THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: S~ %Erngapne of ~Literature, ~c~en~e, art, an~ 1~olitic0. VOL. LVI. JULY, 1885. No. CCCXXXIV 4-- THE NEW PORTFOLIO. XI. THE INTERVIEWER ATTACKS THE SPHINX. WHEN Miss Euthymia Tower sent her oar off in flashing splinters, as she pulled her last stroke in the boat-race, she did not know what a strain she was putting upon it. She did know that she was doing her best, but how great the force of her best was she was not aware until she saw its effects. Unconscious- ness belonged to her robust nature, in all its manifestritions. She did not pride herself on her knowledge, nor reproach herself for her ignorance. In every way she formed a striking contrast to her friend, Miss Vincent. Every word they spoke betrayed the difference be- tween them: the sharp tones of Luridas head-voice, penetrative, aggressive, some- times irritating, revealed the correspond- ing traits of mental and moral charac- ter; the quiet, conversational contralto of Euthymia was the index of a nature restful and sympathetic. The friendships of young girls pre- figure the closer relations which will one day come in and dissolve their ear- her intimacies. The dependence of two young friends may be mutual, but one will always lean more heavily than the other; the masculine and feminine elements will be as sure to assert them- selves as if the friends were of different sexes. On all common occasions Euthymia looked up to her friend as her superior. She fully appreciated all her varied gifts and knowledge, arid deferred to her opin- ion in every-day matters, not exactly as an oracle, but as wiser than herself or any of her other companions. It was a different thing, however, when the grav- er questions of life came up. Lurida was full of suggestions, plans, projects, which were too liable to run into whims before she knew where they were tending. She would lay out her ideas before Euthymia so fluently and elo- quently that she could not help believ- ing them herself, and feeling as if her friend must accept them with an enthu- siasm like her own. Then Euthymia would take them up with her sweet, deliberate accents, and bring her calmer judgment to bear on them. Lurida was in an excited condition, in the midst of all her new interests and occupations. She was constantly on the lookout for papers to be read at the meetings of her Society, for she made it her own in great measure, by her zeal and enthusiasm, and in the mean time she was reading in various books which Dr. Butts selected for her, all bearing on the profession to which, at least as a possibility, she was looking forward. Privately and in a very still way, she Copyright, 1885, by HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co. 2 The New Portfolio. [July, was occupying herself with the problem of the young stranger, the subject of some delusion, or disease, or obliquity of unknown nature, to which the vague name of antipathy had been attached. Euthymia kept an eye upon her, partly in the fear that over-excitement would produce some mental injury, and partly from anxiety lest she should compromise her womanly dignity in her desire to get at the truth of a very puzzling ques- tion. How do you like the books I see you reading? said Euthymia to Luri- da, one day, as they met at the Library. Better than all the novels I ever read, she answered. I have been read- ing about the nervous system, and it seems to me I have come nearer the springs of life than ever before in all my studies. I feel just as if I were a telegraph operator. I was sure that I had a battery in my head, for I know my brain works like one; but I did not know how many centres of energy there are, and how they are played upon by all sorts of influences, external and in- ternal. Do you know, I believe I could solve the riddle of the Arrowhead Village Sphinx, as the paper called him, if he would only stay here long enough? What paper has had anything about it, Lurida? I have not seen or heard of its being mentioned in any of the papers.~~ You know that rather queer-looking young man who has been about here for some time, the same one who gave the account of his interview with a cele- brated author? Well, he has handed me a copy of a paper in which he writes, The Peoples Perennial and Household Inquisitor. He talks about this village in a very free and easy way. He says there is a Sphinx here, who has mystified u8 all. And you have been chatting with that fellow! Dont you know that he 11 have you and all of us in his paper? Dont you know that nothing is safe where one of those fellows gets in with his note-book and pencil? Oh, Lurida, Lurida, do be careful! What with this mysterious young man and this very questionable newspaper-paragraph writ- er, you will be talked about, if you dont mind, before you know it. You had better let the riddle of the Sphinx alone. If you must deal with such dangerous people, the safest way is to set one of them to find out the other. I wonder if we cant get this new man to inter- view the visitor you have so much curi- osity about. That might be managed easily enough without your having any- thing to do with it. Let me alone, and I will arrange it. But mind, now, you must not meddle; if you do, you will spoil everything, and get your name in the Household Inquisitor in a way you wont like. Dont be frightened about me, Eu- thymia. I dont mean to give him a chance to work me into his paper, if I can help it. But if you can get him to try his skill upon this interesting person- age and his antipathy, so much the bet- ter. I am very curious about it, and therefore about him. I want to know what has produced this strange state of feeling in a young man who ought to have all the common instincts of a so- cial being. I believe there are unex- plained facts in the region of sympa- thies and antipathies which will repay study with a deeper insight into the mysteries of life than we have dreamed of hitherto. I often wonder whether there are not heart-waves and soul- waves as well as brain-waves, which some have already recognized. Euthymia wondered, as well she might, to hear this young woman talking the language of science like an adept. The truth is, Lurida was one of those persons who never are young, and who, by way of compensation, will never be old. They are found in both sexes. Two well-known graduates of one of our 1885.] The New Portfolio. 8 great universities are living examples of this precocious but enduring intel- lectual development. If the readers of this paper cannot pick them out, they need not expect the writer of it to help them. If they guess rightly who they are, they will recognize the fact that just such exceptional individuals as the young woman we are dealing with are met with from time to time in families where intelligence has been cumulative for two or three generations. Euthymia was very willing that the questioning and questionable visitor should learn all that was known in the village about the nebulous individual whose misty environment all the eyes in the village were trying to penetrate, but that he should learn it from some other informant than Lurida. The next morning, as the Interviewer took his seat on a bench outside his door, to smoke his after-breakfast cigar, a bright - looking and handsome youth, whose features recalled those of Euthy- mia so strikingly that one might feel pretty sure he was her brother, took a seat by his side. Presently the two were engaged in conversation. The In- terviewer asked all sorts of questions about everybody in the village. When he came to inquire about Maurice, the youth showed a remarkable interest re- garding him. The greatest curiosity, he said, existed with reference to this personage. Everybody was trying to find out what his story was, for a story, and a strange one, he must surely have, and nobody had succeeded. The Interviewer began to be unusual- ly attentive. The young man told him the various antipathy stories, about the evil-eye hypothesis, about his horse- taming exploits, his rescuing the student whose boat was overturned, and every occurrence he could recall which would help out the effect of his narrative. The Interviewer was becoming ex- cited. Cant find out anything about him, you said, did nt you? How do you know there s anything to find? Do you want to know what I think he is? I 11 tell you. I think he is an ac- tor, a fellow from one of the city theatres. Those fellows go off in their summer vacation, and like to puzzle the country folks. They are the very same chaps, like as not, the visitors have seen in plays at the city theatres; but of course they dont know em in plaiu clothes. Kings and Emperors look pret- ty shabby off the stage sometimes, I can tell you. The young man followed the Inter- viewers lead. I should nt wonder if you were right, he said. I remember seeing a young fellow in Romeo that looked a good deal like this one. But I never met the Sphinx, as they call him, face to face. He is as shy as a woodchuck. I believe there are people here that would give a hundred dollars to find out who lie is, and where he came from, and what he is here for, and why he does nt act like other folks. I won- der why some of those newspaper men dont come up here and get hold of this story. It would be just the thing for a sensational writer. To all this the Interviewer listened with true professional interest. Always on the lookout for something to make up a paragraph or a column about; driven oftentimes to the stalest of repe- titions, to the biggest pumpkin story, the tall cornstalk, the fat ox, the live frog from the human stomach story, the third set of teeth and reading with- out spectacles at ninety story, and the rest of the marvellous commonplaces which are kept in type with e o y or e 6 m (every other year or every six months) at the foot; always in want of a fresh incident, a new story, an un- described character, an unexplained mys- tery, it is no wonder that the Interviewer fastened eagerly upon this most tempting subject for an inventive and emotional correspondent. He had seen Paolo several times, and 4 knew that he was Maurices confidential servant, but had never, spoken to him. So he said to himself that he must make Paolos acquaintance, to begin with. In the summer season many kinds of small traffic were always carried on in Arrow- head Village. Among the rest, th~ sellers of fruit, oranges, bananas, and others, according to the season, did an active business. The Interviewer watched one of these fruit-sellers, and saw that his hand-cart stopped opposite the house where, as he knew, Maurice Kirkwood was living. Presently Paolo came out of the door, and began examining the fruit in the hand-cart. The Interviewer saw his opportunity. Here was an in- troduction to the man, and the man must introduce him to the master. He knew very well how to ingratiate himself with the man, there was no difficulty about that. He had learned his name, and that he was an Italian whom Maurice had brought to this coun- try with him. Good morning, Mr. Paul, he said. how do you like the look of these or- anges? They pretty fair, said Paolo: no so good as them las week; no sweet as them was. Why, how do you know without tasting them? said the Interviewer. I know by his look, I know by his smell, he no good yaller he no smell ripe, I know orange ever since my head no bigger than he is, and Paolo laughed at his own comparison. The Interviewer laughed louder than Paolo. Good! said he, first-rate! Of course you know all about em. Why cant you pick me out a couple of what you think are the best of em? I shall be greatly obliged to you. I have a sick friend, and I want to get two nice sweet ones for him. Paolo was pleased. His skill and judgment were recognized. He felt grateful to the stranger, who had given him an opportunity of conferring a fa The New Portfolio. [July, vor. He selected two, after careful ex- amination and grave deliberation. The Interviewer had sense and tact enough not to offer him an orange, and so shift the balance of obligation. How is Mr. Kirkwood, to-day? he asked. Ii Signor? He very well. He al- ways well. Why you ask? Anybody tell you he sick? No, nobody said he was sick. I have nt seen him going about for a day or two, and I thought he might have something the matter with him. Is he in the house now? No: he off riding. He take long, long rides, sometime gone all day. Sometime he go on lake, paddle, pad- dle in the morning, very, very early, in night when the moon shine; some- time stay in house, and read, and study, and write, he great scholar, Misser Kirkwood. A good many books, has nt he? He got whole shelfs full of books. Great books, little books, old books, new books, all sorts of books. He great scholar, I tell you. Has nt he some curiosities, old figures, old jewelry, old coins, or things of that sort ? Paolo looked at the young man cau- tiously, almost suspiciously. He dont keep no jewels nor no money in his chamber. He got some old things, old jugs, old brass figgers, old money, such as they used to have in old times: she dont pass now. Paolos genders were apt to be somewhat indiscrimi- nately distributed. A lucky thought struck the Inter- viewer. I wonder if he would exam- ine some old coins of mine? said he, in a modestly tentative manner. I think he like to see anything curious. When he come home I ask him. Who will I tell him wants to ask him about old coin? Tell him a gentleman visiting Ar- rowhead Village would like to call and 1885.] The New Portfolio. 5 show him some old pieces of money, said to be Roman ones. The Interviewer had just remem- bered that he had two or three old bat- tered bits of copper which he liad picked up at a tolimans, where they had been passed off for cents. He had bought them as curiosities. One had the name of Gallienus upon it, tolerably distinct, a common little Roman penny; but it would serve his purpose of asking a question, as would two or three others with less legible legends. Paolo told him that if he came the next morning he would stand a fair chance of seeing Mr. Kirkwood. At any rate, he would speak to his master. The Interviewer presented himself the next morning, after finishing his breakfast and his cigar, feeling reason- ably sure of finding Mr. Kirkwood at home, as he proved to be. He had told Paolo to show the stranger up to his library, or study, as he modestly called it. It was a pleasant room enough, with a lookout on the lake in one direction, and the wooded hill in another. The tenant had fitted it up in scholarly fash- ion. The books Paolo spoke of were conspicuous, many of them, by their white vellum binding and tasteful gild- ing, showing that probably they had been bound in Rome, or some other Italian city. With these were older volumes in their dark original leather, and recent ones in cloth or paper. As the Interviewer ran his eye over them, he found that he could make very little out of what their backs taught him. Some of the paper-covered books, some of the cloth-covered ones, had names which he knew; but those on the backs of many of the others were strange to his eyes. The classics of Greek and Latin and Italian literature were there; and he saw enough to feel convinced that he had better not attempt to dis- play his erudition in the company of this young scholar. The first thing the Interviewer had to do was to account for his visiting a person who had not asked to make his acquaintance, and who was living as a recluse. His took out his battered cop- pers, and showed them to Maurice. I understood that you were very skilful in antiquities, and had a good many yourself. So I took the liberty of calling upon you, hoping that you could tell me something about some ancient coins I have had for a good while. So saying, he pointed to the copper with the name of Gallienus. Is this very rare and valuable? I have heard that great prices have been paid for some of these ancient coins, ever so many guineas, sometimes. I suppose this is as much as a thousand years old. More than a thousand years old, said Maurice. And worth a great deal of money? asked the Interviewer. No, not a great deal of money, an- swered Maurice. How much, should you say? said the Interviewer. Maurice smiled. A little more than the value of its weight in copper, I am afraid not much more. There are a good many of these coins of Gal- lienus knocking about. The peddlers and the shopkeepers take such pieces oc- casionally, and sell them, sometimes for five or ten cents, to young collectors. No, it is not very precious in money value, but as a relic, any piece of money that was passed from hand to hand a thousand or fifteen hundred years ago is interesting. The value of such relics is a good deal a matter of imagination. And what do you say to these others? asked the Interviewer. Poor old worn-out things they were, with a letter or two only, and some faint trace of a figure on one or two of them. Very interesting, always, if they carry your imagination back to the times when you may suppose they were 6 Tke New Portfolio. current. Perhaps Horace tossed one of them to a beggar. Perhaps one of these was the coin that was brought when One said to those about Him, Bring me a penny, that I may see it. But the market price is a different mat- ter. That depends on the beauty and preservation, and above all the rarity, of the specimen. Here is a coin, now, he opened a small cabinet, and took one from it. Here is a Syracusan decadrachm with the head of Per- sephone, which is at once rare, well preserved, and beautiful. I am afraid to tell what I paid for it. The Interviewer was not an expert in numismatics. He cared very little more for an old coin than he did for an old button, but he had thought his pur- chase at the toilmans might prove a good speculation. No matter about the battered old pieces: he had found out, at any rate, that Maurice must have money and could be extravagant, or what he himself considered so; also that he was familiar with ancient coins. That would do for a beginning. May I ask where you picked up the coin you are showing me? he said. That is a question which provokes a negative answer. One does not pick up first-class coins or paintings, very often, in these times. I bought this of a great dealer in Rome.~~ Lived in Rome once? said the Interviewer. For some years. Perhaps you have teen there yourself? The Interviewer said he had never been there yet, but he hoped he should go there, one of these years. I sup- pose you studied art and antiquities while you were there? he continued. Everybody who goes to Rome must learn something of art and antiquities. Before you go there I advise you to review Roman history and the classic authors. You had better make a study of ancient and modern art, and not have everything to learn while you are going about among ruins, and churches, and galleries. You know your Horace and Virgil well, I take it for granted? The Interviewer hesitated. The names sounded as if he had heard them. Not so well as I mean to before going to Rome, he answered. May I ask how long you lived in Rome? Long enough to know something of what is to be seen in it. No one should go there without careful preparation be- forehand. You are familiar with Vasari, of course? The Interviewer felt a slight moisture on his forehead. He took out his hand kerchief. It is a warm day, he said. I have not had time to read all the works I mean to. I have had too much writing to do, myself, to find all the time for reading and study I could have wished. In what literary occupation have you been engaged, if you will pardon my inquiry? said Maurice. I am connected with the press. I understood that you were a man of let- ters, and I hoped I might have the priv- ilege of hearing from your own lips some account of your literary experi- ences. Perhaps that might be interesting, but I think I shall reserve it for my au- t~biography. You said you were con- nected with the press. Do I under- stand that you are an author. By this time the Interviewer had come to the conclusion that it was a ver~q warm day. He did not seem to be getting hold of his pitcher by the right handle, somehow. But he could not help answering Maurices very simple question. If writing for a newspaper gives one a right to be called an author, I may call myself tue. I write for the Peoples Perennial and Household In- quisitor. Are you -the literary critic of that well-known journal, or do you manage the political column? 1885.] The New Portfolio. 7 I am a correspondent from differ- ent places and on various matters of interest. Places you have been to, and peo- ple you have known? Well, yes, generally, that is. Sometimes I have to compile my arti- cles. Did you write the letter from Rome, published a few weeks ago? The Interviewer was in what he would call a tight place. However, he had found that his man was too much for him, and saw that the best thing he could do was to submit to be inter- viewed himself. He thought that he should be able to pick up something or other which he could work into his re- port of his visit. Well, I prepared that article for our columns. You know one does not have to see everything he describes. You found it accurate, I hope, in its descriptions? Yes, Murray is generally accurate. Sometimes he makes~ mistakes, but I cant say how far you have copied them. You got the Ponte Molle the old Mil- vian bridge a good deal too far down the stream, if I remember. I hap- pened to notice that, but I did not read the article carefully. May I ask whether you propose to do me the honor of reporting this visit and the conversation we have had, for the col- umns of the newspaper with which you are connected? The Interviewer thought he saw an opening. If you have no objections, he said, I should like very much to ask a few questions. He was recovering his professional audacity. You can ask as many questions as you consider proper and discreet after you have answered one or two of mine: Who commissioned you to submit me to examination? The curiosity of the public wishes to be gratified, and I am the humble agent of its investigations. What has the public to do with my private affairs? I suppose it is a question of major- ity and minority. That settles every- thing in this country. You are a mi- nority of one opposed to a large number of curious people that form a majority against you. That is the way I ye heard the chief put it. Maurice could not help smiling at the quiet assumption of the American citizen. The Interviewer smiled, too, and thought he had his man, sure, at last. Maurice calmly answered, There is nothing left for minorities, then, but the right of rebellion. I dont care about being made the subject of an article for your paper. I am here for my pleas- ure, minding my own business, and content with that occupation. I rebel against your system of forced publicity. Whenever I am ready I shall tell the public all it has any right to know about me. In the mean time I shall request to be spared reading my biography while I am living. I wish you a good- morning. The Interviewer had not taken out his note-book and pencil. In his next communication from Arrowhead Vil- lage he contented himself with a brief mention of the distinguished and ac- complished gentleman now visiting the place, whose library and cabinet of coins he had had the privilege of examining and whose courtesy was equalled only by the modesty that shunned the public notoriety which the organs of popular intelligence would otherwise confer upon him. The Interviewer had attempted the riddle of the Sphinx, and had failed to get the first hint of its solution. The many tongues of the village and its visitors could not remain idle. The whole subject of antipathies had been talked over, and the various cases record- ed had become more or less familiar to the conversational circles which met 8 The New Portfolio. [July, every evening in the different centres of social life. The prevalent hypothesis for the moment was that Maurice had a con- genital aversion to some color, the ef- fects of which upon him were so pain- ful or disagreeable that he habitually avoided exposure to it. It was known, and it has already been mentioned in this paper, that such cases were on record. There had been a great deal of discus- sion, of late, with reference to a fact long known to a few individuals, but only re- cently made a matter of careful scien- tific observation and brought to the no- tice of the public. This was the now well-known phenomenon of color-blind- ness. It did not seem very strange that if one person in every score or two could not tell red from green there might be other curious individual pecu- liarities relating to color. A case has already been referred to where the sub- ject of observation fainted at the sight of any red object. What if this were the trouble with Maurice Kirkwood? It will be seen at once how such a con- genital antipathy would tend to isolate the person who was its unfortunate vic- tim. It was an hypothesis not difficult to test, but it was a rather delicate busi- ness to be experimenting on an inoffen- sive stranger. Miss Vincent was think- ing it over, but said nothing, even to Euthymia, of any projects she might entertain. XII. MISS VINCENT AS A MEDICAL STU DENT. The young lady whom we have known as The Terror, as Lurida, as Miss Vin- cent, Secretary of the Pansophian Socie- ty, bad been reading various works se- lected for her by Dr. Butts, works chiefly relating to the nervous system and its different affections. She thought it was about time to talk over the gen- eral subject of the medical profession with her new teacher, if such a self- directing person as Lurida could be said to recognize anybody as teacher. She began at the beginning. What is the first book you would put in a stu- dents hands, doctor? she said to him one day. They were in his study, and Lurida had just brought back a thick volume on Insanity, one of Bucknill and Tukes, which she had devoured as if it had been a pamphlet. Not that book, certainly, he said. I am afraid it will put all sorts of no- tions into your head. Who or what set you to reading that, I should like to know? I found it on one of your shelves, and as I thought I might perhaps be crazy some time or other, I felt as if I should like to know what kind of a con- dition insanity is. I dont believe they were ever very bright, those insane peo- ple, most of them. I hope I am not stupid enough ever to lose my wits. There is no telling, my dear, what may happen if you overwork that busy brain of yours. But did nt it make you nervous, reading about so many people possessed with such strange no- tions? Nervous? Not a bit. I could nt help thinking, though, how many peo- ple I had known that had a little touch of craziness about them. Take that poor woman that says she is Her Maj- estys Person,not Her Majesty, but Her Majestys Person, a very impor- tant distinction, according to her: how she does remind me of more than one girl I have known! She would let her skirts down so as to make a kind of train, and pile things on her head like a sort of crown, fold her arms and throw her head back, and feel as grand as a queen. I have seen more than one girl act very much in that way. Are not most of us a little crazy, doctor, just a little? I think so. It seems to me I never saw but one girl who was free from every hint of craziness. 1885.] The New Portfolio. .9 And who was that, pray? Why, Euthymia, nobody else, of course. She never loses her head, I dont believe she would in an earth- quake. Whenever we were at work with our microscopes at the Institute I always told her that her mind was the only achromatic one I ever looked into, I did nt say looked through. But I did nt come to talk about that. I read in one of your books that when Sydenharn was asked by a student what hooks he should read, the great physician said, Read Don Quixote. I want you to explain that to me; and then I want you to tell me what is the first book, according to your idea, that a student ought to read. What do you say to my taking your question as the subject of a paper to be read before the Society? I think there may be other young ladies at the meet- ing, besides yourself, who are thinking of pursuing the study of medicine. At any rate, there are a good many who are interested in the subject ; in fact, most people listen readily to anything doc- tors tell them about their calling. I wish you would, doctor. I want Euthymia to hear it, and I dont doubt there will be others who will be glad to hear everything you have to say about it. But oh, doctor, if you could only persuade Euthymia to become a physi- cian! What a doctor she would make! So strong, so calm, so full of wisdom! I believe she could take the wheel of a steamboat in a storm, or the hose of a fire-engine in a conflagration, and handle it as well as the captain of the boat or of the fire-company. Have you ever talked with her about studying medicine? Indeed I have. Oh, if she would only begin with me! What good times we would have studying together! I dont doubt it. Medicine is a very pleasant study. But how do you think practice would be? How would you like being called up to ride ten miles in a midnight snow-storm, just when one of your raging headaches was racking you? Oh, but we could go into partner- ship, and Euthvmia is nt afraid of storms or anything else. If she would only study medicine with me! Well, what does she say to it? She does nt like the thought of it. She does ut believe in women doctors. She thinks that now and then a woman may be fitted for it by nature, but she does nt think there are many who are. She gives me a good many reasons against their practising medicine, you know what most of them are, doctor, and ends by saying, that the same wo- man who would be a poor sort of doc- tor would make a first-rate nurse; and that, she thinks, is a womans business, if her instinct carries her to the hospital or sick-chamber. I cant argue her ideas out of her. Neither can I argue you out of your feeling about the matter; but I am dis- posed to agree with your friend, that you will often spoil a good nurse to make a poor doctor. Doctors and side-saddles dont seem to me to go together. Rid- ing habits would be awkward things for practitioners. But come, we wont have a controversy just now. I am for giv- ing women every chance for a good edu- cation, and if they think medicine is one of their proper callings let them try it. I think they will find that they had bet- ter at least limit themselves to certain specialties, and always have an expert of the other sex to fall back upon. The trouble is that they are so impressible and imaginative that they are at the mercy of all sorts of fancy systems. You have only to see what kinds of in- struction they very commonly flock to in order to guess whether they would be likely to prove sensible practition- ers. Charlatanism always hobbles on two crutches, the tattle of women, and the certificates of clergymen, and I am afraid that half the women doctors will be too much under both those influences. 10 The New Portfolio. Lurida believed in Dr. Butts, who, to use the common language of the vil- lage, had carried her through a fever, brought on by over-excitement and ex- hausting study. She took no offence at his reference to nursery gossip, which she had learned to hold cheap. Nobody so despises the weaknesses of women as the champion of womans rights. She accepted the doctors concession of a fair field and open trial of the fitness of her sex for medical practice, and did not trouble herself about his suggested lim- itations. As to the imaginative tenden- cies of women, she knew too well the truth of the doctors remark relating to them to wish to contradict it. Be sure you let me have your pa- per in season for the next meeting, doc- tor, she said; and in due season it came, and was of course approved for read- lng XIII. DR. BUTTS READS A PAPER. Next to the interest we take in all that relates to our immortal souls is that which we feel for our mortal bodies. I am afraid my very first statement may be open to criticism. The care of the body is the first thought with a great many, in fact, with the larger part of the world. They send for the physician first, and not until he gives them up do they commonly call in the clergyman. Even the minister himself is not so very different from other people. We must not blame him if he is not always impatient to exchange a world of multi- plied interests and ever-changing sources of excitement for that which tradition has delivered to us as one eminently de- ficient in the stimulus of variety. Be- sides, these bodily frames, even when worn and disfigured by long years of service, hang about our consciousness like old garments. They are used to us, and we are used to them. And all the accidents of our lives, the house we dwell in, the living people round us, the landscape we look over, all, up to the sky that covers us like a bell glass, all these are but looser outside gar- ments which we have worn until they seem a part of us, and we do not like the thought of changing them for a new suit which we have never yet tried on. How well I remember that dear ancient lady, who lived well into the last decade of her century, as she repeated the verse which, if I had but one to choose, I would select from that string of pearls, Grays Elegy! For who to dumb fos~getfulness a prey This pleasing, anxious being eer resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? Plotinus was ashamed of his body, we are told. Better so, it may be, than to live solely for it, as so many do. But it may be well doubted if there is any disciple of Plotinus in this Society. On the contrary, there are many who think a great deal of their bodies, many who have come here to regain the health they have lost in the wear and tear of city life, and very few who have not at some time or other of their lives had occasion to call in the services of a physician. There is, therefore, no impropri6ty in my offering to the members some remarks upon the peculiar diffleulties which beset the medical practitioner in the discharge of his laborious and im- portant duties. A young friend of mine, who has taken an interest in medical studies, happened to meet with a very familiar story about one of the greatest and most celebrated of all English physicians, Thomas Sydeuham. The story is that, when a student asked him what books he should read, the great doctor told him to read Don Quixote. This piece of advice has been used to throw contempt upon the study of books, and furnishes a convenient shield for ignorant pretenders. But Syden 1885.] The New Portfolio. ii ham left many writings in which he has recorded his medical experience, and he surely would not have published them if he had not thought they would be better reading for the medical stu- dent than the story of Cervantes. His own works are esteemed to this day, and he certainly could not have sup- posed that they contained all the wis- dom of all the past. No remedy is good, it was said of old, unless applied at the right time in the right way. So we may say of all anecdotes, like this which I have told you about Sydenham and the young man. It is very likely that he carried him to the bedside of some patients, and talked to him about the cases he showed him, instead of putting a Latin volume in his hand. I would as soon begin in that way as any other, with a student who had already mastered the preliminary branches, who knew enough about the structure and functions of the body in health. But if you ask me what reading I would commend to the medical student of a philosophical habit of mind, you may be surprised to hear me say it would be certain passages in Rasselas. They are the ones where the astronomer gives an account to Irniac of his management of the elements, the control of which, as he had persuaded himself, had been committed to him. Let me read you a few sentences from this story, which is commonly bound up with the Vicar of Wakefield, like a woollen lining to a silken mantle, but is full of stately wis- dom in processions of paragraphs which sound as if they ought to have a gram- matical drum-major to march before their tramping platoons. The astronomer has taken Imlac into his confidence, and reveals to him the secret of his wonderful powers Hear, Imlac, what thou wilt not without difficulty credit. I have pos- sessed for five years the regulation of the weather and the distribution of the seasons: the sun has listened to my dictates, and passed from tropic to tropic by my direction; the clouds, at my call, have poured their waters, and the Nile has overflowed at my command; I have restrained the rage of the dog-star, and mitigated the fervors of the crab. The winds alone, of all the elemental pow- ers, have hitherto eluded my authority, and multitudes have perished by equi- noctial tempests, which I found myself unable to prohibit or restrain. The reader naturally wishes to know how the astronomer, a sincc~re, devoted, and most benevolent man, for forty years a student of the heavens, came to the strange belief that he possessed these miraculous powers. This is his account: One day, as I was looking on the fields withering with heat, I felt in my mind a sudden wish that I could send rain on the southern mountains, and raise the Nile to an inundation. Jn the hurry of my imagination I commanded rain to fall, and by comparing the time of my command with that of the inun- dation I found that the clouds had lis- tened to my lips. Might not some other cause, said I, produce this concurrence? The Nile does not always rise on the same day. Do not believe, said he, with im- patience, that such objections could es- cape me: I reasoned long against my own conviction, and labored against truth with the utmost obstinacy. I sometimes suspected myself of madness, and should not have dared to impart this secret but to a man like you, capa- ble of distinguishing the wonderful from the impossible and the incredible from the false. The good old astronomer gives his parting directions to Imlac, whom he has adopted as his successor in the govern- ment of the elements and the seasons, in these impressive words : Do not, in the administration of the year, indulge thy pride by innovation.; do not please thyself with thinking that 12 The New Portfolio. [July, thou canst make thyself renowned to all future ages by disordering the sea- sons. The memory of mischief is no de- sirable fame. Much less will it become thee to let kindness or interest pre- vail. Never rob other countries of rain to pour it on thine own. For us the iNile is sufficient. Do you wonder, my friends, why I have chosen these passages, in which the delusions of an insane astronomer are related with all the pomp of the Johnsonian vocabulary, as the first les- son for the young person about to enter on the study of the science and art of healing? Listen to me while I show you the parallel of the story of the as- tronomer in the history of medicine. This history is luminous with intelli- gence, radiant with benevolence, but all its wisdom and all its virtue have had to struggle with the ever-rising mists of delusion. The agencies which waste and destroy the race of mankind are vast and resistless as the elemental forces of nature; nay, they are themselves ele- mental forces. They may be to some extent avoided, to some extent diverted~ from their aim, to some extent resisted. So may the changes of the seasons, from cold that freezes to heats that strike with sudden death, be guarded against. So may the tides be in some small measure restrained in their inroads. So may the storms be breasted by walls they cannot shake from their foundations. But the seasons and the tides and the tempests work their will on the great scale upon whatever stands in their way; they feed or starve the tillers of the soil; they spare or drown the dwellers by the shore; they waft the seaman to his har- bor or bury him in the angry billows. The art of the physician can do much to remove its subjects from deadly and dangerous influences, and something to control or arrest the effects of these in- fluences. But look at the records of the life-insurance offices, and see how uniform is the action of natures de stroying agencies. Look at the annual reports of the deaths in any of our great cities, and see how their regularity ap- proaches the uniformity of the tides, and their variations keep pace with those of the seasons. The inundations of the Nile are not more certainly to be pre- dicted than the vast wave of infantile disease which flows in upon all our great cities with the growing heats of July, than the fevers and dysenteries which visit our rural districts in the months of the falling leaf. The physician watches these changes as the astronomer watched the rise of the great river. He longs to rescue indi- viduals, to protect communities from the inroads of these destroying agencies. He uses all the means which experience has approved, tries every rational method which ingenuity can suggest. Some for- tunate recovery leads him to believe he has hit upon a preventive or a cure for a malady which had resisted all known remedies. His rescued patient sounds his praises, and a wide circle of his pa- tients friends joins in a chorus of eulo- gies. Self-love applauds him for his sagacity. Self - interest congratulates him on his having found the road to fortune; the sense of having proved a benefactor of his race smooths the pil- low on which he lays his head to dream of the brilliant future opening before him. If a single coincidence may lead a person of sanguine disposition to be- lieve that he has mastered a disease which had baffled all who were before his time, and on which his contempora- ries looked in hopeless impoteuce, what must be the effect of a series of such coincidences even on a mind of calmer temper! Such series of coincidences will happen, and they may well deceive the very elect. Think of Dr. Rush, you know what a famous man he was, the very head and front of American medical science in his day, and re- member how he spoke about yellow fever, which he thought he had mastered! The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. Thus the physician is entangled in the meshes of a wide conspiracy, in which he and his patient and their friends, and Nature herself are involved. What wonder that the history of Medi- cine should be to so great an extent a record of self-delusion If this seems a dangerous concession to the enemies of the true science and art of healing, I will remind you that it is all implied in the first aphorism of Hip- pocrates, the Father of Medicine. Do not draw a wrong inference from the frank statement of the difficulties which beset the medical practitioner. Think rather, if truth is so hard of attainment, how precious are the results which the consent of the wisest and most expe- rienced among the healers of men agrees in accepting. Think what folly it is to cast them aside in favor of palpable im- positions stolen from the records of for- gotten charlatanism, or of fantastic specu- lations spun from the squinting brains of theorists as wild as the Egyptian as- tronomer. Begin your medical studies, then, by reading the fortieth and the following four chapters of Rasselas. Your first lesson will teach you modesty and cau- tion in the pursuit of the most decep- tive of all practical branches of knowl- edge. Faith will come later, when you learn how much medical science and art have actually achieved for the relief of mankind, and how great are the prom- ises it holds out of still larger triumphs over the enemies of human health and happiness. After the reading of this paper there was a lively discussion, which we have no room to report here, and the Society adjourned. Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE SINGULAR CASE OF JESHURUN BARKER. IF any of my readers, familiar with the medical journals of 184~ or there- abouts, should recall any statements then published concerning this peculiar and interesting case, they may also re- member something of the attention it attracted at the time, and the discussion it awakened not only in this country but also in France and Germany. Briefly summarized and stripped of its elaborate wrappings of scientific terms and medi- cal phraseology, the fact stated was of a curious malformation in the case of a boy, then some ten or twelve years of age. There was no outward defect, no physical deformity, but only a peculiar transposition of the mental organs, by which, to quote the felicitous language of a writer of the day, that wonderful mirror in the brain, which we call mem- ory, was simply reversed, so that instead of reflecting the past it reflected the fu- ture, and the boy, instead of remember- ing backward like ordinary people, re- membered forward. However, the majority of people must have long since forgotten the circum- stance, as would doubtless have hap- pened with my later knowledge of it, ac- quired from old volumes on file in my fathers office, had not more recent events revived it, and given me a week or two of strange experience. Our family consists of my aunt, my aunts rheumatism, my sister Lizzie, and my- self. The rheumatism is certainly enti- tled to mention as one of the family, since it not only sits at our table and lodges under our roof, but always forms a majority in our family councils. It was the rheumatism which decided that we should spend the summer of 1880 at 1885.] 18

The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. Thus the physician is entangled in the meshes of a wide conspiracy, in which he and his patient and their friends, and Nature herself are involved. What wonder that the history of Medi- cine should be to so great an extent a record of self-delusion If this seems a dangerous concession to the enemies of the true science and art of healing, I will remind you that it is all implied in the first aphorism of Hip- pocrates, the Father of Medicine. Do not draw a wrong inference from the frank statement of the difficulties which beset the medical practitioner. Think rather, if truth is so hard of attainment, how precious are the results which the consent of the wisest and most expe- rienced among the healers of men agrees in accepting. Think what folly it is to cast them aside in favor of palpable im- positions stolen from the records of for- gotten charlatanism, or of fantastic specu- lations spun from the squinting brains of theorists as wild as the Egyptian as- tronomer. Begin your medical studies, then, by reading the fortieth and the following four chapters of Rasselas. Your first lesson will teach you modesty and cau- tion in the pursuit of the most decep- tive of all practical branches of knowl- edge. Faith will come later, when you learn how much medical science and art have actually achieved for the relief of mankind, and how great are the prom- ises it holds out of still larger triumphs over the enemies of human health and happiness. After the reading of this paper there was a lively discussion, which we have no room to report here, and the Society adjourned. Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE SINGULAR CASE OF JESHURUN BARKER. IF any of my readers, familiar with the medical journals of 184~ or there- abouts, should recall any statements then published concerning this peculiar and interesting case, they may also re- member something of the attention it attracted at the time, and the discussion it awakened not only in this country but also in France and Germany. Briefly summarized and stripped of its elaborate wrappings of scientific terms and medi- cal phraseology, the fact stated was of a curious malformation in the case of a boy, then some ten or twelve years of age. There was no outward defect, no physical deformity, but only a peculiar transposition of the mental organs, by which, to quote the felicitous language of a writer of the day, that wonderful mirror in the brain, which we call mem- ory, was simply reversed, so that instead of reflecting the past it reflected the fu- ture, and the boy, instead of remember- ing backward like ordinary people, re- membered forward. However, the majority of people must have long since forgotten the circum- stance, as would doubtless have hap- pened with my later knowledge of it, ac- quired from old volumes on file in my fathers office, had not more recent events revived it, and given me a week or two of strange experience. Our family consists of my aunt, my aunts rheumatism, my sister Lizzie, and my- self. The rheumatism is certainly enti- tled to mention as one of the family, since it not only sits at our table and lodges under our roof, but always forms a majority in our family councils. It was the rheumatism which decided that we should spend the summer of 1880 at 1885.] 18 14; The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. [July, Hot Springs. My aunt asked our advice aAxrnt it one morning at the breakfast- table, calmly prefacing her request with the information that she had decided to go. When an elderly lady with gold spectacles, a rather pronounced nose and chin, and a still more pronounced for- tune in her own right asks advice in that way of the younger members of her family, the result can readily be sur- mised. On the whole, the movement was less objectionable than many deci- sions of our majority, since, as Lizzie pensively observed, Even a hot water- ing-place is not without its attractions. It chanced, too, that I had business in the neighborhood of Little Rock which could be as well transacted at that time as another, and so would enable me to be near my aunt and sister without the enforced leisure which I detested. After securing and settling ones self in desir- able quarters for such a sojourn, the next item of interest is, naturally, ones neigh- bors; and here we congratulated our- selves upon being peculiarly fortunate. Guests enough to save us from any- thing like dullness or monotony, without the tiresomeness and discomfort of a crowd, murmured my aunt complacent- ly, as she surveyed the cool, pleasant dining-hall at our first breakfast. Near us was a quiet group, which pres- ently attracted attention by its proxim- ity a middle-aged gentleman with his wife and daughter, apparently. Dress and manner marked them as persons of refinement, a certain easy adaptation to their surroundings hinted of familiarity with travel, and they did not appear to be invalids, though there was an air of watchfulness about them, a scarcely de- fined repression, that marked them as differing somewhat from mere pleasure- seekers. Perhaps they have an invalid son or daughter with them, who is not able to come down to meals, observed Aunt Dill, unconsciously answering this com- ment, which no one had expressed. Now and then, in the pauses of our own conversation, sentences from our neighbors floated to us unavoidably. There was a beautiful child wandering up and down the hail, belonging to some one accustomed to the house evidently, and feeling himself on his native heath, for he strayed from one group to anoth- er at will, and was petted by all. Pres- ently he stopped, and surveyed with grave baby eyes the party near us. What a lovely child! exclaimed the young lady, coaxing him near with a bonbon. Yes, and he resembles Why I cant think where I have ever seen him, remarked the gentleman in a tone of perplexity. Nowhere, dear; of course you nev- er did, interposed his wife, with what seemed like anxious haste. None of us have ever seen him until now. But he reminds me of some one, persisted the gentleman musingly. Ah, I remember! It is your little boy, Nellie. He is very like your little boy. A flush swept over the young ladys face, the dark red flush of annoyance or pain. Her answer was inaudible, but she sent the little one away. A young widow, who has lost her child? suggested Aunt Dill in a low voice to Lizzie, under cover of passing the rolls. Too young, and not in mourning, answered Lizzie, in the same tone. She looked very young, not over eighteen, and very pretty and grace- ful also, as she left the room a little la- ter, passing directly by us. They were our neighbors again at dinner, and in the afternoon I met the gentleman on one of the smooth wide walks ~the beach, some of our friends had chris- tened it of the grounds- A small velocipedist had just succeeded in up- setting himself, and the gentleman paused to rescue the wailing urchin, when a malicious gust of wind whisked away the rescuers hat. I captured the The Siiigular Case of Jesliurun Barker. flying property and returned it, to meet not only thanks but a pleasant smile of recognition. Dr. Wilkinson, I believe? He must have noticed us in the din- ing-hall, then, though he had not seemed to do so; but how had he learned my my name? I wondered. The M. D. on my office sign was still so uncomfort- ably fresh that I could scarcely imag- ine my reputation had preceded me. He read my glance and answered it. I met you on the morning train for Little Rock going up to attend the Cashville trial; I am interested in that too and we lunched together at Meli , ,, 005. That was exactly my plan for the morrow, but it assuredly was what I had not done on this first day of my arrival, nor on any preceding day. There was some mistake, hut I had neither time to explain nor ask for explanation. His daughter, who had been detained a mo- ment by a friend, called to him: I am ready, papa! It was a sweet, quick voice, holding in it the slightest possible hint of one who did not care to wait, and he yielded to it at once, replying to my somewhat confused statement that he had the advantage of me, by handing me his card as he turned away. It was only after he had gone that I reflected that the Cashville trial would not begin until the next day, and so I grew more puz- zled still. The card was inscribed Jeshurun Barker, and the name had a familiar look and sound; but I could not link it with any one I had ever known, and so was forced to drop the matter. However, if I had not met him before, I met him frequently after- ward. We journeyed to Little Rock together the next morning, lunched at the same place, and found ourselves on the same return train in the evening. Fate had determined, it appeared, that our two parties should be thrown to- gether. We encountered them in the halls, on the piazzas, and on the grounds; and between the ladies there soon sprang up one of the sudden friendships that belong to such places. Lizzie found a strong attraction in Miss Bar- ker. And she is ili/liss Barker, I ye learned that much, announced Aunt Dill complacently, after the first morn- ing together. Of course I hesitated a little between Mrs. and Miss after what I had heard her father say, but she laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world that I should accord her any such matronly dignity, as she said. When I told her what I had overheard, though, for I did tell her, she flushed in just that odd way again, and answered quickly: Oh, no, that was not what papa meant. He misspeaks sometimes. He was thinking ofof an older daughter of his. That is exactly the way in which she put it not my sister, you notice, nor my little nephew, as any one would naturally say, but only an older daughter of papas. They are very pleasant people, but I 11 warrant there is a twist in their family history some- where, a daughter who has married disreputably, perhaps. I longed to remind my aunt of cer- tain maxims concerning the vulgarity of undue interest in other peoples affairs which had been lavishly bestowed upon me in the days of my youth. But it is not always safe to return these kind- nesses of ones childhood. Our elders, I have observed, are prone to regard their choicest admonitions in the light in which the celebrated Miss MeFlim- sey viewed her betrothal : A sort of engagement, you see, Which is binding on you, but not binding on me. Lizzie and I consoled ourselves by as- cribing these lapses on Aunt Dills part to the rheumatism. Aunt Dill was so closely allied to us in family and blood 1885.] 15 16 The Singular Case that we could not shirk responsibility where she was concerned, but the rheu- matism was only a relation-in-law, as it were, and could be disapproved of when necessary. Mrs. Barker remarked incidentally, to-day, that Nellie was her only child, said Aunt Dill, an evening or two later. Now, how do you reconcile that with a runaway daughter? Dear me, auntie! That runaway daughter is purely your own invention, and nobody else needs to be reconciled to her, laughed Lizzie. It is possi- ble that Miss Nellie may have lost a half dozen brothers and sisters, older and younger, and now be an only child, is nt it? Besides, she only spoke of an older daughter of papas, which may have meant a half sister or a step sister. Hm, responded Aunt Dill disdain- fully, but she caught at the last sugges- tion, unfortunately, and proceeded to test it. To do her justice, she managed the matter with admirable finesse, and it was only during an easy after-dinner chat, which had somehow fallen upon the subject of odd marriages and second marriages, that she adroitly seized upon a remark of Mr. Barkers with the play- ful question You speak feelingly! Surely you have had no experience in second mar- riages? I? It really seemed for a mo- ment as if the gentleman did not know whether he had or not. Lie drew his hand across his brow and looked toward his wife, who was standing by an oppo- site window; then his dark eyes soft- ened. Indeed, no! he said, with his peculiar smile that always held a tinge of melancholy. I doubt whether there are two women in the world who are brave enough for that. His wife caught his glance and joined our group directly. They were a very affectionate family, the Barkers. Their devotion to each other was so intense as of Jeshurun Barker. [July, to be even a trifle annoying occasionally, for whenever I had engaged the gentle- man in a conversation that bade fair to be more than ordinarily interesting, his wife or daughter appeared upon the scene and appropriated him at once. Under ordinary circumstances it must be confessed that Miss Nellie might have proved a very agreeable intrusion, with her pretty, flushing face and win- ning, graceful ways. But any such at- tractions were dispelled, for me, by a hand at home, which wore a ring in the same state of untarnished newness as my office sign. Moreover, young Sayles had followed the Barkers to the springs, had been welcomed as an old acquaint- ance, and seemed successfully bent upon proving himself a very intimate one. His fine physique, to say nothing of his enraptured glances, made it evi- dent that he had not come for any ben- efit from the springs; and he would not have needed them in any case, as Miss Nellie must have kept him continually in hot water by her inopportune flyings- off after dear papa. It was only upon rare occasions that Mr. Barker could be drawn into any- thing like conversation. Usually, he contented himself with courteous but very brief replies when directly ad- dressed, and for the rest listened smil- ingly but silently while others talked. It was only reticence, however, not dull- ness, as one could readily see by watch- ing the expression of his mobile features, and the interest in his deep, peculiar eyes. There were times, too, when his interest overleaped the harriers of re- straint, and the views he expressed were striking and original. Two or three times, when we were together, I had chanced to awaken him upon some medical topic, and was sur~ prised and delighted to hear of dis- coveries which were new to me, though I considered myself particularly well read. But, as I have said, such con- versations were always interrupted by 1885.] The Singular Case of .Jeshurun Barker. IT either his wife or daughter. It was an absurd fancy, of course, but it really seemed at times as if they were jealous of any attention he bestowed upon oth- ers. The man puzzled and fascinated me with his quiet, gentle, almost mel- ancholy air, and his strange reserve, which was only a veil for opinions so unique, so startling, and so positive that, when once expressed, they carried with them the force of knowledge. Then, too, his name still perplexed me with its odd familiarity. I was haunted by some flitting ghost of association which I could not materialize. It was young Sayles who solved the problem for me at last. The number of guests increased as the season advanced, augmented not only by those who were needing to he built up physically, but by some who were seeking to build up financially. The attraction for these was not the mineral water, but a min- eral more solid, as represented by Judge Leach, president of the Great Synket Silver Mine, the richest mine in Mexico, sir, as the pompous judge was fond of informing the knot of listeners who always hung about him. He had come North on business connected with the mine, it was stated, and the local papers devoted considerable space to the object of his visit, his success and movements generally, calling him one of our great silver kings. His pres- ence had created no small stir in certain circles at Little Rock and at the Springs, where, for some reason, he preferred to spend a part of lis time. There were eager groups constantly about the mag- nate, discoursing with feverish excite- ment of stocks, shares, and dividends. Our comfortable quiet was gone. The very swings on the grounds suggested derricks, and one could no longer view the forks and spoons on the table with- out a desire to have them assayed, young Sayles declared in disgust. It was this feeling of being crowded that suggested the idea of a days respite VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 2 by a picnic excursion to a neighboring grove. The Barkers and ourselves, feel- ing that we were a sort of aborigines among these new-comers, were drawn more closely together, and Mr. Sayles had kindly included us in his picnic pro- ject. Now, if it s only a pleasant day to- morrow, he said, as we discussed final arrangements. Miss Nellie, suppose we ask your father what he thinks of the weather? He always seems to prophesy correctly. Miss Nellie hesitated, colored, and looked appealingly at her mother, as if, for some reason, the simple suggestion. were a very embarrassing one. But Mr. Barker was sitting by a window, news- paper in hand, and Mr. Sayles had turned toward him as he spoke. Shall we have a fine day for our ex- cursion, do you think, sir? What is the prospect for to-morrow? Excursion? Mr. Barker repeated the words as if he had not heard of the project before. Oh, yes, the weather is fine enough to-morrow, and why, no, we did nt go on any excursion, with Nellie sick in her room with a headache, and the whole plan spoiled because of one inadvertent remark. I really can- not see any sense in it. Neither could any one else. We all stared at him blankly except Mrs. Bar- ker. There was meaning enough in her quick glance, and her laugh was forced and uneasy. My dear, what a mixture of tenses! Your mind must be all on your newspa- per. Nobody but yourself has made any inadvertent remark. Warning, reminder, appeal, were in her eyes and voice, but it is probable that Mr. Barkers mind was still a little abstracted by his reading, for he only looked bewildered and answered has- tily Yes, yes, it was my own, of course; though I cant think just now what it was, nor why Nellie need feel so about 18 The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. [July, it, since Sayles is one of the family. If a man cant speak before his son-in- law The sudden start and rustle in his audience convinced Mr. Barker that something was wrong. lie looked help- lessly at his wife, questioningly at the rest of us, and added emphatically, as if his word had been doubted I assure you, I have given my con- sent next week. That picnic council unceremonious- ly dissolved dissolved is the proper word. There was a swift little rush of soft draperies and ribbons, and Miss Nellie had vanished through the door and up the stairway, followed by her mother. Aunt Dill and Lizzie were in the back parlor discoursing volubly on the mysteries of afghan-stitch what- ever that may be and Mr. Sayles was discovered on a side porch, a mo- ment later, his face very red from look- ing up at a hornets nest in the roof, and he remarked, with true scientific inter- est, that it was curious to watch how those reptiles could be such ingenious little insects, you know. For myself, I had received a revela- tion. The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker, as I had read of it years be- fore, flashed clearly upon my memory, and unraveled at once all the perplexing tangles of the last few days. This was the man, and his peculiar manner, his inexplicable speeches and keen insight were accounted for. To confess that Miss Nellies mortification, the disap- pointment of the picnic party, and the general embarrassment were completely forgotten by me in the prospective de- light of studying this rare phenomenon is, probably, to accuse myself of selfish- ness. I can only plead guilty, feeling sure that with any enthusiastic member of the medical profession I shall need no recommendation to mercy. Of course the matter was soon ex- plained to the others. I told my aunt and sister what I knew, though Lizzie learned far more the next day from Miss Nellie herself, after spending the forenoon in an atmosphere of sympathy and camphor by that young ladys bed- side. Miss Nellie had wept herself into a furious headache, and declared be- tween her fits of sobbing that she never could be induced to go down stairs again never! It has always been so ever since I can remember. We never stay any- where long, no matter how delightful it is. Something always happens, and we have to go away, she said plaintively. Fancy having a father who, instead of remembering how pretty you looked in your first short dress, should only re- member how you will look in your first spectacles or when your front teeth are gone, or some such wretched thing! But the worst of it is nt any discom- fort to ourselves, anything that we can keep to ourselves, I mean, mamma and I have grown used to that; it is the embarrassments with other people. We have to be always watching and explain- ing and doing things that are odd, and even then the best that usually comes of it is that people think him slightly in- sane. Why, do you know, in one place where they found out about his queer memory they ran after us to have their fortunes told. Exactly as if we had been a party of gypsies! Nobody could make them believe that he did nt know anything about their old fortunes. And there was a jury trial once Oh dear! I could tell you no en~l of things, but it is n t any use. Of course I dont blame poor dear papa; he cant help it, and he wont remember the least thing that he said to Mr. Sayles last night. But how would you feel to be fairly thrown at a mans head in that horrid way? Mr. Sayles, however, when he had recovered from the suddenness of the onslaught, was not only delighted with the missile, but in ecstasies at the accu- racy of the aim; so that difficulty was overcome, and Miss Nellie was soon 1885.] The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. 19 lured back to her wonted place among us. In our own little circle, as we had come to call our two families (Mr. Sayles included), all concealment of Mr. Barkers peculiarity was now at an end. By a sort of tacit agreement we aided his wife and daughter in shielding him from any encounter that might awaken the curiosity of strangers; but among ourselves there was a dropping of con- straint and surveillance that certainly must have been a relief to the good gen- tleman, even though he remembered nothing of his previous position, nor any causes which had led to a change. Silence and reserve had become ha- bitual with him, nevertheless it was pos- sible to overcome this barrier occasion- ally, and as our conversations were no longer watched and interrupted, they became more frequent and even confi- dential. You see how it is, he said some- what sadly one day. I live in a differ- ent world from yours a different world from all those about me. It is only joined to theirs by the narrow isthmus of to-day. People who are always wish- ing they could see ahead do not know what they ask. It is isolation, sir, isola- tion. I suspect no one would wish it at the expense of not being able to see backward, I replied. But how did you first become aware of this difference between yourself and others? He looked at me a moment, and shook his head with a smile. If I could answer that question, Dr. Wilkinson, I should not be differ- ent from others. I laughed as I realized the absurdity of the inquiry, yet it was an error into which I was constantly and naturally falling in all our intercourse. Your past is a blank, then? I said. No, not a blank. I do not know it any more than you know your future, but it holds dreams and probabilities. Your future is not really a blank to you. And from what exists at present I can imagine the past, as you forecast the future. But aspirations, plans, and hopes are the chief mediums through which I view the future, I suggested. True; and they cannot apply to the past, nor, in any great measure, to a future that is known; for a man does not hope for what he knows. As for plans I know what I must do to-day by knowing what results from it to-mor- row. But there is where you must have the advantage of ordinary people, I urged. If you foresee danger, you can avoid it. I dont foresee, I only remember, and a man cant remember what does nt happen, can he? insisted Mr. Barker. You could nt avoid breaking your leg last summer by remembering it now, could you? And I cant avoid break- ing mine next summer by remembering it now, either. It s a compound frac- ture, too, he added, ruefully. Thinking over his case one night and I really bestowed more thought upon this curious freak of nature than upon anything else during those few weeks at the springs there suddenly occurred to me the possibility of super- seding Gates Ajar and kindred spec- ulations of the day by something like positive testimony. I questioned Mr. Barker upon the subject. How far forward does your knowl- edge extend? Can you remember into any state beyond this life? any eter- nity to which we go? No more than you can remember back into the eternity from which you came. Memory is only memory, I sup- pose, whichever way it faces. It is a mirror, which simply reflects the room it is in, and mine is hung on the oppo- site wall from most peoples. Your re- membrance runs back, growing less and less distinct at least I judge it must be so as it reaches your earliest years, 20 The Singular Case of JesAurun Barker. [July, until only isolated facts appear in a vague, shadowy way, and these finally fade into nothingness. Mine runs for- ward in exactly the same way. Beyond this world I can hope, and, though you may not have appreciated it, Dr. Wil- kinson, it is a blessed thing to hope. After a moments pause, he added slowly: I cannot say that I really do not know what hope is in regard to any- thing in this world. One can remem- her only what one in some way has knowledge of, and, of course, there are many things in the future of my friends and the history of the world of which, as they are not directly linked with my own experience, I am ignorant. Con- cerning these I can hope. There is a hope, too, connected with this peculiar- ity of my own, I have a theory that it is due to a very slight displacement a reversing of a small portion of the brain, and that by a critical examination of that organ, and a careful, scientifical- ly conducted comparison of it with a brain in its normal condition, the defect might be discovered, and thus the exact seat of memory located. What a gain that would be to science! In my will, which I make in a year or two, I give directions for a post-mortem examina- tion by the most eminent surgeons. Who knows what benefit to the race may grow out of it? An intense longing to take part in such an investigation made me for a mo- ment forget that the desired subject for scalpel and microscope was still in my friends head. Y-e-s, I said, rather inanely. You think it might throw new light upon the relation of mind and matter? Why may it not prove of great prac- tical value? pursued Mr. Barker ear- nestly. In my case the defect trans- position, call it what you will does not affect other faculties. Will, reason, judgment, are unaltered. Now, may it not be among the possibilities of surgi cal skill to reproduce this exact condi- tion in other brains? Reverse other peoples memories, do you mean? I inquired, somewhat aghast at the prospect. There might be some comfort, no doubt, in being able to extract an aching memory as one would an aching tooth; hut what would be the effect on society if bankers and railroad presidents, for instance, were afforded any new facilities for for- getting that the money in their posses- sion belonged to somebody else, and remembering only the to-morrows in which they expected to appropriate it to their own use? In certain cases, yes, replied Mr. Barker. Just consider what such a possibility might be to a confirmed drunkard or opium-eater! Placed in a hospital where the diseased tissues and fibres or whatever you medical men call it might have time to heal, while by a simple operation all memory of old habits, old associates, and any delight of intoxicating orgies was completely oblit erated, what cures might not be effect- ed? Then our penitentiaries how much more safely criminals might be pardoned and released if they left the memory of all past vices behind them with their prison garments. And our reform-schools sir, the possibilities are limitless. Could there be a greater boon to such youthful and depraved minds than, by a whiff of chloroform and a surgeons knife, to be forever freed from all the evil associations and vicious knowledge of the past? No, Dr. Wilkinson, I am not without hope. I am cheered by the thought that my life, whatever it misses of hap.. piness, may yet prove a great benefit to the race. I fully intended that it should prove a great benefit to me. Daily intercourse with a case so interesting and so unique would, I am sure, have appealed to any member of my profession as one of the great opportunities of a lifetime, and I 1885.] Tke Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker. 21 fondly hoped for disclosures and sugges- tions which should make the name of John Wilkinson, M. D., not unknown to fame. There arose in our conversation at different times many topics of interest, foreshadowings of future history, which charmed me. I recollect his giving, one day, a thrilling account of his adventure on an electric bicycle in the summer of 1890, I believe. But to me the most absorbing subject was the discoveries and inventions in medicine and surgery, as they came under his own observation, or as he read of them in newspapers and journals fifteen or twenty years hence. Some of these were indeed won- derful, and though, owing to his lack of a scientific or medical education, Mr. Barker could only describe workings and effects without any accurate knowl- edge of construction and causes, I hoped, by careful questioning, and a little series of experiments, to gain some valuable and practical information while we were together. But all such plans were speedily and hopelessly frustrated by a little occur- rence in the hotel parlors one evening. Judge Leach was there, surrounded by a crowd as usual, and Mr. Barker, also as usual, sat apart with his newspaper a yesterdays newspaper; that was his way of reading up. Judge Leach had noticed Mr. Barker, it seemed, and either attracted by something in that quiet gentlemans manner, or piqued by the fact that he never joined the silver-mining circle, the judge suddenly turned and asked his opinion upon the point under discussion. Perhaps you are not interested in mining and the different qualities of ore, sir? said the great man, blandly. Mr. Barker surveyed him absently, as if he had no recollection of ever hav- ing seen him. It a Judge Leach, you know. Surely you know Judge Leach? in- terposed one of the satellites, in a tone which seemed to say that not to know Judge Leach would be to fail of lifes chief object. I know him know of him yes, answered Mr. Barker, in a slow reflec- tion. I am trying to think what I read about him next week. The papers were full of the great Synket- Mine Swindle; the worthlessness of the shares, and the amount of money that had been gobbled up here before any one was wise enough to write on and make inquiries of disinterested parties in Mexico. Sir? thundered Judge Leach, growing very black in the face. It was a complete fraud, but the judge was safely off to Europe with the spoils, proceeded Mr. Barker, as calmly as if his remark had no bearing upon any one present. Sir! Do you mean to say be- gan the judge, advancing threateningly, while an angry murmur, like the breath of a coming storm, ran through the crowd around him. Mr. Barker might not have been in danger of instant annihilation, but Mrs. Barker thought he was. She started forward with a scream, and then, woman- like, fainted. It was the best possible move under the circumstances, as it dis- solved the angry conclave, and created a diversion which enabled the Barkers to retire. They packed their trunks that night, and left the place the next morning before other guests were astir. Of course we couldnt stay in any comfort after last night, Miss Nellie said to my sister at their tearful parting. Whether Mr. Barkers statement pre- cipitated matters, I do not know, but little whispers of distrust concerning the Great Synket began to be circu- lated almost immediately, growing more distinct and ominous as the days passed. Judge Leach was suddenly and privately summoned away on important business, and failed to return as did also the investments. There was a great deal of disappointment, chagrin, and wordy 22 The Two Blizabeths. [July, newspaper indignation; but my own burden of regret was for the sudden closing of the mine of knowledge I had hoped to explore. I consider Jeshurun Barker one of the greatest marvels of nature, I said. And I consider him an awful warn- ing to those people who are forever for- getting past mercies, and borrowing trouble about the future, responded Aunt Dill, severely. There are peo- ple who make themselves so miserably like him in that way that they ought to fear having their memories turned wrong side out to stay. We have never heard from the Bar- kers since, except that, two years ago, there came from Italy the wedding- cards of young Sayles and Miss Nellie. Under the peculiar circumstances, I must say that I consider young Sayles a brave man. I have heard more than one irate person wish his parents-in-law in the middle of next week, but to actually possess one who abides there might be attended with difficulties. John Wilkinson. THE TWO ELIZABETHS. A. D. 1209. AMIDST Thuringias wooded hills she dwelt, A high-born princess, servant of the poor, Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt To starving throngs at Wartburgs blazoned door. A blinded zealot held her soul in chains, Cramped the sweet nature that he could not kill, Scarred her fair body with his penance-pains, And gauged her conscience by his narrow will. God gave her gifts of beauty and of grace, With fast and vigil she denied them all; Unquestioning, with sad, pathetic face, She followed meekly at her stern guides call. So drooped and died her home-blown rose of bliss In the chill rigor of a discipline That turned her fond lips from her childrens kiss And made her joy of motherhood a sin. To their sad level by compassion led, One with the low and vile herself she made, While thankless misery mocked the hand that fed, And laughed to scorn her piteous masquerade. But still, with patience that outwearied hate, She gave her all while yet she had to give; And then her empty hands, importunate, In prayer she lifted that the poor might live.

22 The Two Blizabeths. [July, newspaper indignation; but my own burden of regret was for the sudden closing of the mine of knowledge I had hoped to explore. I consider Jeshurun Barker one of the greatest marvels of nature, I said. And I consider him an awful warn- ing to those people who are forever for- getting past mercies, and borrowing trouble about the future, responded Aunt Dill, severely. There are peo- ple who make themselves so miserably like him in that way that they ought to fear having their memories turned wrong side out to stay. We have never heard from the Bar- kers since, except that, two years ago, there came from Italy the wedding- cards of young Sayles and Miss Nellie. Under the peculiar circumstances, I must say that I consider young Sayles a brave man. I have heard more than one irate person wish his parents-in-law in the middle of next week, but to actually possess one who abides there might be attended with difficulties. John Wilkinson. THE TWO ELIZABETHS. A. D. 1209. AMIDST Thuringias wooded hills she dwelt, A high-born princess, servant of the poor, Sweetening with gracious words the food she dealt To starving throngs at Wartburgs blazoned door. A blinded zealot held her soul in chains, Cramped the sweet nature that he could not kill, Scarred her fair body with his penance-pains, And gauged her conscience by his narrow will. God gave her gifts of beauty and of grace, With fast and vigil she denied them all; Unquestioning, with sad, pathetic face, She followed meekly at her stern guides call. So drooped and died her home-blown rose of bliss In the chill rigor of a discipline That turned her fond lips from her childrens kiss And made her joy of motherhood a sin. To their sad level by compassion led, One with the low and vile herself she made, While thankless misery mocked the hand that fed, And laughed to scorn her piteous masquerade. But still, with patience that outwearied hate, She gave her all while yet she had to give; And then her empty hands, importunate, In prayer she lifted that the poor might live. 1885.] The 7i~vo Etizabethe. 23 Sore pressed by grief, and wrongs more hard to bear, And dwarfed and stifled by a harsh control, She kept life fragrant with good deeds and prayer, And fresh and pure the white flower of her soul. Death found her busy at her task: one word Alone she uttered as she paused to die, Silence I then listened even as one who heard With song and wing the angels drawing nigh! Now Fra Angelicos roses fill her hands, And, on Murillos canvas, Want and Pain Kneel at her feet. Her marble image stands Worshipped and crowned in Marburgs holy fane. Yea, wheresoeer her Church its cross uprears, Wide as the world her story still is told; In manhoods reverence, womans prayers and tears, She lives again whose grave is centuries old. And still, despite the weakness or the blame Of blind submission to the blind, she hath A tender place in hearts of every name, And more than Rome owns Saint Elizabeth! A. D. 1780. Slow ages passed: and lo! another came, An English matron, in whose simple faith Nor priestly rule nor ritual had claim, A plain, uncarionized Elizabeth. No sackcloth robe, nor ashen-sprinkled hair, Nor wasting fast, nor scourge, nor vigil long Marred her calm presence. God had made her fair, And she could do His goodly work no wrong. Their yoke is easy and their burden light Whose sole confessor is the Christ of God; Her quiet trust and faith transcending sight Smoothed to her feet the difficult paths she trod. And there she walked, as duty bade her go, Safe and unsullied as a cloistered nun, Shamed with her plainness Fashions gaudy show, And overcame the world she did not shun. In Earlhams bowers, in Plashets liberal hall, Ia the great citys restless crowd and din, Her ear was open to the Masters call, And knew the summons of His voice within. 24 Childhood in Mediceval Art. [July, Tender as mother, beautiful as wife, Amidst the throngs of prisoned crime she stood, In modest raiment faultless as her life, The type of Englands worthiest womanhood! To melt the hearts that harshness turned to stone The sweet persuasion of her lips sufficed, And guilt, which only hate and fear had known, Saw in her own the pitying love of Christ. So wheresoeer the guiding Spirit went She followed, finding every prison cell It opened for her sacred as a tent Pitched by Gennesaret or by Jacobs well. And Pride and Fashion felt her strong appeal, And priest and ruler marvelled as they saw How hand in hand went wisdom with her zeal, And womans pity kept the bounds of law. She rests in Gods peace; but her memory stirs The air of earth as with an angels wings, And warms and moves the hearts of men like hers, The sainted daughter of Hungarian kings! United now, the Briton and the Hun, Each, in her own time, faithful unto death, Live sister souls! in name and spirit one, Thuringias saint and our Elizabeth! John Greenleaf Whittier. CHILDHOOD IN MEDIAWAL ART. THE power of Christianity lies in its prophecy of universality, and the most significant note of this power is in its comprehension of the poor and the weak, not merely as the objects of a benedic- tion proceeding from some external so- ciety, but as themselves constituent members of that society, sharing in all its rights and fulfilling its functions. When the last great prophet of Israel and forerunner of Judaic Christianity sent to inquire what evidence Jesus of Nazareth could give that he was the Christ, the answer which came back had the conclusive words, To the poor the gospel is preached. The same Jesus, when he would give his immedi- ate followers the completest type of the kingdom which was to prevail through- out the world, took a child, and set him in the midst of them. There is no hard~ ly gained position in the development of human society which may not find its genetic idea in some word or act of the Son of Man, and the proem to the great song of an expectant democracy is in the brief hour of the first Christian so- ciety, which held all things in common.

24 Childhood in Mediceval Art. [July, Tender as mother, beautiful as wife, Amidst the throngs of prisoned crime she stood, In modest raiment faultless as her life, The type of Englands worthiest womanhood! To melt the hearts that harshness turned to stone The sweet persuasion of her lips sufficed, And guilt, which only hate and fear had known, Saw in her own the pitying love of Christ. So wheresoeer the guiding Spirit went She followed, finding every prison cell It opened for her sacred as a tent Pitched by Gennesaret or by Jacobs well. And Pride and Fashion felt her strong appeal, And priest and ruler marvelled as they saw How hand in hand went wisdom with her zeal, And womans pity kept the bounds of law. She rests in Gods peace; but her memory stirs The air of earth as with an angels wings, And warms and moves the hearts of men like hers, The sainted daughter of Hungarian kings! United now, the Briton and the Hun, Each, in her own time, faithful unto death, Live sister souls! in name and spirit one, Thuringias saint and our Elizabeth! John Greenleaf Whittier. CHILDHOOD IN MEDIAWAL ART. THE power of Christianity lies in its prophecy of universality, and the most significant note of this power is in its comprehension of the poor and the weak, not merely as the objects of a benedic- tion proceeding from some external so- ciety, but as themselves constituent members of that society, sharing in all its rights and fulfilling its functions. When the last great prophet of Israel and forerunner of Judaic Christianity sent to inquire what evidence Jesus of Nazareth could give that he was the Christ, the answer which came back had the conclusive words, To the poor the gospel is preached. The same Jesus, when he would give his immedi- ate followers the completest type of the kingdom which was to prevail through- out the world, took a child, and set him in the midst of them. There is no hard~ ly gained position in the development of human society which may not find its genetic idea in some word or act of the Son of Man, and the proem to the great song of an expectant democracy is in the brief hour of the first Christian so- ciety, which held all things in common. 1885.] Childhood in .lllediceval Art. 25 The sketch of a regenerated human society, contained in the New Testa- ment, has been long in filling out, and the day which the first generation of Christians thought so near at hand has thus far had only a succession of pro- leptic appearances; but from the first the note of the power of Christianity, which lies in the recognition of poverty and weakness, has never been wanting, and has been most loudly struck in the great epochs of Christian revival. In the struggle after purity of associated life, which had its witness in the orders of the church, poverty was accepted as a necessary condition, and the construc- tive genius of the human mind, dealing with the realities of Christian faith, rose to its highest point in presenting, not the maturity, but the infancy of Jesus Christ. Each age offers its contribution to the perfection of the Christian ideal, and while, in the centuries lying on either side of the Renaissance, the church as an ecclesiastical system was enforcing the dogma of mediatorial sacrifice as something outside of humanity, the spirit of God, in the person of great painters, was drawing the thoughts of men to the redemption of the world, which lies in the most sacred of human relations. The great efflorescence of art, which we recognize as the gift of these centuries, has left as its most distinctive memorial the type of Christianity ex- pressed in the Madonna. I. In the Holy Family the child is the essential figure. In the earliest exam- ples of the mother and child, both Mary and Jesus are conceived as symbols of religions faith, and the attitude of the child is unchildlike, being that of a dis- penser of blessings with uplifted hand. The group is not distinctly of the mother and child, but of the Virgin and the Sa- viour, the Saviour being represented as a child in order to indicate the ground of the adoration paid to the Virgin. They stand before one as possessed of codrdinate dignity. It is a curious and suggestive fact that the Byzantine type of the Madoni~a, which rarely departed much from this symbolic treatment, has continued to be the preference of those whose conceptions of the religious life are most closely identified with a re- mote sacramentar& nism. The Italian lemonade-seller has a Byzantine Madon- na in his booth; the Belgian churches abound in so-called sacred pictures; the Russian merchant salutes an icon of the same type; and the ritualistic enthusiast of the Anglican revival modifies his a~sthetic views by his religious sympa- thy, and stops short in his admiration with Cimabue and Giotto. In the development of the Madonna from its first form as a rigid symbol to its latest as a realistic representation of motherhood, we are aware of a change in the minds of the people who worship before the altars where the pictures are placed, and in the minds of the painters who produce the almost endless varia- tions on this theme. The worshiper, dis- possessed of a belief in the fatherhood of God, came to take refuge in the mother- hood of Mary. Formally taught the wrath of God, he found in the familiar relation of mother and child the most complete type vouchsafed to him of that love which the church by many infor- mal ways bade him believe lay some- where in the divine life. Be this as it may, the treatment of the subject in a domestic and historical form followed the treatment in a relig- ious and ecclesiological mode. In the earlier representations of the Madonna there was a twofold thought exhibited. The mother was the queen of heaven, and she derived her dignity from the child on her knee. Hence she is some- times shown adoring the child, and the child looks up into the mothers face with his finger on his lip, expressive of 26 Childhood in lllediceval Art. the utterance, I am the Word. This adoration of the child by the mother was, however, but a transient phase: the increasing worship paid to the Vir- gin forbade that she should be so sub- ordinated; and in the gradual expan- sion of the theme, by which saints and martyrs and angels were grouped in at- tendant ministry, more and more impor- tance was attached to the person of the Virgin. The child looks up in wonder and affectionate admiration. He caresses her, and offers her a childs love mingled with a divine beings calm self-content. For throughout the whole period of the religious presentation of the Ma- donna, even when the Madonna herself is conspicuously the occasion of the pic- ture, we may observe the influence of the child, an influence sometimes subtle, sometimes open and manifest. It is not enough to say that this child is Jesus, as it is not enough to say that the mother is the Virgin Mary. The divine child is the sign of an ever-present childhood in humanity; the divine mother the sign of a love which the religion of Chris- tianity never wholly forgot. The com- mon imagination was perpetually seek- ing to relieve Mary and Jesus of all attributes which interfered with the cen- tral and inhering relation of mother and child: through this type of love the mind apprehended the gospel of Chris- tianity as in no other way. Indeed, this apotheosis of childhood and maternity is at the core of the re- ligion of hope which was inclosed in the husk of meditnval Christianity, and it was made the theme of many variations. Before it had ceased to be a symbol of worship, it was offering a nucleus for the expression of a more varied human hope and interest. The Holy Family in the bands of painters and sculptors, and the humbler class of designers which sprang into notice with the in- troduction of printing and engraving, becomes more and more emblematic of a pure and happy domestic group. Joseph is more frequently introduced, and John Baptist appears as a playmate of the child Jesus; sometimes they are seen walking in companionship. Cer- tain incidents in later life are symbol- ically prefigured in the realistic treat- ment of homely scenes, as in the Ma- donna by Giulio Romano, where the child stands in a basin, while the young S. John pours water upon him, Mary washes him, S. Elizabeth stands by hold- ing a towel, and S. Joseph watches the. scene, an evident prefigurement of the baptism in the Jordan. Or again, Mary, seated, holds the infant Christ be- tween her knees; Elizabeth leans over the back of the chair; Joseph rests on his staff behind the Virgin; the little S. John and an angel present grapes, while four other angels are gathering and bring- ing them. By such a scene Ippolito An- dreasi would remind people that Jesus is the true vine. II. The recognition of childhood as the heart of the family is disQoverable even more emphatically in the art of the northern people, among whom domestic life always had greater respect. It may seem a trivial reason, but I suspect na- ture holds the family more closely to- gether in cold countries, which compel much indoor and firesid~ life, than in lands which tempt to vagrancy. At any rate, the fact remains that the Ger- manic peoples have been home-cultivat- ing. It did not need the Roman Taci- tus to find this out, but his testimony helps us to believe that the disposition was a radical one, which Christianity reinforced rather than implanted. Lord Lindsay makes the pregnant observa- tion, Our Saviours benediction of the little children as a subject [is] from first to last Teutonic, I scarcely recol- lect a single Italian instance of it ; 1 1 Sketches of the History of Christian Art, iii. 270. 1885.] Childhood in .Miediceval Art. 27 and in the revival of religious art, at which Overbeck and Cornelius assisted, this and similar subjects, by their fre- quency, mark a differentiation from art south of the Alps, whose traditions, nevertheless, the German school was consciously following. Although of a period subsequent to the Renaissance, an excellent illustra- tion of the religious representation of the childhood of Jesus in northern art is contained in a series of twelve prints executed in the Netherlands, and de- scribed in detail by Mrs. Jameson. The series is entitled The Infancy of our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ, and the title-page is surrounded by a border composed of musical instruments, spinning-wheels, distaffs, and other im- plements of female industry, intermixed with all kinds of masons and carpen- ters tools. In the first of the prints, the figure of Christ is seen in a glory, surrounded by cherubim. In the sec- ond, the Virgin is seated on the hill of Sion; the infant in her lap, with out- spread arms, looks up to a choir of an- gels, and is singing with them. In the third, Jesus slumbering in his cradle is rocked by two angels, while Mary sits by, engaged in needlework. The fourth shows the interior of a carpen- ters shop: Joseph is plying his work, while Joachim stands near him; the Virgin is measuring linen, and S. Anna looks on; two angels are at play with the infant Christ, who is blowing soap- bubbles. In the fifth picture, Mary pre- pares the family meal, while Joseph is in the background chopping wood; more in front, Jesus sweeps together the chips, and two angels gather them. In the sixth, Mary is seen reeling off a skein of thread; Joseph is squaring a plank; Jesus is picking up chips, again assisted by two angels. The seventh shows Mary seated at her spinning-wheel; Joseph, aided by Jesus, is sawing through a large beam, the two angels standing by. The 1 Legends of the Madonna, Part III. eighth is somewhat similar: Mary holds her distaff, while Joseph saws a beam on which Jesus stands, and the two angels help in the work. In the ninth print, Joseph is busy building the frame-work of a house, assisted by one of the an- gels; Jesus is boring with a large gim- let, the other angel helping him; and Mary winds thread. In the next, Jo- seph is at work roofing the house; Jesus, in company with the angels, carries a beam up the ladder; while below, in front, Mary is carding wool or flax. The eleventh transfers the work, with an apparent adaptation to Holland, to the building of a boat, where Joseph is helped by Jesus, who holds a hammer and chisel, still attended by the angels; the Virgin is knitting a stocking, and the newly built house is seen in the background. In the last of the series, Joseph is erecting a fence round a. gar- den; Jesus, with the help of the angels, is fastening the pahings together; while Mary is weaving garlands of roses. Here is a reproduction of the child- hood of the Saviour in the terms of a homely Netherland family life, the nat- uralistic treatment diversified by the use of angelic machinery. The prints were a part of the apparatus used by the priests in educating the people. However such instruction may have fal- len short of the highest truths of Chris- tianity, its recognition of the simple du- ties of life and its enforcement of these by the example of the Son of Man make us slow to regard such interposi- tion of the church as remote from the spirit of Christ. If, as is quite possi- ble, these prints were employed by the Jesuits, then their significance becomes doubly noticeable. In that vigorous at- tempt by Loyola and his order to main- tain an organic Christian unity against the apparent disruption of Christianity, such a mode as this would find a place as serving to emphasize that connection between the church and the family which the Jesuits instinctively felt to 28 Childhood in Mediceval Art. [July, be essential to the supremacy of the former. Whatever light the treatment of the Madonna subject may throw upon the ages in which it is uppermost in mens thoughts, the common judgment is sound which looks for the most significance in the works of Raphael. Even those who turn severely away from him, and seek for purer art in his predecessors, must needs use his name as one of epochal consequence. So many forces of the age meet in Raphael, who was pecu- liarly open to influences, that no other painter can so well be chosen as an exponent of the idea of the time; and as one passes in review the successive Madonnas, one may not only detect the influence of Perugino, of Leonardo, of Michelangelo, and other masters, but may see the ripening of a mind, upon which fell the spirit of the age, busy with other things than painting. Of the early Madonnas of Raphael, it is noticeable how many present the Virgin engaged in reading a book, while the child is occupied in other ways, sometimes even seeking to interrupt the mother and disengage her attention. Thus in one in the Berlin museum, which is formal, though unaffected, Mary reads a book, while the child plays with a goldfinch; in the Madon- na in the Casa Connestabile, at Perugia, the child plays with the leaves of the book; in the Madonna del Cardellino, the little S. John presents a goldfinch to Jesus, and the mother looks away from her book to observe the children; in that at Berlin, which is from the Casa Colonna, the child is held on the mothers knee in a somewhat struggling attitude, and has his left hand upon the top of her dress, near her neck, his right upon her shoulder, while the mother, with a look of maternal tenderness, holds the book aside. In the middle period of Raphaels work this motive appears once at least in the St. Peters- burg Madonna, which is a quiet land- scape-scene, where the child is in the Madonnas lap: she holds a book, which she has just been reading; the little S. John kneels before his divine companion with infantine grace, and offers him a cross, which he receives with a look of tender love; the Madonnas eyes are di- rected to the prophetic play of the chil- dren with a deep, earnest expression. The use of the book is presumably to denote the Madonnas piety; and in the earlier pictures she is not only the ob- ject of adoration to the worshiper, who sees her in her earthly form, yet endowed with sinless grace, but the object also of interest to the child, who sees in her the mother. This reciprocal relation of mother and child is sometimes expressed with great force, as in the Madonna della Casa Tempi, in the Pinacothek at Munich, where the Virgin, who is stand- ing, tenderly presses the childs head against her face, while he appears to whisper words of endearment. In these and other of the earlier Madonnas of Raphael, there is an enthusiasm and a dreamy sentiment which seems to seek expression chiefly through the repre- sentation of holy womanhood, the child being a part of the interpretation of the mother. The mystic solemnity of the subject is relieved by a lightness of touch, which was the irrepressible as- sertion of a strong human feeling. Later, in what is called his middle period, a cheerfulness and happy con- templation of life pervade Raphaels work, as in the Bridgewater Madonna, where the child, stretched in the mothers lap, looks up with a graceful and lively action, and fixes his eyes upon her in deep thought, while she looks back with maternal, reverent joy. The Madonna of the Chair illustrates the same general sentiment, where the mother appears as a beautiful and blooming woman, look- ing out of the picture in the tranquil 1885.] Childhood in Mediceval Art. 29 enjoyment of motherly love; the child, full and strong in form, leans upon her bosom in a childs careless attitude, the picture of trust and content. The works of Raphaels third period, and those executed by his pupils in a spirit and with a touch which leave them sometimes hardly distinguishable from the masters, show a profounder penetration of life, and at the same time a firmer, more reasonable appre- hension of the divinity which lies in- closed in the subject. Mary is now something more than a young mans dream of virginal purity and maternal tenderness, she is also the blessed among women; the infant Christ is not only the innocent, playful child, but the prophetic soul, conscious of his divinity and his destiny. These characteristics pervade both the treatment which re- gards them as historic personages and that which invests them with adorable attributes as having their throne in heaven. The Holy Family is inter- preted in a large, serious, and dignified manner, and in the exalted, worshiped Madonna there is a like vision of things eternal seen through the human form. To illustrate this an example may be taken of each class. The Madonna del Passeglo, in the Bridgewater gallery, is a well-known composition, which repre- sents the Madonna and child walking through a field; Joseph is in advance, and has turned to look for the others. They have been stopped by the infant S. John Baptist, clad in a rough skin, who presses eagerly forward to kiss Jesus. The mother places a restraining hand upon the shoulders of S. John, and half withdraws the child Jesus from his em- brace. A classic gr~e marks Jesus, wlZo looks steadfastly into the eyes of the impassioned John. The three figures in the principal group are conceived in a noble manner: S. John, prophesying in his face the discovery of the Lamb of God; Mary, looking down with a sweet gravity which marks the holy children, and would separate Jesus as something more than human from too close fellow- ship with John; Jesus himself, a picture of glorious childhood, with a far-reach- ing look in his eye, as he gently thrusts back the mother with one hand, and with the other lays hold of the cross which John bears. - On the other hand, an example of the treatment of the adorable Madonna is that of San Sisto, in the Dresden gallery. It is not necessary to dwell on the de- tails of a picture which rises at once to every ones mind. The circumstance of innumerable angels heads, of the at- tendant S. Sixtus and S. Barbara, the sweep of cloud and drapery, the sugges- tion of depths below and of heights above, of heaven itself listening at the Madonnas feet, all these translate the mother and babe with ineffable sweet- ness and dignity into a heavenly place, and make them the centre of the spirit- ual universe. Yet in all this Raphael has rested his art in no elaborate use of celestial machinery. He has taken the simple, elemental relation, and invested it with its eternal properties. He gives not a supernatural and transcendent mother and child, but a glorified hu- inanity. Therefore it is that this picture, and with it the other great Madonnas of Raphael, may be taken entirely away from altar and sanctuary, and placed in the shrine of the household. The uni- versality of the appeal is seen in the unhesitating adoption of the Sistine Ma- donna as an expression of religious art by those who are even antagonistic to the church which called it forth. Iv. The concentration of Raphaels genius to so large an extent upon the subject of the Madonna was not a mere accident of the time, nor, when classic forms were renewing their power, was it a solecism. The spirit of the Renaissance 30 Ckildhoocl in Miediceval Art. [July, entered profoundly into Raphaels work, and determined powerfully the direction which it took. When he was engaged upon purely classic themes, it is interest- ing to see how frequently he turned to the forms of children. His decorative work is rich with the suggestion which they bring. One may observe the grace- ful figures issuing from the midst of flower and leaf; above all, one may note how repeatedly he presents the myth of Amor, and recurs to the Amorini, types of childhood under a purely naturalistic conception. The child Jesus and the child Amor appear side by side in the creations of Raphaels genius. In the great Renais- sance, of which he was so consummate an exponent, the ancient classic world and the Christian met in these two types of childhood: the one a childhood of the air, unmixed with good or evil; the other a childhood of heaven and earth, pro- leptic of earthly conflict, proleptic also of heavenly triumph. The coincidence is not of chance. The new world into which men were looking was not, as some thought, to he in the submersion of Christianity and a return to Pagan- ism, nor, as others, in a stern asceticism, which should render Christianity an ex- clusive church, standing aloof from the world as from a thing wholly evil. There was to be room for truth and love to dwell together, and the symbol of this union was the child. Raphaels Christ child drew into its features a classic loveliness; his Amor took on a Christ- like purity and truthfulness. Leslie, in his Handbook for Young Painters, makes a very sensible reflec- tion upon Raphaels children, as distin- guished from the unchildlike children of Francia, for example. A fault of many painters, he says, in their rep- resentations of childhood is, that they make it taking an interest in what can only concern more advanced periods of life. But Raphaels children, unless the subject requires it should be otherwise, are as we see them generally in nature, wholly unconcerned with the incidents that occupy the attention of their elders. Thus the boy, in the cartoon of the Beautiful Gate, pulls the girdle of his grandfather, who is entirely absorbed in what S. Peter is saying to the cripple. The child, impatient of delay, wants the old man to move on. In the Sacrifice at Lystra, also, the two beautiful boys placed at the altar, to officiate at the ceremony, are too young to comprehend the meaning of what is going on about them. One is engrossed with the pipes on which he is playing, and the atten- tion of the other is attracted by a ram brought for sacrifice. The quiet sim~ plicity of these sweet children has an indescribably charming effect in this picture, where every other figure is un- der the influence of an excitement they alone do not partake in. Children, in the works of inferior painters, are often nothing else than little actors; but what I have noticed of Raphaels children is true, in many instances, of the children in the pictures of Rembrandt, Jan Steen, Hogarth, and other great painters, who, like Raphael, looked to nature for their incidents. There was one artist of this time who looked to nature not merely for the incidents of childhood, but for the soul of childhood itself. It is impossible to regard the work of Luca della Rob- bia, especially in that ware which re- ceives his name, without perceiving that here was a man who saw children and rejoiced in their young lives with a sim- ple, ingenuous delight. The very spirit which led this artist to seek for expres- sion in homely forms of material, to domesticate art, as~ it were, was one which would make him quick to seize upon, not the incidents alone, but the graces, of childhood. Nor is it straining a point to say that the purity of his color was one with the purity of this sympathy with childhood. The Renais- sance as a witness to a new occupation 1885.] The Prophet of the Ureat Smoldil Mountains. 31 of the world by humanity finds its finest expression in the hope which springs in the lovely figures of Luca della Robbia. It is significant of this Renaissance it is significant, I think we shall find, of every great new birth in the world that it turns its face toward childhood, and looks into that image for the profound- est realization of its hopes and dreams. In the attitude of men toward childhood we may discover the near or far realiza- tion of that supreme hope and confidence with which the great head of the human family saw, in the vision of a child, the new heaven and the new earth. It was when his disciples were reasoning among themselves which of them should be the greatest that Jesus took a child, and set him by him, and said unto them, Who soever shall receive this child in my name receiveth me. The reception of the Christ by men, from that day to this, has been marked by successive throes of humanity, and in each great movement there has been a new apprehension of childhood, a new recognition of the meaning involved in the pregnant words of the Saviour. Such a recognition lies in the children of Raphael and of Luca della Robbia. There may have been no express intimation on their part of the connection between their works and the great prophecy, but it is often for later generations to read more clearly the presence of a thought by means of light thrown back upon it. The course of Christianity since the Renaissance sup- plies such a light. Horace B. Scudder. THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. XIII. THERE came a chanoe in the weather. A vagueness fell upon the landscape. The farthest mountains receded into in- visibility, and the horizon was marked by an outline of summits hitherto famil- iar in the middle distance. The sun- shine was languid, slumberous. A haze clothed the air in a splendid visible garb of translucent, gold-tinted folds, and trail- ing across the dim blue of the ranges invested them with many a dreamy illu- sion. Athwart the sky were long sweeps of fibrous white clouds presaging rain. Since dawn they were thickening; silent in the intense stillness of the noontide, they gathered and overspread the heav- ens and quenched the sun, and bereaved the vapors hanging in the ravines of all the poetic glamours of reflection. A rain- crow was huskily cawing on the trough by the roadside where he had perched. Dorinda heard the guttural note, and went out to gather up the fruit spread to dry on boards that were stretched from stone to stone. Dark clouds were rolling up from the west. She paused to see them submerge Chilhowee, its outline stark and hard beneath their turbulent whirl; toward the south their heavy folds broke into sudden commo- tion, and they were torn into fringes as the rain began to fall. The mist fol- lowed and isolated the Great Smoky from all the rest of the world. And now the little house was as lone- ly as the ark on Ararat. The mists possessed the universe. They filled the forests and lay upon the corn and hid the gyarden-spot, and came skulking about the porch, peering through the vines in a ghostly fashion. Presently they sifted through, and whenever the door was opened it showed them lurk- ing there as if wistfully waiting or with some half humanized curiosity. Night stole on, and the ruddy flare of the fire

1885.] The Prophet of the Ureat Smoldil Mountains. 31 of the world by humanity finds its finest expression in the hope which springs in the lovely figures of Luca della Robbia. It is significant of this Renaissance it is significant, I think we shall find, of every great new birth in the world that it turns its face toward childhood, and looks into that image for the profound- est realization of its hopes and dreams. In the attitude of men toward childhood we may discover the near or far realiza- tion of that supreme hope and confidence with which the great head of the human family saw, in the vision of a child, the new heaven and the new earth. It was when his disciples were reasoning among themselves which of them should be the greatest that Jesus took a child, and set him by him, and said unto them, Who soever shall receive this child in my name receiveth me. The reception of the Christ by men, from that day to this, has been marked by successive throes of humanity, and in each great movement there has been a new apprehension of childhood, a new recognition of the meaning involved in the pregnant words of the Saviour. Such a recognition lies in the children of Raphael and of Luca della Robbia. There may have been no express intimation on their part of the connection between their works and the great prophecy, but it is often for later generations to read more clearly the presence of a thought by means of light thrown back upon it. The course of Christianity since the Renaissance sup- plies such a light. Horace B. Scudder. THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. XIII. THERE came a chanoe in the weather. A vagueness fell upon the landscape. The farthest mountains receded into in- visibility, and the horizon was marked by an outline of summits hitherto famil- iar in the middle distance. The sun- shine was languid, slumberous. A haze clothed the air in a splendid visible garb of translucent, gold-tinted folds, and trail- ing across the dim blue of the ranges invested them with many a dreamy illu- sion. Athwart the sky were long sweeps of fibrous white clouds presaging rain. Since dawn they were thickening; silent in the intense stillness of the noontide, they gathered and overspread the heav- ens and quenched the sun, and bereaved the vapors hanging in the ravines of all the poetic glamours of reflection. A rain- crow was huskily cawing on the trough by the roadside where he had perched. Dorinda heard the guttural note, and went out to gather up the fruit spread to dry on boards that were stretched from stone to stone. Dark clouds were rolling up from the west. She paused to see them submerge Chilhowee, its outline stark and hard beneath their turbulent whirl; toward the south their heavy folds broke into sudden commo- tion, and they were torn into fringes as the rain began to fall. The mist fol- lowed and isolated the Great Smoky from all the rest of the world. And now the little house was as lone- ly as the ark on Ararat. The mists possessed the universe. They filled the forests and lay upon the corn and hid the gyarden-spot, and came skulking about the porch, peering through the vines in a ghostly fashion. Presently they sifted through, and whenever the door was opened it showed them lurk- ing there as if wistfully waiting or with some half humanized curiosity. Night stole on, and the ruddy flare of the fire 32 The Prophet of the areat Smoky Mountains. had heightened suggestions of good cheer and comfort, because of these waifs of the rain arid the air shivering in chilly guise about the door. The men came to supper and all went again, except Pete. He was ailing, he declared, and betook himself to bed betimes. The house grew quiet. The grandmother nodded over her knitting, with a limp falling of the lower jaw, occasional spasmodic gestures, and an absorbed, unfamiliar expression of countenance. Dorinda in her low chair sat in the glow of the fire. As it rose and fell it cast a warm light or a dreamy shadow on her delicately rounded cheek and her shin- ing eyes. One disheveled tress of her dense black hair fell over the red ker- chief twisted around her neck. Her blue homespun dress lay in lusterless folds about her. The shadowy and rude interior of the room the dark brown of the logs of the wall and the intervening yellow clay daubing; the great clumsy warping-bars; the pendent peltry and pop-corn and strings of red pepper swaying from the rafters; the puncheon floor gilded by the firelight; the deep yawning chimney with its heaps of ashes and its pulsating coals all formed in the rich colors and soft blending of detail an harmonious setting for her vivid, definite face, as she set- tled herself to work at her evening stent. Jier reel was before her the spokes, worn smooth and dark and glossy by age and use, reflected with polished lustre the glimmer of the fire. She had a broche in her hand, just taken from the spindle. For the lack of the more modern broche-holder she thrust a stick through the tunnel of the shuck on which the yarn was wound, placing the end of it, to hold it steady, in her low shoe; catching the thread be- tween her deft fingers she threw it with a fine free gesture across the periphery of the reel. And then the whirling spokes were only a rayonnant sugges- tion, so swiftly they sped round and round in the light of the fire, and a musical low whir broke forth. Now and then the reel ticked and told off an- other cut, and she would bend forward to tie the thread with a practiced, dex- trous hand. The downpour of the rain had a dreary, melancholy persistence, beating upon the roof and splashing from the eaves into the puddles beneath. At in- tervals a drop fell down the wide chim- ney and hissed upon the coals. Suddenly there was another splash, differing in its abrupt energy; a foot had slipped outside and groping hands were laid upon the wall. Dorinda sprang up with a white face and tense muscles. The old woman was suddenly bolt up- right in her corner, although not recog- nizino the b sound. Hurry long, Drindy, she said per- emptorily, you-uns aint goin ter reel a hank ef ye dont mosey. What ails the gal? she broke off, her attention attracted to her granddaughters changed expression. Thar s suthin out o doors, said Dorinda, in a tremulous whisper. I hearn em step whenst ye war asleep. I aint batted my eye this night, said her grandmother, with the force of conviction. I aint slep a wink. An ye never hearn nuthin. There was a bolder demonstration outside; a foot-fall sounded on the porch and a hand tried the latch. Massy on us! Raiders! shrieked the old woman, rising precipitately, her knitting falling from her lap, the ball of yarn rolling away and the kitten springing after it. Dorinda ran to the door perhaps to put up the bar. But with sudden courage she lifted the latch. Outside were the ghostly vapors, white and visi- ble in the light from within. She peered out doubtfully for a moment. A sudden rush of color surged into her face; she made a feint of closing the door and ran back to her work, looking over her 1885.] The Prophet of the Great Smoky Yliountain8. 33 shoulder with radiant eyes; she caught up the broche, sticking it deftly in her shoe, seated herself in her low chair, and with her light free gesture led the thread across the reel. Massy on us! shrilled the old wo- man aghast. Drindy, shet the door! Be ye a-lettin the lawless ones in on us! raiders an sech, scoutin roun in the forg an nobody hyar but Pete, ez could nt he waked up right handy with nuthin more wholesome n a bul- leta There was a mans figure in the door- way a slow, hesitating figure, and Rick Tyler, his face grave and dubious, embarrassed by the complicated effort to look at Dorinda and yet seem to ignore her, trod heavily in, and with a soft and circumspect manner closed the door. I kem over hyar, Mis Cayce, he remarked, ez I lowed mebhe the boys war at the still aii ye felt lonesome, hem ez it war rainin right smart, an he hesitated. Howdy, Rick howdy! she ex- claimed, cordially. lie had the benefit of her relief in finding the visitor not a raider. Jes sot yer bones down hyar by the fire. Airish out o doors, aint it? I in powerful glad ter see ye. Drindy aint much company when she air busy, an the weavin aint done yit. I lowed ez I mought resk comm up hyar wunst in a while now, he said, with a covert glance at Dorinda. I aint keerin much fur the new sherff, kase he air a town man, an dont know me; an the new constable, he lowed over yander ter the store ez he war a offcer o the law, an not a shootin mark fur folks ez war minded ter hide out; an Gid Fletcher hey been told ez he d hey others ter deal with ef he ondertook ter fool along arrestin me agin. So I hey got no call ter stay ez close in the bresh es I hey been, though I aint a-goin ter furgit these hyar consarns, nuther. VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 3 He glanced down at the glimmer of steel in his belt, where Dorinda recog- nized her fathers pistols. Bes be on the safe side, said the old woman approvingly, her nimble needles quivering in the light. But law! I useter know a man over yander on Chilhowee Mounting, whar I lived afore I war merried, an he hed killed fower men, though I blieve one em war a Injun, an he hed no call ter uggervate hissef with sherffs, nor shootin-irons, nuther. He walked round ez favored an free ez my old tur-r-key gobbler. Though some said he hed 1)ad drenms. But ez he war a hearty feeder they inought hey kem from the stummick stiddier the heart. The young man listened with a doubt- ful mien. He was throwm~ back at his ease in the splint-bottomed chair. One stalwart leg, the boot reaching over his trowsers to the knee, was stretched out to the fire; from the damp sole the steam was starting in the warm air. On his other knee one of the shooting irons in question rested; he held it lightly with one hand. The other hand was thrust into the belt that girded his brown jeans coat. His tawny yellow hair, the ends of a deeper tint, being wet hung to his coat collar. I-us hat, from the broad brim of which rain-drops were still trickling, was deposited beneath the chair, and the kitten was investigating it with a dainty, scornful white mitten. He bore the marks of his trials in his sharpened features; his face took on readily a lowering expression, and a touch of anger kindled the smouldering fire in his brown eyes. But I hey killed no man, he said, with emphasis. I hey hurt nobody. Ef I hed, t would nt be no more n I oughter do ter glong with the sherff an leave it ter men. But I aint done no harm. An I dont want ter stay in jail, an be tried, an kem ter jedgmint, an sech, an mebbe hey them buzzardy lawyers fix suthin on me ennyways. 34 The Prophet of the areat Smo1c~, Mountains. [July) All through this speech the old woman tried to interrupt. Laws-a-massy, Rick, she said at length; ye hey got mighty tetchy sence ye hey been hid out. I aint sayin nuthin agin you-uns; ez I knows on nor agin that man that lived on Chil- howee Mounting, nuther. I cant sot myself ter jedge o him. He war a perfessin member, an he hed a power- ful gift in quinn; useter raise the chune reglar at all the meetins ez fur back ez I kin remember. Her interest in the visit was impaired in some degree by this collision; she would have rejoiced to express her men- tal estimate of Rick as the headin-est critter in the kentry, but her hospita- ble instincts constrained her, and she nobly swallowed her vexation. His presence, however, hectored her, and she seized an excuse to absent herself presently, saying that she had to get her clean plaid coat to mend, hem ez when it last hung on the clothes-line that thar fresky young hound named Bose stood on his hind legs ter gnaw it, an actially chawed a piece outn it, an I hey ter put a wedge in it afore I kin wear it. She creaked away into the next room, and as the door shut he turned his eyes for the first time on Dorinda. The fire- light played on the reel, whirling in a lustrous circle before her, on the broche stuck in the rough little shoe, on her arm, uplifted in a graceful curve as she held the thread. Her brilliant eyes were grave and intent; her dense black hair and her dark blue dress heightened the fairness of her face, and the crim- son kerchief about her throat was hard- ly more vivid than the flush on her cheeks. The knowledge that her embarrass- ment was greater than his own made him bolder. They sat, however, some time in silence. Then, his heart waxing soft in ~the coveted domestic atmosphere and the contemplation of the picture be- fore him, he said, gently, They air all agin me, Drindy. She forgot herself instantly. She looked full at him with soft melancholy deprecation. They dont hender ye none, she said. You-uns dont sot no store by me nuther, these days, Drindy, he went on, with a thrill of elation in his heart belying the doubt and despair in his speech. The reel ticked and told off another cut. She leaned forward to tie the thread. She could not lift her eyelids now; still he saw the vivid sapphire iris, half eclipsed by the long black lash. He patted the pistol on his knee. Would ye be afeard, Drindy, ter marry a man ez would hey ter keep his life, and yourn, mebbe, with this pistol? Would ye be afeard ter live in his house along o him, a hunted critter, an set an sing in his door, when the muzzle of a rifle or the sherffs revolver mought peek through the rails of the fence? Would ye be afeard? He put the weapon slowly into his belt. Would ye be afeard? he reit- erated. The reel stopped. She turned her eyes, dilated with a splendid boldness, full upon him. How they flouted fear! Such audacity of courage seemed to him gallant in a man; in a woman, ex- pressing faith in his valiance, it was en- chanting. He lost his slow decorum. He caught the hand that held the thread. She could not withdraw it from that strong ecstatic clutch, and as she start- ed, protesting, to her feet, he rose too, overturning the reel; and the kitten made merry confusion in the methodical cuts. Drindy, he exclaimed, catching her in his arms, thar aint no need ter be afeared! Word kern up the mounting I got it from Steve Byers ez when Abednego Tynes war tried he plead guilty, an axed ter go on the 1885.] The Prophet of the Great Smo1c~y lJliountains. 35 stand an make a statement. An he told the truth at last at last! An he war sentenced, an the case war nolle prosequied agin me! An ye war nt afeard! Ye would hey married me an resked it. Ye war nt afeard ! She was tall, and her agitated up- turned face was close to his shoulder. He knew it was simply unpardonable, according to the rigid decorums of their code of manners, but the impetuosity of his joy overbore him, and he bent down and kissed her lips. Dorindas courage ! it was gone. She looked so frightened and amazed that he relaxed his clasp. Ye know, Drindy, he said apologetically, I m fairly outn my head with joy. She stood trembling, her hand pressed to her beating heart, her head whirling. And then, he never forgot it, of her own accord she laid her other hand on his breast. I always believed ye war good, good, good! And the wild winds whirled around the Great Smoky, and the world was given over to the clouds and the night, and the rain fell, and the drops splashed with a dreary sound down from the eaves of the house. They did not hear. How little they heeded. Within, all the atmosphere was suffused by that wonderful irradiation of love, and happiness, and hope that was confidence. The fire might flare if it listed. The shadows might flicker if they would. It seemed to them at the moment each would never see aught, care for aught, save what was expressed in the others eyes. The kitten had waxed riotous in the unprecedented opportunities of the reel, still lying with all its tangled yellow yarn upon the floor. As it sprang ti- gerishly in the air and fell, fixing its predatory claws in another cut, Dorinda looked down with a startled air. Granny 11 be axin mighty pinted how that thar spun-truck kem ter be twisted so, she said, crestfallen and prescient. It looks like a hurraWs nest. Tell her ez how t war the cat, suggested Rick. Dorinda shook her head dubiously. The cat could nt hey got it ef the reel hed nt been flunged on the floor. Let s wind it inter balls, then, suggested Rick, quick at expedients. She 11 never know it war tangled. Ill hold it fur ye. It was no great hardship for Rick. She lightly slipped the skeins over the wrists that had known sterner shackles. The task required her to sit near him; her face and head were bent toward him as she absorbed herself in the effort to find the end of the thread; sometimes she lifted her eyes and looked radiantly at him. Lie had not known how beau- tiful she was, because he saw her face more closely, he thought, not averted, nor coy, as always before, or was it embellished by that ineffable joy that filled her heart? Well for them both, perhaps, that those few moments were so happy, or is it well to remember a supreme felicity, for this is fleeting. Yellow yarn! she was winding threads of gold. How his pulses thrilled at the lightest flying touch of her fleet hands! He looked at her, into her eyes if he might, at her round crimson cheek, at her clearly cut chin, at the long lashes, at the black hair drawn back from her brow, where a curling tendril drooped over the temple. And he held the yarn all awry. It was no first class job, for this rea- son and her haste. What ails ye ter hustle long so, D~rindy? he asked at last. Ye aint so mighty afeard o yer granny. Naw, Dorinda admitted, but brother Pete, he be at home ter-night, an he air tolerble fractious ef he sees his chance, an I dont want him a-laffln at we-uns; kase I hey hearn him say ez when young folks gits ter windin 36 The Projket of the areat Smoky lJlountain8. [efuly, yarn tergether t aint fur love o the spun-truck, but jes fur one another. Rick laughed a little, slowly. Then growing grave, Ef ye 11 blieve me, Pete told the word yander ter the still ez Amos Jeemes a misable addled aig he be I lowed ter the men at the mill ez he blieved ez t war the Cayces ez rescued me, the day o the gaynder pullin, from the sherff. She paused, the bright thread in her motionless hand, her fire-lit face bent upon him. Amos Jeemes hed better be keerful how he tries ter fix it on we-uns! she cried, with the tense vibration of anger, tellin the mill an sech! I hey beam the boys low ez t war ten year in the pentiary fur rescuing a man from the sherff, ef it got fund out. Pete say cz how he jes laffed at him an named him a fool. Pete air ekal ter that, she returned, with some sarcasm. She was deftly winding the yarn once more, the fire showing a deeper thought- fulness upon her face. Its flicker gave the room a sense of motion; the fes- toons of scarlet pepper-pods, the long yellow and red strings of pop-corn, the peltry hanging from the rafters, ap- parently swayed as the light rose and fell; and the warping-bars, with their rainbow of spun-truck stretched from peg to peg, seemed to be dancing a clum- sy measure in the corner. The rocking- chair where granny was wont to sit was occupied now by a shadow, and now was visibly vacant. She looked up into his face with an absorbed unnoting eye. He was pierced by the knowledge that though she saw him, she was thinking of something else. Wont the Court let the pason go free now, sence they know ye done no crime? she asked. Naw. The pason air accused of a rescue, an whether the man he rescued air convicted or no it air jes the same ter the law ez agin him. The rescue air the thing he hey got ter answer fur. She dropped her hands in her lap and threw herself back in her chair. Ten year in prison I she ex- claimed. Her face was all the tenderest pity; her voice was full of yearning sympathy; she cast her eyes upward with a look that was reverence itself. How good he war! I spose he knowed ye never done no harm, an he war willin ter suffer stiddier you-uns. I never hearn o sech a man! Pears ter me them old prophets dont tech him! I never beam o tkem showin sech love o God an thar feller-man. He rescued ye jes fur that! Rick Tyler looked at her for a mo- ment with a kindling eye. He sprang to his feet, throwing the golden skein it was only yarn after all, a coarse yel- low yarn upon the floor. He strode across the ample rude hearth and leaned against the mantel-piece, which was as high as his head. The light fell upon his changed face, the weapons in his belt, his long tawny hair, the flashing fire in his eye. He raised his right hand with an importunate gesture. Drindy Cayce, ye air in love with that man! he said, in a low passionate voice and between his set teeth. I hey seen it afore long ago; but sence ye hey promised ter marry me, ef ye say his name agin, I 11 kill him I 11 shoot him through the heart dead dead do ye hear medead! She was shaken by the spectacle of his sudden anger, and she was angered in turn by his jealous rage. There was a dull aching in her heart in the voids left by the ebbing of her ecstatic hap- piness. This was too precious to lightly let go. She walked over to him and took hold of his right arm, although his hand was toying nervously with his pistol. Ye dont blieve no sech word, Rick, she said, deep down in yer heart, ye dont blieve it. An how kin 188& ] The Prophet of the areat Srno1c~~, Mountains. 37 ye grudge me from thinkin well o the man, an feelin frienly, oh, mighty frienly, wheu he will hey ter take ten year in the pentiary fur givin ye yer freedom? He rescued ye! An I 11 thank him an praise him fur it evy day I live. My love, ef ye call it love, will foller him fur that all through the prison, an the bolts an bars, an gyards. An yer pistols cant hoip it. He put her from him with a mechani- cal gesture and a perplexed brow. He 8at down in the chair he had occupied at first; his hat was still under it, one leg was stretched out to the fire, on the other knee his hand rested; he looked exactly as when he first came into the room, but she had a vague idea, as she stood opposite on the hearth, that it was long ago, so much had happened since. Drindy,he said, he never done it. The pason never rescued me. She stood staring at him in wide- eyed amaze. He was silent for a moment, and then he broke into a bitter laugh. I do declar, he said, it fairly tickles me ter hear o one man hem arrested fur rescuin me, an another set hem spected o the same thing, when not one of em in all the Big Smoky, not one, lifted a hand ter holp me. Whether the gallus or a life sentence, t war all the same ter them. Accusin yer dad an the boys at the still shucks! Old Ground. hog loant me a rifle, an ter hear him talk saaft sawder boutn it ter Amos Jeemes ye d hey thunk he war the au- thor o my salvation! An arrest the pason! he war a likely one ter rescue a-body ! too feard o Satan! An ef all they say air true boutn the word he spoke yander at the meetin fore they tuk him off, he hey got cornsiderble call ter be afeard o Satan. Naw, sir! he never rescued nuthin but the gaynder! Nobody holped me! Nobody on the Big Smoky held out a hand! I aint goin ter furgit it nuther! She stood looking intently at his face, with its caustic laugh upon it and his eyes full of bitterness. She knew that he secretly upbraided her as well as her people that they had made no move to save him from the clutches of the sheriff. She involuntarily turned her eyes to the gun-rack where the barrel of Old Betsy gleamed, and she remembered the mark it bore to commemorate the foregone conclusion of Micajah Greens death. For this she had held her hand. She felt humble and guilty, since she had acted in the interests of peace. And yet that shrewd sense, that true con- science, which coexisted with the ideal- istic tendencies of her nature, demanded how could she justify herself in asking the sacrifice of ten years of other mens liberty that her lover might escape the consequences of his own act; how could she dare to precipitate a collision with the sheriff, while their grievance was still fresh in their minds? Fortunately she did not lay this train of thought bare before Rick Tyler. Natures like his foster craft in the most pellucid candor. How d ye git away, Rick? she said instead. I wont tell ye, he replied rudely; it dont consarn ye ter know. Then suddenly softening, I take that back, Drindy. I aint goin ter furgit ez ye owned up ye war willin ter marry me an live all yer life along with a hunted man in a house that mought be fired over yer head enny time, or a rifle ball whiz in at the winder. I aint goin ter furgit that. Alas! he could not divine how he should remember it! He fixed his eyes on the fire, as if moodily recalling the scene. She noted that desperate hunted look in his face which it had not worn to-night. I war a-settin thar, he began ab- ruptly, my feet tied with ropes, and with handcuffs on, he held his hands together as if manacled; she shuddered a little, an I hearn the hurrahin an fuss outside whilst they was all a-rowin over the gaynder. An then I e 38 The Prophet of the areat Smoky Mountains. hearn a powerful commotion mongst the dogs, ez ef they hed started some sorter game or suthin. An the fust I knowed thar war a powerful scuttlin round the back o the blacksmiths shop, an a rab- bit squez in a hole twixt the lowes log an the groun, t warnt bigger n a gophers hole. An I never thunk nuth- in ceptin them boys outside would be mighty mad ef they knowed thar hounds lied run a rabbit same ez a deer. Dorinda had sunk into her chair; her hands trembled, her face was pale. An the curus part of it, he con- tinued, now in the full swing of narra- tive, war that the hounds would nt gin it up. They jes kep a-nosin an yap- pin roun that thar little hole. Thar sot the rabbit she minded me o my- sef, got in an could nt git out. Thar war nowbar else fur her ter sneak, though. She sot thar ez upright an trembly ez me; jes ez skeered, an jes about ez little chance. The only dif- fence twixt us wuz I bed a soul, an that did nt do me enny good, an the lack o it did nt do her enny harm; both o we - uns war more perticlar bout keepin a skin full o whole bones n ennything else. An then them nosin hounds began ter scratch an claw up dirt. Bless yer soul, Drindy, they hed a hole ez big ez that thar piggin, afore I thunk ennything boutn it. It makes me feel the cold shakes when I mem- bers ez I mought not hey thunk boutn it till t war too late. Lord! how slow them hounds seemed! though the rabbit she fund em fast enough, I reckon. Evy now an then she d hop along this way an that, an the hounds would git her scent agin an the way they d yap! The critter would hop along an look up at me, I never will furgit the look in the critters eyes ez she sot thar an waited fur the dogs. They war in a hurry an tolerble lively, I reckon, but peared ter me ez slow ez ef evy one war weighted with a block an chain. Waal, the hole got bigger an they yapped louder, an I got so weak waitin, an fearin somebody would hear em, an kem ter see bout what they bed got up fur game, an find that hole, I did nt know how I could bide it. The hole got big enough fur the hounds ter squeeze through, an here they kem bouncin in. They lept round the forge, an flopped up agin the door so, that ef thar bed nt beei all that fuss outside bout takin the gaynder down, somebody would hey been boun ter notice it. I hed ter wait fur the dogs ter ketch the rabbit an shake the life outn her fore I darst move a paig, they kep up sech a com- motion. An when they bed dragged the critters little carcass outside an got ter fightin over it, I got up. I jes could sheffie along a leetle bit; that eternally cussed scoundrel, Gid Fletcher he paused. It was beyond the power of language to express the deep damnation he desired for the blacksmith. His face grew scarlet, the tears started to his angry eyes. How he pitied himself, re- membering his hard straits and his cruel indignities! And how she pitied him! He caught his breath, and went on. That black-hearted devil bed tied my feet so close I could scacely hob- ble, an my hands an wrists bed all puffed an swelled up, whar the cords hed been t war the sherff ez gin me the handcuffs. Waal, I tuk steps bout two inches long till I got crost the shop ter the hole. Then I jes flopped down an croped through. I did nt stan up outside, though t war at the back o the shop an nobody could see me. Ye know the aidge o the bluff aint live feet from the shop; the cliffs ez sheer ez a wall, but thar s a ledge bout twenty feet down. It looked mighty narrer, an thar war nt no vines ter swing by; but I jes bed ter think o them devils on tother side the forge ter make me will- in ter resk it. Waal, thar war a clump o sassfras, ye know the bark s tough, near the aidge. I jes bruk one o the shoots ter the root an turned 1885.] The Prophet of the areat Smok~ .Ylountaine. 89 it down over the aidge o the bluff an swung on ter the e-end o it. Waal, it tore off in my hands, but I did nt fall more n a few feet, an lighted on the ledge. An I tossed the saplin away, an then I walked, steps boutn two inches long, ef that ez fur ez the ledge went, cornsiderble way from the Settlemint, an t war two or three hun- dred feet ter the bottom, whar I stopped. An thar war a niche thar whar I could sit an lay down, sorter. Thar I bided all night. I hearn em huntin, an it made me laff. I knowed they war nt a-goin ter find me, but I did nt know how I war a-goin ter git away from thar with them handcuffs on, an ropes roun my legs; they war knotted so ez I could nt reach em fur the irons. I waited all nex day, though I never hed nuthin ter eat but some jew-berries ez growed mongst the rocks thar. An the nex mornn, his eye dilated with triumph, the swellin o my wrists hed gone down, an I could draw my hands out n the handcuffs ez easy ez lyin. He held up his hands; they were small for his size, and bore little token of hard work; the wrists were supple. An then, he said, with brisk con- clusiveness, I jes ontied the ropes roun my feet an dumb up ter the top o the mounting by vines an sech, an struck inter the laurel, an never stopped a-travelin till I got ter Cayces still. He drew a long sigh, not unmixed with pleasure. He had a sense of achievement. It gave, perhaps, a cer- tain value to his harsh experience to recount his triumphs to so fair an audi- ence. He was looking at her with a dawning smile in his eyes, and she was silently looking at him. Suddenly she burst into sobs. Shucks, Drindy, it s all over an done now, he said, appropriating the soft sympathy of her tears. An I m so glad, Rick; so glad fur that. I d hey bartered my hope o heaven fur it, she sobbed. But I war thinkin that minit o0 the pason. They rested him in his pulpit, an they would nt gin him bail, an they kerried him way from the mountings, an jailed him, an he 11 go ter the pentiary, ten year mebbe, fur a crime ez he never done. Ye would nt let him do that ef ye could holp it, would ye, Rick? She looked up tearfully at him. His eyes gleamed; his nostrils were quiver- ing; every fibre in him responded to his anger. Ef I could, Drindy Cayce, I d hey that man chained in the lowest pits o hell fur all time ter kem, so ye mought never see his face agin. An ef I could, I d wipe his memry off n the face 0 the yearth, so ye mought never speak his name. Law, Rick, dont! protested the girl, aghast. I ye seen ye ez jealous o Amos Jeemes I dont keer that fur Amos Jeemes, he cried, snapping his fingers. I hey nt seen ye sit an cry over Amos Jeemes, an sech cattle, an say he war like a prophet. I thought ye war think- in bout me, an an he paused in mortification. Drindy, he said, suddenly calm, though his eye was excited and quickly glancing, did ye ax him ef he would do ennything fur me when I war in custdy? Naw, said Dorinda, nobody could do nuthin fur you-uns, kase they d hey ter resk tharsefs an run agin the law. But what I want ye ter do fur pason air fur jestice. Lie never done what he war accused of. An ye war along o Abednego Tynes, though innercent. Law, Rick, ef the murderer would say the word ter sot ye free, cant ye do ez much fur the pason, ez hey seen so much trouble aready? In the name o Gawd, Drindy, what air you-uns a-wantin me ter do? he asked, in sheer amazement. She mistook the question for relent- The Prophet of the areat Smo1c~y Miountains. ing. She caressed his coat sleeve as she stood beside him. All her beauty was overcast; her face was stained with weeping; tears dimmed her eyes, and her pathetic gesture of insistence seemed forlorn, lie looked down dubi- ously at her. What I want ye ter do, Rick, fur him, air right, an law, an jestice. No.. body could hey done that fur ye, cept Abednego Tynes. I want ye ter go ter pasons trial fur the rescue, an gin yer testimony, an tell the jedge an jury the tale ye hey tole me the truth an they 11 be obleeged ter acquit. He flung away in a tumult of rage. It was exhausting to witness how his frequent gusts of passion shook him. Drindy, he thundered, ye want me ter gin mysef up fur the pason; ye dont keer nuthin fur me, so he gits back ter the Big Smoky an you-uns. I mought be arrested yit on the same indictment; the nolle prosequi dont hender, it jes dont set no day fur me ter be tried. An mebbe Steve Byers hey been foolin me some. Ye jes want ter trade me off ter the State fur the pason. Ye shant go! cried the girl. I didnt know that about the nolle prose- qui. Ye shant go! He was mollified for a moment. He noticed again how pale she was. Law, Drindy, lie said, ye fairly wear yer- sef out with yer tantrums. Why nt ye do like other folks; the pason never holped me none, an I aint got no call ter holp him. Ef ye war ter go afore the squnir an swear boutn the rescue an sech, an git him ter write it ter the Court fur the pason The constable o the deestric ez hangs roun thar at the jestices house mought be thar an arrest me, he said, speciously. The govnor haint with- drawn that reward yit, ez I knows on. Naw, she said, quickly, I 11 tanke the boys toll the constable down ter the still till ye git through. The jestice air lame, an aint able ter arrest ye, an I d be thar an gin ye the wink, ef thar war ennything oncommon enny- whar, or enny men aroun. He could hardly refuse. He could not affect fear. He hesitated. Ez long ez I thunk he hed rescued ye, I did nt hey no call ter move. But now I know how t war, I d fairly die ef he war lef ter suffer in jail, knowin he hey done nuthin agin the law. Her lip quivered. The tears started to her eyes. The sight of them, shed for another mans sake, excited again the vigilant jealousy in his breast. I 11 do nuthin fur Hi Kelsey, he declared. Ef ye aint in love with him, ye would be ef he war ter git back ter the Big Smoky. He done nuthin fur me, an I hey no call ter do nuthin fur him. He looked furiously at her, holding her at arms length. Ye hey tole me ye love me, an I expec ye ter live up ter it. Ye hey promised ter marry me, an I claim ye fur my wife. Say that mans name another time, an I 11 kill him ef ever he gits in rifle range agin. I 11 kill him I I II kill him I his right hand was once m6re mechanically toy- ing with the pistol, while lie held her arm with the other, an I 11 kill you, too I He had gone too far; he had touched the dominant impulse of her nature. Her cheeks were flaring. Her courage blazed in her eyes. An I tell ye, Rick Tyler, that I am not afeard o ye! An ef ye let a man suffer fur a word ez ye kin say in safety, an an act ez ye kin do in ease, ye aint the Rick Tyler I knowed, ye air suthin else. I lowei ye war good, but mebbe I hey been cheated in ye, an ef I heir, I 11 gin ye up. I aint a-goin ter marry no man ez I cant look up ter, an say he air good! An ef ye II meet me a hour fore sundown, at the squairs house, ter-morrow evenin, I 11 40 [July, 1885.] The Prophet of the treat Smoky Mountains. 41 blieve in ye, an I 11 marry ye. An ef ye dont, I wont. She caught up his hat and gave it to him. Then she opened the door. The white mists stood shivering in the little porch. He turned and looked in angry dismay at her resolute face. But he did not say a word, though he knew her heart yearned for it beneath her inflexi- ble mask. He walked slowly out, and the door closed upon him, and upon the shivering white mists. He paused for a moment, hesitating. He heard noth- ing within not even her retreating step. He knew as well as if he had seen her that she was leaning against the door, silently sobbing her heart out. Drindy needs a lesson, he said, sternly. And so he went out into the night. XIV. The rain ceased the next day, but the clouds did not vanish. Their folds, dense, opaque, impalpable, filled the vastness. The landscape was lost in their midst. The horizon had vanished. Distance was annihilated. Only a yard or so of the path was seen by Dorinda, as she plodded along through the white vagueness that had absorbed the famil- iar world. And yet for all essentials she saw quite enough; in her ignorant fashion she deduced the moral, that if the few immediate steps before the eye are taken aright, the long lengths of the future will bring you at last where you would wish to be. The reflection sus- tained her in some sort as she went. She was reluctant to acknowledge it even to herself; but she had a terrible fear that she had imposed a test that Rick would not endure. Ef he air so powerful jealous ez that, ter not holp another man a leetle bit, when he knows it cant hurt him none, he air jes selfish, an nuthin shorter. She paused for a moment, looking about her mechanically. The few black- berry-bushes, almost leafless, stretching out on either hand, were indistinct in the mist, and against the dense vapor they had the meagre effect of a hasty sketch on a white paper. The trees overhung her, she knew, in the invisible heights above; she heard the moisture dripping monotonously from their leaves. It was a dreary sound as it invaded the solemn stillness of the air. An Im bonn ter try ter hoip him, ef I kin. I know too much, sence Rick spoke las night, ter let me set an fold my hands in peace. Pears like ter me ez that thar air all the diffence twixt humans an the beastis, ter holp one an~ other some. An ef a human wont, pears like ter me ez the Lord hey wasted a soul on that critter. Despite her logic she stood still; her blue eyes were surcharged with shadows as they were wistfully turned upward to the sad and sheeted day; her lips were grave and pathetic; her blue dress had gleams of moisture here and there, and a plaid woolen shawl, faded to the faint- est hues, was drawn over her dense black hair. She stood and hesitated. She thought of the man she loved, and she thought of the word he denied the man in prison. Poor Dorinda! to hold the scales of Justice nnb]inded. I dunno what ails me ter be feard he wont kem! she said, striving to re- assure herself; an ennyhow she remembered the few immediate steps be- fore her taken aright, and went along down the clouded curtained path that was itself an allegory of the future. The justices gate loomed up like fate, the poor little pahings to be the jour- neys end of hope or despair! A pig, without any appreciation of its subtler significance, had in his frequent wallow- ings at its base impaired in a measure its stability. He grunted at the sound of a footfall, as if to warn the new- comer that she might step on him. Do- rinda took heed of the imperative cau- tion, opened the gate gingerly, and it 42 The Prophet of the Great Smoky .lJfto~~rntains. only grazed his back. He grunted again, whether in meagre surly ap- proval, or reproof that she had come at all, was hardly to be discriminated in his gruff disaffected tone. She noticed that the locust leaves, first of all to show the changing sea- son, were yellow on the ground; a half denuded limb was visible in the haze. There were late red roses, widely a-bloom, by the doorstep of the justices house, a large double cabin of hewn logs, with a frame-inclosed passage be- tween the two rooms, which, but for the lack of light, might have served for an- other. There was glass in each of the two windows, for the justice was a man of some means for these parts; and she saw behind one of the tiny panes his bald polished head and his silver rimmed spectacles gleaming in animated curi- osity. He came limping, with the as- sistance of a heavy cane, to the door. Howdy, Drindy, he exclaimed, cheerfully, come in, child. What sort o weather is this! In abrupt digression he looked over her head into the blank vagueness of the world. But for the dim light, it might have sug- gested the empty inexpressiveness of the periods before the creation, when the earth was without form and void. It air tolerble airish in the fog, said Dorinda, finding her voice with difficulty. The room into which she was ushered seemed to her limited experience a handsome apartment. But somehow the passion of covetousness is an un- touched spring in the nature of these mountaineers. The idea of ownership did not enter into Dorindas mind as she gazed at the green plaster parrot that perched in state on the high mantel- piece. She was sensible of its merits as a feature of the domestic landscape at the jestices. house, precisely as the sight of the distant Chilbowee was com- pany in her lonely errands about the mountain. To be deprived of either [July, would be like a revulsion of nature. She did not grudge the justice his pos 0. session, nor did she desire it for her- self. She entertained a simple admira- tion for the image, and always looked to see it on its lofty perch when she first entered the room. There were several books piled beside it, which the justice valued more. There was, too, a little square looking-glass, in which one might behold a distortion of physiognomy. Above all hung a framed picture of General Washington crossing the Dela- ware. The mantelpiece was to the girl a museum of curiosities. A rag carpet covered the floor; there was a spinning- wheel in the corner; a bed, too, draped with a gay quilt, a mad disportment of red and yellow patchwork, which was supposed to represent the rising sun, and was considered a triumph of handi- craft. The justices seat was a splint- bottomed chair, which stood near a pine table where ink was always displayed of a pale green variety writing-paper, and a pile of books. The table had a drawer which it was difficult to open or shut, and now and then the squnir engaged in muscular wrestling with it. He sat down, with a sigh, and drew forth his red bandanna handkerchief from the pocket of his brown jeans coat, and polished the top of his head, and stared at Dorinda, much marveling as to her mission. She had not, in her piimitive experience, attained to the duplicity of a subterfuge; she declined the invitation to go into the opposite room, where his wife was busy cooking supper, by saying she was waiting for a man who had promised to meet her here to explain something to the justice. Is it a weddin, Drindy? exclaimed the old fellow, waggishly. T aint a weddin, said Dorinda, curtly. Ye air foolin me! he declared, with a jocose affectation of inspecting his attire. I hey got another coat I allus wears ter marry a couple, an ye 1885.] The Prophet of the great Smoky Mountains. 48 dont want ter gimme a chance ter spruce up, fur fear I 11 take the shine off n the groom. It s a weddin! Who is the happy man, Drindy? This jesting, as appropriate, accord- ing to rural etiquette, to a young and pretty woman as the compliments of the season, seemed a dreary sort of fun to Dorinda, so heavy had her presaging heart become. There was a trifle of sensibility in the old squire, perhaps in- duced by much meditation in his inac- tive indoor life, and he recognized some- thing appealing in the girls face and at- titude, as she sat in a low chair before the dull fire that served rather to annul the chilliness of the day than to diffuse a perceptible warmth. The shawl had dropped from her head and loosely en- circled her throat; her hand twisted its coarse fringes; she was always turning her face toward the window where only the pallid mists might be seen the pallid mists and a great glowing crimson rose, that, motionless, touched the pane with its velvet petals. The old justice for- bore his jokes, his dignities might serve him better. He entertained Dorinda by telling her how many times he had been elected to office. And he said he would nt count how many times he expected to be, for it was his firm per- suasion that when Gabriel blew that thar old horn o hisn. he d find the squair still a-settin in jedgment on the Big Smoky. He showed her his books, and told her how the folks at Nashville were constrained by the law of the State to send him one every time they made new laws. And she understood this as a special and personal compliment, and was duly impressed. Out-doors the still day was dying silently, like the gradual sinking from a comatose state, that is hardly life, to the death it simulates. How did the gathering darkness express itself in that void whiteness of the mists, still visibly white as ever! Night was sifting through them; the room was shadowy; yet still in the glow of the fire she be- held their pallid presence close against the window. And the red rose was shedding its petals ! down dropping, with the richness of summer spent in their fleeting beauty, their fragrance a memory, the place they had embellished, bereft. She did not reflect; she only felt. She saw the rose fade, the sad night steal on apace; the hour had passed, and she knew he would not come. She burst into sudden tears. The old man, whether it was in curi- osity or sympathy, had his questions jus- tified by her self-betrayal, and his craft easily drew the story from her simplicity. He got up suddenly, with an expression of keen interest. She followed his mo- tions dubiously, as he took from the mantelpiece a tallow dip in an old pew- ter candlestick, and with slow circum- spection lighted the sputtering wick. I want ter look up a pint o law, Driudy, he said, impressively. Ye jes set thar an I 11 let ye know drecly how the law stands. It seemed to Dorinda a long time that he sat with his book before him on the table, his spectacles gleaming in the light of the tallow dip, close at hand, his lips moving as he slowly read be- neath his breath, now and then clutch- ing his big red handkerchief, and polish- ing off the top of his round head and his wrinkled brow. Twice he was about to close the book. Twice he renewed his search. And now at last it was small comfort to Dorinda to know that the affidavit would not, in the justices opinion, have been competent testimony. He called it an ex parte statement, and said that unless IRick Tylers deposition were taken in the regular way, giving due notic~ to the attorney-general, it could not be admitted, and in almost all crim- inal cases witnesses, were compelled to testify vira voce. Small comfort to Do- rinda to know that the effort was worth- less from the beginning, and that on it 44 Bacckus. [July, she had staked and lost the dearest values of her life. As he read aloud the prosy, prolix sentences, they were annotated by her sobs. Dell-law! Dorindy, t warnt no good, nohow! he exclaimed, presently breaking off with an effort from his reading, for he relished the rotund ver- biage, the large freedom of legal dic- tion impressed him as a privilege, ac- customed as he was only to the simple phrasings of his simple neighbors He could not understand her disappoint- ment. Surely Rick Tylers defection could not matter, he argued, since the affidavit would have been worthless. She did not tell him more. All the world was changed to her. Nothing not her lover himself could ever make her see it as once it was. She declined the invitation to stay and eat supper, and soon was once more out in the pallid mist and the contending d~tsk. The scene that she had left was still vivid in her mind, and she looked back once at the lucent yellow square of the lighted window gleaming through the white vapors. The rose-bush showed across the lower panes, and she re- membered the melancholy fall of the flower. Alas, the roses all were dead! Charles Egbert Craddock. BACCHUS. LISTEN to the tawny thief, Hid behind the waxen leaf, Growling at his fairy host, Bidding her with angry boast Fill his cup with wine distilled From the dew the dawn has spilled: Stored away in golden casks Is the precious draught he asks. Who, who makes this mimic din In this mimic meadow inn, Sings in such a drowsy note, Wears a golden belted coat; Loiters in the dainty room Of this tavern of perfume; Dares to linger at the cup Till the yellow sun is up? Bacchus, t is, come back again To the busy haunts of men; Garlanded and gayly dressed, Bands of gold about his breast; Straying from his paradise, Having pinions angel-wise, Tis the honey-bee, who goes Reveling within a rose! Frank Dempster Sherman.

44 Bacckus. [July, she had staked and lost the dearest values of her life. As he read aloud the prosy, prolix sentences, they were annotated by her sobs. Dell-law! Dorindy, t warnt no good, nohow! he exclaimed, presently breaking off with an effort from his reading, for he relished the rotund ver- biage, the large freedom of legal dic- tion impressed him as a privilege, ac- customed as he was only to the simple phrasings of his simple neighbors He could not understand her disappoint- ment. Surely Rick Tylers defection could not matter, he argued, since the affidavit would have been worthless. She did not tell him more. All the world was changed to her. Nothing not her lover himself could ever make her see it as once it was. She declined the invitation to stay and eat supper, and soon was once more out in the pallid mist and the contending d~tsk. The scene that she had left was still vivid in her mind, and she looked back once at the lucent yellow square of the lighted window gleaming through the white vapors. The rose-bush showed across the lower panes, and she re- membered the melancholy fall of the flower. Alas, the roses all were dead! Charles Egbert Craddock. BACCHUS. LISTEN to the tawny thief, Hid behind the waxen leaf, Growling at his fairy host, Bidding her with angry boast Fill his cup with wine distilled From the dew the dawn has spilled: Stored away in golden casks Is the precious draught he asks. Who, who makes this mimic din In this mimic meadow inn, Sings in such a drowsy note, Wears a golden belted coat; Loiters in the dainty room Of this tavern of perfume; Dares to linger at the cup Till the yellow sun is up? Bacchus, t is, come back again To the busy haunts of men; Garlanded and gayly dressed, Bands of gold about his breast; Straying from his paradise, Having pinions angel-wise, Tis the honey-bee, who goes Reveling within a rose! Frank Dempster Sherman. 1885.J A Mexican Vacation Week. 45 A MEXICAN VACATION WEEK. FOUR oclock in the afternoon of a mid-June day found me on the plat- form of the railway station at the little Mexican city of Ac~imbaro. The soft air had the kindly touch of the breath of the Bajfo, that great depression in the central tableland which stretches from Quer& aro and Morelia on the south to Lagos on the north, at a height of from five thousand to six thousand feet above the sea-level, giving beneath a tropic sun one of the gentlest climates that ever blessed the homes of men. At half-past six oclock that morning I had left the city of Mexico. At nine oclock I had passed a height of over ten thousand feet above the sea, and stood shivering in the vivid sunshine and keen air of Salazar, trying to warm myself with a cup of abominable coffee, while a dozen eager-eyed curs watched anx- iously for scraps of enchiladas and other pepp~ry viands, which no Northern ca- nine, I am sure, could have been per- suaded even to smell of. Since then the train had dropped impetuously through pine-embowered gorges down into the magnificent great basin of the Toluca Valley, a sea-like expanse of young corn. Leaving Toluca, the highest of the Mexican state capitals, with an alti- tude of something like 8600 feet, we had sped all the rest of the morning through a long valley trough filled with grazing herds. In midwinter, they said, the trains sometimes ploughed their way through snow which covered this valley to a depth of several inches. rhis trough diminished to a narrow cafion, which opened out into all the wide world, it seemed, as ~ve turned a corner and crept along a narrow shelf hewn for our track, halfway up the pre- cipitous rim of a realm of checkered cultivation, spreading amongst an en- campment of tent-like mountains. These mountains, which stood in social groups, their bases cut off by the lines of the land as it fell away in terraces to the northward into the Bajio, were dark- ly muffled in pine mantles or savagely naked with the desolation of eternal barrenness, though often a patchwork of the delicate green of young grain was thrown tenderly over their shoul- ders, skirts, and knees. The descents from terrace to terrace made our way turn and curve incessantly, and with the wide-spreading landscape below, re- vealed map-like for vast distances, we seemed to have a birds privilege of in- spection over the world. It had been a day of varied scenic interest, as in most railway trips in Mexico. We entered Ac~4mbaro beside the Lerma River, one of the most consider- able streams of Mexico. It had first greeted us where it takes its start to- wards the Pacific, a clear, strong brook near Salazar. In the Toluca Valley it was spread out into blue lagoons. Down here it was a tawny, rapid, and shallow stream, with a numerous escort of Ahua- huetes, or taxus trees, like those in the venerable grove of Chapultepec. Their great trunks were wading fearlessly mid- river, and gray mosses streamed down from their branches like the tattered banners of a veteran army. Ac~imbaro had been raised into some prominence as the junction for the Pa- cific division of the Mexican National, the great narrow-gauge railway, with the main line. rrhe railway station, a pine-board shanty, was something to flee from, and the sight of the narrow streets of the town, near by, was like release from a nightmare. Nearly all Mexican towns, so far as I have seen them, have features which give them distinct individuality. These proceed from their great diversity in site

1885.J A Mexican Vacation Week. 45 A MEXICAN VACATION WEEK. FOUR oclock in the afternoon of a mid-June day found me on the plat- form of the railway station at the little Mexican city of Ac~imbaro. The soft air had the kindly touch of the breath of the Bajfo, that great depression in the central tableland which stretches from Quer& aro and Morelia on the south to Lagos on the north, at a height of from five thousand to six thousand feet above the sea-level, giving beneath a tropic sun one of the gentlest climates that ever blessed the homes of men. At half-past six oclock that morning I had left the city of Mexico. At nine oclock I had passed a height of over ten thousand feet above the sea, and stood shivering in the vivid sunshine and keen air of Salazar, trying to warm myself with a cup of abominable coffee, while a dozen eager-eyed curs watched anx- iously for scraps of enchiladas and other pepp~ry viands, which no Northern ca- nine, I am sure, could have been per- suaded even to smell of. Since then the train had dropped impetuously through pine-embowered gorges down into the magnificent great basin of the Toluca Valley, a sea-like expanse of young corn. Leaving Toluca, the highest of the Mexican state capitals, with an alti- tude of something like 8600 feet, we had sped all the rest of the morning through a long valley trough filled with grazing herds. In midwinter, they said, the trains sometimes ploughed their way through snow which covered this valley to a depth of several inches. rhis trough diminished to a narrow cafion, which opened out into all the wide world, it seemed, as ~ve turned a corner and crept along a narrow shelf hewn for our track, halfway up the pre- cipitous rim of a realm of checkered cultivation, spreading amongst an en- campment of tent-like mountains. These mountains, which stood in social groups, their bases cut off by the lines of the land as it fell away in terraces to the northward into the Bajio, were dark- ly muffled in pine mantles or savagely naked with the desolation of eternal barrenness, though often a patchwork of the delicate green of young grain was thrown tenderly over their shoul- ders, skirts, and knees. The descents from terrace to terrace made our way turn and curve incessantly, and with the wide-spreading landscape below, re- vealed map-like for vast distances, we seemed to have a birds privilege of in- spection over the world. It had been a day of varied scenic interest, as in most railway trips in Mexico. We entered Ac~4mbaro beside the Lerma River, one of the most consider- able streams of Mexico. It had first greeted us where it takes its start to- wards the Pacific, a clear, strong brook near Salazar. In the Toluca Valley it was spread out into blue lagoons. Down here it was a tawny, rapid, and shallow stream, with a numerous escort of Ahua- huetes, or taxus trees, like those in the venerable grove of Chapultepec. Their great trunks were wading fearlessly mid- river, and gray mosses streamed down from their branches like the tattered banners of a veteran army. Ac~imbaro had been raised into some prominence as the junction for the Pa- cific division of the Mexican National, the great narrow-gauge railway, with the main line. rrhe railway station, a pine-board shanty, was something to flee from, and the sight of the narrow streets of the town, near by, was like release from a nightmare. Nearly all Mexican towns, so far as I have seen them, have features which give them distinct individuality. These proceed from their great diversity in site 46 A Mexican Vacation Week. and climate, from their local building- materials and architectural forms, and from the customs of their inhabitants. For many generations they hav~ been left to their own resources, and this isolation has encouraged these varia- tions. How unlike the growth of the smart towns of our young West, which appear all to have been cast in the same mould, or rather, cut out by the same jig-saw! There is notable architecture almost everywhere in Mexico. Some of the humblest villages are ennobled by churches whose domes and towers would give them a proud distinction in the greatest cities of our commonplace land. The architectural inspirations of Mex- ico come from Spain; the art has beon transplanted, not developed here. There- fore it shows characteristics of the styles which mark Spanish architectural his- tory. Gothic, however, is sparsely rep- resented, and its influence is seldom traced, except in the light, aerial striv- ings of some purely Renaissance towers. The Romanesque and Moorish are found underlying the Renaissance, which dom- inated Spanish architectural thought at the time of the Conquest. The Roman- esque influence is manifest almost every- where in Mexico, and sometimes with striking nobility in almost pure exam- ples of the style. There is also much extremely florid and undignified rococo. Fortunately, this often appears subject to Moorish influence, and in such cases its usual incoherence gives way to a piquant grace. In Acdmbaro I noted some charming architectural details. There was an old carved door, weather-beaten and richly wrought in high relief. In the upper part of the two panels large and gro- tesque twin heads looked grimly down, their beards uniting with the ornamental work below. A cherub head peeped out from each of the two upper corners of the doorway stonework, and the figure of some saint occupied the keystone, [July, looking very comfortable beneath the shelter of a rococo canopy. There were some naive reliefs cut in the extremely hard stone of the great basin of the fountain in the market-place, including a series of comical-looking scenes from a bull-fight. The bulls and horses were of the size of dogs in proportion to the human figures, perhaps as an indication of the superiority of men to animals. A shapely column stood in the centre of the basin, with a Corinthian capital sur- mounted by the Mexican coat-of-arms, the eagle, with a serpent in its beak, perched upon a prickly pear. This was painted, and so was the neighboring church. But I can forgive paint in Mexico, except in its stage of tawdry freshness; for one rainy season and the intense sunlight of a few months are enough to tone it down into beautiful pale washes of innumerable tints, the underlying hues of perhaps a centurys chromatic applications showing through here and there. The church walls and tower were suffused with roseate purple and an exquisite green like that of old bronzes. The domes of Acdmbaro were below the average of prominence and excel- lence prevailing in Mexico, but there were some features of the surroundings of the parochial church which atoned for this defect. The churchyard, which was across the way from a lovely little public garden filled with a tangle of vivid tropical bloon, was deeply shaded by many great ash-trees, or fresnos, which occupy a similar place in Mexico to that of the elm with us, and they fill it well. A low, plain wall surrounded the yard, rising at the entrances into large arches, whose curves were interrupted by ara- besque-like notches. The yard was spa- cious; ample for the processional cere- monies which may not take place in the public streets anywhere in Mexico since they were forbidden by the reform con- stitution of 18~7. The buildings ad- joining the church were mostly falling 1885.] A iJiexican Vacation Wee/c. 47 into ruin. A solitary pillar, with the fragments of two arches meeting at right angles springing from it like the branches of a tree, was all that remained of the cloisters which formerly occu- pied a large quadrangle, at whose cor- ner it stood. The fa9ade of the Capilla del Hospital (Chapel of the Hospital), which fronted on this quadrangle, was of strikingly quiet, simple be~uty, fitted to the placid shade and silence of the spot. An unfinished and ruined corner tower was void of all decoration, except the rich settiig of a handsome little Roman- esque window in its base. There was a tall rectangular surface, flanked by wall- spaces entirely plain, and framed in by projecting lines, on one side beaded and the other fluted. The ornamentation was confined to this space. A purely Romanesque doorway was surrounded by a broad band of rich carved-work, and the entire fa~ade was sprinkled with a constellation of stars, among which large rosettes stood here and there like suns, the whole wrought in a mellow- hued stone of a yellowish brown. The inhabitants of Acdmbaro were mostly Indians. They appeared to be very little troubled by considerations of clothing. Nearly all had some slight pretenses of raiment, however. But once in a while a stalwart man or a shapely youth, who had come in from the neighboring country regions, might be seen striding through the streets in scornful disregard of urban convention- alities; nothing on but breech-clouts and sandals. In the by-streets the children disported innocent of all attire. But somehow there was no impression of rcal nakedness. The warm brown color of the smooth skin, glossy as satin, seemed in itself a garment. I was re- minded of what some ladies once said about a voyage they made up the Nile. They were at first embarrassed at the sight of the natives on the banks, but at last they agreed among themselves to regard them as bronze statues, and after that they got along very comfort- ably. Passing through a street, I paused to look at an animated scene in a court- yard. A number of naked men were seated on the ground shelling corn, rasp- ing it over sticks and tossing the cobs deftly over their shoulders. The brown group of laborers and the heaps of yel- low ears in the sunlight made a superb color effect. There were some pleasant-looking houses which showed the existence of a considerable upper class. In passing one handsome dwelling I saw through the open windows paintings hanging on the tastefully papered walls, and other indications of exceptional refine- ment. I was told that it was the home of a lady who had a library of fifteen hundred volumes or more, and who was devoted to the study of Latin and Greek literature. I found Don Alex- andro, the jefe politico, or prefect, a genial, warm-hearted gentleman. He was a professed cosmopolitan, had spent years abroad, and was without preju- dices of race or nationality. His heart went out to the American friends whose guest I was, and he did much to make their voluntary exile pleasant. From Acdmbaro northwards the rail- way first traversed a fertile, prairie-like valley, mountain-inclosed. One of the ranges to the westward was magnificent in form, with abrupt sides and dome-like summits, like a mass of cumulus clouds. We passed through a considerable for- est of the largest mesquite-trees I had seen. They looked as if they might have been standing at the time of the Conquest, and were an indication of the finely timbered state which nearly all similar valleys of the central tableland probably once presented. These trees were larger than the average of our northern maples, although the mesquite, in its usual state, is rarely over twenty- five or thirty feet high. A mesquite growth always has an orchard-like ap 48 A Mexican Vacation Week. [July, pearance, the trees standing apart and in general form resembling apple-trees, although their foliage has a feathery fine- ness. In this forest the ground was cov- ered with excellent grass, and many cat- tle were feeding. Some of the trees had fallen, but their prostrate trunks were putting forth foliage as vigorous as that of their erect companions. Mesquite makes one of the best of fire-woods. It is frequently the custom not to cut down the trees, but simply to lop off the branches, leaving the trunk to put forth a new growth. The railway followed the course of the Lerma River, which led us past the important manufacturing city of Salva- tierra, where the stream supplies water- power to large cotton and woolen mills. Here there were extensive fields of su- gar-cane, which, we were told, was not converted into sugar, but wholly sold to be eaten in the surrounding cities, the natives being very fond of it as a dulce. Near by, to the northwestward, there rose the lofty mountain of Culiacan, one of the great landmarks of this part of Mexico. It is prominent from the Mex- ican Central Rail way near Salamanca. I had seen it from nearly all directions, and from every side it appeared a per- fect cone, with furrowed sides sloping uniformly to its broad base. It was evi- dently a volcano. There is another high mountain of the same name near the Pacific coast in the State of Sinaloa. A friend and compatriot with me pointed out a pass in the mountains to the eastward where there was a village whose inhabitants were all bandits. He had made a trip out there one holiday with some friends. There was nothing unusual, he said, in the appearance of the place, which had its church and priest. They were courteously received and hospitably entertained, but they felt that their hosts would have cut their throats very quickly had opportunity and incentive offered. It was near sunset when we entered upon a wide plain and drew near the city of Celaya with its group of beauti- ful domes, the design of a celebrated ar- chitect of the past century, Tres Guer- ras, and unsurpassed in symmetrical grace. They were covered with glazed tile of an old-gold hue, and glowed in the sunset rays, against the deep clear sky, as if illumined by an inner flame. It was ten~ oclock when we reached San Miguel de Allende, at present the northern terminus of the railway. There is always a mystery about a town which one enters at night for the first time. The carriage went rattling up hill for something like a league. We finally struck rough pavements where the way grew steeper. The streets were straight, and down their centres ran threads of water, gleaming away into the distance under the light of the lanterns strung overhead like the lines of a railway track reflected from the locomotive head- light. I was dropped at a hotel, where water was pleasantly trickling into a large tank in the court. My room was plain- ly furnished. The brick floor was cov- ered with a pretty matting; the bed was hard, but clean, as usually the case in Mexico. When I awoke in the morn- ing the air seemed peculiarly pure and fresh, with a perceptible tonic quality. As the tourist in Europe often becomes a connoisseur in wines, so the traveler in Mexico becomes a connoisseur in at- mospheres, recognizing many subtle and indescribable changes, from the sooth- ing, flower-perfumed breath of warm valley depths to the invigorating airs of wind-swept heights. Stepping to my window I found that the town was built on a gentle slope, the houses falling away before me into a wide brown valley, whose smooth un- dulations were bounded by a rugged mountain range. It was a gloriously spacious view. The street beneath my balcony ran up to the main plaza, ter- minating in an arcade. The great Gothic 1885.] A Mexican Vacation Week. 49 church-tower which met my eyes was an astonishing feature for Mexico. Its site, with streets falling away on three sides, and the uneven contour of the city, seemed appropriate for the presiding stateliness of the style. The tower was of great breadth, lacking the airy lightness characteristic of the Gothic at its best; but it had a majesty of its own, with something of an individual quality. An interesting con trast was furnished by a fine dome not far away, one of perfect symmetry, like those of Celayn. The Gothic tower was that of the parochial church, and I learned that it was the work of an illiterate Indian, who traced with a pointed stick in the sand the working-designs of the details for the stone-masons. I repaired to the plaza, finding almost everywhere in the streets rills of clear water, from which the laden donkeys often stopped to drink as they passed. The usual little garden which occupied the plaza was terraced on three sides to give a level surface, the square being on sloping ground. I did not like the painting of the cemented sides of the terraces in imitation of brick-work, but I did like the cheery, neat aspect of the garden itself, with its four little plashing fountains, strikingly limpid; its trimmed grass and pruned trees. It was all expressive of the thorough cleanliness of the town itself, with its well-washed countenance and not a foul smell in the streets. Buildings and tow- ers grouped finely around this Plaza de Allende, as it was called. The great church was undergoing a transformation from a plain Renaissance into the Gothic. The great tower had been completed for some time, and the old twin flanking tow- e~s were disappearing behind the incas- ing of the new fa~ade. An old chapel stood at right-angles to the church, facing the yard. It had a very plain, square tower, reminding me of the severity of mediinval architecture. The yard was populated with large cypresses, a tree which seoms always to have an architect- VOL. LVI. No. 333. 4 ural expression, so associated is it with architectural forms in southern lands; just as certain animals appear to take on the expressions of people they belong to. These cypresses played an admirable part in the composition, lending breadth and dignity to the base. Among their dark solemnity a few small young or~ ange-trees were sporting, spangled with their golden dots. The yard was ter- raced three or four feet above the plaza, surrounded by a high and heavy stone balustrade, which had the charm of an indefinite coloring, produced by the weatherworn character of the latest coating of whitewash, with under-colors, from rose to aged gray and black, show- ing through. Rambling through the narrow, undu- lating streets, I was led by my young Mexican friend, Josd, to the baths of El Chorro, on the southerly side of the town. We came to the foot of a pre- cipitous slope, covered with a beautiful shady garden. Pebble-paved paths zig- zagged up the hill, and clear water came hurrying down beside them with a gos- siping prattle, as if telling about the lively scenes above. Banana plants, ranged along the way, languidly mar- shaled an army of gay geraniums to present arms to the passers. Above was the long stone bath-house, with a grace- ful arcaded front facing a terrace with stone seats, where at all hours in the changing lights of the days progression views of quiet idyllic beauty were at command, looking out from under the deep overarching shade of the tall fres- nos that clothed the slope. In this bosky framework appeared the clustering domes arid towers of the city sloping away to the green fields and meadowa down in the valley. In front, below the terrace, a number of washerwomen were at work in places constructed for them ; little compartments where they knelt before scrubbing-stones inclined away from them, dipping water from the stream running close alongside. 50 A Mexican Vacation Week. [July, in this stream minnows darted about, and the children of the women sported. One chubby little fellow removed a lace- work of rags, which passed for a shirt, his only garment, revealing more than it concealed, and had a merry time. But he had more trouble dressing himself again than if he had a complete suit of clothes. It was comical to see him ex- ploring his way among the capacious holes of his garb before he found the place where his neck belonged, while his arms worked cautiously down into the sleeves, his fists appearing several times before reaching the end. The taciturn old fellow in charge of the place shuffled about with the air of a sexton. He took a key and unlocked a door for us with the air of showing us into a receiving tomb, but it was a grot- to-like place in the upper part of the building, where the water gushed out from the rocks of the cliff, forming a number of large pools, some of which were so still, glassy, and wonderfully transparent that the presence of the water was hardly to be detected. Bills flowed out from here in considerable volume, supplying not only the bathing- tanks, but the city water-works, the wa- ter being led in pipes over the place. Each householder had the perpetual right to the water on the payment of thirty dollars, and so abundant was the supply that it was left always running in the houses, the rills in the streets be- ing formed of the waste. We walked over the flat roof of the building and looked down into the swim- ming-tank for boys, whence merry cries resounded, as from bathing children the world over. Is there anything like water-sports to induce gayety and an overflow of animal spirits? The dozen or so naked boys illustrated the diver- sity of blood among the Mexican peo- ple, their bodies ranging through all shades, from the delicate pinkish-white of the blonde, Goth-descended Spanish- American and the light olive of the Ibe nan, the dusky twilight of mixed bloods, to the ruddy bronze of the pure aborig- inal. Another large bathing-tank was for women, and there were several pri- vate baths in vaulted, cell-like compart- ments where the bather descended into a tank of smooth brick-work with water about four feet deep. This Chorro wa- ter was tasteless, but its mineral proper- ties were testified to by the greenish deposit which it left on the rocks and masonry. It had excellent medicinal qualities and, being slightly tepid, was pleasantly refreshing. It left the skin feeling as smooth as satin. On descending from these baths in the delicious late afternoon air it was pleas- ant to stroll through the beautiful neigh- boring rural lanes, among rich gardens and cosy country-houses, out to the Ca- fiada de Aguacates, or Ravine of Agua- cates. There were long shadows falling athwart and forming carpet-like figures, streaked and interwoven with sunlight. These lanes, smoothly paved with small stones, rambled over the hillsides and were the favorite pleasure-walks of the place. They passed over deep ravines on arched stone bridges, amid thickets of fruit-trees, where aguacates, chirimoyas, zapotes, and figs grew side by side with apples, peaches, apricots, and pears. The shade was often deep, and there were frequent glimpses out into the tawny valley, the Guanajuato treasure range from which many millions of silver and gold had been taken and in which many more lay buried standing a lu- minous purple against the mellow sun- set gilding the city buildings, with the lordly great Gothic tower resembling the Erfurt cathedral in effect. We passed an archway surmounted with a statue of Allende, the hero whose name the city has borne since Mexican independence was gained. It was an unspeakably ugly statue, and its crude- ness was heightened by the tawdry paint which set forth the generals regimen- tals with startling would-be realism. 1885.] A Mexican Vacation Week. St All this region is heroic ground. Dolores de Hidalgo, the cradle of Mex- ican liberty, is but a few leagues away from San Miguel de Allende, and from the high land just back of the town it could be plainly seen were it not for a projecting spur of hills in the valley. Ignacio Allende, who was the compan- ion of Hidalgo, was born here in San Miguel de Allende, as it was then called, on January 20, 1779. His father was a Spaniard, and the family was one of the leading ones of the place. He was a captain of dragoons, and being enthu- siastic for independence, he joined in the conspiracy with the patriot priest of Dolo- res, together with Aldama and Abasolo, fellow-officers in his regiment. Allende was with Hidalgo. and his companions at Dolores when, near .midnight of Sep- tember 15, 1810, the famous grito de independencia was raised. The revo- lution began the next day, and the mul- titude, ever swelling, reached San Mi- guel that evening. Here, through the influence of Allende, the royal regiment joined the revolutionists, and an army was organized with Hidalgo at the head and Allende as lieutenant-general. It was queerly equipped, being armed with lances, clubs, and various agricultural implements. It marched southward, and at the little village of Atotonilco the curate took the standard with the paint- ing of the Virgin of Guadalupe from the church, and it was made the banner of independence. The battle-cry was: Viva Ia Religion! Viva nuestra Madre Santissima de Guadalupe! Viva la America y muera el mal gobierno! (Long live religion! Long live our most holy Mother of Guadalupe! Long live America and death to the bad govern- ment!) It is notable that while the op- pression of the Spaniards was a strong incentive, a leading motive in the rev- olution was the fear that the church would suffer through the rule of Napo- leonism in Spain, and this is said to account for the active part which the priests took in the struggle. While the church took a leading part in the be- ginning, real Mexican liberty was not gained until the church itself was over- thrown and forever separated from the s~tate by Juarez, in the great civil war which resulted in the adoption of the reform constitution of 1857. The first great step in the revolution was the taking of the large and im- mensely rich city of Guanajuato, which enabled Hidalgo to organize thoroughly. He then took up his march to Mexico over substantially the same route which we traversed by rail over the Mexican National. His army numbered one hundred thousand men when he reached the Monte de las Cruces overlooking the valley of Mexico. Here, by some strange fatality, while the Spaniards were almost panic - stricken and final victory seemed within grasp, Ilidalgo withdrew without a battle. His fortunes thenceforward declined, and the first chapter in the eleven years struggle for independence ended on July 30, 1811, with the shooting of Hidalgo, Al- lende, Aldama, and Jimenez in the city of Chihuahua. One afternoon I went with Jos6 di- rectly up the hill back of the town, fol- lowing the course of a small aqueduct from one of the numerous springs in the neighborhood. The way was bor- dered with a hedge of cactus, the nopal bearing most refreshing tunas, or prickly pears, in abundance; while a tall cactus, with many upward-growing branches, like a candelabra, had a small berry- like fruit resembling set beads growing along the edges of its stalks. It was called the charambulla, and resembled a gooseberry. It had a bright carmine pulp filled with fine black seeds. A luxuriant buerta, or orchard, filled the neighboring little valley grooved into the hillside. It was a wild tangle of pear, quince, apple, and fig trees, together with grape vines, all growing so closely and disheveled that it seemed a wonder 52 A Arexican Vacation Week. [July, there was any fruit at all. Abundant water and a tropic sun do wonders, how- ever, and the fruit of San Miguel was better than the average. Improved grafts and scientific horticulture would make Mexican fruit unsurpassed. I notic& T a massive wall running along the barren hillside for a considerable distance. It seemed useless in that locality, and I asked what it was for. I was told that a kind-hearted rich man had built it to give employment to the poor people, at a time when there was little for them to do and there was much distress. He might have set them about some work of utility, I thought. The upland reached away in a moor- like expanse when we attained a height of something like a thousand feet above the valley. It was another climate al- ready, and the cool wind swept power- fully across. Dark mountains covered with pines rose to the eastward. Im- mediately below was the handsome town, with streets running down hill like fur- rows, the lines of water in their centre glistening like silver threads. Rambling across the fields, we came to the verge of a deep cup walled in by towering cliffs. This opened into the plain, over which there was a vast view. At our feet, seemingly almost within a stones throw, there nestled an old stone mill. Near by were the arches of an aqueduct. A swift stream rushed past, a cascade gushed out from an opening in the wall, and lawn-like fields of green alfalfa spread around, the whole a lit- tle landscape gem set in a sublime frame- work. The source of this stream was fifteen leagues away, whence it courses through an ever deepening gorge. We scrambled down and then up be- side the stream over a chaos of great boulders that strewed the way until we came to the foot of the lii~h cascades of the Ingenio, which tumbled down in several steps over a total height of more than one hundred and seventy feet. In- genio means a marvel, and here the marvel was said to be that an enormous serpent had fallen and caused this split in the rocks. The walls of the narrow cafion towered perpendicularly and made a most impressive solitude. In one place this wall was covered with a beautiful mantle of the Virginia creeper, the only spot where I have ever seen it growing wild in Mexico. At its foot there was a tangle of cactus. Below the mill the stream ran into a presa, or reservoir, with a dam of as- tounding solidity and thickness. It was built of small rubble-stone, laid in cement so hard that it seemed a part of the rock itself. The basin was empty, but twenty- four hours were enough to fill it in the rainy season. The dam had been raised for over half its length something like a century before with a view to doubling the capacity of the basin, but the work had been abandoned, since the present supply for irrigation proved sufficient for the wants of the population. Along this stream there was room for many reservoirs of the same sort. The same is the case throughout Mexico, so that, should it ever be needed, the agricultu- ral production of the country could be many times increased. The walk back to the town was a charming one, along a level, smooth, and winding road. The groups of towers were emulated by clusters of organ cac- tus, shooting up slenderly to a height of forty feet or more above the humble cots in the outskirts. The hills rolled away beside the town, brown on their slopes like cheeks well tanned by a scorching sun, their piny summits bluish black in the distance. The rich verdure of gardens and orchards filled the ra- vines running irregularly up the hill- sides, inwreathing the town with their graceful fringe. High above, perched on a crag, rose the old convent of Santo Domingo, with square, belligerent-look- ing towers like a castle; elsewhere on the heights was a mass of white masonry, with graceful arcades, darkly recessed, A Mezican Vacation Week. 53 gleaming among groves of trees. A tree of great beauty hereabouts was the pepper tree, or drbol de Peru, lining the highways in places and growing un- usually tall. Some trees were in blos- som, others were in fruit; the bunches of scarlet berries, which are in some demand in the markets as a food for tame mocking- birds, gleaming vividly. The foliage, though drooping, had a sprightly cheeriness, and if its pendent form suggested tears at all, it would be those brought to the eyes by the piq- uancy of the fruit! The beauty of these trees was greatly heightened by the moss draping their branches, of a hue between orange and old gold. This moss makes the fine yellow and green dyes used extensively in local manufactures. San Miguel has a most industrious population. It is famous for the manu- facture of zarapes and rebozos, or blan- kets and scarfs, which are, respectively, universal articles of apparel among the male and female population of Mexibo. The former are made of wool and the lat- ter of cotton or silk, both Woven on hand- looms, whose lively clatter may be heard in passing about half the houses in town. Great skill is attained in the manufac- ture of zarapes, and those of San Miguel and Saltillo are the finest in Mexico, some costing over a thousand dollars each. I saw one which had taken over a year in the making, and its value was three hundred dollars. The weaving was a marvel of fineness, and it had a very close reproduction of a painting which was shown me. In market hours, particularly on Sundays, the plaza was enlivened by the sellers of zarapes and rebozos, who went around with their goods in little piles on their shoulders, seeking customers. This plaza was the centre of activity for the place. The principal shops were there, and on one side was the fruit-market, where the venders had light tents pitched on the pavement, the fruit displayed in little heaps spread on matting on the ground. The mushy, but delicious white zapotes, with flesh much like that of a Bart- lett pear, were generally surrounded by swarms of wasps. On another side of the plaza a deal of cooking was always going on; much frying over little char- coal fires. It was no wonder that crowds of peasants were attracted to buy, for the odor of meat and onions was savory even to more civilized nostrils. The plaza was the club-room of the place, so to speak; night after night the same young men might be seen quietly chatting together on the same benches of carved stone. Some even- ings there was music, and then every- body turned out, promenading around the little garden. There was a good- sized theatre, with performances every Sunday night, and often two or three other evenings in the week. Some of the traveling dramatic and operatic com- panies which make the round of the Mexican provincial cities are excellent. One afternoon I sat reading in my room while the first shower of the month was falling. The rainy season was several weeks later than usual, this year. It was a goodly shower, and the rivulets in the streets were soon converted into turbid torrents. While the rain was still pouring, though very gently, I heard music in the street. It was St. Johns day, and I thought it part of the cele- bration. I stepped to the balcony and saw a band coming, followed by a score or more of men with lighted candles. The band was playing a lively march. Ahead there ran a little boy with what looked like a tawdrily painted box-cov- er. The men were nearly all of the lower class, shabbily dressed. One of them carried on his head an open coffin, containing what I at first took for a doll, having something to do with the ceremonial. It was dressed in white muslin with some gilt tinsel. But as they passed below I saw that it was a dead baby, with long eyelashes and black eyes staring up to the sky. Mean- 54 A Country Gentleman. [July, while the rain kept dropping pitilessly on the senseless little form. Or, I fan- cied, since the form was senseless, was the rain pitiless, or compassionate tears from heaven! The men sheltered from the wind with one hand the candles they were carrying. The procession marched along with the martial blare of the music sounding gayly down the narrow streets, seeming strangely inap- propriate to mark the entry of a little child into the kingdom of heaven. The rains fell daily now. Every afternoon the clouds rolled up and the skies grew black. Almost over night the landscape underwent a magic trans- formation. The brown, sun-scorched plains turned to the loveliest of spring- time greens, and the fresh tint crept up over the gray rocks to the mountain summits. When I returned to the capital I found that the railway, just below San Miguel, ran through a grand gorge, coursed by a river. On my upward trip I had missed this sight, having passed through in the dark. The river, usually a mere rill, was swollen to a powerful, broad-breasted current, with boats upon it for people to cross in. Sylvester Baxter. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. XXI. THE pony walked on, sometimes a little quicker, sometimes a little slower, while Geoff dreamed. No doubt Pony too had his own thoughts. His opinion was that summer had come again. He was rather a pampered little pony, who had never been put to any common use, who had never felt harness on his back, or a weight behind him, or the touch of a whip beyond that of Geoffs little switch; and he had come so far and had trotted so long that he was hot, and did not like it. He had come so far that he no longer knew which was the dircc- tion of home and the comfortable cool stable, for which he began to puff and sigh. When he came to a cross-road he sniffed at it, but never could be sure. rrhe scent seemed to lie one time in one way, another time in another. Not be- ing able to make sure of the way home, the pony made it up to himself in a different direction. He sauntered along, and cooled down. He took a pull at the grass, nearly snatching the loose reins out of Geoffs small hands. Then, after having thus secured the proper length, he had a tolerable meal, a sort of picnic refreshment, not unpleasant; and the grass was very crisp and fresh. He began to think that it was for this purpose, to give him a little beneficial change of diet, that he had been brought out. It was very considerate. Corn is good, and so even is nice, dry, sweet- smelling hay. But of all things in the world, there is nothing so delightful as the fresh salad with all its juices, the sweet grass with the dew upon it, es- pecially when it is past the season for grass, and you have been ridden in the suu. Geoffs mind was pleasurably moved in a different way. The freedom, the silence, the fresh air, entered into his lit- tle being like wine. He had not known much of the delights of solitude. A sickly child, who has to be watched con- tinually, and who is alone in the sense of having no playmates, no one of his own age near him, has less experience than the robust of true aloneness. He had been always with his mother, or, in his mothers brief absences, so brief

54 A Country Gentleman. [July, while the rain kept dropping pitilessly on the senseless little form. Or, I fan- cied, since the form was senseless, was the rain pitiless, or compassionate tears from heaven! The men sheltered from the wind with one hand the candles they were carrying. The procession marched along with the martial blare of the music sounding gayly down the narrow streets, seeming strangely inap- propriate to mark the entry of a little child into the kingdom of heaven. The rains fell daily now. Every afternoon the clouds rolled up and the skies grew black. Almost over night the landscape underwent a magic trans- formation. The brown, sun-scorched plains turned to the loveliest of spring- time greens, and the fresh tint crept up over the gray rocks to the mountain summits. When I returned to the capital I found that the railway, just below San Miguel, ran through a grand gorge, coursed by a river. On my upward trip I had missed this sight, having passed through in the dark. The river, usually a mere rill, was swollen to a powerful, broad-breasted current, with boats upon it for people to cross in. Sylvester Baxter. A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN. XXI. THE pony walked on, sometimes a little quicker, sometimes a little slower, while Geoff dreamed. No doubt Pony too had his own thoughts. His opinion was that summer had come again. He was rather a pampered little pony, who had never been put to any common use, who had never felt harness on his back, or a weight behind him, or the touch of a whip beyond that of Geoffs little switch; and he had come so far and had trotted so long that he was hot, and did not like it. He had come so far that he no longer knew which was the dircc- tion of home and the comfortable cool stable, for which he began to puff and sigh. When he came to a cross-road he sniffed at it, but never could be sure. rrhe scent seemed to lie one time in one way, another time in another. Not be- ing able to make sure of the way home, the pony made it up to himself in a different direction. He sauntered along, and cooled down. He took a pull at the grass, nearly snatching the loose reins out of Geoffs small hands. Then, after having thus secured the proper length, he had a tolerable meal, a sort of picnic refreshment, not unpleasant; and the grass was very crisp and fresh. He began to think that it was for this purpose, to give him a little beneficial change of diet, that he had been brought out. It was very considerate. Corn is good, and so even is nice, dry, sweet- smelling hay. But of all things in the world, there is nothing so delightful as the fresh salad with all its juices, the sweet grass with the dew upon it, es- pecially when it is past the season for grass, and you have been ridden in the suu. Geoffs mind was pleasurably moved in a different way. The freedom, the silence, the fresh air, entered into his lit- tle being like wine. He had not known much of the delights of solitude. A sickly child, who has to be watched con- tinually, and who is alone in the sense of having no playmates, no one of his own age near him, has less experience than the robust of true aloneness. He had been always with his mother, or, in his mothers brief absences, so brief 1885.] A Country Gentleman. 55 that they scarcely told in the story of his life, under the charge of the nurse, who was entirely devoted to him. He knew by heart all the stories she had to tell, and yet would have them repeated, with a certain pleasure in the sound of the words. But his mother, he never could be sure what she was going to say. To question her was the chief oc- cupation of his life, and she never was weary of replying. His days were full of this perpetual intercourse. So it hap- pened that to get out alone into the ab- solute stillness, broken only by the rustle of the leaves, the sound of the wind as it brought them down, the twitter of the birds, the tinkle of the little stream, was a new delight to Geoff, unlike any- thing that had gone before. And to see miles and miles before him, to see all round him roads stretching into the un- known, houses and churches and woods, all nameless and new, was he riding out to seek his fortune, was he going to conquer the world, was he the prince riding to the castle where the Sleeping Beauty lay? Was he Jack, going on unawares to the ogres castle, where he was to kill the giant and deliver the prisoners? The little boy did not, per- baps, put these questions into form, but they were all in his mind, filling him with a vague, delicious exhilaration. He was all of these heroes put together, and little Geoff Markland beside. He was afraid of nothing: partly, perhaps, be- cause of his breeding, which had made it apparent to him that the world chiefly existed for the purpose of taking care of Geoff; and partly from an innate confi- dence and friendliness with all the world. He had no serious doubt that ogres, giants, and other unpleasant people did exist to he overcome; but so far as men and women were considered, Geoff had no fear of them: and he was aware that even in the castle of the ogre these natural aids and auxiliaries were to be found. He wandered on, accordingly, quite satisfied with his fancies, until the pony gave that first jerk to the reins and began his meal. Geoff pulled him up at first but then began to reflect that ponies have their breakfast earlier than boys, and that even he himself was begin- ning to feel that the time for eating had come. We cant both have luncheon, said the little man, and I think you might wait, pony;~ but he reflected again that, if he could put out his hand and reach some bread and butter, he would not himself, at that moment, be restrained by the thought that ponys hunger was unsatisfied. This thought induced him to drop his wrists and leave the pony free. They formed an odd lit- tle vignette on the side of the road: the pony, with its head down, selecting the juicy spots; the little boy amicably con- senting, with his bands upon its neck. Geoff, however, to those who did not know that he was consenting, and had philosophically made up his mind to sanction, in default of luncheon for him- self, his ponys meal, looked a somewhat helpless little figure, swayed about by the movements of his little steed. And this was how he appeared to the occu- pants of a phaeton which swept past, with two fine bay horses, and all their harness glittering and jingling in the sun. There was a lady in it, by the drivers side, and both greeted the little boy with a burst of laughter. Shall I touch him up for you? the gentleman cried, brandishing his whip over the ponys head. This insult went to Geoffs soul. He drew himself up out of his dreaming, and darted such a glance at the passers-by as produced another loud laugh, as they swept past. And he plucked the ponys head from the turf with the same startled movement, and surprised the little animal into a canter of a dozen paces or so, enough, at least, he hoped, to show those insolent people that he could go, when he liked. But after that the pony took matters into his own hand. It was beginning to be afternoon, 56 which to Geoff meant the decline of the day, after his two-oclock dinner. He had had no dinner, poor child, and that after- noon languor which the strongest feel, the sense of falling off and running low, was deepened in him by unusual empti- ness, and that consciousness of wrong which a child has who has missed a meal. Pony, after his dinner, had a more lively feeling than ever that the stable at home would be cool and com- fortable, and, emboldened by so much salad, wanted to turn back and risk find- ing the way. Lie bolted twice, so that all Geoffs horsemanship and all his strength were necessary to bring the little beast round. The little man did it, setting his teeth with childish rage and determination, digging his heels into the fat refractory sides, and holding the reins twisted in his little fists with savage tenacity. But a conflict of this sort is very exhausting, and to force an unreasonable four-footed creature in the way it does not want to go requires a strain of all the faculties which it is not easy to keep up, especially at the age (not all told) of nine. Geoff felt the tears coming to his eyes; he felt that he would die of shame if any one saw him, thus almost mastered by a pony: yet that he would give anything in the world to see a known face, some one who would help him home. Not the phae- ton, though, or that man who had offered to touch him up. When he heard the wheels behind him again Geoff grew frantic. He laid his whip about the ponys neck, with a maddening deter- mination not to be laughed at any more. But circumstances were too strong for him. The pony made a spring forward, stopped suddenly, and Geoff, with a giddy sense of dying through the air, a horri- ble consciousness of great hoofs coming down, lost all knowledge of what was going to happen to him, and ended in insensibility this wild little flight into the unknown. It was well for Geoff that some one A Country aentleman. [July, who had been crossing a field close by, at this climax of his little history, saw the impending accident, and sprang over the stile into the road at the decisive moment; for the driver of the phaeton, with the best will in the world, could scarcely have otherwise avoided mis- chief, though he pulled his horses back on their hind quarters in the sudden alarm. Theo Warrender flung himself under the very hoofs of the dashing bays. He seized the child and flung him out on the edge of the road, but was him- self knocked down, and lay for a mo- ment not knowing how much he was him- self hurt, and paralyzed by terror for the boy, whom he had recognized in the flash of the catastrophe. There was a whirl of noise, for a moment, loud shrieks from the lady, the grinding of the sud- denly stopped wheels, the prancing and champing of the horses, the loud ex- clamations of the man who was driving to the groom, who sprang out from be- hind, and to his shrieking companion. The groom raised Geoffs head, and laid him on the grass at the roadside, while Warrender crept out from the dan- gerous position he occupied, his heart sick with alarm. Lie s coming to, said the groom. There is no harm done. The gentleman s more hurt than the boy. There is nothing the mat- ter with me, cried Warrender, though the blood was pouring from his forehead, making bubbles in the dust. When Geoff opened his eyes he had a vision first of that anxious, blood~stained coun- tenance; then of a bearded face in an atmosphere of cigar smoke, which re- minded him strangely, in the dizziness of returning consciousness, of his father: while the carriage~ the impatient bays, the lady looking down from her high seat, were like a picture behind. lie could not remember at first what it was all about. The bearded man knelt beside him, feeling him all over. Does any- thing hurt you, little chap? Come, that s brave. I think there a nothing wrong. 1885.] But look at Theo! Theo s all bleeding, said Geoff, trying to raise himself up. It s nothing, a trifle, said War- render, feeling, though faint, angry that the attention of the stranger should be directed to his ghastly countenance. He added, Dont wait on account of him. If you will let your man catch the pony, I 11 take him home. Then the lady screamed from the phaeton that the little darling must be given to her, that he was not fit to get on that pony again, that he must be driven to the village. She called her companion to her, who swore by Jove, and plucked at his mustache, and con- sulted with the groom, who by some chance knew who the child was. The end of the discnssion was that Geoff, to his own great surprise, and not without a struggle, was lifted to the phaetoa and I)laced close to the lady, who drew him to her, and kept him safe within her arm. Geoff looked up at the face that bent so closely over him with a great deal of curiosity, and mingled attrac- tion and repulsion. In his giddy state, it seemed to him another phase of the dream. The sudden elevation, the rush of rapid motion, so different from his slow and easy progress, the two hays dashing through the air, the ladys per- fumery and her caresses, all bewildered the boy. Where were they taking him? After all, was there really some ogres castle, some enchanted palace, to which he was being swQpt along without any will of his? The little boy was disturbed by the kisses and caresses of his new friend. lie was not a shy child; but he felt himself too old to be kissed, and a little indignant, and slightly alarmed, in the confusion of his shaken frame, as to where he was being taken and what was going to happen to him. The bays were grand and the lady was beautiful; but as Geoff looked at her, holding him- self as far away as was possible with- in the tight enclosure of her arm, he 57 thought her more like the enchantress than the good, lovely fairy queen, which had been his first idea. She was not like the ogres wife he knew so well, that pathetic, human little person, who did what she could to save the poor strayed boys; but rather of ogre-kind herself, kissing him as if she would like to put a tooth in him, with loud laughter at his shrinking and indisposition to he caressed. Geoff also felt keenly the meanness of forsaking Theo, and even the pony, who by this time, no doubt, must be very sorry for having thrown him, and very much puzzled how to get home. Would the groom (left behind for the purpose) be able to catch him? All these things much disturbed Geoffs thoughts. He paid little attention to the promises that were made to him of tea and nice things to eat, although he was faint and hungry; feeling not al- together certain, in his little confused brain, that lie might not, instead of eat- ing, be eaten, though lie was quite aware at the same time that this was nonsense, and could not be. But when the phaetoa turned in at the gate of the Elms, and Geoff saw the high red brick house, surrounded with its walls, like a prison, or like the ogres castle itself, his perturbation grew to a climax. The vague alarm which takes complete possession of a child when once aroused in him rose higher and higher in his mind. When the lady sprang lightly down, and held out her arms to receive him as he alighted, the little fel- low made a nervous leap clear of her, and stood shaking and quivering with the effort, on his guard, and distrust- ful of any advance. Nobody is go- ing to harm you, my little fellow, said the man, kindly enough; while the lady asked why he was frightened, with laughter which confused and alarmed him more and more; for Geoff was ac- customed to be taken seriously, and did not understand being laughed at. He wanted to be civil, notwithstanding, A Country Gentleman. 58 A Count ry Gentleman. [July, and was about to follow in-doors, pluck- ing up his courage: when a glance round which showed him how high the walls were, and that the gates had been closed, and that in the somewhat narrow space inside there was no apparent outlet by which he could communicate with the world in which his mother and Theo and everybody he knew were left be- hind carried a thrill of panic, which he could not overcome, through all his being. As he paused, scared and fright- ened, on the threshold, he saw at the further end of the inclosure a door stand- ing a little ajar, by which some one had entered on foot. Geoff did not pause to think again, but made for the open- ing with a sudden start, and, when out- side, ran like a hunted hare. He ran straight on, seeing houses before him where he knew there must be safety, houses with no high walls, cottages such as a small heart trusts in, be it beggar or prince. He ran, winged with fear, till he got as far as Mrs. Bagleys shop. It was not a great distance, but he was unused to violent exertion, and his little body and brain were both quivering with excitement and with the shock of his fall. The dread of some one com- ing after him, of the house that looked like a prison, of the strangeness of the circumstances altogether, subsided at the sight of the village street, the church in the distance, the open door of the little shop. All these things were ut- terly antagonistic to ogres, incompat- ible with enchantresses. Geoff became himself again when he reached the fa- miliar and recognizable; and when he saw the cakes in Mrs. Bagleys window, his want of a dinner grew into an over- powering consciousness. He stopped himself, took breath, wiped his little hot forehead, and went in, in a very gentle- manly way, taking off his hat, which was dusty and crushed with his fall, to the astonished old lady behind the coun- ter. Would you mind giving me a cake or a biscuit? he said. I dont think I have any money, but I am going to Mrs. Warrenders, if you will show me where that is, and she will pay for me. But dont do it, said Geoff, sud- denly perceiving that he might be taken for an impostor, if you have any doubt that you will be paid. Oh, my little gentleman, cried Mrs. Bagley, take whatever you please, sir! I m not a bit afraid; and if you was never to pay me, you re but a child, if I may make bold to say so; and as for a cake or a But if you 11 take my advice, sir, a good bit of bread and but- ter would be far more wholesome, and you shall have that in a moment Thank you very much, said Geoff, though he cast longing eyes at the cakes, which had the advantage of being ready; and please might I have a chair or a stool to sit down upon, for I am very tired? May I go into that nice room there, while you cut the bread and but- ter? My mother, said the boy, with a sigh of pleasure, throwing himself down in Mrs. Bagleys big chair, which she dragged out of its corner for him, will be very much obliged to you when she knows. Yes, I am only a child, he con- tinued, after a moment; but I never thought I was so little till I got far away from home. Will you tell me, please, where I am now? Mrs. Bagley was greatly impressed by this little personage, who looked so small and talked with such imposing self-pos- session. She set down before him a glass of milk with the cream on it, which she had intended for her own tea, and a great slice of bread and butter, which Geoff devoured without further com- ment. This is Underwood, she said, and Mrs. Warrenders is close by, and there s nobody but will be pleased to show you the way; but I do hope, sir, as you have nt run away from home? Oh, no, said Geoff, with his mouth full of bread and butter, not at all. I only came to see Theo, that is Mr. Warrenders name, you know. To be A Count r~y Gentleman. sure, he added, mamma will not know where I am, and probably she is very much frightened; that is something like running away, is nt it? I hope they have caught my pony, and then when I have rested a little I can ride home. Is that a nice house, that tall red house with the wall round it, or do they shut up people there? Ah, that s the Elms, said the old lady, and she gave a glance which Geoff did not understand to the young woman who was sitting at work behind. I dont know as folks is ever shut up in it, she said, significantly; but dont you never go there, my little gentleman, for it aint a nice house. The like of him could nt get no harm, Granny, even if it was as bad as you think. There is nobody as would nt get harm, man or woman, or even children, cried Granny, dogmatically. It was the last place as poor Lord Markiand was ever in afore his accident, and who knows Geoff put down his bread and butter. That s my father, he said. Did he know those people? Perhaps his horses got wild escaping from them. Mrs. Bagley lifted up her hands in awe and wonder. My stars! she said, I thought I had seen him before. Liz- zie, it s the little lord. That is what the lady called me, said Geoff, as if it was my fault. Do they set traps there for people who are lords? XXII. It may be imagined what the sight of Theo all bound up and bleeding was to the family in the Warren. He had not at all the look of a benevolent deliverer, suffering sweetly from a wound received in the service of mankind. He had a very pale and angry countenance, and snorted indignant breath from his dilated nostrils. It s nothing; a little water will make it all right, he answered to the eager questions of his mother and sisters. Has the brat got here? The brat? What brat? Oh, Theo! You ye been knocked down; your coat is covered with dust. Run for a basin, Chatty, and some lint. You look as if you had been fighting, or something. These cries rose from the different voices round him, while old Joseph, who had seen from a window the plight in which his master was, stood gazing, somewhat cynical and very curious, in the back- ground. The scene was the hall, which has been already described, and into which all the rooms opened. Well, rejoined Theo angrily, I never said I had nt. Where s the boy? Little fool! and his mother will be distracted. Oh, dont bother me with your bathing. I must go and see after the boy. Let me see what is wrong, pleaded Mrs. Warrender. The boy? Who is it? Little Markland? Has he run away? Oh, Theo, have patience a moment. Joseph will run and inquire Minnie will put on her hat Running dont suit these legs o mine, grumbled Joseph, looking at his thin shanks. And what am I to put on my hat for? cried Minnie. Let Theo ex- plain. How can we tell what he wants if he wont explain? I 11 run, said Chatty, who had al- ready brought a basin and water, and who flew forth in most illogical read- iness, to satisfy her brother, although she did not know what he wanted. Good - will, however, is often its own reward, and in this instance it was emphatically so, for Chatty almost ran into a little group advancing through the shrubbery, Mrs. Bagley, with her best bonnet hastily put on, holding little Geoff Markland by the hand. The boy was in advance, dragging his guardian forward, and Mrs. Bagley panted with the effort. Oh, Miss Chatty, she 1885.1 59 60 A Countr2, Gentleman. [July, cried, I m so thankful to see you! The little gentleman, he s in such a hurry. The little gentleman Geoff let go in a moment the old ladys hand, nearly throwing her off her balance; but he was full of his own affairs, as was natural. It is me, he said to Chatty. I came to see Theo; l)ut I had an accident: and he had an accident. And they wanted to take me to that tall house, but I would nt. Has Theo come back? and where is pony? This old lady has to be paid for the bread and butter. She was very kind, and took care of me when I ran away.~~ Oh, cried Chatty, did you run away? And Lady Markland will be so unhappy. No one paid any attention to Mrs. Bagleys declaring that she wanted no payment for her bread and butter; and Geoff, very full of the importance of the position, hurried Chatty back to the house. Can I go in? he said, breathless; and will you send me home, and find pony for me? Oh, here is Theo! Was it the horse that tipped you on the head? He came forward with great giavity, and watched the bath- ing of Warrenders brow, which was going on partly against his will. Geoff approached without further ceremony, and stood by the side of the table, and looked on. Did he catch you with his forefoot? said the boy. I thought it was only the hind feet that were dan- gerous. What a lot of blood! and oh, are they going to cut off your hair? When I got a knock on the head, mam- ma sent for the doctor for me. Dear Theo, be still, and let me do it. How could you get such a blow? I will tell you, Mrs. Warrender, said the little boy, drawing closer and closer, and watching everything with his little grave face. Pony threw me, and the big bays were coming down to crush my head. I saw them waving in the air, like that, over me: and Theo laid hold of me here and tore me, and they kicked him instead. What is all this about a pony and the bays? Theo, tell me. He tore me all here, look, in the back of my knickerbockers, said Geoff putting his hand to the place; but I d rather have that than a knock on my head. Theo, does it hurt? Theo, what a lot you have bled! Were you obliged to tear my knickerbockers? I say, Theo, the lady was pretty, but I did nt much like her, after all. Theo, though his head was over the basin, put out his hand and seized the child by the shoulder. What did you run away for, you little Do you know your mother will be wretched about you? your mother, who is worth a hundred of you. This was said through his teeth, with a twist of Geoffs shoulder which was almost savage. I say! cried the child; then he added, indignantly. I never ran away; I came to see you, because you are go- ing to be my tutor. I did nt think it was such a long way. And pony got hungry. And so was I. Going to he his tutor! It was Minnies voice that said this, so sharply that the air tingled with the words, and Mrs. Warrender started a little; but it was not a moment at which any more could be said. The bathing was done, and Theos wound had now to be brought together by plaster and hound up. It was not very serious. A hoof had touched him, but that was all, and fortunately not on a dangerous place. Take him away and give him some- thing to eat, said the patient, but not in a hospitable voice. I want to see it all done, said Geoff, pressing closer. Is that how you do it? Dont you want another piece of plaster? Will you have to take it off again, or will it stay till it is all well ? Oh, look, that corner is nt fast. Press it there, a little closer. Oh, Theo, she has done it so nicely. You cant see a bit of the 1885.] bad place. It is all covered with plas- ter, like that, and then like this. I wish now it had been me, just to know how it feels. Take him away, mother, for heav- ens sake! cried Warrender under his breath. My dear, you must not worry Theo. He is going to lie down now, and be quiet for a little. Go with Minnie, and have something to eat. I am not so hungry now, said the boy, but very much interested. When you are interested you dont feel hun- gry: and the 01(1 woman gave me some- thing to eat. Would you pay her, please? Wont you tie something on, Mrs. Warrender, to hide the plaster? It does nt look very nice like that. Come, said Chatty, taking him by the hand. The elder sister had thrown herself into a chair at the mention of the tutor, and seemed unable for further exertion. Oh, yes, I am coming; but I am most interested about Theo. Theo, you have got a stain upon your cheek; and your coat is torn, too, as bad as my Well, but he did tear my knickerbock- ers. Look! I felt the cold wind, though I did not say anything; not upon the open road, but when we got among your trees. It is so dark among your trees. Theo! Come, come; I want you to come with me, Chatty said, hurrying Geoff away: and perhaps the sight of the ta- ble in the dining-room, and the tray which Joseph, not without a grumble, was placing upon it, became about this time as interesting as Theos wound. We ought to send and tell his moth- er thnt the child is here. Or send him back, said Minnie sharply, and get rid of him. A little story-teller! Theo his tutor! If I were his mother, I should whip him, till he learned what lies mean! Mrs. Warreuder looked with some anxiety at her son. Children, 8he 61 said, make such strange misrepresenta- tions of what they hear. But we should send I have sent already, said Theo. She will probably come and fetch him and, mother My dear, keep still, and dont~ dis- turb yourself. There might be a little fever. Oh, rubbish! Fever! I shall not dis- turb myself, if you dont disturb me. Look here. It is quite true; I ye of- fered myself to be his tutor. His tutor! cried Minnie once more, in a voice which was like the report of a pistol. Mrs. Warrender said nothing, but looked at him with a boundless pity in her eyes, slightly shaking her head. Well! and what have you to say against it? cried Theo, facing his sis- ter, with a glow of anger mounting to the face which had been almost ghastly with loss of blood. This is not a moment for discussion. Go and see to the child. rfheo, my dear boy, if you care so much for Geoff as that at another time you must tell us all about it. There is nothing to tell you, save that I have made up my mind to it, he said, looking at her with that prompt de- fiance which forestalls remark. Geoff! Do you think it is for Geoff? But nei- ther at this time nor at any other time is there more to say. He looked at her so severely that Mrs. Warrenders eyes fell. He felt no shame, but pride, in his self-sacrifice, and determination to stand by it and uphold his right to make it in the face of all the world. But this very determination, and a consciousness of all that would be said on the subject, gave Warrender a double intolerance in respect to Geoff himself. To imagine that it was for the boys sake was, he already felt, an im- putation he could scarce endure. For the boys sake! The boy would have been swept away before now if thought could have done it. From the first hour A Country Gentleman. 62 A Country Gtentleman. he had been impatient of the boy. The way in which he clung to his mother had been a personal offense. And his mother I ah, no, she could do no wrong. Not even in this matter, which sometimes tortured him, could he blame Lady Markland. But that she or any one should imagine for a moment that he was ready to sacrifice his time, his independence, so much of his life, for the sake of Geoff! That was a mis- conception which lATarrender could not bear. Dont let that little come near me, he said to his mother, as he finally went off, somewhat feebly, to the old library, where he could be sure of quiet. Make the girls take care of him and amuse him. She will proba- bly come and fetch him, and I will rest till then That little Warrender did not add any epithet; the adjective was enough. Till then till she comes! Is that all your thought? said his mother. Oh, my poor boy I He met her eyes with a pride which scorned concealment. Yes, he could own it here, where it would be in vain to deny it. He would not disavow the se- cret of his heart. Mothers have keen eyes: but hers were not keen, they were pitying, more sad than tears. She looked at him, and once more softly shook her head. The blood had rushed again to his face, dyeing it crimson for a moment, and he held his head high as he made his confession. Yes, mother, that is all my thought. And then he walked away, tingling with the first avow- al that had he made to mortal ears. As for Mrs. Warrender, she stood looking after him with so mingled an expression that only a delicate casuist could have divined the meaning in her. She was so sorry for him, so proud of him. He was so young, not more than a boy, yet man enough to give all his heart and his life to sacrifice everything, even his pride for the sake of the woman he loved. His mother, who had never be- [July, fore come within speaking distance of a passion like this, felt her heart glow and swell with pride in him, with tender ad- miration beyond words. She had nei- ther loved nor been loved after this sort; and yet it was no romance of the poets, but had a real existence, and was here, here by her side, in this monotonous little world which had never been touched by such a presence before. She said to herself that it would never come to any- thing but misery and pain; yet even misery was better than nothingness, and he who had loved had lived. To think that a quiet, middle-aged Englishwoman, a pattern of domestic duty, should think thus, and exult in her sons inconceiv- able and, as she believed, unhappy pas- sion, is almost too much to be credible. Yet so it was. Geoffs absence was not discovered until two oclock, when Lady Markland, at the end of a long and troublesome consultation over matters only partially understood, suggested luncheon to her man of business. Geoff will be wait- ing and very impatient, she said, with a smile. Mr. Longstaffe was not anxious to see Geoff, nor disturbed that the little boys midday meal should have been postponed to business, though this dis- turbed Geoffs mother, who had been in the habit of thinking his comfort the rule of her life. She was much startled not to find him in the dining-room, and to hear that he had not come back. Not come back! and it is two oclock! But Black will take good care of him, she said, with a forced smile, to Mr. Longstaffe, and I must not keep you waiting. If you please, my lady, said the butler, Black s not gone with him. At this Lady Markland stared at the man, the color dying out of her face. You have let him go out alone! I had nothing to do with it, my lady. The colt s lame, and Black Oh, she cried, with impatience, dont talk to me of excuses, but go, go, and look for my child! Then she was told that 1885.] A Country Gtentleman. 63 Black had gone some time since, and was scouring all the roads about; that he had come back once, having seen noth- ing; and that now the coachman and gardener were gone, too. From this time until the hasty messenger arrived with Theos hurried note, Lady Mark- land spent the time in such distraction as only mothers know, representing to herself a hundred dangers, which reason told her were unlikely, but which imag- ination, more strong than reason, placed again and again before her eyes, till she felt a certainty that they were true. All these stories of kidnapping, which peo- ple in their senses laugh at, Lady Mark- land as much as any, being when in her right mind a very sensible woman, came before her now as possible, likely, almost certain. And she saw Geoff, with his little foot caught in the stirrup, dragged at the ponys frightened heels, the stones on the road tearing him, his head knock- ing against every obstacle; and she saw him lying by the roadside, white and lifeless. She saw everything that could and could not happen, and accused her- self for not having sent him to school, out of danger, for not having kept him by her side night and day. Mr. Longstaffe naturally looked on at this anguish with a mixture of contempt and pity. He was not at all alarmed for Geoff. The young gentleman will have gone to visit one of his friends; he will have gone further than he intended. He may, if he does nt know the country very well, have missed his way: but we dont live in a land of brigands and bandits, my dear lady; somebody will be sure to direct him safely back. He managed to eat his luncheon by him- self, after she had begged him not to mind her absence, and had left him un- disturbed to confide to the butler his re- gret that Lady Markland should be so much upset, and his conviction that the little boy was quite safe. He 11 be all right, sir, the butler said. He is as sharp as a needle, is Mr. Geoff. I did ought to say his little lordship, but it s hard to get into new ways. They said this, each with an indulgent smile at her weakness, in Lady Marklands absence. The lawyer had a great respect for her, and the butler venerated his mistress, who was very capable in her own house~ but they smiled at her womanish exag- geration, all the same. Warrender had been quite right in thinking she would come at once for Geoff. She had almost harnessed the horses herself, so eager was she, and they flew along the country roads at a pace very unlike their ordinary calm. Evening had fallen when she rushed into the hall at the Warren, in her gar. den hat, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, the first she had found. Ter- rible recollections of the former occasion when she had been summoned to this house were in her mind, and it was with a fantastic terror which she could scarce- ly overcome that she found herself once more, by the same waning light, in the place where she had been sent for to see her husband die. If she had been deceived! If the child should be gone, like his father! She had not, however, a second moment in which to indulge this fancy, for Geoff s voice, somewhat raised, met her ears at once. Geoff was in very great feather, seated among the ladies, expounding to them his views on things in general. Our trees at Mark- land are not like your trees, he was saying. They are just as young as me, mamma says. When I am as old as you are, or as Theo, perhaps they will he grown. But I shall not like them so big as yours. When Theo is my tutor I shall tell him what I think; it will be a fine opportunity. Why, mamma! She had him in her arms, kissing and sobbing over him for a moment, till she could overcome that hysterical impulse. Theo had come from his room at the sound of the wheels, and the party were all collected in the drawing-room, the door of which stood open. There was 64 A Country Gentleman. [July, little light, so that they could scarcely see each other, but Minnie had full time to remark with horror that Lady Mark- land did not even wear a widows bon- net, or a crape veil, for decency, but had on a mere hat, a straw hat, with a black ribbon. She put her hand on her heart, in the pang of this discovery, but no- body else took any notice. And, indeed, in the outburst of the poor ladys thanks and questions, there was no room for any one else to speak. Oh, it was all right, said Geoff, who was in high excitement, the chief spokes- man, and extremely eager to tell his own story before any one could inter- fere. I knew the way quite well. I wanted to see Theo, you know, to ask him if he really meant it. I wanted to speak to him all by himself; for Theo is never the same, mamma, when you are there. I knew which turn to take as well as any one. I was nt in a hurry; it was such a nice day. But pony was not interested about Theo, like me, and he remembered that it was dinner-time. That was all about it. And then those people in the phaeton gave him a start. It was nothing. I just popped over his head. There was no danger except that the bays might have given me a kick; but horses never kick with their fore- feet. Here Lady Markland gave a shriek, and clutched her boy again. You fell, Geoff, among the horses feet! Oh, it did nt matter, mamma; it did nt matter a hit. Theo caught me, and tore my knickerbockers (but they re mended now). lie bled a great deal, and I helped Mrs. Warrender to plaster up the cut; but I was nt hurt, not a bit; and my knickerbockers It was Geoff s turn now to pause in surprise, for his mother left him, and flew to Theo, and, taking his hands, tried to kiss them, and, between laughing and crying, said, God bless you! God bless you i You have saved my boys life! Geoff was confounded by this deser tion, by the interruption, by the sudden cry. He put his hand up to the place where Warrenders cut was, dimly real- izing that it might have been in his own head but for Theo. Was that what it was? he said, wondering and unobserved in the midst of the new com- motion, which for the moment left Geoff altogether, and rose around Warrender, as if he had been the hero of the day. XXIII. They all sat round the table and took their evening meal together before Lady Markland went back. It was not a cer- emonious, grand dinner, as if there had been a party. Old Joseph pottered about, and put the dishes on the table, and handed the potatoes now and then when they were not wanted, and some- times leaned across between the young ladies to regulate the lamp, explaining why as he did so. Excuse me, Miss Chatty, but it s a-going to smoke, he said and in the mean time the family helped each other. But Lady Mark- land was not conscious of the defects in the service. She sat by Theos side, talking to him, looking at him in a kind of soft ecstasy. They had been friends before, but it seemed that she had now for the first time discovered what he was, and could not conceal her pleas- ure, her gratitude, her admiration. She made him tell her how it all happened, a dozen times over, while the others talked of other things, and poured out her thanks, her happiness, her ascrip- tion of praise, as if he had been more than mortal, devoting herself to him alone. Lady Markland had never been the kind of woman who allows herself in society to be engrossed by a man. It was entirely unlike her, unlike her char- acter, a new thing. She was quite un- conscious of Minnies sharp eyes upon her, of the remarks which were being made. All she was aware of, in that A Country G~entleman. 65 rapture of safety after danger and re- lief from pain, was Geoff, blinking with eyes half sleepy, half excited, by the side of Mrs. Warrender, nothing hurt in him but his knickerbockers; and the young man by her side, ~with the wound upon his head, who had saved her childs life. Theo, for his part, was wrapped in a mist of delight for which there was no name. He saw only her, thought only of her; and for the first time be- gan to imagine what life might be if it should ever come to mean a state in which this rapture shou]d be perma- nent, when she would always look at him so, always devote herself, eyes and lips and all her being, to make him happy. The room lay in darkness beyond the steady light of the white lamp, shining on the circle of faces. There was not much conversation. Minnie was stern- ly silent, on the watch; Chatty sym- pathetically on the alert, too, though she scarcely knew why, because her sister was; Mrs. Warrender listening with a faint smile to Geoffs little chatter, occa- sionally casting a glance at the other end of the table, which she could see but imperfectly. Lady Markland spoke low, addressing Theo only, so that Geoff, as before, held the chief place. He was never weary of going over the adven- tures of the day. It is that tall house before you come to the village, a tall, tall house, with a wall all round, as if to keep prisoners in. I know there are no prisoners now. Of course not! There are people all about in the fields and everywhere, who would soon tell the policeman and set you free. I was not afraid. Still, if the gates had been shut, and they re- fused to open, I dont know what one would do. The lady was like a picture in the Pilgrims Progress, that one, you know. I thought her pretty at first. But then she held me in her arm as if I had been a baby. Oh, it would be Those People! VOL. LYI. wo. 383. 5 said Minnie, moved to a passing excla- mation of horror. Never mind that now. You must not venture out again without the groom, for it makes your mother unhappy. Theo, said Mrs. Warrender, with a smile and a sigh, when he was a little fellow like you, never did anything to make me unhappy.~~ Did nt he? said Geoff seriously. But I did nt know. flow could I tell pony would so soon get hungry? He has nt a regular dinner-time, as we have; only munches and munches all day. But I was telling you about the tall house You must tell me another time, Geoff. Theo must bring you back with him sometimes for a holiday.~~ Yes, said Geoff, that would do better. Pony would go splendid by the side of Theos big black. I shall come often. When I do my lessons well I have never done any lessons except with r~1amma. Does Theo like teaching boys? I dont know, my dear. I dont think he has ever tried. Then why is he coming to teach me? That, at the very bottom of it, you know, is what I wanted him to tell me; for he would not tell straight out, the real truth, before mamma. I hope he always tells the real truth, said Mrs. Warrender gently. I suppose, my little Geoff, it is because he is fond of you. Upon this Geoff shook his little head for a long time, twisting his face and blinking his keen little eyes. He is not fond of me oh no, it is not that. I can do with Theo very well as well as with any one; but he is not fond of me. I am glad to hear that you can do with Theo, said the mother, amused. Yes. I dont mind him at all: but he is not fond of me; and he is sure not to teach mammas way, and that is the only way I know. If he were to want to punish me, Mrs. Warrender 66 A Count r~y Gentleman. [July, I hope, my dear, there will be no question of that. I should nt mind, said the boy, but mamma would nt like it. It might be very awkward for Theo. You are flogged when you go to school, are nt you? At least, all the books say so. Mamma, he went on, raising his voice, here is a difficulty, a great difficulty. If Theo should want to flog me, what should you do? Lady Markland did not hear him for the moment. She was absorbed I this was the remark made by Minnie, who watched with the intensest observation. Then Geoff, in defiance of good man- ners, drummed on the table to attract his mothers attention, and elevated his voice: Cant you hear what I m say- ing, mamma? If I were to be stupid with my lessons, and Theo were to flog me (It is only putting a case, for I am not stupid, he added, for Mrs. War- renders instruction, in an undertone.) You must not suggest anything so dreadful, said Lady Markland from the other end of the table. But now you must thank Mrs. Warrender, Geoff, and Mr. Theo, and every one; for the car- riage has come round, and it is growing late, and we must go away. Then Mrs. Warrender rose, as in duty bound, and the whole party with her. I will not ask you to stay; it is late for him, and he has had too much excitement, said the mistress of the house. And to think I might never have taken him home at all, never heard his voice again, but for your dear son, your good son! cried Lady Markiand, taking both Mrs. Warrenders hands, putting forward her head, with its smooth silken locks in which the light shone, and the soft round of her uplifted face to the elder woman, with an emotion and tenderness which went to Mrs. Warrenders heart. She gave the necessary kiss, but though she was touched there was no enthusi- asm in her reply. You must not think too much of that, Lady Markland. I hope he would have done it for any child in danger. This, of course, is always perfectly true; but it chills the effusion of indi- vidual gratitude.. Lady Markland raised her head, but she still held Mrs. War- renders hands. I wish, she said, oh, I wish you would tell me frankly! Does it vex you that he should be so good to me? This kind, kind offer about Geoff, is it too much? Yes, yes, I know it is too much; but how can I refuse what he is so good, so char- itable, as to offer, when it is such a boon to us? Oh, if you would tell me! Is it displeasing, is it distasteful to you? I dont know how to answer you,~~ Mrs. Warrender said. AhI but that is an answer. Dear Mrs. Warrender, help me to refuse it without wounding his feelings. I have always felt it was too much. Lady Markland, I cannot interfere. He is old enough to judge for himself. He will not accept guidance froni me, ah, nor from you either, except in one way. She returned the pressure of her visitors hand, which had relaxed, with one that was as significant. It is not so easy to lay spirits when they are once raised, she said. Lady Markland gave her a sudden, alarmed, inquiring look; but Theo came forward at that moment with her cloak, and nothing could be said more. When the visitors were gone he came back into the dining-room, expectant, defiant, fire in all his veins, and in his heart a sea of agitated bliss that had to get an outlet somewhere; not in a lita- ny to her, for which there was no place, but at least in defense of her and of him- self. It was Minnie, as usual, who stood ready to throw down the glove; Chatty being no more than a deeply interest- ed spectator, and the mother drawing aside from the fray with that sense of sympathy which silences remonstrance. Besides, Mrs. Warrender did not know, 18%.] in the responsive excitement in her- self which Theos passion called forth, whether she wished to remonstrate or to put nny hindrance in his way. Well, upon my word! said Min- nie, Mrs. Wilberforce may well say the world is coming to a pretty pass. Only six months a widow, and not a bit of crape upon her! I knew she wore no cap. Cap! why, she has nt even a bonnet, nor a veil, nor anything! A little bit of a hat, with a black ribbon, too light for me to wear; even Chat- ty would be ashamed to be seen Oh, no, Minnie; in the garden, you know, we have never worn anything deeper. Do you call this the garden? cried Minnie, her voice so deep with alarm and presentiment that it sounded bass, in the silence of the night. Six miles off, and an open carriage, and coming among people who are themselves in mourning! It ought to have given her a lesson to see my mother in her cap. If you have nothing better to do t~han to find fault with Lady Markland -~ said Theo, pale with passion. Oh, cried Minnie, dont suppose I am going to speak about Lady Mark- land to you. How can you be so infat- uated, Theo? You a tutor, you, that have always been made such a fuss with, as if there was not such another in the world! What was it all he was to be? A first class, and a Fellow, and I dont know what. But tutor to a small boy, tutor to a little lord, a sort of a valet, orasortof a nurse. Minnie! your brother is at an age when he must choose for himself. How much are you to have for it? she cried, how much a year? Or. are you to be paid with presents, or only with the credit of the connection? Oh, I am glad poor papa is dead, not to hear of it. He would have known what to think of it all. He would have given you his opinion of a woman of a wo- man .. 67 Lady Markland is a very nice wo- man, said Chatty. Oh, Theo, dont look as if you were going to strike her! She does nt know what she is saying. She has lost her temper. It is just Minnies way. Of a woman who wears no crape for her husband! cried Minnie, with an effort, in her bass voice. Theo, who had looked, indeed, as if he might have knocked his sister down, here burst into an angry peal of laughter, which rang through the house; and his mother, seizing the opportunity, took him by the arm and drew him away. Dont take any notice, she said. You must not forget she is your sister, what- ever she says. And, my dear boy, though Minnie exaggerates, she has reason on her side, from her point of view. No, I dont think as she does, altogether; but, Theo, cant you understand that it is a disappointment to us? We always made so sure you were going to do some great thing. And to be of a little real use, once in a way, is such a small thing! Oh, Theo, you must be reasonable, and think a little. It does not want a scholar like von to teach little Geoff. A scholar like me. How do you know I am a scholar at all? Mrs. Warrender knew that no an- swer to this was necessary, and did not attempt it. She went on: And you are not in a position to want such em- ployment. Dont you see that every- body will begin to inquire what your in- ducement is? For a young man who has nothing, it is all quite natural; but you Theo, have you ever asked your- self how you are to be repaid? You are as bad as Minnie, mother, he said, with scorn; you think I want to be repaid. She clasped her hands upon his arm, looking up at him with a sort of pitying pride. She must think of it, Theo, everybody must think of it; ah yes, and even yourself, at the last. A Country aentleman. 1885.] Tempted. 69 turned into ridicule; but you never will meet the real question. Oh, is that you, Herbert? Have you got rid of your churchwarden so soon? for this was the pretext upon which the rector had been got out of the way. He did not want much, a mere question. Indeed, said the rector re- membering that fibs are not permitted to clergy any more than to the mere laic, and perceiving that he must expect his punishment all the same, with that cour- age which springs from the conviction that it is as well to be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb it was not the churchwarden at all; it was only a mis- take of John. Well, said his wife significantly, it was a mistake that was quickly rec- tified, one can see, as you have come back so soon. And here is Theo talking already of going home. Of course he has his lessons to prepare for to-morrow; he is not a mere idle gentleman now. Little gibes and allusions like these rained upon the young man from all quarters during the first six months, but no one ventured to speak to him with the faithfulness used by Mrs. Wil- berforce; and after a time even these irritating if not very harmful weapons dropped, and the whole matter sank into the region Qf the ordinary. He rode, or, if the weather was bad, drove, five days in the week to his little pupil, who in himself was not to Theos mind an attractive pupil, and who kept the temper of the tutor on a constant strain. It ought, according to all moral rules, to have been very good for Warrender to be thus forced to self-control, and to exercise a continual restraint over his extremely impatient temper and fas- tidious, almost capricious temperament. But there are circumstances in which such self-restraint is rather an aggravat- ing than a softening process. During this period, however, Theo was scarcely to be accounted for by the usual rules of human nature. His mind was alto- gether absorbed by one of the most powerful influences of human life. He was carried away by a tide of passion which was stronger than life itself. ii!. 0. JV. Oliphant. TEMPTED. YES, I know what you say: Since it cannot be soul to soul, Be it flesh to flesh, as it may; But is Earth the whole? Shall a man betray the Past For all Earth gives? But the Past is dead? At last, It is all that lives. Which were the nobler goal To snatch at the moments bliss, Or to swear I will keep my soul Clean for her kiss? Andrew HedbroQk. TO A B~t of Bird-Life. [July, A BIT OF BIRD-LIFE. Tun redwing blackbird is pr& mi- nently a bird of social tastes. Nearly the whole year he lives in a noisy crowd, calling, screaming, and singing from morning till night; at this time in his life his manners are of no particular interest. But in the spring, as to other birds, comes the mysterious impulse to leave the giddy throng, to retire to a. quiet nook, to build a nest, and establish a family. During this pleasing episode in his ordinary history, his personality reveals itself; he is no longer simply a unit in a lively mob, but an individual with well - marked characteristics and tastes of his own, and he then becomes attractive to the student of bird ways. It is the redwing in domestic life, as the head of a family, that he comes before you now. The blackbird nook is invariably the loveliest spot in a neighborhood, and is never hard to find, for with childlike ingenuousness he makes himself so con- spicuous, and his business so apparent, that the dullest observer cannot fail to notice him. Long before you reach his vicinity you will hear his gleeful Conk- a-reel (or, more correctly, liwa-ker- ~ I ) and as you approach, his loud Chack! chack I challenging your right to intrude, and demanding your business in his retreat. But draw near, even if, as sometimes happens, he grows belligerent and swoops down towards your face. You will find a clump of trees at the edge of the water, generally hedged in by low, thick-growing shrubs. Part the branches in defiance of his angry protests, stoop, and you shall step into a most charming spot, his chosen home. If in a park it will be a bit of wildness left as nature planned it, unfrequented and perfectly secluded, though perhaps not ten feet from a common walk. Within the thick shroud- ing bushes the ground is bare, or thinly clad with low shrubs, and tall trees com- pletely shade the leafy temple, which is cool and roomy, and refreshing in its peculiar green light. One side borders the water, and there, low among the reeds, is doubtless the homestead so high- ly regarded, and so poorly concealed. But though the place be lonely you shall not enjoy it in peace, for this anx- ious parent, the most fussy and restless of feathered folk, will net cease to scold and scream so long as you stay, run- ning along the branches and eying you from every side. Should his mate be sitting, she will keep silent and show herself more wary than her spouse, but if not thus engaged, she will soon ap- pear. She differs so greatly from him that you may not recognize her till she adds her volubility to the m~l6e, and you perceive that her voice is exactly like his. She is smaller, and of an incon- spicuous gray and brown color, which better fits her for her maternal duties; but her manner of carrying herself, her restlessness, and the expressive use of the tail betray her relationship. The redwing himself is the most con- spicuous object in the landscape. Shin- ing black from the point of the bill to the tip of the toes, his color harmonizes with nothing in nature, and his gold- fringed scarlet epaulets gleam through the trees like gems. Sit down quietly and watch him. Notwithstanding his society life, he has not the slightest repose of manner. He is incessantly in motion; to stand still while you look at him is impossible to a blackbird. He will walk along a small branch in such a way that it takes a close look to see that he does not put one foot before the other. He really s~dles, but holds his body in the direction he is moving, so that one is easily deceived in the matter.

TO A B~t of Bird-Life. [July, A BIT OF BIRD-LIFE. Tun redwing blackbird is pr& mi- nently a bird of social tastes. Nearly the whole year he lives in a noisy crowd, calling, screaming, and singing from morning till night; at this time in his life his manners are of no particular interest. But in the spring, as to other birds, comes the mysterious impulse to leave the giddy throng, to retire to a. quiet nook, to build a nest, and establish a family. During this pleasing episode in his ordinary history, his personality reveals itself; he is no longer simply a unit in a lively mob, but an individual with well - marked characteristics and tastes of his own, and he then becomes attractive to the student of bird ways. It is the redwing in domestic life, as the head of a family, that he comes before you now. The blackbird nook is invariably the loveliest spot in a neighborhood, and is never hard to find, for with childlike ingenuousness he makes himself so con- spicuous, and his business so apparent, that the dullest observer cannot fail to notice him. Long before you reach his vicinity you will hear his gleeful Conk- a-reel (or, more correctly, liwa-ker- ~ I ) and as you approach, his loud Chack! chack I challenging your right to intrude, and demanding your business in his retreat. But draw near, even if, as sometimes happens, he grows belligerent and swoops down towards your face. You will find a clump of trees at the edge of the water, generally hedged in by low, thick-growing shrubs. Part the branches in defiance of his angry protests, stoop, and you shall step into a most charming spot, his chosen home. If in a park it will be a bit of wildness left as nature planned it, unfrequented and perfectly secluded, though perhaps not ten feet from a common walk. Within the thick shroud- ing bushes the ground is bare, or thinly clad with low shrubs, and tall trees com- pletely shade the leafy temple, which is cool and roomy, and refreshing in its peculiar green light. One side borders the water, and there, low among the reeds, is doubtless the homestead so high- ly regarded, and so poorly concealed. But though the place be lonely you shall not enjoy it in peace, for this anx- ious parent, the most fussy and restless of feathered folk, will net cease to scold and scream so long as you stay, run- ning along the branches and eying you from every side. Should his mate be sitting, she will keep silent and show herself more wary than her spouse, but if not thus engaged, she will soon ap- pear. She differs so greatly from him that you may not recognize her till she adds her volubility to the m~l6e, and you perceive that her voice is exactly like his. She is smaller, and of an incon- spicuous gray and brown color, which better fits her for her maternal duties; but her manner of carrying herself, her restlessness, and the expressive use of the tail betray her relationship. The redwing himself is the most con- spicuous object in the landscape. Shin- ing black from the point of the bill to the tip of the toes, his color harmonizes with nothing in nature, and his gold- fringed scarlet epaulets gleam through the trees like gems. Sit down quietly and watch him. Notwithstanding his society life, he has not the slightest repose of manner. He is incessantly in motion; to stand still while you look at him is impossible to a blackbird. He will walk along a small branch in such a way that it takes a close look to see that he does not put one foot before the other. He really s~dles, but holds his body in the direction he is moving, so that one is easily deceived in the matter. 1885.] A Bit of Bird-Life. 71 Then he will jump heavily to the next bough and walk the length of that, jerk- ing his tail at every step, and all the time scolding and screaming at the top of his voice, till you are sure the whole bird world will be notified of the pres- ence of an inquisitive stranger, with sus- picious manners. Should the young be out, you will quickly be informed of the fact by the presence of the modest gray mother, who will appear, perhaps, with a mouthful of food, which, however, will not prevent her uttering the blackbird Chack! chack! She will earnestly resent your intrusion, hopping uneasily about the tree, anxious to carry her load to the nest, yet fearing to have you see her, till at length she will slip behind the trunk, and silently take wing from the further side, while her ingenuous spouse, perfectly confident of the success of her ruse, delivers a triumphant hwa-ker- ~. Such childlike faith is not to be betrayed. You have not the heart to follow that troubled mother to the clump of low bushes where her treasure is hid- den; you are not here as a robber, or violator of homes, however small, but as a student of life. To~-morrow you shall return and see the darlings of the red- wing family out on the tree, which is much more satisfactory than to disturb the nest, and distress the owners of it. If you keep still so long that the lively bird forgets your presence and becomes less noisy, you may see him sit down on a branch, to rest after his ex- citement, letting his tail hang straight down, and occasionally stretching out his long neck till the feathers stand apart, then swell out his throat and treat you to his song. If the hour is right you may see him bathe, and it is worth waiting for. He is exceedingly fond of water, and spatters and splashes with a good will; and though too careless a felluw to spend much time over his sub- sequent toilet, simply shaking himself violently and leaving the sun to corn- plete the drying, yet his coat is bright and shining. When the young family appeart on the tree the spectacle is most amusing: the father, fussy as the celebrated hen with one chicken, hopping and running over the branches, chattering all the time and occasionally offering a dainty morsel to one of the infants; the moth- er, busy enough trying to fill the ever hungry mouths; and the clumsy young- sters themselves, as big as their moth- er and exactly like her in color, too restless to keep near each other, but sidling along the branches, and hopping awkwardly about the tree, so that the mother has to seek them in a new place every time she returns from her excur- sions for food. For several days the feeding goes on, till the nestlings are fully feathered and one cannot tell them from their mother; and then some morn- ing the student creeps into the black- bird nook, to find it strangely quiet and the whole family gone. It has probably quite broken up: the father has resumed his bachelor ways in the society of his kind, the full-grown young of the neigh- borhood enjoying life in their own fash- ion in a flock by themselves. The sum- mer home-life of the blackbird is over, and you will seek him in vain in the nook. Henceforth it is the open coun- try and the cornfields where he is to be found, under many names, but merry and voluble as ever, and here we will not follow him. The noises a redwing blackbird can make are of great variety, more than one would suspect who has not studied him in confinement. The close ac- quaintance with all the sounds natural to a bird, and the emotions indicated by the different cries and calls, is perhaps the most useful knowledge to be gained by keeping him in captivity. The blackbird in the house has made every slightest sound familiar, and you never mistake him for any other, however far off or well concealed. The song of this

1885.] A Bit of Bird-Life. 71 Then he will jump heavily to the next bough and walk the length of that, jerk- ing his tail at every step, and all the time scolding and screaming at the top of his voice, till you are sure the whole bird world will be notified of the pres- ence of an inquisitive stranger, with sus- picious manners. Should the young be out, you will quickly be informed of the fact by the presence of the modest gray mother, who will appear, perhaps, with a mouthful of food, which, however, will not prevent her uttering the blackbird Chack! chack! She will earnestly resent your intrusion, hopping uneasily about the tree, anxious to carry her load to the nest, yet fearing to have you see her, till at length she will slip behind the trunk, and silently take wing from the further side, while her ingenuous spouse, perfectly confident of the success of her ruse, delivers a triumphant hwa-ker- ~. Such childlike faith is not to be betrayed. You have not the heart to follow that troubled mother to the clump of low bushes where her treasure is hid- den; you are not here as a robber, or violator of homes, however small, but as a student of life. To~-morrow you shall return and see the darlings of the red- wing family out on the tree, which is much more satisfactory than to disturb the nest, and distress the owners of it. If you keep still so long that the lively bird forgets your presence and becomes less noisy, you may see him sit down on a branch, to rest after his ex- citement, letting his tail hang straight down, and occasionally stretching out his long neck till the feathers stand apart, then swell out his throat and treat you to his song. If the hour is right you may see him bathe, and it is worth waiting for. He is exceedingly fond of water, and spatters and splashes with a good will; and though too careless a felluw to spend much time over his sub- sequent toilet, simply shaking himself violently and leaving the sun to corn- plete the drying, yet his coat is bright and shining. When the young family appeart on the tree the spectacle is most amusing: the father, fussy as the celebrated hen with one chicken, hopping and running over the branches, chattering all the time and occasionally offering a dainty morsel to one of the infants; the moth- er, busy enough trying to fill the ever hungry mouths; and the clumsy young- sters themselves, as big as their moth- er and exactly like her in color, too restless to keep near each other, but sidling along the branches, and hopping awkwardly about the tree, so that the mother has to seek them in a new place every time she returns from her excur- sions for food. For several days the feeding goes on, till the nestlings are fully feathered and one cannot tell them from their mother; and then some morn- ing the student creeps into the black- bird nook, to find it strangely quiet and the whole family gone. It has probably quite broken up: the father has resumed his bachelor ways in the society of his kind, the full-grown young of the neigh- borhood enjoying life in their own fash- ion in a flock by themselves. The sum- mer home-life of the blackbird is over, and you will seek him in vain in the nook. Henceforth it is the open coun- try and the cornfields where he is to be found, under many names, but merry and voluble as ever, and here we will not follow him. The noises a redwing blackbird can make are of great variety, more than one would suspect who has not studied him in confinement. The close ac- quaintance with all the sounds natural to a bird, and the emotions indicated by the different cries and calls, is perhaps the most useful knowledge to be gained by keeping him in captivity. The blackbird in the house has made every slightest sound familiar, and you never mistake him for any other, however far off or well concealed. The song of this 1885.] A Bit of Bird-b ~fe. Then he will jump heavily to the next bough and walk the length of that, jerk- ing his tail at every step, and all the time scolding and screaming at the top of his voice, till you are sure the whole bird world will be notified of the pres- ence of an inquisitive stranger, with sus- picious manners. Should the young be out, you will quickly be informed of the fact by the presence of the modest gray mother, who will appear, perhaps, with a mouthful of food, which, however, will not prevent her uttering the blackbird Chack! chack! She will earnestly resent your intrusion, hopping uneasily about the tree, anxious to carry her load to the nest, yet fearing to have you see her, till at length she will slip behind the trunk, and silently take wing from the further side, while her ingenuous spouse, perfectly confident of the success of her ruse, delivers a triumphant hwa-ker- ~. Such childlike faith is not to be betrayed. You have not the heart to follow that troubled mother to the clump of low bushes where her treasure is hid- den; you are not here as a robber, or violator of homes, however small, but as a student of life. To.morrow you shall return and see the darlings of the red- wing family out on the tree, which is much more satisfactory than to disturb the nest, and distress the owners of it. If you keep still so long that the lively bird forgets your presence and becomes less noisy, you may see him sit down on a branch, to rest after his ex- citement, letting his tail hang straight down, and occasionally stretching out his long neck till the feathers stand apart, then swell out his throat and treat you to his song. If the hour is right you may see him bathe, and it is worth waiting for. He is exceedingly fond of water, and spatters and splashes with a good will; and though too careless a fellow to spend much time over his sub- sequent toilet, simply shaking himself violently and leaving the sun to com plete the drying, yet his coat is bright and shining. When the young family appears on the tree the spectacle is most amusing: the father, fussy as the celebrated hen with one chicken, hopping and running over the branches, chattering all the time and occasionally offering a dainty morsel to one of the infants; the moth- er, busy enough trying to fill the ever hungry mouths; and the clumsy young- sters themselves, as big as their moth- er and exactly like her in color, too restless to keep near each other, but sidling along the branches, and hopping awkwardly about the tree, so that the mother has to seek them in a new place every time she returns from her excur- sions for food. For several days the feeding goes on, till the nestlings are fully feathered and one cannot tell them from their mother; and then some morn- ing the student creeps into the black- bird nook, to find it strangely quiet and the whole family gone. It has probably quite broken up: the father has resumed his bachelor ways in the society of his kind, the full-grown young of the neigh- borhood enjoying life in their own fash- ion in a flock by themselves. The sum- mer home-life of the blackbird is over, and you will seek him in vain in the nook. Henceforth it is the open coun- try and the cornfields where he is to be found, under many names, but merry and voluble as ever, and here we will not follow him. The noises a redwing blackbird can make are of great variety, more thau one would suspect who has not studied him in confinement. The close ac- quaintance with all the sounds natural to a bird, and the emotions indicated by the different cries and calls, is perhaps the most useful knowledge to be gained by keeping him in captivity. The blackbird in the house has made every slightest sound familiar, and you never mistake him for any other, however far off or well concealed. The song of this 72 A Bit of Bird-Life. bird has been variously characterized, but rarely appreciated. It is, in truth, when heard away from the crowd, a wild, rich strain, recalling the woods on long summer days, the delightful odor of fresh earth and strong vegetable growth. It is impossible to describe, hut no birds song is more expressive of his life, or more suggestive of wild na- ture. It consists of two strains, each of which is often varied. The most com- monly heard has been well represented by Gentry by the syllables hwa-ker-~, on an ascending scale. Heard nearer, however, this strain is found to consist always of four notes (one lower in the beginning), and often of six. If the or- dinary notes are supposed to be do, mi, sol, do, beginning on low C, which they nearly resemble, the bird varies it by sometimes singing sol, mi, do, mi, 801, do, in the same octave, and sometimes by throwing in a tone between each of the original four. The whole is given with an indescribable thrill, and the final do is often a well-executed trill. The second strain is of similar notes, only in a minor key. If the tones can- not be said to be of sweet quality in themselves, it must be remembered that they are adapted for distant effects; and at least they are clear, perfectly suited to the open air, and not unpleasing even in a room. But the song is the smallest of the redwings utterances. First is his fa- miliar harsh Chack, chack! express- ing various emotions, being sometimes softened into Check ~ and Chick,~~ and even, with closed bill, into a rich Chuck. Besides this he has a shrill scream (it can be ialled nothing else) on a high key, a sharp, insect-like sound, and a rough aspirate when displeased, like the first sound of h. In addition to all these, he has one genuinely sweet, most musical note. It is a sin- gle call, which sounds like ce-u. He gives it sometimes when flying, and in captivity when greatly enjoying any- f July, thing. For instance, in bathing he will utter that note, and if one answers in a moderately close imitation, on the same key, he will repeat it. I have kept one saying it over for twenty times or more. Poets and naturalists have exhausted adjectives in ridiculing the blackbirds song, but the reasons for the peculiar dis- cordance of a flock in which only they seem to have been observed are not far to seek. In the first place, when birds begin to moult, and their usually clear, decided notes break, crack, and fail miserably, nearly every one takes refuge in silence. If he cannot sing his best, he will not sing at all; and it is extremely ineresting to hear the gen- tle, low trials which he will give of his returning powers when this season is over, whispered songs as it were, till he is sure he has recovered his voice, and can pour out the full, clear song in which he delights. The blackbird is the only exception that I know to this nearly universal habit of silence, and he is so brimming over with spirits and jollity that sing he must. So he is not discouraged though his attempted hwa-ker-~ ends on the first syllable in a crack, or choke, or even in a dis- mal squeal, as it sometimes does. He simply pauses a moment, as if to collect his energies, and then utters his whole song, every note clearly and well, as if to say, That was only a slip; you see I can sing yet. Then again, his song needs, for full enjoyment, to be heard alone. While in the madding crowd of a flock of blackbirds, noisy and gar- rulous as a pack of school-children, the hwa-ker-~ of one is spoiled by the scream of another, and the chack, chacks of twenty more. Listen to one bird alone in his own chosen nook, and no song in the woods seems more appro- priate to the place, more to breathe the very soul of wildness. When this bird expresses his emo- tions in a house, the strain is a curious medley of all the sounds he can make, 1885.] in rapid succession, as Hwa-ker-~ I chack, chack! (scream) ~-u! chack, chack! (scream) chick, chick! ~~u! hwa-ker-~! (scream), and so on for fifteen minutes without pause. His morning song is the hwa-ker-~ alone, at intervals of a minute or less. In a happy captivity he will sing thus for an hour, while yet the room is dark, and he has not touched food. I spoke of the blackbirds fondness for water: in a cage it is impossible to keep more than a quarter of an inch of water in his dish: it is simply irresisti- ble. The first thing he does is to spat- ter as much out as he can, and then with every mouthful of food, before and after and in the middle of his eating, he wants more. Seeds he cracks over the dish, and picks the fragments from the top; of mocking-bird food he takes a beakful and deliberately drops it in the water, and eats the particles daintily as they float. He is the only bird I have ever seen pay particular attention to bathing his feet. The one I have will stand on the edge of his bathing- dish, fill his beak, and pass it down over each toe in succession, letting the water flow over it, refilling as needed, and apparently scraping the whole length carefully. I have watched this very closely, while not three feet from him. The same bird learned in a few days to know his regular attendant, and while remaining for months quite wild on the approach of the gentlemen of the family, whom he saw every day, was never in the least afraid of rue. From the first he ate from my fingers, and before he had been in the house a week, seeing one day a thrush standing on my knee and receiving meat from my hand, he came out of his cage, flew across the room, and alighted beside the thrush, who instantly vacated his position, and stood there as long as I fed him, showing no fear. A little later, when he became very ill, and so weak that he hesitated to descend his three perches 78 for food because of his uncertain foot- ing, he allowed me to put my hand in the cage and hold his dish up to him on the upper perch, when he would eat freely, and then, when I held up the water, drink also. For two or three days he ate in no other way, and I am confident I thus kept him alive while curing him of his ailment. The blackbird has now lived with me eight months, and though his cage door is always open he seldom comes out, and when he does is very glad to get back. He is very observing; notices in a moment if I have anything for him to eat, and comes instantly to the side nearest to me, and calls till I offer him a bit of whatever it may be, when he descends to his beloved water-cup, tastes the morsel, and usually leaves it in one of his dishes. He had a strange expe- rience a few months ago: he broke off the end of his bill. First the upper mandible appeared a quarter of an inch shorter than the lower, and he had great trouble in eating, though he sang as merrily as ever. In a day or two, while I was seeking advice on the subject, which, by the way, I did not get, for no person or book, that I could find, gave any light on such a catastrophe, he broke off the lower one to match. Since then he is as happy as ever, disturbed by nothing except the singing of one of his neighbors, whom it seems to he the aim of his life to reduce to silence. If volume would do it, success would crown his efforts, but his opponent is a plucky little fellow, and refuses to be suppressed; and so for months the unequal rivalry has continued. The redwing blackbird is never by any chance graceful. He walks about the floor like an old man with the gout, and he has a curious fashion of thrust- ing his bill into a dish and then opening it, as if to pry the seed or water apart. He does the same under the edge of a towel or newspaper on the floor. One droll little exhibition of intelli A Bit of Bird-Ljfe. 74 China Speak8 for Ilier8elf. [July, gence was furnished by the blackbird and a thrush. The latter chose to alight beside the cage of the former, and at- tempt to pull things through the wires. The indignant owner came down to the corner nearest the intruder, and began to scold, Chack! (scream) chack! (scream). The thrush calmly went on with his occupation, on observing which the blackbird slightly raised the wing nearest the enemy, and quivered it while repeating the remonstrance. Finding the thrush not in the least disturbed, he resorted to more severe measures, and gave a violent peck be- tween the wires, which settled the mat- ter. The queer thing about the per- formance was that both birds would pause in their demonstrations every few seconds, and look over to where I sat. I pretended not to notice them, and then they would resume hostilities, act- ing exactly like two quarrelsome chil- dren, who look to see if they are ob- served. It was certainly an intelligent acknowledgment of my position as law- maker, as well as a recognition of the possibility of nay disapproval, and above all a guilty consciousness of wrong- doing. Olive Thorne Miller. CHINA SPEAKS FOR HERSELF. CHINA, after being made known to Europe for over five hundred years by Europeans only, has at length spoken for herself. Colonel Tcheng-Ki-Tong, military attach6 to the Chinese em- bassy in Paris, published last year in the Revue des Deux Mondes a series of papers which have since been re- printed in a little volume called Les Chinois Peints par Eux-Mgmes. His picture of his own country shows it in very different colors from those to which we are accustomed, and it may be ob- jected that this time the lion is the painter; it was certainly the lions turn. Colonel Tcheng adverts to the ignorance and injustice with which his country has been treated by travelers who are hardly familiar even with its external aspect; to the easy credence given to monstrous charges against it, as for in- stance that the legal punishment of un- faithful wives is being trampled to death by elephants, or that superfluous children are habitually thrown upon dung-hills to be devoured by hogs; and to the fact that the word Chinese is a synonym for absurdity. He claims the right for his country to be heard through her sons, and as he has lived in Europe for fif- teen years, and is versed in her history, literature, and languages, he knows the standards by which his national man- ners and customs must be judged. In- tercourse with intelligent and cultivated Frenchmen has made him critical, and taught him caution in advancing opin- ions and theories which cannot be vindi- cated by European canons of morality and taste. He is keen and observant, with an ironical wit, which his Asiatic courtesy keeps within the bounds of offense. If he were inclined to satirize the practice of Christendom, we should probably have a treatise on the subject more severe and searching than Gulli- vers Travels or~ Montesquieus Lettres Persanes. But Colonel Tcheng professes to desire only to give a true account of his people, and there could not he a mo- ment when truth in their behalf would be more in season. If his statements are untrustworthy, there will be pens enough able and ready to refute them, so in the present article they have been repeated without comment.

74 China Speak8 for Ilier8elf. [July, gence was furnished by the blackbird and a thrush. The latter chose to alight beside the cage of the former, and at- tempt to pull things through the wires. The indignant owner came down to the corner nearest the intruder, and began to scold, Chack! (scream) chack! (scream). The thrush calmly went on with his occupation, on observing which the blackbird slightly raised the wing nearest the enemy, and quivered it while repeating the remonstrance. Finding the thrush not in the least disturbed, he resorted to more severe measures, and gave a violent peck be- tween the wires, which settled the mat- ter. The queer thing about the per- formance was that both birds would pause in their demonstrations every few seconds, and look over to where I sat. I pretended not to notice them, and then they would resume hostilities, act- ing exactly like two quarrelsome chil- dren, who look to see if they are ob- served. It was certainly an intelligent acknowledgment of my position as law- maker, as well as a recognition of the possibility of nay disapproval, and above all a guilty consciousness of wrong- doing. Olive Thorne Miller. CHINA SPEAKS FOR HERSELF. CHINA, after being made known to Europe for over five hundred years by Europeans only, has at length spoken for herself. Colonel Tcheng-Ki-Tong, military attach6 to the Chinese em- bassy in Paris, published last year in the Revue des Deux Mondes a series of papers which have since been re- printed in a little volume called Les Chinois Peints par Eux-Mgmes. His picture of his own country shows it in very different colors from those to which we are accustomed, and it may be ob- jected that this time the lion is the painter; it was certainly the lions turn. Colonel Tcheng adverts to the ignorance and injustice with which his country has been treated by travelers who are hardly familiar even with its external aspect; to the easy credence given to monstrous charges against it, as for in- stance that the legal punishment of un- faithful wives is being trampled to death by elephants, or that superfluous children are habitually thrown upon dung-hills to be devoured by hogs; and to the fact that the word Chinese is a synonym for absurdity. He claims the right for his country to be heard through her sons, and as he has lived in Europe for fif- teen years, and is versed in her history, literature, and languages, he knows the standards by which his national man- ners and customs must be judged. In- tercourse with intelligent and cultivated Frenchmen has made him critical, and taught him caution in advancing opin- ions and theories which cannot be vindi- cated by European canons of morality and taste. He is keen and observant, with an ironical wit, which his Asiatic courtesy keeps within the bounds of offense. If he were inclined to satirize the practice of Christendom, we should probably have a treatise on the subject more severe and searching than Gulli- vers Travels or~ Montesquieus Lettres Persanes. But Colonel Tcheng professes to desire only to give a true account of his people, and there could not he a mo- ment when truth in their behalf would be more in season. If his statements are untrustworthy, there will be pens enough able and ready to refute them, so in the present article they have been repeated without comment. 1885.] C/dna ASrpeak8 for herself. (5 The family is the corner-stone of the Chinese Empire. Chinese society may be defined as the totality of its families, and the Chinese family may be com- pared to an organized society. It at- tains the dignity of a religious order with a settled rule; its income consti- tutes a common fund, from which pro- vision is made for the education of children, for marriage portions, for an allowance to young men beginning their career, for pensions to the sick, the aged, or those who are out of employ- ment. The administration of the fam- ily fortune is the application of the apostolic system within the limits of kin. Real estate also belongs to the united family, and landmarks bearing the patronymic define the boundaries of every property. Each family has its own statutes, among which are recorded the joint possessions and the destina- tion of certain revenues to the purposes named above. Each separate statute- book has also its penal code, fixing the punishments of such members as, by ill- conduct not amenable to law, shall in- jure the honor of the family, for the general welfare of which it is incumbent upon every one to sacrifice his individual peculiarities. But if circumstances, or irreconcilable differences of disposition, destroy the common harmony, there may be a division of the estate among the male heirs. The eldest of a family is the head; every important action is decided by him, and he signs legal papers in the name of the other mem- bers. It is usual for all the genera- tions of one line to live in one house, so that the seven ages may sometimes be found under the same roof. The family, thus erected into an in- stitution, necessarily extends its influ- ence over matters which elsewhere be- long to other departments of life. The tie of blood being regarded by the Chi- nese as a religious bond, virtues which with us are considered as causes with them are set down as effects, and vice versa. Five principles are inculcated to maintain its sacredness: namely, fidel- ity to the sovereign, respect towards parents, union between husbands and wives, concord among brothers, and con- stancy in friendship. The obligations of children to parents are held as so solemn that the distinction of the former redounds to the advantage of the latter, and honors are transmitted backwards: if a public functionary is ennobled, his parents are ennobled with him, and his rank, if sufficiently high, ascends to more remote progenitors. Titles are not he- reditary except for military services, and in that case descend through the eldest son only; but unless sustained by personal merit, this sort of rank is not valued. Such a conception of aris- tocracy must act as a constant stimulus to filial reverence, and supply parents with an additional incentive for educat- ing their sons carefully, literary attain- ment being the most direct road to office in China. Fraternal affection comes next in the order of virtue, and involves almost an identification of a mans inter- ests and advantages with his brothers; the responsibility for mutual help and relief seems to be boundless. All kin- dred share these claims in some degree, and even friendship recognizes them as sacred duties: to strip ones self of ones coat for a friend who has none would not be accounted a merit in China, but the least that anybody could do. These obligations are as binding upon the poor as on the rich; people who have not the means to do much individually for others raise subscriptions among them- selves to provide for the more needy of their own class. Colonel Tcheng slyly remarks that in Christian countries he has noticed that practices which he has always looked upon as matters of course are held up as miracles of grace and goodness. With us, he says, to assist friends who have met with ill-fortune is not a virtue, but a habit. Europeans strike him as hard-hearted and wanting 16 China Speaks for Herself. in sympathy for the misfortunes of their friends and acquaintances. At the same time he admits that the idea of succor- ing the ills of the stranger, of humanity, in short what we term philanthropy or general benevolence, is incomprehensi- ~le to them; they have the charity that begins at home in its widest sense, but the Christian relation of the neigh- bor is unknown to them, and by in- ference the Good Samaritan would have been set down as a fool, in China. The worship of ancestors is the high- est expression of filial piety and blood- love among the Chinese. Their bury- ing-grounds, like ours, are without their towns, in the prettiest situation of the environs, on a hillside, if there be one in the neighborhood, and Family Vault is to be read on the entrance of many inclosures. The richer families build temples to their ancestors, in which are mural tablets inscribed with the name, titles, and public services of each line, forming a sort of genealogical tree. Some of these edifices contain apart- ments, in which the surviving members of a scattered clan meet twice a year, in the spring and autumn, at the time ap- pointed for the semi-annual veneration of the manes, seasons of thanksgiving and solemn rejoicing. They are even built occasionally with a view to being used as villas, or summer retreats, in which family festivals, such as marriages, or the celebration of successful examina- tions, to be spoken of hereafter, are held. In this way, those who have gone before, long before, are associated in the memory and gratitude of their descendants with the important events of the present life. Throughout the provinces of the empire the inhabitants of each village are generally kinsfolk, and have a common chapel dedicated to their forefathers: This, observes Colonel Tcheng, is our parish church. In a country where the family is the axis of the social system, many actions, which elsewhere are considered the [July, special or independent concern of in- dividual men or women, lose their per- sonal significance, and are undertaken with reference to the gens, or kin-corpo- rate. Marriage, and all that relates to it, illustrates beyond any other custom the principle of solidarity in Chinese existence. Colonel Tcheng informs us that his countrymen consider the in- crease of the family the sole object of marriage. This being one of the most sacred duties of man, matrimony is uni- versal, and entered upon very early. Celibacy is condemned as a vice, and an old bachelor or an old maid is looked upon as a monster. Marriages are made while the parties are extremely young, according to our notions, and are arranged by the parents, or the next of kin, often when the future con- sorts are children. Love-making, court- ship, engagements in our sense of the term, are unknown and impossible; women, although they go out unveiled, living in a sort of gynec~eum, to which only their immediate kinsmen have ac- cess. The preliminaries are frequently managed by discreet and zealous friends, or even by respectable professional go- betweens. The first step in the alliance is a solemn ceremony of betrothal, em- phasized by a festival in both families, when the contract is signed by the parents and heads of the respective houses, and the bridegroom sends the bride a pair of bracelets in token of es- pousal; but neither she nor he is present on this occasion. Later he sends what is known in France as the corbeille, or those articles of a brides wardrobe which are not included in the trousseau. In China they consist of silk and cotton stuffs and embroideries, and are literally sent in a basket, or rather in several dozen very handsome ones. This is the signal for another pompous ceremony; and on the brides part there comes in return a splendid dress to be worn on the wedding-day, which, if her future husband i8 already a man of rank, is 1885.] China Speaks for Herself. TI the uniform of his grade; every degree of mandarin is distinguished by his cos- tume, and after marriage the wife wears a dress corresponding to his title. The bridegroom, moreover, sends to the ladys family presents of choice eatables, nota- bly a peculiarly delicious sort of cake, to be distributed among the acquaint- ance in announcing the engagement. The marriage must be concluded within a year from this interchange of gifts. On the eve of the wedding-day there is another important transfer of goods, namely, the brides portion, which con- sists of her outfit, plate, and furniture; for dower, in the sense of money, there is none. The bridegrooms family gives a state dinner, at which these objects are exhibited, and on the same evening he sends the bride a sedan-chair, trimmed with crimson satin and embroidery. The chair is accompanied by a proces- sion of musicians and servants with lan- terns and torches, a red umbrella, a green screen, and other insignia of rank. Her family also gives a grand dinner- party for the reception and display of the chair, during which the guests are re- galed by the music of the band. The next day four persons belonging to the family, or friends, of the bridegroom, go to the brides house and invite her to repair to that of her future husband. She goes in her sedan-chair, with four or eight bearers, according to his rank, and a small escort, and her arrival is an- nounced by an explosion of fireworks. The chair is deposited in a saloon, where the family, friends, bridesmaids, and groomsmen are assembled. One of the last, the best man, no doubt, bearing a metallic mirror before his breast, ad- vances to the sedan-chair, bows thrice, and a bridesmaid raises the curtains and begs the bride to descend. She accedes, still wearing her veil, and is conducted to an inner room; there the bridegroom, in his wedding-dress, receives her, and this is their first sight of each other. They are formally reconducted to the first apartment; music is playing, and a table has been laid with wine, fruits, and perfumes burning, to symbolize an altar. The pair prostrate themselves and thank the Supreme Being for their creation, the earth for their nourish- ment, the emperor for his protection, and their parents for their education. There is no minister of religion or civil functionary present. The bridegroom then introduces his bride to the compa- ny, and a banquet follows, during which the music, which has not ceased during the orisons, continues to play. Through- out the evening the house is thrown open, and any one can enter and see the bride, who remains standing behind a table on which there are lighted candles. On the morrow the bride takes her hus- band to present him to her family, and the formalities of the previous evening are partially repeated, which completes the marriage ceremonies. Divorce is legal in China, and was in force there several centuries before our era, but it is not in favor. When a hus- band surprises his wife with a lover the law permits him to kill her, which re- moves one cause of separation from the jurisdiction of the courts. Sterility, af- ter a fixed age, is a plea admitted by law, and grons disrespect or disobedience on the part of husband or wife to the oth- ers parents. Adopting a child is more frequent than divorce, when there is no offspring. Colonel Tcheng asserts that divorce is unusual between persons of good position, who prefer concessions and compromises to destroying hallowed ties and making private dissensions public; in fact, that his country-people are re- strained by the same considerations that influence people of reserve and refine- ment everywhere. Women, although excluded by Chinese custom from society, and consequently unable to exert their power in various ways familiar to the women of the West, have an authority in the household beyond anything known in Europe or 78 China Speaks for Herself. [July, America. The Chinawoman is her hus- bands equal before the law, and can buy, sell, contract, alienate, or conduct any business negotiation in his place. She has complete control of her children and of their education. Her own, although not solid according to our notions, is practi- cal and graceful: besides domestic accom- plishments, poetry and elegant literature have a place in her studies, and are often her favorite recreations; skill in painting and embroidery is held in high esteem, and the cultivation of flowers, especially within doors, is one of the daily pleas- ures of every woman of leisure; that charming taste and luxury is carried far beyond anything that we imagine, even with our hothouses and conservatories. Her amusements are limited: games of cards and loto are among the most ex- citing. If Heaven gives her children, declares Colonel Tcheng, and a good husband, she is certainly the happiest of her sex. Yet there is a domestic institution which one would suppose might seriously interfere with the hap- piness of a lady-mandarin who had chil- dren, flowers, the gift of rhyming, and even a good husband. Although polyg- amy is not permitted in China, except in cases where marriage is sterile (when, if the husband is unwilling to ask for a divorce, the law countenances a second wife), there is another conjugal relation recognized. Living under the same roof as the wedded wife, but in an inferior and dependent position, is an unwedded one, or the lawful mistress, as Colonel Tcheng terms her. He thinks that this arrangement is altogether better than the furtive or transient connections which are the cause of so much grief and shame in Christian countries; he refers in vin- dication of it to patriarchal custom and to the story of Sarah and Hagar, but the instance is not well chosen to illustrate the peace and happiness of such a domes- tic practice. The Chinese proverb, Nine women in ten are jealous, is a comment on its moral effect. There is another class of women who have no place in the household, yet who seem to hold an admitted and by no means infamous position, somewhat an- swering to that of the courtesans of ancient Greece, but to no modern de- nomination in the Western world. These women are the only female musicians, music and singing not being taught to ladies ; they are well educated, talk agreeably, and have the much-prized accomplishment of making verses. Such artists, as Colonel Tcheng calls them, are of great value in society, which in China is composed exclusively of men, women appearing only at family parties. A young man who wishes to entertain his friends hires a flower-boat, a large junk adorned like a florists window and illuminated at night; he sends cards, supplied at the boat, on which he writes his own name, that of the female artist who will be present, and the time of meeting. The guests spend an hour with him upon the water, the invitation being limited to this unless explicitly made longer, and the time is passed in talk, music, making verses and puns, a favorite amusement among Celestials of polite education; for refreshment they have delicious tea, fruit, and sometimes a delicate repast, although eating has not much share in Chinese parties of pleas- ure. The aforementioned artists also allow dinners to be given at their houses, on the invitation of a person who hires them for the occasion, the talents and resources of the hostess, if so she may be styled, helping to make the evening agreeable. The young men who are in- vited sometimes engage companions of the same class to come with them, and add their accomplishments to the gen- eral enjoyment. These women are often clever and handsome, and their mode of life does not imply immorality: they may be well or ill conducted, that is their own affair; but those who belong to the former category are often engaged to enliven family parties, which would 1885.] China Speaks for Herself. 79 not be done in the other case. A Chinese novel which has been translated into French throws a curious light on this subject. The hero declares that he will not marry until he can find a wo- man who is beautiful, sweet-tempered, affectionate, clever, and accomplished. You will have to look for your wife on the flower - boats, then, says his friend. This book is altogether an inter- esting supplement to Colonel Tchengs. An organized life of pleasure, such as can be found in Europe and to some degree in America, does not exist in China. The chapter of recreations does not say a word about out-of-door sports; even riding, to judge from the novel just referred to, is looked upon only as a mode of traveling. There are thea- tres and similar places of amusement, and one of the more magnificent modes of giving an entertainment is to engage one of these for the performance, and send out invitations to ones dear five hundred friends. But apparently there is no habitual play-goer, nor any class which passes the time in going from one diversion to another. The Chinese are serious and studious, and after their first youth have little necessity for amusements that cannot be found in their homes or in the intercourse of their friends. There is probably an absence of animal spirits in the national tempera- ment. Their calm and sedentary pleas- ures are for the most part of a social and singularly refined nature. The ex- istence of rich people is organized so as to give them the constant indulgence of their tastes; they love gardens, flowers, and inactive occupations out-of-doors, and their homes provide them with all these. Birthdays and other anniversa- ries are constantly observed and cele- brated by family gatherings and by much making of presents; there are great public holidays, the Feast of Lan- terns, of Dragon-Boats, and of Kites, and parties among families and friends are made to enjoy them together. Private festivals are held in honor of certain beautiful flowers to which an allegorical significance is attached, and these blos- soms have their anniversaries. On an in- vitation, instead of dinner, supper, dan- cing, etc., being mentioned as the object of the reunion, the full moon, a fine view, or the blooming of a rare plant is held out as the inducement. On these occasions, pen, ink, and paper are sup- plied to the guests, who compose verses against time. The subject and rhymes are often suggested, and it becomes a trial of wits, not more insipid, probably, than the recreations of the Della Crus- cans, the Diversions of Parley, or the pastimes of many other literary circles. It gives a chance to display the chi- rography of the competitors, which holds a curious place among Chinese accom- plishments. It has been gradually com- ing to its present elaborate significance since the year B. c. 2000. India ink (encre de Chine) and a camels-hair brush are used instead of pens and fluid ink. Great importance is attached to a fine handwriting, which by its shades and curves expresses what with us can be conveyed only by the voice. The force and point given by italics and capitals but faintly represent the effect of differ- ent styles of writing in Chinese; Colonel Tcheng compares it to the modulations of fine declamation, making intelligible to the eye and preserving every grada- tion of the writers thought. Excursions also are in high favor, either water-par- ties, or prolonged picnics among beauti- ful regions, where the Buddhist convents offer their hospitality instead of hotels, and make pilgrims of pleasure very com- fortable. In all these reunions, next to verse- making and another species of amuse- ment akin to guessing riddles and cha- rades, conversation is the principal re- source. Literary topics are preferred, although metaphysical and philosophical discussions have their place; the events of the day may be touched upon, but not 80 C/dna Speaks for Herself. politics. The total exclusion of the last is ascribed by Colonel Tcheng to the ex- treme politeness of his countrymen, who banish a subject which might lead to unpleasant differences in the company. We may suspect, however, that there are other reasons for their reticence, as in his little book Colonel Tcheng is vir- tually silent as to everything relating to the government or public affairs. Even in speaking of the laboring classes he quotes the impressions of European travelers, adroitly avoiding either con- firming or contradicting them. His comparison between Chinese and Euro- pean society is altogether in favor of the former. According to his account his countrymen always enjoy their so- cial meetings, whereas even in Paris the balls and parties struck him as cold and dull, notwithstanding the dangerous charm of woman, who is excluded in the East because there men think it safest to keep out of harms way. Accus- tomed to invariable refinement and good- breeding at home, he was astonished and shocked by the absence of conventional propriety among Parisians when deliv- ered from the restraint of ladies pres- ence. The only society which he found really agreeable was in the artist world, and there alone, in his opinion, do peo- ple enjoy themselves. The most interesting portion of the book is that which explains the theory of education in China. From time im- memorial the value of public education has been acknowledged. There is a work extant, written before our era, that speaks of the ancient system of com- mon schools in every town and village. Although, properly speaking, there is no aristocracy, there are four classes: men of letters, agriculturists, manufacturers, and tradespeople. All have the same opportunities of learning, and the com- petitive examinations which confer grades of honor are open to all. The object is to train the mind of the masses and diffuse knowledge universally, and [July, so to call out latent aptitudes, wherever they exist, for the service of the state and the common profit~ The end is to make thinkers rather than scholars, and the means consist in the method of in- struction, and not in the list of studies. There are two schemes in use: one for children, the other for students. The first is contained in one of the sixteen discourses of the Emperor Yong Tching, called the Holy Edict, and is for the aid of parents and teachers. It lays great stress on the importance of training chil- dren early to look at the serious side of things, at principles rather than circum- stances, and at laws rather than facts. The first aims of education should be to awake the attention and overcome bad habits; children should be encouraged to ask questions about what is taught them, that they may not learn merely by rote, and acquire the bad habit of repeating with their lips while their minds are on other matters. Obedience is the great lesson to be taught by parents, and in view of this, nobody who knows the American ethics of education can be sur- prised at the prejudice existing in this country against a people brought up on such principles; it is sufficient to account for their exclusion by law from the United States. For the student the first thing to learn is to form a resolution. A firm re- solve made and persevered in will insure success in ones studies, thinks Colonel Tcheng; it has, besides, the double ad- vantage of giving a direction to the en- ergies and forming the character. The precepts for the student are: to analyze daily the work he has done; to review his work every ten or twenty days; to begin study every morning at five oclock, and to give as much attention to it as a general should to his manceuvres; not to allow any interruption whatever to occur for five or ten consecutive days; not to fear being slow, but to fear making pauses; finally, to remember that time passes like lightning, that a month 1885.] China Speaks for Herself. 81 goes like a flash, another follows it, and the year is gone before we know it. These are not unfamiliar maxims to the Western mind, and we have equivalents for the proverb, Bend the mulberry tree while it is young, whk~h is given as an example of the many Chinese proverbs the language is rich in that vein referring to the importance of early training. The standard text-books treat only of mental tendencies, of duty and mutual obligation; from Colonel Tchengs account, they must be like Te- lemachus, without the story. Families who can afford a tutor edu- cate their children at home; for poorer ones there are day and night schools in every village, not free, but so cheap that they are within the means of the hum- blest classes. There are also colleges in various parts of the empire; the instruc- tion is not official, although the exam- inations are. There are annual exam- inations at the chief town at each prov- ince, before the prefect. Every candidate must pass on five subjects, each taking a day, during which he is shut up by him- self in a cell, with writing materials, but no books to consult. If the candidate passes in all the branches, he goes up for examination before an imperial commis- sioner delegated specially to each prov- ince. There are three degrees, corre- sponding to B. A., M. A., and Doctor. The examinations for the second grade are triennial; they take place at the capital of each province, and the candi- dates are examined on three subjects, each of which occupies three days. The ordeal is so severe that out of ten thousand candidates sometimes but two hundred are graduated. The third de- gree is conferred at Pekin, and the ex- aminations follow the same order as for the second. There is still a final one, which takes place before the emperor, and assigns the graduates to four ranks, according to their merit. There can be but four recipients of the highest lion- ois, which immediately confer the title VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 6 of Academician; the second are be- stowed on candidates who are counted worthy to compete for admission to the academy a second time; the third qual- ify for clerkships in the different depart- merits of the government; the fourth render graduates eligible for sub-pre- fects. The number of degrees of Doc- tor conferred at one time vary from two to three hundred. Promotion may al- ways be hoped for, as it depends upon merit, and not upon age. The Academi- cians become members of the Imperial College, the highest body in the empire, from which the emperors ministers are chosen. While with us or in Europe an M. D., D. D., or LL. D. begins to forget much of what he has previously learned as soon as he takes his degree, the same order of men in China pass the rest of their lives in reviewing their knowledge by holding examinations. The rejoicings of successful candidates far exceed those in Occidental countries on similar occasions. They are cele- brated by family festivals as splendid as at weddings; the parents repair to the temple of the ancestors, to honor them for the new dignity; magnificent ban- quets are given to all their kinsfolk and friends. The fortunate aspirant goes to announce his degi~ form ally to his con- nection and acq~rWntance, with a band of music and an escort of friends car- rying banners; as they pass, the crowd hails him like a conqueror, and falls into the procession, realizing one of Mr. Ens- kins dreams. Letters stating his de- gree are posted on the walls of his house and sent about like circulars. The indif- ference shown about the attainment of a degree in the West amazes Colonel Tcheng, who probably has not met any flarvard graduates. lie concludes that it can be obtained too easily. Sup- pose, he says, that admission to the bar were determined by annual compe- tition, the number of degrees being limited: the right of pleading would become an honor, and the professional 82 sentiment would rise to real pride. But there is n~ such anal possible under totally dissimilar conditions. In a country where literary attainment is the sole road to political importance its credentials are necessarily valued in proportion to their effect; the influence they may command can be estimated by the Chinese mode of representa~ tion. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing; but the provincial functionaries, whose appointment, as we have, seen, depends on their proficiency in their studies, are ex qfficio representatives, of an informal sort, and lay the com- plaints and petitions of the people in their district before the government. The beginnings of everything in China are very ancient. The prehis- toric world of the Celestials was not peopled by demigods and heroes, but by a dynasty of holy emperors, whose su- pernatural wisdom and longevity laid the foundations of the present prosper- ity of the realm. These monarchs were not hereditary; each chose his successor, and abdicated when his own powers de- clined. The first is called the Emperor of the Heavens, and he divided time into its, celestial and terrestrial epochs. He lived eighteen hundred years, and was succeeded by the Em~~or of the Earth, who lived for the sa~ length of time, and divided the month into thirty days. The third was the Emperor of Men, and under his reign, which lasted forty-five thousand five hundred years, human so- ciety appeared; he divided his domin- ions into nine parts, over each of which he set a member of his family. This period corresponds to the era of. cave- dwellers in modern pal~ontology. The fourth is known as the Emperor of Nests, under whom man tried to build wooden dwellings for himself, to defend himself against wild beasts, and to use their skins for clothing. The fifth~ the Emperor of Fire, taught man ho.w to produce and use it; he instituted domes- tic life, and taught the practdce of barter China Speaks for Herself. [July, and of recording events by means of knotted cords. His successor, Fou-Hy, introduced hunting, fishing, and the do- mestication of animals among mankind; he defined the four seasons, and fixed the first day of the year about where it now fafls~ He determined the cardi- nal points of the horizon, and invented stringed instruments. He also instituted marriage with its ceremonies, property, and proclaimed the eight diagrams or fundamental principles on which are based progress and philosophy. He was followed by Tcheng-Nung, the Emperor of Agriculture, who studied the proper- ties of plants, taught the healing art, and invented canals, emhankments, and dykes; during his reign the dragon first appeared, which after many mysterious visits to China took up its abode on the imperial escutcheon. Next came the Yellow Emperor, and this close connee. tion l)etween the first mention of the national arms and the national color suggests a new order of expansion; he created the observatory, the art of run- ning, the bow, the ship, coinage, wind- instruments, furniture, coaches, and cos- tume. lie published a book on medi- cine, in which the phrase to feel the pulse first occurs. The administrative division of the empire was organized during his reign. The ninth emperor is said to have ruled from 2399 B. C.. to 1981, at which date the historic period ho- gins, and the holy dynasty ends. 1-listory relates that in his time great hydraulic works were accomplished during terri- ble inundations, the only allusion in Chi- nese records to anything corresponding to the Deluge of the Jewish Scriptures. But everybody will see the analogy be- tween the preceding catalogue and the descendants of Adam: Cain the tiller of the ground, Abel the shepherd, Jabal, Jubal, Tubal-Cain, Noah the first ship- builder and vine-grower, Nimrod the mighty hunter. Colonel Teheng draws no inferences from this, nor from the noted similarities between Buddhism 1885.] China Speak8 for Herself. 83 and Christianity; he himself is appar- ently a disciple of Confucius. Throughout the book, however, which is merely a comprehensive sketch of Chinese views and manners, the author constantly compares the theory and prac- tice of his country with those which he has observed in Europe, and always to the advantage of his own nation. In some cases the superiority is incontesta- ble; in others he may be suspected of doing what is a temptation to every one in parallels of this sort, of contrasting the highest standard in his own land with the average practice elsewhere. Besides this, keen though he is, he sometimes mistakes the bearing of usages, as for instance when he can see only a breach of etiquette in according the place of honor to the actor who recites in com- panies where men of rank and eminence are present; he fails to discern that at bottom this is only a finer form of that politeness which he thinks a Chinese monopoly, missing the difference be- tween Christian and heathen courtesy. He invests with a special significance and importance manifestations in his own country which are quite common out of it, like the acclamations of the graduate by the people; he would be certain to see similar demonstrations in any Occidental town through which the baccalaureate should march with flags and a brass band, though probably no- body but Mr. Ruskin would treat it mag- niloquently. Where Colonel Teheng cannot prove the injuriousness of foreign customs or their inferiority to Chinese, he ingeniously argues that, although good in themselves and useful for Eu- ropeans, they would be superfluous for his countrymen, on account of the ex- cellence of their provisions from all time. There is a good deal of delicate Oriental subtlety and sophistry in his reasoning, but it is not always convincing. There is one subject on which he de- serves to be heai~d with respect by the Western world, the relations of his government to other nations. China is blamed, he says, for her want of confi- dence in the outer world, whether rep- resented by countries or individuale, and for her opposition to the general intro- duction of railroads, gas, and other mod- ern improvements under the indefinite name of progress. As regards individ- uals, Frenchmen are roughly classed in China as missionaries, Englishmen as opium-traders, Americans no doubt be- ing included in the same denomination. With regard to the propagandists, Colonel Tcheng, fearing lest he should be carried away by righteous indignation, quotes a passage from M. de la Verndde, of the Free School of Political Science in Paris, the gist of which is that three hundred years ago the Jesuits went to China, and penetrated into the interior, teaching the arts and sciences, and con- ciliating public opinion by their amenity and adroitness. They were soon ac- knowledged as pacific, benevolent, and intelligent instructors, and received per- mission by an imperial edict to build churches, and practice and teach their doctrines. But the Dominicans and Fran- ciscans, jealous of the influence of the Jesuits in the far East, obtained in 1772 a bull from Clement XIV. expelling them from China. The Lazarists, who replaced them, undid their good work, upset the religious ideas of the na- tives, rubbed their national prejudice& the wrong way, and drew upon them- selves the suspicion of acting as spies. The Anglo - Saxons have persisted in forcing an illicit trade forbidden by law and treaty, violating good faith, and ruining the health, morals, and fortunes of the inhabitants. And yet we are reproached for want of confidence! How are we to learn it? . . . The essential character of Western civilization is in- vasive; I need not demonstrate this. Formerly barbarous hordes invaded flour- ishing coutitries~ not to iuitroduce the benefits of a new o~rder ef intelligence, but for rapine and pillage. Civilized 84 China Speaks fQr Herself. [July, races follow the same course, claiming to establish happiness on earth: vio- lence is the starting-point of their prog- ress. . . . War and pauperism are the two scourges of humanity, and in China the idea of progress is to maintain peace and promote the common weal. The day when the Occident shall convince the Chinese that the modern spirit which creates the marvelous inventions over which we clap our hands possesses the secret of maintaining peace and promot- ing the common weal, on that day China will join the general confederation with enthusiasm. But have we been convinced of this? Is it .known what the importations are which enter those ports which a famous treaty has opened to the world? We hoped for the per- fected implements and machinery of the arts of peace, which it is the object of the government to encourage throughout the empire, but the staple of those im- portations has been firearms, and by way of modern civilization we are to inau- gurate militarism! And we are blamed for our want of confidence! Well, at the risk of offending those who do not think with me, I will say that we hate with all our might whatever, far or near, threatens peace and rouses the spirit of combat in the human soul,, imperfect enough by nature. What need have we of war, hated by mothers, and what ideal would it satisfy if some day our 400,000,000 inhabitants should be armed with rifles? Is that progress? To de- flect the public wealth from the channels which reason appoints, to make it con- tribute towards organizing all the forms of misery that spring from the use and abuse of force, is in my opinion to lower and corrupt ourselves. We shall never look at militarism as an element of civilization; far from it! We are con- vinced that it is a return to barbarism. . . The foreigners who land in China have but one end, speculation, and, what is very curious, these speculators despise us because we have no , confidence in them. Confidence? We can never have too little! Englishmen who remember the affair of the lorcha Arrow, and Americans the Burlingame treaty, may reply. Colonel Tcheng makes exception in favor of the foreigners who honor their own nationality by the respect they show for that of others: Diplomatists, who captivate us by their good-breeding, and who accomplish delicate missions with a courtesy and tact that do credit to their civilization; men of learning, who come to study our language and to draw from our books the wisdom of the most an- cient of human societies, these are not aliens, but friends, with whom we are proud to exchange our ideas and to dream of progress and civilization; true sons of humanity, who have nothing in common with the adventurers who swarm upon our coasts. In proof of the good-will and fair dealing of the Chinese towards Europeans who do not come to their country with sinister or too selfish designs, he adduces the Arsenal of Fou- Tcheou, founded, under the emperors orders, by a French ex-naval officer, NI. Prosper Giquet. It is a great head- quarters of ship-building and civil en- gineering, intended to develop Chinese commerce and metallurgy. There are scientific schools attached to it; the pu- pils finish their education in France, and return to superintend their special branches. The administration of the arsenal is in. the hands of high dignita- ries of the native government, Euro- peans teach and direct the works, and a perfectly good understanding exists between them. Alas! since this was written the unfortified and defenseless Arsenal of Fou-Tcheou has been bom- barded by a French fleet, without any declaration of war on the part of the republic. Colonel Tchengs readers are forced to repeat, And they are blamed for want of confidence I Daniel De Poe and Tkoma8 Sitepard. 85 DANIEL DE FOE AND THE relations between Daniel De Foe and America are all very curious. Few Englishmen of his time were so well informed as he regarding our geog- raphy. This is true not only of South America, where, at the mouth of the On- noco, he laid the scene of the first great American romance, but it is true of North America also. A large part of the Life of Colonel Jack, one of his best novels, describes the adventures of that hero as a bondsman in what is now the State of Virginia. So accurately i~ the geography of the story indicated that we can make out that the principal action goes on on plantations which oc- cupied the site of the present cities of Georgetown and Washington. This story is the best account which we have of the condition of the white slaves of Vir- ginia in the seventeenth century. De Foe introduces his own plan for the ex- tinction of African slavery. This plan must be called Utopian, because it pre- sumes on a degree of humanity among the white planters of that time which they never exhibited. It is worth notice, indeed, that De Foes two most remark- able heroes, Robinson Crusoe and Colo- nel Jack, should have been, one a slave- trader, and the other a slave. It is known that one of De Foes sons spent several years in North Carolina, and probably De Foe derived from him his intimate acquaintance with the customs of our Southern States. It has also been observed that on the occasion of Robinsons second voy- age to his island, after he bad trans- ferred the unfortunate French sailors whom he had rescued from shipwreck to a bark on the banks of Newfoundland, he was tempted, in another similar exi- gency, to bear away to the coast of America for provisions. For this there proved to be no necessity: the more is THOMAS SHEPARD. the pity. lie would have brought to Boston the news of Queen Annes death, and he would have had a chance to hear Mr. Willard preach from John xxi. 22, on mans acquiescence in Gods disposal. If, at Judge Sewalls hospitable board, Robinson Crusoe had met with Lemuel Gulliver, who is supposed to have been in these parts at about that time, there would have been the most fortunate meeting of Sewall, the most prosaic per- son in American fact, with Crusoe and Gulliver, the two most interesting char- acters in American and Australian fic- tion. But alas! history is too apt to fall short of its possibilities ! I have, however, lately observed that Robinson Crusoe had a closer connec- tion than this might have been with our New England notables of the first generation. Reading, the other day, in the charming autobiography of Shepard the Chrysostom of the first church of Cambridge of that terrible shipwreck off Yarmouth, in which he and his were all but lost, as the ship was, I felt sure that the narrative was all familiar to me before. It was only to cross the room, and take down Robinson Crusoe, to find that here was the same ship- wreck in which, in that same Yarmouth harbor, the runaway lad learned his first lesson of adventure. If the reader will compare the two narratives, he will be apt to think that De Foe had heard the story of the Windy Saturday in which Sliepards ship went down, and that, with that iron-and-steel memory of his, he reproduced it in his account of Robinsons first voyage. The details as to place, even, are the same. For a moment, I hoped to find that Robinson and our charming New England preach- er held sweet counsel together in Yar- mouth, or as they pulled at the oars. But sterner fate said, No. For De

Daniel De Poe and Tkoma8 Sitepard. 85 DANIEL DE FOE AND THE relations between Daniel De Foe and America are all very curious. Few Englishmen of his time were so well informed as he regarding our geog- raphy. This is true not only of South America, where, at the mouth of the On- noco, he laid the scene of the first great American romance, but it is true of North America also. A large part of the Life of Colonel Jack, one of his best novels, describes the adventures of that hero as a bondsman in what is now the State of Virginia. So accurately i~ the geography of the story indicated that we can make out that the principal action goes on on plantations which oc- cupied the site of the present cities of Georgetown and Washington. This story is the best account which we have of the condition of the white slaves of Vir- ginia in the seventeenth century. De Foe introduces his own plan for the ex- tinction of African slavery. This plan must be called Utopian, because it pre- sumes on a degree of humanity among the white planters of that time which they never exhibited. It is worth notice, indeed, that De Foes two most remark- able heroes, Robinson Crusoe and Colo- nel Jack, should have been, one a slave- trader, and the other a slave. It is known that one of De Foes sons spent several years in North Carolina, and probably De Foe derived from him his intimate acquaintance with the customs of our Southern States. It has also been observed that on the occasion of Robinsons second voy- age to his island, after he bad trans- ferred the unfortunate French sailors whom he had rescued from shipwreck to a bark on the banks of Newfoundland, he was tempted, in another similar exi- gency, to bear away to the coast of America for provisions. For this there proved to be no necessity: the more is THOMAS SHEPARD. the pity. lie would have brought to Boston the news of Queen Annes death, and he would have had a chance to hear Mr. Willard preach from John xxi. 22, on mans acquiescence in Gods disposal. If, at Judge Sewalls hospitable board, Robinson Crusoe had met with Lemuel Gulliver, who is supposed to have been in these parts at about that time, there would have been the most fortunate meeting of Sewall, the most prosaic per- son in American fact, with Crusoe and Gulliver, the two most interesting char- acters in American and Australian fic- tion. But alas! history is too apt to fall short of its possibilities ! I have, however, lately observed that Robinson Crusoe had a closer connec- tion than this might have been with our New England notables of the first generation. Reading, the other day, in the charming autobiography of Shepard the Chrysostom of the first church of Cambridge of that terrible shipwreck off Yarmouth, in which he and his were all but lost, as the ship was, I felt sure that the narrative was all familiar to me before. It was only to cross the room, and take down Robinson Crusoe, to find that here was the same ship- wreck in which, in that same Yarmouth harbor, the runaway lad learned his first lesson of adventure. If the reader will compare the two narratives, he will be apt to think that De Foe had heard the story of the Windy Saturday in which Sliepards ship went down, and that, with that iron-and-steel memory of his, he reproduced it in his account of Robinsons first voyage. The details as to place, even, are the same. For a moment, I hoped to find that Robinson and our charming New England preach- er held sweet counsel together in Yar- mouth, or as they pulled at the oars. But sterner fate said, No. For De 843 ,Daniel Dc .FQC ~nd fIJkoma8 Shepard. Foes purposes required that Robinson should be shipwrecked some years after the day of the adventure of Thomas Shepard. I have been tempted to print the two narratives in parallel columns, as is the custom of newspapers, when they would grind any one to powder. l3ut, in our case, we have no one to crush, and the reader will not object, perhaps, to turning backward and forward a lit- tle. Observe, then, that Robinson set sail in a ship which was passing south- ward along the English coast, through the Northern Sea, or German Ocean, and that Shepard, with his family, who had sailed from Harwich, was also seek- ing the English Channel. I copy Shep- ard first FROM THOMAS SHEPARD 8 MEMOIR. So about the beginning of winter, we set sail. . . . And having gone some few leagues the wind stopped us, and so we cast anchor in a dangerous place, and in the morning the wind grew fierce and drove us . . . full upon the sands, . . . and the ship was in great danger. But the Lord directed one of the seamen to cut some cable or rope, and so she was turned about and beaten quite backward toward Yar- mouth, quite out of our way. . . . The wind did drive us, . . . and gave us no place to anchor, until we came to Yar- mouth Roads, an open place at sea, yet fit for anchorage. . . . Which when we had done, upon a Saturday morning, the Lord sent a most dreadful and terri- ble storm of wind from the West, so dreadful that . . . divers ships were cast away. One among the rest came with us from New Castle, and he and all his men perished. But when the wind thus arose, our master cast all his anchors; but the anchors broke and the ship drave toward the sands, where we could not but be cast away. Whereupon the master cries out that we were dead men, and thereupon the whole company go to pray. But the vessel drew so near to the sands that the master shot off two pieces of ord- nance to the town [of Yarmouth] for help. The town perceived it, and thousands came upon the walls of Yar- mouth, and looked upon us, and pitied us. So our master not knowing what to do, it pleased the Lord, that there was one Mr. Cook, a drunken fellow an instrument to save all our lives. For he persuaded the master to cat down his mainmast. The master was unwilling to do it. . . . At last Cook calls for hatchets; he tells the mas- ti~r, If you be a man, save the lives of your passengers, cut down your main- mast. And so, when the mast was gone, the master had one little anchor left, and cast it out. But the ship was driven toward the sand still. . . . So the master professed he had done what he could, and desired us to go to prayer. Immediately after prayer the wind be- gan to abate and the ship stayed... And so we rode it out, . . . and upon the Sabbath-day morning boats came to our vessel, . . . and my dear wife and child went in the first boat. Thus far Shepard. I have mate- rially abridged his account, my wish being to show simply the passages which nearly resemble Robinsons. But I think I have omitted nothing which contradicts it. Two such witnesses are not to be expected to persevere in the same order, or with the same observa- tions, all the time. Here is Robinson Crusoes account: FROM ROBINSON CRUSOE. The ship was no sooner got out of the Humber, but the wind began to iblow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner. . . . I expected every wave to swallow us up. . . . The sixth day we came into Yarmouth Roads.... Here we were obliged to come to an- chor, and here we lay... during which 1885.] Daniel De Foe and TAoma8 Shepard. 87 time many ships from Newcastle came into the same roads.... Our men were unconcerned, not apprehensive of dan.. ger, but the eighth day [after arrival], in the morning, the wind increased, and we had all hands at work to strike our topmasts. . . By noon the sea went very high indeed, and our ship rode forecastle in, shipped several seas, and we thought once or twice that our anchor had come home. . . . By this time it blew a terrible storm. I heard the master say softly to himself, Lord, be merciful to us, we shall all be lost, and the like.... I was dreadfully frighted... . I got out of my cabin and looked out: . . . the sea ran mountains high; . .. two ships had cut their masts by the board, and our men cried out that a ship which rid about a mile ahead was foundered. . . . Towards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of our ship to let them cut away the foremast, which he was very unwilling to do; but the boatswain protesting to him that if he did not the ship would founder, he consented, and when they had cut away this mast . . . they were obliged to cut the mainmast away, too. The storm was so violent that I saw what is not often seen, the master, the boatswain, and some others at their prayers, and expecting every moment when the ship would go to the bottom. The master . . . ordered to fire a gun as a signal of distress . . . and a light ship . . . ventured a boat out to help us. . . . We were not more than a quarter of an hour out of our ship, but we saw her sink. We could see a great many people running along the shore, to assist us when we should come near. At Cromer we landed and walked afterwards to Yarmouth, where as unfor- tunate men we were treated with great humanity, as well by the magistrates of the town, who assigned us good quar- ters, as by particitlar merchants and owners. Of course one shipwreck is, to a cer- tain extent, like another shipwreck. But here are some striking resemblances in detail. In each case, after a first de- tention, the vessel takes refuge in Yar- mouth Roads, and anchors. In each case they suppose they are then in safety, and other vessels join them, seek- ing the same shelter. In each case a heavy gale strikes them in the morning, westerly in one, southwesterly in the other; both ships lie at all their an- chors, and both ships drag their anchors. In each case the master is then heard to say that they are lost, and from each ship they see a Newcastle ship founder. In each case the master is unwilling to cut away the mast, but is compelled to do so by the protest of another. In each case the master goes to prayer, which is not often seen. In each case he fires a gun as a signal of dis- tress, and in each case they see the people on the shore, who are watching them. In each case they are landed from the ship in boats not their own, and, as I understand it, the ship, in each case, sinks soon after. The most remarkable differences which I observe are that in Robinson Crusoes ship the foremast is carried away, and carries the mainmast with it; while in Shepards case the main- mast is carried away. The drunken fellow who persuades the captain to cut down the mast is a passenger, bred to the sea, in Shepard; in Robinson, he is a boatswain of the ship. Robinson Crusoes ship had but four passengers, and Shepards had two hundred. But these are such variations as would have come into tradition in eighty-five years, or as a novelist might make for his purpose. My theory is that De Foe had heard the story of the Windy Satur- day, and the Sunday which followed it, from some one who was in the ship with Shepard, and that he was glad to work the detail into his story. Edu,ard Everett Hale. On Horseback. ON HORSEBACK. I. Tua way to mount a horse said the Professor. If you have no ladder put in the Friend of Humanity. The Professor had ridden through the war for the Union, on the right side, en- joying a much better view of it than if he had walked, and knew as much about a horse as a person ought to know for the sake of his character. The man who can recite the tales of the Canter- bury Pilgrims, on horseback, giving the contemporary pronunciation, never miss- ing an accent by reason of the trot, and at the same time witch North CarQlina and a strip of East Tennessee with his noble horsemanship, is a kind of Liter- ary Centaur of whose double instruction any Friend of Humanity may he glad to avail himself. The way to mount a horse is to grasp the mane with the left hand hold- ing the bridle-rein, put your left foot in the stirrup, with the right hand on the back of the saddle, and Just then the horse stepped qpickly around on his hind feet, and looked the Professor in the face. The Superinten- dents of Affairs, who occupy the flag- ging in front of the hotel, seated in cane- bottomed chairs tilted back, smiled. These useful persons appear to have a life-lease of this portion of the city pavement, and pretty effectually block it up nearly all day and evening. When a lady wishes to make her way through the blockade, it is the habit of these ob- servers of life to rise and make room, touching their hats, while she picks her way through, and goes down the street with a pretty consciousness of the flutter she has caused. 7f1e war has not changed the Southern habit of sit- ting out-of-doors, but has added a new element of street picturesqueness in groups of colored people lounging about the corners. There appears to be more leisure than ever. The scene of this little lesson in horse- manship was the old town of Abingdon, in Southwest Virginia, on the Virginia and East Tennessee railway; a town of ancient respectability, which gave birth to the Johustons and Floyds and other notable people; a town that still pre- serves the flavor of excellent tobacco and something of the easy-going habits of the days of slavery, and is a sort of educational centre, wher9 the young ladies of the region add the final graces of intellectual life in moral philosophy and the use of the globes to their nat- ural gifts. The mansion of the late and left Floyd is now a seminary, and not far from it is the Stonewall Jackson In- stitute, in the midst of a grove of splen- did oaks, whose stately holes and wide- spreading branches give a dignity to educational life. The distinction of the region is its superb oak-trees. As it was vacation in these institutions of learning, the travelers did not see any of the vines that traditionally cling to the oak. The Professor and the Friend of Hu- manity were about starting on a jour- ney, across country southward, through regions about which the people of Ab- ingdon could give little useful informa- tion. If the travelers had known the capacities and resources of the country they would xiot have started without a supply train, or the establishment of bases of provisions in advance. But, as the Professor remarked, knowledge is something that one acquires when he has no use for it. The horses were sad- dled; the riders were equipped with flannel shirts and leather leggings; the saddle-bags were stuffed with clean linen, 88 [July,

On Horseback. ON HORSEBACK. I. Tua way to mount a horse said the Professor. If you have no ladder put in the Friend of Humanity. The Professor had ridden through the war for the Union, on the right side, en- joying a much better view of it than if he had walked, and knew as much about a horse as a person ought to know for the sake of his character. The man who can recite the tales of the Canter- bury Pilgrims, on horseback, giving the contemporary pronunciation, never miss- ing an accent by reason of the trot, and at the same time witch North CarQlina and a strip of East Tennessee with his noble horsemanship, is a kind of Liter- ary Centaur of whose double instruction any Friend of Humanity may he glad to avail himself. The way to mount a horse is to grasp the mane with the left hand hold- ing the bridle-rein, put your left foot in the stirrup, with the right hand on the back of the saddle, and Just then the horse stepped qpickly around on his hind feet, and looked the Professor in the face. The Superinten- dents of Affairs, who occupy the flag- ging in front of the hotel, seated in cane- bottomed chairs tilted back, smiled. These useful persons appear to have a life-lease of this portion of the city pavement, and pretty effectually block it up nearly all day and evening. When a lady wishes to make her way through the blockade, it is the habit of these ob- servers of life to rise and make room, touching their hats, while she picks her way through, and goes down the street with a pretty consciousness of the flutter she has caused. 7f1e war has not changed the Southern habit of sit- ting out-of-doors, but has added a new element of street picturesqueness in groups of colored people lounging about the corners. There appears to be more leisure than ever. The scene of this little lesson in horse- manship was the old town of Abingdon, in Southwest Virginia, on the Virginia and East Tennessee railway; a town of ancient respectability, which gave birth to the Johustons and Floyds and other notable people; a town that still pre- serves the flavor of excellent tobacco and something of the easy-going habits of the days of slavery, and is a sort of educational centre, wher9 the young ladies of the region add the final graces of intellectual life in moral philosophy and the use of the globes to their nat- ural gifts. The mansion of the late and left Floyd is now a seminary, and not far from it is the Stonewall Jackson In- stitute, in the midst of a grove of splen- did oaks, whose stately holes and wide- spreading branches give a dignity to educational life. The distinction of the region is its superb oak-trees. As it was vacation in these institutions of learning, the travelers did not see any of the vines that traditionally cling to the oak. The Professor and the Friend of Hu- manity were about starting on a jour- ney, across country southward, through regions about which the people of Ab- ingdon could give little useful informa- tion. If the travelers had known the capacities and resources of the country they would xiot have started without a supply train, or the establishment of bases of provisions in advance. But, as the Professor remarked, knowledge is something that one acquires when he has no use for it. The horses were sad- dled; the riders were equipped with flannel shirts and leather leggings; the saddle-bags were stuffed with clean linen, 88 [July, 1885.] O?~ Horseback. and novels, and sonnets of Shakespeare, and other baggage, it would have been well if they had been stuffed with hard- tack, for in real life meat is more than raiment. The hotel, in front of which there is cultivated so much of what the Ger- mans call s~tzfleisc1t, is a fair type of the majority of Southern hotels, and differs from the same class in the North in being left a little more to run itself. The only information we obtained about it was from its porter at the station, who replied to the question, Is it the best ? We warrant you perfect satisfaction in every respect. This seems to be only a formula of expression, for we found that the statement was highly colored. It was left to our imagination to con- jecture how the big chambers of the old house, with their gaping fireplaces, might have looked when furnished and filled with gay company, and we got what satisfaction we could out of a bygone bustle and mint-julep hilarity. In our struggles with the porter to obtain the little items of soap, water, and towels, we were convinced that we had arrived too late, and that for perfect satisfac- tion we should have been here before the war. It was not always as now. In colonial days the accommodations and prices at inns were regulated by law. In the old records in the court- house we read that if we had been here in 1777 we could have had a gallon of good rum for sixteen shillings; a quart bowl of rum toddy made with loaf sugar for two shillings, or with brown sugar for one shilling and sixpence. In 1779 prices had risen. Good rum sold for four pounds a gallon. It was ordered tbat a warm dinner should cost twelve shillings, a cold dinner nine shillings, and a good breakfast twelve shillings. But the item that pleased us most, and made us i-egret our late advent, was that for two shillings we could have had a good lodging, with clean sheets. The colonists were fastidious people. Abingdon, prettily situated on rolling hills and a couple of thousand feet above the sea, with views of mountain peaks to the south, is a cheerful and not too exciting place for a brief sojourn, and hospitable and helpful to the stranger. We had dined so much, at least, the public would expect of us with a de- scendant of Pocahontas; we had as- sisted on Sunday morning at the dedi- cation of a new brick Methodist church, the finest edifice in the region, a dedi- cation that took a long time, since the bishop would not proceed with it until money enough was raised in open meet- ing to pay the balance due on it, a religions act, though it did give a busi- ness aspect to the place at the time; and we had beeii the light spots in the evening service at the most aristocratic church of color. The irresponsibility of this amiable race was exhibited in the tardiness with which they assembled: ~it the appointed time nobody was there except the sexton; it was three quarters of an hour before the congregation be- gan to saunter in, and the sermon was nearly over before the pews were at all filled. Perhaps the sermon was not new, but it was fervid, and at times the able preacher roared so that articulate sounds were lost in the general effect. It was precisely these passages of cata- racts of sound and hard breathing which excited the liveliest responses, Yes, Lord, and Glory to God. Most of these responses came from the Amen corner. The sermon contained the usual vivid description of the last judgment- ah, and I fancied that the congregation did not get the ordinary satisfaction out of it. Fashion had entered the fold, and the singing was mostly executed by a choir in the dusky gallery, who thinly and harshly warbled the emo- tional hymns. It occupied the minister a long time to give out the notices of the week, and there was not an evening or afternoon that had not its meetings, its literary or social gathering, its picnic 90 On Horseback. or fair for the benefit of the church, its Dorcas society, or some occasion of re- ligious sociability. The raising of funds appeared to be the burden on the preach- ers mind. Two collections were taken up. At the first, the boxes appeared to get no supply except from the two white trash present. But the second was more successful. After the sermon was over, an elder took his place at a table within the rails, and the real business of the evening began. Somebody in the Amen corner struck up a tune that had no end, but a mighty power of setting the con- gregation in motion. The leader had a voice like the pleasant droning of a bag- pipe, and the faculty of emitting a con- tinuous note like that instrument, with- out stopping to breathe. It went on and on like a Bach fugue, winding and whin- ing its way, turning the corners of the lines of the catch without a break. The effect was soon visible in the emotional crowd: feet began to move in a regular cadence and voices to join in, with spurts of ejaculation; and soon, with an air of martyrdom, the members began to leave their seats and pass before the table and deposit their contributions. It was a cent contribution, and we found it very diffi- cult, under the contagious influence of the hum from the Amen corner, not to rise and go forward and deposit a cent. If anything could extract the pennies from a reluctant worldling it would be the buzzing of this tune. It went on and on, until the house appeared to be drained dry of its cash; and we inferred by the stopping of the melody that the preachers salary was secure for the time being. On inquiring, we ascertained that the pecuniary flood that evening had risen to the height of a dollar and sixty cents. All was ready for the start. It should have been early in the morning, but it was not; for Virginia is not only one of the blessed regions where one can get a late breakfast, but where it is al~ most impossible to get an early one. AL ten A. P.!., the two horsemen rode away out of sight of the Abingdon spectators, down the eastern turnpike. The day was warm, but the air was full of vital- ity and the spirit of adventure. It was the 22d of July. The horses were not ambitious, but went on at an easy fox- trot that permits observation and en- courages conversation. It had been stip- ulated that the horses shou,l~ be goed walkers, the one essential t~iing in a horseback journey. Few horses, even in a country where riding is general, are trained to walk fast. We hear much of horses that can walk five miles an hour, but they are as rare as white elephants. Our horses were only fair walkers. We realized how necessary this accomplish- ment is, for between the Tennessee line and Asheville, North Carolina, there is scarcely a mile of trotting-ground. We soon turned southward and de- scended into the 1-loiston River Valley. Beyond lay the Tennessee hills and con- spicuous White-Top Mountain (55~O feet), which has a good deal of local ce- lebrity (standing where the States of Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina corner), and had been pointed out to us at Abingdon. We had been urged, per- sonally and by letter, to ascend this mountain, without fail. People recoin- mend mountains to their friends as they do patent medicines. As we leisurely jogged along we discussed this, and en- deavored to arrive at some rule of con- duct for the journey. The Professor expressed at once a feeling about mountain - climbing that amounted to hostility, he would go nowhere that he could not ride. Climbing was the most unsatisfactory use to which a mountain could be put. As to White- Top, it was a small mountain, and not worth ascending. The Friend of Hu- munity, who believes in mountain-climb- ing as a theory, and for other people, and knows the value of being able to say, without detection, that he has as- cended any high mountain about whieb 1885.] L~ 1kr& ~back. 91 he is questioned, p since this question is the first one asked about an exploration in a new country, saw that he should have to use a good deal of diplomacy to get the Professor over any considerable elevation on the trip. And he had to confess also that a view from a mountain is never so satisfactory as a view of a mountain, from a moderate height. The Professor, however, did not argue the matter on any such reasonable ground, but took his stand on his right as a man not to ascend a mountain. With this appeal to first principles, a position that could not be confuted on account of its vagueness (although it might prob- ably be demonstrated that in society man has no such right), there was no way of agreement except by a compro- mise. It w~as accordingly agreed that no mountain under six thousand feet is worth ascending; that disposed of White- Top. It was further agreed that any mountain that is over six thousand feet high is too high to ascend on foot. With this amicable adjustment we forded the Llolston, crossing it twice within a few miles. This npper branch of the Tennessee is a noble stream, broad, with a rocky bed and a swift cur- rent. Fording it is ticklish business ex- cept at comparatively low water, and as it is subject to sudden rises there must be times when it seriously interrupts travel. This whole region, full of swift streams, is without a bridge, and, as a consequence, getting over rivers and brooks and the dangers of ferries occu- py a prominent place in the thoughts of the inhabitants. The life necessarily had the frontier quality all through, for there can be little solid advance in civilization in the uncertainties of a bridgeless condition. An open, pleasant valley, the Holston, but cultivation is ~iore and more negligent and houses are few and poorer as we advance. We had left behind the hote1~ of perfect satisfaction, and expected to live on the country, trusting to the iu~. frequent b~~t remunerated hospitality of the widely scattered inhabitants. We were to dine at Ramseys. Ramseys had been recommended to us as a royal place of entertainment, the best in all that region; and as the sun grew hot in the sandy valley, and the weariness of noon fell upon us, we magnified Ram- seys in our imagination, the nobility of its situation, its cuisine, its inviting rest- fulness, and half decided to pass the night there in the true abandon of plan- tation life. Long before we reached it, the Holston River which we followed had become the Laurel, a most lovely, rocky, winding stream, which we forded continually, for the valley became too narrow much of the way to acconimo- date a road and a river. Eagerly as we were looking out for it, we passed the great Ramseys without knowing it, for it was the first of a little settlement of two houses and a saw-mill and barn. It was a neat log house of two lower rooms and a summer kitchen, quite the best of the class that we saw, and the pleasant mistress of it made us welcome. Across the road and close to the Laurel was the spring-house, the invariable adjunct to every well-to-do house in the region, and on the stony margin of the stream was set up the big caklron for the fam- ily washing; and here, paddling in the shallow stream, while dinner was pro- paring, we established an intimacy with the children aiid exchanged philosophical observations on life with the old negroes who was dabbling the clothes. What impressed this woman was the inequal- ity in life. She jumped to the unwar- ranted conclusion that the Professor and the Friend were very rich, and spoke with asperity of the difficulty she expe- rienced in getting shoes and tobacco. It was useless to point out to her that her alfresco life was singularly blessed and free from care, and the happy lot of any one who could loiter all day by this laughing stream, undisturbed by debt or antbition. Everybody about the place 92 On ffor8ebaclc. [July, was barefooted, except the mistress, in- cluding the comely daughter of eighteen, who served our dinner in the kitchen. The dinner was abundant, and though it seemed to us incongruous at the time we were not twelve hours older when we looked back upon it with longing. On the table were hot biscuit, ham, pork, and green beans, apple-sauce, blackberry preserves, cucumbers, coffee, plenty of milk, honey, and apple and blackberry pie. Here we had our first experience, and I may say new sensation, of honey on pie. It has a cloying sound as it is written, but the handmaiden recom- mended it with enthusiasm, and we evi- dently fell in her esteem, as persons from an uncultivated society, when we declared our inexperience of honey on pie. Where be von from? It turned out to be very good, and we have tried to introduce it. in families since our return, with indifferent success. There did not seem to be in this family much curiosity about the world at large, nor much stir of social life. The gay- ety of madame nppeared to consist in an occasional visit to paw and maw and graudmaw, up the river a few miles, where she was raised. Refreshed by the honey and fodder at Ramseys, the pilgrims went gayly along the musical Laurel, in the slant- ing rays of the afternoon sun, which played upon the rapids and illumined all the woody way. Inspired by the mis- apprehension of the colored phIlosopher and the dainties of the dinner, the Pro- fessor soliloquized So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of wealth they thinly. placid are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. Five miles beyond Ramseys the Ten- ~nessee line was crossed. The Laurel be- tame more rocky, swift, full of rapids, :and the valley narrowed down to the river-way, with standing room, however, for stately trees along the banks. The oaks, both black and white, were, as they had been all day, gigantic in size and splendid in foliage. There is a cer- tain dignity in riding in such stately company, and the travelers clattered along over the stony road under the im- pression of possible high adventure in a new world of such freshness. iNor was beauty wanting. The rhododendrons had, perhaps, a week ago reached their cli- max, and now began to strew the water and the ground with their brilliant pet- als, dashing all the way with color; but they were still matchlessly beautiful. Great banks of pink and white covered the steep hillsides; the bending stems, ten to twenty feet high, hung their rich clusters over the river; aveilues of glory opened away in the glade of the stream; and at every turn of the winding way vistas glowing with the hues of romance wrenched exclamations of delight and wonder from the Shakespearean sonnet- eer and his humble Friend. In the deep recesses of the forest suddenly flamed to the view, like the splashes of splen- dor on the sombre canvas of an old Ve- netian, these wonders of color, the glowing summer-heart of the woods. It was difficult to say, meantime, whether the road was laid out in the river, or the river in the road. In the few miles to Eggers (this was the des- tination of our great expectations for the night) the stream was crossed twenty-seven times, or perhaps it would be more proper to say that the road was crossed twenty-seven times. Where the road did not run in the river, its bed was washed out and as stony as the bed of the stream. This is a general and accurate description of all the roads in this region, which wind along and in the streams, through nar- row valleys, shut in by low and steep hills. The country is full of springs and streams, and between Abingdon and Eggers is only one (small) bridge. 1885.] On Hcrsebaclc. 93: In a region with scarcely any level land or intervale, farmers are at a dis- advantage. All along the road we saw nothing but mean shanties, generally of logs, with now and then a decent one- story frame, and the people looked mis- erably poor. As we picked our way along up the Laurel, obliged for the most part to ride single-file, or as the Professor ex- pressed it, Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one, we gathered information about Eggers from the infrequent hovels on the road, which inflamed our imaginations. Eg- ger was the thriving man of the region, and lived in style in a big brick house. We began to feel a doubt that Egger would take us in, and so much did his brick magnificence impress us that we regretted we had not brought apparel fit for the society we were about to enter. It was half past six, and we were tired and hungry, when the domain of Egger towered in sight, a gaunt two- story structure of raw brick, unfinished, standing in a narrow intervale. We rode up to the gate, and asked a man who sat in the front-door porch if this was Eggers, and if we could be accom- modated for the night. The man, with- out moving, allowed that it was Eggers, and that we could probably stay there. This person, however, exhibited so much indifference to our company, he was such a hairy, unkempt m~sn, and car- ried on face, hands, and clothes so much more of the soil of the region than a prudent proprietor would divert from raising corn, that we set him aside as a poor relation, and asked for Mr. Eg- ger. But the man, still without the least hospitable stir, admitted that that was the name he went by, and at length advised us to lite and hitch our horses, and set on the porch with him and enjoy the cool of the evening. The horses would be put up by and by, and in fact things generally would come round some time. This turned out to be the easy way of the country. Mr. Egger was far from being inhospitable, but was in no hurry, and never had been in a hurry. He was not exactly a gentleman of the old school. He was better than that. He dated from the time when there were no schools at all, and he lived in that placid world which is without information and ideas. Mr. Egger showed his superiority by a total lack of curiosity about any other world. This brick house, magnificent by com- parison with other dwellings in this country, seemed to us, on nearer ac- quaintance, only a thin, crude shell of a house, half unfinished, with bare rooms, the plastering already discolored. In point of furnishing it had not yet reached the God bless our Home stage in crewel. In the narrow meadow, a strip of vivid green south of the house, ran a little stream, fed by a copious spring, and over it was built the inevi- table spring-house. A post, driven into the bank by the stream, supported a tin wash-basin, and here we performed our ablutions. The traveler gets to like this freedom and primitive luxury. The farm of Egger produces corn, wheat, grass, and sheep; it is a good enough farm, but most of it lies at an angle of thirty-five to forty degrees. The ridge back of the house, planted in corn, was as steep as the roof of his dwelling. it seemed incredible that it ever could have been ploughed, but the proprietor assured us that it was ploughed with mules, and I judged that the har- vesting must be done by squii-rels. The soil is good enough, if it would stay in place, but all the hillsides are seamed with gullies. The discolored state of the streams was accounted for as soon as~ we saw this cultivated land. No sooner is the land cleared of trees and broken up than it begins to wash. We saw more of this later; especially in North 94 On IJior8e6ack. [July, Carolina, where we encountered no stream of water that was not muddy, and saw no cultivated ground that was not washed. The process of denudation is going on rapidly wherever the origi- nal forests are girdled (a common way of preparing for crops), or cut away. As the time passed and there was no sign of supper, the question became a burning one, and we went to explore the kitchen. iNo sign of it there. No fire in the stove, nothing cooked in the house, of course. Mrs. Egger and her comely young bare-footed daughter had still the milking to attend to, and sup- per must wait for the other chores. It seemed easier to be Mr. Egger, in this state of existence, and sit on the front porch and meditate on the price of mules and the prospect of a crop, than to be Mrs. Egger, whose work was not limited from sun to sun; who had, in fact, a days work to do after the men- folks had knocked off; whose chances of neighborhood gossip were scanty, whose amusements were confined to a religious meeting once a fortnight. Good, honest people these, not unduly puffed up by the brick house, grubbing away year in and year out. Yes, the young girl said, there was a neighbor- hood party, now and then, in the win- ter. What a price to pay for mere life! Long before supper was ready, nearly nine oclock, we had nearly lost inter- est in it. Meantime two other guests had arrived, a couple of drovers from North Carolina, who brought into the circle by this time a wood-fire had been kindled in the sitting-room, which contained a bed, an almanac, and some old copies of a newspaper a rich flavor of cattle and talk of the price of steers. As to politics, although a presi- dential campaign was raging, there was scarcely an echo of it here. This was Job nson County, Tennessee, a strong. Republican county: but dog-gone it, says sheet, and soon ceased to hear the bark- Mr. Egger, it s no use to vote ; our votea ing of dog~ and the horned encounters are overborne by the rest of the Stae. ~f the droiers herd. Yes, they d got a Republican member of Congress, he d heard his name, but he d forgotten it. The drover said lie d heard it also, but he did nt take much interest in such things, though he was nt any Republican. Parties is pretty much all for office, both agreed. Even the Professor, who was traveling in the interest of Reform, could nt wake up a discussion out of such a state of mind. Alas! the supper, served in a room dimly lighted with a smoky lamp, on a long table covered with oil-cloth, was not of the sort to arouse the delayed and now gone appetite of a Reformer, and yet it did not lack variety: corn.. pone (Indian meal stirred up with water and heated through), hot biscuit slack- baked and livid, fried salt-pork swim- ming in grease, apple-butter, pickled beets, onions and cucumbers raw, coffee~ so-called, buttermilk, and sweet milk when specially asked for (the correet~ taste, however, is for buttermilk), and pie. This was not the pie of commerce, but the pie of the country, two thick slabs of dough, with a squeezing of ap- ple between. The profusion of this supper staggered the novices, but the drovers attacked it as if such cooking were a common occurrence, and did jus- tice to the weary labors of Mrs. Egger. Egger is well prepared to entertain. strangers, having several rooms and several beds in each room. Upon con- sultat,ion with the drovers, they said they d just as soon occupy an apart- ment by themselves, and we gave up their society for the night. The beds in our chamber had each one sheet, and the room otherwise gave evidence of the mod- ern spirit; for in one corner stood the fashionable ~sthetic decoration of our Queen Anne drawing-rooms, the spin- ning-wheel. Soothed by this concession to taste, we crowded in between the straw and the home-made blanket and. 1885.] On Horseback. 95 Yes, this house stands on the line. Where you sit you are in Tennessee; I m in North Carolina. Do you live here? Law, no; I m just staying a little while at the colonels. I live over the mountain here, three miles from Taylors- ville. I thought I d be where I could step into North Carolina easy. hows that? Well, they wanted me to go before the grand jury and testify about some pistol-shooting down by our house, some friends of mine got into a little difficulty, and I did nt want to. I never has no difficulty with nobody, never says nothing about nobody, has nothing against nobody, and I reckon nobody has nothing against me. Did you come alone? Why, of course. I come across the mountain by a path through the woods. That s nothing.~~ A discreet, pleasant, pretty girl. This surely must be the Esmeralda who lives in these mountains, and adorns low life by her virgin purity and sentiment. As she talked on, she turned from time to time to the fireplace behind her, and dis.. charged a dark fluid from her pretty lips, with accuracy of aim, and with a nonchalance that was not assumed, but belongs to our free-born American girls. I cannot tell why this habit of hers (which is no worse than the sister habit of dipping) should take her out of the romantic setting that her face and figure had placed her in; but somehow we felt inclined to ride on further for our heroine. And yet, said the Professor, as we left the site of the colonels thriving distillery, and by a winding, picturesque road through a rough farming country descended into the valley, and yet why fling aside so readily a character and situation so full of romance, on account of a habit of this mountain Helen, which We parted with Mr. Egger after breakfast (which was a~ close copy of the supper) with more respect than re- gret. his total charge for the enter- tainment of two men and two horses supper, lodging, and breakfast was high or low, as the traveler chose to es- tirnate it. It was $1.20: that is, thirty cents for each individual, or ten cents for each meal and lodging. Our road was a sort of by-way up Gentry Creek and over the Cut L~urel Gap to Worths, at Creston Post-Office, in North Carolina, the next available halting place, said to be fifteen miles distant, and turning out to be twenty- two, and a rough road. There is a little settlement about Eggers, and the first half mile of our way we had the corn- pany of the school-mistress, a modest, pleasant-spoken girl. Neither she nor any other people we encountered had any dialect or local peculiarity of speech. Indeed, those we encountered that morn- ing had nothing in manner or accent to distinguish them. The novelists had led us to expect something different; and the modest and pretty young ladies, with frank and open blue eyes, who wore gloves and used the common Eng- lish speech, had never figured in the fic- tion of the region. Cherished illusions vanish often on near approach. The day gave no peculiarity of speech to note, except the occasional use of hit for it. The road over Cut Laurel Gap was very steep and stony, the thermometer mounted up to 80~, and notwithstanding the beauty of the way the ride became tedious before we reached the summit. On the summit is the dwelling and dis- tillery of a colonel famous in these parts. We stopped at the house for a glass of milk; the colonel was absent, and while the woman in charge went for it, we sat on the veranda and con- versed with a young lady, tall, gent, well favored, and communicative, who one of our best poets has almost made leaned in. the doorway. poetical, in the ease of the pioneer tak 9t; On iforeebacic. ing his westward way, with ox-goad pointing to the sky He s leavin,, on the pictured rock His fresh tobacco stain. To my mind the incident has Ho- ineric elements. The Greeks would have looked at it in a large, legendary way. Here is Helen, strong and lithe of limb, ox-eyed, courageous, but wo- man-hearted and love-inspiring, contend- ed for by all the braves and daring moon- shiners of Cut Laurel Gap, pursued by the gallants of two States, the prize of a border warfare of bowie knives and re- volvers. This Helen, magnanimous as attractive, is the witness of a pistol diffi- culty on her behalf, and when wanted by the areopagus, that she may neither implicate a lover nor punish an enemy (having nothing, this noble type of her sex, against nobody) skips away to Mount Ida, and there, under the ~gis of the flag of her country, in a Licensed Dis- tillery, stands with one slender foot in Tennessee and the other in North Car- olina ~ Like the figure of the Republic it- self, superior to state sovereignty, inter- posed the Friend. I beg your pardon, said the Pro- fessor, urging up Laura Matilda (for so he called the nervous mare, who fretted herself into a fever in the stony path), I was quite able to get the woman out of that position without the aid of a metaphor. It is a large and Greek idea, that of standing in two mighty States, superior to the law, looking east and looking west, ready to transfer her agile body to either State on the approach of messengers of the court; and I 11 be hanged if I did nt think that her non- chalant rumination of the weed, com- bined with her lofty moral attitude, added something to the picture. The Friend said that he was quite willing to join in the extremest defense of the privileges of beauty, that he even held in abeyance judgment on the practice of dipping; but when it came to chewing, gum was as far as he could go as an allowance for the fair sex. When I consider everything that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment The rest of the stanza was lost, for the Professor was splashing through the stream. No sooner had we descended than the fording of streams began again. The Friend had been obliged to stipu- late that the Professor should go ahead at these crossings, to keep the impetu- ous nag of the latter from throwing half the contents of the stream upon his slower and uncomplaining companion. What a lovely country, but for the heat of noon and the long wearisome- ness of the way! not that the distance was great, but miles and miles more than expected. How charming the open glades of the river, how refreshing the great forests of oak and chestnut, and what a panorama of beauty the banks of rhododendrons, now intermingled with the lighter pink and white of the laurel! In this region the rhododendron is called laurel, and the laurel (the sheep-laurel of New England) is ca!led ivy. At Worths, well on in the afternoon, we emerged into a wide, open farming intervale, a pleasant place of meadowa and streams and decent dwellings. Worths is the trading centre of the re- gion, has a post-office and a sawmill and a big country store; and the dwelling of the proprietor is not unlike a roomy New England country-house. Worths has been immemorially a stopping place in a region where places of accommoda- tion are few. The proprietor, now an elderly man, whose reminiscences are long ante bellum, has seen the world grow up about him, he the honored, just centre of it, and a family come up into the modern notions of life, with a board- ing-school education and glimpses of city life and foreign travel. I fancy that nothing but tradition and a remaining Southern hospitality could induce this private family to suffer the incursions & f the wayfaring man. Our travelers ar~ 1885.] On Ilorsebacic. 97 not apt to be surprised at anything in American life, but they did not expect to find a house in this region with two pianos and a bevy of young ladies, whose clothes were certainly not made on Cut Laurel Gap, and to read in the books scattered about the house the evidences of the finishing schools with which our country is blessed, nor to find here pu- pils of the Stonewall Jackson Institute at Abingdon. With a flush of local pride, the Professor took up, in the roomy, pleasant chamber set apart for the guests, a copy of Porters Elements of Moral Science. Where you see the Elements of Moral Science, the Friend generalized, there 11 be plenty of water and tow- els; and the sign did not fail. The friends intended to read this book in the cool of the day: but as they sat on the long veranda, the voice of a maiden reading the latest novel to a sewing- group behind the blinds in the drawing- room; and the antics of a mule and a boy in front of the store opposite; and the arrival of a spruce young man, who had just ridden over from somewhere, a matter of ten miles gallop, to get a medicinal potion for his sick mother, and lingered chatting with the young ladies until we began to fear that his mother would recover before his return; the coming and going of lean women in shackly wagons to trade at the store; the coming home of the cows, splashing through the stream, hooking right and left, and lowing for the hand of the milker, all these interruptions, to- gether with the generally drowsy quiet of the approach of evening, interfered with the study of the Elements. And when the travelers, after a refreshing rest, went on their way next morning, considering the Elements and the pi- anos and the refinement, to say nothing of the cuisine, which is not treated of in the text-book referred to, they were con- tent with a bill double that of brother Egger in his brick magnificence. VOL. LVI. NO. 333. 7 The simple truth is that the traveler in this region must be content to feed on natural beauties. And it is an unfortunate truth in natural history that the appetite for this sort of diet falls after a time, if the inner man is not supplied with other sort of food. There is no landscape in the world that is agreeable after two days of rusty bacon and slack biscuit. How lovely this would be, ex- claimed the Professor, if it had a back- ground of beefsteak and coffee! We were riding along the west fork of the Laurel, distinguished locally as rrhree Top Creek, or rather we were riding in it, crossing it thirty-one times within six miles; a charming wood (and water) road, under the shade of fine trees, with the rhododendron illuminat- ing the way, gleaming in the forest and reflected in the stream, all the ten miles to Elk Cross Roads, our next des- tination. We had heard a great deal about Elk Cross Roads; it was on the map, it was down in the itinerary fur- nished by a member of the coast sur- vey. We looked forward to it as a sweet place of repose from the noontide heat. Alas! Elk Cross Roads is a dirty gro- cery-store, encumbered with dry-goods boxes, fly-blown goods, flies, loafers. In reply to our inquiry, we were told that they had nothing to eat, for us, and not a grain of feed for the horses. But there was a man a mile further on, who was well to do and had stores of food, old man Tatem would treat us in bang-up style. The difficulty of getting feed for the horses was chronic all through the journey. The last corn crop had failed, the new oats and corn had not come in, and the country was literally barren. We had noticed all along that the hens were taking a vaca- tion, and that chickens were not put for- ward as an article of diet. We were unable, when we reached the residence of old man Tatem, to im- agine how the local superstition of his wealth arose. His house is of logs, 98 On Horseback. [July, with two rooms, a kitchen and a spare room, with a low loft accessible by a ladder at the side of the chimney. The chimney is a huge construction of stone, separating the two parts of the house; in fact, the chimney was built first, ap- parently, and the two rooms were then built against it. The proprietor sat in a little railed veranda. These Southern verandas give an air to the meanest dwelling, and they are much used; the family sit here, and here are the wash- basin and pail (which is filled from the neighboring spring-house) and the row of milk-pans. The old man Tatem did not welcome us with enthusiasm; he had no corn, these were hard times. He looked like hard times, grizzled times, dirty times. It seemed time out of mind since he had seen comb or razor, and although the lovely New River, along which we had ridden to his house, a broad, inviting stream, was in sight across the meadow, there was no evidence that he had ever made acquaintance with its cleansing waters. As to corn, the necessities of the case and pay being dwelt on, perhaps he could find a dozen ears. A dozen small ears he did find, and we trust that the horses found them. We took a family dinner with old man Tatem in the kitchen, where there was a bed and a stove, a meal that the host seemed to enjoy, but which we could not make much of, except the milk; that was good. A painful meal, on the whole, owing to the presence in the room of a grown-up daughter with a graveyard cough, without physician or medicine, or comforts. Poor girl! just dying of a misery. In the spare room were two beds; the walls were decorated with the gay- colored pictures of patent-medicine ad- vertisements a favorite art adorn- ment of the region; and a pile of an ient illustrated papers with the usual patent-office report, the thoughtful gift of the member for the district. The old man takes in the Blue Ridge Bap- tist, a journal which we found largely taken up with the experiences of its editor on his journeys roundabout in search of subscribers. This newspaper was the sole communication of the fam- ily with the world at large, but the old man thought he should stop it, he didnt seem to get the worth of his money out of it. And old man Tatem was a thrifty and provident man. On the hearth in this best room as orna- ments or memento mon were a couple of marble grave-stones, a short head- stone and foot-stone, mounted on bases and ready for use, except the lettering. These may not have been so mournful and significant as they looked, nor the evidence of simple, humble faith; they may have been taken for debt. But as parlor ornaments they had a fascination which we could not escape. It was while we were bathing in the New River, that afternoon, and medi- tating on the grim, unrelieved sort of life of our host, that the Professor said, Judging by the face of the Blue Ridge Baptist, he will charge us smartly for the few nubbins of corn and the milk. The face did not deceive us; the charge was one dollar. At this rate it would have broken us to have tarried with old man Tatem (perhaps he is not old, but that is the name he goes by) over night. It was a hot afternoon, and it needed some courage to mount and climb th& sandy hill leading us away from the corn-crib of Tatem. But we entered almost immediately into fine stretches of forest, and rode under the shade of great oaks. The way, which began by the New River, soon led us over the hills to the higher levels of Watauga County. So far on our journey we had been hemmed in by low hills, and with- out any distant or mountain outlooks. The excessive heat seemed out of place at the elevation of over two thousand feet, on which we were traveling. Boone, the county-seat of Watauga County, was On Horseback. our destination, and, ever since morning, the guide-boards and the trend of the roads had notified us that everything in this region tends towards Boone as a centre of interest. The simple inge- nuity of some of the guide-boards im- pressed us. If, on coming to a fork, the traveler was to turn to the right, the sign read, To BooNE 10 M. If he was to go to the left, it read, .M 01 uNooa oT A short ride of nine miles, on an as- cending road, through an open, un- fenced forest region, brought us long before sundown to this capital. When we had ridden into its single street, which wanders over gentle hills, and landed at the most promising of the taverns, the Friend informed his com- rade that Boone was 8250 feet above Albemarle Sound, and believed by its in- habitants to be the highest village east of the Rocky Mountains. The Pro- fessor said that it might be so, but it was a God-forsaken place. Its inhab- itants numbered perhaps 250, a few of them colored. It had a gaunt, shaky court-house and jail, a store or two, and two taverns. The two taverns are needed to accommodate the judges and lawyers and their clients during the session of the court. The court is the only excitement and the only amuse- ment. It is the event from which other events date. Everybody in the county knows exactly when court sits, and when court breaks. During the session the whole county is practically in Boone, men, women, and children. They camp there, they attend the trials, they take sides; half of them, perhaps, are wit- nesses, for the region is litigious, and the neighborhood quarrels are entered into with spirit. To be fond of law- suits seems a characteristic of an iso- lated people in new conditions. The early settlers of New England were. Notwithstanding the elevation of Boone, which insured a pure air, the thermometer that afternoon stood at from 850 to 890. The flies enjoyed it. How they swarmed in this tavern! They would have carried off all the food from the dining-room table (for flies do not mind eating off oil-cloth, and are not par- ticular how food is cooked), but for the machine with hanging flappers that swept the length of it; and they destroy all possibility of sleep except in the dark. The mountain regions of North Caro- lina are free from mosquitoes, but the fly has settled there, and is the universal scourge. This tavern, one end of which was a store, had a veranda in front, and a back gallery, where there were evidences of female refinement in pots of plants and flowers. The landlord him- self kept tavern very much as a hostler would, but we had to make a note in his favor that he had never heard of a milk punch. And it might as well be said here, for it will have to be insisted on later, that the traveler, who has read about the illicit stills till his im- agination dwells upon the indulgence of his vitiated tastes in the mountains of North Carolina, is doomed to disappoint- ment. If he wants to make himself an exception to the sober people whose cooking will make him long for the maddening bowl, he must bring his poi- son with him. We had found no bread since we left Virginia; we had seen corn-meal and water, slack-baked; we had seen potatoes fried in grease, and bacon encrusted with salt (all thirst- provokers), but nothing to drink strong- er than buttermilk. And we can say that, so far as our example is concerned, we left the country as temperate as we found it. How can there be mint-juleps (to go into details) without ice? and in the summer there is probably not a pound of ice in all the State north of Buncombe County. There is nothing special to be said about Boone. We were anxious to reach it, we were glad to leave it; we note as to all these places that our joy 1885.1 99 100 On Horseback. at departing always exceeds that on ar- riving, which is a merciful provision of nature for people who must keep inov- ing. This country is settled by genuine Americans, who have the aboriginal primitive traits of the universal Yankee nation. The front porch in the morn- ing resembled a carpenters shop; it was literally covered with the whittlings of the row of natives who had spent the evening there in the sedative occupation of whittling. We took that morning a forest road to Valle Crusis, seven miles, through noble growths of oaks, chestnuts, hemlocks, rhododendrons; a charming wood road, leading to a place that, as usual, did not keep the promise of its name. Yalle Crusis has a blacksmith shop and a dirty, fly-blown store. While the Professor consulted the blacksmith about a loose shoe, the Friend carried his weariness of life without provisions up to a white house on the hill, and negotiated for boiled milk. This house was occupied by flies. They must have numbered millions, settled in black swarms, cov- ering tables, beds, walls, the veranda; the kitchen was simply a hive of them. The only book in sight, Whewell s Ele- ments of Morality, seems to attract flies. Query, Why should this have such a different effect from Porters ? A white house, a pleasant-looking house at a distance, amiable, kindly people in it, why should we have arrived there on its dirty day? Alas! if we had been starv- ing, Valle Crusis had nothing to offer us. So we rode away, in the blazing heat, no poetry exuding from the Professor, eight miles to Banners Elk, crossing a mountain and passing under Hanging Rock, a conspicuous feature in the land- scape, and the only outcropping of rock we had seen: the face of a ledge, round- ed up into the sky, with a green hood on it. From the summit we had the first extensive prospect during our journey. The road can be described as awful, steep, stony, the horses unable to make [July, two miles an hour on it. Now and then we encountered a rude log cabin with- out barns or outhouses, and a little patch of feeble corn. The women who regarded the passers from their cabin doors were frowzy and looked tired. What with the heat and the road and this discouraged appearance of human- ity, we reached the residence of Dugger, at Banners Elk, to which we had been directed, nearly exhausted. It is no use to represent this as a dash across coun- try on impatient steeds. It was not so. The love of truth is stronger than the desire of display. And for this reason it is impossible to say that Mr. Dugger, who is an excellent man, lives in a clean and attractive house, or that he offers much that the pampered child of civili- zation can eat. But we shall not forget the two eggs, fresh from the hens, whose temperature must have been above the normal, nor the spring-house in the glen, where we found a refuge from the flies and the heat. The higher we go, the hotter it is. Banners Elk boasts an elevation of 3500 to 3700 feet. We were not sorry, towards sunset, to descend along the Elk River towards Cranberry Forge. The Elk is a lovely stream, and, though not very clear, has a reputation for trout; but all this region was under operation of a three- years game law, to give the trout a chance to multiply, and we had no op- portunity to test the value of its reputa- tion. Yet a boy whom we encountered had a good string of quarter-pound trout, which he had taken out with a hook and a feather rudely tied on it, to resemble a fly. The road, though not to be com- mended, was much better than that of the morning, the forests grew charming in the cool of the evening, the whippoor- will sang, and as night fell the wander- ers, in want of nearly everything that makes life desirable, stopped at the Iron Companys hotel, under the impression that it was the only comfortable hotel in North Carolina. Charles Dudley Warner. 1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. 101 SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS SEEN WITH EASTERN EYES. EASTERN ideas get ruthlessly shaken when one enters the actual life of the much-written-about Great New West. The state of mind of a little boy of my acquaintance, who, on being sent to school in Germany, wrote home in his first letter, I dont like Germany at all. They drink beer, and in the second, I dont like Germany. We drink beer, finds its parallel in the feelings of many a homesick emigrant who goes to the frontier without the important prepara- tion of a temporary residence in the Middle West. Slowly and surely, with- out making much note of the process, is the Easterner transformed into a new type of man as he comes under the in- fluence of that wonderful fascination which has led to the proverb, The American haven of eternal rest Lies ever just a little further west. It is sometimes said that the perfect American is an Eastern man with a Western veneer. But though the East has been stimulated and enlivened in its migration westward, yet the modifying process is not an easy one; neither can it be carried on without loss in some directions, which the enthusiastic pio- neer is very likely to overlook. Per- haps a fitting subject for the represen- tative American novel, which critics sometimes tell us is yet to be written, might be found in the conflict between Eastern and Western ideas which is now going on in many a soul on the Western plains. No State or Territory west of the Mississippi has had a greater infusion of New England blood at its earliest set- tlement than the one which is the geo- graphical centre of the country. New England emigration saved Kansas, said a Boston man on one occasion. No, was the reply of a Westerner, but it has done a greater thing. It has Amen- canized the Yankee. Both statements contain some truth. The true Kansan loves to recount the events which have made the history of his State remarkable. There was the great immigration in 1854, when the Northern conscience was aroused to pre- vent the extension of slavery, and com- pany after company of settlers, in can- vas - topped wagons, moved westward, singing the songs of Whittier. Then came the border war, in which Bleed- ing Kansas was for several years the centre of the nations thought. In 1861 Kansas entered the Union, and during the great conflict that followed she sent into the army and lost by death a larger proportion of her citizens than any other loyal State. After the war was over there were years of business depression, Indian raids, drought, and grasshoppers, justifying the motto Ad astra per aspera, which is borne on the coat of arms of the State. Yet, though its history has had so much of conflict, it has had much of encouragement also. We well re- member bow Easterners and foreigners gazed with wondering eyes upou the great sheaves and tall corn-stalks of the Kansas exhibit at Philadelphia in 1876. Since then severe droughts have again occurred, but now, after a few years of large crops, the vacant lands of Kansas are fast filling with settlers. To Southwestern Kansas we took our journey from the shores of the Atlantic while the early fall flowers were bloom- ing. We feasted our eyes on the hills of Berkshire County and New York, brilliant in autumn colors, with the homesickening reflection that we were soon to be out of sight of trees and rocks and hills, and after a journey of nearly three days we steamed into the Union Depot at Kansas City, with its labyrinth of railroad tracks. Then we

1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. 101 SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS SEEN WITH EASTERN EYES. EASTERN ideas get ruthlessly shaken when one enters the actual life of the much-written-about Great New West. The state of mind of a little boy of my acquaintance, who, on being sent to school in Germany, wrote home in his first letter, I dont like Germany at all. They drink beer, and in the second, I dont like Germany. We drink beer, finds its parallel in the feelings of many a homesick emigrant who goes to the frontier without the important prepara- tion of a temporary residence in the Middle West. Slowly and surely, with- out making much note of the process, is the Easterner transformed into a new type of man as he comes under the in- fluence of that wonderful fascination which has led to the proverb, The American haven of eternal rest Lies ever just a little further west. It is sometimes said that the perfect American is an Eastern man with a Western veneer. But though the East has been stimulated and enlivened in its migration westward, yet the modifying process is not an easy one; neither can it be carried on without loss in some directions, which the enthusiastic pio- neer is very likely to overlook. Per- haps a fitting subject for the represen- tative American novel, which critics sometimes tell us is yet to be written, might be found in the conflict between Eastern and Western ideas which is now going on in many a soul on the Western plains. No State or Territory west of the Mississippi has had a greater infusion of New England blood at its earliest set- tlement than the one which is the geo- graphical centre of the country. New England emigration saved Kansas, said a Boston man on one occasion. No, was the reply of a Westerner, but it has done a greater thing. It has Amen- canized the Yankee. Both statements contain some truth. The true Kansan loves to recount the events which have made the history of his State remarkable. There was the great immigration in 1854, when the Northern conscience was aroused to pre- vent the extension of slavery, and com- pany after company of settlers, in can- vas - topped wagons, moved westward, singing the songs of Whittier. Then came the border war, in which Bleed- ing Kansas was for several years the centre of the nations thought. In 1861 Kansas entered the Union, and during the great conflict that followed she sent into the army and lost by death a larger proportion of her citizens than any other loyal State. After the war was over there were years of business depression, Indian raids, drought, and grasshoppers, justifying the motto Ad astra per aspera, which is borne on the coat of arms of the State. Yet, though its history has had so much of conflict, it has had much of encouragement also. We well re- member bow Easterners and foreigners gazed with wondering eyes upou the great sheaves and tall corn-stalks of the Kansas exhibit at Philadelphia in 1876. Since then severe droughts have again occurred, but now, after a few years of large crops, the vacant lands of Kansas are fast filling with settlers. To Southwestern Kansas we took our journey from the shores of the Atlantic while the early fall flowers were bloom- ing. We feasted our eyes on the hills of Berkshire County and New York, brilliant in autumn colors, with the homesickening reflection that we were soon to be out of sight of trees and rocks and hills, and after a journey of nearly three days we steamed into the Union Depot at Kansas City, with its labyrinth of railroad tracks. Then we 102 Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. [July, bade good-by to the comforts of Pull- man cars and the services of railroad porters for a tedious journey of thirteen hours in a crowded local, over one of the unfinished railroads, with alphabet- ical names, that are resting in a state of indecision as to their future course. At first the stations were frequent, and the otherwise monotonous scenery was va- ried by large villages, with fine farms and orchards and streams of water fringed with great trees. Then the towns grew smaller and rarer. The river beds seemed nearly dry. At in- creasing intervals we passed tiny farm- houses of wood, or stone, or sod, each having the inevitable melon-patch and perhaps a bed of peanuts or sweet-pota- toes; and now and then appeared an emigrant wagon, with green body, red wheels, and canvas sheeting, slowly toil- ing across the solitary plain. There were large reaches of landscape thickly covered with dwarf sunflowers, whose golden heads seemed but a little larger than the ox-eye daisies of our Eastern meadows. Acres upon acres of the stalks of corn or sorghum cane stood like regiments of soldiers in solid pha- lanx; hawks in great numbers flapped their wings over the fields where wheat or millet had lately been harvested; but between the tracts that had been culti- vated lay vast stretches of unbroken prairie, its dry, dead grass variegated by golden-rods and other yellow or blue fall flowers. After the daylight faded the tedious evening ride was varied by a salute of appropriate Kansas weather, a sudden storm of high wind, with thun- der, lightning, and hail, which, however, our train passed quickly through. Ya~ riety was also given by the stories told by a young man behind us, who was instructing another, evidently a tender- foot, as a new-coiner is called, in the ways of the country to which he had come. Why, we could hear him say, the landlord said he should not put up any partitions in his hotel. He could nt afford such a waste of room. He could put a man to sleep in the width of space that a wall would take ~ The car, which had been full when we left Kansas City, was gradually emptied, until it contained, beside our- selves, only one woman and about a dozen men, who, in the dull evening glare, looked to our unaccustomed eyes like uncouth barbarians; and when, about one oclock at night, we reached the little town that is the temporary railroad terminus, it was with some dejection of mind that, in common with several fellow passengers, we took an omnibus for the house of entertainment recom- mended by our conductor as the only first-class hotel in the city. Separate rooms were out of the question, but the courteous landlord, after canvassing his resources, succeeded in giving each of us a couch, or the fraction thereof, for the remainder of the night. But though accommodations were limited the kindly attention we received revived our sink- ing spirits. In the morning, after a good breakfast, we resumed our jour- ney, and after a ride of two hours southward across prairie we took, with much curiosity, our first view of the town of Cleopatra, that has now been our home for eight months. The city was born just five years ago. This means that at that time some men from a point further east came here prospecting, selected a town site, formed themselves into a town com- pany, purchased the land from the gov- ernment, obtaining the necessary papers, marked out city limits, and chose a mayor and councilmen, and then this was a city. The place at first contained twenty or thirty inhabitants, living to- gether for a while in barracks, like sol- diers. The old settlers of that not very distant period love to relate the infancy of the little settlement, and to show the picture, painted by one of the town fathers, of the miniature city, which consisted of one long, rude frame- 1885.] iS~outhwestern Kansas seen with Eastern 1!4.es. 103 building (the barracks), now made into a barn for a sheep ranch, and beside it a single tent, with slanting stove-pipe chimney, occupied by one man, whose wife was his companion. The picture also shows a noble dog, the pet of the little community, and all around nothing but blue sky and green-brown prairie. It must be confessed that a city to which all building material and provi- sions and implements must be brought seventy miles over a roadless prairie does not present many of what we are accus- tomed to call city advantages. But the men made a grocery store out of an emigrant wagon, and went bravely to work, marking out streets, breaking prai- rie, and planning for sites of public buildings, and soon little houses began to appear. Since then this baby city has passed through the various trials incident to childhood. It has had no mushroom growth like that of the railroad termini and the mining towns, yet as the county- seat and the trading centre of a promis- ing stock-raising and agricultural district it has held its way hopefully through its vicissitudes, and is now both prosper- ous and expectant. A year or two after the town was founded, the great county-seat fight occurred. The little town of Rival in the north of the county (the railroad terminus already mentioned, although this was before the time of the railway) wished to supersede Cleopatra as county- seat, and an election was held. There were less than two thousand people in the county, including men, women, and children, but cattle-men and cowboys from other counties gave volunteer as- sistance, and more than four thousand votes were counted. Much threatening passed between the Cleopatra men and the Rivalites, arid toward night some- thing of a riot occurred. The votes were partially sifted at last, arid it was decided that Cleopatra should remain the county-seat. A year or so later came the railroad excitement. A railroad goes where it pleases, and usually keeps its own coun- sel. But the news had gone forth that the railroad was coming to Cleopatra, and the town was booming. A rail- road, however, changes its mind some- times, and one Sunday, fourteen miles of track that had been completed nearly to the city was taken up, to be laid in another direction. Monday morning found the town, which on Saturday had been so elated, in great depression, and many of its people lost heart and moved away. But Cleopatra is still sanguine of having a railroad. The agents of the great roads of the region are often inter- viewed and entertained, and the land agents are constantly assuring us that it is as certain as fate that the cars will be here before many months. Next to a railroad for itself, the great desire of Cleopatra is to have the one that comes to Rival extended westward, so that that city may lose its, present importance as a terminus. rro a look- er-on, the local jealousy of neighboring towns is amusing. The typical West- ern man thinks that he can prove by mathematics and geography that the city in which he has cast his lot cannot fail of greatness, and one chief object of his life is to advance its interests. The events which cause anxiety to the residents, such as prevailing sickness or town disturbances, are seldom mentioned in the local paper. It would not be politic. They might hinder immigration. But whatever is detrimental to a rival town is promptly and fully reported. A man comes into Rival by rail, and in- quires for Cleopatra. Cleopatra? says the Rivalite. Seems to me I ye heard of such a place. Hullo, you (turning to another), do you know where Cleo- patra is ? Why, yes, is the answer, I believe there is a little place by that name off south, but there dont nobody go there, and there aint no road to it, only a cowpath. Even the transient 104 Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Byes. [July, visitor is soon influenced by the local enthusiasm, and is ready to affirm that all the advantages of the region are con- centrated in the spot where he happens to be. The county-seat fight already men- tioned is the only case of lawlessness that has ever occurred in Cleopatra. It has been a most well-behaved town for one on the border, and plumes itself not a little on its good society, as com- pared with some of its neighbors. We walk through its streets with the same sense of quiet and law protection as in a INew England village. Yet the wise will sometimes say, Other frontier towns have had their bloodshed. Our turn may yet come. Once indeed, but a few weeks ago, it seemed that per- haps the time had come, when the tem- perance men of the town determined that at all hazards the state prohibitory law should be enforced. For a week the town was in agitation. Cowboys from the ranges came into town wear- ing their revolvers, threats were in the air, ladies avoided Main Street, and men walked around silent and with stern faces. The whole community waited as though beside a muttering volcano. Then the crisis passed, and for a time, at least, prohibition held sway. On our arrival at Cleopatra, that au- tumn morning, we found a compact little settlement of from five hundred to one thousand people. We were unable to learn the number exactly, for pioneers do not stand still to be counted, and a wise man hesitates to accept the local census of a Western city. Through the middle of the town ran the arterial Main Street, flanked by wooden sidewalks and lined for half a mile on each side with little shops, most of them having the square sham or battlement front. The town contained two church build- in gs, a brick court-house, a school-house for three schools, a flouring mill, and a disused mill for making sorghum sugar. For the rest, it was made up of little private houses, containing usually from one to five rooms, and, at first sight, seeming to have been dropped down helter-skelter on the prairie; but a little familiarity soon showed us that there was method in the madness, which time and labor on the prospective streets would develop. During the months that have elapsed since our arrival, the appearance of the town has been considerably changed. Several blocks have been built on Main Street, of brick or a soft red stone that is quarried in the neighborhood. A num- ber of larger and finer houses have been built on a rise of the prairie at the north of the town, which has therefore been dubbed Quality Hill by the populace; and just now, under the influence of the news that a railroad company is preparing to send a branch in this di- rection, the town is having a bigger boom than ever before, and buildings of all sizes are going up on every side. The interiors of the houses present all the degrees from furniture consist- ing chiefly of a trunk and some dry goods boxes to rich furniture with pianos and choice pictures; yet these differ- ences depend less upon the worldly pos- sessions of the people than upon the length of time since their arrival. Many a family living in one room with a few utensils has household goods waiting somewhere till a house can be built to put them in. The little trees that have been planted in the city are still too small to obstruct the view, and all the larger houses and two or three windmills for raising water can he seen for miles around. The town looks very pretty as seen in the dis- tance, and is the chief landmark of the region. To one within the city, how- ever, the unfinished streets and build- ings give an unpleasant feeling of dis- order and discomfort, like that of a spring house-cleaning or a May moving. But a fe~v weeks residence usually en- ables one to look at all things as tem 1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern E& ies. 105 porary, and therefore endurable, like the discomforts of travel, or the inconven- iences of a camping-out excursion. Most of the men in the town are capitalists in a small way. Specula- tion abounds, and money changes hands fast. A financial authority has said that; the country must be rich which does not make use of small coin. Except in the post-office the smallest money rec- ognized here, either in prices of goods or in making change, is the nickel. Every two or three doors on Main Street we find a land-office, and land business is now brisk; but in a few months any one who wishes to prove up a good claim must go west to the next county. Trades of all kinds are starting, and every skillful workman has his hands over-full. Almost every man has two or three kinds of business and turns from one to another with amazing facil- ity. In a certain sense the most suc- cessful man is the most versatile man. There are a dozen or more lawyers in town, but each gives a part of his time to other business. Here is one who has been a judge and a professor in a law school, but is now seeking health and fortune by dividing his time between a law office and a sheep ranch. His ac- complished daughter is thinking of open- ing a private school in town, but in the interim spends a few days in the saddle herding her fathers sheep. Here is an- other lawyer, who is also a land agent and has a hog-ranch in the country; soon he transfers this to his partner, and takes charge of one of the local newspapers. Here is a man holding several county offices, but also superin- tending a coal and lumber yard. Some of his capital he invests in a grocery, and he is also engaged in cattle business in the Indian Territory. Almost every man has his farm outside, which he cul- tivates himself or by proxy, or is simply holding to await rise in land values. But, notwithstanding the restless change of occupation, the streets seem full of idle men. Here are new-corners, land-lookers, and farmers and stock- men from the country, gathered in knots at the corners trying to make a trade. Men temporarily out of employment stand with hand in their pockets watch- ing their chances. Main Street, there- fore, looks lazy, and has an air of listless waiting. A walk of five minutes from the court- house in any direction brings one out on the open prairie; then for a few miles there are farms, with here and there a settlers dwelling, and beyond, on the south and west, lie the great stock- ranges. On three sides of the town, at a dis- tance of four or five miles, flows Wolf Creek, having, like most capricious West- ern rivers, a great bed, washed out by short-lived floods, with a little water and a great deal of sand. It is usually ford- able at almost any point, but after a heavy rain, it is suddenly transformed into a mighty river, cutting off all com- munication between the country people and the town. In the distance, its course is shown by a straggling row of small cottonwoods and willows, twisted and broken by the floods. At the fords, posts are erected showing the depth of the stream and the heights to which the river has risen in various May freshets. Thirty miles away lies the town of L , our nearest eastern neighbor, a busy and rough cattle market, whose reputation in the region has suffered from its having been the scene of vari- ous acts of cowboy lawlessness. Two hours drive southward would take us across The Strip, a belt of land which the government is selling for the benefit of the Osage Indians, and into The Na- tion, as the Indian Territory is often called. But the Indians themselves are mostly far away in the eastern and south- ern parts of the Territory, and on cross- ing the border we find it difficult to realize the fact, recorded in an ancient geography, that 106 Sout1~western Kansas seen witI~ Eastern E?,es. [July, Chocktaw, Chickasaw, Cheri-o-kee Indians live in this Territo-ree. Three days journey by saddle south- west will take us across the sand hills and salt plains of the Territory into the great Texas Pan 1-Jandle. West of us, in the next county, there are as yet only a few settlements, but the tide is rolling on, and even now a company of men from Cleopatra are prospecting for a town site in the next county west. Sometimes we drive in our spring wagon to Rival; not often, for we are too loyal to Cleopatra to do our trading in a rival city, even though the want of a railroad somewhat increases the cost of goods in our own stores. But we cannot be wholly independent of the town which has the nearest railway sta- tion. We do not see the cars, for the one daily passenger train both arrives and returns in the night. Yet even the track is a welcome sight to the prairie dweller, for it connects him with his early home and Eastern friends, and the great world of civilization on whose edge he dwells. In the fall, winter, and early spring, prairie fires form a prominent feature of the landscape, and are a source of great danger to the inhabitants of the plains. Some of these fires are put out (that is, kindled) by the settlers at times when fire can be controlled, as a means of protection from wandering fires. Care- less is the traveler who ventures far over the prairie without carrying matches so that he may burn for himself a place of safety in case of danger. A fire-guard is ploughed around the town, and every little country home is encircled by sev- eral furrows where fire can be fought. Often in an evening we can see eight or ten fires, dotting the line of the ho- rizon at distances which we cannot guess. Sometimes in a rising wind a fire threat- ens the town or the neighboring farm- houses, and the men gather to beat it hack, and send counter-fires to meet it. The main fire-line leaps along roaring and crackling in the tall grass, and leav- ing behind miles of black, smoking ground, soon to be covered with a soft carpet of yellow green; but it also leaves side-fires and back-fires, which must be watched and guarded by those who are fighting fire with fire. Prairie fires in the distance, in a still evening, are very pretty things to see, but when wind and fire combine to resist human control, the feeling sometimes changes to excitement and terror. Even more than in older communities do the people here talk ~much about the weather, and the opinions held re- garding it are various enough to prove the truth of the definition, Pleasant weather is a state of the mind in which it enjoys itself. It does not take long for the settler who is well and prosper- ous to share a little the Western man s enthusiasm; but a new-coiner usually feels that a climate in which the mer- cury is liable to change twenty or thirty degrees in a single hour is open to crit- icism. Even to the old resident the weather brings a continual round of sur- prises. When the winter northers blow, and for days we spend all our energies to keep from freezing, we almost refuse to believe what we certainly know, that this is, on the whole, a warm cli- mate; that, except for the northers, the winters are mild; that farmers do their ploughing in midwinter, and plant their potatoes in February; and that animals pasture without shelter the whole year through. Yet even during the heated summer the nights are always cool. The heavy rains fall mostly from April to June. The later summer and autumn are rather dry, and November, bleak and dreary month on our Eastern shores, is usually considered a delight- ful season here. Winter storms some- times bring a dry powdery snow, which blows fiercely in our faces, and makes drifts in the caflons, but seldom whitens the general surface of the gronnd, or prevents the herds from finding pasture. 1885.] Southwestern Kansas seen with Eastern Eyes. 107 A wet and heavy snow, if it does come, is a sad calamity, for it takes away the food of thousands of grazing animals. Dust is everywhere, inflaming the eyes, sifting through cracks, and rising in sand storms under the influence of a high wind. Mud, so great a trial in Eastern Kansas, is here little known. For a few hours after a heavy rain it plasters our overshoes, and almost holds us to the ground, but suddenly it is gone. Here are no swamps, no marshes of stagnant water, no damp night air. The enthusiastic resident assures you that there is no malaria, as in Eastern Kansas, .- That is impossible where drainage is so perfect. Yet one soon learns that there is the same tendency to bilious diseases that is found in most parts of the West, and that fevers are frequent. But the most remarkable feature of the climate is the wind, which sweeps past us from north to south, from south to north again, without a wind-break between us and the North Pole. It would be too much to say that the wind always blows in Kansas, but one who is in the process of acclimation feels that the pauses are both rare and short. Down upon us, often without a mo- ments warning, sweeps a norther, usu- ally of three days duration. Then the weather gradually moderates, and the wind changes to the south, to be suc- ceeded shortly by another northern gale. Now and then we have an equally strong and trying south wind, a genuine sirocco from the Staked Plain of rrexas, hot to our hands and cheeks, and almost irresistible in its force. Occasionally in the spring there comes a day that seems to have all zones and seasons condensed into its brief space. Two or three such days are indelibly fixed in my memory. The morning may dawn upon us clear, cool, and soft, with sparkling dew, and the song of a thousand meadow larks. The sun comes grandly up above the clean-cut horizon. We feel no languor. It is a delight to live and breathe and move. The sun mounts toward the zenith, and the air begins to grow hot. It is insufferably hot. There is no tree, no hill, no rock, to give a cooling shade, and the deep- blue sky contains no passing cloud to give us a moments respite from the suns blinding rays. We think regret.. fully of the umbrella that yesterdays wind turned inside out, and determine to put up a tent as soon as the weather is cool enough to encourage the effort. But atmospheric stillness never lasts ]ong in Kansas. The wind begins to blow, and our stifling breath grows more free. From the south the wind comes, reaching our, ears with a murmuring sound before we feel it in our faces. The prairie grass and fields of grain rise and fall, first in waves, and then in heaving billows. The wind increases in force and becomes a sirocco, scorching our faces worse than the hottest rays of the sun could do. There is no dignity in walking. We struggle with our skirts and wraps. We tie our hats down, we hold on to them with both hands, and still they escape us, and we rush madly after them. The clothes on the line at the next door flap wildly around, beat- ing out their hems and splitting in every weakened spot, while the washer- woman is striving to keep her balance long enough to rescue them before their total destruction; lucky is she if they are not snatched from her grasp and scattered far over the prairie never to be recovered. Great tumble-weeds come rolling like hoops across the plain. Here comes a market-basket escaped from the hand of some urchin who for a moment forgot to be vigilant. We start to catch it for him, but it eludes us, and goes bumping over the prairie for half a mile or more, and is soon out of sight. A canvas-covered carriage is seized by the wind and rolled down the street. On the next house comes toppling down the stove-pipe chimney. Three or four 108 aaribaldis Ideas. [July, claim shanties are laid over on their sides, and the builders of the large house in the upper part of the town will have to begin to-morrow putting up their frame anew. We think about torna- does and cyclones, and then remark quietly, This is nt anything; just an ordinary straight blow. Clouds of dust fill the air, penetrating the thickest veils, reddening our eyes, and sifting through the cracks of doors and windows to the utter ruin of all good housekeeping. The only comfort is in the thought that this state of things cannot last long; a change will surely come soon. And here it comes. In the southeast, a black cloud appears, moving rapidly. We look anxiously to see if it is funnel- shaped, and a few nervous persons re- treat to their cellars, or caves (that is, artificial excavations that serve as out- side cellars for some of the houses). But this is not a tornado, only a Kansas shower. First comes a cloud of dust, sweeping with the rapidity of a whirl- wind, and veiling the town from sight. The lightning blinds our eyes, and streaks the black sky with chains of light. Housewives bring sheets and pieces of old carpet to stop the cracks of the doors and windows on the wind- ward side, and hurry must be the word, for in a moment the rain is upon us, not in drops, but in blinding sheets moving horizontally along. In a few moments the roadways are streams of running water, the tubs and rain bar- rels and cisterns are overflowing. The farmers exultingly exclaim, This in- sures the corn crop, and the local edi- tor writes for his item column, - What slanderer said Drouthy Kansas? It is no longer rain; it is sleet and hail. Next comes a rift in the clouds, a perfect arch of rainbow, and the clouds roll away out of sight, leaving the clean-washed earth dotted with flow- ers. The afternoon wanes. The winds are still. The sun sinks in a blaze of golden glory, and almost without a twi- light the day is ended. In the ocean of dark blue ether above and round us, the moon and stars are shining. It is the perfection of glorious night. We linger in its beauty, unwilling that sleep should claim the best hours of the twenty-four, but at last, the thought of to-morrows labors and vicissitudes drives us to our couch. We fall asleep, to awaken per- haps in a few hours and find that the bed-covering is insufficient. We wrap ourselves in all the blankets we can find, but are still cold, and grow colder. The south wind has given place to a norther, which creeps in through the seams of the windows, lifts the carpet in billows, and drives us back to our warmest flan- nels, and our rekindled fires. In weather, as in almost all phases of this prairie life, it is the unexpected which usually happens. What adjective is there, applicable to weather, that may not be used in the superlative degree here! I do not wonder that this is called Sunny Kansas, but it is also windy Kansas. Yes, it is drouthy Kan- sas, but it is also fertile, beautiful Kan- sas. ilL II. Leonard. GARIBALDIS IDEAS. ON the 9th of November, 1861, Gar- kingdom in a campaign so marvelous ibaldi left Naples for Caprera. It was that its story reads more like an epic the turning point of his career. He poem than a military history. He had had created an army and conquered a silenced the cavils of men who called

108 aaribaldis Ideas. [July, claim shanties are laid over on their sides, and the builders of the large house in the upper part of the town will have to begin to-morrow putting up their frame anew. We think about torna- does and cyclones, and then remark quietly, This is nt anything; just an ordinary straight blow. Clouds of dust fill the air, penetrating the thickest veils, reddening our eyes, and sifting through the cracks of doors and windows to the utter ruin of all good housekeeping. The only comfort is in the thought that this state of things cannot last long; a change will surely come soon. And here it comes. In the southeast, a black cloud appears, moving rapidly. We look anxiously to see if it is funnel- shaped, and a few nervous persons re- treat to their cellars, or caves (that is, artificial excavations that serve as out- side cellars for some of the houses). But this is not a tornado, only a Kansas shower. First comes a cloud of dust, sweeping with the rapidity of a whirl- wind, and veiling the town from sight. The lightning blinds our eyes, and streaks the black sky with chains of light. Housewives bring sheets and pieces of old carpet to stop the cracks of the doors and windows on the wind- ward side, and hurry must be the word, for in a moment the rain is upon us, not in drops, but in blinding sheets moving horizontally along. In a few moments the roadways are streams of running water, the tubs and rain bar- rels and cisterns are overflowing. The farmers exultingly exclaim, This in- sures the corn crop, and the local edi- tor writes for his item column, - What slanderer said Drouthy Kansas? It is no longer rain; it is sleet and hail. Next comes a rift in the clouds, a perfect arch of rainbow, and the clouds roll away out of sight, leaving the clean-washed earth dotted with flow- ers. The afternoon wanes. The winds are still. The sun sinks in a blaze of golden glory, and almost without a twi- light the day is ended. In the ocean of dark blue ether above and round us, the moon and stars are shining. It is the perfection of glorious night. We linger in its beauty, unwilling that sleep should claim the best hours of the twenty-four, but at last, the thought of to-morrows labors and vicissitudes drives us to our couch. We fall asleep, to awaken per- haps in a few hours and find that the bed-covering is insufficient. We wrap ourselves in all the blankets we can find, but are still cold, and grow colder. The south wind has given place to a norther, which creeps in through the seams of the windows, lifts the carpet in billows, and drives us back to our warmest flan- nels, and our rekindled fires. In weather, as in almost all phases of this prairie life, it is the unexpected which usually happens. What adjective is there, applicable to weather, that may not be used in the superlative degree here! I do not wonder that this is called Sunny Kansas, but it is also windy Kansas. Yes, it is drouthy Kan- sas, but it is also fertile, beautiful Kan- sas. ilL II. Leonard. GARIBALDIS IDEAS. ON the 9th of November, 1861, Gar- kingdom in a campaign so marvelous ibaldi left Naples for Caprera. It was that its story reads more like an epic the turning point of his career. He poem than a military history. He had had created an army and conquered a silenced the cavils of men who called 1885.] aaribaldis Ideas. 109 him only a brilliant leader of guerrilla bands, by defeating on the banks of the Volturno thirty-five thousand disciplined and well led troops with an army of half their number. He had achieved the last and greatest conquest that a man can make, the conquest of himself, for sooner than sow dissension among Ital- ian patriots he had given up his purpose of marching on Rome, and had surren- dered his dictatorship to the Sardinian king. Up to that time Garibaldis character was one of rare beauty. He was always perfectly honest and completely sincere; but the sweetness of disposition, the un- suspicious nature leading him to believe other men to be as honest as himself, the infinite pity and tenderness towards the weak and suffering, the sublime and total self-forgetfulness those qualities which made men love him more, if pos- sible, than they admired him waned sadly and steadily during his later years. He lost faith in God and in man. He became harsh, suspicious, misanthropic. He seemed to think that he was the only honest, intelligent patriot in Italy, and he tolerated no dissent from his opinions among his nearest and most devoted friends. He abused indiscriminately re- ligion, government, and science; the mon- archists, the Mazzinians, and even the survivors of The Thousand; and though he sometimes professed to love King Humbert, he publicly praised the crazy regicide Passanante as a hero. To this strange and pitiful change of Garibaldis whole moral nature, his writings give ample and saddening testimony. Garibaldi was by no means an illit- erate man. He was a good mathema- tician. He spoke German, Spanish~ French, and English with fluency, and was familiar with the history of Rome and to some extent with that of modern Europe. He had read romances, poetry, military treatises, and books of science, theology, and philosophy. Intellectually, however, he always remained a child, and the effect upon his mind of this het- erogeneous reading was what it would have been upon a school-boy. He could not understand why the frothy novels of Guerazzi were not as great as the romances of Victor Hugo, and he firm- ly believed Alexander Dumas, pare, to be the greatest author the world had produced. In addition to the innumerable letters which Garibaldi published during his later years, he wrote soon after the events of 1849 a brief autobiography. In 1867 he wrote his first historical ro- mance, Clelia, or the Rule of the Monk, which was translated into English by Jessie White Mario. Two years later he wrote Cantoni the Volunteer, and af- ter his campaign in France he wrote his third romance, entitled The Thousand. He also confided to his son Menotti a new autobiography, covering the period between 1850 and 1870, with the order that it should not be published until after his death. As yet, Menotti has not published it, and there can be little doubt that the fact is creditable to his good sense and filial piety. Whatever Garibaldi wrote prior to the close of his Neapolitan campaign was worthy of him. His early autobi- ography was modest and simple. He had a story to tell, and he told it in a di- rect and forcible way. The writer evi- dently had no thought of his style, but thought only of what he had to say. The contrast between the simplicity of this autobiography and the turgidity of Garibaldis romances is as marked as that between the moral tone of his first and his latest writings. In his addresses to his troops Gari- baldi was always happy. Written l~y an enthusiast, they were adapted to kindle enthusiasm. At times they were gen- uinely eloquent, and the well-known or- der of the day issued on the eve of the retreat from Rome in 1849 will live for- ever. His speeches were always brief and often admirable, and though they 110 aari1~aldis Ideas. [July, were sometimes distasteful to the diplo. matists, it was because diplomacy cannot always tolerate frankness. Of the romances, while they were all miraculously bad, it may be said that their badness was progressive. Clelia is less utterly stupid than Cantoni, and The Thousand is even more prepos- terous than its predecessors. Clelia was written partly before and partly after Mentana, and the last chapters describe the affair of Villa Glori and the abor- tive attempt at insurrection in Rome. Cantoni is a romance of the Roman re- public of 1849; and The Thousand pur- ports to tell in the guise of a romance the true story of the Conquest of Sicily and Naples. The imaginative part of these romances might have been writ- ten by a boy of fourteen whose imagi- nation had been fed by Dumas s nov- els. The historical parts are thrust in chiefly as episodes, and with a complete disregard of what precedes and what follows them. The characters are col- orless and lifeless. The heroines, of whom each book has several, are all precisely alike, young women of great beauty and all possible virtues; the he- roes are brave young soldiers, each one of whom is precisely like all the others; and the villains are all priests of un- speakable depravity. In point of style, one would fancy that nothing could be more vicious and bombastic than Clelia, were it not that Cantoni and The Thou- sand are in this respect really and un- mistakably worse. All three would long ago have been forgotten were it not that they contain what Garibaldi fancied were his ideas on religion; politics, and human society. It was at one time the habit of good Protestants in this country to look on Garibaldi as a defender of the faith. There is no doubt that Garibaldi pro- tested with great vigor against the rul- ers of the Roman church, but there was never a time when he could properly be classed as a Protestant. He early abandoned the Roman Cath- olic Church, but even throughout his wild career in South America, where his exploits bore a dangerously close re- semblance to piracy, he retained a be- lief in God, and a respect for Christian- ity. His mother was a devout woman, and he could not but reverence her re- ligious faith. In his autobiography he says of her, I have in fancy seen her on her knees before the Most high my dear mother! pleading for the life of her son; and I have believed in the efficacy of her prayers. He says of Ugo Bassi, the patriot priest, Bassi was a true servant of Christ; one of the line of Christian apostleship, in all the purity and holiness of the divine insti- tution, and he exclaims, We Italians wish to be of the religion of Christ. He recognizes that God rules, and speaks of Those unforeseen and im- portant events which, I love to say, are evidently brought about by the hand of Providence. He even confesses that he sometimes prayed, for in describing the death of Anita, he says, I prayed for forgiveness, for I thought of the sin of taking her from her home. Cer- tainly these expressions of belief in God and of respect for the religion of Christ are not sufficient to form a creed that would be acceptable to any Protestant evangelical sect, but they are suffi- cient to show that at the time the auto- biography was written Garibaldi was not an atheist, nor an enemy of revealed religion. During the Sicilian campaign Garibal.. di was accompanied by Father Pantaleo, a courageous and patriotic monk, un- der whose influence, perhaps, Garibaldi seemed for a time ready to believe that a man could be both priest and patriot. Says Guerzoni, the best of his biogra- pliers, He not only tried to win the good priests with proclamations, but he searched them out, wished to have them about him, feted them, followed them into their churches, and bowed before their 1885.] Garibaldis Ideas. 111 altars. In a proclamation issued at Na- pies he spoke of the good monks of La Gancia and the noble hearted priests of the Neapolitan continent. He did not cease to denounce the Pope, but it was chiefly as the Italian ruler, who had brought in the hated French troops to oppress his people. No one can believe that Garibaldi, with his habitual hatred of intrigues and scorn of hypocrisy, was during this time trying to win the sup- port of the priesthood by intrigue and hypocrisy. He had found Pantaleo an honest fellow and a great help to him, and he was ready to believe that there were other priests equally worthy of confidence. At the very time that he was thus striviig to make friends with the priesthood, he presented Gavazzi, the most violent of Protestants, with a church in Naples. This was not the act of one who was hoping to buy the favor of the priests, but rather of one who re- spected religion, and dreamed of a free church in a free state. 1-Je afterwards said during his triumphal tour of Lom- bardy: It is in vain my enemies try to make me out an atheist, a blasphe- mer. I believe in God. I am of the religion of Christ, not of the religion of the Popes. His knowledge of the re- ligion of Christ was undoubtedly ex- tremely vague, but he was so far from being an atheist that he was anxious to be known as a Christian. In 1862, Garibaldi was lured by Rat~ tazzi, the Prime Minister, into the net of Aspromonte. He felt that he had been betrayed, and he knew that it was in accordance with the order of the king to whom he had given half of Italy that he had been struck down by an Italian bullet. Lying on his couch in the prison-cell of Yarignano he began his first historical romance, and it is not strange that the book should show the bitterness of the writers disappoint- ment. His faith in man was fatally shaken, but he still believed vaguely in God. He introduced himself as one of the dramatis personce of Clelia, and de- scribed his home at Caprera as a place where God is worshiped as he should be, in purity of spirit, without formalism, fee, or mockery. He no longer, how- ever, believed in the possibility of the existence of an honest priest. The Garibaldi of Clelia hates the priest- hood as a lying and mischievous institu- tion, but is ready, so soon as they dives~ themselves of their malignity and buf- foonery, to welcome them with open arms to a nobler vocation, a new and honest profession, and to urge men to pardon their past offenses, conforming in this, as in other acts, to a spirit of uni- versal~ tolerance. Though not suffering them as priests, he pities and yearns to- ward them as men; for priests he re- gards as the assassins of the soul, and in that light esteems them more culpable than those who slay the body. This is a sufficiently sweeping condemnation of the church, but the man who a year before had said I am of the religion of Christ asks the readers of Clelia, Is it not surprising that, in spite of the light of the nineteenth century, a people should be found willing to believe the blasphemous fables called the doctrines of the church? For some time after the publication of Clelia, Garibaldi re- tained his belief in the existence of a personal God, but he never again wrote of religion except with hatred and con- tempt. There is a good deal of hearty abuse of the priests in Clelia; but in Cantoni, the author gives a freer rein to his vitu- peration. He usually speaks of the church as the shop, though he occa- sionally calls it the cloaca, or with more exactness of definition, the cloaca of prostitution and infamy. The priests are wolves, crocodiles, ministers of Satan, and vipers, who cover every horrible crime with the mantle of hypocrisy. Protestantism does not fare much better than Romanism, for Garibaldi describes it as that Babylon 112 Garibaldi8 Ideas. [July, of sects called Protestantism, composed of shopkeepers who are perhaps a little less bad than those of the grand Roman cloaca, but who are nevertheless priests and enemies, and disturbers of human brotherhood. Of Christ, he speaks in a rather kindly way, remarking that he contributed not a little to propagate the dogma of human emancipation, but he adds: It is now proved that Christ never called himself God. On the con- trary, to the flatterers . . . who wished to deify him, he replied, I am a son of man. In Cantoni, the existence of God is neither affirmed nor denied, but it is evident that Garibaldi had finally lost his belief in a personal God, for having spoken of The Infinite, he remarks, Time is infinite; space is infinite; matter is infinite. We may imagine an infinite intelligence, an hy- pothesis that might be of service to the cause of universal brotherhood. This remark was repeated in substance in The Thousand, and it represented all that was left of the simple faith in God and the religion of Christ which the Garibaldi of the autobiography mod- estly professed. The rrhousand is one prolonged howl against religion, but it contains few abusive epithets that had not been previously used in Cantoni, and there is therefore no sufficient ex- cuse for quoting its wearisome billings- gate. The Thousand was written in 1872. In 1879, Garibaldi wrote a letter to a crack-brained enthusiast known as Baron Swift, who had started an athe- i~tic propaganda in Venice. In this letter he spoke of Swift and himself as we atheists. About the same time he wrote, in the guise of a letter, what he evidently meant to be a proclama- tion. The letter was as follows, Dear Friends, Man has created God, not God man. Garibaldi never retracted this open profession of atheism, and though Guer- zoni says that his religion was the phil osophical deism of Jean Jacques, he gives us no reason to believe that Gari- baldi was insincere when he proclaimed himself an atheist. Garibaldis political faith underwent as great a change as his religious faith. In his youth he was a follower of Maz- zini, and called himself a republican; but he concerned himself little with Mazzinis political philosophy, and with the practical good sense which then characterized him, he recognized that the first duty of Italians was to drive out the foreigner. He once wrote, I care not whether we have a republic or a monarchy, so long as United Italy is free to choose what government she wishes. When Cavour invited him to serve under the Sardinian king against the Austrians, he gladly accepted the offer, and during the most glorious period of his life he was a loyal sup- porter of the monarchy. But after the royal army attacked him at Aspromonte, Garibaldi began to denounce, in his writings, first the Moderates, or followers of Cavour and Ricasoli, and then the Italian govern- ment. In Clelia the Moderates were characterized as always indissolubly bound to the chariots of selfishness, and as waiting at whatever cost until the manna of freedom should fall from heaven into their mouths, or the for- eign~r should come to their relief and set their country free; and in Can- toni they were referred to as that caste of cowards that priestly educa- tion has implanted in Italy under the name of Moderates. In the latter book the Italian government is a con- venticle of wretched men, unworthy-to be called a government; a govern- ment always hypocritical, always per- verse, and always hostile to, and ready to exterminate, the volunteers. It is charged with having tried to induce the people of Palermo to stop the march of the volunteers, and thus to stifle in its cradle that stupendous enterprise that 1885.] Garibaldi8 Ideas. 113 was destined finally to constitute Italy. This miserable government, after Garibaldi had passed the Straits, col- lected all its sycophants in Naples, and while it deceived the Bourbon king with crafty intrigues, it fomented a rev- olution in order to overthrow him, and to paralyze the army of the people that had already won ten victories. We firmly believe, exclaims the author of Clelia, that a more cowardly govern- ment than the Italian cannot be found in ancient or modern history. Not content with denouncing the Moderate party and the government, Garibaldi denounced Mazzini and his followers. In Naples, during his dicta- torship, Garibaldi had spoken of Maz- zini as his friend, and during his visit to England he had toasted Mazzini, my master. But in Cantoni he charges Mazzini with gross incompetence as virtual dictator of Rome in 1849. He was without the capacity to command, and he would not tolerate either the commands or the advice of any one; and with his followers was accustomed to say, We alone are pure, we men of republican principles, for we want the republic even when it is impossible to have it. For them, as for the priests, Marsala was a defeat and Mentana a triumph. In The Thousand, the Maz- zinians are charged with having, on the eve of the battle of Mentana, induced thousands of volunteers to desert un- der the pretext of returning home to proclaim the republic and to raise barri- cades. Garibaldis own gallant soldiers, who bad accepted commissions in the royal army, also had their share of abuse. In Cantoni, he asks, Where are the seventy of Cairoli, the thousand of Mar- sala? and answers, To-day they are making love; they are crowding the caf6s and the theatres; and many of them, thinking that they are serving the country, have put on a livery and serve a perverse government. The peas VOL. LYJ. NO. 333. 8 antry fail to please the author of The Thousand, who says, they do not be- long to us, but to the priests, and there is no instance of one of them having been found among the volunteers. Doctors, professors, and scientific men also fall under the ban. In The Thou- sand, he asks in reference to parlia- ment, How can one have faith in five hundred individuals, most of whom are professors? and he adds, in a note, that while many of his friends have belonged to this class, they have hitherto proved so bad in governments and parliaments that I despair of them. In Cantoni, not only scientific men, but science it- self is denounced, and Garibaldi asks, if learning and science are really any better than idiocy? Having thus ex- pressed his disapproval of nearly all classes of men, the aged misanthrope denounces the whole human race col- lectively as a family of apes, and ex- claims, I cover my face with shame at l)elonging to this race of asses. In his last years Garibaldi praised no one ex- cept the cowardly assassins who tried to kill the Emperor of Germany, the King of Spain, and the King of Italy. It was in honor of these wretches that he wrote the most shameful of his many pitiable letters. There was but one form of govern- ment which Garibaldi approved, and that was an elective despotism. The liberty of a nation, he informs us in Clelia, consists in the people choosing their own government, and this govern- ment should be dictatorial or presidential; that is to say, directed by one man. . rrhe dictatorship should be limited to a fixed period, and it must be guard- ed by popular rights and public opin- ion from becoming either excessive or hereditary. In The Thousand, the same idea is expressed: The dictator should have a guard of ten lictors, and the country should be defended in time of war by the armed nation. There should be no written laws, but the 114 aaribaldis ideas. [July, dictator should administer justice in the public piazza. Judging from Gari- baldis own writings, there was no man living in Italy, except himself, whom he could have regarded as fit to be dictator. If any other member of the family of apes had been made dictator, and ruled without laws, he would have been made very uncomfortable by the daily denunciations which Garibaldi would have hurled at him. What were the causes which worked this unhappy change in the simple- minded noble Icader of The Thousand? Doubtless it was due to illness and dis- appointment working on a mind by no means strong. Garibaldi undoubtedly had a genius for war. He was an able tactician, as his dispositions made on the field of the Volturno showed. Gen- eral Manteuffel, who was assuredly a com- petent critic, wrote of him: The tac- tics of General Garibaldi were charac- terized by great rapidity in movements, by wise dispositions during the heat of battle, and by an energy and brilliancy of attack that depended in part on the moral qualities of his soldiers, but that also showed that the general never for- got for a single instant the objective point of a battle, which is to dislodge the enemy from his positions by a rapid, vigorous, and resolute attack; and Manteiiffel also added, speaking of the campaign in the Vosges: The suc- cesses of the general were partial, and had no results, but had General Bour- baki followed his counsels, the campaign of the Vosges would have been the most fortunate of those fought by French armies in 1870 71. Nevertheless, Garibaldis real greatness was moral and not intellectual, and the pitiable fol- lies which he committed whenever he attempted to meddle in matters of ad- ministration and statesmanship suffi- ciently proved his total lack of judg- ment outside of purely military affairs. He was bitterly disappointed when the arrival of the Sardinian army at Naples compelled him to abandon his intended march on Rome. He was again disappointed when the royal gov- ernment in 1862 interfered to put a stop to his mad attempt to make private war on Austria at Sarnico. He was again disappointed when Pallavicini captured his band of red-shirts on the heights of Aspromonte, and his last and heaviest disappointment was the defeat of Men- tana. He could not comprehend that a citizen of Italy, however popular he might be, had no right to raise armies and declare war against Austria, France, or the Papal government, and he could not but feel exasperated against the monarchy which thwarted his wild ex- peditions, and the sober ci~zens who supported it. During the last years of his life, Gari- baldi was a martyr to rheumatism. He suffered incessant pain, and was for much of the time a helpless cripple. He lay on his bed and thought of the failure of his efforts to liberate Venice and Rome, and of the later successes of diplomacy and Prussian armies, which gave to Italy the coveted cities, and opened an era of peaceful and prosaic prosperity in which no place was found for the leader whose life had been spent in the camp of enthusiastic volunteers. The old man felt that he had lived too long; that Italy no longer needed him; and that there was nothing left for him but to endure his physical tortures, and the humiliations put upon him by those members of his family who lacked the good sense and honesty of his elder s~n Menotti. A strong-brained man might have grown stronger and better in the furnace of pain and disappointment, but it made Garibaldi a bitter misanthrope, a furious blasphemer of God and man. But the splendor of a unique career cannot be marred by a brief old age em- bittered by pain and disappointment. The Garibaldi who led the thousand from Marsala to Naples was an ideal hero, and 1885?] J2o8es. 115 his fame is and will be forever one of feel nothing but pity when listening to the noblest treasures of the race. The the wild cries wrung from him by the Garibaldi of those last sad years at sharpest of bodily, and the bitterest of Caprera was another man, and one can mental pain. W. L Alden. ROSES. BLOW, roses, blow Your pink and snow, Your gold and red, Ere June hath fled. Your time is brief For bud and leaf; But in your hour Of perfect flower, Who doth not wait Upon your state; Who doth not own That you alone Hold Beautys dower From flower to flower, And reign alone On Beautys throne? What though your stay Be but a day, Your bloom and breath Survive your death, Haunt all the year, So sweet, so dear You made the day Of your brief stay. So, seeming dead, Some brief lives shed After their close Sweets like the rose. Nora Perry.

1885?] J2o8es. 115 his fame is and will be forever one of feel nothing but pity when listening to the noblest treasures of the race. The the wild cries wrung from him by the Garibaldi of those last sad years at sharpest of bodily, and the bitterest of Caprera was another man, and one can mental pain. W. L Alden. ROSES. BLOW, roses, blow Your pink and snow, Your gold and red, Ere June hath fled. Your time is brief For bud and leaf; But in your hour Of perfect flower, Who doth not wait Upon your state; Who doth not own That you alone Hold Beautys dower From flower to flower, And reign alone On Beautys throne? What though your stay Be but a day, Your bloom and breath Survive your death, Haunt all the year, So sweet, so dear You made the day Of your brief stay. So, seeming dead, Some brief lives shed After their close Sweets like the rose. Nora Perry. 116 England, Rzt88ia, and India. ENGLAND, RUSSIA, AND INDIA. As a handy compendium, full of reli- able and accurate information relating to the Anglo-Russian dispute, Mr. Charles Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat 1 is by far the best book of its kind out of many that have been offered to the reading public. As a po- lemic the volume will be perused with a certain amount of caution. That its author came specially qualified to his task must be admitted at the outset. Mr. Marvin is a zealous patriot, and possesses the rare impartiality, as he re- minds us himself, of being both a Rus- sophile and a Russophobe. He has long been convinced of the blindness of English statesmen to the real objects of the Russian advance in Central Asia, and has for years devoted himself, in a field which a unanimous if tacit consent has wholly surrendered to him, to what he calls the sacred task of safeguarding India from the menace from the north. At one time Mr. Marvin was little more than a voice crying in the wil- derness. The English public not only declined to share his apprehensions, but even doubted their sincerity. That ungrateful period of his agitation Mr. Marvin has outlived. Thanks to the spasmodic rapidity of recent Russian expansion in Central Asia, he has ob- tained a hearing in the Tory press and on the Tory platform, while his follow- ers are now numerous enough to con- stitute a political party of themselves, were they not already members of the Tory organization. It is, in fact, im- possible to overlook the circumstance that the influence Mr. Marvin has come to wield by his books and his speeches is distinct from that felt when a great orator rallies his countrymen to com- 1 The Russians at the Gates of Ilerat. By CHARLES MARvIN. With Maps and Portraits. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. 1885. mon resistance in some hour of national danger. It is true that Mr. Marvin has done a certain amount of positive good. His pamphlets and writings have thrown a greater flood of light on the geography and politics of Central Asia than many wars could have contributed. He has quickened the languid parliamentary interest in our Indian empire. Be- yond this his agitation has been harm- ful. It has tended to create a chronic distrust of each other on the p art of two great powers. While in the yes of Eu- rope it has unduly magnified the re- sources of the Czar, in the eyes of Rus- sia it has unduly dwarfed the military capacity of Great Britain. The policy, advocated by Mr. Marvin, of haggling over particular lines and swearing by frontiers hard and fast has been a vir- tual confession and must have been regarded as such by the Russians that once the approaches are in the hands of the northern power, once an advan- tage has been gained by that power in the delimitation of the frontier, India is irretrievably lost to the English. The idleness of supposing that the mere pos- session of a favorable boundary line by Russia places India at the mercy of the northern menace is obvious; yet it is upon this supposition that the alarmists found their case. Hitherto they have but poorly sustained the thesis that Rus- sia desires the possession of India. That the Czar needs India, which is the real point, has not even been asserted. To fairly judge of her aims in Cen- tral Asia, Russias movements must be viewed as a whole, and with a due re- gard to the larger aspects of racial and national development. It must first be remembered that Russian expansion is no modern phenomenon, but a secular process belonging to the whole period

116 England, Rzt88ia, and India. ENGLAND, RUSSIA, AND INDIA. As a handy compendium, full of reli- able and accurate information relating to the Anglo-Russian dispute, Mr. Charles Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat 1 is by far the best book of its kind out of many that have been offered to the reading public. As a po- lemic the volume will be perused with a certain amount of caution. That its author came specially qualified to his task must be admitted at the outset. Mr. Marvin is a zealous patriot, and possesses the rare impartiality, as he re- minds us himself, of being both a Rus- sophile and a Russophobe. He has long been convinced of the blindness of English statesmen to the real objects of the Russian advance in Central Asia, and has for years devoted himself, in a field which a unanimous if tacit consent has wholly surrendered to him, to what he calls the sacred task of safeguarding India from the menace from the north. At one time Mr. Marvin was little more than a voice crying in the wil- derness. The English public not only declined to share his apprehensions, but even doubted their sincerity. That ungrateful period of his agitation Mr. Marvin has outlived. Thanks to the spasmodic rapidity of recent Russian expansion in Central Asia, he has ob- tained a hearing in the Tory press and on the Tory platform, while his follow- ers are now numerous enough to con- stitute a political party of themselves, were they not already members of the Tory organization. It is, in fact, im- possible to overlook the circumstance that the influence Mr. Marvin has come to wield by his books and his speeches is distinct from that felt when a great orator rallies his countrymen to com- 1 The Russians at the Gates of Ilerat. By CHARLES MARvIN. With Maps and Portraits. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. 1885. mon resistance in some hour of national danger. It is true that Mr. Marvin has done a certain amount of positive good. His pamphlets and writings have thrown a greater flood of light on the geography and politics of Central Asia than many wars could have contributed. He has quickened the languid parliamentary interest in our Indian empire. Be- yond this his agitation has been harm- ful. It has tended to create a chronic distrust of each other on the p art of two great powers. While in the yes of Eu- rope it has unduly magnified the re- sources of the Czar, in the eyes of Rus- sia it has unduly dwarfed the military capacity of Great Britain. The policy, advocated by Mr. Marvin, of haggling over particular lines and swearing by frontiers hard and fast has been a vir- tual confession and must have been regarded as such by the Russians that once the approaches are in the hands of the northern power, once an advan- tage has been gained by that power in the delimitation of the frontier, India is irretrievably lost to the English. The idleness of supposing that the mere pos- session of a favorable boundary line by Russia places India at the mercy of the northern menace is obvious; yet it is upon this supposition that the alarmists found their case. Hitherto they have but poorly sustained the thesis that Rus- sia desires the possession of India. That the Czar needs India, which is the real point, has not even been asserted. To fairly judge of her aims in Cen- tral Asia, Russias movements must be viewed as a whole, and with a due re- gard to the larger aspects of racial and national development. It must first be remembered that Russian expansion is no modern phenomenon, but a secular process belonging to the whole period

116 England, Rzt88ia, and India. ENGLAND, RUSSIA, AND INDIA. As a handy compendium, full of reli- able and accurate information relating to the Anglo-Russian dispute, Mr. Charles Marvins The Russians at the Gates of Herat 1 is by far the best book of its kind out of many that have been offered to the reading public. As a po- lemic the volume will be perused with a certain amount of caution. That its author came specially qualified to his task must be admitted at the outset. Mr. Marvin is a zealous patriot, and possesses the rare impartiality, as he re- minds us himself, of being both a Rus- sophile and a Russophobe. He has long been convinced of the blindness of English statesmen to the real objects of the Russian advance in Central Asia, and has for years devoted himself, in a field which a unanimous if tacit consent has wholly surrendered to him, to what he calls the sacred task of safeguarding India from the menace from the north. At one time Mr. Marvin was little more than a voice crying in the wil- derness. The English public not only declined to share his apprehensions, but even doubted their sincerity. That ungrateful period of his agitation Mr. Marvin has outlived. Thanks to the spasmodic rapidity of recent Russian expansion in Central Asia, he has ob- tained a hearing in the Tory press and on the Tory platform, while his follow- ers are now numerous enough to con- stitute a political party of themselves, were they not already members of the Tory organization. It is, in fact, im- possible to overlook the circumstance that the influence Mr. Marvin has come to wield by his books and his speeches is distinct from that felt when a great orator rallies his countrymen to com- 1 The Russians at the Gates of Ilerat. By CHARLES MARvIN. With Maps and Portraits. New York: Charles Scribners Sons. 1885. mon resistance in some hour of national danger. It is true that Mr. Marvin has done a certain amount of positive good. His pamphlets and writings have thrown a greater flood of light on the geography and politics of Central Asia than many wars could have contributed. He has quickened the languid parliamentary interest in our Indian empire. Be- yond this his agitation has been harm- ful. It has tended to create a chronic distrust of each other on the p art of two great powers. While in the yes of Eu- rope it has unduly magnified the re- sources of the Czar, in the eyes of Rus- sia it has unduly dwarfed the military capacity of Great Britain. The policy, advocated by Mr. Marvin, of haggling over particular lines and swearing by frontiers hard and fast has been a vir- tual confession and must have been regarded as such by the Russians that once the approaches are in the hands of the northern power, once an advan- tage has been gained by that power in the delimitation of the frontier, India is irretrievably lost to the English. The idleness of supposing that the mere pos- session of a favorable boundary line by Russia places India at the mercy of the northern menace is obvious; yet it is upon this supposition that the alarmists found their case. Hitherto they have but poorly sustained the thesis that Rus- sia desires the possession of India. That the Czar needs India, which is the real point, has not even been asserted. To fairly judge of her aims in Cen- tral Asia, Russias movements must be viewed as a whole, and with a due re- gard to the larger aspects of racial and national development. It must first be remembered that Russian expansion is no modern phenomenon, but a secular process belonging to the whole period 1885.] England, Russia, and India. 117 of the life of the empire. Originally it seemed a mere recoil from the fiscal op- pressions of the central authority; in modern times it has worn the guise of a military advance. Yet that it has been a true movement of the people must be apparent to those who have noticed the rapidity with which not only Siberia, but all parts of Russias Asian territo- ries are being colonized from her pos- sessions in Europe. Unprecedented in history, owing as much to the extent of the field open to it as to the remarkable virility of the forces at work, present- ing itself at one time as conquest and at another as peaceful absorption, Russian development has been as altruistic in some of fts results as most of its aims have been constructively self-seeking. Thus in opening up vast tracts of land to the agricultural or commercial enter- prise of her people, Russia has sheltered many an oasis of human vegetation from the shifting sands of barbaric anarchy and power. Descending with a gentle and irresistible gravitation into the Cen- tral Asian desert, her civilization has connected stagnant pool and poisoned lagoon with the healthy saline flood of human progress. A high civilization like that of the English, the Tatar races could scarcely have assimilated: Rus- sian culture, with its Asiatic founda- lions, had an appropriate and natural mission among the dwellers of the steppe. rrhat the Tatar should first modify the Russian and ultimately come to be taught by him is one of those nat- ural adaptations of ends to great pur- poses that of itself seems to justify the manner in which the problem of ethno- logical ele~~~ation is being carried towards solution in Central Asia. But Russian capacity for elevating semi-barbarous tribes in no sense implies Russian fitness for completing the work of civilization in India. Hence the dan- ger of the natives welcoming the Czar with open arms is by no means great. Mr. Marvin lays emphasis on the dis affected elements, and hints at the ease with which a collapse of the English rule might be brought about. Does Mr. Mar- yin seriously believe that the thought- ful and highly intelligent Hindus are prepared to hand over the privileges they now enjoy under British tutelage in exchange for the spy system, the passport regulations, the press censure, the secret tribunals, the administrative processes of the White Czar ~ ? If Russia, as in one place Mr. Marvin ad- mits, apparently to save himself from an untenable position, has no intention of holding and occupying India, and the fact is as notorious as he represents it to be, what probability is there of a rising to welcome an invader who has no intention of remaining in the coun- try? And if Russia has no intention of holding and occupying India, why does Mr. Marvin declare it (page 125) to be the express aim of Russia to drive us [the English] out of India by means of a large force of troops pre- viously concentrated in trans-Caspian territory? The possibility of an invasion of In- dia, no one need doubt. That there are officers in the Russian army who would willingly take part in such an enter- prise is indisputable. The military tradition of English leader-writers commonplace, that the cost of absorbing the Khanates is to be recouped in the spoils of Delhi and Lahore, may not yet be forgotten in the wild songs of the Cossack camp-fire along the Central Asian plain. But these things do not create a fixed policy of invasion cher- ished for whole centuries. If the Rus- sians are warlike, they are the most realistic nation in Europe. In this question of India they have had plenty of time in which to count the cost, and there is no doubt that they have counted it. The idea of a serious attack upon India without the intention of carrying a possible success to its logical and mili- tary conclusion is not to be entertained. 118 England, Russia, and India. [July, The belief that Russia could the easier attain the possession of Constantinople by a series of blows dealt across the Af- ghan territory is much more plausible. But to administer India as a Russian possession that is to say, as part of a centralized system of government now strained to its uttermost would be a task even more formidable than its ac- quirement by force of arms. To pos- sess it at all would immensely add to the vulnerability of the Russian empire, without furnishing the seaboard of which that empire stands so urgently in need. The secular aspects of a great hist6r- ical development are, after all, wider than its immediate and accidental as- pects; nor is the political interpretation of them to be compared with the scien- tific. The Russian menace to India, assuming that there is a real menace, indicates a counterplot, if it indicates anything. Russia may some day will some day . strike at Constanti- nople; for her to be able to divide Englands attention between care for India and solicitude for the integrity of the Turkish empire is an advantage worth bidding for. Apart from this, the future course of events in Central Asia is clear. In the end, soon or late, the Russian and the English boundaries must coincide. This is the real, as it should be the final, settlement of the Anglo-Russian dispute, since it ought to be no more difficult for two great powers to live next door to eaeh other in Asia, than it has been found to be in Europe. And the true policy of each nf those powers is, as it seems to us, to look forward to such a junction, to es- timate all minor issues at their real worth, and to arrange any preliminary disputes that may arise with calmness and dignity. From Mr. Marvins book we pass to Nir. George Makepeace Towles volume,1 1 England and Russia in Asia. By GEORGE M& KEPEACE TOwLE. Timely Topics Series. With Maps. Boston: James It. Osgood & Co. 1886. which is a model of all that a compila- tion of the kind should not be. It is not too much to say that it is one of the most inaccurate books ever written, and therefore worse than useless to the pub- lic. Mr. Towle blunders over the com- monest facts. He starts off by ignoring 40,000,000 of people in his statement of the population of India, and makes the area of the empire 900,000 instead of 1,500,000 square miles. A few lines further on Mr. Towle gives 1612 instead of 1616 as the date of what lie calls the attack of a Portuguese fleet on the English factory at Surat. The attack was not on the factory, but on the East India Companys fleet off the port of Surat, at the mouth of the river Tapti. We read next that the company built Fort St. George, Madras, in 1640. This event took place in 1639. Mr. Towle adds that Bombay fell into the com- panys hands in 1662, the fact being that the delivery of the place did not occur until 1665. The next blun- der fixes the number of persons thrust into the Black Hole at 150, instead of at 146. On page 17, there is a con- fused and erroneous account of the cir~ cumstances under which the provinces of Bengal, Orissa, and Bahar were handed over to the English. In the same page, Mr. Towle states that Clive returned to England in 1766. He did not leave India until 1767. Warren Hastings assumed office as governor- general in 1772, not in 1773 as Mr. Towle assures us. Further on we are told that the Hastings trial dragged its slow length along for nearly five years. Its slow length was at least two years longer than Mr. Towle ven- tures to make it. The administration of the Marquis of Daihoesie lasted eight years, not seven. The queen was pro- claimed Empress of India two years earlier than Mr. Towle thinks it pru- dent to admit. At page 31, and again on page 33, Mr. Towle falls into a ludi- crous confusion of absolute power with

118 England, Russia, and India. [July, The belief that Russia could the easier attain the possession of Constantinople by a series of blows dealt across the Af- ghan territory is much more plausible. But to administer India as a Russian possession that is to say, as part of a centralized system of government now strained to its uttermost would be a task even more formidable than its ac- quirement by force of arms. To pos- sess it at all would immensely add to the vulnerability of the Russian empire, without furnishing the seaboard of which that empire stands so urgently in need. The secular aspects of a great hist6r- ical development are, after all, wider than its immediate and accidental as- pects; nor is the political interpretation of them to be compared with the scien- tific. The Russian menace to India, assuming that there is a real menace, indicates a counterplot, if it indicates anything. Russia may some day will some day . strike at Constanti- nople; for her to be able to divide Englands attention between care for India and solicitude for the integrity of the Turkish empire is an advantage worth bidding for. Apart from this, the future course of events in Central Asia is clear. In the end, soon or late, the Russian and the English boundaries must coincide. This is the real, as it should be the final, settlement of the Anglo-Russian dispute, since it ought to be no more difficult for two great powers to live next door to eaeh other in Asia, than it has been found to be in Europe. And the true policy of each nf those powers is, as it seems to us, to look forward to such a junction, to es- timate all minor issues at their real worth, and to arrange any preliminary disputes that may arise with calmness and dignity. From Mr. Marvins book we pass to Nir. George Makepeace Towles volume,1 1 England and Russia in Asia. By GEORGE M& KEPEACE TOwLE. Timely Topics Series. With Maps. Boston: James It. Osgood & Co. 1886. which is a model of all that a compila- tion of the kind should not be. It is not too much to say that it is one of the most inaccurate books ever written, and therefore worse than useless to the pub- lic. Mr. Towle blunders over the com- monest facts. He starts off by ignoring 40,000,000 of people in his statement of the population of India, and makes the area of the empire 900,000 instead of 1,500,000 square miles. A few lines further on Mr. Towle gives 1612 instead of 1616 as the date of what lie calls the attack of a Portuguese fleet on the English factory at Surat. The attack was not on the factory, but on the East India Companys fleet off the port of Surat, at the mouth of the river Tapti. We read next that the company built Fort St. George, Madras, in 1640. This event took place in 1639. Mr. Towle adds that Bombay fell into the com- panys hands in 1662, the fact being that the delivery of the place did not occur until 1665. The next blun- der fixes the number of persons thrust into the Black Hole at 150, instead of at 146. On page 17, there is a con- fused and erroneous account of the cir~ cumstances under which the provinces of Bengal, Orissa, and Bahar were handed over to the English. In the same page, Mr. Towle states that Clive returned to England in 1766. He did not leave India until 1767. Warren Hastings assumed office as governor- general in 1772, not in 1773 as Mr. Towle assures us. Further on we are told that the Hastings trial dragged its slow length along for nearly five years. Its slow length was at least two years longer than Mr. Towle ven- tures to make it. The administration of the Marquis of Daihoesie lasted eight years, not seven. The queen was pro- claimed Empress of India two years earlier than Mr. Towle thinks it pru- dent to admit. At page 31, and again on page 33, Mr. Towle falls into a ludi- crous confusion of absolute power with 1885.] England, Rz& 8sia, and India. 119 despotic rule. Failing to appreciate the distinction between a paternal and a constitutional government, he gravely describes the office of viceroy as that of an absolute despot. Three blun- ders occur in Mr. Towles account of the machinery of Indian government. His statement of the artillery possessed by the Hindu states is short of the truth by a thousand guns. The sentence, on page 50, alleging that Peter was the most ambitious, the ablest, and the most civilized Czar who ever sat on the Muscovite throne is a perplexing study to say the least. Who Timour Tamer- lane was, Mr. Towle leaves his readers to guessif they can. On page 71, he gives us an inaccurate version of the tak- ing of Khiva, tripping lightly forward to sketch the Khirgiz, whose physiog- nomies, he says, are a curious mixture of Turk and Mongolian. All we need observe here is that if the mixture is at all so curious as Mr. Towles mixture of substantives, the Khirgizes, as he spells the word, must be a very strange people, indeed. On page 93, Mr. Towle says the Cossacks have never been sub- ject to serfdom. The Cossacks were for many years recruited from the serfs. There are several blunders in Mr. Towles account of the Russian navy at page 96. In page 100, Mr. Towle makes Dost Mohammed go on fighting for several years after be is chronologi- cally dead. A few lines further on he speaks of one man out of 26,000 escap- ing the wholesale slaughter in the Khy- her Pass. The slaughter took place in the Khurd, Kabul, and Jagdalak defiles, and those who perished numbered 16,000 not 26,000. Herat (page 104) is 388 miles from Askabad, not 400; and 869 from Candahar, not 300. The story at page 105, of an English force being kept at bay before Herat, in 1857, is purely without foundation. Mr. Towle talks twice of Marquis Wellesley, whoever that personage may be. Fully a dozen other blunders occur in various parts of the book, hut we have not enough space left in which to notice them. We have dwelt upon the volume at this length simply with a purpose of warning and example that may, it is to be hoped, protect the public from fur- ther inflictions of the kind in the future. Brigadier General Rodenboughs book is an interesting but not always ac- curate contribution to the literature of the subject. Written mainly from a sol- diers point of view, it deals chiefly with the military aspects of the situation. The engravings are good. But some of the plurals are not to be recommended. Vol- taire used to think that all Greek nouns had their plural in oi, and so the idea seems to prevail among writers of war manuals that you have only to put ee at the end of a substantive to make it a Central Asian plural. Mr. Towle is the most conspicuous offender in this respect, for he writes Khokandi general, of the Turkistanee, and Turkistanee woman, thus using the ee sound as a masculine adjective ending, as a femi- nine adjective terminal, and as the end- ing for the genitive plural. Tatar gram- mar is somewhat flexible, but not nearly so flexible as Mr. Towle would make it. Mr. Rodenbough, too, talks of Tush- kendees, using an ending which, like the rest, is neither English nor Asian. The correct forms are, of course, Tash- kendian, Khokandian, Turkistan, etc. At page 12, Mr. Rodeibough remarks that the thorough way in which Russia seeks to hind her Asian subjects is shown in the fact that, in 1884, at the request of the Khan of Khiva, a Russian tutor was selected to instruct his children. Does the author mean that the tutor en- tered the Khans family as a diplomatic agent? Save on this supposition the 1 Afqkanistan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute. Txxo. F. RODENBOUGR, Bvt. Brigadier-General, An Account of Russias Advance towards India. U. S. A. New York and London: G. P. Put- With Three Maps and other Illustrations. By nams Sons. The Knickerbocker Press. 188b.

1885.] England, Rz& 8sia, and India. 119 despotic rule. Failing to appreciate the distinction between a paternal and a constitutional government, he gravely describes the office of viceroy as that of an absolute despot. Three blun- ders occur in Mr. Towles account of the machinery of Indian government. His statement of the artillery possessed by the Hindu states is short of the truth by a thousand guns. The sentence, on page 50, alleging that Peter was the most ambitious, the ablest, and the most civilized Czar who ever sat on the Muscovite throne is a perplexing study to say the least. Who Timour Tamer- lane was, Mr. Towle leaves his readers to guessif they can. On page 71, he gives us an inaccurate version of the tak- ing of Khiva, tripping lightly forward to sketch the Khirgiz, whose physiog- nomies, he says, are a curious mixture of Turk and Mongolian. All we need observe here is that if the mixture is at all so curious as Mr. Towles mixture of substantives, the Khirgizes, as he spells the word, must be a very strange people, indeed. On page 93, Mr. Towle says the Cossacks have never been sub- ject to serfdom. The Cossacks were for many years recruited from the serfs. There are several blunders in Mr. Towles account of the Russian navy at page 96. In page 100, Mr. Towle makes Dost Mohammed go on fighting for several years after be is chronologi- cally dead. A few lines further on he speaks of one man out of 26,000 escap- ing the wholesale slaughter in the Khy- her Pass. The slaughter took place in the Khurd, Kabul, and Jagdalak defiles, and those who perished numbered 16,000 not 26,000. Herat (page 104) is 388 miles from Askabad, not 400; and 869 from Candahar, not 300. The story at page 105, of an English force being kept at bay before Herat, in 1857, is purely without foundation. Mr. Towle talks twice of Marquis Wellesley, whoever that personage may be. Fully a dozen other blunders occur in various parts of the book, hut we have not enough space left in which to notice them. We have dwelt upon the volume at this length simply with a purpose of warning and example that may, it is to be hoped, protect the public from fur- ther inflictions of the kind in the future. Brigadier General Rodenboughs book is an interesting but not always ac- curate contribution to the literature of the subject. Written mainly from a sol- diers point of view, it deals chiefly with the military aspects of the situation. The engravings are good. But some of the plurals are not to be recommended. Vol- taire used to think that all Greek nouns had their plural in oi, and so the idea seems to prevail among writers of war manuals that you have only to put ee at the end of a substantive to make it a Central Asian plural. Mr. Towle is the most conspicuous offender in this respect, for he writes Khokandi general, of the Turkistanee, and Turkistanee woman, thus using the ee sound as a masculine adjective ending, as a femi- nine adjective terminal, and as the end- ing for the genitive plural. Tatar gram- mar is somewhat flexible, but not nearly so flexible as Mr. Towle would make it. Mr. Rodenbough, too, talks of Tush- kendees, using an ending which, like the rest, is neither English nor Asian. The correct forms are, of course, Tash- kendian, Khokandian, Turkistan, etc. At page 12, Mr. Rodeibough remarks that the thorough way in which Russia seeks to hind her Asian subjects is shown in the fact that, in 1884, at the request of the Khan of Khiva, a Russian tutor was selected to instruct his children. Does the author mean that the tutor en- tered the Khans family as a diplomatic agent? Save on this supposition the 1 Afqkanistan and the Anglo-Russian Dispute. Txxo. F. RODENBOUGR, Bvt. Brigadier-General, An Account of Russias Advance towards India. U. S. A. New York and London: G. P. Put- With Three Maps and other Illustrations. By nams Sons. The Knickerbocker Press. 188b. 120 Two English IkLrn of Letters. [July, alleged connection of statement with illustration is not at all proved. rrhe habit of learning Russian in Central Asia is as common as is that of acquir- ing French at St. Petersburg. It ought to be added, in conclusion, that none of the three writers named know anything personally, that is to say at first hand, of the disputed territory. In this respect Mr. Marvin, who has never been nearer Afghanistan than Baku, is no better off than Mr. Towle. It is mainly a knowledge of the Russian language that has rendered Mr. Marvin an authority in this matter, just as it is a want of that knowledge which makes so many of the books written on the sub- ject practically valueless. TWO ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. THE conditions of the literary life in America are less dotermined than they are in England. The only organization within which authorship may be said to find substantial shelter is journalism, and this profession is so exacting and so inimical to most forms of literature, that those who have most serious thoughts of the literary life are rather desirous of escaping from journalism than of using ~it as a vantage ground. It might seem at first blush as if the universities and colleges would offer a desirable fastness from which to send out ventures in lit- erature; but the academic life is a some- what sterile one; it is with us so identified with the pedagogic that the energies of the professor, if they move the produc- tion of hooks, are most likely to he oc- cupied with the tools of the profession. Text-hooks in abundance issue every year from college faculties, but very few contributions to humane literature. The academic life again is so specialized that even the professor of English literature rarely produces work upon which his successor or associate may comment. His attitude toward the subject of his teaching is too critical to allow him tnuch freedom of mind, and he is be- sides so conscious of his position that he is undermined in his resolution, and ren professors in other departments are still further removed from the possibility of being litt6rateurs by the whole course of their training and the limitations of their profession. The constitution of the English uni- versities, on the other hand, directly en- courages and sustains the literary life. This is not to say that literature in its freest expression is not there, as here, out- side the walls of the college, but that a man of literary taste and ambition may deliberately possess himself of academic situations which will make it possible for him to lead a literary life, free from fret and carking care; and also that the prizes for scholarship offered by the uni- versities distinctly suggest to the student literary occupation. A man, in other words, with fortune enough to secure him a university education, may hope to win a Fellowship which will demand only slight academic duties, leaving him free to devote himself to literature; and a student devoted to learning who falls into such a place will, by the very force of his own nature, be urged into liter- ary production. Thus the university, by a provision which enlarges the scope of university life, is more than a train- ing-school for immature minds; it is a society of scholars, and as such, direct- ~lered abnormally sensitive to the criti- ly encourages and sustains the literary (cism of others as well as of himself. The life.

120 Two English IkLrn of Letters. [July, alleged connection of statement with illustration is not at all proved. rrhe habit of learning Russian in Central Asia is as common as is that of acquir- ing French at St. Petersburg. It ought to be added, in conclusion, that none of the three writers named know anything personally, that is to say at first hand, of the disputed territory. In this respect Mr. Marvin, who has never been nearer Afghanistan than Baku, is no better off than Mr. Towle. It is mainly a knowledge of the Russian language that has rendered Mr. Marvin an authority in this matter, just as it is a want of that knowledge which makes so many of the books written on the sub- ject