the immaterial essen- tial things, instead of admiration they have learned contempt and conceit, in- stinctively hating the good and destroy- ing it; and for hope the whole spirit is doubting and timid, with no confidence in the future of England; while in place of loving their neighbors as themselves they have founded an entire science of political economy on the basis of a de- sire to defraud ones neighbor, and have driven woman no longer to ask for love or fellowship, but for justice. So ar [July, raigning them he breaks out into this ap- peal: Are there any of you who are tired of all this? Any of you, Landlords or Tenants, Employers or Workmen? Are there any landlords, any mas- ters, who would like better to be served by men than by iron devils? Any tenants, any workmen, who can be true to their leaders and to each other? who can vow to work and to live faithfully, for the sake of the joy of their homes? Will any such give the tenth of what- they have and of what they earn, not to emigrate with, but to stay in England with, and do what is in their hands and hearts to make her a happy En- gland? I am not rich (as people now esti- mate riches), and great part of what I have is already engaged in maintaining art-workmen, or for other objects more or less of public utility. The tenth of whatever is left to me, estimated as ac- curately as I can (you shall see the ac- counts), I will make over to you in per- petuity, with the best security that En- glish law can give, on Christmas Day of this year, with engagement to add the tithe of whatever I earn afterwards. Who else will help, with little or much? the object of such fund being to begin, and gradually no matter how slowly to increase, the buying and securing of land in England, which shall not be built upon, but cultivated by English- men, with their own hands and such help of force as they can find in wind and wave. I do not care with how many or how few this thing is begun, nor on what inconsiderable scale, if it be but in two or three poor mens gardens. So much, at least, I can buy, myself, and give them. If no help come, I have done and said what I could, and there will be an end. If any help come to me, it is to be on the following conditions: We will try to make some small piece of English ground beautiful, peaceful, and fruitful. We will have no steam- encrines upon it, and no railroads; we will have no untended or unthought-of St George 8 Company. creatures on it; none wretched but the sick; none idle but the dead. We will have no liberty upon it, but instant obedience to known law and appointed persons; no equality upon it, but recog- nition of every betterness tbat we can find, and reprobation of every worseness. When we want to go anywhere, we will go there quietly and safely, not at forty miles an hour, in the risk of our lives; when we want to carry anytbing any- where, we will carry it either on the backs of beasts or on our own, or in carts or boats; we will have plenty of flowers and vegetables in our gardens, plenty of corn and grass in our fields, and few bricks. We will have some music and poetry; the children shall learn to dance to it and sing it; perhaps some of the old people, in time, may also. We will have some art, moreover; we will at least try if, like the Greeks, we cant make some pots. The Greeks used to paint pict- ures of gods on tbeir pots; we, probably, cannot do as much, but we may put some pictures of insects on them, and reptiles; butterflies and frogs, if nothing better. There was an excellent old potter in France who used to put frogs and vipers into his dishes, to the admiration of man- kind; we can surely put something nicer tban that. Little by little some higher art and imagination may manifest them- selves among us, and feeble rays of sci- ence may dawn for us: botany, though too dull to dispute the existence of flow- ers; and history, thou~h too simple to question the nativity of men; nay, even perhaps an uncalculating and uncove- tous wisdom, as of rude Magi, present- ing at such nativity gifts of gold and frankincense. ~ In three months after writing this he is able to say definitely that St. Geor~,es Fund, as he proposes to call it, has been begun by a gift from himself of one thou- sand pounds; and with this announce- ment he gives further detail of the plan: I will tell you a little more of what we are to do with this money, as it in- creases. First, let whoever gives us any be clear in their minds that it is a Gift. It is not an Investment. It is a frank and simple gift to the British people; noth- ing of it is to come back to the giver. But also nothin~, of it is to be lost. This money is not to be spent in feeding Woolwich infants with gunpowder. It is to be spent in dressing the earth and keeping it, in feeding human lips, in clothing human bodies, in kindling hu- man souls. First of all, I say, in dressing the earth. As soon as the fund reaches any sufficient amount, the Trustees shall buy with it any kind of land offered them at just price in Britain: rock, moor, marsh, or sea-shore, it matters not what, so it be British ground and secured to us. Then we will ascertain the absolute best that can be made o~ every acre. We will first examine what flowers and herbs it naturally bears; every whole- some flower that it will grow shall be sown in its wild places, and every kind of fruit tree that can prosper; and arable and pasture land extended by every ex- pedient of tillage, with humble and sim- ple cottage dwellings under faultless sanitary regulation. Whatever piece of land we begin work upon we shall treat thoroughly at once, putting unlimited manual labor on it, until we have every foot of it under as strict care as a flower garden: and the laborers shall be paid sufficient, unchanging wages; and their children educated compulsorily in agri- cultural schools inland, and naval schools by the sea, the indispensable first con- dition of such education being that the boys learn either to ride or to sail, the girls to spin, weave, and sew, and at a proper age to cook all ordinary food ex- quisitely; the youth of both sexes to be disciplined daily in the strictest practice of vocal music; and for morality, to be taught gentleness to all brute creatures, finished courtesy to each other, to speak truth with rigid care, and to obey orders with the precision of slaves. Then, as they get older, they are~ to learn the natural history of the place they live in; to know Latin, boys and girls both, and the history of five cities, Athens, Rome, Venice, Florence, and London. - - . In the history of the five cities I have named they shall learn, so far as 1878.] 41 42 St. Georges Company. [July, they can understand, what has been beautifully and bravely done; and they shall know the lives of the heroes and heroines in truth and naturalness; and shall be taught to remember the greatest of them on the days of their birth and death, so that the year shall have its full calendar of reverent memory. And on every day part of their morning service shall be a song in honor of the hero whose birthday it is, and part of their evening service a song .of triumph for the fair death of one whose deathday it is an(l in their first learning of notes they shall be taught the great purpose of music, which is to say a thing that you mean deeply in the strongest and clearest possible way; and they shall never be tau~ht to sing what they dont mean. They shall be able to sing mer- rily when they are happy, and earnestly when they are sad; but they shall find no mirth in mockery nor in obscenity; neither shall they waste and profane their hearts with artificial and lascivious sorrow. One further quotation is desirable, although, as an expansion and more detailed account, it necessarily repeats somewhat the passages already given. It occurs in the first letter of the fourth year. The children will be required to at- tend training-schools for bodily exercise and music, with such other education as I havc already described. Every house- hold will have its library, given it from the fund, and consisting of a fixed num- ber of volumes, some constant, the oth- ers chosen by each family out of a list of permitted books, from which they after- wards may increase their library if they choose. The formation of this library for choice, by a republication of classical authors in standard forms, has long been a main object with me. No newspapers, nor any books but those named in the annually renewed lists, are to be allowed in any household. In time I hope to get a journal published containing notice of any really important matters taking place in this or other countries, in the closely sifted truth of them. The first essential point in the edu cation given to the children will be the habit of instant, finely accurate, and to- tally unreasoning obedience to their fa- thers, mothers, and tutors; the same prG- cise and unquestioning submission being required from heads of families to the officers set over them. The second es- sential will be the understanding of the nature of honor, making the obedience solemn and constant; so that the slight- est willful violation of the laws of the so- ciety may be regarded as a grave breach of trust, and no less disgraceful than a soldiers recoiling from his place in a battle. . That it should be left to me to be- gin such a work, with only one man in England Thomas Carlyle to whom I can look for steady guidance, is alike wonderful and sorrowful to me; but as the thing is so, I can only do what seems to me necessary, none else coming for- ward to do it. For my own part, I en- tirely hate the whole business; I dislike having either power or responsibility; am ashamOd to ask for money, and plagued in spending it. I dont want to talk, nor to write, nor to advise or direct any- body. I am far more provoked at be- ing thought foolish by foolish people than pleased at being thought sensible by sensible people; and the average pro- portion of the numbers of each is not to my advantage. If I could find any one able to carry on the plan instead of me, I never should trouble myself about it more; and even now it is only with ex- treme effort and chastisement of my in- dolence that I go on; but, unless I am struck with palsy, I do not seriously doubt my perseverance, until I find some- body able to take up the matter in the same mind and with a better heart. The laws required to be obeyed by the families living on the land will be with some relaxation and modification, so as to fit them for English people those of Florence in the fourteenth cent- ury. In what additional rules may be adopted I shall follow, for the most part, Bacon or Sir Thomas More, under sanc- tion always of the higher authority which of late the English nation has wholly set its strength to defy, that of the founder St. Georges Company. of its religion; nor without due accept- ance of what teaching was given to the children of God by their Father before the day of Christ, of which, for present ending, read and attend to these follow- ing quiet words. Thereupon follows a passage from the close of the ninth book of Platos Republic. In one of his letters, speaking of the doubtfulness which his readers feel of his plan, from its lack of definiteness, Mr. Ruskin says paradoxically that to define it severely would be to falsify it, and that he is wrong even in speaking of it as a plan or scheme at all. It is only a method of uniting the force of all good plans and wise schemes; it is a principle and tendency, like the law of form in a crystal; not a plan. Ac- cordingly the idea of the company grows with its palpable proportions. For the orderin~, of it there is to he a master; members, styled companions, who give money or lands, and are enrolled with due solemnity; and tenants and laborers, styled retainers. As a part of the gen- eral purpose a museum has been formed at Sheffield: the beginning has been made of a collection of classics, includ- ing thus far The Economist of Xeno- phon and Rock Honeycomb, or Broken Pieces of Sir Philip Sidneys Psalter; and a series of photographs, four thus far (Madonna by Filippo, the Etruscan Leucothea, Madonna by Titian, and In- fanta Mar0aret by Yelasquez), have been issued for study and admiration in the homes of companions and retainers. Of the financial operations of St. Georges Company the briefest statement is in this: that a debt is a crime, and store a duty; the store to be primarily of food, next of materials for clothing and cov- ert, next of books and works of art, food, clothes, books, and works of art all being good, and every poisonous condi- tion of any of them destroyed. . . . The most simply measurable part of the store of food and clothing will be the basis of the currency, which will be thus consti- 1 Other books promised are Gotthelfs Tune the Farm Servant; a historical work, enigmatically stated as relating the chief decision of Atropos re- specting the fate of England after the conquest; the lives and writings of Moses, David, Hesiod, tuted. The standard of value will be a given weight or measure of grain, wine, wool, silk, flax, wood, and marble; all answered for by the government as of fine and pure quality, variable only within narrow limits. The grain will be either wheat, oats, barley, rice, or maize; the wine of pure vintage, and not less than ten years old; the wool, silk, and flax of such standard as can be~secured in constancy; the wood, seasoned oak and pine, and for fuel in log and fagot, with finest wood and marble for sculpt- ure. The pennys worth, forms worth, and hundred ducats worth of each of these articles will be a given weight or measure of them, the penny roll of our present breakfast table furnishing some notion of what, practically, the grain standard will become. . . . Of these ar- ticks the government will always have in its possession as much as may lneet the entire demand of its currency in cir- culation. That is to say, when it has a million in circulation, the millions worth of solid property must be in its store- houses; as much more as it can gather, of course, but never less. Regulations follow as to coinage, markets, dress, and ornament, all inspired by the same purpose to secure entire honesty, public and private; to renard strictly the nat- ural differences of rank, as indicated by the different gifts to men; and to make life orderly, decent, and beautiful. Fi- nally, this creed or vow, written and signed by every person received into St. Georges Company, may be taken as the spiritual pledge of the new crusade against corrupt England. I. I trust in the Living God, Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things and creatures visible and invisible. And I will strive to love Him, and keep His law, and see His work, while I live. II. I trust in the nobleness of human nature, in the majesty of its faculties, Virgil, Dante, chaucer, and St. John the Divine, these last not always being complete works, bnt representing the purest theological truth hitherto known to the Jews, Greeks, Latins, Italians, and English. 1878.] 43 44 St. Georges (Jompan~,. [July, the fullness of its mercy, and the joy of its love. And I will strive to love my neighbor as myself, and even when I cannot will act as if I did. III. I will labor, with such strength and opportunity as God gives me, for my own daily bread, and all that my band finds to do I will do with my might. IV. I will not deceive, or cause to be deceived, any human being for my gain or pleasure; nor hurt, or cause to be hurt, any human being for my ,ain or pleasure; nor rob, or cause to be robbed, any human being for my gain or pleas- ure. V. I will not kill nor hurt any living creature needlessly, nor destroy any beautiful thing, but will strive to save and comfort all gentle life, and guard and perfect all natural beauty, upon the earth. VI. I will strive to raise my own body and soul daily into higher powers of duty and happiness; not in rivalship or con- tention with others, but for the help, de- light, and honor of others, and for the joy and peace of my own life. VII. I will obey all the laws of my country faithfully; and the orders of its monarch, and of all persons appointed to be in authority under its monarch, so far as such laws or commands are con- sistent with what I suppose to be the law of God; and when they are not, or seem in any wise to need change, I will oppose them loyally and deliberately, not with malicious, concealed, or disorderly vio- lence. VIII. And with the same faithfulness, and under the limits of the same obedi- ence which I render to the laws of my country and the commands of its rulers, I will obey the laws of the Society called of St. George, into which I am this day received, and the orders of its masters, and of all persons appointed to be in au- thority under its masters, so long as I re- main a Companion, called of St. George. The information given in Fors Clavi- gera of the actual working of the com- pany is slight. In April, 1877, the state- ment is made that a few of the Sheffield workiugmen, influenced by St. Georges notions, asked permission to rent some ground from the company, whereon to spend what spare hours they had in use- ful labor. Thirteen acres had accord- ingly been purchased for this purpose, and let out to the workman at a rent- al of three per cent. on the cost; a lit- tle piece of England, Mr. Ruskin says, given into the English workmans hands, and Heavens. Then, work having been organized at Abbey Dale, a possession of the company, Mr. Ruskin says, very characteristically, in Fors for November, 1877, that he had been greatly concerned by the difficulties attending this first venture; the more that these are for the most part attributable to very little and very ridiculous things, which, with all my frankness, I see no good in pub- lishing. The root of all mischief is, of course, that the Master is out of the way, and the men, in his absence, tried at first to get on by vote of the majority; it is at any rate to be counted as no small success that they have entirely con- vinced themselves of the impossibility of getting on in that popular manner; and that they will be glad to see me when I can get there. Interesting as the history of a single case might be, with its practical diffi- culties, attributable to very little and very ridiculous things, no such history is of course possible when the experiment has only just been placed on trial. But the experiment has had seven years of preliminary discussion and theoretical development, and it cannot be said that the plan of the company has been pre- sented in altogether vague outline. Noth- ing could well be more definite than cer- tain of the passages cited above; and though the vow taken by the companions is, with the exception of the last clause, possible to any right-minded man or wom- an, it is very evident that St. Georges Company does not intend aUtopia but a Kalotopia. Enough, I think, has been taken from Mr. Ruskins words to make clear the meaning~which I read in the whole project. It is a protest against corruption of life, public and private, in England, thrown into visible shape by St. aeorges Company. the formation of an England within an England. The miniature state, whose or- der has been outlined, contains, it will be noted, all the functions of a state except what refers to international relations; and that offered now could only serve to throw an air of insincerity over the whole scheme. In this state of St. George there is a fixed standard of exchange among the members, coinage is provided for, the wants of the body and soul are held to be the field for governmental adminis- tration, a system of laws including sumpt- uary provisions is rigidly studied and en- forced by moral sanctions, and the life of the citizens is regulated by principles discovered in the history of the wisest states and the writings of the wisest men. Mr. Ruskin sees a decadence in English life since the coming in of the Stuart line, apparently, and looks upon the in- troduction of steam power, with the ac- companying exchange of rural for urban life, as the most powerful impulse upon the downward road. He would restore England piece by piece, by reconstruct- ing within her limits communities which should be visible records of a possible England, an England where lords and squires recovered the rights and duties in- dicated by their names, and where a con- tented peasantry lived honorable lives; where art might be possible in a land no longer resting under the smoke cloud, of innumerable factories, and where relig- ion should be neither blind idolatry of a book nor sleek conformity to concealed worldliness. That kings and all lead- ers should prove their title by the serv- ice which they do; that every man should live by the labor of his hands, and not by the labor of other men who support him in idleness; that the weak, the poor, and the suffering should be a holy charge upon the strong, the rich, and the healthy, these are cardinal points of his belief. What his own conception of the work- ing of his design is may best be learned from the page with which he concludes the fifty-eighth number of Fors Clavigera, the number containing the fullest expo- sition: The ultimate success or failure of the design will not in the least depend on the terms of our constitution, but on the quantity of hivinghonesty and pity which can be found, to be constituted. If there is not material enough out of which to choose companions, or energy enough in tbe companions chosen to fill the chain- mail of all terms and forms with living power, the scheme will be choked by its first practical difficulties; and it matters little what becomes of the very small property its promoters are ever likely to handle. If, on the contrary, as I be- lieve, there be yet honesty and sense enough left in England to nourish the effort, from its narrow source there will soon develop itself a vast policy, of which neither I nor any one else can foresee the issue, far less verbally or le- gally limit it, but in which, broadly, by the carrying out of the primally accept- ed laws of obedien~~e and economy, the master and marshals will become the ministry of the state, answerable for the employment of its revenues, for its re- lations with external powers, and for such change of its laws as from time to time may be found needful; the landlords will be the resident administrators of its lands and immediate directors of all la- bor, its captains in war and magistrates in peace; the tenants will constitute its agricultural and military force, having such domestic and acquisitive independ- ence as may be consistent with patriotic and kindly fellowship; and the artists, schoolmen, tradesmen and inferior labor- ers will form a body of honorably paid retainers, undisturbed in their duty by any chance or care relating to their means of subsistence. It would be an easy matter to turn into ridicule the whole scheme, and to cover with laughter the man who pro- pounds it. Most persons will dismiss it with the term quixotic, and those who really know what quixotic means will not much quarrel with the term; for the whole plan springs from the keenest sense of evil rampant, and the honest desire to break a lance in destruction of it. Is 1 It will be obvious to the reader that in case of its principles, only to bows and arrows, swords and war St. George~s company could have recourse, on javelins 1878.] 45 St. Georges Company. he, by his own confession, old, tired, and very ill-natured? I answer that no man can make his profound sense of human misery and wrongness lead him to the jeered-at task of feeling with his own hands for the root of it, that he may pluck it up if possible, without thereby proving his earnestness and the reality of his conviction. In the midst of scoff- ing England, bidding him keep to the fine arts and let political economy alone, pitied by the weaker sort and held by some to be an eccentric visionary, he holds firmly to his resolve, and at times seems to cling to it to save himself from making shipwreck altogether of hope. A fair comparison might be made be- tween Mr. Ruskin and Mr. W. II. Greg, who takes the attitude of Cassandra in his prophecy of Englands decline. In Mr. Gregs opinion the three national dangers are: I. The political supremacy of the lower classes.~ II. The approach- ing industrial decline of England. III. The divorce of the Intelligence of the country from its Religion. Mr. Ruskin might formulate his conception of En- glands fall under three similar heads: I. The abrogation of duties by the upper classes. II. The increasing poverty of the country through the enriching of a few. III. The divorce of faith from works, and the loss of the meaning of re- ligion a summed up in the word obedi- ence. With Mr. Greg the taking of rep- resentation out of the hands of the prop- ertied class and putting it into the hands of the wage-receiving class is in itself a political revolution, the end of which is not yet, and the only remedy which he sees possible is in gradually transmuting this class into capitalists, summing his philosophy in the sentence, Political power lies naturally with Intellect and Property, and what God hasjoined man cannot put asunder with impunity. With Mr. Ruskin, the position is taken that in human nature itself is an eternal division into leaders and led, masters and servants; that when the lords of Great Britain are true to their name, and the ladies are loaf-givers, the present blind I See Rocks Ahead; or the Warnings of cassandra. By W. U. Greg. attempts to set the pyramid of society on its apex will cease, and he will be found ruling who makes himself a servant of all. Mr. Greg sees in the near approach to the exhaustion of cheap coal the doom of British industry; and, while he recog- nizes in the deterioration of skilled labor a moral cause of decline, it is evident that the weight of the difficulty in his mind is economic. From this calamity of the loss of the worlds market he finds no escape, and looks to emigration as but a partial relief from an overburdening pop- ulation, since it is the able-bodied who will go, the weak and inefficient who will stay. Mr. Ruskin sees in the whole course of modern trade a gigantic evil, yesulting in a selfishness which makes every one eager to get rich through aii injury to his neighbor, and in an eco- nomic falsehood which makes a national debt a national blessing instead of a na- tional curse; he rests the strength of En- gland in the toil of its laborers, and holds that these are robbed of their rightful earning of food, clothing, and shelter. He would find a return to contentment and peace in a return to manual labor, in honesty of living, and in the ignobility of luxury. For the third national dan- ger of England, Mr. Greg finds that skepticism of the national creed is rap- idly permeating all classes, and dissolv- ing those bonds of spiritual life which are essential to a nations well - being; and the only escape which he discovers is in the gradual reconstruction, by the intelligence which has thrown down, of a new and more credible faith. His di- vorce of intelligence from religion is to be followed by a new marriage of intelli- gence with certain dim aspirations, in the hope that religion will be the offspring. Mr. Ruskin, believing that religion is submission to God and his laws, and is discovered by a life of fruitful obedience, is not much concerned about the skep- ticism which questions a formal theolo- gy, but takes greatly to heart the pres- ence of a show of religion which is di- vorced from morality, and the submis- sion to the decrees of such false gods as he sees worshiped in London and Man- chester, while he knows no way of escape 46 [July, St. aeorge8 Company. from this but such as an old prophet might declare to a recreant Israel. The difference in position between the two men is the difference between a man who speculates with great sagacity upon the state of England, and finds a certain in- tellectual satisfaction in the inevitabil- ity of his reasoning, and a man whose insight is so charged with morality that he is compelled to turn away from the things he most enjoys to some visible lifting of the burden, taking up the task lest he should go mad. There is not, there never can be, a test of sincerity but the plain one of doing; and Mr. Rus- kin, though he has been cryin~ passion- ately that the axe is laid at the root of the tree, seems to turn, almost with scorn at his own ineffectual words, to take up the axe himself, striking a blow with a force which is rather nervous than mus- cular. The eloquence of this writer, and the almost painful precision of his style, by which he is constantly trying to make his words carry more freight than they ever bore, his zeal, and the largeness of his intellectual sympathy, carry the reader over many doubtful stretches of logic, and make the entire scheme of St. Georges Company assume an ideal perfectness of proportion and a grace of being which fill the eye as a poet- ic structure. One is permitted to draw from all sources, ancient and modern, as he gradually conceives the image: he hears the Tyrolese peasant sing like a robin; he watches the wife of Ischoma- chus ordering her household; he listens in turn to two Chelsea magi, separate by three hundred years and more; he catches a glimpse of Sir John Hawkwood and his white knights; and the dress and coins make Italy and England melt into one. Charge this picture with a pro- found moral meaning; believe in it as the harbinger of a new England, not found by crossing the seas, but by a moral cat- aclysm of the England of the London Times and Pall Mall Gazette, and it is possible that any embodiment in human kind and environment in English fields would catch some of this light that never was on sea or land. But a disillusioniz ing might take place if one were to look closely at some companion piece, not invested with the charm of literature, or flooded by any historic light. There is a grotesque likeness to St. Georges Company in any one of the so-called Shaker families, to be found scattered about our New England States, and in some Western places. Here one may see the bare prose into which the love- liest of idyls has been turned. I hap- pened to be spending a summer in the immediate neighborhood of one of these villages, and Fors Clavigera coming to me each month I was not slow to place it in the hands of the leader, nor greatly surprised to find it at once accepted as a grateful statement of many articles of the Shaker faith, and read aloud in the gatherings of the brothers and sisters. The keen analysis of usury which I list- ened to at the Sunday meeting was as final as in Mr. Ruskins pages; the re- turn to nature as the saviour of human- ity was the central doctrine of the Shak- er life; the broad farms were the man- ifest declaration of that redemption of the soil which forms an article in St. Georges creed. Here was no debt, but only store; steam played no part, but human labor or the action of wind and water were the factors of industry; the looms, it is true, were idle, but the high- er-minded looked at this as a loss and decay of the Shaker mind; perfectness of work and economy of resources were still regarded as religious duties. That this life had done much to lift the human nature which tried it, and was itself tried by it, the honest observ- er could not doubt; but if he measured it by the test of Moses, David, ilesiod, Virgil, Dante, Chaucer, and St. John the Divine, he was compelled to admit that the Shakers had not solved the problem of living, and he even suspected that the spiritual exaltation which found ex- pression in rhythmic procession and rude music could not suffice to deliver the company from the suspicion of being worldly-minded after all, and of looking upon their apple-trees and blackberry- vines with not altogether an ancient He- braic sentiment. There are differences, 1878.] 47 48 St. aeorges Comp*ny. [July, to be sure, as well as likenesses to be noted in the two societies. In the Shak- er family, there is the mildest possible form of hierarchy, and a homely ap- proach to the Quaker principles of pure democracy; in St. Georges Company, there is the fullest recognition of ranks and orders; in both, education is jeal- ously guarded, but the Shaker family knows nothing of that choiceness of wis- dom and example which the founder of St. Georges Company offers in place of current literature and science. Yet the fatal error attaches to both, that with all their professions of trust in human nat- ure the societies are founded on a prac- tical distrust. Is human nature so poor .a thing that it can be hedged about and its processes predetermined by such in- flexible organizations as these? The assumption in each case is that men are children, and will continue such, and growth must constantly put out the well-ordered schemes. An observer of the Shaker families perceives how un- easily the women and elders watch the boys and girls who stand on the brink of conscious manhood and womanhood, and with what frequent pain they see them bid adieu to the family just when they give promise of becoming pillars to sup- port it. St. Georges Company, too, in- evitably recalls the institution of slav- ery in our own country: the ideal ex- cellence of that order was in the careless, child-like condition of the slaves, the pro- tecting, determining government of the masters, with their chivalrous education and generous life. Yet somehow this relation was constantly disproved by the ungrateful disappearance of slaves and the unchivalric conduct of masters. The ideal St. George pins the dragon with his lance, but Mr. Ruskins St. George sometimes appears to be armed with a fork, vainly endeavoring to expel, not a dragon, but Nature herself. It must be said, too, that in their or- ganization both of these societies are fragments and not constituents of a body politic. The Shakers are wit- nesses, as they believe, to a future state of single blessedness, and by an irresisti- ble logic they have no part in the family or the state which God created. St. Georges Company is a protest against a corrupt England; it mimics a greater state, and it has partial foundations in its trust in God and in the nobleness of human nature, but it is not founded in the whole nature of man; its integrity could only be preserved by isolation, and shut up within itself it would die of ex- haustion. By a divine paradox it could only perpetuate itself by destroying it- self in the larger life of the nation. Mr. Ruskin is building an ark against the deluge to come, and we are all laugh- ing him to scorn. That is one way of regarding it. But it is quite possible for students of history and of revelatio~i to believe that nations have their holy life, which is unbroken though a prophet may lodge in a cave and complain that he only is left, when altars are thrown down and a covenant forsaken. There is that in Mr. Ruskins despair which is he- roic; there is that also which is childish. With an exquisiteness of artistic sense, the power to perceive subtle harmonies of life and the capacity for irritation at ignoble discords go together; with a tremulous moral nature, inflexibly true in direction, there is joined a mind so persistently critical that the whole nat- ure seems racked with the constant trial of cases of conscience. He has no rest from this labor of judgment, and one is puzzled at the d~uble feeling with which one approaches him, of reverence for his nobility of genius, and of gentle pity for his distraction. He is Hamlet the Englishman. There are few pages in Fors Clavigera, for the reader on this side of the Atlan- tic, more moving and more lovely in their way than those given to Mr. Ruskins autobiographic sketches. I should not wish to touch them in the way even of bringing them together into a connected narrative. Occurring as they do at in- tervals, they break in upon the discourse with delightful force, and certainly help a stranger to understand something of the authors training and vicissitudes of life. In one humber there is a touching paragraph called out by a lively, half- irritable letter from a lady who feels the St. aeorges Company. force of Mr. Ruskins pressure upon her conscience sufficiently to lead her to snake excuses. Among other words she declares that she is willing to join the company when Mr. Ruskin himself does. It seems to me, she says smartly, thatthe first duty any one owes to his country is to live in it. I go farther, and maintain that every one is bound to have a home and live in that. Where is your house and your garden? Then she reproaches him for wandering away to lovely places in England or on the Con- tinent, while she stays at home a house- hold drudge. To all this Mr. Ruskin replies with the melancholy words: She tells me, first, that I have not joined the St. Georges Company, be- cause I have no home. It is too true. But that is because my father and moth- er and nurse are dead; because the wom- an I hoped would have been my wife is dying; and because the place where I would fain have stayed to remember all of them was rendered physically unin- habitable to me by the violence of my nei~,hbors, that is to say, by their de- stroying the fields I needed to think in, and the light I needed to work by. Nev- ertheless, I have under these conditions done the best thing possible to me, bought a piece of land on which I could live in peace; and on that land, wild when I bought it, have already made not only one garden, but two, to match ao-ainst my correspondents; nor that without help from children, who, though not mine, have been cared for as if they were. In somewhat other terms he lays claim to the name of gentleman. It is quite possible for the simplest workman or laborer for whom I write to understand what the feelings of a gentleman are, and share them if he will; but the crisis and horror of this present time are that its desire of money and the fullness of luxury dishonestly attainable by common persons are gradually making churls ~if all men, and the nobler passions are not merely disbelieved, but even the concep- tion of them seems ludicrous to the im- potent churl mind; so that to take only so poor an instance of them as VOL. XLII.NO. 249. 4 my own life because I have passed it in alms-giving, not in fortune-hunting; because I have labored always for the honor of others, not my own, and have chosen rather to make men look to Tur- ner and Luini than to form or exhibit the skill of my own hand; because I have lowered my rents and assured the com- fortable lives of my poor tenants, instead of taking from them all I could force for the roofs they needed; because I love a wood-walk better than a London street, and would rather watch a sea-gull fly than shoot it, and rather hear a thrush sing than eat it; finally, because I never disobeyed my mother, because I have honored all women with solemn worship, and have been kind even to the un- thankful and the evil, therefore the hacks of English art and literature wag their heads at me, and the poor wretch who pawns the dirty linen of his soul daily for a bottle of sour wine and a ci- gar talks oF the effeminate sentimen- tality of Ruskin. The series of Fors Clavigera, as I have said, has mainly to do with the ordering of St. Georges Company; but as that company is not, in Mr. Ruskins inten- tion, an arbitrary or wholly isolated guild, having peculiar laws and customs inapplicable to simple people elsewhere, in England or out of it, the explication of the principles at its foundation is broad and variously suggestive. From the wide range of his reading in literature, art, history, and religion, the author has gathered a remarkable store of wisdom and generous example. His running commentary, for example, on Sir Walter Scotts life, character, and work is full of fine interpretative power; his read- ings from Plato, from Sir Philip Sidney, from Marmontel, his inquiry into Bibli- cal meanings, are of quite unusual force, provoking the student to fresh examina- tion of familiar words; and nothing wiser, respecting the education of girls, has been written in this generation of school- masters and school-mistresses than the sixty-fifth and sixty-sixth letters. No fair-minded reader can study this extraor- 1 Reprinted in separate form as J4etter to Young Girls. 1878.] 49 50 St. G~eorges Company. [July, dinary series without finding his mind quickened as to the application of eter- nal principles to the conditions of pres- ent civilization. That he will recoil from some of Mr. Ruskins conclusions is in- evitabler partly from his own unprepared- ness, partly from a mental waywardness characteristic of the writer; but he will never find concession to falsehood or in- fidelity to truth. To us on this side of the Atlantic the letters come shorn of some immediate force by reason of the different condi- tions of life here, but with an added weight by reason of a possibly wider ap- plication. That is to say, the conditions of life in England which have wrung the letters and the resolution from Mr. Rus- kin are not as yet reproduced here; we have tendencies toward what he regards as fixed facts in England. The larger breathing space, the truer respect for law, the firmer establishment of a liberty that cannot choose evil, the wider char- ity, and above all the freer hope, which I believe to be inherent in American life, these elements make us look with some wonder upon the picture which he draws of English misery. Nor are the principles laid down in Fors Clavigera so foreign from habits of thought familiar to Americans. The despotism of trade and the selfishness of a cruel competi- tion have not yet degraded the common mind here to so great an extent as in England, and the difference in training which the American and English public mind receives renders the American more receptive of classic and generous ideas. An American traveling, for instance, in England might easily accept Mr. Rus- kins measure of Englishmen, account- ing for what might seem extravagance by the better knowledge which a resi- dent must have, but himself discovering the existence of the same evil in a less portentous form. On his return to his own country he would not be less aware of the incompleteness of the national character, but he would at once ac- knowledge joyfully that he had come to a land of larger hope and brighter skies. Still, to us who have not the fre- quent opportunity of makin,, these man- ifest comparisons, many of Mr. Ruskins strictures upon modern civilization strike with real force by the suggestion they have of evils immediate and visibly pres- ent. For my own part I can see proc- esses going on in the neighborhood of our great cities entirely answering to the severest of his denunciations. It is not difficult to discover the beginning of evil which it will be a weary work hereafter to overturn. To take the nearest ex- ample, the river Charles, offering small inducements to great commercial enter- prises, ought to be the silver thread, shining with its lovely windings, all through a district rapidly growing in population. Efforts are making, against strong currents, to preserve this precious stream. Yet see what one ~r two men can do to destroy its beauty! Not far from the seat of the University, the river makes a turn around a tonc,ue of land, and flows past what was once a lovely piece of river-bank. The ground rose in a little bluff overhan,,ing the marshy rim of the water, and then sloped away from the river, having on its highest point little clumps of fir-trees. It was bought as a speculation, the trees cut down, the hill leveled, great gashes made in the slopes, and now what might always have been a delight to the eye is a level piece of gravel, with scarcely a sign of vegetation. The gravel, I am told, was sold for more than the land cost, and the owners have been compli- mented on their prudence and sagacity; but no arithmetical calculation can esti- mate the loss which I and many more have suffered who used to cross the bridge at that point, climb over the lit- tle knoll, watch the river at our feet, and walk down the grassy slope. Now, as I stroll along the bank, further up, and see the broad meadows which skirt the river, I think that something remains, for these meadows, covered with water at high tide, are as yet unprofitable to the spec- iAator. But I have the dread of see- ing in my paper, some day, a polite para- graph upon some enterprising land com- pany which proposes to utilize the flats by making them the place of amphibious manufactories, belching forth smoke, and 1878.] Our Neighbor. 61 fouling the river with their chemical waste. I doubt not that there are many timid people like myself, who find it hard to look on and see our cities spreading desolation about them. To such I com- mend these letters of Mr. Ruskin; at least they speak our thoughts with a con- solatory vengean~ce. For weightier rea- sons, it could be wished that letters so irritating as these to a comfortable nat- ure, so stimulating to all who would measure the thoughts of the time by no- ble standards, might be more generally known and studied. They have been caught at here and there by foolish peo- ple, eager only to find high authority for their own crude notions respecting labor, and the half - concealed truths in them distorted for partisan ends; they merit wider recognition and more fruitful ap- plication. If there are vagaries in them, these will be discovered and lightly dis- missed only by those capable of discov- ering the enduring thoughts. H. E. Scudder. OUR NEIGHBOR. OLD neighbor, for how many a year The same horizon, stretching here, Has held us in its happy bound From Rivermouth to Ipswich Sound! How many a wave-washed day we ye seen Above that low horizon lean, And marked within the Merrimack The self-same sunset reddening back, Or in the Powows shining stream, That silent river of a dream! Where Craneneck oer the woody gloom Lifts her steep mile of apple-bloom; Where Salisbury Sands, in yellow length, With the great breakers measure strength; Where Artichoke in shadow slides, The lily on her painted tides, There s naught in the enchanted view That does not seem a part of you: Your legends hang on every hill, Your songs have made it dearer still. Yours is the river-road; and yours Are all the mighty meadow floors Where the long Hampton levels lie Alone between the sea and sky. Sweeter in Follymill shall blow The Mayflowers, that you loved them so; Prouder Deer Islands ancient pines Toss to their measure in your lines; And purpler gleam old Appledore, Because your foot has trod her shore.

1878.] Our Neighbor. 61 fouling the river with their chemical waste. I doubt not that there are many timid people like myself, who find it hard to look on and see our cities spreading desolation about them. To such I com- mend these letters of Mr. Ruskin; at least they speak our thoughts with a con- solatory vengean~ce. For weightier rea- sons, it could be wished that letters so irritating as these to a comfortable nat- ure, so stimulating to all who would measure the thoughts of the time by no- ble standards, might be more generally known and studied. They have been caught at here and there by foolish peo- ple, eager only to find high authority for their own crude notions respecting labor, and the half - concealed truths in them distorted for partisan ends; they merit wider recognition and more fruitful ap- plication. If there are vagaries in them, these will be discovered and lightly dis- missed only by those capable of discov- ering the enduring thoughts. H. E. Scudder. OUR NEIGHBOR. OLD neighbor, for how many a year The same horizon, stretching here, Has held us in its happy bound From Rivermouth to Ipswich Sound! How many a wave-washed day we ye seen Above that low horizon lean, And marked within the Merrimack The self-same sunset reddening back, Or in the Powows shining stream, That silent river of a dream! Where Craneneck oer the woody gloom Lifts her steep mile of apple-bloom; Where Salisbury Sands, in yellow length, With the great breakers measure strength; Where Artichoke in shadow slides, The lily on her painted tides, There s naught in the enchanted view That does not seem a part of you: Your legends hang on every hill, Your songs have made it dearer still. Yours is the river-road; and yours Are all the mighty meadow floors Where the long Hampton levels lie Alone between the sea and sky. Sweeter in Follymill shall blow The Mayflowers, that you loved them so; Prouder Deer Islands ancient pines Toss to their measure in your lines; And purpler gleam old Appledore, Because your foot has trod her shore. 52 [July, The Europeans. Still shall the great Cape wade to meet The storms that fawn about her feet, The summer evening linger late In many-rivered Stackyard-Gate, When we, when all your people here, Have fled. But, like the atmosphere, You still the region shall surround, The spirit of the sacred ground, Though you have risen, as mounts the star, Into horizons vaster far! THE EUROPEANS. I. A NARROW grave - yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of enlivening sug- gestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the moldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the in- effectual refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the blessed ver- nal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted that no depressing in- fluence is absent from the scene. This fact was keenly felt on a certain 12th of May, twenty years since, by a lady who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in the ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour, stood there, that is, at inter- vals; for from time to time she turned back into the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the chim- ney-place was a red-hot fire, which emit- ted a small blue flame; and in front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying a pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small equal squares, and he was apparently covering them with pictorial designs, strange - looking figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, sometimes threw back his bead and held out his drawing at arms-length, and kept up a soft, gay- sounding humming and whistling. The lady brushed past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She never dropped her eyes upon his work; she only turned them, occasional- ly, as she passed, to a mirror suspended above a toilet-table on the other side of the room. Here she paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist with her two hands, or raised these members they were very plump and pretty to the multifold braids of her hair, with a move- ment half caressing, half corrective. An attentive observer might have fancied that during these periods of desultory self - inspection her face forgot its mel- ancholy; but as soon as she neared the window again it began to proclaim that she was a very ill-pleased woman. And indeed in what met her eyes there was little to be pleased with. The window- panes were battered by the sleet; the head-stones in the grave-yard beneath seemed to be holding themselves askance to keep it out of their faces. A tall iron railing protected them from the street, and on the other side of the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were trampling about in the liquid snow. Many of them were looking up and down; they appeared to be waiting for something. From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to the

52 [July, The Europeans. Still shall the great Cape wade to meet The storms that fawn about her feet, The summer evening linger late In many-rivered Stackyard-Gate, When we, when all your people here, Have fled. But, like the atmosphere, You still the region shall surround, The spirit of the sacred ground, Though you have risen, as mounts the star, Into horizons vaster far! THE EUROPEANS. I. A NARROW grave - yard in the heart of a bustling, indifferent city, seen from the windows of a gloomy-looking inn, is at no time an object of enlivening sug- gestion; and the spectacle is not at its best when the moldy tombstones and funereal umbrage have received the in- effectual refreshment of a dull, moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by this frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that the blessed ver- nal season is already six weeks old, it will be admitted that no depressing in- fluence is absent from the scene. This fact was keenly felt on a certain 12th of May, twenty years since, by a lady who stood looking out of one of the windows of the best hotel in the ancient city of Boston. She had stood there for half an hour, stood there, that is, at inter- vals; for from time to time she turned back into the room and measured its length with a restless step. In the chim- ney-place was a red-hot fire, which emit- ted a small blue flame; and in front of the fire, at a table, sat a young man who was busily plying a pencil. He had a number of sheets of paper cut into small equal squares, and he was apparently covering them with pictorial designs, strange - looking figures. He worked rapidly and attentively, sometimes threw back his bead and held out his drawing at arms-length, and kept up a soft, gay- sounding humming and whistling. The lady brushed past him in her walk; her much-trimmed skirts were voluminous. She never dropped her eyes upon his work; she only turned them, occasional- ly, as she passed, to a mirror suspended above a toilet-table on the other side of the room. Here she paused a moment, gave a pinch to her waist with her two hands, or raised these members they were very plump and pretty to the multifold braids of her hair, with a move- ment half caressing, half corrective. An attentive observer might have fancied that during these periods of desultory self - inspection her face forgot its mel- ancholy; but as soon as she neared the window again it began to proclaim that she was a very ill-pleased woman. And indeed in what met her eyes there was little to be pleased with. The window- panes were battered by the sleet; the head-stones in the grave-yard beneath seemed to be holding themselves askance to keep it out of their faces. A tall iron railing protected them from the street, and on the other side of the railing an assemblage of Bostonians were trampling about in the liquid snow. Many of them were looking up and down; they appeared to be waiting for something. From time to time a strange vehicle drew near to the The LYuropean8. place where they stood, such a vehicle as the lady at the window, in spite of a considerable acquaintance with human invention, had never seen before: a huge, low omnibus, painted in brilliant colors, and decorated, apparently, with jangling bells, attached to a species of groove in the pavement, through which it was dragged, with a great deal of rumbling, bouncing, and scratching, by a couple of remarkably small horses. When it reached a certain point the people in front of the grave-yard, of whom much the greater number were women, carry- ing satchels and parcels, projected them- selves upon it in a compact body, a movement suggesting the scramble for places in a life-boat at sea, and were engulfed in its large interior. Then the life-boat or the life-car, as the lady at the window oE the hotel vaguely desig- nated it went bumping and jingling away upon its invisible wheels, with the helmsman (the man at the wheel) guid- ing its course incongruously from the prow. This phenomenon was repeated every three minutes, and the supply of eagerly-moving women in cloaks, bear- ing reticules and bundles, renewed itself in the most liberal manner. On the other side of the grave-yard was a row of small red brick houses, showing a series of homely, domestic-looking backs; at the end opposite the hotel a tall wooden church-spire, painted white, rose high into the vagueness of the snow-flakes. The lady at the window looked at it for some time; for reasons of her own she thought it the ugliest thing she had ever seen. She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation that was quite out of proportion to any sensi- ble motive. She had never known her- self to care so much about church-spires. She was not pretty; but even when it expressed per~exed irritation her face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her first youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of ex- tremely well-fashioned roundness of con- tour, a ~uggestion, in her figure, both of maturity and flexibility, she carried her three and thirty years as a light- wristed Hebe might have carried a brim- ming wine-c up. Her complexion was fatigued, as the French say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, her teeth un- even, her chin rather commonly mod- eled; she had a thick nose, and when she smiled she was constantly smiling the lines beside it rose too high, toward her eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray in color, brilliant, quickly glancing, gently resting, full of intelligence. Her forehead was very low, it was her only handsome feature; and she had a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely friz- zled, which was always braided in a manner that suggested some Southern or Eastern, some remotely foreign woman. She had a large collection of ear-rings, and wore them in alternation; and they seemed to give a point to her Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once been paid her, which, being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure than any- thing she had ever heard. A pretty woman? some one had said. Why, her features are very bad. I dont know about her features, a very dis- cerning observer had answered; but she carries her head like a pretty wom- an. You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head less becom- ingly. She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her eyes. It s too horrible I she exclaimed. I shall go backI shall go back! And she flung herself into a chair before the fire. Wait a little, dear child, said the young man softly, sketching away at his little scraps of paper. The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament, and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate. Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire? she demanded. Did you ever see anything so so aifreux as as everything? She spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French epithet in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using French epithets. I think the fire is very pretty, said 18~8.] 53 54 The .European8. rJuly, the young man, glancing at it a moment. Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson embers, are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an alchemists laboratory. You are too good-natured, my dear, his companion declared. The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side. His tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. Good natured yes. Too good-natured no. You are irritating, said the lady, looking at her slipper. He began to retouch his sketch. I think you mean simply that you are irri- tated. Ah, for that, yes! said his compan- ion, with a little bitter laugh. Its the darkest day of my life, and you know what that means. Wait till to-morrow, rejoined the young man. Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it to-day, there certainly will be none to-morrow. Ce sera clair, au mom! The young man was silent a few mo- ments, driving his pencil. Then at last, There are no such things as mistakes, he affirmed. Very true, for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not to recognize ones mistakes, that would be happiness in life, the lady went on, still looking at her pretty foot. My dearest sister, said the young man, always intent upon his drawing, its the first time you have told me I am not clever. Well, by your own theory I cant call it a mistake, answered his sister, pertinently enough. The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. You, at least, are clever enough, dearest sister, hi~ said. I was not s~ when I proposed this. Was it you who proposed it? asked her brother. She turned her head and gave him a little stare. Do you desire the credit of it? If you like, I will take the blame, he said, looking up with a smile. Yes, she rejoined in a moment, you make no difference in these things. You have no sense of property. The young man gave his joyous laugh again. If that means I have no prop- erty, you are right! Dont joke about your poverty, said his sister. That is quite as vul- gar as to boast about it. My poverty! I have just finished a drawing that will bring me fifty francs! Voyons, said the lady, putting out her hand. He added a touch or two, and then gave her his sketch. She looked at it, but she went on with her idea of a mo- ment before. If a woman were to ask you to marry her you would say, Cer- tainly, my dear, with pleasure! And you would marry her, and be ridiculously happy. Then at the end of three months you would say to her, You know that blissful day when I begged you to be mine! The young man had risen from the table, stretching his arms a little; he walked to the window. That s a description of a charming nature, he said. Oh, yes, you have a charming nat. ure; I regard that as our capital. If I had not been convinced of that I should never have taken the risk of bringing you to this dreadful country. This comical country! this delight- ful country! exclaimed the young man, and he broke into the most animated laughter. Is it those women scrambling into the omnibus? asked his companion. What do you suppose is the attrac- tion? I suppose there is a very good-look- ing man inside, said the young man. In each of them? They come along in hundreds, and the men in this coun- try dont seem at all handsome. As for the women I have never seen so many at once since I left the convent. The women are very pretty, her brother declared, and the whtAe affair is very amusing. I must make a sketch of it. And he came bark to the table quickly, and picked up his utensils, a 1878.] The Europeans. 55 small sketching-board, a sheet of paper, and three or four crayons. He took his place at the window with these things, and stood there glancing out, plying his pencil with an air of easy skill. While he worked he wore a brilliant smile. Brilliant is indeed the word at this mo- ment for his strongly-lighted face. He was eight and twenty years old; he had a short, slight, well-made figure. Though he bore a noticeable resemblance to his sister, he was a better favored person: fair-haired, clear-faced, witty - looking, with a delicate finish of feature and an expression at once urbane and not at all serious, a warm blue eye, an eyebrow finely drawn and excessively arched, an eyebrow which, if ladies wrote son- nets to those of their lovers, might have been made the subject of such a piece of verse, and a light mustache that flour- ished upwards as if blown that way by the breath of a constant smile. There was something in his physiognomy at once benevolent and picturesque. But, as I have hinted, it was not at all seri- ous. The young mans face was, in this respect, singular; it was not at all seri- ous, and yet it inspired the livel~iest con- fidence. Be sure you put in plenty of snow,~~ said his sister. Bont~ divine, what a climate! I shall have the sketch all white, and I shall put in the little figures in black, the young man answered, laugh- ing. And I shall call itwhat is that line in Keats? Mid-Mays Eldest Child! I dont remember, said the lady, that mamma ever told me it was like this. Mamma never told you anything disagreeable. And it s not like this every day. You will see that to-morrow we shall have a splendid day. Quen savez-vous? To-morrow I shall go away.~~ Where shall you go? Anywhere away from here. Back to Silberstadt. I shall write to the reign- ing prince. The young man turned a little and looked at her, with his crayon poised. My dear Eugenia, he murmured, were you so happy at sea? Eugenia got up; she still held in her hand the drawing her brother had given her. It was a bold, expressive sketch of a group of miserable people on the deck of a steamer, clinging together and clutching at each other, while the vessel lurched downward, at a terrific angle, into the hollow of a wave. It was ex- tremely clever, and full of a sort of tragi- comical power. Eugenia dropped her eyes upon it and made a sad grimace. How can you draw such odious scenes? she asked. I should like to throw it into the fire! And she tossed the pa- per away. Her brother watched, quiet- ly, to see where it went. It fluttered down to the floor, where he let it lie. She came toward the window, pinching in her waist. Why dont you reproach me abuse me? she asked. I think I should feel better then. Why dont you tell me that you hate me for bring- ing you here? Because you would nt believe it. I adore you, dear sister! I am delighted to be here, and I am charmed with the pros- pect. I dont know what had taken pos- session of me. I had lost my head, Eu- genia went on. The young man, on his side, went on plying his pencil. It s evidently a most curious and interesting country. Here we are, and I mean to enjoy it. His companion turned away with an impatient step, but presently came back. High spirits are doubtless an excellent thing, she said; but you give one too much of them, and I cant see that they have done you any good. The young man stared, with lifted eyebrows, smiling; he tapped his hand- some nose with his pencil. They have made me happy! That was the least they could do; they have made you nothing else. You have gone through life thanking fortune for such very small favors that she has never put herself to any trouble for you. She must have put herself to a little, I think, to present me with so admirable a sister. The Europeans. Be serious, Felix. You forget that I am your elder. With a sister, then, so elderly! re- joined Felix, laughing. I hoped we had left seriousness in Europe. I fancy you will find it here. Re- member that you are nearly thirty years old, and that you are nothing but an obscure Bohemian, a penniless corre- spondent of an illustrated paper. Obscure as much as you please, but not so much of a Bohemian as you think. And not at all penniless! I have a hun- dred pounds in my pocket; I have an engagement to make fifty sketches, and I mean to paint the portraits of all our cousins, and of all their cousins, at a hun- dred dollars a head. You are not ambitious, said Eu- genia. You are, dear baroness, the young man replied. The baroness was silent a moment, looking out at the sleet-darkened grave- yard and the bumping horse-cars. Yes, I am ambitious, she said at last. And my ambition has brought me to this dreadful place! She glanced about her; the room had a certain vulgar nu- dity, the bed and the window were cur- tainless, and she gave a little passion- ate sigh. Poor old ambition! she exclaimed. Then she flung herself down upon a sofa which stood near against the wall, and covered her face with her hands. Her brother went on with his drawing, rapidly and skillfully; and after some mo- ments he sat down beside her and showed her his sketch. Now, dont you think that s pretty good for an obscure Bohe- mian? he asked. I have knocked off another fifty francs. Eugenia glanced at the little picture as he laid it on her lap. Yes, it is very clever, she said. And in a moment she added, Do you suppose our cousins do that? Do what? Get into those things, and look like that. Felix meditated a while. I really cant say. It will be interesting to dis- cover. Oh, the rich people cant! said the baroness. Are you very sure they are rich? asked Felix, lightly. His sister slowly turned in her place, looking at him. Heavenly powers! she murmured. You have a way of bringing out things! It will certainly be much pleasanter if they are rich, Felix declared. Do you suppose if I had not known they were rich I should ever have come? The young man met his sisters some~ what peremptory eyes with his bright, contented glance. Yes, it certainly will be pleasanter, he repeated. That s all I expect of them, said the baroness. I dont count upon their being clever or friendly, at first, or elegant or interesting. But I assure you I insist upon their being rich. Felix leaned his head upon the back of the sofa, and looked a while at the ob- long patch of sky to which the window served as frame. The snow was ceasing; it seemed to him that the sky had begun to brighten. I count upon their being rich, he said at last, and powerful, and clever, and friendly, and elegant, and interesting, and generally delightful! Tu vas voir. And he bent forward and kissed his sister. Look there! he went on. As a portent, even while I speak, the sky is turning the color of gold; the day is going to be splendid. And indeed, within five minutes the weather had changed. The sun broke out through the snow-clouds and jumped into the baronesss room. Bont~ di- vine, exclaimed this lady, what a cli- mate! We will go out and see the world, said Felix. And after a while they went out. The air had grown warm as well as brilliant; the sunshine had dried the pavements. They walked about the streets at hazard, looking at the people and the houses, the shops and the vehicles, the blazing blue sky and the muddy crossings, the hurrying men and the slow - strolling maidens, the fresh red bricks and the bright green trees, the extraordinary mixture of smartness and shabbiness. 56 [July, The Europeans. From one hour to another the day had grown vernal; even in the bustling streets there was an odor of earth and blossom. Felix was immensely entertained. He had called it a comical country, and he went about laughing at everything he saw. You would have said that Amer- ican civilization expressed itself to his sense in a tissue of capital jokes. The jokes were certainly excellent, and the young mans merriment was very joyous and genial. He possessed what is called the pictorial sense, and this first glimpse of democratic manners stirred the same sort of attention that he would have giv- en to the movements of a lively young person with a bright complexion. Such attention would have been demonstra- tive and complimentary; and in this case Felix might have passed for an undis- pirited young exile revisiting the haunts of his childhood. He kept looking at the violent blue of the sky, at the scintil- lating air, at the scattered and multi- plied patches of color. Comme cest bariol~, eh? he said to his sister in that foreign tongue which they both appeared to feel a mysterious prompting occasionally to use. Yes, it is bariole indeed, the bar- oness answered. I dont like the col- oring; it hurts my eyes. It shows how extremes meet, the young man rejoined. Instead of com- ing to the West we seem to have gone to the East. The way the sky touches the house-tops is just like Cairo; and the red and blue sign-boards patched over the face of everything remind one of Ma- hometan decoration. The young women are not Mahom- etan, said his companion. They cant be said to hide their faces. I never saw anything so bold. Thank Heaven they dont hide their faces! cried Felix. Their faces are uncommonly pretty. Yes, their faces are often very pret- ty, said the baroness, who was a very clever woman. She was too clever a woman not to be capable of a great deal of just and fine observation. She clung more closely than usual to her brothers arm; she was not exhilarated, as he was; she said very little, but she noted a great many things, and made her reflec- tions. She was a little excited; she felt that she had indeed come to a strange country, to make her fortune. Super- ficially, she was conscious of a good deal of irritation and displeasure; the bar- oness was a very delicate and fastidious person. Of old, more than once, she had gone, for entertainments sake and in brilliant company, to a fair in a pro- vincial town. It seemed to her now that she was at an enormous fair, that the entertainment and the d~sagr~ments were very much the same. She found herself alternately smiling and shrinking; the show was very curious, but it was prob- able, from moment to moment, that one would be jostled. The baroness had never seen so many people walking about before; she had never been so mixed up with people she did nt know. But lit- tle by little she felt that this fair was a more serious undertaking. She went with her brother into a large public gar- den, which seemed very pretty, but where she was surprised at seeing no carriages. The afternoon was drawing to a close; the coarse, vivid grass and the slender tree-boles were gilded by the level sunbeams, gilded as with gold that was fresh from the mine. It was the hour at which ladies should come out for an airing and roll past a hedge of pedestrians, holding their parasols askance. Here, however, Eugenia ob- served no indications of this custom, the absence of which was more anoma- lous as there was a charming avenue of remarkably graceful, arching elms in the most convenient contiguity to a large, cheerful street, in which, evidently, among the more prosperous members of the bourgeoisie, a great deal of pedes- trianism went forward. Our friends passed out into this well-lighted prome-~ nade, and Felix noticed a great many more pretty girls, and called his sisters attention to them. This latter measure, however, was superfluous; for the bar- oness had inspected, narrowly, these charming young ladies. I feel an intimate conviction that our cousins are like that, said Felix. 1878.] 57 58 The Europeans. [July, The baroness hoped so, but this is not what she said. They are very pret- ty, she said, but they are mere little girls. Where are the women, the women of thirty? Of thirty-three, do you mean? her brother was going to ask; for he under- stood often both what she said and what she did not say. But he only exclaimed upon the beauty of the sunset, while the baroness, who had come to seek her fortune, reflected that it would certainly be well for her if the persons against whom she might need to measure herself were all mere little girls. The sunset was superb; they stopped to look at it; Felix declared that he had never seen such a gorgeous mixture of colors. The baroness also thought it splendid; and she was perhaps the more easily pleased from the fact that while she stood there she was conscious of much admiring ob- servation on the part of various nice- looking people who passed that way, and to whom a distinguished, strikingly- dressed woman with a foreign air, ex- claiming upon the beauties of nature on a Boston street corner in the French tongue, could not be an object of indif- ference. Eugenias spirits rose. She surrendered herself to a certain tranquil gayety. If she had come to seek her fortune, it seemed to her that her fortune would be easy to find. There was a promise of it in the gorgeous purity of the western sky; there was an intima- tion in the mild, unimpertinent gaze of the passers of a certain natural facility in things. You will not go back to Silberstadt, eh? asked Felix. Not to-morrow, said the baroness. Nor write to the reigning prince? I shall write to him that they evi- dently know nothing about him over here. He will not believe you, said the young man. I advise you to let him alone. Felix himself continued to be in high good humor. Brought up among ancient customs and in picturesque cities, he yet found plenty of local color in the little Puritan metropolis. That evening, after dinner, he told his sister that he should go forth early on the morrow to look up their cousins. You are very impatient, said Eu- genia. What can be more natural, he asked, after seeing all those pretty girls to-day? If one s cousins are of that pattern, the sooner one knows them the better. Perhaps they are not, said Euge- ma. We ought to have brought some letters to some other people. The other people would nt be our kinsfolk. Possibly they would be none the worse for that, the baroness replied. Her brother looked at her with his eyebrows lifted. That was not what you said when you first proposed to me that we should come out here and fra- ternize with our relatives. You said that it was the prompting of natural af- fection; and when I suggested some rea- sons against it you declared that the voix du sang should go before everything. You remember all that? asked the baroness. Vividly! I was greatly moved by it. She was walking up and down the room, as she had done in the morning; she stopped in her walk and looked at her brother. She apparently was going to say something, but she checked her- self and resumed her walk. Then, in a few moments, she said something differ- ent, which had the effect of an expla- nation of the suppression of her earlier thought. You will never be anything but a child, dear brother. One would suppose that you, mad- am, answered Felix, laughing, were a thousand years old. I am sometimes, said the baron- ess. I will go, then, and announce to our cousins the arrival of a personage so extraordinary. They will immediately come and pay you their respects. Eugenia paced the length of the room again, and then she stopped before her brother, laying her hand upon his arm. They are not to come and see ~ 1878.] The .European8. 59 she said. You are not to allow that. That is not the way I shall meet them first. And in answer to his interroga- tive glance she went on. You will go and examine, and report. You will come back and tell me who they are and what they are; their number, gender, their respective ages, all about them. Be sure you observe everything; be ready to describe to me the locality, the acces- sories, how shall I say it? the mise en sc~ne. Then, at my own time, at my own hour, under circumstances of my own choosing, I will go to them. I will present myself I will appear before them!. said the baroness, this time phrasing her idea with a certain frank- ness. And what message am I to take to them? asked Felix, who had a lively faith in the justness of his sisters ar- rangements. She looked at hini a moment, at his expression of agreeable veracity; and, with that justness that he admired, she replied, Say what you please. Tell my story in the way that seems to you most natural. And she bent her forward for him to kiss. II. The next day was splendid, as Felix had prophesied; if the winter had sud- denly leaped into spring, the spring had for the moment as quickly leaped into summer. This was an observation made by a young girl who came out of a large square house in the country, and strolled about in the spacious garden which sep- arated it from a muddy road. The flow- ering shrubs and the neatly - disposed plants were basking in the abundant light and warmth; the transparent shade of the great elms they were magnificent treesseemed to thicken by the hour;, and the intensely habitual stillness of- fered a submissive medium to the soun(l of a distant church-bell. The young girl listened to the church-bell; but she was not dressed for church. She was bare-headed; she wore a white muslin waist, with an embroidered border, and the skirt of her dress was of colored mus- lin. She was a young lady of some three or four and twenty years of age, and though a young person of her sex walk- ing bare-headed in a garden, of a Sun- day morning in spring.time, can, in the nature of things, never be a displeasing object, you would not have pronounced this innocent Sabbath-breaker especially pretty. She was tall and pale, thin and a little awkward; her hair was fair and perfectly straight; her eyes were dark, and they had the singularity of seeming at once dull and restless, differing herein, as you see, fatally from the ideal fine eyes, which we always imagine to be both brilliant and tranquil. The doors and windows of the large square house were all wide open, to admit the purifying sunshine, which lay in generous patches upon the floor of a wide, high, covered piazza adjusted to two sides of the mansion, a piazza on which sev- eral straw-bottomed rocking-chairs and half a dozen of those small cylindrical stools in green and blue porcelain, which suggest an affiliation between the resi- dents and the Eastern trade, were sym- metrically disposed. It was an ancient house, ancient in the sense of being eighty years old; it was built of wood, painted a clean, clear, faded gray, and adorned along the front, at intervals, with flat wooden pilasters painted white. These pilasters appeared to support a kind of classic pediment, which was dec- orated in the middle by a large triple window in a rudely carved frame, and in each of its smaller angles by a glazed circular aperture. A large white door, furnished with a highly - polished brass knocker, presented itself to the rural- looking road, with which it was connect- ed by a spacious pathway, paved with worn and cracked, but very clean bricks. Behind it there were meadows and or- chards, a pond and a barn; and facing it, a short distance along the road, on the opposite side, stood a smaller house, painted white, with external shutters painted green, a little garden on one hand and an orchard on the other. All this was shining in the morning air, through which the simple details of the 60 The Europeans. [July, picture addressed themselves to the eye as distinctly as the items of a sum~~ in addition. A second young lady presently came out of the house, across the piazza, de- scended into the garden, and approached the young girl of whom I have spoken. This second young lady was also thin and pale; but she was older than the other, she was shorter; she had dark, smooth hair. Her eyes, unlike the oth- ers, were quick and bright; but they were not at all restless. She wore a straw bonnet with white ribbons, and a long red India scarf, which, on the front of her dress, reached to her feet. In her hand she carried a little key. Gertrude, she said, are you very sure you had better not go to church? Gertrude looked at her a moment, plucked a small sprig from a lilac-bush, smelled it, and threw it away. I am not very sure of anything! she an- swered. The other young lady looked straight past her, at the distant pond, which lay shining between the long banks of fir- trees. Then she said in a very soft voice, This is the key of the dining- room closet. I think you had better have it, if any one should want any- thing. Who is there to want anything? Gertrude demanded. I shall be all alone in the house. Some one may come, said her com- panion. Do you mean Mr. Brand? Yes, Gertrude. He may like a piece of cake. I dont like men that are always eat- ing cake! Gertrude de& lared, giving a pull at the lilac-bush. Her companion glanced at her, and theti looked down on the ground. I think father expected you would come to church, she said. What shall I say to him? Say I have a bad headache. Would that be true? asked the elder lady, looking straight at the pond again. No, Charlotte, said the younger one simply. Charlotte transferred her quiet eyes to her companions face. I am afraid you are feeling restless. I am feeling as I always feel, Ger- trude replied, in the same tone. Charlotte turned away; but she stood there a moment. Presently she looked down at the front of her dress. Does nt it seem to you, somehow, as if my scarf were too long? she asked. Gertrude walked half round her, look- ing at the scarf. I dont think you wear it right, she said. How should I wear it, dear? I dont know; differently from that. You should draw it differently over you.r shoulders round your elbows; you should look differently behind. How should I look? Charlotte in- quired. I dont think I can tell you, said Gertrude, drawing out the scarf a little behind. I could do it myself, but I dont think I can explain it. Charlotte, by a movement of her el- bows, corrected the laxity that had come from her companions touch. Well, some day you must do it for me. It does nt matter now. Indeed, I dont think it matters, she added, how one looks behind. I should say it mattered more, said Gertrude. Then you dont know who may be observing you. You are not on your guard. You cant try to look pretty. Charlotte received this declaration with extreme gravity. I dont think one should ever try to look pretty, she rejoined, earnestly. Her companion was silent. Then she said, Well, perhaps it s not of much use. Charlotte looked at her a little, and then kissed her. I hope you will be better when we come back. My dear sister, I am very well! said Gertrude. Charlotte went down the large brick walk to the garden gate; her companion. strolled slowly toward the house. At the gate Charlotte met a young man, who was coming in, a tall, fair young man, wearing a high hat and a pair of 1/he Europeans. thread gloves. He was handsome, but rather too stout. He had a pleasant smile. Oh, Mr. Brand! exclaimed the young lady. I came to see whether your sister was not going to ehurch, said the young man. She says she is not going; but I am very glad you have come. I think if you were to talk to her a little . . . And Charlotte lowered her voice. It seems as if she were restless. Mr. Brand smiled down on the young lady from his great height. I shall be very glad to talk to her. For that I should be willing to absent myself from almost any occasion of worship, however attractive. Well, I suppose you know, said Charlotte, softly, as if positive accept- ance of this proposition might be dan- gerous. But I am afraid I shall be late. I hope you will have a pleasant ser- mon, said the young man. Oh, Mr. Gilpin is always pleasant, Charlotte answered. And she went on her way. Mr. Brand went into the garden; where Gertrude, hearing the gate close behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him coming; then she turned away. But almost im- mediately she corrected this movement, and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead, as he approached. Then he put on his hat again, and held out his hand. His hat being removed, you would hive per- ceived that his forehead was very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless. His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for all this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking appearance. The expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentle and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The young girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his thread gloves. I hoped you were going to church, he said. I wanted to walk with you. I am very much obliged to you, Gertrude answered. I am not going to church. She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. Have you any special reason for not going? Yes, Mr. Brand, said the young girl. May I ask what it is? She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something sweet and sug- gestive. Because the sky is so blue! she said. He looked at the sky, which was mag- nificent, and then said, smiling too, I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but never for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are depressed, he added. Depressed? I am never depressed. Oh, surely, sometimes, replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a regrettable account of ones self. I am never depressed, Gertrude repeated. But I am sometimes wicked. When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my sister. What did you do to her? I said things that puzzled her on purpose. Why did you do that, Miss Ger- trude? asked the young man. She began to smile again. Because the sky is so blue! You say things that puzzle me, Mr. Brand declared. I always know when I do it, pro- ceeded Gertrude. But people puzzle me more, I think. And they dont seem to know! This is very interesting, Mr. Brand observed, smiling. You told me to tell you about my my struggles, the young girl went on. Let us talk about them. I have so many things to say. Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, You had better go to church, she said. You know, the young man urged; that I have always one thing to say. 1878.] 431 62 The Europeans. [July, Gertrude looked at him a moment. Please dont say it now! We are all alone, he continued, taking off his hat; all alone in this beautiful Sunday stillness.~~ Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her irregularities. That s the reason, she said, why I dont want you to speak. Do me a favor: go to church. May I speak when I come back? asked Mr. Brand. If you are still disposed, she an- swered. I dont know whether you are wicked, he said, but you are certain- ly puzzling. She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears. He looked at her a moment, and then he slowly walked to church. She wandered for a while about the garden, vaguely and without purpose. The church-bell had stopped ringing; the stillness was complete. This young lady relished highly, on occasions, the sense of being alone, the absence of the whole family and the emptiness of the house. To-day, apparently, the serv- ants had also gone to church: there was never a figure at the open windows; be- hind the house there was no stout ne- gress in a red turban lowering the buck- et into the great shingle-hooded well. And the front door of the big, unguard- ed home stood open, with the trustful- ness of the golden age; or, what is more to the purpose, with that of New En~ glands silvery prime. Gertrude slowly passed through it, and went from one of the empty rooms to the other large, clear-colored rooms, with white wain- scots, ornamented with thin-legged ma- hogany furniture, and, on the walls, with old - fashioned engravings, chiefly of scriptural subjects, hung very high. This agreeable sense of solitude, of hav- ing the house to herself, of which I have spoken, always excited Gertrudes im- agination; she could not have told you why, and neither can her humble histo- rian. It always seemed td her that she must do something particular, that she must honor the occasion; and while she roamed about, wondering what she could do, the occasion usually came to an end. To-day she wondered more than ever. At last she took down a book; there was no library in the house, but there were books in all the rooms. None of them were forbidden books, and Gertrude had not stopped at home for the sake of a chance to climb to the inaccessible shelves. She possessed herself of a very obvious volume, one of the series of the Arabian Nights, and she brought it out into the portico and sat down with it in her lap. There, for a quarter of an hour, she read the history of the loves of the Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura. At last, looking up, she beheld, as it seemed to her, the Prince Camaraizaman standing before her. A beautiful young man was mak- ing her a very low bow, a magnificent bow, such as she had never seen before. He appeared to have dropped from the clouds; he was wonderfully handsome; he smiled, smiled as if he were smiling on purpose. Extreme surprise, for a moment, kept Gertrude sitting still; then she rose, without even keeping her fin. ger in her book. The young man, with his hat in his hand, still looked at her, smiling and smiling. It was very strange. Will you kindly tell me, said the mysterious visitor, at last, whether I have the honor of speaking to Miss Went.- worth? My name is Gertrude Wentworth, murmux~d the young woman. Then then I have the honor the pleasure of being your cousin. The young man had so much the character of an apparition that this ati- nouncement seemed to complete his un- reality. What cousin Who are you? said Gertrude. He stepped back a few paces and looked up at the house; then glanced round him at the garden and the distant view. After this he burst out laughing. I see it must seem to you very strange, he said. There was, after all, something substantial in his laugh~ ter. Gertrude looked at him from head The .RYu~ropean8. to foot. Yes, he was remarkably hand- some; but his smile was almost a gri- mace. It is very still, he went on, coming nearer again. And as she only looked at him, for reply, he added, Are you all alone? Every one has gone to church, said Gertrude. I was afraid of that! the young man exclaimed. But I hope you are not afraid of me. You ought to tell me who you are,~~ Gertrude answered. I am afraid of you! said the young man. I had a different plan. I ex- pected the servant would take in my card, and that you would put your heads together, before admitting me, and make out my identity. Gertrude had been wondering with a quick intensity which brought its result; and the result seemed an answer a wondrous, delightful answer to her vague wish that something would befall her then and there. I know I know, she said. You come from Europe. ~ We came two days ago. You have heard of us, then, you believe in us? We have known, vaguely, said. Gertrude, that we had relations in France. And have you ever wanted to see us? asked the young man. Gertrude was silent a moment. I have wanted to see you. I am glad, then, it is you I have found. We wanted to see you, so we came. On purpose? asked Gertrude. The young man looked round him, smiling still. Well, yes; on purpose. Does that sound as if we should bore you? he added. I dont think we shall, I really dont think we shall. We are rather fond of wandering, too; and we were glad of a pretext. And you have just arrived? In Boston, two days ago. At the inn I asked for Mr. Wentworth. He must be your father. They found out for me where he lived; they seemed oft- en to have heard of him. I determined to come, without ceremony. So, this lovely morning, they set my face in the right direction, and told me to walk straight before me, out of town. I came on foot because I wanted to see the coun- try. I walked and walked, and here I am! It s a good many miles. It s seven miles and a half, said Gertrude, softly. Now that this hand- some young man was proving himself a reality she found herself vaguely trem- bling; she was deeply excited. She had never in her life spoken to a foreigner, and she had often thought it would be delightful to do so. Here was ~ne who had suddenly been engendered by the Sabbath stilla for her private use; and such a brilliant, polite, smiling one! She found time and means to compose herself, however; to remind herself that she must exercise a sort of official hos- pitality. We are very very glad to .see you, she said. Wont you come into the house? And she moved to- ward the open door. You are not afraid of me, then? asked the young man again, with his light laugh. She wondered a moment, and then, We are not afraidhere, she said. Ah, comme vous devez avoir rai- son! cried the young man, looking all round him, appreciatively. It was the first time that Gertrude had heard so many words of French spoken. They gave her something of a sensation. Her companion followed her, watching, with a certain excitement of his own, this tall, interesting-looking girl, dressed ia her clear, crisp muslins. He paused in the hall, where there was a broad white staircase with a white balustrade. What a pleasant house! he said. It s lighter inside than it is out. It s pleasanter here, said Gertrude, and she led the way into the parlor, a high, clean, rather empty-looking room. Here they stood looking at each other, the young man smiling more than ever, Gertrude, very serious, trying to smile. I dont believe you know my name, he said. I am called Felix Young. Your father is my uncle. My mother was his half sister, and older than he. 1878.] 63 like Europeans. Yes, said Gertrude, and she turned Roman Catholic, and married in Europe. I see you know, said the young man. She married, and she died. Your fathers family did nt like her hus- band. They called him a foreigner; but he was not. My poor father was born in Sicily, but his parents were American. In Sicily? Gertrude murmured. It is true, said Felix Young, that they had spent their lives in Europe. But they were very patriotic. And so are we. And you are Sicilian, said Ger- trude. Sicilian, no! Lets see. I was born at a little place a dear little place in France. My sister was born in Vienna.~~ So you are French, said Gertrude. Heaven forbid! cried the young man. Gertrudes eyes were fixed upon him almost insistently. He began to laugh again. I can easily be French, if that will please you. You are a foreigner of some sort, said Gertrude. Of some sort yes; I suppose so. But who can say of what sort? I dont think we have ever had occasion to set- tle the question. You know there are people like that. About their country, their religion, their profession, they cant tell. Gertrude stood there gazing; she had not asked him to sit down. She had never heard of people like that; she wanted to hear. Where do you live? she asked. They cant tell that, either! said Felix. I am afraid you will think they are little better than vagabonds. I have lived anywhere everywhere. I really think I have lived in every city in Eu- rope. Gertrude gave a little, long, soft exhalation. It made the young man smile at her again; and his smile made her blush a little. To take refuge from blushing she asked him if, after his long walk, he was not hungry or thirsty. Her hand was in her pocket; she was fumbling with the little key that her sis ter had given her. Ah, my dear young lady, he said, clasping his hands a little, if you could give me, in char- ity, a glass of wine.~~ Gertrude gave a smile and a little nod, and went quickly out of the room. Pres- ently she came back with a very large decanter in one hand and a plate in the other, on which was placed a big, round cake with a frosted top. Gertrude, in taking the cake from the closet, had had a moment of acute consciousness that it composed the refection of which her sister had thought that Mr. Brand would like to partake. Her kinsman from across the seas was looking at the pale, high-hung engravings. When she came in he turned and smiled at her, as if they had been old friends meeting after a separation. You wait upon me your- self? he asked. lam served like the gods! She had waited upon a great many people, but none of them had ever told her that. The observation added a certain lightness to the step with which she went to a little table where there were some curious red glasses, glasses covered with little gold sprigs, which Charlotte used to dust every morning with her own hands. Gertrude thought the glasses very hand- some, and it was a pleasure to her to know that the wine was good; it was her fathers famous madeira. Felix Young thought it excellent; he won- dered why he had been told that there was no wine in America. She cut him an immense triangle out of the cake, and again she thought of Mr. Brand. Felix sat there, with his glass in one hand and his huge morsel of cake in the other, eating, drinking, smiling, talk- ing. I am very hungry, he said. I am not at all tired; I am never tired. But I am very hungry. You must stay to dinner, said Ger- trude. At two. oclock. They will all have come back from church; you will see the others. Who are the others? asked the young man. Describe them all. You will see for yourself. It is you that must tell me; now, about your sis- ter. 64 The Europeans. My sister is the Baroness Miinster, said Felix. On hearing that his sister was a bar- oness, Gertrude got up and walked about slowly, in front of him. She was silent a moment. She was thinking of it. Why did nt she come, too? she asked. She did come; she is in Boston, at the hotel. We will go and see her, said Ger- trude, looking at him. She begs you will not! the young man replied. She sends you her love; she sent me to announce her. She will come and pay her respects to your fa- ther. Gertrude felt herself trembling again. A Baroness Miluster, who sent a brill- iant young man to announce her; who was coming, as the Queen of Sheba came to Solomon, to pay her respects to quiet Mr. Wentworth, suck a per- sonage presented herself to Gertrudes vision with a most effective unexpected- ness. For a moment she hardly knew what to say. When will she come? she asked at last. As soon as you will allow her, to- morrow. She is very impatient, an- swered Felix, who wished to be agreea- ble. To-morrow, yes, said Gertrude. She wished to ask more about her; but she hardly knew what could be predicat- ed of a.Baroness Miinster. Is she is sbemarried? Felix had finished his cake and wine; he got up, fixing upon the young girl his bright, expressive eyes. She is married to a German prince, Prince Adolf, of Silberstadt-Schreckenstein. He is not the reigning prince; he is a younger brother. Gertrude gazed at her informant; her lips were slightly parted. Is she a a princess? she asked at last. Oh, no, said the young man; her position is rather a singular one. Its a morganatic marriage. Morganatic? These were new names and new words to poor Gertrude. Thats what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a scion of VOL. XLII. NO. 249. 5 a ruling house and and a common mor- tal. They made Eu~enia a baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to dissolve the mar- riage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Euge- nia, naturally enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares much, she s a very clever woman; I m sure you 11 like her, but she wants to bother them. Just now everything is en lair. The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently the one that was uppermost found words. They want to dissolve her marriage? she asked. So it appears. And against her will? Against her right. She must be very unhappy! said Gertrude. Her visitor looked at her, smilin~ he raised his hand to the back of his head and held it there a moment. So she says, he answered. That s her story. She told me to tell it you. Tell me more, said Gertrude. No, I will leave that to her; she does it better. Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. Well, if she s unhappy, she said, lam glad she has come to us. She had been so interested that she failed to notice the sound of a footstep in the portico; and yet it was a footstep that she always recognized. She heard it in the ball, and then she looked out of the window. They were all coming back from church, her father, her sis- ter and brother, and their cousins, who always came to dinner on Sunday. Mr. Brand had come in first; he was in ad- vance of the others, because, apparently, he was still disposed to say what she had not wished him to say an hour before. He came into the parlor, looking for Ger- trude. He had two little books in his 1878.] 65 66 The European8. [July, hand. On seeing Gertrudes companion he slowly stopped, looking at him. Is this a cousin? asked Felix. Then Gertrude saw that she must in- troduce him; but her ears, and, by sym- pathy, her lips were full of all that he had been telling her. This is the Prince, she said, the Prince of Sil- berstadt-Schreckenstein! Felix burst out laughing, and Mr. Brand stood staring, while the others, who had passed into the house, appeared, behind him, in the open door-way. :111. That evening, at dinner, Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness Miinster, an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in the highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a reason for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her broth- ers judgment; his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to vul- garize one of the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could be trusted to give her the mere facts; and she invited him, with some eagerness, to communicate them. I suppose, at least, they did nt turn you from the door, she said. You have been away some ten hours. Turn me from the door! Felix ex- claimed. They took me to their hearts; they killed the fatted calf. I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels. Exactly, said Felix. They are a collection of angels, simply. Cest bien vague, remarked the baroness. What are they like? Like nothing you ever saw. Im sure I am much obliged; but that s hardly more definite. Seriously, they were glad to see you? Enchanted. It has been the proud- est day of my life. Never, never have I been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister, said the young man, nous navons qu~s nous tenir; we shall be great swells! Madame Miinster looked at him, and her eye exhibited a slight responsive spark. She touched her lips to a glass of wine, and then she said, Describe theni. Give me a picture. Felix drained his own glass. Well, it s in the country, among the meadows and woods; a wild sort of place, and yet not far from here. Only, such a road, my dear! Imagine one of the Alpine glaciers reproduced in mud. But you will not spend much time on it, for they want you to come and stay, once for all. Ab, said the baroness, they want me to come and stay, once for all? Bon. It s intensely rural, tremendously natural; and all overhung with this strange white light, this far-away blue sky. There s a big wooden house, a kind of three-story bungalow; it looks like a magnified Niiremberg toy. There was a gentleman there that made a speech to me about it and called it a venerable mansion; but it looks as if it had been built last night. Is it handsome is it elegant? asked the baroness. Felix looked at her a moment, smil- ing. Its very clean! No splendors, no gilding, no troops of servants; rather straight-backed chairs. But you might eat off the floors, and you can sit down on the stairs. That must be a privilege. And the inhabitants are straight-backed too, of course. My dear sister, said Felix, the inhabitants are charming. In what style? In a style of their own. How shall I describe it? Its primitive; it s patri- archal; its the ton of the golden age. And have they nothing golden but their ton? Are there no symptoms of wealth? I should say there was wealth with- out symptoms. A plain, homely way of life; nothing for show, and very little for what shall I call it? for the senses; but a great aisance, and a lot of money, out of sight, that comes forward very quietly for subscriptions to institutions, for repairing tenements, for paying doc- tors bills; perhaps even for portioning daughters. The Europeans. And the daughters? Madame Miinster demanded. How many are there? There are two, Charlotte and Ger- trude. . Are they pretty? One of them, said Felix. Which is that? The young man was silent, looking at his sister. Charlotte, he said at last. She looked at him in return. I see. You are in love with Gertrude. They must be Puritans to their finger-tips; anything but gay! No, they are not gay, Felix ad- mitted. They are sober; they are even severe. They are of a pensive cast; they take things hard. I think there is something the matter with them; they have some melancholy memory or some depressing expectation. It s not the ep- icurean temperament. My uncle, Mr. Wentworth, is a tremendously high-toned old fellow; he looks as if he were under- going martyrdom, not by fire, hut by freezing. But we shall cheer them up; we shall do them good. They will take a good deal of stirring up; hut they are wonderfully kind and gentle. And they are appreciative. They think one clever; they think one remarkable! That is very fine, so far as it goes, said the baroness. But are we to he shut up to these three people, Mr. Wentworth and the two young women, what did you say their names were, Deborah and Hephzibah? Oh, no; there is another little girl, a cousin of theirs, a very pretty creat- ure; a thorough little American. And then there s the son of the house. Good, said the baroness. We are coming to the gentlemen. What of the son of the house? I am afraid he gets tipsy. He, then, has the epicurean temper- ament! How old is he? He s a boy of twenty; a pretty young fellow, but I am afraid he has vulgar tastes. And then there is Mr. Brand, a very tall young man, a sort of lay-priest. They seem to think a good deal of him, but I dont exactly make him out. And is there nothing, asked the baroness, between these extremes, this mysterious ecclesiastic and that in- temperate youth? Oh, yes; there is Mr. Acton; I think, said the young man, with a nod at his sister, that you will like Mr. Acton. Remember that I am very fastid- ious, said the baroness. Has he good manners? He will have them with you. He is a man of the world; he has been to China. Madame Miinster gave a little laugh. A man of the Chinese world! He must be very interesting. I have an idea that he brought home a fortune, said Felix. That is always interesting. Is he young, good-looking, clever? He is less than forty; he has a bald head; he says witty things. I rather think, added the young man, that he will admire the Baroness Miinster. It is very possible, said this lady. Her brother never knew how she would take things; but shortly afterwards she declared that he had made a very pretty description, and that on the morrow she should go and see for herself. They mounted, accordingly, into a great barouche, a vehicle as to which the baroness found nothing to criticise but the price that was asked for it, and the fact that the coachman wore a straw hat. (At Silberstadt Madame Miinster had~had liveries of yellow and crimson.) They drove into the country, and the baroness, leaning far back and swaying her lace-fringed parasol, looked to right and to left, and surveyed the way-side objects. After a while she pronounced them aifreux. Her brother remarked that it was apparently a country in which the foreground was inferior to the plans recules; and the baroness rejoined that the landscape seemed to be all fore- ground. Felix had fixed with his new friends the hour at which he should bring his sister; it was four oclock in the afternoon. The large, clean-faced house wore, to his eyes, as the barouche drove up to it, a very friendly aspect; the high, slender elms made lengthening 1878.] 67 The Europeans. shadows in front of it. The baroness descended; her American kinsfolk were stationed in the portico. Felix waved his hat to them, and a tall, lean gentle- man, with a high forehead and a clean- shaven face, came forward toward the garden gate. Charlotte Wentworth walked at his side; Gertrude came be- hind, more slowly. Both of these young ladies wore rustling silk dresses. Felix ushered his sister into the gate. Be very gracious, he said to her. But he saw the admonition was superfluous. Eugenia was prepared to be gracious as only Eugenia could be. Felix knew no keener pleasure than to be able to ad- mire his sister unrestrictedly; for if the opportunity was frequent, it was not in- veterate. When she desired to please she was to him, as to every one else, the most charming woman in the world. Then be forgot that she was ever any- thing else; that she was sometimes hard and perverse; that he was occasionally afraid of her. Now, as she took his arm to pass into the garden, he felt that she desired, that she proposed, to please, and this situation made him very happy. She would please, triumphantly. The tall gentleman came to meet her, lookin~ very rigid and grave. But it was a rigidity, a gravity, that had no il- liberal meaning. Mr. Wentworths man- ner was pregnant, on the contrary, with a sense of grand responsibility, of the solemnity of the occasion, of its being difficult to show sufficient deference to a lady at once so distinguished and so un- happy. Felix had observed on the day before his characteristic pallor; and now he perceived that there was something almost cadaverous in his uncles high- featured white face. But so clever were this young man s quick sympathies and perceptions that he had already learned tbat in those half-mortuary manifesta- tions there was no cause for alarm. His light imagination had gained a glimpse of Mr. Wentworths spiritual mechanism, and taught him that, the old man being infinitely conscientious, the special oper- ation of conscience within him announced itself by several of the indications of physical faintness. The baroness took her uncles hand, and stood looking at him with her ugly face and her beautiful smile. Have I done right to come? she asked. Very right, very right, said Mr. Wentworth, solemnly. He had arranged in his mind a little speech; but now it quite faded away. He felt almost fright- ened. He had never been looked at in just that way with just that fixed, in- tense smile by any woman; and it per- plexed and weighed upon him, now, that the woman who was smiling so, and who had instantly given him a vivid sense of her possessing other unprecedented attri- butes, was his own niece, the child of his own fathers daughter. The idea that his niece should be a German bar- oness, married morganatically to a prince, had already given him much to think about. Was it right, was it just, was it acceptable? He always slept badly, and the night before he had lain awake much more even than usual, ask- ing himself these questions. The strange word morganatic was constantly in his ears; it reminded him of a certain Mrs. Morgan whom he had once known, and who had been a bold, unpleasant wom- an. He had a feeling that it was his duty, so long as the baroness looked at him, smiling in that way, to meet her glance with his own scrupulously adjust- ed, consciously frigid organs of vision; but on this occasion he failed to perform his duty to the last. He looked away toward his daughters. We are very glad to see you, he had said. Allow me to introduce my daughters, Miss Charlotte Wentworth, Miss Gertrude Wentworth. The baroness thought she had never seen people less demonstrative. But Charlotte kissed her and took her hand, looking at her sweetly and solemnly. Gertrude seemed to her almost funereal, though Gertrude might have found a source of gayety in the fact that Felix, with his magnificent smile, had been talking to her; he had greeted her as a very old friend. When she kissed the baroness she had tears in her eyes. Madame Mijaster took each of these young women by the hand, and looked 68 The Europeans. at them all over. Charlotte thought her very strange-looking and singularly dressed; she could not have said wheth- er it was well or ill. She was glad, at any rate, that they had put on their silk gowns, especially Gertrude. My cousins are very pretty, said the bar- oness, turning her eyes from one to the other. Your daughters are very hand- some, sir. Charlotte blushed quickly; she had never yet heard her personal appearance alluded to in a loud, expressive voice. Gertrude looked away, not at Felix; she was extremely pleased. It was not the compliment that pleascd her; she did nt believe it; she thought herself very plain. She could hardly have told you the source of her satisfaction; it came from something in the way the bar- oness spoke, and it was not diminished it was rather deepened, oddly enouc~h by the young girls disbelief. Mr. Wentworth was silent; and then he asked, formally, Wont you come into the house? These are not all; you have some other children, said the baroness. I have a son, Mr. Wentworth an- swered. And why does nt he come to meet me? Eiigenia cried. I m afraid he is not so charmin, as his sisters. I dont know; I will see about it, the old man declared. He is rather afraid of ladies, Char- lotte said, softly. He is very handsome! said Ger- trude, ~s loud as she could. We will go in and find him. We will draw him out of his cacliette. And the baroness took Mr. Wentworths arm, who was not aware that he had offered it to her, and who, as they walked to- ward the house, wondered whether he ought to have offered it, and whether it was proper for her to take it if it had not been offered. I want to know you well, said the baroness, interrupting these meditations, and I want you to know ~ It seems natural that we should know each otb.er, Mr. Wentworth re- joined. We are near relatives. Ah, there comes a moment in life when one reverts, irresistibly, to ones natural ties, to ones natural affec- tions. You must have found that! said Eugenia. Mr. Wentworth had been told the day before by Felix that Eugenia was very clever, very brilliant, and the in- formation had held him in some suspense. This was the cleverness, he supposed; the brilliancy was beginning. Yes, the natural affections are very strong, he murmured. In some people, the baroness de- clared. Not in all. Charlotte was walking beside her; she took hold of her hand again, smiling always. And you, cousine, where did you get that enchant- ing complexion? she went on; such lilies and roses? The roses in poor Charlottes countenance began speedily to predominate over the lilies, and she quickened her step and reached the por- tico. This is the country of complex- ions, the baroness continued, address- ing herself to Mr. Wentworth. I am convinced they are more delicate. There are very good ones in England, in Hol- land; but they are very apt to be coarse. There is too much red. I think you will find, said Mr. Wentworth, that this country is supe- rior in many respects to those you men- tion. I have been to England and Hol- land. Ah, you have been to Europe? cried the baroness. Why did nt you come and see me? But it s better, after all, this way, she said. They were en- tering the house; she paused and looked round her. I see you have arranged your house your beautiful house in the in the Dutch taste! The house is very old, remarked Mr. Wentworth. General Washing- ton once spent a week here. Oh, I have beard of Washington, cried the baroness. My father used to tell me of him. Mr. Wentworth was silent a moment, and then, I found he was very well known in Europe, he said. Felix had lingered in the garden with Gertrude; he was standing before her 1878.] 69 The Europeans. and smiling, as he had done the day be- fore. What had happened the day be- fore seemed to her a kind of dream. He had been there, and he had changed everything; the others had seen him, they had talked with him; but that he should come a~ain, that he should be part of the future, part of her small, familiar, much-meditating life, this needed, afresh, the evidence of her senses. The evidence had come to her senses now; and her senses seemed to rejoice in it. What do you think of Eu,,enia? Felix asked. Isnt she charming? She is very brilliant, said Gertrude. But I cant tell yet. She seems to me like a sin er singin an air. You cant tell till the son~ is done. Ah, the song will never be done! exclaimed the young man, laughing. Dont you think her handsome? Gertrude had been disappointed in the beauty of the Baroness Miluster; she had expected her, for mysterious reasons, to resemble a very pretty portrait of the Empress Josephine, of which there hung an engraving in one of the parlors, and which the youn~er Miss Wentworth had always greatly admired. But the baroness was not at all like that, not at all. Though different, however, she was very wonderful, and Gertrude felt herself most suggestively corrected. It was strange, nevertheless, that Felix should speak in that positive way about his sisters beauty. I think I shall think her handsome, Gertrude said. . It must be very interesting to know her. I dont feel as if I ever could. Ah, you will know her well; you will become great friends, Felix de- clared, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. She is very graceful, said Gertrude, looking after the baroness, suspended to her fathers arm. It was a pleasure to her to say that any one was graceful. Felix had been looking about him. And your little cousin, of yesterday, he said, who was so wonderfully pret- ty, what has become of her? She is in the parlor, Gertrude answered. Yes, she is very pretty. She felt as if it were her duty to take him straight into the house, to where he might be near her cousin. But after hesitating a moment she lingered still. I did nt believe you would come back, she said. Not comeback! cried Felix,laugh inr. You did nt know, then, the im- pression made upon this susceptible heart of mine. She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made. Well,she said, I didnt think we should ever see you again. And pray what did you think would become of me? I dont know. I thought you would melt away. That s a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often, said Felix, but there is always something left of me. :1 came and waited for you by the door, because the others did, Gertrude went on. But if you had never ap- peared I should not have been surprised. I hope, declared Felix, looking at her, that you would have been dis- appointed. She looked at him a little, and shook herhead. Nono! Ah, par exemple! cried tjie young man. You deserve that I should never leave you. Going into the parlor they found Mr. Wentworth performing introductions. A young man was standing before the baroness, blushing a good deal, laughing a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a slim, mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged feat- ures, like those of Mr. Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their seats, and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remnrka- bly pretty young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while her~ fingers quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the baroness. And what is your sons name? said Eugenia, smiling at the young man. My name is Clifford Wentworth, maam, he said in a tremulous voice. Why did nt you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth? the TO 18Th.] baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile. I didnt think you would want me, said the young man, slowly sidling about. One always wants a beau cousen, if one has one! But if you are very nice to me in future I wont remember it against you. And Madame Miinster transferred her smile to the other persons present. It rested first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not to prolong an anomalous situ- ation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name; Eugenia gave him a very charm- ing glance, and then looked at the other gentleman. This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature and the usual weight, with a quick, observ- ant, agreeable dark eye, a small quan- tity of thin dark hair, and a small mus- tache. He had been standing with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him he took them out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and urgently at their host. He met Eu- genias eyes; he appeared to appreciate the privilege of meeting them. Madame Miinster instantly felt that he was, in- trinsically, the most important person present. She was not unconscious that this impression was in some degree mani- fested in the little sympathetic nod with which she acknowledged Mr. Went- worths announcement, My cousin, Mr. Acton! Your cousin, not mine? said the baroness. It only depends upon you, Mr. Acton declared, laughing. The baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white teeth. Let it depend upon your behavior, she said. I think I had better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I eaa also claim relationship, she added, with that charming young lady, and she pointed to the young girl at the win- dow. Thats my sister, said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm round the young girl and led her for- Ti ward. It was not, apparently, that she needed much leading. She came to- ward the baroness with a li~,ht, quick step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking round its needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was wonderfully pretty. Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then held her off a little, looking at her. Now this is quite another type, she said; she pronounced the word in the French man- ner. This is a different outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of your own daughters. This, Felix, she went on, is very much more what we have always thought of as the Amer- ican type. The yonng girl, during this exposi- tion, was smiling askance at every one in turn, and at Felix out of turn. I find only one type here! cried Felix, laughing. The type adorable! This sally was received in perfect si- lence, but Felix, who learned all things quickly, had already learned that the silences frequently observed among his new acquaintances were not necessarily restrictive or resentful. It was, as one might say, the silence of expectation, of modesty. They were all standing round his sister, as if they were expectin~, her to acquit herself of the exhibition of some peculiar faculty, some brilliant talent. Their attitude seemed to imply that she was a kind of conversational mounte- bank, attired, intellectually, in gauze and spangles. This attitude gave a cer- tain ironical force to Madame Miinsters next words. Now this is your circle, she said to her uncle. This is your salon. These are your regular habitues, eh? I am so glad to see you all to- gether. Oh, said Mr. Wentworth, they are always dropping in and out. You must do the same. Father, interposed Charlotte Went- worth, they must do something more. And she turned her sweet, serious face, that seemed at once timid and placid, upon their interesting visitor. What is your name? she asked. Engenia-Camilla-Dolores, said the The Europeans. JJlidsummer Dctwn. baroness, smiling. But you need nt say all that. I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with us. The baroness laid her hand upon Char- lottes arm very, tenderly; but she re- served herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to stay with these people. It would be very charming, very charming, she said; and her eyes wandered over the com- pany, over the room. She wished to gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon young Mr. Brand, who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand on his chin, looking at her. The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of ecclesiastic, she said to Mr. Went- worth, lowering her voice a little. He is a minister, answered Mr. Wentworth. A Protestant? asked Eugenia. I am a Unitarian, madam, replied Mr. Brand, impressively. Ah, I see, said Eugenia. Some- thing new. She had never heard of this form of worship. Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Ger- trude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. You have come very far, said Mr. Wentworth. Very far, very far, the baroness replied, with a graceful shake of her head that might have meant many dif- ferent things. That s a reason why you ought to settle down with us, said Mr. Went- worth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the del- icacy of his meaning. She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she seemed to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely re- membered image of ber mother. Euge- nia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, she felt one ris- in in her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she knew that there was ad- miration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. She smiled at them all. I came to look to try to ask, she said. It seems to me I have done well. I am very tired; I want to rest. There were tears in her eyes. The lu- minous interior, the gentle, tranquil peo- ple, the simple, serious life, the sense of these things pressed upon her with an overmastering force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine emo- tions she bad ever known. I should like to stay here, she said. Pray take me in. Tbough she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her eyes. My dear niece, said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put out her arms and drew the baroness toward her; while E~obert Acton turned away, with his hands stealing into his pockets. Henry fames, .Jr. MIDSUMMER DAWN. WHILE the weird, white midnight creepeth by, Awake and quiet and sad to lie; Then, when the midsummer moon is set, To sleep a while, and forget. To wake again at the hour of terror, And writbe in the grasp of a deathless error, And shrink on the brink of an ocean of loss, Doomed, so it seemeth, to cross. 72 [July,

JJlidsummer Dctwn. baroness, smiling. But you need nt say all that. I will say Eugenia, if you will let me. You must come and stay with us. The baroness laid her hand upon Char- lottes arm very, tenderly; but she re- served herself. She was wondering whether it would be possible to stay with these people. It would be very charming, very charming, she said; and her eyes wandered over the com- pany, over the room. She wished to gain time before committing herself. Her glance fell upon young Mr. Brand, who stood there, with his arms folded and his hand on his chin, looking at her. The gentleman, I suppose, is a sort of ecclesiastic, she said to Mr. Went- worth, lowering her voice a little. He is a minister, answered Mr. Wentworth. A Protestant? asked Eugenia. I am a Unitarian, madam, replied Mr. Brand, impressively. Ah, I see, said Eugenia. Some- thing new. She had never heard of this form of worship. Mr. Acton began to laugh, and Ger- trude looked anxiously at Mr. Brand. You have come very far, said Mr. Wentworth. Very far, very far, the baroness replied, with a graceful shake of her head that might have meant many dif- ferent things. That s a reason why you ought to settle down with us, said Mr. Went- worth, with that dryness of utterance which, as Eugenia was too intelligent not to feel, took nothing from the del- icacy of his meaning. She looked at him, and for an instant, in his cold, still face, she seemed to see a far-away likeness to the vaguely re- membered image of ber mother. Euge- nia was a woman of sudden emotions, and now, unexpectedly, she felt one ris- in in her heart. She kept looking round the circle; she knew that there was ad- miration in all the eyes that were fixed upon her. She smiled at them all. I came to look to try to ask, she said. It seems to me I have done well. I am very tired; I want to rest. There were tears in her eyes. The lu- minous interior, the gentle, tranquil peo- ple, the simple, serious life, the sense of these things pressed upon her with an overmastering force, and she felt herself yielding to one of the most genuine emo- tions she bad ever known. I should like to stay here, she said. Pray take me in. Tbough she was smiling, there were tears in her voice as well as in her eyes. My dear niece, said Mr. Wentworth, softly. And Charlotte put out her arms and drew the baroness toward her; while E~obert Acton turned away, with his hands stealing into his pockets. Henry fames, .Jr. MIDSUMMER DAWN. WHILE the weird, white midnight creepeth by, Awake and quiet and sad to lie; Then, when the midsummer moon is set, To sleep a while, and forget. To wake again at the hour of terror, And writbe in the grasp of a deathless error, And shrink on the brink of an ocean of loss, Doomed, so it seemeth, to cross. 72 [July, 73 Weak Sight. Invisible foes in vain defying, To fight and fall, and, helpless lying, To wonder why, if the hour be small, It is light again on the wall; For the moon is down. To look, and, lo, All over the land what a solemn glow! Like that of the strange, prophetic year, A time not dark, not clear, But full of peace and tremulous hope. There is the stately, wooded slope; There is the head of the mountain old Outlined on palest gold. A mystery, hope in the hour of gloaming, Surely a luminous change is cominc~1 Shadows and light and virginal dew, And all things pure and new! And what is yon dulcet note, and shrill? Can it be the new song of the whip-poor-will, Till the day dawn and the shadows flee, Now will I wait for thee? Yea, this is day. In the hyaline heaven, Doth shine a sign of the dark forgiven, Mid the tender glow oer the mount afar; I will give him the morning star. Harriet W. Preston. WEAK SIGHT. THE inability to use the eyes contin- uously, without pain or confusion of vis- ion, for near work, as in reading, writ- ing, and like occupations, constituting the affection called asthenopia, or weak sight, is so prevalent in this country that a wider knowledge of the nature and management of the disorder would seem to be of some importance. In order that we may clearly compre- hend the exact nature of weak si,ht, let us consider for a moment the struct- ure of the eye, and how we see. The fl~,ure numbered A gives an idea of the anatomy of the eye, sufficiently full for our purpose. The rays of light from an object enter the eye through the pupil (P), and, passing back to the inner coat of the eye, the retina (R), form an im- age of the object upon it very much as an image is formed on the plate in the camera of the photographer. Indeed, quite lately experiments have been made that show a very close relation between the nature of photography and the nat- ure of the process that goes on in the act of seeing. Rabbits have been held a few seconds before a window, and then 1878.]

73 Weak Sight. Invisible foes in vain defying, To fight and fall, and, helpless lying, To wonder why, if the hour be small, It is light again on the wall; For the moon is down. To look, and, lo, All over the land what a solemn glow! Like that of the strange, prophetic year, A time not dark, not clear, But full of peace and tremulous hope. There is the stately, wooded slope; There is the head of the mountain old Outlined on palest gold. A mystery, hope in the hour of gloaming, Surely a luminous change is cominc~1 Shadows and light and virginal dew, And all things pure and new! And what is yon dulcet note, and shrill? Can it be the new song of the whip-poor-will, Till the day dawn and the shadows flee, Now will I wait for thee? Yea, this is day. In the hyaline heaven, Doth shine a sign of the dark forgiven, Mid the tender glow oer the mount afar; I will give him the morning star. Harriet W. Preston. WEAK SIGHT. THE inability to use the eyes contin- uously, without pain or confusion of vis- ion, for near work, as in reading, writ- ing, and like occupations, constituting the affection called asthenopia, or weak sight, is so prevalent in this country that a wider knowledge of the nature and management of the disorder would seem to be of some importance. In order that we may clearly compre- hend the exact nature of weak si,ht, let us consider for a moment the struct- ure of the eye, and how we see. The fl~,ure numbered A gives an idea of the anatomy of the eye, sufficiently full for our purpose. The rays of light from an object enter the eye through the pupil (P), and, passing back to the inner coat of the eye, the retina (R), form an im- age of the object upon it very much as an image is formed on the plate in the camera of the photographer. Indeed, quite lately experiments have been made that show a very close relation between the nature of photography and the nat- ure of the process that goes on in the act of seeing. Rabbits have been held a few seconds before a window, and then 1878.] 74 Weak Sight. immediately killed, when the picture of the window has been found distinctly photographed on the retina of their eyes. After the reception of the image upon the retina, the act of seeing is cornpleted by the transmission of the impression to the brain through the optic nerve (0 N in the figure). But in order that the image of an object on the retina shall be distinct, it is necessary that the rays of light passing into the eye through the pupil should be properly focused. See Figure B. (Fig A.) Figure A gives a profile view of the eye; that is, the eyeball is divided into o equal parts, just as one might divide an apple or an orange, and the fiat, cut surface held up to view. W points out the white of the eye, a strong pro- tective coat extending quite around the eyeball ex- cept in front. It is called the sclerotic coat. c, the cornea, or transparent front of the eye; and, behind it, I, the iris, or colored part of the eye, extending in a circle around P, the pupil, which is a circular hole in the iris, that admits the light into the eye, and out of which the eye sees. L is the crystalline lens directly hehind the pupil. In health, the lens is transparent, like the front of the eye, and offers no ohotruction to the passage of rays of light; hut if it hecomes opaque, it is called cataract, and the eye is more or less hlind from the ohetruction of the passage of light. NI A is a little muscle, called the muscle of accem- modalion, that adjusts the focus of the lens and the eye for near objects. NI c is a muscle attached to the white of the eye on the outside, that converges or turns the eyes in- ward, and is the muscle of convergence. R points to the inner lining of the eye, the retina, upon which images of objects are pictured; and 0 N is the optic nerve that conveys these pictures to the brain. II is the body of the interior of the eye, filled by a transparent humor. Vision will be clearest and easiest if the rays of light are brought to a point exactly as they reach the retina. If they are focused just before, or if they reach the retina before being focused, the sight will be more or less blurred. When we look at distant objects, if [July, our eyes are neither near-sighted nor far- sighted (over-sighted), the rays of light that enter the eye are focused on the t-. A (Fig. B.) A, the rays of light entering the eye. B, the retina, where they should be focused. L, the lens by the aid of which the rays of light are focused. retina, as seen in Fi,, ure B, without ef- fort; but if we regard near objects, as in reading or sewing, there is an effort of the eye to focus the light; otherwise it would reach the back of the eye with- out being brought to a point. The reason of this is that rays of light from small objects as in letters, for example approach the eye, not in par- allel lines, as seen in Figure B, but in lines that diverge as they pass into the eye, as seen in Finure ID. To converge such lines to a point on the retina re- quires more focusing power than if they entered the eye in parallel lines, as seen in Figure B. This power of increasing the refraction, which is called the ac- commodative power of the eye, is fur- nished by a muscle (M A, Figure A). This muscle we may call the muscle of accommodation, and when it is brou0ht into use, the lens (L in the figures) is made more convex or full, and thus a greater refractive power is given to the eye. The fuller or more convex the lens, whether the natural one within the eye, or a glass lens such as is used in spectacles, the greater its power of bend- ing rays of light to a point. Figure D represents the eye accommo- dated for near vision, the lens (L) be- ing more convex than in Figure B, where the eye is fixed for distance. Though involuntary, the accommodation or ad- justment of the eyes for near objects is (Fig. D.) 18~8.] Weak Sight. an effort; hence the relief that comes from looking up and off from near work, so especially grateful to fatigued and sen- sitive eyes. Another factor in the act of adjust- ment of the eyes for near objects is con- vergence. By this is meant the turning inward of the eyes so that both may be directed to the same object. If we hold up a finger before the face, at a distance of four or five inches, and look at it fixed- ly with both eyes, it will be noticed that a distinct effort is made to turn the eyes inward; and if we. continue to look at the finger in this position, the act will soon become painful. The convergence of the eyes is brought about by a muscle on the outside of each eyeball, attached to the white of the eye on the side to- wards the nose. This muscle (M C, Figure A) we may call the muscle of convergence. There are other muscles which modify the action of this one, but they need not be considered here. Weak sight is therefore nothing more nor less than a disorder of the accommo- dative apparatus; or, we may say, a dis- order of the two muscles of accommoda- tion and convergence. In health, these two muscles work together in perfect harmony. If either one becomes affect- ed, this harmony is disturbed, and weak or painful sight may follow. It is plain, then, that as in distant vision this mus- cular apparatus is not used, and as in near work it must of necessity be brought into service, if sight is weak or painful, and we wish to improve and cure it, we must carefully regulate the way in which we use our eyes. Persons having a tendency to weak- ness of sight, or those experiencing un- usual fatigue of the eyes in reading or similar occupations requiring close vis- ion, should carefully observe the follow- ing rules: (1.) Cease to use the eyes for the time being, and look away from the work, when si0ht becomes in the least painful, blurred, or indistinct. After perfect rest for a moment, or longer, work may be resumed, to be discontin- ue~I as before when the eyes feel again fatigued. 7,5 (2.) See that the light is sufficient, and that it falls properly upon your work. Never ~it facing it. It is best that the light should fall upon the work from above and behind. Failing this, it may fall from the side. Never use the eyes at twilight. Any artificial light for the evening is good if it is brilliant enough and steady. When artificial light is at all painful, it is safer to read or write only (luring the day. (3.) Never read in the horse or steam cars. It requires too great an exertion of the accommodative power to keep the eyes fixed on the letters. Business men are in the habit of readin~ the evening papers on their way out of the city, and the morning papers on their way in. This dangerous practice is a somewhat frequent cause of weakness of sight. There are those who can follow it with impunity year after year, but there are more who cannot. (4.) Never read when lying down; it is too fatiguing for the accommodative power. Many a tedious case of weak sight has been traced to the pernicious habit of reading in bed after retiring for the night. (5.) Do not read much during conva- lescence from illness. Before the mus- cular system generally has quite recov- ered its healthy tone, we ought not to expect the muscles of accommodation to bear the continuous use to which they are, subjected in reading or writing. We cannot be sure that the delicate muscles of the eye are in a condition to be used until the muscles of the leg and the arm have regained their strength and firm- ness. (6.) The general health should be maintained by a good diet, sufficient sleep, air, exercise, amusement, and a proper restriction of the hours of hard work. One ought not to expect strong eyes in a body weakened by bad hab- its or an injudicious amount of labor. Bright gas-lights in crowded rooms, ana the impurity of the air in such places, are especially to be avoided. Medical advice should be sought in regard to any nervous debility, disorder of the organs of digestion, or functional disturbances 76 Weak Sight. of a general nature, whether they ap- pear to have a direct connection with the weakness of sight or not. (7.) Take plenty of sleep. It is a sovereign balm for those who suffer from weak sight. Retire early, and avoid the painful evening lights. Ten hours sleep for delicate eyes is better than eight. If the weak sight does not improve sat- isfactorily under the observance of the rules given, it will be necessary to resort to the use of convex glasses. Such glasses aid in focusing the light from near ob- jects, and so assist the accommodative power. For the benefit of such as can- not consult an oculist, it may be well to say that the convex glasses will prob- ably require to be of about forty-eight- inch focus, and that they are to be worn only in reading, sewing, and such occu- pations as require the accommodative ap- paratus of the eye to bebrought into use. The moment the eye tires, the glasses must be removed; to be replaced again, after a rest of the eyes, when work is re- sumed. To accustom the eyes to the help of glasses may require some days or weeks, and considerable patience. After be- ginning with them, it is best not to omit their use in reading or sewing, even tem- porarily, but to work or read always by their help; limiting the amount of read- ing at first, and then increasing it day by day, or week by week, until the sight becomes strong. We have thus far been considering what are called perfectly formed eyes. But there are certain imperfections of form in the eyeball that are very com- mon, and that render the eye optically defective and tend to the production of weakness of sight. One of these mal- formations produces what is called over- sight or far sight. This is a defect of a nature exactly the opposite of near-sight. In near-sight the eye is adjusted or ac- commodated for a point nearer than the object looked at, and consequently does not see distinctly. In over-sight it is fixed for a point beyond the object looked at, and does not see well either. In near-sight the eyeball is too full or con- vex, and in over-sight it is too fiat. Be- [July, ing too flat, the rays of light enterin~, the pupil reach the retina at the back before being focused, as represented in Figure B, and therefore vision is blurred and in- distinct. (rig. E.) Figure F shows a profile view of a near-sighted eye. Here the rays of light are seen to come to a focus before reach- ing the retina, because the eyeball is too full or too long from front to rear. (Fig. F.) We have seen that weak sight is the result of overworking the muscles of ac- commodation and convergence. Now an over-sighted eye being too fiat, a con- stant use of the muscles of accommnoda- tion is necessary in order that rays of light may be focused before reaching the retina. Such an eye is almost cer- tain to become weak-sighted. Having to use its accommodative power for dis- tant as well as for near objects, there is no rest for it except during the hours of sleep. The remedy for over-sight sug- gests itself at onee. If the eye is too fiat, of course a convex glass makes it less so, practically, and thus removes the effect of its defective form. Convex glasses in the form of eye-glasses or spec- tacles are therefore imperative to pre- vent the development of weak sight as well as to aid vision. What the strength of the glasses should be will depend upon the degree of faulty formation of the eyeball. Old sight is due to a partial loss of the accommodative power of the eye. Hence, in looking at a distance, the ac- commodative or adjusting power not be- ing required, the eye sees as well, or nearly as well, as ever; but in regard- ing near objects, as for instance in read- 1878.] Weak Sigkt. ing, the accommodative power being re- quired and not being available, vision is imperfect. The loss of the accommo- dative power is not from disease of the eye at all, but is owing chiefly to the natural increase of the hardness of the lens and consequent loss of its elasticity. We must bear in mind that the accom- modation of the eye for near work, as in reading, means the calling into action of the muscle of accommodation. (M A, Figure A.) This action results in making the lens more convex, as seen in Figure D, which represents the eye ac- commodated or adjusted for near vision. As the lens grows harder with advanc- ing age, this change of form becomes more and more difficult. Convex glasses are of course the rem- edy for old sight, as their effect is to in- crease the refractive power, and thus supply the partially lost accommodation for near objects. The spectacles should be sufficiently strong to enable one to read the finest type as near as ten or twelve inches; if too strong, the print must be brought nearer than ten inches, and this will tire the muscles of conver- gence that turn the eyes inward; if too weak, the fine print will have to be held farther than twelve inches away, and the letters are too small to be seen easily much beyond this distance from the eyes. The putting on of suitable glasses should not be neglected after the early evening symptoms of old sight are no- ticed. Nothing is gained by waiting, and much may be lost. We lose, in the first place, a great deal of amusement and instruction from the necessity of giving up our evenin~ reading, avoiding small print, resting our eyes, and neg- lecting fine work of all kinds. In the beginning these interruptions in our ways of life are not so serious and fre- quent as to give much annoyance, but as old sight increases they become of importance. In the second place, and of greater moment, is the risk we run of fatiguing and straining the accommo- dative power of the eyes, and so causing weak sight. In these days of weak sight and eye- glasses, there need be no fear that the 77, adoption of glasses will be interpreted as a confession of old age. Old sight comes very earlymuch earlier than forty in most over - sighted eyes, and this flat formation of the eye is more com- mon than any other. Glasses as strong as those usually worn by people sixty and seventy.years old are sometimes required by young persons. Frequently, even in the best-formed eyes, ill health, nervous debility, or a constant and severe use of the vision in fine work or night work will develop the symptoms of old sight as early as the age of twenty-five or thirty. All things being equal, a farmer, if he is not studious, may postpone the use of glasses longer than a professional or lit- erary person, or any one who reads a great deal. But if we take the age of forty or forty-five as the average age for the beginning of old sight, it can by no means be considered as the time of that decline of the faculties which marks the beginning of old age. Most men and women do the serious and best work of their lives after the age of forty, and some even after the age of sixty. Another defective form of the eye which sometimes causes weakness of sight is that the front of the eye is too oval, so that rays of light are not uniformly refracted. To such eyes vertical and hoTrizontal lines do not appear equally black and distinct. The remedy is to be found in wearing glasses ground in such a manner as practically to restore the spherical shape of the cornea. These glasses help vision for all distances, near as well as far, and the relief they give to eyes weakened and congested by unnat- ural effort to see clearly is sometimes remarkable. Either blue or smoke-colored glasses are useful in weak sight, if there is great dread of light. But if not really nec- essary, it is better not to wear them, as the eye may become so habituated to a subdued light as to be intolerant of ordi- nary daylight. They may be worn prof- itably, if needed, in bri0ht sunlight on the snow, sand, or water. When the dread of light is great, one may also have glasses of the proper number, con- vex or concave, for over-sight or near- 78 , sli~htly blue-tinted, so as to soften the glare of the white pa~,e in reading. Colored glasses should not be too dark in tint, lest it require too much exertion to see clearly through them. In near-sight, as we have seen, the eye is too full, so that rays of light from a distance are brought to a focus before reaching the retina. (See, Figure F.) The exercise of the accommodative or ad- justing power of the eye is of no use, or even worse than useless, because, when brouc,ht into service, its function is to make the lens more convex, and this addition to the refractive power of the eye would of course focus the light still sooner, and so increase rather than help the difficulty. To render vision clear in near-si,,ht, it is obviously necessary to resort to some means by which the rays of light maybe prevented from being focused too quick- ly after entering the pupil. That is, we wish to do exactly the opposite of that which we wished to do in over - sight. This is accomplished by putting before the eyes concave glasses, either in the form of eye - glasses or spectacles. A concave glass is one which is hollowed out, or thinner at the centre than at the edges. A convex glass, suitable for far- sight or over-si,ht, is one thicker at the centre than at the edges. Such glasses help to focus the rays of li~ht; while a concave glass, by diminishing the effect of the convex form of the eyeball, les- sens its focal power, and permits the light to reach the back of the eye in proper form for good vision. Near-sight is usually complicated by a disease in the back part of the eye. This is nearly always the case in the near- 3ight of children and youth. Besides this disease, such eyes are often weak- sighted, the weak si~ht being mostly due to weakness and fatigue of the mus- cles of convergence. These muscles are very liable to be overworked, because print in reading and fine objects of all kinds must be held quite near, which necessitates a strong turning inward of the eyes. Progressive near-sight in children is noticed usually at about the age of seven TVeak Sight. [July, or eight, or earlier, if the tendency is inherited; and from this age up to that of fifteen or sixteen, if acquired. It is prob- ably very often acquired, oftener than is generally supposed; at least, it is ob- served when neither parents nor rela- tives, so far as can be learned, are simi- larly affected. Too much study, too much school, too continuous use of the eyes on near objects, too little out-door life and exercise of the eyes in distant vision, these are, apparently, sufficient to cause near-sight, without hereditary influence. Acquired near-si0ht almost invariably comes in the weakly, ill-nour- ished, studious, precocious child. And this general weakness and ill health favor the rise and progress of the disease at the back of the eye. It will be remembered that in this de- fect the eyeball (as seen in Figure F) is too long; that the refractive or focus- ing power of the eye, therefore, brings the rays of light to a point before they reach the retina. A tendency to near- sight, or even a deficient light without the tendency, inclines the child to hold the book rather near, and this requires the turning inward or convergence of the eyes, so that both may be brought to bear upon the same point of vision. Now, a studious boy or girl of ten or fif- teen years, besides the five or six hours work in school, studies also more or less at home, while the leisure hours are spent over novels or books of travel. In short, the eyes are not only used almost continuously in regarding near objects, but their use for distance is almost whol- ly neglected. It is not surprising that, under such training, an organ should lose some portion of its functional power. It is to be remembered that in youth the tissues of the eye are soft, yielding, and undeveloped; that it is a growing organ, easily molded; that its future, like other parts of the body, is to be very much what it is made by training, use, or abuse. When we regard near objects, there is the action of the accommodative power, the convergence, the movement of the pupil and the adjacent tissues, and a forward movement of the whole eyeball.. All this is muscular exercise; and whether 18T8.] Weak Sight. this exercise is kept up all through the day or not cannot be a matter of indif- ference to an immature and growing eye. It is supposed and very reasonably, I think that the muscular pressure upon the yielding eyeball, and especially the pressure in turning the eyes inward, promotes indirectly a bulging of the eye at the back, and so contributes to the progress of near-sight. The elongation of the eyeball in near- sight is at the back, and of course, as the outer or protective coat of the eye is stretched, the two inner tissues (the vas- cular and nervous coats) are unnaturally distended also. The inner tissues do not bear this distention well; they become thinned, congested, inflamed, degener- ated, and finally are partially lost over a limited portion of the interior of the eye near the entrance of the optic nerve. It seems almost needless to say that an affection at the back of the eye, capa- ble of destroying its tissues, may if neg- lected lead to blindness. Every oculist is sought now and then for advice in re- gard to an eye blind from neglected my- opia. Vision from this cause is, how- ever, not often lost before adult age, usually between the age of thirty and forty-five, perhaps. Fortunately, the de- struction of the tissues, under abuse of the eyes in progressive myopia, does not advance with equal rapidity in both eyes; so that if sight be lost in one, the sufferer is quite sure to adopt every means for its preservation in the other. It is clear, therefore, that a myopic eye is not, as is frequently supposed, a strong eye, but on the contrary a weak one; or at least liable to become, if abused, a weak one. It is true that inherited my- opic eyes are sometimes strong, but the greater number are nevertheless weak and diseased. Acquired myopia almost invariably threatens the integrity of the eye and its functions. There is no doubt that deficient and improperly admitted light in school- rooms is one cause of the rapid progress of this optical defect. To sit facing a light during study, for instance, is ex- tremely injurious to the best eyes. On looking up, the eye becomes saturated 79 with light, and then, on turning to the printed page, an extra accommodative effort must be made to overcome the dazzling and clear up the vision. The light should enter from above and at the side, so as to strike the page of the book, and not the eyes; and it should be, if possible, a direct rather than a reflected light. A deficient illumination is injurious, because it requires the book to be brought near the eye; and this, as we have seen, tends to promote the posterior bulging already noticed. School furniture is also often ill adapt- ed for the scholar, even if properly placed as regards light. The bench is too high for the desk, so that the pupil must bend over his work, thus promoting conges- tion to the head, and contributing to the congested condition at the back of the eyes; or the seat is too far away from the desk, and the head is thereby brought too near the book, so that the growth of near-sight is directly encouraged. The first and the best thin~, to do for progressive near-sight in children is to take them from school, stop their read- ing and all use of the eyes for near ob- jects as far as practicable, and see that they use their eyes for distance. En- courage them to climb the hills and look miles and miles away. I remember a boy of twelve in whose case the above advice was fully carried out, and in less than one month his power of vision for distant objects had doubled. The quick improvement in the sight for distant ob- jects brought about by the method above described is surprising. It is probably understood by the read- er, from what has been said, that the immediate cause of weak sight is very often a defective form of the eyeball. It is too flat, too full, or of irregular form. This makes vision an effort under all cir- cumstances, and sooner or later the re- sult is weak sight. General ill health may also account for some of the inability to use the eyes. There are, however, some people who appear to have eyes nearly perfect in form, and, having also a large power of accommodation, see ap- parently with slight effort. Such per- 80 sons can be very careless of their sight; can read in the steam-cars by night or day; in fact, neglect all the nice rules that I have given. But such individu- als are not common. All eyes, including such as are con- sidered perfect, are, optically considered, far from perfect. These faults, unlike those already noticed, are irremediable, and are chiefly as follows - (1.) There is a want of transparency in the cornea (C, Figure A) and the lens (L, Figure A), and fluorescence of both. Fluorescence is the property that cer- tain substances have of becoming faint- ly luminous from blue or violet light. The bluish tint of a solution of quinine in water is an example of fluorescence. A blue light thrown into the eye shows a haziness of both cornea and lens. These parts of the eye are therefore in- ferior to the clear and transparent lenses used by opticians in the manufacture of optical instruments. (2.) Spherical aberration, due to a lack of corresponding symmetry in the cornea and lens, or to a lack of correspondence in their axes. This makes the refract- ive power of the two inharmonious, cre- ating a slight astigmatism. The tradi- tional figure of a star has five points. The eye sees a star with more or less luminous points, when, if it were optic- ally perfect, it would see it as it is; that is, without the points. (3.) Achromatism, or chromatic disper- sion of rays. The solar rays being made up of the different colors of the spec- trum, and each color being refracted in a different degree by the same, medium, they are not united by it in a single fo- cus. Look at a street-lamp at a distance through a violet - colored glass. This stops the intermediate green and yellow rays, and allows the first and last rays the violet or blue and the red to pass into the eye. The result is that the red is focused, but the violet and the blue are seen in a broad halo around the red gas-light. Optical instruments are free from this defect. (4.) Slight color-blindness is common to all eyes. The eccentric portion oJ the Weak Sight. [July, retina does not perceive red as soon as other colors. If we fix our eyes steadily on something in front of us, and then move a red object from the centre of the visual field towards either side, we shall find that the color is not recognizable as far away as the outline of the object. The eye also fails to distinguish a dif- ference between a white produced by the union of scarlet and bluish-green light and a white made by yellowish-green and violet; yet the first comes out black in a photograph, the latter very bright. (5.) There is a blind spot on the reti- na of every eye, due to the space occupied by the entrance of the optic nerve. If we make a small cross on a sheet of pa- per, and three inches at the right of this a black dot, then close the left eye, hold the paper at arms - length, and fix the right eye on the cross, it will be found, on bringing the paper nearer, that at about eleven inches from the eye the dot will not be seen. The blind spot is large enough to hide the face of a man at six or seven feet distance. (6.) The yellow spot the centre and most sensitive point of the retina is by virtue of its yellow tint unable to rec- ognize weak blue light. The smaller stars are seen better by astronomers if they look slightly at one side rather than directly towards them. This formidable array of common op- tical defects is unnoticed chiefly because, having two eyes in almost constant mo- tion, one makes up for the temporary visual disturbance in the other. Even with one eye, these faults are rarely no- ticed, owihg to the great mobility of the eye and its continuous change in direc- tion, and to the fact that the imperfec- tions are mo& tly away from the centre of the field of vision. habit, inattention, experience, the power of accommodation, may also be given as reasons why our natural visual defects are mostly unob- served. Nevertheless, these optical de- fects do exist in all eyes; and, as Pro- fessor Helmholtz observes, if an optician offered for sale an instrument with these faults, one would be justified in refusing to buy it. H. C. Angell, M. D. ilk sumJ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. MOSUMi SETS YO; OR, WOMANS SACRIFICE. [The plot of the following tale is based upon that of a well - known Japanese novel. In offering this pathetic story to the readers of The Atlantic, the Editors feel that they could not recast the occa- sionally quaint English of their Japan- ese contributor without depriving it of a peculiar charm.] IN the prosperous period of the Tycoon administration Yedo was considered as the centre of the Japanese civilization; thither flocked all classes of the people from every quarter; and the Tycoon was surrounded by the brilliancy of Oriental luxury and the splendor of the feudal system. Among his favorites there was a baronet by the name of Hidaka, who had two sons, the elder Bunzero, and the younger Kotaro. By the custom of primogeniture Bunzero was to inherit all the family property title as well as estate on his succeeding his father, who had thought of retiring from an act- ive duty of baronetcy, which, according to the customary law, imposed upon a baxonet an obligation to attend the Ty- coons court. Bunzero had been for some time attached to a maiden of infe- rior rank; he asked the baronet to per- mit him to marry her, but the father, being proud of his family name, was much displeased by this proposal, and told his son that he must either abandon the low marriage or forfeit the right of succession. In spite of his father Bun- zero married the woman of his choice, left the pat~rnai roof, and went to Osa- ka, the largest commercial city of that day, where he lived With his wife in a humble cottage, and made a livelihood by teaching the children of the district, soon becoming quite rich by his untiring industry. Althou~,h unfriended and cast out from home, they set forth on the journey of life with the brightest hopes. Soon after a soa was born to them, whom they named Kenzero, and to whom they were attached by the strongest af VOL. XLII.NO. 249. 6 fection, regarding him as the source of future happiness. In their neighborhood there lived a poor tradesman who had just lost his wife, and could not support himself and his little girl, Sumie, on account of pov- erty and sickness. Bunzero, moved by pity towards this helpless girl, took her into his family and brought her up as if she were a child of his own. Although he had forfeited his rank, Bunzero did not stifle a feeling of ancient pride that he had been once the sole heir to nobil- ity. He now hoped that his son Ken- zero would some time or other distin- guish himself and wipe off the disgrace that he had brought upon the family name; therefore he educated Kenzero with the utmost care. Keuzero, by his marvelous aptitude for learning, soon distinguished himself, and became the leading youth in the school. His noble and dignified countenance, which showed that he was descended from a noble family, and his easy grace of manner gained him nany admirers. Sumie, though born of a peasant family, was endowed with unrivaled beauty, which well accorded with her gentle and charm- ing manner; her natural talent for music was shown even in her infancy. Grow- ing up under the same roof as brother and sister, they shared in each others joy and grief; their fondness grew strong- er and stronger as they advanced ia years, and each vowed in heart and soul to be a life-partner of the other. One morning, Bunzero, coming into Kenzeros study with a letter in his hand, said, I have received joyful tidings from Yedo! What is it, father? asked Ken- zero. The time has come! exclaimed the father, with a flush of triumph and glad- ness. Here is a letter from my fa- ther in Yedo, offering his forgiveness for my past offense, and asking me if I can spare you. As you know, I am dead in 1878.1 81

ilk sumJ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. MOSUMi SETS YO; OR, WOMANS SACRIFICE. [The plot of the following tale is based upon that of a well - known Japanese novel. In offering this pathetic story to the readers of The Atlantic, the Editors feel that they could not recast the occa- sionally quaint English of their Japan- ese contributor without depriving it of a peculiar charm.] IN the prosperous period of the Tycoon administration Yedo was considered as the centre of the Japanese civilization; thither flocked all classes of the people from every quarter; and the Tycoon was surrounded by the brilliancy of Oriental luxury and the splendor of the feudal system. Among his favorites there was a baronet by the name of Hidaka, who had two sons, the elder Bunzero, and the younger Kotaro. By the custom of primogeniture Bunzero was to inherit all the family property title as well as estate on his succeeding his father, who had thought of retiring from an act- ive duty of baronetcy, which, according to the customary law, imposed upon a baxonet an obligation to attend the Ty- coons court. Bunzero had been for some time attached to a maiden of infe- rior rank; he asked the baronet to per- mit him to marry her, but the father, being proud of his family name, was much displeased by this proposal, and told his son that he must either abandon the low marriage or forfeit the right of succession. In spite of his father Bun- zero married the woman of his choice, left the pat~rnai roof, and went to Osa- ka, the largest commercial city of that day, where he lived With his wife in a humble cottage, and made a livelihood by teaching the children of the district, soon becoming quite rich by his untiring industry. Althou~,h unfriended and cast out from home, they set forth on the journey of life with the brightest hopes. Soon after a soa was born to them, whom they named Kenzero, and to whom they were attached by the strongest af VOL. XLII.NO. 249. 6 fection, regarding him as the source of future happiness. In their neighborhood there lived a poor tradesman who had just lost his wife, and could not support himself and his little girl, Sumie, on account of pov- erty and sickness. Bunzero, moved by pity towards this helpless girl, took her into his family and brought her up as if she were a child of his own. Although he had forfeited his rank, Bunzero did not stifle a feeling of ancient pride that he had been once the sole heir to nobil- ity. He now hoped that his son Ken- zero would some time or other distin- guish himself and wipe off the disgrace that he had brought upon the family name; therefore he educated Kenzero with the utmost care. Keuzero, by his marvelous aptitude for learning, soon distinguished himself, and became the leading youth in the school. His noble and dignified countenance, which showed that he was descended from a noble family, and his easy grace of manner gained him nany admirers. Sumie, though born of a peasant family, was endowed with unrivaled beauty, which well accorded with her gentle and charm- ing manner; her natural talent for music was shown even in her infancy. Grow- ing up under the same roof as brother and sister, they shared in each others joy and grief; their fondness grew strong- er and stronger as they advanced ia years, and each vowed in heart and soul to be a life-partner of the other. One morning, Bunzero, coming into Kenzeros study with a letter in his hand, said, I have received joyful tidings from Yedo! What is it, father? asked Ken- zero. The time has come! exclaimed the father, with a flush of triumph and glad- ness. Here is a letter from my fa- ther in Yedo, offering his forgiveness for my past offense, and asking me if I can spare you. As you know, I am dead in 1878.1 81 liiliosumJ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. the eye of the law, by my forfeiture; I cannot succeed to the family estate; but as you are a son of the true heir of the Hidaka family, you have some claim to the estate, if you can only be adopt- ed by my fathers house. What do you suppose is my fathers intention? It is to adopt you in my brothers family, who succeeded me after my disappearance. There is a messenger coming from Yedo in a few days to receive our answer, and if we agree before he arrives you are to go to the capital at once. To obtain this was my ambition and my hope for you. For this purpose I gave you the best education possible, and now the time has come fo~ you to take off the dis- grace from the name of your father. So delighted was Bunzero that his voice trembled with joy, and his face bright- ened with ecstasy. Keuzero was surprised at this unex- pected news, and said triumphantly, Now, sir, the way to the world and honor is open to me. A flush came up immediately to his face, and his eyes glistened with delight. Suddenly he turned his face away from the father, and wrung his hands as if in grief; he thought that he must part with Sumie, his long-wished-for bAde. What is it, my dear boy? What ails you? asked the father, bending over his son with anxious looks. No nothing sir, stammered the son; but but 1 must leave you and Here the name Sumie trem- bled on his lips, but he suppressed it with a sigh. I must now renounce my duty toward you, and leave you alone with Sumie. Oh, do not think of me, said the father, for I am legally dead, and have none but a moral claim on you. I am only too happy to make any sacrifice for tbe welfare of my only son. Kenzero, who had all the while remained silent, with downcast eyes, now looked up to his fathers face with an expression of mingled joy and grief; and the father continued: Now you are to be adopted in another family, and perhaps you know already the customary law of such adoption; but as this is our last inter- view as father and son, let me say a few words. When you are adopted, you must renounce all your home duties and rights, and honor your adoptive parents more than your own; for the maxim tells us, The first is the adopted, and the second the natural. Your natural fa- ther has no claim to your person after the adoption. When you go into my brothers family, regard him as a father, though an uncle in reality; obey his com- mands, and let me hear that you have shown yourself worthy of my affection. As I shall live forever in retirement, and never be in the glare of worldly splen- dor, so I trust that you will remember my last words, and be a credit to the name of Hidaka. After you are gone, I shall give all my property to Sumie, who was, as you know, left helpless, and has been brought up as one of my fam- ily. I once thought of concluding your betrothal with her, but as you have a higher hope and brighter future her in- ferior birth might hinder your succes- sion to a noble family; therefore I shall marry her to some tradesman, with the settlement of my property upon her. Kenzeros countenance suddenly turned ghastly pale, and he sat with folded arms, speechless and motionless. in his troub- led mind duty and love struggled to con- quer, and one could almost hear the beat- ings of his heart; but at last he sacri- ficed love to duty. He assented to his fathers proposal, and returned to his room to prepare for his journey, sorrow- ful and reluctant. Sumie received the tidings as sadly as Kenzero, but she concealed from the world the sufferings of her heart, and brooded constantly over her future des- tiny and her unfortunate life. She looked sad and gloomy. Her sleep was haunted by melancholy dreams. She soon became helpless and exhausted; she finally shut herself up in her own cham- ber, and refused to be either cheered or comforted. As soon as he had finished his preparations, Kenzero hastened to Sumies room and opened the paper slide, and saw her leaning on her couch and supporting her head on her hand, as if utterly destitute of strength; her vacant 82 Afosum~ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. gaze showed her total insensibility to his presence. Kenzero, approaching near her, said softly, Do you feel better than yesterday? At the sound of his voice she looked up, and said, with a sad smile, No, about the same as yesterday; and she sank again into her former state of un- consciousness. If you shut yourself up in this close room you will only feel worse. Come out into the garden. The weather is mild and pleasant, and the cherry-trees are in full bloom; it will do you good to take the fresh air. Do not brood so, but try to look for some happier future,. sai(l Kenzero, in order to divert her thought. How can I cease to think of our cruel separation! When I learned the history of my misery and destitution, I wept bitterly at the thought that I was an orphan, and had nothing to depend upon except the mercy of others; but as you had always pitied my miserable lot, and sympathized with me in my sorrow, so I had in you a master, the light of life, and the source of future happiness. Now you are going away to Yedo, and such a long distance will lie between us; and perhaps we shall never more see each other again. As she finished the sen- tence, she covered her face with her hands and wept. Do not take it so sorely. If you could only know the anguish of my heart. Duty and love! The weight of duty al- ways turns the scale in its favor. But my love for you shall know no change. After my arrival at Yedo I will at once send for you, and introduce you as one of the family; but if I cannot accom- plish this, we can hope and wait for the time when I succeed to the family es- tate and everything is at my disposal; then our union will be happily consum- mated, and without fear we can brave the world together. He then persuad- ed her to take a walk around the gar- den. It was near twilight; the last rays of the setting sun were gleaming through the thick foliage and the blooming branches, beneath which slowly rambled the youth and maiden. Their thoughts were wrapped in joy and happiness for the future; their sweet whispers were often interrupted by the enchanting mel- ody of the nightingale; their forms were sometimes lost in the bloom of gathering night. On the morning of his departure they all gathered around the gate to see Ken- zero off. Sumies h~art was too full to admit of saying more than a simple good-by; she gave him an affection- ate yet melancholy look, and lowered her head to conceal her tears. Kenze- ro could neither speak nor exchange a glance of parting with her, but only cast a farewell look on the little group clus- tered around the gate, and suddenly turned his face and proceeded on his journey. At the turn of the road he looked back toward the house, and saw Sumie standing alone. When she per- ceived Kenzero turn, she waved her hand with cheering nods and mingled emotions of sorrow and despair. She waited some time, but no letter came from Yedo. As the days rolled away in this dreadful suspense she grew anxious, impatient, and at last hope- less. Her anguish was uncontrollable; she gave way to her grief, and wept like a forsaken child. Have you changed so soon? cried she, in agony. Has your promise evap- orated into nothing? Kenzero, 0 Ken- zero, this is too unmerciful to bear! She raised her head, flung back her di- sheveled hair, and shuddered at the changed appearance of her own face, once so fair and beautiful. As she sat alone by a dim, flickering lamp, which made her confused mind more despond- ent, she heard a voice from outside call- ing distinctly, Sumie, Sumie! She sprang up and opened the window, asking, in a trembling voi6e, Who is there? No answer came but the echo of her o~vn words. She leaned exhaust- ed on the window-sill, and looked up to the vast and peaceful firmament studded by myriads of brilliant stars, and she wondered why her life could be so sad and gloomy while everything around her was so calm and undisturbed. She sang in a plaintive tone; and the sorrowful 1878.] 83 ]JilosumJ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. melody was wafted on the midnight air, and lost among the rustlings of the leaves. Again she starts from a pro- found melancholy, and looks out with a frightened gaze. Am I dreaming? she wondered. No; I heard it again distinctly. T is the voice of a pleading angel calling me to the Blessed isle. Yes, yes, anon I come. And she jumps from the window, holding in one hand her tangled hair, and in the other the fold of her long robe. She runs blindly toward the bank of the Yodo River, while a flock of ra- vens flap their wings and croak over her head as if to chant her funeral dirge. She now stands on a bridge, gazing on the furious stream below, and wonder- ing whether beneath the frowning waves there lies the tranquil shore of a land of rest. 0 God, deliver me from sorrow! she prayed tremblingly; take me anywhere out of this unmerciful world. She then plunged headlong into the rushing current, and a midnight bell from a distant pagoda tolled forth, as if ringing the knell of one so young, so beautiful, so good. The moon had just waned behind the western hills, and a mysterious darkness dropped like a curtain over the scene of desolation. This sudden disappearance of Sumie startled Bunzero and his nei~,hbors. They at once began to search for her; they sent the detectives to every place of concealment, and they dragged the river, but no trace of her could be found. To the memory of this unfortunate girl he erected a tomb in the burying-ground of his ancestors, and fixing the day of her disappearance as the date of her death, he offered prayers for her depart- ed soul. Kenzero was cordially received by his uncles family, which consisted of his grandfather, a retired noble, his adopt- ive parents, and their only daughter Eukie. The intention of the family was soon told: they wished to marry Keazero to Eukie, and thus enable both the heirs of Bunzero and Kotaro to participate in the fortune and estate of the family, this being the general practice in the case of adoption. Eukie is now on the verge of woman- hood: she is gentle in manner and grace- ful in movement; her heart is free from selfishness and conceit; she has a certain air of inexperience and innocence which makes her extremely charming. In her personal beauty she was not surpassed by Sumie. The latter was sagacious and intellectual; the former was amiable and graceful. Kenzero was much troub- led. H he did not follow the intention of his parents, he would violate filial duty toward the family. If he did, he would break his parting promise to Sn- mie, whose very existence depended on that one hope, and he might ruin forever the peace and happiness of that unfort- unate maiden. But the adoption was already recorded in the office of the Ty- coons council, and there was no other way to avoid the difficulties except to wait for his succession to the family es- tate; until then he must refuse to marry Eukie on some ground. Should he tell them of Sumie? No; her inferior birth would be a decisive objection, and the very fact of his engagement with her might cause his disinheritance, and he might meet again the fate of his poor father. Once he thought of sending Sn- mie a letter, to acquaint her with his present circumstances. But he feared that the idea of the intended matrimony would be a fatal blow to her; so he de- cided not to write to her until he ascer- tained the time of his succession. As Kenzero sat alone, careworn and ex- hausted, thinking of Sumie and her anxiety consequent upon his long silence, his uncle stepped into the room, and, de- livering a dispatch, said with an air of coldness, It has a seal of mourning; open and see. The sight chilled Keuzero to his heart; he remained speechless for a mo- ment, gazing upon the letter, which still lay unopened in his trembling hand. It is not your father? persisted the baronet. By this time Kenzero, slowly recovering his strength, opened the letter; it was the announcement of Sumies disappearance. He sank help- less into his seat, and turned deadly pale. Once or twice his lips moved as if to ut 84 i1Iosum~ Sets Y~ or, Womans Sacrifice. ter the words, I have killed her. His heart swelled into his throat, and, not- withstanding the presence of his adopt- ive father, the tears rolled down on his cheeks. Whose death is it? asked the baronet, anxiously. Only that of a member of my fa- thers family, sir, answered Keuzero, with affected coldness; but his heart re- buked him for assuming this indifference to the death of Sumie, the love of younger days and the hope of future years. After the reception of this sad news he seemed always wrapped in deep, melancholy thou,ht, and became quite unconscious of h~s friends and surround- Ings. Though he often min~led in the pleasures of Yedo, and frequented tea- houses with his companions, yet his face, which now bore deep lines of sorrow, was never seen to smile. On the day of the summer festival, Keuzero went with some friends to a certain tea7house to see the procession of the gaisha, the female musicians. While the first part of the procession was passing by, Kenzero was leaning over the balcony and gazing absently on the promiscuous crowd below, half uncon- scious of the surrounding gayety. Sud- denly deafening cheers roused Kenzero from his sombre reverie, and he glanced dreamily at the moving procession; his eyes fell upon a female figure ,andhe turned pale and seemed stricken motion- less. This female was Sumie, who was supposed to have drowned herself in the Yodo, and whose reported death had ruined the peace of Kenzeros mind. Amazed at the sudden resurrection of the dead, he surveyed her figure with wild perplexity. She wore gay, brilliant apparel, with an embroidered figure of dragons coiling through a cloud, and her hair was dressed in the manner of the gaisha. The figure, slowly moving be- neath the balcony, filled Kenzero with mystery and awe, and it was at last lost in a thick cloud of dust, leaving him speechless and insensible. As soon as his friends left the room, Kenzero went to the proprietor of the tea-house and asked, Do you know that gaisha who was so heartily greeted by the people? She is from Osaka, sir, replied the proprietor, and to-day is her first ap- pearance. Do you think that I can in any way see her after the procession is over? Oh, yes, sir. I know her master well; I will ask him to send her here after the procession. So saying the proprietor left the room, with many bows and assurances, and Kenzero was once more left alone to reflect upon the un- expected incident and its probable cause. Soon a light step is heard in a long corridor; nearer and nearer it comes; now it climbs the stairs. With gay spirit and smiling face she comes into the room; but no sooner has she perceived Kenzero than she starts, she staggers back in as- tonishment, she turns dead pale, fix- ing her eyes on his face, which is flushed with anger. Trembling and stammer- ing she turns from him and falls to the floor. Kenzero strode boldly to her, and said calmly, but scornfully, What a shameful meeting! Sumie, how can you endure so base a life as this! Sumie rushed towards him, saying, Forgive me!~ But she was stopped by the wave of his hand. She knelt be- fore him, with her hands clasped on her breast, and cried, It is reasonable that you should think so; but let me explain the cause of my misery. Do not rebuke me, but hear She was interrupted by Kenzero, who gave a glance of re- proach which made her tremble. This slavish appearance of my future bride! said he, angrily. Ican- not hear you! No more of your expla- nations! But wait, my lord, said she, con- fusedly. I live this slavish life for the love I cherish for one whose name I dare not to breathe now. Stop! I will hear no more of that, interrupted Kenzero. How could you leave my father, when lie brought you up from your helpless state, and now de- pends on you for the support of his old age? Oh, you shameless gix-l, enticed 1878.] 85 JJfosume~ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. 86 away from home by wicked wretches, and sold into this quarter! Oh, judge not before you hear, pleaded Sumie; however disgraced I maybe now, have pity on me for my suf- ferings sake. She raised herself from the floor and stood before Kenzero, and seizing his sleeves looked up to him with tearful eyes. Do you remember your promise? How long did I hope and wait for your letter, but, alas, all in vain! One night I heard a voice calling my name. I went out and asked who it was, think- ing perhaps it might be you; but no one was there, and I thought it must be a voice from another world, calling me to rest. In that state of mind I determined to drown myself in the river, and leave this unmerciful world. I started from home and went to the bridge, whence, as I cast one farewell glance on the glimmering light of this world, I saw a bright star of heaven reflected in the water, and it showed me where my hap- py home was. I plunged in, while my lips repeated your name. After that I remember nothing until, as I opened my eyes and glanced dreamily about me, I saw a group of dreadful ruffians. Oh, I shall never forget that sight! I tremble at the thought of it. Seeing such men about me, I fainted away; but on open- ing my eyes again I found myself sup- ported by one ruffian, while another was holding a cup of water. Terrified by the sight I closed my eyes, and when I peeped through I saw five ruffians, in rags, sitting cross-legged around the dim light of a camp-fire. I then heard one cry out, I was the first who heard the splash of water, and discovered this girl floating in the river; so I have the right to her! Then, smoothing my hands, he said in an affected tone of sympa- thy, Unfortunate maiden, as you have gained your life by my help, may I ask you to be mine? But if you refuse Here he stopped short and looked full into my eyes, as if to impress strongly upon my mind what he was about to say. In the case of your refusal, continued he, we must sell you as a gaisha. Which will you do? Come, fair maiden, to my house and live with me. The alterna [July, tive was before me, and there was dis grace in both; I thought to myself that if I must live and suffer more I had rather be sold in the Musicians quarter of Yedo, where perhaps I might see you, and then I should tell you all the miseries I had suffered for you. So I said, Sell me, but I will not marry you. At this my suitor flung away my hands and gave me one furious glance, while the rest cried out, Decided! Having failed in the attempt at self-destruction, I came here to seek for you, whom I once loved, but now dare not love, for I have disgraced you by this slavish state. For the reward of my love and sufferings, I only ask your forgiven,ess. Kenzero, lyin,, on a couch, remained silent, and did not heed what she had said. Sumie took his hands, and implored him, Say you forgive me. Forgive- ness is all I now ask. But Kenzero still remained speechless and motionless. Sumie rose with a flush of anger. There is a limit to wQmans pa- tience, said she, tremblingly. I wait- ed suffered for you; but you have, notwithstanding, broken your promise. You have deceived and deserted me. Are women made to be treated so un- mercifully? Are men so stubborn and unable to read the heart of a true wom- an? I lived in the hope of meeting you, and now that I see you, it is worse than the worst I feared. Oh, Kenzero, how can you be so cruel! She turned to descend the stairs, but Kenzero suddenly seized her, and said in a melancholy tone, Are we to forget each other forever, and endure the an- guish of our hearts for nothing? Say no more of forgiveness. It is I who ought to ask your forgiveness. As vile as you are now, I love you more, for it is your love which brought you to this misfortune and disgrace. It is my fault, my fault! And he told her of his unfortu- nate situation in his adoptive family, and the cause of his long silence. He now determined to redeem her from her master, but as he had not suc- ceeded to the family title he had not sufficient means to execute his intention; therefore he Qnly continued his visits to Mosum~ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. Sumie with her masters permission. When the master learned from Kenzero of his relation to Sumie, he was moved by the affecting story of their sufferings, and he consented to the proposal of their immediate marriage; moreover, he told Kenzero to pay the redemption money on his succession to the family estate. The marriage ceremony took place at the masters house, but without the consent of the adoptive family; for Keuzero feared that they would object to the union, and he intended, after his succession, to introduce her to the fami- ly as his wife. After their marriage, Kenzero bought for Sumie a small cottage on the banks of the Sumida, where she lived in a quiet manner with her attendant maid. The cottage was situated on the shore, a short distance from the road, and surrounded by bamboo hedges exquisitely trimmed. The path, bordered with various Orient- al flowers, winds through the garden to the arcbed portal, from which hangs the morning-glory with its delicate tendrils. On one side of the garden there rises an artificial embankment, with trim shrubberies and mossy sides, and on its top a small temple of the household god is seen through the green of pines and hemlocks. On the other side are dwarfed trees, artificial streams, and large trunks of trees overrun with ivy and fern arranged with skill and taste. The piazza commands the whole view of the river, whose right bank is covered by a row of pretty houses, with pretty balconies, and neat steps leading to the water, where numerou* roofed boats ~ are rocking at their moorage; on the left, there is a famous orchard of cherry- trees. A long path, with a row of the trees on either side, extends the whole length of the bank; the branches, meet- ing at the top, form one continuous arch. When the cherry-trees are in full blos- som, one walking beneath this deep and flowery bower can hardly see the sky. The surrounding atmosphere is filled with fragrance, and the place itself is so charming, so unlike any earthly scene, that it reminds one of the descriptions of fairy-land. After Sumies removal to the Sumida, Kenzero spent a greater part of his time there; thus he neglected his home duty, and showed slight attention to his in- tended bride. Months had rolled by without causing any serious effect in the family; but when there was a baby born on the Sumida, Kenzeros absence and his cool treatment toward the daughter of the houses became so marked that the family, for the first time, felt suspi- cious of his mysterious conduct. Ken- zero was a favorite of his grandfather, whose influence was still felt in the do- mestic affairs, although he had long since retired. His interest and affection for his grandson made him fear that, al- though in his lifetime there would be no change in the family, after his death they might disinherit Kenzero, if his present behavior continued; therefore he determined to search for Kenzero s se- cret, and arrange the affair himself. When he made inquiry, he was informed that Kenzero was engaged to Sumie, a singing-girl on the Sumida. lIe was shocked by such unwarrantable conduct in his grandson, and hastened at once to see the woman and solve the difficulty. It was a May afternoon; the weather was mild, and the broad surface of the river was here and there disturbed by calm ripples. Sumie was clad in her flowing gown with loose sleeves; with the child in her arms, she was telling the nurse the story of her past misery. Suddenly there came a voice asking for entrance. Sumie, after bidding the nurse to take the child into the next room, opened the door, and there stood an old stranger. Excuse me, said the stranger; is Miss Sumie living here?~ Yes, sir, replied Sumie; I am the person inquired for. The stranger bowed politely, and begged to be par- doned for the liberty he had taken in thus addressing her. A seat was soon assigned to him; but both remained si- lent, for she was vexed by this unex- pected visit from a stranger, with whose name even she was not yet acquainted, and he did not know how to introduce the object of his call. 1878.J 87 88 At last he broke silence, saying, I do not know how to come to the point. I have attempted several times, but all in vain. I now force myself to state the ob- ject of my coming. I am Kenzeros grandfather. I do not know whether you are aware that he is an adopted son, and is to be united with the daughter of the house; but his coldness nay, his aversion to her made us suspect the existence of a secret engagement. I am informed that you are the one to whom he is attached. I am quite alarmed, for if this were known to his adoptive par- ents they might disinherit him. As I have only a few more years to live, my only hope is to see him succeed peaceful- ly to the family fortune; but as long as his acquaintance with you continues, so long his future remains uncertain. Here his courage failed him, and he could pro- ceed no further. All the while Sumie sat with downcast eyes, thinking that the fatal moment had at last arrived, and she must either announce her marriage with Kenzero, or resolve nevermore to see her loved husband. She thought of acknowl- edging the marriage; but then what would be the result? Kenzero would surely be disinherited for his secrecy and disregard of the family, and his name forever blotted from the fair pages of human record. Upon her answer hangs the fate of Kenzero! There is no other way to save him and his honor but to sacrifice herself. I was unaware, said she, pressing down the swelling of her heart, that I had caused so much alarm in your fam- ily. However, I shall hereafter renounce the honor of Kenzeros attentions. Now, for the first and last time, I beg your forgiveness.~~ A flood of tears rolled down on her cheek, and, burying her face in her hands, she knelt down at the feet of the old baronet. Rise, madam, said he, trying to lift her; pray rise, for you have done nothing to be forgiven. I know too well the pains of separation. It makes my heart ache when I think that I have made you break your engagement and caused all your sufferings. [July, As I have no hope or happiness in the future, if my sacrifice can save Ken- zero and his honor I will gladly make it, for the love I have long cherished for him. It was so touching to hear her, and to witness her calm resignation, that the old baronet wept, and, expressing his sympathy for her sorrow, he bade her farewell. After the visit of tjiis mysterious stran- ger, the scene in the cottage assumed a very different aspect; the merriest laugh- ter had now changed into saddest still- ness and despondency, and over Sumies beautiful face came an expression of woe and despair. As she sat alone in her own room, thinking of the sorrow of her last meeting with Keuzero, she observed him standing on the threshold and wonder- ing at the change in her. What ails you? asked he, advanc- ing toward her. Has anything hap- pened? But receiving no answer he came to her, and said, while looking into her tearful eyes, Come, come! tell me what ails you. Nothing, said she, dropping her head on his arm; but I was thinking of my unfortunate condition, and I could not help I wish you would not brood over such a silly thing. Thus far we have both had a full share of sufferings; but now we are married, let us forget the story of our past miseries; and as soon as I succeed my father, I will acknowl- edge you as my lawful wife. Therefore until then be patient, and wait for our brighter future. Why do you talk so hopeless? said he, bending over her tenderly. Why do you look so strange- ly? Why, you perplex me! you alarm me! Does anything distress you? Come, tell me, and I will share your sorrow. I have nothing to tell you now; but I will inform you to-morrow, said she, while she was repeating in her mind, To-morrow itself will inform you. Then until to-morrow, said he, do not despond so, for my sake. I will come early to-morrow morning, for I am a substitute for my father in at- tendance at court to-night. I must go ]IIosume~ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. 1878.] 1JIosum~ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. now, so adieu. As he was turning to start on his duty, Sumie looked at him with a despairing expression, as if they were never to meet again. Kenzero was troubled ; returning to her, he said, Why do you look so sad? I will come to-morrow, early. Is there anything that you wish me to do before I go? Nothing particular, replied Sumie; but somehow I feel very lonely. Stay a while, for it is not yet the fourth hour. Kenzero returned to her side, and they are once more together. I often think, continued she, that I was born to make others grieve, and my life is the representative of the sad- dest. How many phases of human life are there in the world! Life resembles several streams: some dash forth from between huge rocks, ooze through crack and crevice, and are sometimes hurled down over cataracts and waterfalls, and whirled around in a dark, fathomless basin. Calmness and tranquillity are not assigned to them; but their whole course represents a constant turmoil and dis- turbance, until at last they are all emp- tied into the ocean. Others bubble up by the hill-side, and warble along sunny banks and peaceful meadows. They sometimes glide over mossy stones and beneath the cool shade of summer foli- age, while their gentle murmur makes harmony with the sweet son,,s of sky- larks. The roaring rivers and laughing brooks are alike hushed at last by the waves of the mysterious ocean. Like- wise grief and pleasure, sorrow and hap- piness are swallowed up in death, the common destiny of human life. My life is a scene of constant troubles; I live in sorrow, and so shall I die. To-night we sit together, hut we know not what to- morrow will bring forth. Should I ever be called away suddenly, think of me mournfully, and pity my child for its mothers sake. Why do you talk always of sorrow and death? interrupted Kenzero. As frail as we are, and as uncertain as our life is, we must idealize a world of happi- ness, and. hope for a brighter future. In this transitory world there is nothing substantial, nothing to be called happi- ness except hope. Misfortune disperses the airy castles of imagination; sorrow breaks into the happy circle of content- ment. Sadness plays as important a part as happiness in the drama of human life. Just then the bell of Asakusa struck the fourth hour of night. It is time to go, said Keazero, starting from his seat. Oh, then must you go? said Sn- mie, looking at him steadfastly. I do not know why, but I feel sad in view of so short a separation. You alarm me! I do not dare to go to the court and leave you here alone. Pray attend the court, said she, eagerly. For the world, I would not have you omit a duty. Her heart was full, for this was the last time she was to see him, and to-morrow she would hear him no more; but, trusting that she should meet him in the happier region, she bade him farewell. After the whole family had retired Sumie began her preparation by dress- ing herself in the white apparel; which is generally worn by one who in- tends to commit suicide. She wrote a long farewell letter to Kenzero; and just as the hour of midnight struck she grasped a short sword, wrapped in white cloth, all save the point about an inch in length. She raised it to thrust into her throat, but her courage failed her at the sight of her child. She knelt at his cra- dle, bent over him, and embraced him again and again. The thought of leav- ing him alone made her tremble; she shuddered at the sight of the sharp sword before her. Weeping, sobbing, she for the last time fondly clasped him to her bosom; and as her warm tears fell upon the childs cheek he stretched out his arms, he moved as if waking. Sumie started back and held her breath in dis- may, but again the child dropped asleep. Oh, my dearest child! cried she, with clasped hands and uplifted eyes. Oh, most unfortunate one! Forever must I leave you? But I shall hover above you, and guard you against the troubles of this wicked world. Do not cry when I am gone, for I shall never 89 90 IiIosumJ Sets Yo; or, Womans Sacrifice. [July, return. When waking in the morning you seek a mothers smile, my lips will be closed and my spirit departed. Do not grieve when I am dead. I am not to be mourned, but only to be forgiven. When you know that I brought you into tbis world only to suffer and be thrown in the sbadow of the worlds splendor, do not think hardly of me, but pray to God that my sins be forgiven. This is my fondest saddest and last -~-- Sbe embraced the child again and again, then thrust the sword into her throat, gasped, and died. Kenzero was haunted all night by the thoughts of his sorrow - stricken wife. Next morning, at the close of his attend- ance, he hurried to the Sumida. On arriving at the cottage, he found the door closed; he knocked for admission, and he was soon answerediby the nurse, who appeared as if just awakened from a deep slumber. How is Sumie? asked Kenzero, eagerly. She has not yet called me; so I sup- pose she has slept soundly, replied the nurse. That is well. Sleep does her so much good. And Kenzero went straight to Sumies chamber. A loud scream was heard. In a minute the nurse and servant were on the spot. What a terri- ble scene! There was Sumie lying in white apparel covered with blood, the nurse kneeling and weeping, Kenzero holding Sumies face in both his hands and gazing upon it with an expression of intense agony, and the servant standing dumb with horror. 0 Sumie! cried Keuzero, still gaz- ing on her face. My own and dearest! Your sufferings were too heavy to bear; but was there not any other way but to rest in the shadow of death? Were those her last words to me? Oh, how ignorant was I of the working of her heart! My life, my happiness, forever gone! He trembled with despair and remorse; but he reflected upon her words, and bitterly reproached himself. As he turned about, he found a letter on the desk; on its outside was written, Fare- well letter to Kenzero. He opened it hurriedly, but, unable to proceed, he dropped it on the floor. On recovering his strength he read as follows: Midnight on the Sumida. DEAREST KENZERO, Parting is a correlative of meeting; no meeting can ever exist but it is followed by parting. As the number of happy meetings in- creases, so much nearer do we approach to the melancholy of parting. At last the time has come when I must leave you and the world forever. Standing on the threshold of death, as I look back upon my life I see nothing but sadness and misery. In spite of my inferior birth you have shown me more sympa- thy and love than was due to my un- worthy self; and shall I ever forget them? I have often felt it would have been better and happier for you and me had we never met. I had a dread of myself as the cause of disgrace to you and your noble family. I believe that I was intended to die when I was left in my infancy without home and parents. It was never intended that I should thus live and make you grieve for my misery. These thoughts render my life no pleas- ure to me, but create a constant fear of future sufferings; therefore, now once for all, I sacrifice my life and end my fears to save you from disgrace. I have only one request, my worthy In what term shall I address you now? As a husband? The world ignores our mar- riage, and your noble parents have not ratified it. Whatever name it be, I care not. For the sake of your unfortunate Sumie, have pity on my child, and give him such an education as will save him from ignorance and disgrace. Do not tell him who was his mother, or how she died, for it will only add sorrow and shame to his innocent mind; but teach him to pray that her sins be forgiven. As 1 leave all those who are dear to me on earth, and turn my thoughts to the mysterious region of death, I tremble at the darkness of my path; but I trust that God will be merciful, and guide my poor, weary soul to its blessed des- tiny. This parting sorrowful and heart-rending will be only for a mo 1878.] ment, and soon we shall meet again in a happier land, where sorrows are unknown and friends never parted. My thoughts are as countless as the pebbles on the shore; but as an approaching dawn sep- arates day from night, and life from death, so I close this last token of my love with adieus and tears. As he finished the reading of the let- ter, Kenzero laid it down, clasped his hands in prayer, and gazed upon it as the last expression of Sumies love. Every heart was swelled by grief; every eye was filled with tears; silence and sorrow reigned everywhere. 91 When the family was informed of Su- mies personal history, the parents re- proached Keuzero for the concealment of his early betrothal. The grandfather said that if Sumie had told him of her marriage, and of her child, he would have secured the favor of the family in her cause; and Eukie regretted her own existence as an obstacle to Kenzero~s union with Sumie, and as the cause of her self-destruction. Her parents took the child into the family, trusted his ed- ucation to the loving hands of Eukie, and erected a tomb to the memory of Sumie, young and beautiful, who sacri- ficed her own life for man and his honor. N. T. Kan~1co. OPEN LETTERS FROM NEW YORK. yI. A GLIMPSE has been deferentially taken of the exterior of the quarter of brown stone and shining plate-glass, with its central avenue, the chosen abode of the most select high life in New York. Sometimes it seems the abode of no life at all. People are rather rarely seen to enter or leave the houses. Children and organ-grinders do not play much in front; and the tenants are by no means to be found personally negotiating with aveg- etable man at the curb-stone, or loan- ing each other a saucepan over the area railings. At night, however, here and there a carpet is laid across the sidewalk, and a striped, barrel - shaped awning erected above it. Certain passengers on foot and on wheels, responsive to the action of the exhaust-chamber within, disappear into the awning as if swal- lowed up in the mouth - piece of sofue curious pneumatic tube. There is a lit- tle knot of spectators gathered about it: a couple of intimate servant - girls, with arms about each others waists; a pair of rude young loafers, who laugh coarse- ly and make fictions of being about to draw on their gloves and step airily in themselves; a well-dressed woman from a lower station, who does not fear rec- ognition in detaining her husband and pushing boldly to the front to gratify for a moment a commendable feminine curiosity, the whole kept in check by a sturdy policeman who has the air of being in society himself, and something more in having it thus under his patron- age. Perhaps a young man not too long from the interior, a student or beginner in law or a clerk in a mercantile house, turns his head to note the disembarka- tion of a wonderful being in a cloud of fleecy draperies, and passes on musing. He is not convinced of the justice of the embargo by which he is shut out from ac- quaintanceships of such charming prom- ise, nor that it is not a station in life he himself is as well calculated to adorn as another. How long will it be before some astonishing development of legal talent, or the investment of his savings in some wholesale enterprise affording enormous profits, will place him there on equal terms? Open Letters from New York.

1878.] ment, and soon we shall meet again in a happier land, where sorrows are unknown and friends never parted. My thoughts are as countless as the pebbles on the shore; but as an approaching dawn sep- arates day from night, and life from death, so I close this last token of my love with adieus and tears. As he finished the reading of the let- ter, Kenzero laid it down, clasped his hands in prayer, and gazed upon it as the last expression of Sumies love. Every heart was swelled by grief; every eye was filled with tears; silence and sorrow reigned everywhere. 91 When the family was informed of Su- mies personal history, the parents re- proached Keuzero for the concealment of his early betrothal. The grandfather said that if Sumie had told him of her marriage, and of her child, he would have secured the favor of the family in her cause; and Eukie regretted her own existence as an obstacle to Kenzero~s union with Sumie, and as the cause of her self-destruction. Her parents took the child into the family, trusted his ed- ucation to the loving hands of Eukie, and erected a tomb to the memory of Sumie, young and beautiful, who sacri- ficed her own life for man and his honor. N. T. Kan~1co. OPEN LETTERS FROM NEW YORK. yI. A GLIMPSE has been deferentially taken of the exterior of the quarter of brown stone and shining plate-glass, with its central avenue, the chosen abode of the most select high life in New York. Sometimes it seems the abode of no life at all. People are rather rarely seen to enter or leave the houses. Children and organ-grinders do not play much in front; and the tenants are by no means to be found personally negotiating with aveg- etable man at the curb-stone, or loan- ing each other a saucepan over the area railings. At night, however, here and there a carpet is laid across the sidewalk, and a striped, barrel - shaped awning erected above it. Certain passengers on foot and on wheels, responsive to the action of the exhaust-chamber within, disappear into the awning as if swal- lowed up in the mouth - piece of sofue curious pneumatic tube. There is a lit- tle knot of spectators gathered about it: a couple of intimate servant - girls, with arms about each others waists; a pair of rude young loafers, who laugh coarse- ly and make fictions of being about to draw on their gloves and step airily in themselves; a well-dressed woman from a lower station, who does not fear rec- ognition in detaining her husband and pushing boldly to the front to gratify for a moment a commendable feminine curiosity, the whole kept in check by a sturdy policeman who has the air of being in society himself, and something more in having it thus under his patron- age. Perhaps a young man not too long from the interior, a student or beginner in law or a clerk in a mercantile house, turns his head to note the disembarka- tion of a wonderful being in a cloud of fleecy draperies, and passes on musing. He is not convinced of the justice of the embargo by which he is shut out from ac- quaintanceships of such charming prom- ise, nor that it is not a station in life he himself is as well calculated to adorn as another. How long will it be before some astonishing development of legal talent, or the investment of his savings in some wholesale enterprise affording enormous profits, will place him there on equal terms? Open Letters from New York. Open Letters from New York. Supposing, however, that the young man were already one of the kind of floating atoms that this particular pneu- matic tube by preference took in, what would he find? He would mount to an elegant library room or sleeping apart- ment, directed with a sweeping gesture by a serving-man in livery. He would find a place for his ulster and stick among a thick array of similar small bundles on the chairs and tables and floor, but would carefully retain, all the evening, his hat, made with a spring to shut up into a disk. Coming down he would take the hand of the hostess, standing, with one or more assistants, in the realized intri- cacy of the latest fashion plates, at the drawing - room door. Perhaps, as he waited his turn, he would hear his pred- ecessors, invited for their desirability from a select list, with little or no pre- vious acquaintance, m~ntioning their names, and the beaming entertainer greet- ing with more than usual effusion the bearer of some particularly good Knick- erbocker title, and regretting that so little of the old blue blood is left. Within, in the babel of well-bred sounds and the tangle of rich materials, from which only the upper half of the bodies of the men, in immaculate black and white, emerges, he looks for familiarfaces. It is not at all a cheerful thing if he finds none. Take the arm of Westbrook, imaginable young man! He is far from the mad presump- tion of thinking he knows anything par- ticular about it himself, but we shall find witnesses in the course of the promenade to give us points. Possibly the vision of loveliness you saw escaping up the steps is close at hand. If you had the honor of her ac- quaintance she might ask if you were at the Merry-Go-Rounds last night. Yes, you would reply, and found it charming. Was she going to the Whirligigs to-mor- row night, you might return. No, she might say, I cant go. Then it would be almost time already to be moving on. The physical appearance of the people is prepossessing. Eques- trianism is popular with the young girls, and they walk the avenue with a quick, elastic step. The case seems a little problematic, it is true, during the full- fledged society period, for some of these over-slender figures, but after marriage a more robust health reappears. In the case of the men, who affect an English carriage and aspect, while the women, with their greater vivacity, more resem- ble the French, the taste for athletic sports has risen to the height of a pro- fession. There is no longer any reason for those who do not care to make a pre- tense of playing at business being driven abroad for their pleasures. It is a taste that will not hinder the natural tendency of accumulated wealth to dispersal, but it ought at least to hand down the in- heritance of robust constitutions to the descendants who must commence the work of accumulation anew. There is such a variety of styles light and dark, slender and stout, tall and short that it is not easy to pick out the prevailing type. There is evident a wide range of intermarriages, and the influence of many climates and manners of living. A strong element made up from the foreign con- suls and resident foreign merchants in- termingles closely, chatting in its own languages, and aids the diversity of ef- fect. The men, it must be said, can be inspected to better advantage in a phys- ical way at the Racquet Club or the Polo grounds. Precious privilege as it is to be here, the heat and burden of the evening is borne largely by quiet imma- ture youths, while there are numbers of handsome stalwart fellows approaching, say, the age of thirty who would con- sider it the worst kind of a bore to hare to come. So is it ordained that the too much must offset the too little. The young girl is the central figure. In Brief Honors, a late gracefully told little story from the Chica,o house of Jansen, McClurg & Co., devoted to New York matters, and especially, with much pointedness, to the abuses of insurance companies, she is thus described: The New York girl is the wonder and envy of all other American young women. She is not prettier, or more graceful, or more favored in any way by nature; she cannot dance, sing, paint, play, talk, write, or perform in any of the so-called ~iY2 [July, 1818.] accomplishments better than any other of her countrywomen. She does not necessarily spend more time or money in her toilette; but she acquires a name- less faculty of satisfaction with herself which young ladies of the best education and surroundings in lesser cities and towns never quite possess. . . . She begins society where other and so-called provincial young ladies leave off, name- ly, in understanding it. The satire called The Tender Recol- lections of Irene Macgillicuddy, in the December and January numbers of Blackwoods, attributed to an English author of the best social opportunities, who passes much of his time here, as- cribes her success matrimonially to this thorough sophistication and her assump- tion of the management of her own af- fairs; unlike her English sister, who is kept in leading-strings and browbeaten by a kind of awfully-aw style of men. The same writer rates her as much bright- er and more solidly accomplished than her equals of the other sex. I remem- ber one evening, says the sprightly Irene, pursuing her breathless autobiog- raphy, half a dozen of us girls count- ing up the young men who could con- verse intelligently on any of the literary, scientific, or even political questions of the day. When we had got up to two we were obliged to stop. . . . When you are not down in your eternal Wall Streets, you are out at Jerome Park, or looking out of the club windows; but as for informing your minds and giving your naturally bright intellects some wholesome food to digest, which should make you instructive as well as agree- able members of society, you wont do it. . . . I feel that I owe you some ex- planation for having taken an English- man when I had the whole Spuyten Duy- vel Club to choose from. If the young girl be the central figure, her domain is much circumscribed in fa- vor of the young married woman, and will inevitably bemore so in the approx- imation in progress towards European manners. The age and civilization of societies can be accurately gauged according to the prevalence in them of 93 mature people. You recollect how it was with you at X, before coming to New York. You selected a young lady you knew to have been invited to the same party, escorted her there, and brought her safely home without the in- terposition of anybody. Here the cha- perone is a necessity; a more compli- cated system is installed. The chape- rone forms the rallying point for an older element, who gather to talk to her. At first, we may suppose the young matron assisted in this capacity. By degrees she took part, and is now involved in the whirl to the fullest degree. Marriage in metropolitan society is not the signal for a portentous gravity and an exclusive interest in domestic affairs. The the- ory prevails that with increased intelli- gence people can come together with even greater profit than before. The whole of life is thus thrown open, and partici- pation in its pleasures no longer circum- scribed by an arbitrary limit. The young married men are of great social importance. They are said to be the most indefatigable ball- goers, the recognized leaders of the German, and established authorities on all matters of etiquette. They flirt actively with un- married girls, in some cases keeping it up until their own daughters come out. They overwhelm the girls of their choice with bouquets, bonbonni~res, and trifling presents, taking them drives, giv- ing them dinners, boxes at the opera, and distinguishing them by such marks of delicate attention as are always 0rate- ful to the female mind. The more in- telligent elderly portion of the men seem to have only a temporary connection with the assemblages. They are stran- gers in town, or newly risen to fame, or returned after a long absence, and friends who have come out to welcome them. Whatever the recurring reasons may be, the ranks are kept tolerably full. Here is a noted artist, long resident in Rome, with a gallant and polished air, complimenting and being complimented by a circle of ladies. A distinguished ex-candidate for a very high office is smiling feebly by the mantel-piece. A tall young editor raises above the assem Open Letters from New York. 94 blage, for a while, a serious head that seems exotic to such scen~es. He con- verses with the distinguished candidate, and both disappear early. The well- known wit, Mr. Rip-Rap, brought out of retirement by his connection as a witness with the famous Tanglewood case, is finishing one of his anecdotes to this group and passing on to the next. There are some traveling lords from the Brevoort House, some army officers on leave, and the interesting Lady Ban- bury Cross, who was such a card at Newport last summer. Almost every- body in this circle has traveled. To have lived abroad is the rule rather than the exception. There are plenty of per- sons who have passed not one or two, but six and seven years there. In its elements and opportunities it is a great cosmopolitan society. It might be sup- posed, under these circumstances, that conversation of an improving order would flourish. There is, of course, much interesting talk, but it is not so to a notable extent. Manner is an object of attention quite as much as matter. The new-coiner sometimes finds, with a sense of surprise that makes him an un- equal participant, that to be particu- larly well read and interested in intel- lectual matters is thought not quite in good form. Perhaps the conversation of society, like that of common life under similar circumstances, can never depart very far from the description of Rousseau, who complains that nothing so dwarfs the mind, so engenders trivialities, tittle- tattle, evasions, and falsehoods, as to be shut up face to face in an apartment, and reduced to the necessity of contin- ual babble. Let it be a condition that I must talk, and I inevitably make a fool of myself. Moi pr~sent on nau- mit jamais su ce que je valais. And it is not I, but Matthew Arnold, who, speaking of the use of an aristocracy to counteract that hard type of life which a constant subjection to petty cares tends to establish, says further that the pecul- iar serenity of aristocracies, of Teutonic origin at least, appears to come from their never having had any ideas to [July, trouble them. There appears to be at present no semblance of a salon, like the salons of history, and perhaps of New York in the past, where persons of opinions and definite knowledge come together, amidst an agreeable luxury of surroundings, for intellectual fric- tion. If it lack profundity somewhat, socie- ty conversation is not wanting in a dash- in,, readiness, often approaching wit. The desire to be entertained implies the duty of entertaining, and it is by this method that the effort to fulfill the obli- gation is chiefly attempted, rather than by the conveying of information, which is not indeed an easy matter, every- body being courteously supposed to know everything already. Proficiency in this talent throws its lustre around the fashionable set, indifferently known as the fast set, whatever it may be for the moment. The fashionable set is a variable domination. It is Mrs. Browns set this year. Mrs. Joness set next year, and Mrs. Robinsons set the year after, says The Sarcasm of Des- tiny, of Mrs. Sherwood, a work whose value consists in the observations her in- timate connection with society enables the authoress to make more than in its plot or characters. Whoever has health, money, and a disposition, who- ever will give attention enough, can for a short season be a leader of a fashiona- ble set. The moment one becomes too autocratic a new departure comes. Cer- tain belles and enterprising persons, it thus seems, create, as it were, schools of fashion, which display for the moment definite characteristics and an animating principle, and are presently dissipated as lightly as the dust on a butterflys wing. The fashionable set is apt to approach, in an off-hand freedom of manners and lack of squeamishness (so curiously do the ends .of life approach) sets quite at the other extreme of society. Nor is this an exclusively New York or an ex- clusively American trait of high society. Is there not a noble attache at Windsor, in Charles Sumners letters, who comes down-stairs and talks about the gals, meaning no less prominent persons than Open Letters from New York. Open Letters from New York. the august maids of honor of the royal household? Meanwhile, the music has been play- ing since ten oclock, and round danc- ing desultorily in progress. At mid- night the doors are thrown open and a glittering table disclosed. The elegant men in black and white fall upon the pinnacled and rose and lily tinted comes- tibles like a descent of. Goths and Van- dals upon Italy, and bear away sections, held by a precarious tenure, to the la- dies distributed in chairs, with their vo- luminous skirts as close-roofed as possi- ble, in the vicinity. Then the chairs are arranged in pairs, and the real business of the evening begins, the German co- tillion. The last carriages are rolling away at three QclOck. This is society, the ball, the culminating act of the long series of society conjurations whose ob- ject. is to bring people together. A prio- ri, one who knew nothing about it would imagine would he not? that a so- ciety freed from the sordid cares of the struggle for bread, with unlimited op- portunities of development in education and the arts, would be found conversing like the Poet at the Breakfast-Table, en- ga0ed in some subtle and exquisite pur- suits, cherishing ideals radically differ- ent from and beyond those prevailing below. The hard truth in life is rather that the impulse obtained by the over- coming of difficulties is that which goes on to the greatest accomplishments after the immediate purpose for which it is aroused is subserved. It is not the deni- zen of the .tropics, stretching his hand to the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut grown for him without planting, who develops letters and the arts and founds great commercial republics, but the assiduous Hollander, first snatching his dreary marsh from the jaws of the North Sea. It would not do to claim that any Amer- ican society had yet reached the point of being benumbed, by its luxury. Its men, at least, are engaged in the common avocations and the common struggle. The scale, not the kind, of their demands is altered. But if it has not gone down it has not gone up. The ideal of the largest and best secured fortunes does not differ greatly from yours and mine, material gains, more interest, advanta- geous marriages. Society is not a different order of beings, it is disappointing to find, but sim- ply the upper classes taking their pleas- ure. To take their pleasure in the way deemed decorous and requisite involves a certain expenditure. Money, therefore, is the first condition of society. Possibly there are thirty thousand people in New York capable of carryin0 on the desirable scale of display in houses, dress, equi- pa,,e, and entertainments. This is alto- gether too many; bases for divisions must be found. The uneducated rich are left out. The local political rich form a cir- cle by themselves. There is a religious set, houses that remind one of Lady Pitt Crawleys in Great Gaunt Street. Bi- ble-reading is mingled with its gayeties, and ladies who delighted to be gone all day on coaching excursions with profli- gate young millionaires, considerably the worse for their wine after dinner, and ro return tooting horns through the streets at night, would not be received, nor pos- sibly the millionaires either, though the painful reflection occurs to one that they might not want to be. The rich of family insist upon taking the top- most position. Their claim is half ad- initted, owing to the need of some pe- culiar titles to consideration where all are otherwise equally equipped, and is half maintained by force. It is a very shrewd claim. It cuts the ground from under the feet of ambitious aspirants, who can never arrive at this qualification, whatever they may do with the others, and it also obviates the need of uncom- fortable exertions on the part of its as- sertors. In any partnership with money or brains, family preserves a conscious- ness of contributing its full share to the fund. Why will not somebody under- take a defense of these much-abused fac- titious distinctions? Money and family are at least something tangible; how dif- ficult of estimation is true worth! It cant be positively determined by looks or talk, and who has time to go around hunting up conduct? Besides that, ap- pearances may be deceptive. If Gall 1878.] 95 96 Open Letters from New York. [July, and Spurzheim were only infallible, and there were a central bureau where every- bodys head could be charted and placed on file for reference, it would be quite another matter. By these various eliminations society is reduced to manageable proportions. The circle, determined to be the best company, by the Chesterfieldian rule of selection, that which all other circles admit to be the best next to their own, invites from six hundred to one thousand people to its balls, and thus practically admits so many to terms of equality. But this number is already unwieldy, and further divisions would seem to be called for. The swarm of guests has outgrown any but the largest houses. The rooms at Delmonicos begin to be taken for all sorts of private festiv- ities. It ihust be a convenience to buy a coming-out party or a birthday party of any desired size, and pay for it in a single solid lump; but the growth of the custom is regretted by some as a detrac- tion from a more sentimental ideal of hospitality and the home formerly pre- vailing. Without money, family, or conspicu- ous brains, you would do much better with the first than with either of the others unaided, imaginary student or merchants clerk, it will do you no good to be at this party. You might as well not have come. You cannot have a ca- reer. This is natural. The two purposes of society are to be fashionable and to be entertained. If you can contribute to neither, why should you come? One would.like to know as much as possible, since this is to be but a momentary glimpse, of the inner meaning of society, of its capabilities for happiness. All the accounts I have glanced at agree as to the reality of the old fam- ily claim; all insist upon the prevalence of an excessively mercenary spirit, and a proneness to unblushing withdrawals of countenance from unfortunate asso- ciates. Young Morgan, the anonymous Chicago authors hero, is thrown over by Miss Juliette IRamsay as a person of low tastes, because he continues to visit the bankrupt family of Stephen Wilting in a back street down town. He marries the bankrupt merchants daughter in the end, a girl with a bright, active mind, a talent for chess, and some vestiges of coquetry in spite of her reverses, and seems to have made a happy exchange; but this, of course, is a matter that the novelist has entirely in his own hands. Nina, in Mrs. Sherwoods story, seeking aid as a teacher at houses where she had once been feted and flattered, is repre- sented as having her card returned to her by Mrs. Merivale, with the message, I do not know the person. When she returns to prosperity, Mrs. Merivale a~ ala fawns upon her. There is no gain- blin~ set now, as there was shortly after the fierce excitements of the war, where ladies of fashion smoked cigarettes with the men, and played for fifties and hundreds of dollars at a time; but there are unpleasant statements as to other points of morality. Mrs. Rose Averill is quoted as saying, ar,, uing for the ad- mission of certain questionable guests to her ball, I do not wish to be called the young American matron, and derided for my propriety. I assure you, men laugh very much at any assumption of that kind. It is out of fashion, and it is only that I am young and pretty and rich and well born that I can afford to be in love with my husband. I should hope any daughter of mine would be in love with her husband, or else pretend to he, said Mrs. Pear-Tree. No, mamma, that is not the fashion of the period; if you are not wrong, you must pretend to be, or else you lose caste. This is not so far from the pictures & f life presented by the comic dramatists of the Restoration and similar luxurious periods. My friends who are living quiet and guarded lives, says another society account, in the March Apple- tons Journal, ~ are very unhappy. They describe their dull monotony of days as something very forlorn. The young married women are left alone, with every want in life satisfied except the greatest of all wants, something to do, and with but one possible excitement, and that is flirtation. Americani8ms. It must be borne in mind that the striking effects of satirists, and half the time those of the story-writers, have to be produced with the faults instead of the merits of the community. One crhne resounds farther than a hundred virtues. JI~emoralization of manners is probably one of the things in time to be expected here, as it has always followed elsewhere in the train of great wealth and prosper- ity, but the manifestations are yet too extremely slight to justify any general aspersions. Whatever may be the do- ings of a certain set, always exagger- ated by rumor, a proposition to take the not out of the Decalogue is far from being yet in order. The best company in New York has many aspects of fresh- ness and simplicity. Church-c oing is the rule. Its younger element is trained at the grave seminaries and colleges of the quiet interior. In the classes from which it is drawn, though not imme- diately in society, there are persons of studious tastes, surrounding themselves with the appliances of an admirable cult- ure, who lead lives that seem the wor- thiest and most enviable of all. There is some frivolity and inconstancy in the classes below; I suppose life is not quite free from it anywhere. There are butch- ers who maltreat their poor relations, and bakers who give themselves airs over candlestick-makers for living on a fourth- floor flat at fifteen dollars a month in- stead of a fifth at ten. I hope this account is not going to ap- pear abusive. It would not be much less so if any other class were the subject of its story. All it ought to do is to justi- fy an inference that society is not so un- speakably more precious and exalted in its transactions than ordinary life that one need repine bitterly, like the fabled Pen at the gate of Paradise, disconso- late, if he never quite gets into it. Right- ly understood, contentment is~ no doubt possible outside of it. Raymond Westbroolc. AMERICANISMS. III. ALREADY I begin to see that The Atlantic is a kind of Oneida Community in the republic of letters. At least it is so in the use of mutual criticism as a mode of discipline for its contributors. If one of us makes a slip, or is supposed by another to have made one, which comes to much the same thing, he is pretty sure to hear of it next month in the Club, where he finds himself sub- jected to a form of castigation which is in use not only under the ~overnment of Father Noyes, but in the estimable So- ciety of Friends. I remember having seen in my boyhood one of my compan- ions, whose family belonged to that so- cial order, dealt with in this way. He had been guilty of some outrageous piece VOL. XLII. NO. 249. 7 of mischief, and the maternal magistrate arraigned him in this fashion: Now, Robert, thee has been a very bad boy; thee ought to be I winced for my playmate; for I expected the conclusion common under such circumstances among the worlds people. But no; the threat- ened punishment was of another kind. The judgment pronounced was, Thee ought to be talked to. I discovered afterwards that this was a common mode of correction among the Quakers; a kind of family pillory, in which a culprit was set up to have his ears bored with sharp sayings, and to be pelted with dead mys- teries and moralities, and rotten prov- erbs. Perhaps it was a figurative me- morial of the persecution to which the sect had been subjected in its early days, both in the Old England and in the 1878.] 97

Americani8ms. It must be borne in mind that the striking effects of satirists, and half the time those of the story-writers, have to be produced with the faults instead of the merits of the community. One crhne resounds farther than a hundred virtues. JI~emoralization of manners is probably one of the things in time to be expected here, as it has always followed elsewhere in the train of great wealth and prosper- ity, but the manifestations are yet too extremely slight to justify any general aspersions. Whatever may be the do- ings of a certain set, always exagger- ated by rumor, a proposition to take the not out of the Decalogue is far from being yet in order. The best company in New York has many aspects of fresh- ness and simplicity. Church-c oing is the rule. Its younger element is trained at the grave seminaries and colleges of the quiet interior. In the classes from which it is drawn, though not imme- diately in society, there are persons of studious tastes, surrounding themselves with the appliances of an admirable cult- ure, who lead lives that seem the wor- thiest and most enviable of all. There is some frivolity and inconstancy in the classes below; I suppose life is not quite free from it anywhere. There are butch- ers who maltreat their poor relations, and bakers who give themselves airs over candlestick-makers for living on a fourth- floor flat at fifteen dollars a month in- stead of a fifth at ten. I hope this account is not going to ap- pear abusive. It would not be much less so if any other class were the subject of its story. All it ought to do is to justi- fy an inference that society is not so un- speakably more precious and exalted in its transactions than ordinary life that one need repine bitterly, like the fabled Pen at the gate of Paradise, disconso- late, if he never quite gets into it. Right- ly understood, contentment is~ no doubt possible outside of it. Raymond Westbroolc. AMERICANISMS. III. ALREADY I begin to see that The Atlantic is a kind of Oneida Community in the republic of letters. At least it is so in the use of mutual criticism as a mode of discipline for its contributors. If one of us makes a slip, or is supposed by another to have made one, which comes to much the same thing, he is pretty sure to hear of it next month in the Club, where he finds himself sub- jected to a form of castigation which is in use not only under the ~overnment of Father Noyes, but in the estimable So- ciety of Friends. I remember having seen in my boyhood one of my compan- ions, whose family belonged to that so- cial order, dealt with in this way. He had been guilty of some outrageous piece VOL. XLII. NO. 249. 7 of mischief, and the maternal magistrate arraigned him in this fashion: Now, Robert, thee has been a very bad boy; thee ought to be I winced for my playmate; for I expected the conclusion common under such circumstances among the worlds people. But no; the threat- ened punishment was of another kind. The judgment pronounced was, Thee ought to be talked to. I discovered afterwards that this was a common mode of correction among the Quakers; a kind of family pillory, in which a culprit was set up to have his ears bored with sharp sayings, and to be pelted with dead mys- teries and moralities, and rotten prov- erbs. Perhaps it was a figurative me- morial of the persecution to which the sect had been subjected in its early days, both in the Old England and in the 1878.] 97 98 Americani8ms. [July, New. I am not quite sure that it was robin. And so, I think, should we, if not a more dreadful punishment than we had the tiny little crimson-breasted the veritable whipping-post. Certainly it was more effectual, if we may ju(lge by the sober and discreet carriage of the people who put it in practice. However this may be, it is manifest that some of my collaborators think that I too ought to be talked to. I am quite willing to submit myself to this chastening: first, because I believe that the discipline is good; and next, because I have~the right, which the poor Quaker boy did not have, of talking back. Of this, however, I shall not avail myself, unless it seems to me that I can do so for the benefit of my readers. As to words and phrases peculiarly American, I am asked how I would re- gard cases where a partial variation in the form of things has led to a variation in words between the two nations. The answer is plain enougb. A variation which is not merely in fashion and style, but which is sufficient to produce a really new thing, justifies a new name; and this is not an Americanism. In- deed, among the few real Americanisms in langua0e, no small proportion is com- posed. of words which are improperly ap- plied to things which we do not possess. For example, we, that is the Episcopa- lians among us, speak of the rector of a parish; and our boys, and I am sor- ry to say some of our men, shoot what they call robins. Now there is not a rec- tor or a robin in America. A rector is a clergyman who has certain legal rela- tions to a legally constituted community known as a parish, and who has rights there even against his parishioners. We have no such reli0ious officers. Our so- called rectors are merely the ministers of Episcopalian churches or congregatidns; and their parishes have a purely con- ventional existence; their not very easi- ly determinable limits being set by the Episcopal church for its own purposes. Our robin is a tawny-breasted thrush; a bird of a family quite different from that of the robin. An Englishman will shoot almost anything that flies or that runs, except a fox; but he would about as soon shoot his grandmother as shoot a creature that haunts the house, perches upon the window-sill and peers through the pane with one - sided glance, and flies trustingly almost into the hand that brings its breakfast of crumbs. These perversions of words are, perhaps, un- avoimlable; but they are to be deplored, for they are the occasion of misappre- hension, and not unfrequently they are accompanied by a perversion of senti- ment. We have no such associations with our so-called robin as those which pervade all England and are illustrated in all English literature in regard to the redbreast. To come to the particulars oC my que- rist: he asks if I should call one of our railway cars a carriage. In strict pro- priety it might so be called; for a car- riage is anything that carries. Oddly enough, while be was putting the ques- tion I was answerin, it in the article that was published in the last Atlantic, in which the nomenclature of railways had ample, although incidental, illustra- tion, so far as I could give it. I must, however, correct one trifling error made by my Club critic in saying that the vehicles on English railways are mod- eled on private carriages. They are, or were originally, modeled on the old sta~,e-coach. They are even now, as I remarked, sometimes called coaches; and a few of the old ones still retain traces of the external form of the ob- solete vehicle which they have displaced. I should not call one of our cars a coach, simply because a car is not a coach. Pushing his inquiry farther, my critic asks, When Mr. White goes to his office by the horse - car, for instance, does he call that mode of communication a tramway? If not, (loes he not violate his own canon?~ I certainly do not call a horse-car a tramway, nor should I do so in England. But not to be as sharply critical upon my fellow contrib- utor as he is upon me, I should not say that I went by tramway, or even by railway. It would not be necessary to do so, or natural. Unless we are pedantic, we do not go into such particulars. We Americanisms. take the car to our offices and the train to Washington, or, if we are worthy of such translation, to Boston. But, to touch a point of much more importance, suppose Mr. W. did violate his own canon? What of that? Is the canon therefore any the less binding? I cannot see that it is. The culprit in question is human, although he is per- mitted, and has in 1)ast years been per- mitted, to write for The Atlantic. He is but a poor mortal creature, and fallible, although he has often been to Cambrid0e. Having had these privileges, is it at all strange that he should know what is right, that he should be able to see and to say what is the correct thing? And on the other hand, being, as he confesses, an erring man, born in the city and county of New York, can he be expect- ed always to live up to his knowledne? I trow not. He would not presume to take such a position for himself. In- deed, I doubt that he would do so even if he had played on Boston Common, graduated at Harvard, and lived in Bea- con Street. But would his falling from grace invalidate the doctrines that he preached? Far from it. There must be grace, or he could not fall. Seriously, the argurnentum ad liominem, ever a poor resort, is conspicuously fee- ble when it is used against a doctrine because he who advocates it does not practice what he preaches. In language, above all thiuns, evil communications corrupt good manners. From the very nature of language a man will, a man must, be influenced in his speech by what he hears day by day; and he may thoughtlessly, or even consciou~ly, use words and phrases which are offensive to his taste and condemned by his judg- ment. I have had occasion, in con- nection with this subject, to say before that there was never a sillier mandatory maxim than Physician, heal thyself. Considering it even in re~,ard to the function of the medical man, it is so. A physician may be dying of a disease for which neither he nor any one of his pro- fessional brethren can give him a reme- dy; and yet he may from his death-bed prescribe a course of life or a medicine which may relieve others. Proverbs are often the folly of one man perpetuated by the lazy thoughtlessness of many. As to what I say or write about language, let it be judged upon its own merits, and not by my manner of speaking or writing. I make no pretense about the latter, and, to tell the truth, take little thought of it; and I may be like the tipsy lecturer upon temperance who furnished in his own person his dreadful example. Let no man think to frighten me by showing, if he can, that I have violated my own canon, or seek to shield himself under the cloak of my errors. My pages may be spotted with faults, and they are none the less faults, but rather the more, if I should know better than to commit them; nor because of them is anything the less true that I may declare. I hope that none of my readers are of that sort that will not even serve God if the devil bids them; if so, they are less wise than I should like those to be for whom I write, Since he whose words can save, himself may be Among the lost. So, truly and finely, Mr. Trowbridge sings. One critic kindly and privately points out to me an error which he thinks that he has found in my assertion that a cer- tain meaning of conclude is not given in any English dictionary from Bailey downward; and he cites this definition as given by Bailey: Conclude, to re- solve upon, to determine. He is quite right as to the existence of the defini- tion; and he might have gone back far- ther than Bailey and found the same definition, to resolve upon, in Ker- sey s English Dictionary, 1721; and go- ing back yet farther, more than a cent- ury, he would find the very same defi- nition of conclure in Cotgraves French and English Dictionary, 1611. But re- solve upon does not here mean to in- tend, to resolve to do. My correspond- ent evidently referred to Bailey of 1735, or some earlier edition; had he turned to the folio edition of 1 755, he would have found the following passage from Addison given as illustrative of the use of conclude in the sense of to resolve upon:~ 1878.] 99 Americanisms. But no frail man, however great or high, Can be concluded just before he die. So Dryden says of Ben Jonson: To conclude of him; as he has given us the most correct plays, so in the precepts which he has laid down in his discov- eries we have as many and as profitable rules for the perfecting the stage as any which the French can furnish. Con- elude here means to resolve upon the problem of a mans life or professional career; to pass a final (conclusive) judg- ment upon it. May I here venture to say that it is generally safe to assume that a man of ordinary intelligence and of honest pur- pose may be trusted as to an assertion of fact which he makes upon a subject to which he has given special attention; unless, indeed, he is unwise enough to make a negative assertion of exclusive force upon a subject of which his knowl- edge, however wide, is not complete. I know the value of accuracy, of which Georne Eliot, somewhere in that great- est of her books, Romola, makes old Bar- di say that it is the soul of scholar- ship; an aphorism the truth and the importance of which no one capable of appreciating scholarship would for a mo- ment question. But on the other hand, a gre at scholar, Monier XXTilliams, says in the preface to his Sanskrit Dictionary his second that his confidence in the accuracy of human beings in general has been painfully shaken in the course of his great work; and this also presents a truth in literature, as every attentive student must know. How then are these two sayings to be reconciled? If accu- racy is the soul of scholarship, and no scholar is accurate, scholarship is soul- less, dead; it is deprived of the very conditions of its being. It is thus that both these sayings are true. Almost every intelligent and hon- est man who gives himself to study, and lays before the world the fruit of his reading and his thought, is accurate in essential things. In that which is non- essential, incidental, accidental, unim- portant to his purpose, he may be more or less accurate or inaccurate, according to his temper and the circumstances under which he works; but as to the point to which he gives his attention and asks the attention of others, it is very rarely indeed that an intelligent and honest writer is not accurate. In- deed, it will be manifest, on a moments reflection, that if it were not so literary criticism would be effectually checked; it would stand still; it could hardly exist. But a man who is thus accurate may in minor matters be inaccurate, merely be- cause he has not the time or the inclina- tion to look closely after unessential mat- ters of detail. He may call a man James whose name was John, may give the date of his birth as 1700 when it was 1701, may assign a quotation to the wrong page or the wrong volume, and may not quote a passage with literal accuracy in all its parts. Now, if the question is, what was the year of a certain mans birth, or what his name, or on what page a passage may be found, accuracy upon these points is of essential importance and will be sought by an earnest writer with the utmost diligence; but otherwise it seems to me, although desirable, not to be a matter to vex ones soul or to waste much of ones time about. And if in a passage quoted the essential word or phrase is right, positively and rela- tively, the rest must be left to the ordi- nary chances of memory, of copying, and of proof-reading. This, at least, my readers may assume as my way of work- ing, such all the accuracy that I strive for, perhaps because I can make but the humblest pretensions to the title of scholar. To turn more closely to our subject: a British critic, who does not wish his name to be known, and who, although he informs me that he is in no way connect- ed with literature, writes with a clear- ness and an idiomatic soundness to which many of its professors do not attain, as well as with a courtesy which some of them neglect, sends me some observa- tions upon language in this country which have intrinsic interest, and a few of them, at this stage of this series of articles, some value. He says, Some years ago I visited America for the first time; but neither then nor subsequently had I the 100 * Americanism8. pleasure of acquainting myself with New England and New Englanders, my des- tination being the plains of Kansas and the newly settled districts there. The people I came in contact with were for the most part Northerners, and either natives of New England or the sons or grandsons of New Englanders. I was si~rprised to find that many words and phrases obsolete in this country were in daily use amon them, and that these so-called Americanisms belonged to the English of Shakespeare, Bunyan, and the Bible. He then goes on to men- tion some of the words and phrases which are obsolete in Eu bland. Before re- marking upon these, let me say that this notion that the English of Shakespeare, Bunyan, and the Bible has been pre- served here, but has passed out of use in England, though it has some foundation, a very little, has not enough to bear all that has been built upon it. Misled by my elders and superiors, I yielded too mnch to it when I wrote Shakespeares Scholar and edited Shakespeares works. Studying more, and thinking more for myself afterwards, I found reason to change the opinion which I had taken up partly because it was made to my hand. Not less erroneous, as I shall show here- after, is the opinion, which has been recently broached, that the English of America is about a century behind that of the mother country; that is, that we speak and write the langua~,e of the grandfathers or the great-grandfathers of the Englishmen of to-day. The dif- ference between the speech of the two is very slight, hardly perceptible to the not- nicely-critical reader of Richardson, or even of Fielding; and the speech of the grandfather is not more in vogue here than it is in England. And now as to some of the words which my kind and intelligent British critic found to be Americanisms only be- cause they were obsolete English. They will surprise many British as well as some American readers. Slough, he says, which is very common in the West, I have never heard used colloquially here; and the first time I heard it, it reminded me of the Slough of Despond, showing that in conversa- tion it was a total stranger to my ears, though I was born and bred in this coun- try. Now I was not born ~nd bred in England, but I have heard slough used there colloquially by educated people again and again. And it appears fre- quently just as frequently as there is necessity for its use in all English literature, modern, that of this very day, as well as that of the past. See: in a book which I happened to be reading just when this letter came to me, The Seven Curses of London, by James Greenwood, the Amateur Casual-Pauper, I met with these instances: It is terribly hard to struggle out of a slough of laziness in which a man has lain for a length of time with nothing to do but to open his mouth and permit other people to feed him. (Page 258.) Is there one who, blessed with means, can find delight in raising from the slough of despond a poor wretch stranded on the bank of the black river of despair? (Page 268.) Pshaw, he says, is a common Western expression, but met by me only in the tales of thirty or forty years ago.~~ This is amazing. The word is as com- mon in daily English speech as rub- bish or nonsense, and even more so than the horrid slang rot. And in the very book to which I have just referred I find the following passage quoted from A Thousand Temperance Facts and Anec- dotes, a book than which there could hardly be one more adapted to popular apprehension: Pa, does wine make a beast of a man? Pshaw, child, only once in a while. (Seven Curses, etc., page 370.) And I asked (not because I felt any need of so doing) an English gentleman very lately arrived here, whose general culture and whose knowledge of such subjects would give great weight to his opinion upon a matter of this kind, even were it one of doubt, delicacy, and importance I do not know why I should not mention the name of my friend, Mr. Charles Welford about it; and his re 1 So also as to the theory that the discriminative Elizabethan period. But of that elsewhere and at use of S ii and will was not settled until after the another time. 1878.] 101 Arnerica~isrns. ply was that there was no limitation to the use of the word in England; it was neither obsolete nor provincial, neither vulgar nor fine, and it was upon the lips of all classes in all parts of the country. And such is the testimony of all English literature of the day. I 11 build me a stable, I 11 get me a horse. This use of me after a verb, my British correspondent says, is quite common in the West; and when I first heard it it sounded almost ludicrous, re- minding me, as it did, of Solomons I get me men singers and women sing- ers. If the last example was amaz- ing, this is astounding. For this use of me, her, him, us, with a dative sense, after a verb is a peculiar English idiom; these words have been so used for cent- uries, and are now so used in all kinds of English speech and writing, from the prattle of the nursery and the talk of peasants up to the rhapsodies of poets and the debates of peers. It is as com- mon now as it was three hundred years ago; so common that there is not a single idiom that occurs to me as commoner. As I turned the leaves of the book men- tioned, looking for matter quite other than the trivialities of verbal criticism, I happened to light on the very phrase that seemed to my correspondent so ridiculous. If I entrust a builder with so much timber, so much stone, and so many bricks to build me a house, and I after- wards discover that by clever dod,,ing he has contrived to make me believe,~ etc. (Seven Curses, etc., page 170.) But this idiom is so common, so essen- tially English, so pervasive of the whole body of English speech and literature now as well as heretofore, that to sup- port or even to illustrate it by examples would be childish. This writer is not alone, however, among intelligent and cultivated men in such misapprehension of the facts of language, as is shown by some Shake- spearean fumbling and blundering over the word sheer, and by a little experi- ence of mine in regard to it. In the Taming of the Shrew, Sly the tinker says that he is fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale; and from the mid- dle of the last century until the publica- tion of Shakespeares Scholar there was discussion over so simple a phrase as sheer ale. It was conjectured by vari- ous commentators, from Malone to Col- lier and Singer, to mean shearing ale, and shire ale (as, Warwickshire ale), and ale drunk on sheer Tuesday, and also to be the name of a pure and potent liq~r otherwise known as stark beer. In Shakespeares Scholar, for the discomfi- ture of the Collier emendator, I showed, what it seemed to me should need no showing, that sheer ale was merely ale alone, ale only. Temporarily misled by the apparent significance of the fail- ure of the British critics to apprehend its meaning, I referred to it as one of those English expressions which had survived here, although they seem to have died out in the mother country. But the word is as common in English speech and writing of the present day and of the immediate past as any other required to express an idea of its kind. It is inherent in the colloquial and liter- ary phraseology of the present day, as of that of the fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers of this generation of Englishmen; so common that the fol- lowing examples are at once at my hand without seeking: These and such as these may truly ascribe their pauperism to neglect on somebodys part; but by far the greater number are what they are through sheer misfortune. (Seven Curses of London, page 2.) Victory of sheer brain over circumstance pleases us, even in an adversary. (London Spec- tator, April 13, 1878, page 563.) How- ever, such being the position of this word in the English language as it is spoken in England, when, on the publication of Shakespeares Scholar, the Earl of Elles- mere, then president of the Shakespeare Society, wrote me a kind letter about the book, one of the passages which he se- lected for commendation was this very one upon sheer, and he thanked me for clearing up the obscurity about it. But the passage deserved no commendation and I no thanks for it; a school-boy in either country should not have blundered over Slys fourteen pence for sheer ale. 102 [July, Americanisms. And yet it is well known that Lord Elles- mere owed his position as president of the Shafespeare Society not to his rank alone, or even to his taste, but to his very considerable literary culture and accomplishment. From what has gone before it is man- ifest how unsafe it is, even for persons of intelligence and education, to assert that words and phrases are obsolete or un- common in England, or peculiar in any way to America. No one should vent- ure to do this without having a far wider and more minute acquaintance with the English of the day, as it is spoken and written in England, than has been ex- hibited by any person who has yet writ- ten upon the subject. It would seem safe to assume that the testimony of such a person as my correspondent, before re- ferred to, a man of intelligence and ed- ucation who has lived in both countries, in regard to the language of his contem- poraries was to be relied upon, and all the more so because he is plainly ac- quainted with the English of the past as well as that of the present. But we have seen that he declares certain words obso- lete, and so strange as to be almost ludi- crous in their effect, when in fact they are of the commonest occurrence in the daily speech and writing of Englishmen. The same incongruity between opinion and fact is manifested in the comments of the Shakespearean commentators and Lord Ellesmere upon the word sheer. The case seems to be that many persons hear and read certain words without re- marking them, until they. are suddenly brought to their attention in the writin~s of an old author, or the speech of a new community; and then, as they happen not to have used those words themselves (and such limitations of the vocabularies of individuals are very common), they seem strange, and are assumed at once to be obsolete or provincial. Only by some such supposition can such mistakes as those which I have noticed be accounted for. Upon darn the same correspondent remarks: In your quotation of English authorities for darn will you allow me to take exception to Anthony Trollope? I think that any educated Englishman of the present day would use the word as an Americanism, American slang be- ing rather in vogue just now. Among the English peasantry I believe darn is common. Just so. But neither do educated Americans use darn, except very rarely and jocosely as rustic slang. The word has, therefore, according to the testimony of this intelligent British critic, precisely the same position in both countries. The educated Englishman, however, when he uses the word, does so with the mental protest and reserva- tion that it is an Americanism, when in fact it is a part of rustic speech in his own country just as it is here. He thus makes the very mistake and commits the very injustice against which I am com- bating. Our British critic thus summarizes the result of his observations: It is un- deniable, I think, that although Amer- ica has developed many new words and phrases (the most of which I believe and hope are only ephemeral), there are a great many so-called Americanisms that are to be found in English writers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eight- eenth centuries, and that in fact America has preserved to the English language many words that England has forgot- ten. The first of these suppositions is discreet as well as considerate. Of the words and phrases referred to as devel- oped here, by far the greater number are of the most ephemeral nature, and will pass away like the Bowery boy and his vocabulary, referred to in a previous ar- ticle. Many of them are not even of ephemeral prevalence, but mere produc- tions of individuals extravagantly ingen- ious in vulgar speech, which are copied into and used by unimportant newspapers for the mere sake of their vulgarity and their supposed humor. They are also much fewer in number than is generally believed. The supposition that many ob- solete English words are in use here we have already seen is a great exaggera- tion of the fact. A few such there are; but many of those which are supposed to be obsolete by insufficiently informed philological observers, such for instance 1878.] 103 Americanisms. as Dr. Hall, are not so, as I have shown in a previous article and in the present. The mere fact that a man does not re- member to have met with a certain word, which is used in America, in his reading of English authors, or to have heard it used colloquially by educated English- men, does not warrant him in setting it down as an Americanism. Such mere negative testimony is likely to be set aside at any moment, as we have seen, by affirmative evidence of the use of the word by contemporary writers of repute. The fact is illustrated by our British critic before mentioned when he says, I was rather amused to learn from your interesting article that Mr. Bartlett con- siders blackberry an Americanism. As far as my experience of English peo- ple goes they all speak of blackberries and blackberry bushes. Such positive testimony from one intelligent observer is destructive of the mere negative asser- tions of a whole college of philologists. Little room is left me now for particular remark upon words erroneously regarded as peculiar to America; but it will suffice for the dispatch of those coming under letter E, which are comparatively few. Some of those which appear in Mr. Bartletts dictionary I shall merely men- tion as being thoroughly English in ori- gin and in use: these are ear-mark, edu- cational, eel-grass, eenamost for almost, eend for end, to egg, to egg on, every which way, and expect for think, suppose. The last, like many words stigmatized as Americanisms, is merely bad and slovenly English. The misuse is of quite as Ion0 standing and is quite as common among good writers in England as here. Even a writer like Dasent affords an ex- ample of it: But it is an old saying that a story never loses in the telling; and so we may expect it must have been with this stbry. (Burnt Njal, preface, page viii.) Elect. Mr. Bartlett is far from be- ing alone in the supposition that a cer- tain use of this word, as in elect to go, elect to submit, which he gives as exam- ples, is an Americanism. He remarks, The Americanism consists in the con- struction of this verb with a following infinitive. Let us see how American that construction is. Truly a plain-spoken damsel, per- fectly sure of her victim, if she elected to lead him to the altar of sacrifice. (Win. Russell, LL. D., Eccentric Personages, London, 1863, page 207.) That fatal passion [jealousy] he [Shakespeare] now elects to paint as the natural fault of the individual. (He- raud, Inner Life of Shakespeare, page 836.) Miss Prescott, known as Di to her intimates, by reason of her god-parents having in a thoughtless hour elected to call her Dinah. (Charles Carew, by the author of ~Dennis Doune, chap. i.) It was no slight thing to say of him- self that he had elected to give up the oc- cupation in which he had been engaged for many years. (Mr. Goschen, M. P., Speech at Lord Mayors banquet, Jan- uary 15, 1866.) This was not very prudent, as the young Galen had elected to establish him- self in~ Bowchester. (Anthony Trol- lope, Dr. Thorne, chap. ii.) Resolving to stick bravely to the side of the house to which he had elected to belong. (Idem, chap. viii.) She wont care about my boots be- ing dirty. So at last he elected to walk. (Same author, Small House at Alling- ton, iii. 13.) When the opinion had in some sort been left to herself, she had elected to walk back with Harry. (Same author, The American Senator, chap. vii.) But a noble young lady to whom he offered himself rejected him, to his sur- prise and indignation, for a beggarly clergyman with a small living, on which she elected to starve. (Thackeray, The Newcomes, ii. 34.) I am sure you played very nicely, said good-natured Lady Dormer, whom Trafford had elected to escort. (Mrs. Alexander, The Wooing Ot, chap. xxxi.) And so society elects to be battered about, variously inaltreated on a sliding scale of changes. (Ruskin, Fors CIa- vigera, Letter xliv., page 184.) The courtesy is misplaced; for we 104 [July, Americani8ms. fear the critic will elect to be insulted. (London Reader, July 1, 1865.) The winner of the queens prize [at Wimbledon] may elect to receice his 250 in specie, or in any other shape that he prefers. (London Times, July 24, 1865.) When he elected to be judged by the solid fruit of his legislation, he ceased to he ranked among conservatives. (Sat- urday Review, June, 1873.) Thus we see that the use of elect with a following infinitive is so far from be- ing an Americanism that it has the sup- port of the best English writers of the day, including Thackeray, John Ruskin, and London journals of the highest po- sition. Let not my readers suppose, however, that I quote these passages in support of its Englishood with approv- al. A usage may be undeniably gen- eral and yet be bad. Citation of evi- dence does not imply respect for the thing evidenced. In the treatment of the subject of these articles my own opinions are not to the purpose, and are not obtruded. The question is merely whether this word or that phrase is of peculiarly American origin and usage. But of elect to Twill say that to my taste it is a vile phrase, as vile as most beautified. If a man chooses to do a thing, let him say that he chooses to do it, and speak plain English. This use of elect to has not been long in vogue, and is, I suspect, of very modern origin. Engineer. Mr. Bartlett remarks, The engine - driver on our railroads is thus magn iloquently designated. True, and it were better not. But English writers do not leave him alone in his verbal mag- nificence. Regard that able-bodied individual, the leader of the gang, with his great grimy fists, the smut still on his face, and for a moment doubt that he is a de- serving laboring man. He is an engi- neer out of work since last Christmas, and ever since so hard up that he has been unable to spare a penny to buy soap with. (James Greenwood, The Seven Curses, etc., page 253.) Esquire. Upon the indiscriminate and therefore unmeaning use of this title I have remarked in Words and their Uses. I shall say here only that there is no pe- culiar Americanism in such use. It is used in just the same inappropriate way in England; but there there is a level, somewhat indefinite, it is true, below which it does not descend. John Bull always feels that he must draw a line somewhere; and esquire with him usually stops at professional men and merchants, among wham he does not include shop- keepers. Exercise. The use of this word with a certain moral significance is very gen- erally, but erroneously, supposed to be an Americanism. Mr. Bartlett discreetly omits it from his catalogue. The sense in question will be apprehended from the following passages from a few En- glish writers, past and present, all that it is necessary to bring forward: She was continually exercised with the affliction of a weak body. (Bishop Hall, born 1574, died 1656, Autobiog- raphy, page xiv.) So many days and nights as they had been exercised with such imminent danger, and had despaired of life to- gether. (Rev. William Jones, of Nay- land, 17261803, Sermons, page 444.) One of the greatest favorites of heaven, the patriarch Job, was exercised with these trials. (Idem, page 467.) Through the whole of that Satur- day the town had been much exercised in its belief and expression as to the dis- position of the property. (Anthony Trollope, The American Senator, chap. lxiv.) Within reach of a waiter to suggest beefsteaks, and a railway guard who can substitute the familiar word ticleettes for some less intelligible form of (lemand, he is not too severely exercised in his mind. (Saturday Review, October 31, 1868.) Nor does this phrase seem to me alto- gether lovely: Enjoy. To enjoy bad healtl~, Mr. Bartlett remarks, is a whimsical yet by no means uncommon expression, in America of course. I should call it rather ridiculously absurd than whim- sical; and as to its being not uncommon, 1878.] 105 106 Song. [July, that is thereafter as it may be. I have never seen or heard it used by ed- ucated writcrs or speakers except jocose ly. But that it is not American, see this evidence from one of the most admira- ble female writers of the day: It is not the manual workers alone who, as they say in Leicestershire, enjoy very poor health. (English Matrons, London, 1873, page 128.) The phrase is merely the result of a blundering misapprehension of the mean- in0 of language by people whose mental fingers are all thumbs. It is merely nonsense and bad English; but, like much other nonsense and bad English, it ignorantly is set down as an American- ism or as provincial to some shire. I have no doubt that the estimable author- ess of English Matrons mi0ht find it in use among the rustic folk of other shires than Leicester. Richard Grant White. SONG. THE WEDDING-DAY. I. SWEETHEART, name the day for me lAThen we two shall wedded be. Make it ere another moon, While the meadows are in tune, And the trees are blossoming, And the robins mate and sing. Whisper, love, and name a day In this merry month of May. No, no, no, You shall not escape me so! Love will not forever wait; Roses fade when gathered late. I. Fie, for shame, Sir Malcontent! How can time be better spent Than in wooing? I would wed When the clover blossoms red, When the air is full of bliss, And the sunshine like a kiss. If you re good I II grant a boon: You shall have mc, sir, in June. Nay, nay, nay, Girls for once should have their way! If you love me wait till June; Rosebuds wither picked too soon. Edmund C. Stedman.

106 Song. [July, that is thereafter as it may be. I have never seen or heard it used by ed- ucated writcrs or speakers except jocose ly. But that it is not American, see this evidence from one of the most admira- ble female writers of the day: It is not the manual workers alone who, as they say in Leicestershire, enjoy very poor health. (English Matrons, London, 1873, page 128.) The phrase is merely the result of a blundering misapprehension of the mean- in0 of language by people whose mental fingers are all thumbs. It is merely nonsense and bad English; but, like much other nonsense and bad English, it ignorantly is set down as an American- ism or as provincial to some shire. I have no doubt that the estimable author- ess of English Matrons mi0ht find it in use among the rustic folk of other shires than Leicester. Richard Grant White. SONG. THE WEDDING-DAY. I. SWEETHEART, name the day for me lAThen we two shall wedded be. Make it ere another moon, While the meadows are in tune, And the trees are blossoming, And the robins mate and sing. Whisper, love, and name a day In this merry month of May. No, no, no, You shall not escape me so! Love will not forever wait; Roses fade when gathered late. I. Fie, for shame, Sir Malcontent! How can time be better spent Than in wooing? I would wed When the clover blossoms red, When the air is full of bliss, And the sunshine like a kiss. If you re good I II grant a boon: You shall have mc, sir, in June. Nay, nay, nay, Girls for once should have their way! If you love me wait till June; Rosebuds wither picked too soon. Edmund C. Stedman. 1878.] The Contributors Club. 107 THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. I AM glad to see the suo~estion in the last Contributors Club of making an ex- amination of the tomb of Shakespeare. I have often spoken of it, and I am pleased that one of us has had the cour- age to come out boldly with the thought that must be in many minds. The imprecation on the tomb-stone is unquestionably all that prevents the ex- ploration. But there is no sufficient evi- dence that the lines were written by Shakespeare. It would not be surpris- ing to find that they were, as the Rev- erend Mr. Jephson says they were, old church-yard rhymes, like Afflictions sore long time I bore, and that they had served many others before the days of Shakespeare. Whether he wrote them or not, it is altogether probable they were meant to keep his bones from being dug up and huddled into the great charnel-house at- tached to the Stratford church. Ward, the old Stratford vicar, says, in his diary, that he searched thirty-four skulls or thereabouts, four of which had the ex- ceptional though not very rare front- al suture. This was, no doubt, in the Stratford charnel-house. Many persons might object to their own bones or those of a relative being removed to this recep- tacle of the fragments of mortality, where future vicars and physicians worthy Mr. Ward united the functions of both could handle their skulls and pah at them as Hamlet did at Yoricks. Everybodys tomb gets opened at last. Cheops or Agamemnon, their bones or their (lust must sooner or later revisit the warm precincts of the cheerful day. King John came to the light in 1797; King Henry IV. 5 sarcophagus in Canterbury Cathedral was opened, and Bolingbrokes face was looked upon once more; Sir Henry Halford has given us a full account of what appeared on opening the coffin of King Charles I. in 1813; the crypt where the bones of Raphael were lying gave up its precious deposit in 1833, to be replaced after the examination for which the vault had been unsealed; and the chest containing the bones of Dante was searched and re- ported upon by a committee in 1865. No question was settled by any of these examinations to compare for a mo- ment in importanc~ and interest with that which would attach to the explora- tion of the spot where Shakespeare lies buried. Our race has a right to know, if it can be knowni in what kind of tene- ment that supreme hunian intelligence was lodged. It is not an idle curiosity. The examination might determine which of the alleged portraits is the true one. A portrait may be identified by a skull more readily than many would suppose who have never looked on the fieshless frame of the features they have known during life. The stones that lie over what remains of Shakespeare may be spared and replaced, so as to call down the blessing of the epitaph. The bones need not be moved in the sense against which the curse was levelled, that is, removed. Let the Archbishop of Canterbury lift the malediction by his consecrating pres- ence. Let the heir of the throne stand by with uncovered head while with rev- erential hands the sacred relics are ten- derly sought for. Let the men of science chosen for the task see that every fact which is of interest or value to the race is carefully observed and recorded for after ages. The world will have gained much, and the yet unmeasured poet, who lives in his writings, and not in his mortal re- mains, will have lost nothing. Will the experts tell us whether or not it is too late? In a late number o~ The Nation, the writer of an article entitled Recent Poet- ry remarks: In some previous papers under this head it has been necessary to exhibit some flowers of rhetoric so mar- velous as to excite a little incredulity among readers. It has been suggested that we must have invented them. I am not aware that any one has sug

1878.] The Contributors Club. 107 THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. I AM glad to see the suo~estion in the last Contributors Club of making an ex- amination of the tomb of Shakespeare. I have often spoken of it, and I am pleased that one of us has had the cour- age to come out boldly with the thought that must be in many minds. The imprecation on the tomb-stone is unquestionably all that prevents the ex- ploration. But there is no sufficient evi- dence that the lines were written by Shakespeare. It would not be surpris- ing to find that they were, as the Rev- erend Mr. Jephson says they were, old church-yard rhymes, like Afflictions sore long time I bore, and that they had served many others before the days of Shakespeare. Whether he wrote them or not, it is altogether probable they were meant to keep his bones from being dug up and huddled into the great charnel-house at- tached to the Stratford church. Ward, the old Stratford vicar, says, in his diary, that he searched thirty-four skulls or thereabouts, four of which had the ex- ceptional though not very rare front- al suture. This was, no doubt, in the Stratford charnel-house. Many persons might object to their own bones or those of a relative being removed to this recep- tacle of the fragments of mortality, where future vicars and physicians worthy Mr. Ward united the functions of both could handle their skulls and pah at them as Hamlet did at Yoricks. Everybodys tomb gets opened at last. Cheops or Agamemnon, their bones or their (lust must sooner or later revisit the warm precincts of the cheerful day. King John came to the light in 1797; King Henry IV. 5 sarcophagus in Canterbury Cathedral was opened, and Bolingbrokes face was looked upon once more; Sir Henry Halford has given us a full account of what appeared on opening the coffin of King Charles I. in 1813; the crypt where the bones of Raphael were lying gave up its precious deposit in 1833, to be replaced after the examination for which the vault had been unsealed; and the chest containing the bones of Dante was searched and re- ported upon by a committee in 1865. No question was settled by any of these examinations to compare for a mo- ment in importanc~ and interest with that which would attach to the explora- tion of the spot where Shakespeare lies buried. Our race has a right to know, if it can be knowni in what kind of tene- ment that supreme hunian intelligence was lodged. It is not an idle curiosity. The examination might determine which of the alleged portraits is the true one. A portrait may be identified by a skull more readily than many would suppose who have never looked on the fieshless frame of the features they have known during life. The stones that lie over what remains of Shakespeare may be spared and replaced, so as to call down the blessing of the epitaph. The bones need not be moved in the sense against which the curse was levelled, that is, removed. Let the Archbishop of Canterbury lift the malediction by his consecrating pres- ence. Let the heir of the throne stand by with uncovered head while with rev- erential hands the sacred relics are ten- derly sought for. Let the men of science chosen for the task see that every fact which is of interest or value to the race is carefully observed and recorded for after ages. The world will have gained much, and the yet unmeasured poet, who lives in his writings, and not in his mortal re- mains, will have lost nothing. Will the experts tell us whether or not it is too late? In a late number o~ The Nation, the writer of an article entitled Recent Poet- ry remarks: In some previous papers under this head it has been necessary to exhibit some flowers of rhetoric so mar- velous as to excite a little incredulity among readers. It has been suggested that we must have invented them. I am not aware that any one has sug 108 gested this, but the suggestion commends itself as natural, for the writer of those papers has shown that he is quite capa- ble of producing (one does nt invent flowers, except in confused metaphor) as curious flowers of rhetoric as any which have fallen under the scythe of his criticism. For instance, in this same article he speaks of certain odes which seem t.o aim at a Horatian flavor. If to aim at a flavor is an Americanism, it is certainly an Irish-Americanism; and if the poet under consideration really did aim, or cause his odes to aim, at a flavor, his Recent Poetry got no more than it deserved at the hands of the recent crit ic. But is it too much to demand that the critic should put his death-sentences into clear, compact English? It often happens that the condemned poet has a vague consciousness of injustice when he finds himself expiating offenses of which his judge is equally guilty. In- deed, to drop the simile, it is only fair that the critic should write good prose when he is giving lessons to bad poets. However, it was not a question of style which I wished to discuss; I merely de- sired to point out a discovery that has been made by the writer on Recent Poetry. He has discovered that Brown- ing is a model of condensation. Speak- ing of one of Mr. Fawcetts lyrics, the writer in The Nation says, It is a gen- uinely poetic motive; Heine would have crystallized it into two short verses [meaning stanzas], and Browning into a line and a half. It is very possible that Heine could have suggested in eight lines what Mr. Fawcett has told in twen- ty-four, but Browning? It appears to me that the author of The Red Cotton Night-Cap Country, or Turf and Towers (there s a neatly condensed title for you!), is the last man to be held up as a model for diffuse young writers. If there was ever a true poet sunk to the chin in the quicksands of verbiage, and threatening wholly to disappear from the eyes of mortals, that poet is Robert Browning. Here and there, in his ear- lier poems, he said a fine thing simply and finely; but since 1866, when he gave us Men and Women, he has re [July, quired a hundred verses to express a thought which Milton, for instance, would have expressed in ten words. I wonder in what shape the author of Pacehiarot- to - and -How- he -Worked-in-Distemper would have stated this: If Virtue feeble were, Heaven itself would stoop to her. (Miltons Comus.) Somewhat in the following fashion, pos- sibly: If Virtue . . . Nay, then, since the word offends, Let ue eay Good Intention, though, indeed, That s somewhat turgid for R. B., you take? For I bore deep, cut close, pack hard the senee, Hurtle the blue thread through the crimson~s woof~ If Good Intention make false step and plunge Prone oer the edge o the world, Heavens self per- haps Though I m by no means very sure of that, Seeing how no one heeds a Browning now Would stoop i the chasm and pluck Goodness up, Setting her on her pegs again . . . who knows? If that is not very fair Browningese, it at least seems to ~ as our mentor of The Nation would say, at a Browning flavor. My personal conviction is that it hits the flavor in the bulls-eye. In The Atlantic Monthly for April, 1878, page 460, among other statements is the following: It was Sherman and Porter who projected the many schemes at Vicksburg and vicinity, except the last successful demonstration, which originated with Farragut, who, in 1863, when lying between Grand Gulf and Vicksbu~g, sent his marine officer, Cap- tain, now Major, John L. Broome, and Paymaster Meredith, of the Hartford, across the peninsula at Vicksburg, and advised that the army should come be- low and make its advance, instead of wasting its strength and that of the navy above, on the Yazoo. As bearing directly on this point, and showing that the writer of the above is mistaken, I submit the following ex- tract from a private letter from General Grant, written in February, 1863. W. F. H. BEFORE VICESBUEG, Felruary 22, ~863.i DEAR H: A large mail, the first in a week, has just arrived, and in it yours. I hasten to answer, but will nec- The Contributors Club. 1878.] essarily be short, having a number of letters to go out by the 12 M. mail. I am much obliged to you for your kind expressions of confidence. The re- duction of Yicksburg is a heavy con- tract, but I feel very confident of suc- cess. Since arriving here, however, the amount of rain that has fallen, and the very high water, has been a great draw- back to our progress. It is now impossible to effect a land- ing on the east bank of the river at any point from which Vicksburg can be reached except under the guns of the enemy. By passing below and taking Port Hudson it would give high land all the way up to operate on, and giye in addition co6peration from Banks forces. Hoping news from this department will be favorable to our cause, I remain, truly yours, U. S. GRANT. I wish to say to a contributor in the last Club that the reason why En- glish and American printers always put a circumflex accent over the first vowel in the word chalet (sic) is that it is correct under the following rule: On emploie laccent circonflexe lorsque la voyelle est longue, et quil y a suppres- sion de lettre. (Grammaire du Gram- maire; par Girault-Duvivier, page 972.) chateau, formerly chasteau (Latin cas- tellurn), is a large mansion house in which the lord of the manor lives. Chdtelet is a little chflteau. Chdlet is a stL~ smaller building, the name being restricted to such buildings in Switzerland. For orthography, see the Grand Dic- tionnaire G~niral et Grammatical des Dictionnaires Fran9ais, par Napoleon Landais, Ia quatorzi~ime ~dition, Paris, 1862. As to that note about the circum- flex accent on chalet which you send me: Alfred de Musset, Jacques Porchat, and twenty other French authors whose works have been crowned by the Aca- dimie Fran9aise are wrong if Mr. is right. Of course I did not make my criticism without looking deeply into the matter. I did nt base my charge on even such good authority as the diction- ary of Spiers and Surenne, who do not 109 give the circumflex accent to chalet. I didnt trust to a dictionary; I got the whole literature of France to back me. I ~ent through my collection of French authors (selecting the masters of style) and found the word in twenty different works, and in not a single instance was it printed with the circumflex accent. I ye this moment come across the word in De Mussets La Nuit de D& embre (Po6sies Nouvelles, page 671): 2. llrigues, dane les vieux chalet:; Au sein des Alpes ddsoldes. Porchat, in Trois Mois sons la Neige, says, enferm~ dans ce chalet (page 1), dans les chalets (page 5), lais- sez-moi aussi dans le chalet (page 12). He uses the word thirty or forty times in the course of the narrative, and no- where prints it with the accent. More- over, there are etymological reasons why the circumflex accent is not admissible. I will lay myself out to give them, if it becomes necessary. Perhaps Mr. has fallen foul of chdlit in his dictionary. Chflhit, a wood- en bedstead, the circumflex accent is correct there. I dont pretend to know much more about these matters than the French Academy does; I was always modest. Un grand chalet. (George Sand, Le Dernier Amour, page 17.) Mr. Henry James, Jr., writes chalet. (Transatlantic Sketches, page 65.) Swiss chalets glitterd on the dewy Blopes, writes Matthew Arnold. (Poems, page 146.) The authors of all civilized nations are now coining to my rescue! Chalets are springing up all around me, and not one of them has a pointed gable! Here is what I think a queer bit of philology, which, I venture to surmise, may be as new to most of your readers as it was to me. Did you ever happen to become interested in any of the discus- sions which have raged, so to speak, about the word Kearsarge? That name, as everybody knows, has been bestowed on two mountains, one gun-boat, and several hotels; and whether it be an Indian name or no, and if Indian how it happens to bear no sort of kinship The Contributors Club. The Contributors Club. to any other Indian name, and which of the mountains received it first, and which was named for the other, and for which, if either, the gun-boat and the hotels were named, and what the proper spelling of the word may be, are a few of the questions which have agitated the public mind, and on which I have a modest confidence that I am both com- petent and called to set that mind at rest. In the first place, the word should be spelled Kiarsarge. All the oldest documents in which it is mentioned give it so, and there is even extant the art- less narrative of an ancient Dutch mar- iner, who used to trade with Portsmouth in the days of her greatest prosperity, and who once pushed his way far enough into the interior of New Hampshire to discern the summit of what he calls by the extremely imposing and Niebelung- enish name of the Kiah Saga Mount. He did not go to North Conway, how- ever. The Conway Kearsarge, so often sung by Boston bards and climbed by Boston boots, was really christened after the southern or Merrimac County Kear- sarge, hoth morally and chronologically. The somewhat passionate prepossession which has prevailed to the contrary is due to the fact that Boston discovered the northern mountain before she did the southern one, and argued, naturally enough, that neither could have existed long without her knowing it. But in fact the towns adjoining and including the southern mountain (which is situ- ated almost exactly in the geographical centre of the State of New Hampshire), Warner, Boscawen (pronounced Bosle- wine), Andover, and New London, were nearly all settled in the earlier half of the last cenLury; while the Conway tract was first occupied, late in the seven- teen hundreds, by emigrants from the Merrimac County region. They must have named the northern mountain for the southern one, on account of a re- semblance of outline, which is remote enough from some points of view, but rather striking from others. The south- ern mountain is almost isolated. Its massive proportions dwarf to mere un- dulations~ all the nearer hills. The northern mountain is accompanied by a troop of other peaks, hardly less distin- guished than itself. But they are both triple mountains, and when they are seen in a three-quarters profile the like- ness comes out. The Conway mountain is much the lighter and more graceful. That sweet-souled enthusiast in mount- ains, Thomas Starr King, said it was the most feminine of all great heights; whereas the southern eminence has a vast breadth of shoulder and a stupen- dous, not to say piggish character of head, which are even triumphantly mas- culine. The two would answer very well for husband and wife. Now let us see where they got their family name. The tradition is yet alive in Merrimac County of a famous hunter and trapper who had a lodge in the vast wilderness which clothed all the sides of the south- ern mountain a hundred and fifty years ago, and even, some say, extended over the now bare granite top, whence the very soil was burned away, within the memory of mans grandfather, by an unparalleled forest fire. However that may be, the old hunter was the only person who had ever explored the mount- ain in earlier days, while he enjoyed a hermits intimacy with it, descending only at intervals of months, and taking a taste of civilization (so called) at some of the settlers farms, where lie was never refused hospitality. This mans name was Currier Sargent. Both these surnames are still common in Warner and New London, and in the sweet pa- tois of the latter place the former is still softened to Kiak, as Reynolds in the same region becomes Runnels, and Whit- tier Whicher. The great mountain was Kiah Sargents or Kiar Sarges Mount- ain before geography had dreamed of a(lopting it. The only trouble about this explana- tion seems to be that it is too satisfac- tory. A real philologist once said to me, in seeking for the derivation of a word always remember that nothing is so per- ilous as probability, and that what is reasonable is untrue. As for the hotels, if our married mounts insist on a divorce, part will 110 [July, The Contributors Club. 111 probably be given to one, and part to the other. But the gun-boat was un- questionably named for the old man. Captain Winslow, who commanded her, was born in what is poetically termed the shadow of the southern mountain. He could not very well have been born in any of the middle counties of New Hampshire and escaped it, but, as a mat- ter of fact, I believe that he first saw the light or the shadow in the town of Andover, at its northern base. Lest, however, I should be suspected of a league with some gentlemanly proprie- tor, I shall forbear to mention the fact that a hotel on the northwestern slope of the original Kiarsarge, commanding an unrivaled expanse of lake, river, and valley, commands the commanders early home also, and is named for him. The curiosity as to Saxe Holm seems now to be turning from biograph- ical to botanical details. As a tolerably careful student of nature and of that la- dys writings, I am compelled to ques- tion your correspondents statements of fact, under both these heads. To be- gin with, one is always suspicious of a critic who first misquotes a passage and then parodies it. It is perfectly safe to assert t.hat Mrs. Jackson did not write My snowy eupatorium came to- day in Mercy Philbrick, because no- body wrote it. There is no such line. The passage probably intended is this (page 209): My snowy eupatorium has dropped Its silver threads of petals in the night. As to the appearance of the plant, there are ten or twelve wild species of white eupatorium, of which your correspond- ent selects the very coarsest, in order to question the epithet. These species often n row intermingled, and as the careful Gray describes some of them as very white it is certainly within poetical license to say snowy. Even the boneset, on favorable soils, some- times deserves this epithet. Now as to the critics dates. He ob- jects to I)raxy Millers wearing blossoms of the low cornel in September, because it is a spring flower. So is the dan- delion a spring flower, but who has not seen it in the autumn? I have myself often gathered the low cornel in Sep- tember, and have heard of it in October. The actual range oF time in our wild flowers is often much greater than the b6oks allow. Again, your critic com- plains that in Hettys Strange Story a church in Canada is dressed with dog- wood blossoms, Ayrshire roses, and car- nations, flowers respectively of May, June, and July, and therefore impos- sible to combine in out - door culture. Here, again, your critic is mistaken. The dogwood is assigned by Gray to May, June and by Bigelow to early June; the Ayrshire ro~ is a June flower; and Copeland says, in his Coun- try Life (page 656), that carnations naturally bloom in June and July, but that some varieties can be forced even earlier. The simple fact is that the wedding is supposed to have taken place in June, in time for the earliest carna- tions, but not too late for the last dog- wood blossoms. The combination is not impossible; it is not even improb- able. This disposes of the only specifica- tions given by your critic to sustain the charge of utter ignorance, a phrase which I will not retaliate. The asser- tion that the plot of the One-Legged Dancers is taken bodily from Mary How- itts Strive and Thrive appears to me one of those trivial charges in which Poe delighted; the plot in both stories is very simple, and might well have occurred to half a dozen different persons. What is more to the purpose is a coincidence which your correspondent does not seem to have discovered, namely, that the fancy from which this story takes its name the comparison of vine-trellises to one-legged dancers is taken bodi- ly from H. H.s Bits of Travel (page 65), and so far tends to defeat the crit- ics main argument. I believe there is nothing sacred in our present English spelling; but do not many good people act and talk as if it were an article in their creed to believe in the dictionary or typographical orthog- raphy, and in none other? In their infat- uation they forget that a hundred years 1878.] The Contributors Club. ago books and printers were the only correct orthographers, and that gen- tlemen and ladies of the best education followed the leadings of fancy in their spelling. Sir Walter Scott, for example, as secretary of a literary society in Edin- burgh, was careless enough to make mis- takes in his records, writing, for exam- ple, Teusday, scociety, ballance, pres- ant, etc.; and it is said that some En- glishmen of great reputation are equally erratic to-day. Bishop Thiriwall says, The public cling to these anomalies with a tenacity proportioned to their absurdity. I think the bishop is correct, for one of our own Contributors Club writes to me thus: Words are the dearest of old friends. Each has a consistent and le- gitimate ancestry. If some of them are a little big-headed or thick in the waist, they cant help it. It seems to me that the variety of feature and composition of English words is a large part of the beauty of the English language. I may be thick-headed and strongly conserva- tive on this question, but I shall Jight for every letter in my little vocabulary. To which I venture to reply in the words of Professor Child, of Harvard: Noth- ing can be more absurd than the vener- ation felt and paid to the actual spelling of English, as if it had been shaped by the national mind, and were not really imposed upon us by the foremen of some printing-offices. My friend assumes (1) that the present spelling is an aid in tracing the pedigrees of words, and (2) that the reformed orthography will leave them less varied in feature and less beautiful than they are now. The first of these assumptions is not supported by the best philologists, who agree with the late Professor iladley, of YaFe, that our common spelling is often an untrust- worthy guide to etymology, and with Max Muller, who says, If our spelling followed the pronunciation of words, it would in reality be of greater help to the critical student of language than the present uncertain and unscientific mode bf writing. Professor MUller says also, by the way, that he feels convinced of the truth and reasonableness of the prin ciples on which the spelling reform rests, and believes that our corrupt and ef- fete orthography will in time be swept away~ following those oter dear and sacred things, corn laws, Stuart dynasties, and heathen idols. My fellow member of this Club is mistak- en in thinking that a reform will leave our words less varied and beautiful in form than they are now. By any sys- tem there must be as much variety as there is at present; and as for beauty, is it any more ornamental to print with our fathers fantum and prophane, with our dictionaries phantom and profane, or in a new style fan tom and profain? There are four ways in which it is pos- sible for us to spell: (1.) The historical method, which was originally as nearly phonetic as it could be made by men who had more sounds to indicate than there were letters to represent them with. That it is simply impossible to reconstruct our spelling in this way will be apparent to any who will examine the irregular orthography of past times. (2.) The etymological method. That this is another impossible plan is plain when we consider that the wisest scholars are unable to discover the derivation of very many English words; but it would also involve a vast number of changes in the present spelling, and would offend all who are ready to fight for every letter fully as seriously as any pho- netic system could. Besides, some great scholar has said~ There is no etymol- ogy without phonetics! (8.) The typo- graphical method. This is the one now employed in China, Arabia, and the En- ,,lish-speaking countries; and the saga- cious Dr. Franklin said that we must give it up, or our writing will become the same with the Chinese as to the diffi- culty of learning and using it. It has already brought us to the point where English spelling is to be learned by ob- servation and practice only, and our lan- guage is in this respect the worst off of all which use the Latin alphabet. This arises from the fact that we adopt the alphabet practically unchanged, though it is acknowledged to be inadequate to 112 [July, The Contributor8 Club. represent the rich variety of our phonic elements, and we have made less effort than the other nations to make our writ- ing phonetic. Typographical spefling is difficult for us, confusing to foreign- ers, causes the prevalence of ignorance, is a hindrance to missionaries, travelers, and scientific men, obscures the history of our language, and hinders its exten- sion into other countries. It has, how- ever, one recommendation: our fathers established it, though even this is qual- ified, for their fathers knew it not. (4.) The phonetic method. This is a return to and a perfection of the most ancient use. The earliest alphabetic writing was phonetic, thou~h its symbols were insufficient, and the science of sound had not yet been perfected. In Sanskrit words were written as they were sound- ed, and yet there is no language in which etymological and grammatical re- lations are more clearly exhibited or easily traced. To this system we are urged to return by the representative scholars in philology of England and America, by the successful efforts put forth in this direction by most of the European nations, and by Anglo-Saxon common sense. Such men as Franklin, Pitman, and Bell, joined with Professors Ellis, Child, Latham, March, Hatchman, Whitney, Hadley, Marsh, and Trum- bull, give us the most assuring words, and offer the fruits of many years of thought to help us to a decision. Mr. Ellis, one of the most thorough students of phonetics and pronunciation, presents some of the advantages of pho- netic spelling, briefly, thus: It renders readin0 very easy, forms the best intro- duction to reading the present typo- graphical spelling, is as easy as correct speaking, renders learning to read a pleasant task, increases the efficiency of primary schools by economizing time, affords a logical training to the childs mind, improves pronunciation, will great- ly assist the missionary traveler and ethnologist, would exhibit the real his- tory of our language, would favor the extension and universal employment of English, and would be of material use in facilitating etymological investigation. VOL. XLILNO. 249. 8 The interested reader is referred to Elliss Early English Pronunciation, pp. 606632, published by the Early English Text and Chaucer societies. Words are the dearest of old friends~~ my correspondent rightly tells me, but they have no prescriptive right by reason of being old and dear to appear before me in a costume that is absurd and irrational. All the more because they are dear and old do I wish to see them dressed in garments that become them and accord with the good characters they bear. It certainly seems only right that an author should have the last word in de- ciding which of his books shall be given to the public and which shall be left in obscurity. After his death, if he has been famous during his life-time, it is to be expected that every cupboard shall be ransacked and every trunk examined for literary matter that he had always meant to burn, but which will be print- ed and bound up in the final collection of his writings; yet most living authors do not find indecent greed for manuscript the prevailing trait of publishers. There are, however, some writers who are troub- led by finding books they thought long forgotten raked out of the past and print- ed again without proper dustin0 and mendiug. Mrs. Burnett is a memorable victim of this course of action. A novel of hers, That Lass o Lowries, became popular, and at once a number of her old stories that were quietly floating down to oblivion found themselves again on the book-shelves. With the morality of this proceeding I have nothing to do. The books are there a0ainst the authors will, to be sure, and full of glaring misprints and little ends of phrases that even careless revis- ion could not fail to correct; yet it is to be hoped that the public will not be kept from reading them by their authors in- dignation at their unauthorized republi- cation. It is Dolly and Theo that we have in mind. They are not strikingly new stories, with their accounts of the happiness, after much suffering, of very charming girls, who grow up in outof- the-way places, breathing the air of gen 1878.] 118 114 ted poverty, which they exchange very naturally for the perfumes of the gilded drawing-room. It is not the plots that are noteworthy, but the animated and fascinating style in which these thread- bare incidents are recounted. Where so many novel-writers are pompous or affected, Mrs. Burnett is as simple, as natural, and as amusing as any one could wish. For myself I find her high spirits and her pathos much better reading than the cold discussion of a prob- lemin That Lass o Lowries, and the willful accumulation of distressing inci- dents in Surly Tim and Other Stories. This last book is a record of various forms of mental and physical suffering that enrage while they depress the read- er. One man has hot words with his wife, and then goes out on the beach to heap launch a boat; something gives way; the boat falls on him, not comfortably killing him, but leaving him pinned down to watch the futile efforts of his friends to lift the boat up, and to make impress- ive farewell speeches while the tide slow- ly crawls up and drowns him. Why the hardy fishermen and children of the sea did not think of digging the sand away from beneath him, and so freeing him, is not made clear, but they did not; and what with the mans dying and the way of his dying the sympathetic read- er gets a choking feeling in his throat, as if he had held his head under water a few seconds longer than was pleasant; which, however, is no more pathos than reading the morning paper is devoting ones life to study. So in the other tales there is a tendency to wring the heart of the reader, which is not counterbalanced by equally marked literary merit. In a word, Mrs. Burnett seems to have learned to think ill of the much-trodden path she first followed, and under this feeling to have tried to strike out for her- self where her rivals were fewer. Dick- ens is one whose influence may be seen in one or two of the short sketches in this volume. But the more serious at- tempts to be impressive at all hazards seem to me to tempt this writer beyond her depth; for the heaping up of casual- ties is not tragedy, and the problem she The Contributors Club. took up in That Lass o Lowries, how to marry a pauper and quickly civilize her, leads her aside from work in which she has done well, in describing the hopes and fears of conventional life. It strikes me that nothing is more bewildering than the totally different impressions the same words often make upon different minds; an unprejudiced person, with a turn for analysis, must sometimes stop and ask himself, serious- ly, whether he is mad, or his neighbor. The other day, in a mixed company, the subject of following the hounds came up, in connection with the new Queens County hunt, on Long Island. Some one remarked that English ladies no longer took part in such sports, as for- merly. But, 1 said, in the latest English stories they do. Take Dan- iel Deronda Gwendolen followed the hounds. Yes; but Gwendolen was fast, was the answer. Fast! I ex- claimed. Is it possible that Gwendo- len Harleth impressed any of you as fast? Decidedly so, they said. But, I protested, I do not think George Eliot meant to portray a fast girl, at all. They did not know what she meant, of course; one thing was cer- tain, however, her Gwendolen to them was fast. I looked around their un- moved circle. There was no appeal. They were ten against me. So, then, the proud, refined, dainty Gwendolen, with her intense fastidiousness and repug- nances, was labeled fast; the very last word I should have dreamed of aj;- plying to her. More recently, in speaking to a friend of some paragraphs on That Lass o Low- nes, which appeared in the Contribu- tors Club, I said, they struck you as favorable, of course? Why, no, she answered; they did not strike me so, especially. What can you mean! I exclaimed. I intended a high de- gree of praise, for I liked the book. Did I not say that the Lass had gained for herself a place in my memory as a dis- tinct character, next to that occupied by Grandeourt, thereby placing Mrs. Burnetts work, in this instance, next to that of George Eliot herself? What 1878.] more could be said? Oh, I dont know, replied my friend; still, it cer- tainly did not strike me as a favorable criticism. Now, what is one to do? All this comes to my mind as I write the name Farjeon. He is in this coun- try now, and attention is freshly direct- ed towards his stories. Discnssi6n, even acrid discussion, means strength, I think. The continued arguing of the Contrib- utors Club over Tourgu~neff and Hen- ry James proves that they have strength of some kind, does it not? Just as the fact that there are many opinions about a man proves that at least the man is not a nonentity. Solomon Isaacs, at this writing Farjeons latest story, shows his good and bad points together. It is not so good as Blade-o-Grass; it does not approach At the Sign of the Silver Flagon; but neither is it so bad as Loves Victory, nor so wildly improbable and dislocated as Bread - and - Cheese and Kisses, or The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. The old - clothes man, Moses Levy, is well drawn; we feel an affec- tion for him, and are glad when on Sat- urday morning he has for his breakfast, in addition to bread and coffee, a bit of fish stewed in brawn gravy, with onions made tasty with lemon. We picture him coming home at night, with a pyrami(l of acquired hats on his head and a well-filled bag over his shoulder, happy in the thought of a good bargain and the hot supper his pretty daughter Rachel has ready for him in their lit- tle second-story room. The other old- clothes man,~ Solomon Isaacs, is not so well drawn; nor do we feel much inter- est, either, in his son Leon, that talkative, successful young Hebrew. In spite of all we can do, the way in which he dis- courses upon frying and a raisin stew, combined with the particular statement that he h~s wide nostrils and a large mouth, brings up an im- age with which we are all familiar, the smartly-dressed young Israelite on rail- road cars and at railroad eating-houses, buoyantly fulfilling his mission as a com- mercial traveler. There are some very g& od bits of description in the book, such as the ceremony called sitting for 115 joy; the arrival of old Mosh~ from Jerusalem, with his ninety years, his smiling, uncomprehending nods, his long beard, and his Hebrew benedictions; fat Milly Isaacs running to give Mr. Levy a ug; and, best of all, the cribbage played by the two old men, and Solomon Isaacs final triumph with his battered half-penny. One does not exactly see what the Introduction and the last four pages have to do with the tale; it looks as though they were fastened in to make it a Christmas story by force, and account for the opening illustration. To go back over the list of Farjeons books. Blade-o-Grass and its sequel, Golden Grain, seem to me the best of the London stories. The picture of the poor little girl, with the tiger in her inside, crawling to the lamp-post for its friendly light, stealing meat from the cats-meat man, telling lies deftly, and sleeping in gate-ways is pathetic; the story of the same child grown to wom- anhood, loving a thief devotedly and passionately, and happy with him in her miserable home, is powerfully touching. The end of the poor, mournful little baby, who died silently in the darkness, all alone, while the wretched girl-mother scoured the streets in search of food, is something one cannot forget. It is a pity that this undoubtedly strong writer cannot prune his branches a little. Did any one ever behbld such a collection of plots! Most of the stories are short, but so crowded with charac- ters and incidents that there is time only for a statistical mention of them; like the catalogue of a picture exhibi- tion. Take The Duchess of Rosemary Lane: how well it opens! the beautiful child living in the cellar, with her faith- ful Sally and the reasoning cobbler. We are interested at once, and expect a romance in which poor thin Sally can play a part also, as the gypsy distinctly predicts. But nothing of the kind hap- pens; after childhood nobody does or is anything that you expect, and Sally has no chance at all. The duchess her- self turns out a soulless young creature, without force enough to be anything clearly, either good or bad; and she is The Contributors club. The Contributors Club. enveloped in a whirl of mixed-up people, among whom the lovely lad, playing on a tin whistle and cherishing a sea- timental affection for a baby throughout long years of vagabond life, and Arthur Temple, who, on the last page, passes his arm around Mrs. Lenoir, turns his back upon his father (his mother, too? one wonders), and takes the road which justice points out, whatever that may be, are the most fantastic~ Bread- and-Cheese and Kisses is a kaleidoscope picture of people and places, in which Tottys fig grandfather with cinnamon legs, and death in thousands of tons of snow, are thrown together~ but with about as much connection as the phan- tasmagoria of a dream. There is a good deal of Australia in iFarjeons stories, some strong pleas for the wretched London poor, some life pictures of that brutal English crime of wife-beating, comparatively unknown among us, thank Heaven! and a curious insistence upon the terms lady and gentleman. He will have it that his heroines are distinctly ladies, although they may be waistcoat-makers, singing chambermaids in a poor traveling dra- matic company, or girls brought up in a cellar, who have neverbeen to school a day in their lives. This is a flaw, and resembles one of our worst local Amer- icanisms. Farjeon has been compared with Dickens; but Dickens never pro- claimed that Dot in The Cricket on the Hearth, Little Dorrit, and Emily in David Copperfield were ladies. He cared nothing at all for the title, but showed us the women as they were, and taught us to love them. It does not seem to me that Farjeon is in the least like Dickens. He writes Christmas stories, and he describes the homes of the poor; but that is all. Where is the unfailing humor which shines on almost every one of Dickenss pages? Where are Dick Swiveller, Mr. Guppy, Chadband, Mrs. Todgers, and a hundred others? No; Farjeon is se- rious, and in earnest. If he must be likened to somebody, I should liken him to Charles Reade; he belongs to that school. Take what is, in my opinion, his best story, At the Sign of the Silver Flagon; how it recalls the quick, vivid work of Reade! It is a brilliant, excit- ing, splendid tale, which is fairly hot in the telling, so that you breathe quick- ly as you read (that is, as far as the death of Philip and the end of part first. After that, Farjeons evil genius in the shape of Plot appears, and spoils all the rest). I have never seen any- where a more striking picture of Austra- lian gold-fields, and of life there. The love of Philip for the singing cham- bermaid, his gallop after the flowers, the pray for rain, darling, the chris- tening of the stamping-machine and the midnight ride of the two partners from the ball to the Reef to see the sparks flying and hear the iron feet at work; the terrible, tragic end of poor burned Philip, lying there motionless, trying to whisper Margaret, are told with wonderful force, which is all the stron- ger for being so simple. If the story ended with part first, I should put it up on a line with Christie Johnstone; it has the same vivid narration of deeds and words, a positive story, a story of action, and not the explanation of mo- tives and thoughts, the psychological analysis, and slow movement of the style so much in vogue to-day. Do? said an old woman, laying down her specta- cles the other day, when asked about the characters in a late novel she was reading, do? They dont do any- thing, that I enn make out; but they think a deal! Analysis is interesting; but are we not in some danger of going too far in that direction, and becoming one-sided? Let us pardon some of Farjeons faults, therefore, for the sake of his positive- ness and this Silver Flagon; the story can go into the other side of the bal- ance, and restore our equilibrium. I wish to confide to the Club a para- dox in the philosophy of Household Art which has troubled me a good deal. I have got so far as to know that I ought to be sincere; but I also hear the vir- tue of economy extolled as sincere, and there are various points in which econo- my and Decorative Art are not reconcil 116 [July, The Contributor8 Club. able. Threadbare carpets anddefective wall-papers and damaged paint on the wood-work are all sincere enough, if you have nt got the money to pay for any- thing better; but there is a want of pict- uresqueness in them, at times. Now, poetic papers and elevated furniture are expensive. I know of a conscientious young couple who, on setting out in life together, wished to be both sincere and economical. Accordingly, when the ques- tion arose of having a new border along part of the parlor wall, the bridegroom arose too, arid said it must be a frieze; and the frieze must be painted by hand. Very well; a man was consulted, who agreed to take the contract for the paint- ing at five dollars. But the young en- thusiast thought he could do it cheaper, himself, with some paints he had on hand, and fancied that this would somehow be more sincere. He mounted his lad- der and began work. All at once the ladder breaks, and down falls the bride- groom with a paint-brush and a broken tooth in his mouth, and the contents of the paint-pot impartially distributed over his best clothes. A doctor had to be sent for, to begin with; and the result of the whole experiment was footed up in the following items: Doctor (two visits) . $4.00 Broken paint-brush 85 Dentists bill 8.00 Value of clothes dxmaged 18.00 Repair of ladder 87 Total $26.22 After which the frieze remained to be painted. While reading that very entertain- ing sketch, Count Pulaskis Stranne Power, in the June Atlantic, the follow- ing bit from out the counts quotation from Cicero The soothsayers, while awake, could detach their minds from their bodies, and wander away among the minds of departed men and among superior intelligences, holding commun- ion with them, and retaining the knowl- edge thus acquired after returning to the body reminded me that I once heard substantially the same thing, and in quite similar words, too, from the lips of a medium, with whom I fell into conver sation on a railway journey; and who, although a rarely intelligent woman for her class, could hardly know anything of Cicero. Of course she spoke thus in explanation of her own power, and added (and this I tell for the consolation of those who may be disappointed in their quest after hidden knowledge) that in no case was she ever balked in her de- sire to give satisfaction except where the visitor or the spirit invoked was vas