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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 58, Issue 345 Galaxy, Atlantic Atlantic Monthly Co. Boston July 1886 0058 345
The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 58, Issue 345, miscellaneous front pages i-iv

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY A MAGAZINE OF Literature, ~ctence, art, an~ ~ij3ouitic.~ VOLUME LVIII. BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 1886 CoPmxaa~r, 1886. ih HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED DY II 0. IIOUGHTON AND COMPANY. I.. C ONTENTS. Bacons Dictionary of Boston Barlow, Joel Blindmans World, The Church of England Novel, The Confessions of a Birds-Nest Ilunter Domestic Economy in the Confederacy . Dream of Russia, The Epic Russia Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. Fortuny and Decamps . . . . . F nrc under Macarm French and English From the Garden of a Friend . . . Furnesss Othello Germs of National Sovereignty in the United States. Golden Justice The Grants Memoirs: Second Volume . . . ilutchinsons Diary: Second Voinme In the Clouds Indian Question in Arizona, The Individual Continuity . Intellectual Mission of the Saracens, The Rorean Coup dEtat, A Lahor Question The Laws Partiality to Married Women, The Lincoln, Abraham Literary Athlete, A Mad Monarch, A Mademoiselle Joan Mazzini My Real Estate Needlework in Art New Portfolio, The Object of a University, The On the Benefits of Superstition Oulda Paper Money Craze of 1786, The, and the Shays Rebellion Peckster Professorship, The Princess Casamassima The Race Prejudices Recent Light Literature Richardson, Ilenry llobson, Architect Rise of Arabian Learning, The Saloon in Politics The Schoylers American Diplomacy Sibyl the Savage Six Visions of St. Augustine Strange Story of Pragtjna, The Two American Novels Two Browns, The Up the Neva to Schl5sselburg Whipple, Edwin Percy Witches of Venice, The Wood-Fears Edward Bellamy Harriet IVaters Preston Bradford Torrey David Dodge Cyrus Hamliss John Fiske . PAGE . 559 275 693 783 336 229 771 704 77 566 708 Philip Gilbert Hamerton . . . 17, 318, 619 Mary Agnes Tincker 502 270 John Fiske 648 William Hestry Bishop 27, 145, 289, 474, 628, 721 419 561 Charles Egbert Craddock 113, 243, 386, 519, 666, 829 Robert K. Evans 167 Andrew Hedbrooke 263 Ed word Hsengerford 817 Percival Loseell 599 George Frederic Parsons 97 Frank Gaylord Cook 311 556 Edward F. Hayward . 456 E. P. Evans 449 Rebecra Harding Davis 328 Maria Louise Henry 803 Bradford Torrey 135 Oliver Wendell Holmes 1 Elisha Mseiford 747 Agnes liepplier 177 Tiarriet Waters Preston 47 Johso Fiske 376 J. P. Quincy 577 Henry James 58, 209, 349, 433 N. S. Shaler 510 267 685 539 404 414 89 187 761 131 196 762 345 463 644 Henry Van Brunt Edward !-lnngerfovd Geor5e Frederic Parsons L. W. Champney Octave Thanet Harvard B. Rooke Sarah Orne Jescelt Edmund Noble Thomas Wentworth Higgissson Elizabeth Robins Pennell Sophia Kirk iv Contents. POETRY. At the Grave of a Suicide, S. M. B. Pints 76 At Variance, Cara TV. Bronson 16 Baptism of Fire, Julia C. B. Dorr 782 Boutonnihre, A, Charlcs Henry Lilders . . . . 462 Dante, A Volume of, Caroline Wilder Fellosces . 228 Endymion, Samuel V. Cole 186 Jackson, Helen Hunt, To the Memory of, Edith FL Thomas 195 Links of Chance, The, Andrew Hedbrooke . . . 375 Loves Solitude and Society, Edith ilL Thomas . 555 Madonna Pia, Helen Grey Cone 745 Memory of Theocritus, A, James B. Kcnyon . . 598 Shell and the World, The, Bose Hawthorne La throp 317 Sleep, Louise imogen Guittey 791 Studies for Pictures, Margaret Deland . . . . 627 To a Maid Demure, Andrew Hedbrooke . . . . 6S4 To Q. H. F., Charles Gayley 262 Wood-Thrush, The, Lucy Larcom 647 BOOK REVIEWS. Alfords Needlework in Art 135 Bacons Dictionary of Boston 559 Battle of Gettysburg, The 852 Bunners Midge 67 gidments Decamps 568 Furnesss New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare: Othello 270 Grants Memoirs: Second Volume 419 llapgoods Epic Songs of Russia 704 Hardys Wind of Destiny 131 Hutchinsons Diary of Thomas ilutchinson . . 561 Oldest School in America, The 561 Perkinss France under Mazarin 708 Putnams Old Salem 269 Rices Reminiscences of Abraham Lincoln . . 557 Schuylers American Diplomacy and the Further- ance of Commerce 414 Stocktons Late Mrs. Null 133 Todds Life and Letters of J001 Barlow . . . . 275 Vriartes Fortuny 566 CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. Amulets in Words, 573; Bright Side of Human Ignorance, The, 139; Can Tunes be Inherited? 284; Certain Com- fortable Reflections, 574; Choosing a Class of People for Extermination, 712; Clang-Tint of Words, The, 424; Dames of Labor, 712; Ethics of the Plank at Sea, The, 575; Favorable View of Self-Conceit, A, 428; Free- Will of the Bonfire, The, 279; Human Nature in Chickens, 282; Management of the Mind while hearing Music, The, 137, Mind as a Bad Portrait-Painter, The, 569; Most Pathetic Figure in Story, The, 716; Mother Goose Element in the Best of Poets, 858; Nouveau Cultiv~, The, 571; Nuts and Kernels, 715; Of Flowers, 428; Old Campaigner, An, 570; Old Fugue Tune, The, 715; On being ignorantly Praised, 857; Psychology of Interruptions, The, 283; Rnmantic Dispositions, 426 ; Slipperiness of Certain Words, The, 281; Things we meant to Say, The, 142 ; Threshold Flower, A, 284; Two Objections to Spelling Reform, 141. BooKs OF THE MonTH . . . . . . . 143, ~S6, 430, 576, 718, 860

Oliver Wendell Holmes Holmes, Oliver Wendell The New Portfolio 1-16

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: a %Yt~agaPne of 1Lit~rature, ~~i~nce, art, anti ~oUtic0. VOL. L J~I1L JULY, 1886. No. CCCXL V. THE NEW PORTFOLIO. A PROSPECTIVE VISIT. AFTER an interval of more than fifty years I propose taking a second look at some parts of Europe. This will give my readers of The Atlantic, as well as the writer, a vacation to which we both seem entitled. It is a Rip Van Winkle experiment which I am promising my- self. The changes wrought by half a century in the countries I visited amount almost to a transformation. I left the England of William the Fourth, of the Duke of Wellington, of Sir Robert Peel; the France of Louis Philippe, of Mar- shal Soult, of Thiers, of Guizot. I went from Manchester to Liverpool by the new railroad, the only one I saw in Europe. I looked upon England from the box of a stage-coach, upon France from the coupe of a diligence, upon Italy from the chariot of a vetturino. The broken windows of Apsley House were still boarded up when I was in London. The asphalt pavement was not laid in Paris. The Obelisk of Lux- or was lying in its great boat in the Seine, as I remember it. I did not see it erected; it must have been a sensa- tion to have looked on, the engineer standing underneath, so as to be crushed by it if it disgraced him by falling in the process. As for the dynasties which have overlaid each other like Dr. Schlie- manns Trojan cities, there is no need of moralizing over a history which instead of Finis is constantly ending with What next? With regard to the changes in the general conditions of society and the ad- vance in human knowledge, think for one moment what fifty years have done. I have often imagined myself escorting some wise man of the past to our Satur- day Club, where we often have distin- guished strangers as our guests. Sup- pose there sat by me I will not say Sir Isaac Newton, for he has been too long away from us, but that other great man, whom Professor Tyndall names as next to him in intellectual stature, as he passes along the line of master minds of his country from the days of Newton to our own Dr. Thomas Young, who died in 1829. Would he or I be the listener, if we were side by side? However humble I might feel in such a presence, I should be so clad in the grandeur of the ncw discoveries, inventions, ideas, I had to impart to him that I should seem to myself like the ambassador of an Emperor. I should tell him of the ocean steamers, the rail- roads that spread themselves like cob- webs over the civilized and half-civil- ized portions of the earth, the telegraph and the telephone, the photograph and the spectroscope. I should hand him a Copyright, 1886, by HOUGHTON, MIPFLIK & Co. THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: a %I~a~a~ne of %Literature, ~ctenc~, SArt, anti 1~OUtiC0. VOL. L VIIL JULY, 1886. No. CCUXL V 4- THE NEW PORTFOLIO. A PROSPECTIVE VISIT. AFTER an interval of more than fifty years I propose taking a second look at some parts of Europe. This will give my readers of The Atlantic, as well as the writer, a vacation to which we both seem entitled. It is a Rip Van Winkle experiment which I am promising my- self. The changes wrought by half a century in the countries I visited amount almost to a transformation. I left the England of William the Fourth, of the Duke of Wellington, of Sir Robert Peel; the France of Louis Philippe, of Mar- shal Soult, of Thiers, of Guizot. I went from Manchester to Liverpool by the new railroad, the only one I saw in Europe. I looked upon England from the box of a stage-coach, upon France from the coupe of a diligence, upon Italy from the chariot of a vetturino. The broken windows of Apsley House were still boarded up when I was in London. The asphalt pavement was not laid in Paris. The Obelisk of Lux- or was lying in its great boat in the Seine, as I remember it. I did not see it erected; it must have been a sensa- tion to have looked on, the engineer standing underneath, so as to be crushed by it if it disgraced him by falling in the process. As for the dynasties which have overlaid each other like Dr. Schlie- manns Trojan cities, there is no need of moralizing over a history which instead of Finis is constantly ending with What next? With regard to the changes in the general conditions of society and the ad- vance in human knowledge, think for one moment what fifty years have done. I have often imagined myself escorting some wise man of the past to our Satur- day Club, where we often have distin- guished strangers as our guests. Sup- pose there sat by me I will not say Sir Isaac Newton, for he has been too long away from us, but that other great man, whom Professor Tyndall names as next to him in intellectual stature, as he passes along the line of master minds of his country from the days of Newton to our own Dr. Thomas Young, who died in 1829. Would he or I be the listener, if we were side by side? However humble I might feel in such a presence, I should be so clad in the grandeur of the ncw discoveries, inventions, ideas, I had to impart to him that I should seem to myself like the ambassador of an Emperor. I should tell him of the ocean steamers, the rail- roads that spread themselves like cob- webs over the civilized and half-civil- ized portions of the earth, the telegraph and the telephone, the photograph and the spectroscope. I should hand him a Copyright, 1886, by HOUGHTOx, MIFFLIN & Co. 3 1886.] The New Portfolio. on, not to gamble. My senses were acute, my intellect was hungry, my love of art and taste for it strong enough to be a continual source of excitement, and though I had written a few poems, some of which have lived their half century, I had not wasted my youthful sensibili- ties in those floods of verse which wash away the emotions that are the life of life in profuse and debilitating expres- sion. Who does not remember the change of feeling, when, in his boyhood, as he was following a company of trainers~~ marching to the lean duet of the drum and fife, all at once the full band broke into its rich tumult of harmonies? Such was my feeling, transplanted from my city of sixty thousand inhabitants into the great world-centres where millions were congregated. I must have told in print somewhere much of what I have to say in these pages. But if I do not remember when or where I have told it, it is not very probable that my reader does, or that he remembers anything about it. At any rate, I put my recollections in more exact order than ever before. They are many of them, perhaps most of them, trivial, personal reminiscences, pecu- liar to the narrator in many cases, not such as his reader would be likely to meet with elsewhere. They are, in point of fact, the flotsam of memory, the lighter things that have come to the surface in virtue of their buoyancy. I left New York in April, 1833, in the ship Philadelphia, Captain Champlin, and returned in the autumn of 1835 in the ship Utica, Captain Depeyster. I began a journal on the first day of the voyage, and closed it on the third. One of my fellow-passengers, Mr. Thomas Gold Appleton, was more persevering, and I learn from his diary, printed in Miss Susan Hales Life and Recollec- tions, that it was on Monday, the 1st of April, we sailed. I refer to his record for a few facts. The list of passengers included, also, Dr. Jacob Bigelow, Dr. R. W. Hooper, and Mr. Thomas B. Curtis. There was, of course, much pleasant talk. Tom Appleton made fun of everything; the icebergs which scared us became the ice- bugs in his vocabulary, and between him and the three I have mentioned it was an ill word that did not furnish a pun, good or bad, for one or the other of them. Of the sights Appleton de- scribes I cannot say so much as he does. I remember the little tug Hercules, which towed us out of the harbor, and watched for her name many a year in the marine records. I recollect the man overboard, and the helm cover if that was the name of it which was thrown over to him. How many drown- ing flies I have rescued in the memory of that struggling mariner! I can re- call, or think I can, the whales, but I am sorry to say I missed the following interesting object While gazing over the railing at the seething caldron about the ship, I had a fair sight at that most poetical of ocean rovers, the nautilus. It was spin- ning round in the foam, in shape like a sculpin, with a many-colored and semi- transparent body, and two beautiful azure, gauze-like wings or sails. I saw no oars. It was whirled instantly out of sight. I did hear some of the passengers speak of seeing what the captain called a Portuguese man-of-war, but I did not see the creature myself, nor did I ever see this description until more than fifty years after it was written. The creature is not a nautilus, and the ac- count seems to me a little fanciful, but not more so than a poem of my own, The Chambered Nautilus, which speaks about its wings of living gauze, and again of its purpled wings, expres- sions which look as if they had been borrowed from Mr. Appletons Diary. 4 The New Portfolio. Tom was in the poetical mood, and wrote a sonnet, making a little fun of himself for doing it. He says that he and I talked sentiment. I do not doubt it; he was full enough of it to make verses, and I was too full of it to be jingling syllables, for poems spring up after the floods have subsided. I happen to remember the name of the vessel he mentions our falling in with; it was the brig Economist, from Sierra Leone for Leith. This meeting made me feel as if I were reading a story out of a picture-book. It blew pretty freshly as we neared the land, and a topsail exploded like a torpedo, and hung in rags about the spars. By and by the land grew from a suspicion to a reality, from a mass to a varied surface, and very soon the spire of a church showed itself. The Amer- ican of English descent is a poor crea- ture if such a sight does not awaken some feeling deeper than mere curios- ity or pleasure in its picturesqueness. When the church-bells of England vi- brate, the dust of his ancestors of scores of generations, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, thrills with the trembling earth that covers it. There is a magnetism in the soil from which our lives were remotely drawn which not even the infinite hu- mor of our countrymans reflections at the grave of the father of the human race can laugh us out of. If Mr. Ap- pleton and I did not talk sentiment when we first caught sight of that stee- ple, I am ashamed for both of us, but perhaps our feelings were too deep for any words. Our first reception in Eu gland was cordial, if not hospitable, cordial, for the best of reasons. The vessel did not put us ashore, but a boat took us on board and had to be paid for. The boat did not put us on shore, but a plank was laid for us to walk over, and this too had to be paid for. We landed at Portsmouth on the 25th day of April. [July, The Quebec Hotel, to which we went, was a small affair, but we found it com- fortable and homelike. What struck me most was the neatness of all out- doors and its conveniences. The roads were so hard and smooth it seemed like maltreatment to drive over them. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw a stagecoach; it looked like a toy, the body so small, and such contrivances for the outsides. We drove in the environs of Portsmouth, and the variety and beauty of the cottages astonished us. We stood on the deck of the Yictory, and saw where Nelson fell. While at the navy yard we saw some soldiers, ma- rines, perhaps, under arms. What lit- tle fellows they are! we said. They looked like boys. The same remark was often made afterwards in looking at French troops of the line. We crossed over to the Isle of Wight. How lovely and garden-like! Is the island kept under glass in winter? At Carisbrook Castle we were shown round by a most respectable-looking old gentle- man, who appeared more like one of my brother members of the Massachusetts Historical Society than a cicerone whose business was to show a place to stran- gers. We could not insult such a gen- tleman by offering him a shilling or half a crown, and we did not, unless some one who knew the ways of British local historians did it quietly. A simi- lar experience we had with the distin- guished-looking personage who showed us the royal yacht in which George the Fourth used to take his sea airings. The feelings of an educated Amer- ican on first reaching the home of his ancestors have been so fully expressed by Irving in the Sketch-Book that it would be superfluous to enlarge upon them here. Only eighteen years had passed since he sailed for Europe. We cannot help smiling as we read of the effect produced upon him by the first sight of a man of distinction in the world of letters 1886.] The New Portfolio. 6 There was something in his whole appearance that indicated a being of a different order from the bustling race around him. I inquired his name, and was informed that it was Roscoe. I drew back with an involuntary feeling of veneration. This, then, was an au- thor of celebrity; this was one of those men whose voices have gone forth to the ends of the earth, with whose minds I have communed even in the solitude of America. An American is in little danger of going into hysterics at the sight of a European celebrity in these days. Wash- ington Irvings emotions enlarged the object of his contemplation, as the young Plymouth pilgrims imagination saw a great sea in what proved to be a pond or small lake, which has immortalized his blunder by taking the name of Billington Sea. The American of to- day is far more likely to express him- self, after meeting an author of celeb- rity, in the spirit of the question of the princess in Landors Gebir: Is this the mighty ocean, is this all ? Since Mark Twain introduced the Mis- sissippi to the Jordan, the American has been in danger of losing that venera- tion which the amiable author of the Sketch-Book yielded so freely to the first well-known writer he met with. One sensation I had, overpowering, memorable ever after, the sight of my first cathedral, that of Salisbury. Oth- ers that I have since seen are richer in ornament, their spires rise higher and their windows blaze in brighter colors, but the page of memory on which Salis- bury Cathedral stamped itself was a fresh one, almost virgin of impressions. Our village meeting-house was visible upon it, and the Old South, and our dear little Saint Peters which calls it- self the State House, its dome not yet gilded; but that mighty pile, with its shaft climbing up as high above its lofty roof as Park Street steeple from the ground on which it rests, with its peace- ful cloisters, its venerable monuments, its memories of six hundred years, has never faded from my mental picture-gallery. My second pilgrimage in England would naturally carry me first to that precious shrine, that I might look upon it once more through the eyes that saw it when their light was yet undimmed. How that spire seemed to follow me wherever I wandered within the circle of miles around it! Looking down as it does from a height of four hundred feet and more, it was hard to escape its presence. One turned his eyes upward, and over walls and housetops and tall trees; there it was, its vane among the clouds by day and a companion of the stars by night. Salisbury Plain would have been of little note to me if I had not so well re- membered Miss Hannah Mores Shep- herd. What lessons of content have I not got from that story! The little daughter who pities the poor people that have no salt to their potatoes, and see, father, our dish is quite full. Dear Miss Hannah! I got my most palata- ble Sunday reading out of her stories in the Cheap Repository Tracts, and I would make one of my first calls upon her; but she has not seen company, such as I am, for a long time. Stonehenge, Big Dominos, there must have been giants in those days. I knew little more about them then, geologically, historically, ethnologically, than the sheep that nibbled the grass around them. During my first visit to England, of a week only, I visited the places mentioned and others of interest: Southampton and Netley Abbey, Wil- ton House, home of the Sidneys and the Herberts, and Longford Castle, seat of the Earl of Radnor. To look upon real Claudes, like the famous ones at Longford Castle; to make the acquaint- ance of Vandyke and other great paint- ers in the originals, not in pallid copies; to walk among genuine ancient marbles and bronzes, the accumulations of gen 6 The New Portfolio. [July, erations, as at Wilton House, was a new and most agreeable feeling, but it made the Athena~um Gallery a little less imposing than it had seemed when we were admiring its treasures in the early days of the exhibitions, and writing pert little verses about some of them. After this taste of Hampshire and Wiltshire, remembering that we had other objects, we crossed the Channel, and found ourselves at Havre. On our way to Paris we were joined by a very social and companionable young man, who was bound to the same place. He knew Boston well, so he said; had been there, and boarded with Betsy ~**~, a favorite with the best class of board- ers. He had been disappointed, it came out before long, in regard to his remit- tances. This is a not uncommon afflic- tion, and is apt to bring a train of mourn- ers with it and leave them after it. I did not become a fellow-sufferer with him by playing the part of a substitute for his banker, but others, I believe, did. At Rouen the sensation was in the narrow streets, with the tall houses and the merest ribbon of blue sky between them, a wholly new effect to me. I could only think of being at the bottom of a deep crack in a mountain of rock or hardened lava. And so we found ourselves in Paris. What current drifted us to the H6tel des Quinze Vingts I do not remember. There is a well-known asylum for the blind which is called Hospice des Quinze Vingts, Infirmary of the Three Hun- dred; but we could hardly have mistaken that for an inn, and the people of the establishment could not have taken three staring medical students for blind per- sons. In the morning we sallied forth for breakfast, and soon found ourselves in a caf6 in the Place de Ia Bourse. It was a bright, sunny day, and Paris revealed herself to us in all that irresistible charm which bewitches every one about whom she casts her spangled net. It was a delight to be alive, to see new faces, to hear a new language, to find every~ thing gay, everything unlike what we had left. But we had come for work, not play. We were soon in the quar- ters we had selected, on the other side of the river. If the reader would like to know where I passed my two years, I will give him my address as my Eng- lish friend Thompson (whose peut-~tre was undistinguishable from the English of pomme de terre) would have ren- dered it. He would have said that M6nshur H. lived at noomero sanhi9ont sank Roo Af6nsliur ler Pranse. I should have written it 55 Rue AL le Prince. M. Bertrand was my landlord; his wife and her mother were the ladies of the establishment. Both of them died sud- denly, not very long after I took my room in the house, and I was pri6 to assister at the interment. A lady, not youthful, took the place at the head of the household, and after a decorous in- terval I was pri6 to assister at the cer- emony which made the widower and Mademoiselle Susanne a happy couple. I was au troisi~me on the third floor the first year, au second in the sec- ond year. The mode of life was, for myself and other American students, to take a cup of coffee early in the morning, to walk to the hospital, follow the visit of the physician or surgeon, attend any autop- sy there might be, and then go to break- fast. The favorite resort of myself and my friends was the Caf6 Procope. This cafti had a remarkable history. It got its name from its founder, who estab- lished it in the Rue des Foss~s St. Ger- main, now the Rue de lAncienne Com& die, in the year 1689. It is still in ex- istence, and will soon reach its two hundredth anniversary. Here many famous men have been accustomed to repair for their refection, Voltaire, Piron (qui nefiit rien; pas m~me Aca- d6micien), J. B. Rousseau, Marmontel, 1886.] The New Portfolio. 7 Saurin, and, in a later generation, Gain- betta. There was no show about the place, but Madame at the Comptoir was pleasant to look upon, and Honor6, our favorite gar~on, would project a stream of coffee into the middle of a little group about a table with a dash that was au- dacious and an accuracy that inspired triumphant confidence. The rest of the day was partly taken up in lectures, vis- its to different hospitals, private instruc- tion, visits to galleries, excursions, and by the time five oclock arrived we were ready for dinner. For a month I was en pension, at a boarding-house, or at least took my dinner there. All was neat and proper, there was the due suc- cession of courses, but Madames peu de ceUt? meant si peu that I was fain to seek quarters where frugality was a less distinguishing feature. I therefore joined some young Genevese students, who formed a sort of club and dined together. The house in which we dined was noted from having been the one where Marat was stabbed in his bath by Charlotte Corday. We used every day to pass the room that wit- nessed this event. There were some pleasant things connected with this Bo- hemian arrangement. The Genevese students seemed to me like a kind of transplanted Bostonians; indeed, the students from Geneva and from Boston were drawn together naturally. Whether it was because both were citizens of a republic, or whether the fact that both came from snug little buttoned-up cities where Calvinism long found its head- quarters accounted for it, Theodore Maunoir and James Jackson, Jean Bizot and myself, were as much at home with each other as if all had been fellow- townsmen. Some of the ways of one or two of my fellow-boarders at table were not exactly such as a fastidious young person, with our New England habits, would be pleased with, and I left the house where the spirit of Charlotte Corday seemed ever present, and the table where my appetite was sometimes discouraged. In those days one of the most noted, though by no means the most showy or fashionable, restaurants was the Trois Fr~res Proven9aux. That was a favor- ite resort of my companions and myself. Five or six francs apiece gave us a mod- est but respectable dinner, with a half bottle of Macon or Beaune. On great occasions the wine would be Chamber- tin or Clos-Vougeot. We rarely called for Champagne, not because we were too economical, but it was very much less the favorite than in these days. In Boston we drank Madeira, in Paris Bur- gundy. Of course we tried various fa- mous restaurants: Very and Vefour, one or both; the Cafd Anglais, famous in those days for its turbot; the Cafe de Paris; Grignon; and the noted resort of epicures, long since extinct, I have heard, the Rocher de Caucale, a kind of intramural Tafts, where the products of the sea, shell-fish, and the like were to be had in their best condition. The Latin Quarter, the left side of the Seine, looking down the river, compared with the right side, was what a woolen lining is to a silken mantle. There were cafes and restaurants, enough of them, but there was a great difference in the service and in the guests. I wonder whether the Petit Rocher has withstood the floods of half a century. I wonder whether Bis- bec still offers his bill of fare as he did in 1833, and whether some grandson of the waiter of that time would ask me, as did his grandsire, J/oulez-vous des pommes de terre avec? That ter- minal abrupt avec used as the Eng- lish use with and without (warm with, cold without, sugar, being un- derstood) happened to fix itself in my memory, which has forgotten so many dynasties and revolutions. I feel half ashamed as I tell such a triviality. The whole generation of professors and teachers of my student days has 8 The New Portfolio. passed away, with but two exceptions, so far as I know. Philippe Ricord, illustre chirurgien, born in Baltimore in the year 1800, is, I think, still living. Few men have had a larger experience of the infirmities of human nature than this celebrated practitioner. If Vol- taire had practiced medicine, his clinical lectures would have been not unlike those of Ricord. It is remarkable that America should furnish two such distin- guished men, remarkable also for lon- gevity, as George Bancroft and Philippe Ricord, born in the same year and with- in two months of each other. A more extraordinary instance of old age with retention of intellectual and bodily strength is that of Michel-Eug~ne Chevreul, the great chemist and well- known professor. Born on the 31st of August, 1786, his hundredth birth- day is close at hand. His portrait and a notice of his life and labors may be found in a recent number of the Pop- ular Science Monthly (August, 1885). Last January the students of Paris made a manifestation of respect to the great savant by whom France is honored, and who, reaching his hundredth year, still remains robust and valiant, and pre- serves all the force of his genius and his old energy in work. I regret to say that I never saw him. But cases like these of Ricord and Chevreul are eminently exceptional. The generation I knew in Paris is ex- tinct. Even of their immediate succes- sors in the professorial chairs, in the prominent positions as practitioners, com- paratively few are still living and active. Many Americans still remember Louis, often spoken of erroneously as Baron Louis, the title belonging to a states- man of that name who died in 1837. He was the special object of admira- tion, the guide and friend, of Ameri- can, and more peculiarly of Boston, stu- dents. We all followed him at his visits and his lectures, believed in his teach- ings, swore by his words. It seems like [July, profanation to sit in judgment on the teachers one has looked up to in his earlier years. Louis can bear such a retrospect well. His rectilinear intelli- gence supplied the best possible correc- tive to minds disposed to whirl in vor- tices, to roll in cycles and epicycles, to shoot up in parabolas and oil in tan- gents. I, for one, owe him much. A healthy suspicion of the & peu pr~s in matters of science, a willingness to look facts in the face and give them fair play against preconceived notions and preju- dices, these are what he taught, and what I partly learned; others, I doubt not, learned them better. How strange is the process of disillu- sion about our early instructors! We judge them from the lofty height of twenty, or thirty, or forty years of hu- man progress, and it dwarfs their labors as we look down upon them. Louis was an admirable man and in certain respects an excellent teacher, a great pathologist for that day; but what was pathology before the reign of the micro- scope? We all loved him and honored him. His character had a bonhomie and simplicity almost Arcadian, in- deed, I suspect his early training was distinctly provincial. He had some ex- pressions which struck me as curious, I will write them phonetically. When he came to the empty bed of a patient who had died, he said something that sounded like fweet, the Latin fuit, per- haps, orfuz~te, flight. He always called number eleven numero honze, and he used to say asswoiez-vous for asseyez- vous, as many of the less educated are in the habit of doing. I am struck with the fact that many of my instructors lived to be very old. I think professor- ships tend to produce longovity. Quar- terly payments of a fixed stipend are tranquillizing prescriptions; and if one loves teaching and has a fair salary, with moderate views of life, he is al- most as sure of tiring out the young man who is waiting for his place as an 1886.] The New Portfolio. 9 annuitant of outliving his expectation of life and the anticipations of the office which is reckoning on his demise within a reasonable period. My recollections of the French Thea- tre are but meagre. I was never much given to theatre-going, but I could not help seeing some of the celebrities of the day. Of these, Mademoiselle Mars was the most distinguished. She was about fifty-five years of age when I saw her in the part of Valerie, the young blind girl. She was not youthful, certainly, but there is a secret compact between time and a French actress which falsifies the baptismal record and the almanac. Her voice retained its wonderful charm, and there was an inundation of tears at the moving point of the drama. The most noted tragedian I saw was Ligier, a favorite pupil of Talma. He acted the part of Gloucester, in Casimir de la Vignes play, Les Enfans dEdouard. I well remember his cavernous voice, as the Frenchmen called it, and his pro- nunciation of Buckingham, Bew-kang- gain, in three pieces, as if he were fit- ting the fragments of a broken word together. The play was not a great success, but Ligiers formidable person- ality and voice were very effective. I must have seen him in another part, for among the words which still vibrate in my memory are, Ole conseil des dix! in tones so awful that they can have been none other than his. I find few per- sons remember Ligier. But Fr6d~ric Lemaitre as Robert Macaire, and Ma- demoiselle Dejazet at the theatre of the Palais Royal, everybody who ever saw them must remember. Dejazet was still playing forty years after I saw her, she being then nearly forty years old. Tag- lioni was dancing at the Royal Opera; Rubini, Tamburini, and Lablache were singing at the Italian. Auriol, the fa- mous clown, was contorting himself at Franconis. One of the last exhibitions I saw in Paris was a Diorama, as I think it was called, of Switzerland, got up and e~- hibited by a certain Monsieur Daguerre; a name afterwards to become familiar to all civilization, and enduring as his- tory. I was, during my stay in Paris, a peaceable subject of le Roi Citoyen, his Majesty Louis Philippe. Once only I looked upon his august and ex- pansive countenance. A barouche full of royalty and its kindred rolled by me, and I saw the Orleans family, or a good part of it. Louis Philippe had a pair of bulging cheeks, with great whiskers, and a comparatively narrow forehead, with a twisted stem of hair surmounting it. The caricaturists found a resem- blance in all this to the shape of a pear, and the blank walls were abundantly or- namented with the outlines of a pear, marks being added for eyes, nose, and mouth. This quasi-portrait was to be seen everywhere in its rudimentary form, and more elaborately presented in the illustrated satirical papers. These pa- pers were often very amusing with their political squibs. General Loban had broken up a mob by turning the stream of a fire-engine upon it. He figured with a squirt in his hand. M. Thiers had laid himself open to ridicule, and the circumstances of the time furnished an excellent handle for the satirist. The column of the Place Vendome had just been surmounted by a statue of Napo- leon in the little cocked hat and redin- gote. So M. Thiers was represented at the top of the column with this inscrip- tion: JJL Thiers, ainsi nomm6 par- cequil nest pas le tiers dun grand liomme. The citizen king himself fig- ured in various aspects, not generally imposing. He offers his old rifflard baggy umbrella to France, crowned with her towers. She turns scornfully towards him with Vous me crottez, monsieur. In those days Monsieur Mayeux, the little swearing, bullying hunchback, descendant of the Roman Maccus, own cousin to the modern Punch, was the favorite vehicle, so to speak, of 10 The New Portfolio. [July, satire. His reign lasted a year or two, after which he disappeared from the throne of caricature. There were several 6meutes during my residence in Paris, one, especially, in which the massacre de la Rue Trans- nonain took place. The soldiers were fired upon from one or more of the houses in this street. The next morn- ings record said, in words deeply im- printed on my memory, Tout ce qui se trouvait dans la maison fi~t pass6 au flu de l6pJe, All that were found in the house were put to the edge of the sword. It was a fearful thought that such Old Testament proceedings were going on in the streets of a Christian city where one was living, but noomero sankont sank ]?oo Jlil6nskur ler Pranse and the Cafd Procope were not dis- turbed by the rising, which was made short work of. I visited the Morgue the next day, and saw the bodies of nu- merous victims of the outbreak. I was in Switzerland at the time of Fieschis murderous exploit. News travelled slowly in those days. There were telegraphs in France, it is true, but they consisted of a simple mechanism like a letter T, with movable limbs, placed on some high building. I was living near the great Church of St. Sul- pice, and used often to see one of these machines in operation, posturing like a slowly moving jumping-jack. The citi- zen king was thought to use it for his private ends, as was insinuated in para- graphs like this A heavy fog pre- vented telegraphic communications yes- terday. Certain great personages are said to have made large profits by a sud- den rise in the funds. Before I re- turned to Paris the Fieschi murders were an old story, and his trial and exe- cution did not take place until Febru- ary, 1836, after I had returned to Amer- ica. So I missed that great Parisian event, except in the newspapers I fell in with while travelling. I cannot help remembering the oc currences which took place at home while I was in Europe. A few months after the massacre of the Rue Transno- nain, in which, in one house at least, Number 12, no human being, old per- son or infant, well or languishing in bed, was spared, only a few months after this horror occurred the barbarous burning of the Charlestown convent. A few months after the terrible Fieschi murders, Boston was disgraced by the Garrison mob. I did not feel the ex- citement of those who witnessed these outrages; they reached me deadened in some measure by distance, coming in broken and sometimes contradictory re- ports, at intervals and at a time when my thoughts were engrossed by labori- ous duties. I have always regretted that I was not at home to share the holy indignation which these atrocities called forth, as I hope I should have done. Among the scraps which my memory has preserved by its own selective ac- tion are phrases and verses that have nothing, perhaps, in themselves, but which saw fit to fasten themselves to my recollection as the stray tufts of wool hold to the bramble. The name of Fran~ois Berton, the musical composer, is, I fear, well-nigh forgotten. He died of cholera the year before I reached Paris, and there was a benefit, or some- thing of that nature, for the relief of those he left after him. Why I should be able to recall the opening lines of a poem recited on the occasion, I, who cannot remember my own verses, I am unable to explain, but this is the way it began (errors excepted, of course) Un jidan dajfreuse m~moire Nagu~re epouvantait Paris; Vertss, talens, l3eautg, gloire, Rien nepit le Jl?~chir, ilfut sourd & nos ens. Franqois Berton, tenant sa lyre, Tondxe andanti sous ses coups; Ses derniers chants, enfans de son delire, Linfortun~ les modulait pour vous. This was the beginning of a poem writ- ten to be heard once and read the next morning. Very probably no one living, 1886.] The New Portfolio. 11 but myself, has the least recollection of it. This I happened to retain, but how much else I have forgotten! What had I to do with literature? trudging to and from hospitals; tramping with a crowd of students, of various nationali- ties, through long halls, from bedside to bedside; standing on the cold stone floors of the apartment where the se- crets of fatal disease were laid open to the eyes of science; living in an atmos- phere scented by the infragrant flora of the pharmacopo~ia. I might have seen and talked with Chateaubriand and Lamartine, with B6ranger, with Balzac, with Victor Hugo, with George Sand, with Alfred de Musset; I might have heard Berryer speak from the tribune, and seen Delacroix paint in his studio. If I could live those two years of Paris over again, I should have a very differ- ent record from this; but I did my work, such as it was. If I was not a great theatre-goer, there were two attractions I always yielded to. The first was the quays, where I could mouse for old books, and where I now and then picked up an Aldus or an Elzevir, or some curious work on medicine or alchemy. Hunt- ing for these was a very pleasant and even exciting occupation. It is a blood- less kind of sport; the element of un- certainty makes it fascinating. I am almost afraid to say it, but sometimes when, looking from my window, 1 have seen a chiffonnier, with his lamp, his basket, and his hook, attacking a virgin heap of refuse, the sagacious implement transfixing its destined object as the fal- cons beak strikes its quarry, I have thought that he might have as much happiness with his crochet as many a sportsman finds in his rod or his gun. My other favorite haunt was the gal- lery of the Louvre. One might spend a lifetime there, and wish it could be longer. I do not know that there would be any great advantage in mentioning the pie- tures and statues which have lasted longest in the memory of an untrained lover of art. The process of natural selection has made up my little ideal gallery. It was not always the merit of the picture which fixed it. I doubt, for instance, if among the more mod- ern pictures that melodramatic one of the Deluge of course I am not think- ing of Poussins picture would take a very high rank, but my recollection of it is singularly vivid. It would be more interesting to me than to my read- er to see what changes my taste has un- dergone in half a century, and I hope I may have a chance to test it in the long gallery of the Louvre. One thing I am sure of: my allegiance to the Venus of Milo, which had been but a few years in the Museum when I saw it, has not changed, and can be no more ardent now than it was in those early times when I had heard very little about it. Among the churches of Paris, my peculiar favorite was Saint Etienne du Mont. It was in the way of my morn- ing walk to and from the Hospital of La Piti~, and I was fond of stepping in- side, especially on my return from the mornings visit, and looking around the beautiful interior; admiring the pulpit and the figures about the organ, and reading the inscriptions on the walls. But with what different eyes I should look upon the tablet which bears the name of Blaise Pascal! I am afraid I never read the Lettres Provin~iales or the Pens4es until Agassiz, not long after the publication of a book of mine, told me that he thought I should enjoy Pas- cal, and I soon became well acquainted with his writings. I have such perfect photographs of the interior of Saint Etienne that I know it almost as well as my own library. Can it be that the slender tapers have been burning round that dark sarcophagus all these long years since I stood by its railing? Once more to stray into the vast soli 12 The New Portfolio. [July, tudes of Saint Eustache at the twilight hour, and hear its mighty organ roll out its sounding billows beneath the lofty arches! Once more to read the an- cient legends on the monuments of Saint Germain des Pr~s; to face the square towers and pass under the sculptured portal of Notre Dame; to look up at the soaring roof of the Sainte Cha- pelle; to stand beneath the mighty dome of the Pantheon, made doubly famous since the time when I last looked upon it by the sublime experiment of Foucault! Among the striking events which oc- curred during my residence in Paris was the fatal duel between General Bugeaud, a deputy, and his colleague, Dulong. Words spoken in the Chamber were taken up by the press, and made so much of that the general thought himself obliged to call out the civilian. They were to stand at forty paces and advance towards each other, firing when they chose. The general fired almost immediately, and his ball struck his adversary in the forehead. Single com- bats affect the imagination more power- fully than the conflict of masses; Achil- les and Hector, David and Goliath, the Constitution and the Guerri~re, the Chesapeake and the Shannon, the Moni- tor and the Merrimack, the story of these combats is never out of our mem- ories. The Gazette des Tribunaux was on our table at the cnf6, and was full of stories which one could hardly help reading, and sometimes remembering. Among these was the trial of a lieu- tenant in the army, M. de La Ronci~re. I read this, as everybody did, but with- out dreaming that I should ever write a romance and use one of its incidents, as I did in Elsie Venner. I was one day walking with a French fellow-student in the Palais Royal, when my attention was drawn to a singular figure. I had noticed this personage before, and it was hardly possible to pass him without taking a second look, and wondering who and what he could be. Who is that man? I asked my companion. C~elui lei? Vous ne savez pas? Cest CHODRIJO DucLos! Chodruc Duclos, that did not teach me a great deal, but the name remained with me. A tall man he was; ancien militaire, to judge by his appearance; in the last stage of proud and shabby decadence, buttoned tight up to the throat in a frock coat, long worn and shiny, a calyx of old broadcloth without a petal of linen visi- ble; solitary, silent, haughty, recogniz- ing neither man nor woman, recognized by none. Every day saw him pacing the gallery of the Palais Royal, and all strangers asked, as I did, Who is that tall, beggarly, king-like vagabond in the shocking hat and pauper clothing, walk- ing back and forth as if he owned the royal demesnes? And this is all I knew about him un- til within the last year or two. I looked in all the biographies, and could not find his name. Once I saw it mentioned in one of Victor Hugos novels, but only incidentally. I never lost my curiosity about him, but I had almost given him up when I unearthed him in the great Dictionary of Larousse. There must have been romances written about him, one would think. The reader may know some tale founded upon his life, noth- ing was ever more inviting. Here is an outline of the career of the gaunt, pover- ty-stricken spectre of the Palais Royal: The modern Diogenes, as the writer of the sketch of his life calls him, was born at Bordeaux, nobody knows when, and nobody would have liked to ask him. A royalist, anti-republican, anti-Bonn- partist, he became a soldier, was taken prisoner, escaped, and returned to Bor- deaux, where his bravery and his per- sonal beauty gained him the name of Duclos THE SUPERB. Plots, imprison- ment, escapes, adventures of all kinds, followed in rapid succession. He killed a prison officer who had been rude to The New Portfolio. him by breaking a pitcher on his head. Armed with cool audacity and a couple of pistols, he walked up to the captain of gendarmes, who had been sent to arrest him. The officer all at once re- membered something which he had for- gotten, and turned back to go after it. He had the misfortune to kill the young Marquis de Larochejaquelein in a duel, and incurred the hostility of the power- ful family to which the young nobleman belonged. Louis Eighteenth said, when applied to by them, Duclos has been too useful to me that I should harm him, but I will never bestow any favor upon him. Returning to Paris, he met with disap- pointment and humiliation. He wanted to be a Marshal of France, and was of- fered a captaincy, which he rejected with scorn. After this he became the Timon which he was at the time I saw him. For sixteen years he paced the gallery of the Palais Royal, regularly every day, from four in the afternoon to ten in winter, from two oclock until mid- night in summer. He dressed like a pauper, as a reproach to the ingratitude of his superiors. He carried his per- sonal negligence so far at one time as to outrage propriety, and was put in jail for a fortnight to teach him decency. Poor as he was, he had enough to keep body and soul together, and after his daily promenade he used to retire to a little kennel in the Rue Pierre Lescot, throw down a franc on the table, take his candle, and stretch himself on his pallet for the night. Such was the career of Chodruc IDu- cbs, the Superb, who in his earlier days had been the bughear and the terror of husbands in virtue of his extraordinary strength and skill with his weapon, and the darling of women for his brilliant address and the proportions and beauty of his Antinous-like figure. On the 11th of October, 1842, he was missed at the Palais Royal. He lay dead on his pallet, in his obscure hiding-place. These are some of the fragwents tossed to the surface in the whirlpool of memory. They have been drawn ashore to these pages almost without selection. Most of them came from the shallower portions of the current, as the reader notices. That is apt to be the way with memory: it lets the ponderous events of life sink far into its depths, and brings to light the lesser incidents, the pictur- esque trivialities, which seem hardly worth the labor of the vortex. After all, it was the new life of Paris, following that of Cambridge, Andover, Boston, which was the enchantment, the intoxication. Her streets were not of gold, her gates were not of pearl, and her boulevards were not trodden by white-winged angels. But she blended old relics, reeking with historical mem- ories and modern splendors such as no other city could show the sun in his daily visit of inspection. I was met everywhere by the unexpected: manche was so different from a New England Sahbuth; the Seine was so much fuller of strange sights than the Charles; the Pont Neuf was so much more lively than West Boston bridge; the extremes of life were so much more vivid to look upon than a compara- tively level mass of mediocrity; the grandiose was so refreshing after the snug and comfortable; and perhaps I ought to say the change from the dreary abodes of disease and death, where I passed many hours of my day, to the palaces and gardens and galleries of the other side of the river, all this, and so much more, and three and twenty, can you not understand and pardon the levity of my witty friend and companion, who said that good Bosto- nians, when they die, go to Paris? My work in Paris was relieved by two vacations. In each of these I took journeys with pleasant friends as my companions. If I were writing my autobiography, each of these visits might claim a some- 1886.] 13 14 The New Portfolio. [July, what extended notice. But at this time I will only refer to a few experiences and impressions. The awful remem- brance of climbing the spire of the Ca- thedral of Strasburg is one of the most memorable. I felt sure it was swaying in the wind like a reed, and said so at the time. Long afterwards I found that the fact had been recognized, and made the subject of a memoir in a French periodical. As I looked down on the roof, with its flying buttresses like the ribs of some pre-mastodon, to whom the mammoth was as a mouse, my heart sank within me, like the Queen of She- bas. All this was first built in the brain of a frail being, human like my- self. All this immensity and grandeur reaches my consciousness through these two little rings no bigger than the capi- tal 0! which expresses my wonder. Down the Rhine to Rotterdam. Many marvellous paintings I saw in Holland, but one held me so that I could not get away from it, Van der Heists great portrait-picture of the municipal guard. I have some Batavian blood in my veins, and it may be that I have a relative or two among these hearty and ruddy burghers. The portraits of the old pro- fessors at Leyden interested me. I, too, was an old professor, in embryo, but I did not know it. I never knew much about them until, in after years, I picked up a copy of the Athenre Batava~, of Meursius, where I found many of their portraits reproduced, with memoirs. Countless windmills, endless meadows, party - colored cows grazing on them, make up three quarters of the hasty travellers Holland. One strange thing I saw there, which I learn has disap- peared from the streets of the cities, namely, sleds, as we should call them, each with a cask of water dribbling upon the stones of the pavement before the runners, so that they might slip eas- ily over them. And so good-by to the land of William the Silent, of Barne- veldt, of Grotius, of Erasmus, of Van Tromp and De Ruyter, and of Vondel, the Dutch Shakespeare, whose name makes me think he may have been of the same race as myself, unless philol- ogy or criticism shall prove me an off- shoot of the Vandals. A visit to Holland before going over to England is like a lunch before a din- ner. A small steamer took us from Rotterdam across the Channel, and we found ourselves in the capital of Eng- land and of the world. The great sight in London is Lon- don. No man understands himself as an infinitesimal until he has been a drop in that ocean, a grain of sand on that sea-margin, a mote in its sunbeam, or the fog or smoke which stands for it; in plainer phrase, a unit among its millions. I had two letters to persons in Eng- land: one to kind and worthy Mr. Petty Vaughan, who asked me to din- ner; one to pleasant Mr. William Clift, conservator of the Hunterian Museum, who asked me to tea. These were my chief social relations with England dur- ing this visit. To Westminster Abbey. What a pity it could not borrow from Paris the tow- ers of Notre Dame! But the glory of its interior made up for this shortcom- ing. Among the monuments, one to my namesake, Rear Admiral C. H., a hand- some young man, standing by a cannon. He accompanied Wolfe in his expedition which resulted in the capture of Que- bec. Dryden has immortalized him, in the Annus Mirabilis, as the Achates of the generals fight. My relative, I will take it for granted, as I find him in Westminster Abbey. Camden tells us how we got our name: Holme, plaine grassie ground upon water sides or in the water. S is ioyned to most now, as Manors, Knoles Gates Thornes, Holmes, etc. Blood is thicker than water, and warmer than marble, I said to myself, as I laid my hand on the cold stone image of my once famous namesake. 1886.] The New Portfolio. 15 To the Tower, to see the lions, of all sorts. There I found a poor re- lation, who made my acquaintance with- out introduction. A large baboon, or ape, some creature of that family, was sitting at the open door of his cage, when I gave him offence by approach- ing too near and inspecting him too nar- rowly. He made a spring at me, and if the keeper had not pulled me back would have treated me unhandsomely, like a quadrumanous rough, as he was. He succeeded in stripping my waistcoat of its buttons, as one would strip a pea- pod of its peas. To Vauxhall Gardens. All Ameri- cans went there in those days as they go to Madame Tussauds in these times. There were fireworks and an exhibition of polar scenery. Mr. Collins, the English PAGANINI, treated us to music on his violin. A comic singer gave us a song, of which I remember the line, Yon 11 find it is in the agony bill. This referred to a bill proposed by Sir Andrew Agnew, a noted Scotch Sabba- tarian agitator. To the Opera to hear Grisi. The king, William the Fourth, was in his box; also the Princess Victoria, with the Duchess of Kent. The king tapped with his white-gloved hand on the ledge of the box when he was pleased with the singing. To a morning concert and heard the real Paganini. To one of the lesser theatres and heard a mon- ologue by the elder Mathews, who died a year or two after this time. To an- other theatre, where I saw Liston in Paul Pry. Is it not a relief that I am abstaining from description of what everybody has heard described? To Windsor. Woman forgot to give me change for a shilling, in buying some of her strawberries. England owes me sixpence. How one remem- bers what people owe him! Machinery to the left of the road. Recognized it instantly, by recollection of the plate in IReess Cyclopa~dia, as Herschels great telescope. Oxford. Saw only its out- side. I knew no one there, and no one knew me. Blenheim, the Titians. The great Derby day of the Epsom races. Went to the race with a coach- load of friends and acquaintances. Plenipotentiary, the winner, rode by P. Connelly. So says Herrings pic- ture of him, now before me. Sorrel, a great bullock of a horse, who easily beat the twenty-two that started. Every New England deacon ought to see one Derby day to learn what sort of a world this is he lives in. Man is a sporting as well as a praying animal. Stratford on Avon. Emotions, but no scribbling of name on wall. Warwick. The castle. A village festival, The Opening of the Meadows, a true exhi- bition of the semi-barbarism which had come down from Saxon times. York- shire. The Hangmans Stone. Story told in my book called The Autocrat, etc. York Cathedral. Northumber- land. Alnwick Castle. The figures on the walls which so frightened my man John when he ran away from Scotland in his boyhood. Berwick on Tweed. A regatta going on; a very pretty show. Scotland. Most to be remembered the incompara- ble loveliness of Edinburgh. Stirling. The view of the Links of Forth from the castle. The whole country full of the romance of history and poetry. Made one acquaintance in Scotland, Dr. Robert Knox, who asked my com- panion and myself to breakfast. That makes four entertainments to which I was treated in Great Britain: break- fast with Dr. Knox; lunch with Mrs. Macadam, the dear old lady gave me bread, and not a stone; dinner with Mr. Vaughan; tea with Mr. Clift, for all which attentions I was then and am still grateful, for they were more than I had any claim to expect. Fascinated with Edinburgh. Strolls by Salisbury Crag; to the top of Arthurs Seat; delight of looking up at the grand old castle, of 16 At Variance. [July, looking down on Holyrood Palace, of watching the groups on Calton Hill, wandering in the quaint old streets and sauntering on the sidewalks of the no- ble avenues, even at that time add- ing beauty to the new city. The weeks I spent in Edinburgh are among the most memorable of my European expe- riences. To the Highlands, to the Lakes, in short excursions; to Glasgow, seen to disadvantage under gray skies and with slippery pavements. Through England rapidly to Dover and to Calais, where I found the name of M. Dessein still be- longing to the hotel I sought, and where I read Sternes Preface written in a d~4sobligeante, sitting in the vehicle most like one that I could find in the stable. Through Calais back to Paris, where I began working again. In my next summer~s excursion, in 1835, three days and nights in the dili- gence carried us to Geneva. The sight of the mountains and the lakes was a new education to the senses and a new world to the soul. It always seemed to me to have stretched the horizon of thought so that it never came back to its original dimensions. Wordsworth and, after him, Byron have illustrated the incompetence of words to describe Alpine scenery High mountains Were to me as a feeling. They intrude themselves into the mind, and become, as it were, a part of it for all coming time. If Switzerland touched the deepest chord in my consciousness, a solemn bass note which Nature had never be~ fore set in vibration, Italy reached a string which returned a keener and high~ er note than any to which my inward sense had before responded. Italy, more especially Rome, leaves after it an infi- nite longing which haunts the soul for- ever. Aimable Italie, Sagesse ou folie Jamais, jamais ne toublie Qui ta vue un jour! If I should visit Switzerland and Italy again, I may revive my early im- pressions as a foil for more recent ones. But this somewhat gossiping, if not gar- rulous, paper has been spun out long enough, and I will leave my patient, or perhaps impatient, reader to follow ont my reference to these two enchanted re- gions by the aid of his guide-books. Oliver Wendell Holmes. AT VARIANCE. THROUGH the frost, and the cold, and the passion Of winters despair; With the Earth buried deep in her shroud, and the raving Of storms in the air; Unheeding the gloom, or the shock of the tempest, Or any wild thing, I sang, and was glad and triumphant; In my heart it was spring. But now in a white world of blossoms, Wing-haunted and sweet; A wind blowing light oer the orchard, and waving The grass at my feet;

Cara W. Bronson Bronson, Cara W. At Variance 16-17

16 At Variance. [July, looking down on Holyrood Palace, of watching the groups on Calton Hill, wandering in the quaint old streets and sauntering on the sidewalks of the no- ble avenues, even at that time add- ing beauty to the new city. The weeks I spent in Edinburgh are among the most memorable of my European expe- riences. To the Highlands, to the Lakes, in short excursions; to Glasgow, seen to disadvantage under gray skies and with slippery pavements. Through England rapidly to Dover and to Calais, where I found the name of M. Dessein still be- longing to the hotel I sought, and where I read Sternes Preface written in a d~4sobligeante, sitting in the vehicle most like one that I could find in the stable. Through Calais back to Paris, where I began working again. In my next summer~s excursion, in 1835, three days and nights in the dili- gence carried us to Geneva. The sight of the mountains and the lakes was a new education to the senses and a new world to the soul. It always seemed to me to have stretched the horizon of thought so that it never came back to its original dimensions. Wordsworth and, after him, Byron have illustrated the incompetence of words to describe Alpine scenery High mountains Were to me as a feeling. They intrude themselves into the mind, and become, as it were, a part of it for all coming time. If Switzerland touched the deepest chord in my consciousness, a solemn bass note which Nature had never be~ fore set in vibration, Italy reached a string which returned a keener and high~ er note than any to which my inward sense had before responded. Italy, more especially Rome, leaves after it an infi- nite longing which haunts the soul for- ever. Aimable Italie, Sagesse ou folie Jamais, jamais ne toublie Qui ta vue un jour! If I should visit Switzerland and Italy again, I may revive my early im- pressions as a foil for more recent ones. But this somewhat gossiping, if not gar- rulous, paper has been spun out long enough, and I will leave my patient, or perhaps impatient, reader to follow ont my reference to these two enchanted re- gions by the aid of his guide-books. Oliver Wendell Holmes. AT VARIANCE. THROUGH the frost, and the cold, and the passion Of winters despair; With the Earth buried deep in her shroud, and the raving Of storms in the air; Unheeding the gloom, or the shock of the tempest, Or any wild thing, I sang, and was glad and triumphant; In my heart it was spring. But now in a white world of blossoms, Wing-haunted and sweet; A wind blowing light oer the orchard, and waving The grass at my feet; French and Engli8h. 1? The song of a bird overhead, I listen, And look, and am dumb; For lo! in my heart of unreason The winter has come. FRENCH AND ENGLISH. FIRST PAPER. I. INTRODUCTORY. IT may be taken as typical of the present writer s intentions in these pa- pers that he has felt uncertain which of the two nationalities he would put first in the title, and that the question has been settled by a mere consideration of euphony. If the reader cares to try the experiment of saying English and French, and then French and Eng- lish afterwards, he will find that the latter glides the more glibly from the tongue. There is a tonic accent at the beginning of the word English and a dying away at the end of it which are very convenient in the last word of a title. French, on the other hand, comes to a dead stop, in a manner too abrupt to be agreeable. The supercilious critic will say that I am making over-much of a small matter, but he may allow me to explain why I put the Frenchmen first, lest I be ac- cused of a lack of patriotism. These chapters are not, however, to be written from what is usually considered a patri- otic point of view; they are not to be simply an exposition of the follies and sins of another nation for the compara- tive glorification of my own; nor are they to be examples of what Herbert Spencer has aptly called anti-patriot- ism, which is the systematic setting- down of ones own countrymen by a comparison with the superior qualities VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 2 of the foreigner. I should like to write with complete impartiality, if it were possible. It is at least possible to write with the desire to be impartial. Not even the most impartial writer can ever succeed in seeing all things quite from a cosmopolitan point of view. We cannot divest ourselves of our per- sonality, and impersonality includes the hereditary national instincts and feelings. It would not be desirable, if it were pos- sible, to divest ourselves of these. Every Englishman who writes with any force is sure to write not only English words, but English opinions also. Still, there is an inevitable difference between the Englishman who has al- ways been surrounded by English things and the Englishman who has been sur- rounded for a long time by foreign things. The first is apt to fall into the common delusion of supposing that all around him is not only right according to English custom, but absolutely right, so that it could not rightly be other- wise; the second has at least had a chance of disengaging, in English cus- toms, what is national from what is uni- versally and inevitably human. To know two nations intimately is a valuable experience, because it supplies a term of comparison for everything. Whatever the English do is either left undone by the French, or done different- ly by them. If it is left undone, we may observe the consequences of the omis- sion, and so ascertain whether the thing Uara IV. Bronson.

Philip Gilbert Hamerton Hamerton, Philip Gilbert French and English 17-27

French and Engli8h. 1? The song of a bird overhead, I listen, And look, and am dumb; For lo! in my heart of unreason The winter has come. FRENCH AND ENGLISH. FIRST PAPER. I. INTRODUCTORY. IT may be taken as typical of the present writer s intentions in these pa- pers that he has felt uncertain which of the two nationalities he would put first in the title, and that the question has been settled by a mere consideration of euphony. If the reader cares to try the experiment of saying English and French, and then French and Eng- lish afterwards, he will find that the latter glides the more glibly from the tongue. There is a tonic accent at the beginning of the word English and a dying away at the end of it which are very convenient in the last word of a title. French, on the other hand, comes to a dead stop, in a manner too abrupt to be agreeable. The supercilious critic will say that I am making over-much of a small matter, but he may allow me to explain why I put the Frenchmen first, lest I be ac- cused of a lack of patriotism. These chapters are not, however, to be written from what is usually considered a patri- otic point of view; they are not to be simply an exposition of the follies and sins of another nation for the compara- tive glorification of my own; nor are they to be examples of what Herbert Spencer has aptly called anti-patriot- ism, which is the systematic setting- down of ones own countrymen by a comparison with the superior qualities VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 2 of the foreigner. I should like to write with complete impartiality, if it were possible. It is at least possible to write with the desire to be impartial. Not even the most impartial writer can ever succeed in seeing all things quite from a cosmopolitan point of view. We cannot divest ourselves of our per- sonality, and impersonality includes the hereditary national instincts and feelings. It would not be desirable, if it were pos- sible, to divest ourselves of these. Every Englishman who writes with any force is sure to write not only English words, but English opinions also. Still, there is an inevitable difference between the Englishman who has al- ways been surrounded by English things and the Englishman who has been sur- rounded for a long time by foreign things. The first is apt to fall into the common delusion of supposing that all around him is not only right according to English custom, but absolutely right, so that it could not rightly be other- wise; the second has at least had a chance of disengaging, in English cus- toms, what is national from what is uni- versally and inevitably human. To know two nations intimately is a valuable experience, because it supplies a term of comparison for everything. Whatever the English do is either left undone by the French, or done different- ly by them. If it is left undone, we may observe the consequences of the omis- sion, and so ascertain whether the thing Uara IV. Bronson. 18 French and English. [July, has only a national or a more general utility. If the thing is done differently in France, then we have a valuable op- portunity for comparing two ways of doing it when we knew of only one be- fore. These opportunities are especially fre- quent in England and France, because the two countries are so extremely un- like each other. Except in some minor matters, English usage has not been de- rived from France, nor French usage from England. Each nation has formed its own customs by a national growth and development, determined for it by its own character and circumstances. This independence in the formation of usage has probably been one of the strongest reasons for the intense and jealous hatred with which the two na- tions regarded each other in times past, as we all know that there is nothing that human beings (especially when in a low state of culture) are so little disposed to tolerate as divergences of custom. In the present day, the English and French can scarcely be said to hate each other, with the exception of some old-fashioned people on both sides the Channel, who understand patriotism in the old way, as an injunction to hate your neighbor and never to forgive his trespasses; but although hatred of the fiercer sort has died away, there remains a fund of quiet malevolence and much jealousy which unscrupulous rulers might easily provoke into hostility. Every attempt, however humble, to make different nations understand each other better is, in its degree, an imped- iment to future war; and so perhaps these pages may have a feeble influence in preserving, at any rate, the sort of ill- natured peace which at present subsists between the two great Western powers. A more cordial peace might be desira- ble, were it not that anything like warm friendship between nations is a condition of things that makes each of them so ready to take offense that a cooler state is the less dangerous of the two. By a most extraordinary persistence of good luck, the peace between France and England has been unbroken for more than seventy years, and the preservation of it has been certainly due to the influ- ence of a small class of people, who know both nations well enough to coun- teract in some degree the malevolence natural to rivals. The reader will observe that I use the pronoun they equally for both nations, that I do not say we for the English and they for the French, as most English writers would do. This is in consequence of a decision deliber- ately arrived at. The use of the same pronoun in both cases is a great help to impartiality; and as I happen to be ad- dressing an American audience, there is this additional reason, that my reader will think of the English as they, though they are nearer to him by blood and language than the French. I THAT TRUE PATRIOTISM DOES NOT CON- SIST IN BEING UNJUST TO OTHER NATIONS. I have been lectured sometimes on my lack of patriotism, and fully expect that the accusation will be repeated with reference to these papers. There is a kind of patriotism which appears to me only suitable to the most crude and ig- norant minds, the patriotism which ac- cepts with credulous avidity whatever can be discovered or invented to the dis- paragement of the rival state. This patriotism is the delight uf the ignorant, and it keeps them permanently in thc condition of ignorance which they pre- fer. To me it seems entirely unsatisfy- ing, for if I have not ascertained to my own satisfaction the truth of the accusa- tion against the foreigner, it must be a hollow semblance of satisfaction at the best. But beyond this, if it were really French and lIJngli8h. proved that the foreigner were abomi- nable, how and in what should I be the better for it? It would be a saddening fact, if it were a fact, that English peo- ple were the only decent people on the planet. ~y patriotism feels hurt when English people fall below a certain standard, but there is nothing to hurt it when I learn that a foreign state is ad- vancing in civilization. To prevent misunderstanding, let me declare frankly that there is a kind of patriotism which no Englishman can possess to a greater degree than I claim to do, the patriotism which desires the real good of our country as distinguished from the hollow gratification of her van- ity. It is not really a good thing to domineer over subject races. The com- mon Englishman can get little good out of the consciousness that, in his name, somebody is lording it over ten Hindoos, or slaying a Soudan Arab, or burning a Zulus hut; but it would be much for the common Englishman to feel that he was living in a country where his chances of decent existence were as good, at least, as they could be anywhere else. My patriotism desires that for him, and the desire includes of necessity a position of such military and naval strength as to insure the most complete security and independence. This for the common Englishman; but there are also many rich Englishmen, and for these some- thing more than simply decent existence may reasonably be desired. For them shall we ask more horses, more servants, more extensive shootings? Nay, they have enough of these and to spare, so let us wish them neither riches for them- selves nor the life of their enemies, but understanding to discern judgment, that they may meet the difficulties of the future. It is with nations as with individuals. The best of gifts, the best thing we can desire for them, is wisdom, provided only that they have power enough, lib- erty enough, to carry their wisdom into practice. But I began by wishing for England complete security, with suffi- cient wealth for the well-being of her population. Wisdom and well-being, then, are the two blessings I desire for my country, and to desire these for her is the beginning and end of my patriotism. After that comes a sentiment of a larger patriotism, felt already by a few, and which is destined to take year by year a larger place in the feelings of ed- ucated men. Looking beyond our own frontiers, we may come to desire sincerely, by human sympathy only, that other nations should enjoy prosperity and happiness. In this way it was a satisfaction to the English that Italy was able to constitute herself. This sympathetic feeling has now be- come very general with regard to those foreign countries that we are not jeal- ous of; but when jealousy interferes, the kindly desire for the prosperity of oth- ers is not yet strong enough to overcome it. There is, however, a reasonable and an unreasonable jealousy. For example, it is a reasonable wish on the part of the French that England should never be- come a great military power; and it is, I think, a reasonable jealousy that makes some Englishmen displeased at the increasing strength of the French navy. The two nations may be reason- ably jealous of each others power, but such jealousy would never lead rational men in either country to accept untrue, depreciatory statements with regard to the army or navy of the other. Unrea- sonable jealousy, on the other hand, does not simply take the form of desir- ing that a rival power should remain in a condition of military inferiority; it en- ters into a thousand details of ordinary civil existence, and incessantly depreci- ates what the people in the other coun- try do in the common affairs of life. More than this, it receives and circulates with eagerness innumerable falsehoods concerning the rival people and their ways of life. Or it does what is even 1886.] 19 20 French and English. [July, worse than receiving a falsehood that can be simply and easily refuted: it gets hold of some evil thing which is partly true of the rival nation, and affect~ to believe that it is generally applicable. In this way every Englishwoman drinks, and every married Frenchwomau is an adulteress. Now, in my view, this kind of feeling is not necessary to true patriotism, but there are numbers of people in England and France who are convinced that there is a staunch patriotic virtue in be- lieving all evil of ones neighbor. In this way the most uncharitable senti- ments are kept up, and ideas which are as destitute of truth as they are of charity take root and flourish in both countries. III. HOW TO WRITE BRILLIANTLY ABOUT A FOREIGN COUNTRY. The art consists simply in flattering the patriotic jealousy of your readers by a remorseless satire on the foreigner. As there is always much that is ridic- ulous in every country, and a fearful amount of most real and undeniable evil besides, you have only to show up one or the other in the pitiless glare of day. A fine contrast may be produced by hiding your own faults and exhibiting those of your neighbor. The foreigner may be effectively dealt with in two ways. He may be made to appear either ridiculous or wicked. The satire may be humorous, or it may be bitter and severe. The French, with their lighter temperament, take pleas- ure in making the Englishman absurd. The English, on their part, though by no means refusing themselves the satis- faction of laughing at their neighbors, are not disinclined to assume a loftier tone. It is not so much what is obvi- ously ridiculous in French people that repels as that which cannot be described without a graver reprobation. A writer cannot acquire experience in his profession without discovering that the spirit of justice is the greatest of all hindrances to effect. Just writing does not amuse, but malevolence can easily be made entertaining. What is less ob- vious is that Justice often puts her veto on those fine effects of simulated in- dignation which the literary advocate knows to be of such great professional utility. It is a fine thing to have an opportunity for condemning a whole na- tion in one terribly comprehensive sen- tence. The literary moralist puts on his most dignified manner when he can deplore the wickedness of thirty million human beings. It is ennobling to feel yourself better and greater than thirty millions, and the reader too has a fine sense of superiority in being encouraged to look down upon such a multitude. Justice comes in and says, But there are exceptions, and they are too numer- ous to be passed over. That may be, replies the Genius of Brilliant Lit- erature, but if I stop to consider these I shall lose all breadth of effect. Lights will creep into my black shadows, and I shall no longer appall with gloom. I want the most telling oppositions. The interests of art take precedence over commonplace veracity. And there is such tempting safety in effective untruth about foreigners! A clever Frenchman who sets to work to compose a caustic, superficial book about the English or the Germans is well aware that his readers will never study any answer to his statements. He knows that the secret of success is to make the foreigner either odious or ridic- ulous. It is not long since a French- man wrote two silly little books about the English, treating them in that lively style which is always sure of popularity. Nearly at the same time, another French- man, more careful and more serious, pub- lished a volume on the same subject, which, though it contained a few uninten- tional errors, was on the whole likely to 1886.] French and English. 21 be instructive and useful to his country- men. The flippant little books had an enormous sale; the instructive book had but a moderate circulation. The rule holds good for a paragraph or a sen- tence as well as for a volume. An un- just brief paragraph, with a sting in it, has a far better chance of being remem- bered than a duller but more accurate statement of the truth. And yet, delightful as may be the pleasures of malice and uncharitable- ness, there is a far deeper and more deli- cate satisfaction in knowing the exact truth. The pleasures of uncharitable- ness must always be alloyed by the se- cret misgiving that the foreigner may possibly, in reality, not be quite so faulty as we describe him and as we wish him to be. But the pleasure of knowing the truth for its own sake is a satisfaction, without any other alloy than the feeling of regret that the truth should often he no better than it is. This regret has its compensa- tions. The truth sometimes turns out to be an enjoyable surprise. Iv. MUTUAL FEELING BETWEEN FRENCH AND ENGLISH. It has already been observed that there is a reasonable and an unreason- able international jealousy. That which exists between France and England is both reasonable and unreasonable, ac- cording to the natures of the people who entertain it. In all cases it is very strong. I cannot think it unreasonable in either country to look with some frank and honest jealousy on the general great- ness of the other. Here we see two great nations, two nations which before the rise of Russia and the United States were unquestionably the greatest in the world, so near to each other that on a clear day their shores are visible at the same time; and even now, after cen- turies of rivalry, they are so nearly matched in strength that it would take a long war to determine the superiority of either. Try to imagine a French general surrounding London with his troops: the idea is inconceivable; one cannot see how he is to get them there. And now try to imagine an English army, without Continental allies, sur- rounding Paris with a ring of iron, as the Germans did: the idea is as incon- ceivable as the other; one cannot see how the English army is to reach Paris. Could it land? And if it landed, could it get as far as Amiens? In the arts of peace and in the wealth that sustains them, the two countries are comparable to each other in this way that the superiority on one side in some specialty is generally compen- sated by an equivalent superiority on the other side in some different specialty. Reasonable jealousy on each side is ex- tremely anxious to prevent the other nation from taking the lead, but unrea- sonable jealousy utterly denies that the rival has any rank whatever in those arts where her superiority is not so man- ifest as to be absolutely unassailable. As an example I may mention the way in which the jealousy of vulgar French patriotism treats English en- deavor in the fine arts. The vulgar Frenchman confounds artists of the most opposite kinds, attributes to them principles which they do not themselves either profess or act upon, and then condemns them without mercy as igno- rant sciolists in art. The English, he says, have no painters. He can say this, because English greatness in art is not recognized on the Continent, like her commercial and manufactur- ing greatness, and because the French school has for some time been the most influential of the modern schools. The French also say that the English have no musical composers, because English composers do not enjoy the world-wide 22 French and English. fame of Beethoven and Mozart. There is a difficulty about denying the rank of England in literature, and it is not at- tempted. The English, on their side, cannot deny that the French have a living school of painters and a living theatre, but they can say, There is no univer- sity in France, and There are no scholars in France, there being no such institution as a French Oxford. In these and a hundred ways, the in- ternational jealousy is continually be- traying itself. It is not serious enough in the present day to produce war, but it permeates the entire thinking of each nation concerning the other. I have never been able to determine in which nation the feeling of jealousy is the stronger. It varies in intensity from time to time, as circumstances hap- pen to excite it. Possibly it may be more on the surface in France and deep- er in England. French jealousy is ready to express itself on trifling as well as important occasions. English jealousy is more taciturn, but unceasingly ~vatch- ful. The jealousy aroused in France by the occupation of Egypt was at one time of considerable force, and has dimin- ished only since a pleasing consolation came in the shape of the English disap- pointment in the Soudan. The English, on their part, betrayed deep feeling about Tonquin and Madagascar, but their sense of pious horror at French rapacity was soothed by exercising a little British ra- pacity in Burmab. Enough has been said about jealousy for the present, especially as we may have to recur to the subject. Let us now turn to another question. Do the French and the English respect each other? There are two qualities in the Eng- lish that intelligent Frenchmen respect most heartily and desire to see acclima- tized in France. The first is the art of adapting the system of government to [July, the changing needs of the nation without convulsive disturbance; and the second is the skill of English statesmen in the management of their foreign affairs, a skill which on the whole has had these results, that either England has meddled in Continental matters in such a way as to obtain the results she desired, or else, when she could not compass them, she has been prudent enough to abstain from meddling. Therefore, on the whole, Englands foreign policy has been either successful or safe, whereas that of France has on various critical occasions been first a perilous adventure, and then a disastrous failure. Intelligent Frenchmen respect England for this su- periority, and endeavor to imitate it by having a constitution that can be modi- fied and by following a prudent policy abroad. I do not perceive that French people respect the English for those em- inent virtues to which the English lay claim, or that they greatly believe in the validity of the claim. The English, on the other hand, often admire the cleverness of the French, but they do not respect them, except in special cases. The exceptions generally belong to the arts and sciences. An Englishman who is a good judge of work in some specialty will respect a Frenchman who shows great skill in that direction. English painters, for ex- ample, sometimes express hearty re- spect for the discipline to which French painters subject themselves; or an Eng- lish writer may respect the brightness and vigor of a Frenchmans prose, or the perfection of his dramatic skill. The same regard is felt by Englishmen eminent in science for Frenchmen who have done good scientific service. But in these cases it is more the quality of the work that is respected than the charac- ter of the nation. The difficulty with which the English can be brought to respect the French may be partly explicable by their diffi- culty in respecting foreigners in general, 1886.] French and English. 23 unless they have been dead for a long time, like Homer and Virgil, or are in- vested with a sacred character, like Moses and Isaiah. It may be farther elucidated by the peculiar condition of the English mind with regard to respect and contempt generally. This is a subject of consid- erable intricacy, which cannot be prop- erly treated in a few words; but I may observe here that although the English are said to be a deferential people, and have, no doubt, the habit of deference for certain distinctions, they are at the same time an eminently contemptuous people, a people remarkably in the habit of despising, even within the limits of their own island. Their habit of con- tempt is tranquil, but it is almost con- stant, and they dwell with difficulty in that middle or neutral state which nei- ther reverences nor despises. Conse- quently, when there is not some very special reason for feeling deference to- wards a foreigner, the Englishman is likely to despise him. The French, on the other band, are generally less disposed both to the feelings of respect and of contempt. They look upon the world with an easier indiffer- ence, not much respecting anybody or anything, but ready enough to acknowl- edge the merits and qualities of people and things that are not the best. The French are severe critics only where there is great pretension; they regard ordinary, unpretending people and things with a good-humored indulgence. When there is much pretension, their level- ing instinct makes them ready to dehel- lare superbos. It is a remarkable proof of the substantial strength of Victor Hugos reputation that a man of such immense vanity, such boundless preten- sion, should have been able to get him- self taken at his own estimate in France. Napoleon III., although he had at his I The Irish talk and write as if they considered themselves foreigners with regard to England. Like most other Englishmen, I should be glad to see them as fraternal as our brethren the Scotch, disposal the theatrical machinery of im- perial state, was never able to win any real deference. V. ON SOME EFFECTS OF GEOGRAPHICAL SITUATION. England and France have the two most favorable situations in Europe, except that they cannot easily increase their European territory. The confinement of England to one narrow island, with a smaller island close to it which is inhabited by a hostile and alien race,1 has driven the English peo- ple to that peculiar form of expansion which has formed the subject of Pro- fessor Seeleys very interesting and in- structive lectures. But, after reading them with the care that they deserve, a troublesome doubt came over me. Is it really expansion, after all? Is it not rather propagation? In physics a body is said to expand when it increases in volume, and Littr6 tells us that the primitive sense of propagation is planting afresh, whence planting by slips. Therefore I should say, with all due deference to a much superior authority on the subject, that England has become great by propagation, just because her narrow and fixed geographical boundary made expansion impossible for her. In connection with this subject I remember vaguely an interesting speech by Mr. Gladstone, delivered some time ago, in which be recognized, as the distinction between England and Russia, that an- nexation by the extension of frontier, which was possible for Russia, was quite different from annexation by crossing the sea, which was all that an insular nation could do. And travelers tell us that the territories absorbed by Russia become with remarkable rapidity a part of Russia, whereas nobody says that but it is useless to deny the plain fact that the Irish ore hostile and alien, whatever they may be- come in the future. 24 French and English. [July, India is a part of England; and we are only hoping that Australia and New Zealand may be parts, not of the moth- er country, but of a great confedera- tion. Another excellent example is the case of the United States, where the exten- sion of the frontier has increased the mother country in such a manner that nobody talks of Americas colonies, they have so rapidly become part of herself. We all see that if the Western colonies had been separated by an ocean from the Eastern colonizing States, they would have remained colonial, and simply attached to a mother country. Therefore, notwithstanding the won- derful propagation of the English race, we see that the real Britain is confined by the sea, and confined within narrow limits. France is not confined by the same physical boundary, but there are ethnological limits almost equally re- stricting. France bas not, like the East- ern American States, a great unoccupied territory to expand in. If she would expand her frontiers, it can only be by subjugating populations which would offer strenuous resistance, and on her eastern frontier, at least, the resistance could not be overcome. France and England are therefore in much the same condition with regard to the possibility of expansion.1 The only case of real expansion in recent French history has been the annexation of Savoy. That increase of territory was a genuine national growth, for Savoy very quickly became an integral part of France. In all European countries the military situation is of enormous importance to the happiness of both rich and poor in- habitants. At first sight that of Eng- land appears incomparably superior to that of France, as England is a natural fortress surrounded by its ditch; but on 1 For the sake of brevity, I leave out of consid- eration at present the empire of Napoleon I., which was a temporary creation, owing its existence to a military genius of the most exceptional order. further examination this superiority is seen to be connected with a cause of inferiority to France. A fortress is tenable only so long as its provisions hold out, and the soil of England can- not maintain the population. The peo- ple in the fortress maintain themselves partly by what they cultivate, but also in great part by what they purchase outside with the results of their indus- try. The condition of France is more favorable in this respect. If France were cut off from all communication with the rest of the world, she would still be able to exist on the produce of her soil, missing only luxuries, and not many even of these. The useful things which she most lacks, such as coal and iron, she still possesses in quantity suffi- cient for all the emergencies of war. Nevertheless, in spite of these and other compensations, the great differ- ence remains that the English live in a degree of security which is not enjoyed by any nation of Continental Europe. The strongest military state on the Con- tinent is not sure of untroubled existence for a year. But England feels secure; England feels herself safely outside of that armed and watchful and anxious Continental life, which she looks upon as Cedric the Saxon looked upon the Tournament at Ashby. This security places the English in a safe and pleasant position for the exercise of the critical function, and so they have taken upon themselves the office, the thankless office, of critics to the continent of Europe. Now the feeling of Frenchmen, or of any other Continental people, on reading English criticisms, is something of this kind. They believe that in many cases, probably in most cases, the English would act precisely as they themselves act, if they were placed in the same sit- uation. For example, with regard to expansion. A continental nation desires The preservation of one empire, with so many un- willing and heterogeneous provinces, would have been impossible with republican institutions. 1886.] French and English. 25 to expand; all continental nations have this instinctive desire, which is the uni- versal national instinct. England, be- ing an island, cannot expand; she can only propagate beyond the sea. But if the English had been placed on the soil of France, their naturally enterprising disposition would have led them to en- large their borders at the expense of their Continental neighbors, as the other nations (when they are not so weak that such an enterprise would be utterly hope- less) are always endeavoring to do. No Frenchman doubts the desire of Eng- land to absorb and assimilate Ireland if she could; no Frenchman believes that the English would desire to do other- wise than the Russians if they had equal opportunities. VI. THE TWO NATIONAL ESTATES. A thorough and minute comparison of France and Great Britain, as vast properties possessed by the French and English races, would be valuable and interesting, but it lies outside of my manner of writing. It would require extensive statistics, a great array of fig- ures, and that purely scientific style which properly belongs to the writings of economists. My way is only to point to a few facts or considerations that the ordinary reader is likely to care about and re- member. Thus, to begin with, I should say that there is a misleading habit, both in England and France, of con- sidering the two nations as nearly equzl to each other geographically, because 1 The reader may like to have the figures on which the above comparison is founded. I take them, in square kilometres, from the most recent authority, the Anunaire du Bureau des Longitudes for 1886. The area of France is given as 528,400 by the Bureau des Longitudes. The Statisque de la France gives it as 528,572, on account of a di- vergence in the measurement of one department (Alpes-Maritimes). The Russian measurement of France, published in 1882 by General Strelbitsky, they are nearly equal in wealth and population. Very few people in either of the two countries realize how much greater is the area of France. The effect of contrast may make France small for an American or a Russian, but an Englishman who really knows its area looks upon it as a large country in comparison with his own. France is not exactly twice as large as Great Britain and Ireland together, but a very near approximation may be made by taking the British archipelago first, in- cluding the Hebrides and the Channel Islands, and then adding a second Scot- land, a second Ireland, a second Wales, and Belgium. Then you have nearly, yet still not quite completely, the area of France. Nobody would believe this on simply glancing at the map of Eu- rope, because the British Islands are long and straggling, and have outlines much cut into by the sea, whilst France is a remarkably square and compact coun- try. Few English people travel in France to see the country and the pro- vincial towns; they generally confine themselves to Paris in the north, glan- cing at Rouen and Amiens, or at Nice and Cannes, in the south, glancing at Avignon, Arles, and Marseilles. There are, however, a very few English peo- plc who really try to explore France, and these come gradually to be im- pressed with a sense of extent and gen- eral inexhaustibleness, which, instead of diminishing, curiously increases with their experience. An English lady, who knows the country better than anybody of my acquaintance, said to me last year, I despair of ever knowing France as I gives a total of 534,479. 1 have therefore stated the smallest authoritative measurement. Areas. 314,493 78,777 84,252 2fl,613 29,455 527,590 Great Britain and Ireland. . . A Second Scotland A Second Ireland A Second Wales (including Mon- mouth, etc.) Belgium Total 26 French and English. desire; it seems to get bigger and bigger, and the objects of interest in it that I have not seen appear to become more and more numerous. Another, who knew nothing of the country, was sur- prised to find that towns which she im- agined as near together were in fact separated by long railway journeys. Her first impression had been based on the idea that France was nearly the size of England, all distances being re- duced accordingly. From the agriculturists point of view, France is an incomparably better estate than Great Britain, as well as a far larger one, but the insular power has two great compensations in her rich mines and her many excellent harbors. As France produces some luxuries, especially wines and silks, and has a great reputation in the fine arts, and is supposed (erroneously enough) to be a land of pleasure, her advantages in mat- ters of common utility are very frequent- ly forgotten. The real superiority of France is, however, in being a great food-producing country, not only in lux- urious food, but in that which is used by the poor as well as the rich. To this natural advantage may be added the tendency in the genius of the French people to make the best use of food material and to appreciate variety, so that none of the bounties of Nature are neglected or despised. The situation of France, with one shore on the Mediterranean and another on the Atlantic, is ideally convenient, and her little India in North Africa is so ac- cessible that it is felt to be a sort of ex- tension or annexe of the mother coun- try. France herself has the advantage of the best European latitudes. I have found it practically convenient to re- member, in thinking about the geograph- ical situation of France, that the small triangle to the north of Amiens is in English latitudes, and all the great region south of Lyons is in north Italian lati- tudes, the space between being in those of Switzerland and Bavaria. It is the best position in Europe, equally free from the cold, wet rigor of Scotland and the dry, hot region of Spain, at least in their excess, though there is something both of Scotch and Spanish weather in the great variety of the French climates. This variety needs to be remembered both for France and Great Britain, as there is really no single British or French climate to be praised or blamed. All that can be said in a general wayisthat the summers are hotter in France, and that the eastern and central departments have a more continental climate than that of any counties in England; but even in Sa6ne-et-Loire the west wind is still the rain wind, as it is in Scotland, and the east wind has just the same characteristics that make it both dis- agreeable and dangerous at Edinburgh. The French are fortunate enough to be profoundly contented with their cli- mates, in this sense: that every French- man, at least so far as I have been able to observe, is well satisfied with the climate of his own department, though he criticises that of another region. There are even people in the south who prefer the infliction of the mistral, with its blinding dust, to the refreshment of a little rain. But all who live outside the region of the mistral have feelings of commiseration for those who are sub- jected to it. The rainy district on the west coast seems to the inhabitants of the dryer departments as trying as Argyll- shire might seem to an inhabitant of Norfolk. Nevertheless, each Frenchman is profoundly satisfied with his own cli- mate, and when it becomes unpleasant he always says that it has borrowed its unpleasantness from some other country, its fogs from England, its cold from Siberia, and its heat from Senegal. There are two things in which the Frenchmans faith is imperturbable, the climate and the decimal system; if he had only as much faith in the government and the clergy, it is certain that France would be 1886.] The Golden Justice. 27 the most contented country in the world. Even as things are, he believes that France is pr& minently favored by Na- ture or by Providence, and sometimes, with a little qualm of conscience, will humorously admit that the land is a richer gift than the population deserves; or he will put the same idea into an- other form, and regret that such appar- ent care for the arrangement of so per- fect a land was not extended to the in- vention of reasonable inhabitants. No Englishman would say that of the race he belongs to, even between jest and earnest. The English believe that if their country does not grow grapes and olives, it grows men and women in un- approachable perfection. This quiet be- lief in the excellence of the race makes the English indifferent to any remarks that the foreigner may make upon their climate or the smallness of their island; for as little Greece bore the greatest race of antiquity, so little England has brought forth the best and noblest of the modern races. This is the English belief. It is not precisely humble or modest, but it has at least the merit of the most absolute conviction and sin- cerity. Philip Gilbert Hamerton. THE GOLDEN JUSTICE. V. A NEW PARTNER AT BARCLAYS ISLAND. WHEN Paul Barclay went to keep his appointment to go to the State Fair, he found a young girl, of the hum- bler sort, just taking her leave of Mrs. Varemberg, in the porch of the house. The girl wore a long, dark cloth coat, of a kind in vogue with the shopwomen of the day, fitting closely to a trim fig- ure. From beneath a round hat project- ed, in front, a fluff of strongly growing, dark hair, and she had a smooth, olive complexion and a pair of hazel eyes, demurely bright. I thank you so very much, Mrs. Varemberg, Barclay heard her say, in a voice marked by a trace of foreign accent. This is our little friend Stanislava Zeliusky, from the Polish settlement, said the lady, presenting the visitor. Barclay touched his hat to her. He had seen something of her country and its people at home, and certain recollec- tions drawn from his travels would have enlisted his interest, even had not the fact of her being Mrs. Varembergs pro- teg6e and her own rather pretty face, as she made a timid response to his bow, been sufficient. Stanislava has many accomplish- ments, continued her patroness; she is never idle. Besides doing all kinds of house-work, she can embroider, paint flowers, play the church organ, and has a most excellent handwriting. Have you not a beautiful handwriting, Stanis- lava? Well, I dont know. They get me to write the books of the Polish Benev- olent Society, though, what keeps the names of all the families in the church, replied the girl, half disclaiming yet ac- cepting the eulogy. And how do they get on now at the church? It seems to me they are not always as amiable, down there, as they ought to be. She referred, no doubt, to a late dis- turbance, in which the schoolmaster, leading trader, pastor, and militia organ- ization known as the Sobieski Guards had all been mixed up in a confused

William Henry Bishop Bishop, William Henry The Golden Justice 27-47

1886.] The Golden Justice. 27 the most contented country in the world. Even as things are, he believes that France is pr& minently favored by Na- ture or by Providence, and sometimes, with a little qualm of conscience, will humorously admit that the land is a richer gift than the population deserves; or he will put the same idea into an- other form, and regret that such appar- ent care for the arrangement of so per- fect a land was not extended to the in- vention of reasonable inhabitants. No Englishman would say that of the race he belongs to, even between jest and earnest. The English believe that if their country does not grow grapes and olives, it grows men and women in un- approachable perfection. This quiet be- lief in the excellence of the race makes the English indifferent to any remarks that the foreigner may make upon their climate or the smallness of their island; for as little Greece bore the greatest race of antiquity, so little England has brought forth the best and noblest of the modern races. This is the English belief. It is not precisely humble or modest, but it has at least the merit of the most absolute conviction and sin- cerity. Philip Gilbert Hamerton. THE GOLDEN JUSTICE. V. A NEW PARTNER AT BARCLAYS ISLAND. WHEN Paul Barclay went to keep his appointment to go to the State Fair, he found a young girl, of the hum- bler sort, just taking her leave of Mrs. Varemberg, in the porch of the house. The girl wore a long, dark cloth coat, of a kind in vogue with the shopwomen of the day, fitting closely to a trim fig- ure. From beneath a round hat project- ed, in front, a fluff of strongly growing, dark hair, and she had a smooth, olive complexion and a pair of hazel eyes, demurely bright. I thank you so very much, Mrs. Varemberg, Barclay heard her say, in a voice marked by a trace of foreign accent. This is our little friend Stanislava Zeliusky, from the Polish settlement, said the lady, presenting the visitor. Barclay touched his hat to her. He had seen something of her country and its people at home, and certain recollec- tions drawn from his travels would have enlisted his interest, even had not the fact of her being Mrs. Varembergs pro- teg6e and her own rather pretty face, as she made a timid response to his bow, been sufficient. Stanislava has many accomplish- ments, continued her patroness; she is never idle. Besides doing all kinds of house-work, she can embroider, paint flowers, play the church organ, and has a most excellent handwriting. Have you not a beautiful handwriting, Stanis- lava? Well, I dont know. They get me to write the books of the Polish Benev- olent Society, though, what keeps the names of all the families in the church, replied the girl, half disclaiming yet ac- cepting the eulogy. And how do they get on now at the church? It seems to me they are not always as amiable, down there, as they ought to be. She referred, no doubt, to a late dis- turbance, in which the schoolmaster, leading trader, pastor, and militia organ- ization known as the Sobieski Guards had all been mixed up in a confused 28 like (~olden Justice. combat that had not been straightened out even at the police court itself, to which it had come in last resort. Oh, that was mostly the Warsaw men and the Cracow men, said Stanis- lava, referring to some ancient fend of locality, like that of Cork and Kerry among the Irish. Pronounce your pretty name for us, said Mrs. Varemberg. The girl did so, in a very soft and pleasing way. Being urged, she fol- lowed with a few further expressions in the speech of her fatherland. How charming! You must give us lessons in the Polish language, said Barclay, playfully. iNo American person wants to know the Polander language; and she showed her fine white teeth in a smile at the ex- quisite absurdity of his idea. When she had gone and they were in the carriage awaiting them, Mrs. Var- emberg explained: She is the child of the bridge-tender who was killed at the same time my father received his own injuries. He has had a fancy to look after her ever since. A decidedly new touch of interest was added by this to what Barclay had already shown. He wondered, as he bad often wondered before, and was on the point of saying aloud : Why was not this motive a source of equal consideration, on David Lanes. part, for me? She has just come to me on a rath- er singular errand. She has arrived at her eighteenth birthday, and for the first time has begun to be troubled with com- punctions about the money she receives. She inquires what it is for. She thinks she ought not to accept it any longer without doing some service in return. A commendable spirit, surely. I urged her to save it against her wedding-day. She did not seem satis- fied, and I promised to see my father about it on his return, and find her something to do, if possible. From the Fair ground, as they drew near, they heard issuing forth a strident music of barrel-organs and the orchestras of side-shows, and they could see, above the far-stretching, high white palisade that encompassed it, a series of the crests of pavilions, booths, and tents, decked with gavly floating banners. Within were parked the dusty vehicles of coun- try folk, who looked upon the occasion as a wonderful festival, and the equi- pages of wealthy city people, who, like our friends, had made it the terminus of an afternoons drive. The praises of the Learned Pig mingled with those of the Wild Australian Children, the low- ing of animals with the shuffle and clat- ter of agricultural apparatus, and the steaming and whir and thud of falling stamps in Machinery Hall. A knot of committee-men trudged, with important air, among the stalls arranged around the outer circuit of the inclosure, dis- tributing medals and ribbons to favored live stock. Something could be seen of a sham battle in progress on an elevat- ed green common without; and from time to time a man with a red sash and stentorian voice announced trials of speed on the trotting track. Ives Wilson was there, in a kiosk spe- cially erected for the Daily Index. He seemed even unusually full of business. With profuse enthusiasm lie handed out to our friends a copy of his spe- cial State Fair Edition. Thousands of copies of it were being distributed gratis, containing excellently-paid-for puffs of the Eureka farm pump, the Little Giant harvester, the Pearl Feather windmill, and the like. He broke away to confer with two notables known as the Hop King and the Cranberry King, and to receive subscriptions from small coun- try politicians, who made it a point to come and pay in person, at this time, to keep the eye of the Index favora- bly fixed upon them during the ensuing year. He hurried back, and threw into the lap of Mrs. Varemberg, till it resem 1886.] The Golden Justice. 29 bled the lap of Abundance, specimens of mammoth fruits, which had been donated him as an editor, and hence the most fitting recipient of all that was curious. What an energy! what a zeal I said Barclay. I should not wonder if he even went to sleep with a greater energy than oth- er people, responded his companion. I have an idea he shuts his eyes with an actual snap, and proposes to show the world one of the most vigorous ex- amples of sleeping on record. The Art Pavilion, to which they were bound, was found to be a rather rudely finished structure of pine boards, octago- nal in shape. On one side was arranged, by itself, the little collection sent by Mrs. Varemberg, consisting chiefly of some choice textile stuffs and bright for- eign pictures of the modern schools, from her own home, together with some few other specimens of merit, loaned by their owners with reluctance, and only upon the personal representations of one so influential as herself. The contribu- tion next in importance to her own was that of a certain refined Radbrook fam- ily, of whom she spoke incidentally with warm admiration. They have almost everything, she said: money enough for every refined taste, without splendor, health, good looks, charming children, and fondness for each other. It is a most enviable household. The chief pleasure of the master of it is music. It is not for dis- play or applause, in a too common way; on the contrary, he prefers to be alone; and there is something poetic and gentle in the way he sits, by the hour, in his music-room, fingering over to himself his difficult compositions. His wife pro- tects this taste, but does not share it. They are amiable and gay in the world, but pay no weak deference to it, nnd do not let it invade their genuine, self-cen- tred happiness. There were indications of her own ideals of domestic life to be gathered from this. Another class of pictures, very smooth- ly varnished copies after the old nias- ters, in very brightly gilded frames, com- placently displayed by one of the latest of the class of new rich, perhaps met with the leading favor of connoisseurs. The former were spoken of as too gaudy, and doubts entertained of their being in good taste. Ingenuous school- girls and the like sought the latter with eagerness. They had read of the orig- inals in text books, and felt that here they were reveling with proper senti- ment over the grandest creations of art. Then followed dull portraits and lead- en landscapes by practitioners who eked out a bare subsistence in the place by the aid of teaching ; woodeny prize cattle, painted broadside on, to please their owners; a figure-piece by a one- armed veteran of the Soldiers Home; a smudged crayon drawing by a boy of thirteen, who spent the greater part of his time before it in rapt admiration; and chromos, lithographed circulars and bill-heads, and a mammoth St. George and the Dragon, executed in Spence- nan penmanship. A number of people they knew were met with in passing through. Miss Jus- tine DeBow, accompanied by Lieuten- ant Gregg, of the revenue cutter, gave Barclay a gracious nod, among others. Mrs. Varemberg sank down on a bench with fatigue. You see the cause of art has not yet made very enormous strides in Keeway- din, she said, summing up. Yes, I suppose that is a safe state- ment to agree to. But it is advancing, it is coming this way; it is, really. I myself am old enough to have seen wonderful changes in my time. Let it come by itself, then. Let its tottering steps be supported on some more vigorous shoulder than yours.~~ He had noted an unusually pallid and 30 The Golden Justice. worn look overspread her face. Good heavens, why have I let you so overtax your strength? How can I have been so stupid? It is nothing. It is not my proceed- ings to-day that tire me; the bare exer- tion of getting these few things together had already done it. Then why did you have anything to do with it? he asked, in energetic re- proof. I suppose I was weak, and let my- self be persuaded. They told me I ought to share my superior advantages with others less fortunate. They said I was a leader; and when one is a lead- er one ought to lead, you know. But in all these ways you dissipate vital force you can ill spare. You ought to lead the calmest, most untroubled life possible. Calm and untroubled are good. Well, there is sometimes a certain need of distraction. And was it not you who were only lately counseling me athletic sports? This is not athletic sport, and now I counsel you rest, he said, looking into her eyes with deep earnestness. Come! we must get you well. There will be all eternity to rest in. But this sincere concern in her well- being had evidently awakened her grati- tude. As if with compunction for he~ conduct of yesterday, she returned, of her own accord, to the point at which they had then left off. I repulsed your interest in my af- fairs yesterday. I fear I was very rude to you, she said, with much gentleness. iNow I would like to tell you all you may care to know. No, no; it was unpardonable in me to trench upon the subject at all. Pray try to forgive and forget it. But I want to tell you, she insist- ed, with a gentle imperiousness. Upon this they resumed their carriage and drove homeward. Restive Castor and Pollux had been fuming under the unwonted sounds and phantasmagoria of the Fair, and did not recover their customary gait till the inclosure was left well behind them. The drill of the local militia was still in progress. The American Light Guard, the Irish Em- met Guard, the German Jilgers, and the Polish Sobieskis marched and counter- marched before one another in gallant style. When the bayonets of the cater- pillar-like squads twinkled finally at a distance, and the smoke of their volleys floated on the air like puffs of thistle- down, Mrs. Varemberg began her story. Under Varembergs gay and frank demeanor, said she, a superficial veneer adopted only for society, he cov- ered a morose and barbarous nature. He developed, in particular, a phenome- nal cruelty of disposition which in recol- lection seems incredible. Who would have credited it? Something strange seemed to come between us from the very outset. There was no companionship, not a feeling nor thought in common. It was too hide- ous. At first I used to persuade my- self it was my fault, and try to dispel it. The more I humiliated myself, the harder and more brutal he became. There are natures like that Alpine rose, the type of ingratitude, which, comparatively tame in its pastures, bristles with thorns the more it is cul- tivated, said Barclay. His native trait of cruelty was ex- ercised on horses, dogs, inferiors, and all around. I was a daily witness to un- merited suffering. It was an outbreak of this kind that first alienated me from him, even before it had been wreaked on myself. And we esteem ourselves judges of character! said Barclay. A poor soldier who had been guilty of some offense, which though certainly a breach of military discipline was not a crime, had been condemned to death, by court-martial. The circumstances 1886.] The aolden Justice. 81 were so peculiar that they had attracted much attention. The soldier was from our own village, where his detachment was stationed at the time. A strong feeling of sympathy was aroused for him among his friends, neighbors, and comrades. He was led out the first time to be shot, and the platoon would not fire. The villagers rushed between, and bared their breasts, crying, You shall not harm him; you shall kill us first! He was led back to his prison, and they came to me, among others, to invoke my intercession with my hus- band. If he can but obtain a reprieve, and the case be carried to the higher authorities, they pleaded, he will sure- ly have justice done him, and be saved. You had identified yourself well with your village, then? Yes, one would naturally do so. A womans country, you know, is that where she loves. (Her companion winced.) Though that motive endured but so short a time, I had early found a sort of distraction in the place. My husband was connected, in some retired or supernumerary way, with the army, yet was one of those, though not the principal one, who had to do with the execution of the sentence. When I spoke to him, he repulsed my inter- ference with insulting sarcasms. No reprieve was obtained. The man was once more led out to die. She paused a moment, and covered her eyes with her hand, as if to shut out a terrible recollection. Barclay waited in respectful silence for her to go on. I found myself by accident near the open parade-ground, that morning, quite ignorant of what was to take place. The peasants again ran to me, with streaming eyes, as a melancholy pro- cession came down the village street. I took a few steps, in a confused way, towards it. I was close to both my husband and the prisoner. Hardly knowing what I did, I reached forth and laid a hand on Varembergs arm. It seemed to inspire in him a rage like actual madness. He seized a revolver from his holster, and ran and placed it against the head of the prisoner. A million devils, he cried, can we never get this vermin shot! and he fired. I was so near that the blood of the poor victim scattered over me, and his pleading eyes directed into mine their last glance on earth. Barclays breath came thick and fast, as he listened with horror to this recital. After such an event, what more. could there ever be between us? He ter- rified me inexpressibly. I did not know at what moment I might meet a simi- lar fate. His appearance, which I had once thought so gallant and handsome, seemed sinister to the last degree, and his smile froze me. He saw my aver- sion, and was pleased at first to make some small efforts to overcome it, and be like his former self. But if this shocking deed were not by itself suffi- cient, others of a like nature followed. Then I began to learn of glaring infi- delities. He twice demanded of my father large sums in addition to what had been paid as my wedding portion. He had been a bankrupt, himself, from the very start; and finally his transac- tions in money were such that he had to leave the country. In the midst of it, my child, too, had died. Ah, if I had had but that solace, I think I might have endured all the rest. How lonely I was in the great foreign house, far from all I had ever known! My father came there and took me home. It puzzles me beyond measure, his pretext for turning to such courses; his motive in throwing away such a happiness as was his. He must have followed a natural bias that had been hidden from us. It could not have been the beginning of it we witnessed. Much of his conduct seemed without motive, his cruelty pure wantonness; perhaps it would be most 32 mercifui to suppose it insanity. There are such characters, we know, in his- tory, who delighted in torture for its own sake. His seemed one of those natures that at a certain point had to go wholly and irremediably to the bad. But how, but why did such a dread- ful mistake ever arise? exclaimed Bar- clay excitedly. I suppose I chose with a young girls want of reflection. I must have been very thoughtless, even for my age. Truly, I had formed but a dim concep- tion of what it was to be married, and of the need of a true affection. Varem- berg interested and dazzled me. He told me, too, that no one could ever love me as much as he, and I think I al- lowed myself to believe it. And yet it ought not to have been so difficult to love you, in those times, broke in Barclay, with a sad sort of bit- terness. I sometimes used to wonder that everybody who knew you did not do it. He had yielded momentarily to an emotion against which he vainly strug- gled. Surely it was evident now that her father had never told her of his proposal, and she had never known the true state of his feelings. Such nai~vet6 of statement, as unconscious as her for- mer flippancy, would otherwise have been impossible. She turned towards him a look of genuine surprise. Truly, she said, you have come back an accomplished flatterer. Once, praise from you was praise from Sir Hubert, to be esteemed indeed. Whatever I have come back, it is. no flatterer. Then it only remains to set you down as misguided. I was far from cer- tain in my own mind about this mar- riage, she went on presently, but my father reassured me, and laid my scru- ples at rest. Your father? Yes, alas! he too was deceived. [July, Paul Barclays surmise, to which so many indications had pointed, was con- firmed. Her father had been the au- thor of the match, she only a consent- ing party. He groaned in spirit, but too late, to think that all his agony had passed even unnoted, and to recall his own words of consuming passion un- spoken, when it appeared how easily the glib sophistries of the foreigner had pre- vailed with her. Bear with me, he resumed, after some one of those casual interruptions from the sights and scenes around them that occur in such out-of-doors jaunts. And after all this, they tell me, you will not avail yourself even of the poor remedy of the law. Oh no, not that; never! she ejac- ulated, in a sort of horror. And why? There is but one thing for a woman to do in a situation like mine, and that is to accept the consequences of her folly gracefully, and conceal them from the public eye as far as possible. No new trials, no further experiments for me!~ But even apart from further exper- iilients, he reasoned with her, grieved at the terms, is it not irksome to drag a ball and chain, as it were, some five or ten thousand miles long? There are international aspects to the case, and it is not certain that re- lease could be obtained, valid in both countries, did I desire it never so much. And where is the great harm in a ball and chain, if one does not wish to dance? with a melancholy smile. I have not heard it was dancers only to whom those appendages were hateful. One would always like to walk unimpeded, even at the slowest pace. No, I have firm convictions against what you suggest, she persisted. And so have I had till now. Or rather, I fear my attentioa has never been closely turned to it. But surely the step was never better justified. The aolden Justice. 1886.] The aolden Justice. 33 Whom God hath joined together, hc only can put asunder. That is what I have always been taught to be- lieve. That is what my father believes, with me. Alas! in many things I no longer know what my convictions are. Varemberg shook my faith, in our early days, with his brilliant, hateful skepti- cism; that harm he did me with the rest. But, in all my uncertainties, on this point I have never wavered. Barclay abandoned the argument with a sigh. He afterwards felt greatly his temerity in entering on it. He sighed over his companion in many ways. Ab, that such a fate, he said, should have been hers, so made as she was for sunshine, for distinction! Ah, that yonder wretch should have been al- lowed to throw away this treasure of affection and loveliness, when I I would have given my hearts blood to save her from an instants pain! A week after this, the statement was current that a new partner had gone into the management of the Stamped- Ware Works with Maxwell. The news was brought into the Johannisberg House, which stood at no great distance from Barclays Island, on the main land, by the South Side letter-carrier, Peter Stransky. It was a quiet afternoon at that re- spectable caravansary. There were vis- ible a collection of shells and a full- rigged ship, behind the bar of the long, neatly sanded room. A little platform crossed one end of this room, on which a quartette of Tyroleans with zither ac- companiment, sometimes sang the na- tional yodel. The wall behind it was painted with a mammoth Alpine scene, with a door in the centre; so that the performers, on taking leave, seemed to disappear into the heart of the moun- tain, like a species of kobolds. Christian Idak, grown older and confirmed in that important air of the small landlord who is better off than most of his guests, still VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 3 moved about in his shirt-sleeves. Frau Idak sat knitting in a corner, and a child by her side was doing sums on its slate. The same marine gossips, or their like, were at their posts, recount- ing hair-breadth escapes and curious hap- penings, which are even more common, perhaps, in the lake navigation than that of the salt ocean. One had told of cruising amid float- ing ice-fields, twenty feet thick, in Lake Superior, in June. Another had told that, once, when wrecked, he had seen the ghost of a former captain swimming by him in the water. The mysterious questions of a tide and subterranean outlets for the lakes had been touched upon. What I know is, said a tug-man, on this latter subject, that a precious sight more water goes down that Saint Lawrence River than ever gets out o the lakes fair and above-board. Most anywhere out Waukesha way, where I hail from, added a skip- per, corroborating him, if you bore down into the solid rock you get water comm up, with live fish in it. And cisco, which is a Lake Superior fish, and nothin else, appears in Genevy Lake a few days every year, and then disappears again, so you cant find one for love nor money. Now what does all that mean if it aint that there s un- derground channels? The hard times, supposed to be existing, next came in for their fair share of attention. An engineer of the Owl Line com- plained that they did not get one trip now where they formerly got a dozen. It is the same way with us, added a rival of the Diamond Jim Line: the big craft is eatin up all the small ones, in the carryin trade. And even tkey dont make no very heavy pile out of it. The bloated money kings and mo- nopolist sharks is at the bottom of it, cried a vigorous exponent of the green 34 The Golden Justice. [July, back school of doctrines. This coun- try 11 never see a well day again till it gets a poor mans currency, and makes it ekil to the wants o trade. It was about this time that the South Side letter-carrier came in, from his swift rounds, with his leather satchel slung over his shoulder. The Stamped-Ware Works is one place where they dont show much signs o hard times, said he, pausing a mo- ment, in his thirst imbibing a glass of Keewaydins excellent beer. I ye just been there. They ye got in a new partner; they re puttin on a new lot of hands, and everything s boomin. Who? What? How? greeted the announcement, from all sides, with a lively interest. Who s the new partner? Name s Barclay, a New York feller, with loads o money; same one what his father used to own the island afore him. And he was off again, on his route, down to the remote precincts of Windlake Avenue and Muckwonago Road. The little notary public, Kroeger, who spent much of his time here, having lit- tle to detain him at his own office, and who obtained a repute for wisdom and insight by a policy of cynical smiling and disparagement, commented sagely I guess Maxwell he got bigger ideas as what he know how to do busi- ness. Akins, the foreman of the Works, came in presently, with a hard-pressed air, and confirmed the intelligence, with additions. Of course the concern was solid,,~ said he, and no need o changin, but a little more money dont never do no harm. Mr. Barclay, he was lookin round for a job, and hem as we suited him, and the island was his, any way, what more natural than that we should strike up a bargain? Mrs. Varemberg derived her first au- thentic information from Barclay him. self. Some rumor of it had already reached her. She received it with an open enthusiasm. You are going to stay? she ex- claimed. Yes, I am going to stay. It seems one of those things really too good to be true. It appears that the too-good-to-be- true sometimes happens, he replied, smiling. He surprised himself in a certain tremor, at her pleasant excitement, but quickly dismissed it. She had had real- ly nothing to do with his staying, he as- sured himself. She was in the place, it is true, and was weak and suffering, and he might be of some small solace and assistance to her, as he should be glad to be to any friend in like situation in whom he felt an interest, but that was all. Maxwell put the matter in such a light that I could not decline his offer, he explained. If I were in earnest in my ideas, and I assure you I was, here was an opening just suited to my peculiar case, and, strangely enough, ready to my hand. Why should I search further? And so indeed he thought. He had yielded to that subtile warping by in- clination and sympathy which some- times has its way even with the clear- est of consciences. He had not the faintest notion in the world of being that equivocal figure, the masculine con- soler of an unhappy wife. He was en- dowed with an excellent Anglo-Saxon common sense, and he felt himself to be, now, with his ample experience, a per- son of a sturdy temperament, upon which the imagination could play but few of its tricks. Was he not heart-whole? And have we not seen lovers meeting in after years, and even exchanging con- gratulations on their fortunate escape from each other? It was his general purpose in life to set his face resolutely against all those courses of conduct re 1886.] The Golden Justice. 35 quiring extenuation or apology, and he He is a most gentlemanly man, and had no intention of departing from it in all that could be desired in every way, this instance. I am sure, she said, deprecatingly; When David Lane returned, after the but, since he is now going to remain absence we have noted, he found Paul here, it seems to me I would not see Barclay fairly settled in Keewaydin. quite so much not too much of him, What does this mean? he demand- Florence, dear. ed of his daughter, with a face of omi- You know my views and practice nous and rigid severity, of which she by on all those matters; you have even no means comprehended the occasion. urged me to modify them, make them What could it mean, papa? I do less severe. Why do you now become not understand you, she responded, in more loyal than the queen? strong astonishment. Your situation is one requiring a This young man must needs follow great deal of circumspection, said the us about the world, and now he comes aunt, repeating her brothers words. hither, and eveu makes a pretext of en- My situation is one requiring a gaging in business. good cup of tea and a nights rest, re- And why should he not go into a turned the object of these expostulations, business here? I do not understand and she retired to her own chamber. you, papa. As to his following us about the world, surely you remember that it is a good four years since we VI. have seen him, and it was but by the merest accident he knew I was here. ~TAUGHT BY MISFORTUNE, I PITY THE David Lane, in his first access of UNHAPPY. cousternation, had made a very false At an early day after taking the im- step. He hastened to repair its conse- portant step described, Barclay went to quences as best he could. New York to settle up certain of his I was only thinking, dearest, he affairs awaiting him there, and finally began, in a confused way, if it should conclude, by a brief visit to his family, he said that a former admirer had his long tour round the world. followed you here, at this particular He found himself glad, on reaching time New York again, to have chosen Kee- But he is not my former admirer, waydin as his field of action. The great she interrupted, impatiently. He was metropolis would have been too vast, its a very staunch friend, whom I should influence too discouraging for his simple like to keep. At the worst, we hardly experiment. An individual like him- have the right to turn out of Keewaydin self would have been swallowed up in all those who have been my admirers, its Babel of conflicting interests, and if we can suppose any so misguided. could not have hoped to make the faint- I do not understand you at all. Was est impression. not Paul Barclay, at Paris, one of our The city had changed much, even dur- most esteemed acquaintances? ing the few years of his absence. The I I have nothing against him, great apartment-houses, for one thing, ~ stammered the wretched man. Only, had then begun to tower up newly your position, just at this time, requires above the level of ordinary life, some a great deal of circumspection. even surpassing the tops of the churches. Under the influence of her brother, His own family, meantime, had moved Mrs. Clinton, in her turn, offered a fee- far up town, near Central Park, choos- ble counsel, on thesame subject. ing their new abode in a quarter that 36 The Goldem Justice. [July, had been in his day but a waste of des- ert lots, and abandoning the old one on Fifth Avenue before the encroachments of trade. His sisters came in, one day, and told mournfully how they had made purchases over the counter in the cham- bers sacred to the most intimate memo- ries of their childhood. Old acquaintances, whom he met at some clubs, where he still kept his mem- bership, and elsewhere, were inclined to joke him about the remote precinct where, they understood, he had taken up his new habitat; but they were re- spectful about it, too, identifying it more or less with the cattle ranches of Dakota and Montana, to which vari- ous friends, swell young Englishmen and the like, had taken lately, and they asked him questions about stock-raising, and begged him to bear them in mind if he should meet with opportunities for money-making he himself might not be able to use. Paul Barclny returned to Keewaydin, and took up his quarters in the spacious residence of his kinsfolk, the Thorn- brooks, a pleasant old couple, quite free from the crabbedness of age, who insist- ed upon it with a pressing hospitality. They had their own primitive ideas and habits, they said, but these should in no way be allowed to interfere with his convenience. They promised him an exaggerated liberty. They insisted that there was room enough, and to spare, for all; and so indeed it seemed, when Barclay came to inspect the large, com- fortable chambers placed at his disposal. The Thorubrooks proceeded forthwith to give a large entertainment, with the view of introducing him to the society of the place, and nearly everybody of note as- sembled to do him honor. There came, among the rest, his traveling-compan- ions, Jim DeBow, who rose once more on his heel, and Miss Justine DeBow, who this time asked him to come and see her at her home. But he began his labors immediately in active earnest. Establishing a reg- ular routine, he rose and breakfasted early; then drove, in a buggy he had set up, or sometimes walked, for the benefit of the more active exercise, down to the Works, where he spent a long, busy day. He crossed the Chip- pewa Street Bridge, where Ludwig Trap- schuh soon came to add him to the large list of acquaintance he claimed by sight. It was the purpose of Barclay to post himself thoroughly in all parts of his enterprise before he should set out upon any novel schemes. Accord- ingly, he studied the great books of ac- count, the systems of sales and credit, the character and source of supply of the raw materials, then the processes of manufacture, and finally the shipment of the completed product to many and distant markets. His office was a small wooden house, with platform-scales beside it. It had worn cocoa matting on the floor; it contained a great iron safe, a low desk and another high one; to sit be- side this latter it was necessary to mount on a high stool. On the wall was a ca- pacious frame filled with specimens of the smaller wares turned out by the fac- tory, with their price-list attached. The hum of a distant planing-mill rose un- ceasingly on the ear, like some homely song forever celebrating the plodding in- dustries of the quarter. The main buildings were partly of brick and partly of wood; their roofs were covered with a preparation of as- phalt, which, with the tan-bark, from a not far distant tannery, laid on the road of approach, gave out distinctive odors when heated by the sun. Over the principal doorway was the legend: No Admission Except on Business. All aound was a litter of piece-moulds, old castings, and general dThris, and against the walls leaned some mammoth gear- wheels, still so long from their swift revolutions that the slow rust and cob- webs had overtaken them. 37 1886.] The Golden Justice. The dry, unsentimental nature of his surroundings by no means chilled the early ardor of Barclay; if anything, it even increased it. The mine itself does not shine, said he; it is only the product that comes from its gloomy depths. There was even a certain romance in their utter commonplaceness. It was a reaction, no doubt, a form of the tes- timony of respect that the studious, scholarly temperament pays to the more r;igged sort that makes the money and carries on the practical affairs of the world. Barclay felt that he had been too long a mere loiterer and looker-on, and he now took a manly delight in knowing himself, at last, a part of the great, stirring, useful, workaday world of affairs. He had conceived, as we have seen, an ideal of duty towards his men far be- yond that of the mere payment of wages. If he were to be the autocrat of their destinies, he meant to be at least an au- tocrat of the beneficent type. So he was fond of watching them, when he thought them unaware of it, at their work. He found a kind of grotesque pathos, as well as humor, in their smudged faces, their flannel shirts of red and blue, stained with oil, all the vagaries of their grimy costume. He wondered to himself how he would have stood such a life as theirs, had it been forced upon him. The flowers that bloomed for them were the flames and molten metal from the furnaces; the stars that shone for them were the scm- tillations of the forging; the birds that sang for them were the clink of the ham- mers; and the grass that grew under their feet was the waste of slag and cin- ders. If the men observed him at this study, they thought it only the sharp eye of the task-master bent upon them, to see that they neglected no duty touching his pocket. There was range enough of character. He had timid spirits and bold, the gay and the morose, the faith- ful at their tasks and the chronic shirk- ers, sycophants who would have curried favor with him by spying upon the rest, and the surly independent who seemed even to go out of their way to seek oc- casions for offense. Instead of some episode of the hu- manitarian sort, to which he aspired, cu- riously enough one of the first experi- ences he had was to deal with a frac- tious and rebellious hand. This man, a dangerous character as well as inefficient workman, after having been discharged, returned again, under the influence of drink, and, in the long main shop, fired twice at Barclay with a revolver, almost at point-blank range. You d a thought the boss kind o liked it, said belligerent young Johnny Maguire, of the packing-room, comment- ing on the occurrence. He kep as cool as a cucumber all the time. Oh, he s got plenty of sand in his gizzard, and dont you forget it. This proceeding, so questionable, per- haps, as philanthropy, stood Barclay in good stead in other respects. His cool- ness under fire and indifference to dan- ger won him the respect of the rude class with which he had to deal as the manifestation of no other kind of qual- ities at first would have done. Iii the long run it lightened his management in many ways, and gave his labors and in- fluence the more telling efficacy. The news of it came to Mrs. Varem- berg, as that of the steamer accident had done, only from outsiders and after a considerable time. She was alarmed, and said to him, Is it not dangerous for you to mix with such rough characters, and go among them as freely as you do? They may knock you on the head some day for revenge, or robbery; who knows? The only fear is that none of them will be so obliging, he replied, smil- ing enigmatically, in a way that much puzzled her. 38 The Golden Justice. [July, Barclay aimed also, with an all-em- bracing ambition, to acquaint himself thoroughly with his new abode, Kee- waydin. He studied its map, its topog- raphy, its past and present. He de- signed to grasp all the elements of its population; its social life, the sources and prospects of its trade, the method of its government, policing, lighting, heating, water supply, protection from fire; its courts, schools, churches, and cemeteries. There was a definite satis- faction to him in the compactness, the moderate compass, of the city, large, important, and flourishing though it was. He found it agreeable to have become part of a place in which it would be easily possible to rise to the top, and even, should he so desire, to be one of its controlling spirits. The leaven is working, he said to Mrs. Yaremberg. I feel within me the makings of a bitter East or West or South Sider. He went on Change. He wondered if the same wrinkles of shrewdness did not begia to appear about his own eyes as about those of the business people he met with there. Jim DeBow welcomed him cordially, and discoursed as before on the present and prospective greatness of Keeway- din. Ives Wilson, who was extending the range of his infallibility at the mo- ment to the domain of grain and pork,. touched up Jim DeBow a little on the subject of a certain recent large opera- tion of the latters in winter wheat, a corner, in fact, of such extent as to have caused Chicago to claim with pride to be the birthplace of its manipulator. Both leaned nonchalantly back against one of the long tables, and munched grains of wheat as they talked. Speaking of winter wheat, said the editor parenthetically, you II see win- ters out here that 11 make your hair curl. Why, back in the country where this comes from, and he tossed a few more grains into his mouth, when the thermometer s only at zero, the people put their summer clothes on. On Change seemed a sort of com- mercial club. Vessel-men, agents of freight lines and insurance companies, attorneys, builders, and money-lenders resorted thither, to look for business from its regular constituency and carry on transactions with these and one an- other. Telegraphic instruments clicked, messengers ran hither and thither, and from time to time the secretary mounted to an upper gallery, and, like a muezzin summoning to prayers, gave out the latest quotatioms of foreign markets, the shouting circle around a small plat- form in the centre pausing briefly in their turmoil to listen. There Barclay met also with David Lane. In his guise of capitalist, the ex-governor stood about on the outer edge of the circle, supporting his digni- fied, stocky figure on a cane, and speak- ing an occasional word with one of the more active members. He was rheu- matic now, and at times could walk only with exceeding difficulty. Ives Wilson came up, and, half pre- senting Barclay to Lane, in his offhand fashion, said of him, He has become one of us, I m glad you know each other. I tell you, little by little Keewaydin is going to gather in all the brains, capital, and in- dustry of the country. By the way, to Barclay, I m thinking of sending a man down to write up your place. I think I 11 have Goff, our Assistant Lo- cal, do it; he s particularly good at those things. To write up my place? Yes, a column article, you know, under the head of Keewaydins Indus- tries. We give you a hundred copies, free, to distribute round among your friends, and you let us have a hundred- dollar advertisement, see? David Lanes manner to the young manufacturer was cold and repellent, the manner he so well remembered in 39 The Golden Justice. 1886.] the old times. It added to his sense of a confirmed hostility, a feeling vividly aroused by the revelation of Mrs. Var- emberg. In the difficulty of forming, at present, any more general programme, and while awaiting the development of events, David Lane had taken refuge in moroseness. The young man should at least have no countenance from him; he would not invite him to his house, nor show any willingness to receive him; he would not encourage, if he could not put an end to, this most ominous inva- sion. It shall never be, it shall never be! he muttered. But even those who saw him glance fiercely after the retiring figure of Barclay could have had little idea of all the tragic thoughts passing in his mind. His most imminent danger had come back, the danger, too, he had once thought forever averted, by the most cautious of planning, the most doleful of sacrifices. Was it to have been im- agined that his punishment would fol- low him in this of all other forms fol- low him through his daughter? Noth- ing was more probable than that some violent end of Varemberg would be heard of at any moment. And here was this honorable lover, to whom his daughter had never been indifferent, re- turned and ready to renew his suit. Heaven knows it is no malice of mine, but his own interest. I must and will always oppose him! he cried de- spairingly. Have I not done him harm enough? He shall never marry her. Some others, perhaps, might think it the best of all reparations that the son of the man who was slain should be allowed to wed his hearts desire, the daughter of the slayer, a noble and lov- able creature in herself, and the dear- est thing in life to her father. Self-pro- tection, too, would have dictated this policy to David Lane, but he had never inclined to it. There was an element of the exalted and unpractical in his course; he was not seeking his personal safety. He would have no marriage with such a prospective Nemesis on its track! Barclay ought not to be allowed to unite himself with them. He would awake some day to the discovery that his wife had been used as a bait and a snare to tie his hands against the just retribution he would have demanded, awake perhaps to loathe as much as he had once fancied he loved her. This feeling, misguided perhaps, and fraught already with the bitter conse- quence of the baneful foreign marriage, had been the ruling force and motive of the destiny of David Lane for years, and he still grimly adhered to it. It was his bias of mind, his whim, his hal- lucination or mania, perhaps; but so he was constituted, so he had begun, and he could not change. It was to be counted with as an inevitable part of the situation. He went to his home by way of the City Hall Square, and, as he hobbled along the promenade at one side of it, he turned his eyes upward to the Gold- en Justice. There had been times, dur- ing his stay abroad, when he had all but forgotten its existence, with both his crime and his eccentric reparation. It would be recalled to him, perchance, by some accident of travel, some faint resemblance to this in a foreign build- ing, or some gilded saint gleaming afar, as from the basilicas on the plain of Lombardy. Even at home it had often lapsed into a certain vagueness. But now, since the arrival of this young man, his memory was jogged indeed; his sense of what the image conveyed to him was renewed in all its vividness. I gave my pledge to Justice to re- spond whenever she should call me. Is the fulfillment of the pledge about to be exacted? he speculated mournfully. Often, too, had he wished the fate- ful paper down again and safe in his own possession, and now, as he gazed, this feeling intensely revived. His burn- 40 The Golden Justice. ing glance seemed as if it would go straight to the heart of the receptacle, ignite the confession, and consume it where it lay. Dry rot has perhaps destroyed it by this time, he speculated; or the moisture penetrated to it, through some crevice, and caused it to fester away in mildew and mould. Then he returned to his house, and sat by his window, as was so often his wont, and gazed wistfully still at the Golden Justice, above the top of a for- est composed of the shade trees inter- spersed among the dwellings. Paul Barclay looked up one day from his writing, and inspected a card hand- ed him by a very light-complexioned young man, of energetic aspect, wear- ing a slouch hat and cloak. The card bore the inscription, Welby B. Goff, Local Ed. Keewaydin Index. This visitor spoke first of the general state of the country, of the approaching close of navigation, the quantity of wheat in store, and the heavy condition of the country roads, that rendered collections difficult, then finally came down to the business he had in hand. The Index is getting up a series of articles on the Industries of Keeway- din, said he, and your place will naturally figure among the most prom- inent. We make it a point always to send to headquarters for our informa- tion. The Index, as you know, has a circulation larger than all its contem- poraries combined, and it aims to be strictly accurate. Barclay recollected the hint he had already got from the editor-in-chief, and good humoredly acceded to the scheme, partly because the Index was Ives Wil- sons paper, and partly because he was not really averse to having his new en- terprise described in print in a form which he might send to some of his friends at a distance. He therefore ac- companied the reporter about the factory in person, and took great pains to sup- ply him with the proper information. He was also led to consider having an advertisement of much larger size than the one first proposed; and when an ingenuous new proprietor once begins to figure with a wily agent in this kind of wares, he is extremely likely to do very much more than he may have expected to in the beginning. It draws blood, said Welby Golf, as he put up his pencil, after booking a highly profitable contract, but I ye done it, and Ill stick to it. Only I 11 ask you as a special favor not to men- tion it to any one else, as it would do us harm. In due time the article appeared. It proved a tissue of exaggerations from beginning to end; every figure was at least doubled, and hardly an adjective was used under the superlative degree. The stamped-ware factory was called one of the marvels of the age, and the new partner, Paul Barclay, Esq., was said to have prepared himself ex- pressly for his present duties by a long and exhaustive course of travel, study, and scientific research among similar es- tablishments. Barclay hurried round to the Index, in a rage, and found Ives Wilson im- mersed to the eyes in scissored ex- changes, in a stuffy little office. The editor at first thought he had come to make a complaint of the totally oppo- site character. My own idea of an article of this kind, to tell you the truth, said he, when undeceived, is that the person it is written about should be almost ashamed to read it himself. I told Golf to do the handsome thing by you, and I suppose he has put it fairly strong. But it is absurd; we are made ridic- ulous, protested Barclay. We have nt half that number of men at the factory; they do not work night and day; the total product turned out is not -.-- Readers want statements of a bold, 1886.] The Golden Justice. 41 impressive, well-rounded sort; they have no real taste for little, every-day mat- ters, but want to hear about things on a great scale. We give them what they ask for, and they are quite capable of making their own discounts. This was all the satisfaction to be ob- tained, and Barclay was fain to content himself with suppressing his part of the edition, and resolving to see to it that any future literature of the kind, of which ho might have need, should be conceived after a less highly florid taste. While at the office of the Index, on this visit, he met with one further instance of what readers might expect that tended to amuse and to distract him from his own annoyance. A small English- looking man, of a shabby aspect, wear- ing a hat many seasons out of the mode, came rushing in angrily, and extended a copy of the paper at full length with one hand, while he tapped a certain arti- cle in it with the other. The article bore the flaming head-lines, A Much- Married Impostor of the South Side. A Bogus Doctor Skips the Town. It re- ferred to him, it appeared; it had met his eye as far away as Kansas City, and he had come back, he said, to deny the unwarranted aspersion, and spend, if need be, his last dollar in the prosecution of its author. Ives Wilson, in a diplomatic way, begged the visitor to sit down, which he indignantly refused to do. The editor then whistled up the speak- ing-tube to the composing-room for Wel- by Goff to ascertain the responsibility for and true status of the offending arti- cle. Welby Goff, coming down, wrin- kled his brows, as in reflection. I seem to recollect something of this, said he, and yet, again I dont know. Surely there must be some means of tracing it. I know we can. Would you kindly step in again in a few days? Days? cried the complainant, with a fierce glare. Or a week, then, blandly. If it should prove that the Index has done you injustice, if this article has been contributed by an outsider, if we have been imposed upon by any personal enemy of yours, of course the the Index will see you righted. Do you know, confidentially, the abuses that sometimes creep into the press in these matters are simply infamous. In your case, my dear sir, I should probably feel exactly as you do. The visitor, who was really a person of questionable standing, no doubt with certain shady features in his record, was little by little mollified by treatment of this sort, and left the office, agreeing to wait till justice was done him. I wrote it myself, said Welby Goff, gleefully, to Barclay, as soon as the mans back was turned. It s the gospel truth, too, at least, I think it is. Any way, there s a certain amount of truth in it. Of course I had to put him off a little at first, being tackled all at once, that way. I 11 keep it up for a while, till I can look up some more information of the same sort to lay him out with. I m pretty sure I can, and then we 11 give him a worse deal than before. Barclay saw comparatively little of Mrs. Varemberg in these earliest days. His new status as a resident of the place did not seem to warrant a continuance of the close intimacy of the brief pre- liminary visit. The coolness of his re- lations with her father, his real devotion to his new undertaking; together with the natural considerations of propriety and good judgment that would occur to Mrs. Yaremberg as well, all contributed to this result. The window of his chamber gave upon the quiet City Hall Park, where he could descry her likeness, in the guise of the Golden Justice. He now got out his field-glass an exceptionally good one that had served him well in his travels, had looked at macrocosms and micro- cosms, at a famous beauty in her opera- 42 The Golden Justice. [July, box, and down into the seething heart of a volcano and added to the many sights, both fair and wondrous, it had taken in, a close study of this statue. He would take up the glass sometimes when at his books, and direct at it a long and earnest gaze. It was a distrac- tion, in the brief period of daylight he could pass at this window, from a heavy course of reading he had begun; he was reviewing and extending his acquaintance with socialistic works of every kind, his quick good sense detect- ing their fallacies, while his imagination often sighed over the utopias of human happiness they embodied. The Golden Justice was his exalted companion. His thoughts would shoot off, arrow-like, to that shining mark, and glancing thence, as it were, fall to Mrs. Varemberg, on the other side, often crossing, no doubt, with those of David Lane, similarly occupied. Barclay said to himself that he was glad she was there, glad she should be thus raised aloft above the city, as its emblem of right and justice. There was something grand in the apotheosis; it was in keeping with his worship of her, his enchantment of other days, and it added dignity to that far-off love. He distinguished with his glass the proud and noble poise of the head, under its golden helmet, the subtle, reassuring smile that wreathed the features. They were the features of her blooming, un- troubled girlhood, showing a character far less deep and serious, less tempered by experience, than that she possessed at the present time; but she was for that reason only the more goddess-like, since a traditional property of the gods is untroubled calm. Nor was it needed that the model who had so well served the artist as his inspiration should have herself possessed all the grave and tragic qualities he would depict; were it so, the plastic arts must soon come to a stand-still. She had been a point of de- parture such as is rarely met with, and the imagination of the spectator was to do the rest. With the passing of the seasons, with the varying days and times of day, and perhaps even the personal moods of the looker-on, the Golden Justice seemed to take many different aspects. Now she half melted into the delicious skies of autumn, now showed through light mists, like flame burning behind a screen of gauze. She was harsh and coppery in the cold bleakness of November; she seemed yellow, burnished gold against the background of some opaque blue fir- mament of winter; she glared lurid and threatening as an angel of wrath in the red sunsets; and, again, would twinkle as with genuine merriment, under the shifting lights and shadows of the glo- rious cloud-masses of the spring-time. Even on obscure nights, as has been said, some wandering star-beam, some vestige of the radiance that is never wholly ex- tinguished from the universe, would seek her out and indicate her position. Barclay noted the peculiar feature that she was to be most distinctly seen on dark days; every lineament and fold of her drapery then came out against the more favoring ground of leaden gray, while in clear sunshine she was apt to be obliterated in a general dazzle. That is as it should be, said he. Justice should show the most clearly in time of adversity and trial; if she conceal her face at all, let it be when all goes well. He little knew, as yet, the stake she held for him, and what it really might have been, even apart from the fea- tures of his lost love, that led him to the close study of this figure and the discovery of all these fine distinctions. If he did not see Mrs. Varemberg often, as has been said, their friendship and a wholesome feeling of good-com- radeship between them were certainly renewed. Mrs. Yaremberg seemed to find an unusual content in this element that had come into her life, and an un 1886.] The aolden Justice. 43 wonted animation arising out of it per- haps accounted, on some of her well days, for an ephemeral recovery of her looks, an aspect almost of health, that was to be noted in her. She still ap- peared to Barclay, in truth, a beautiful, lovable woman. Her type, marked by its perpetual pensiveness or sadness, re- minded him of those sweet, candid, and noble figures of Raphael, of the earlier period. By some inspiration of natural grace, she seemed to him to fall always into the precise attitudes most becoming to her. She did everything with a cer- tain refined deliberation, an absence of excitability, growing partly out of her invalidism, and partly out of an innate dignity, that gave all her movements an indescribable, fascinating quality of rhythm. She bantered him about his enthusi- asms and his project, called him Watt Tyler and Caius Gracchus, pretended that he was an alarmingly incendiary person, about to upheave the foundations of society. But she was secretly pleased, notwithstanding, with all he told her; for, after living so long in darkness, apathy, distrust, and skepticism, she was disposed to be pleased with anything that was believing, strong, positive, and hope- ful. Yours is not the indulgent ear into which a reformer could pour all his pet follies, Barclay had objected, to her interest, at first. Try me, she answered gayly; you do not half know how indulgent I can be. She soon became, in fact, the trusted confidante of most of his doings. By her own wish, she one day, accompanied by her aunt, paid a visit to the Works. To Barclay she seemed to consecrate the dry, rude place, and ever after he thought better of his office, since she had blessed it with the charm of her pres- ence, since she had sat upon the high stool and toyed with the heavy ruler. You speak as one having authority. You say go, and he goeth; and come, and he cometh, she said to him in rail- lery, noting the many subordinates who came to make reports and receive orders from him, and the profound deference with which he was treated on all hands. I declare I dont know whether it is quite safe to trust you with such arbi- trary powers; I am not sure you do not begin to have an odiously overbearing way with you already. There is no pressing danger of the rise of any unnecessary conceit. And he proceeded to describe to her some of his difficulties, traditions arising out of the association with trades-unions, and the like, which the most despotic of authority could not overcome. I warn you to expect plenty of in- gratitude in all this, his young visitor cautioned him, in a mentor-like way. Ingratitude is a part of the disease; they are probably too much absorbed in their own troubles, as yet, to have much time for anything else. I look neither for gratitude nor ingratitude; I take the people as I find them. It would sometimes be much better to leave them as you found them. You may have to come to that. But I re- fuse to quarrel with you. Are you not going to show me your favorite pro- So Barclay took the ladies about, and indicated to them a few persons upon whom he had already cast an eye with a view to the improvement of their condi- tion. In the first place, there was one Martin Krieg, a small apprentice lad, black as a powder-monkey, who con- cealed a real shyness under a quaint imitation of the sur]y manner affected by some of the older workmen. Bar- clay had Martin Krieg show a speci- men of drawing he had made quite with- out instruction, and said he thought of giving the boy advantages for cultivating the decided bent he seemed to show in that direction. Next was McClary, a hollow-chested, round-shouldered young 44 The Golden Justice. [July, man, with a sickly face, who stood in a stooping position, engaged in filing brass work. He is a good workman and an hon- est fellow, said Barclay; he is tem- perate, economical, industrious with an assiduity that spares himself least of all, but look at him. He files away, like that, day in and day out; takes night work, too, whenever he can get it; and even asks for more to take home over holidays. He is killing himself by inches. Almost by feet. Why will he do it? It is a misguided ambition. It is a good enough motive at bottom; I quite appreciate it. He aspires to a shop and house of his own, and says there is no other way to get them. He married a trim, nice-looking girl, who worked in a paper-box factory. With their two small children they live in two poor rooms in a tenement-house, and his wife ekes out their scanty subsistence by tak- ing a couple of mechanic boarders. But you are not interested in these petty de- tails ? Oh, yes, I find them very interest- ing. I hear of a touch of jealousy, too, arising out of one of these boarders. The wife, fast losing her good looks, and becoming a mere drudge, was driven to seek a bit of relaxation in some quar- ter, I suppose, and let this man take her to the theatre a few times. Her hus- band was wild about it. That is one of the dangers of such a situation, I suppose? Under the pressure of his fierce ambition, McClary is probably as pe- nurious with her as with himself, and, with his poor health added, cannot be the most agreeable companion in the world. And this McClary, I want you to observe, is one of the better class of workmen. Why dont you talk to him? I have talked to him. Well, what are you going to do? What would you do? What do you advise? he asked, trying her. Raise his pay? she suggested, doubtfully. But dear me! dont ask me anything; I have nt a particle of imagination. We have stretched a point in that direction; but to pay a man more than he is really worth can be no permanent resource. Oh, this monster of political economy, how inexorable it is! Ab- solute right of every workman to sell his labor for all he can get, absolute right of every employer to buy his labor for as little as he can pay, nobody to blame, and yet what a slaughter of hap- piness and lives! The improvement of his health would seem to be the first thing to at- tend to; then, his family arrangements. Good! so it seemed to me, also. He is to be drafted into the packing- room at easier work, and I have ar- ranged to move them out of their tene- ment-house into a cottage, which they can have at even lower rent, and where they can get rid of the boarders. These may be received as fair ordi- nary examples of the way the young proprietor aimed to lend a helping hand to those who helped themselves, to ex- tend it at the proper time, and to keep his prot~g~s out of the gutter instead of waiting till they were fairly in it to raise them. If his partner, Maxwell, was disposed to criticise any of this as Un- business-like, he gladly paid the extra cost from his own pocket; and he de- fended it on the ground that, by render- ing the hands thoroughly contented, lie would bring them up to a greatly im- proved standard of efficiency, and get more work out of them than had ever been known before. There are usually characters of one sort and another in an establishment of the kind. Under this head of a character, one Fahnenstock was pre- sented to the guests. He was a slow- 1886.] The Golden Justice. 45 speaking, rusty old fellow, the veteran of the shops. In long years of service he had never become a thoroughly skilled workman, nor indeed risen but a few steps above the point at which he started. Some of em cant, said the fore- man, Akins, in explanation. It s like playin a good game o billiards, or any- thing o that kind; it takes knack; some has got it in em, and some has nt, and you cant put it there. Most of em that I deal with get just about so fur, and there they stick, and forty yoke of oxen could nt drag em an inch ahead. Akins had all the confidence of a rudely successful man, and showed but little patience with his less efficient and less fortunate brethren. It s no trick at all to get a livin, said he. It s never been so to me; I ye always found it easy enough. There s parties round here, with a crazy German paper, that tells the men it is nt, and they ought to strike, and make folks thats got more than they have divide up with em. My idee is that that style o papers ought to be shut up. I spose, though, it s a good deal like blowin off powder in an open lot; it cant hurt no~ body. Hoolan, over there, indicating a saturnine-looking man at a work-bench, is one o them red-flag fellers. Foreman Akins went on to say, fur- thermore, that, in his belief, things were better for the workingman when times were rather hard and wages compara- tively low. He knows he cant get a place most anywheres, then, said he, and he sticks to the one he has. You can depend onto him more; he tends steadier to his work; and if he dont make quite so much money, he dont drink up so much o what he has got as when times is flush. Old Fahuenstock, being induced to talk, aired, among other things, some peculiar religious views of his own. His cardinal doctrine was the speedy de- struction of the world. He would ar gue this topic by the hour, expounding from the law and the prophets and chief- ly the prophet Daniel. The beast with the ten horns, the one with teeth and claws of iron, the little horn that sprung out from the greater, the ram that pushed against the west, Alexander, C~esar, Napoleon, the Pope, the Sul- tan, and the Czar, all had their place in his system, together with contemporary portents of all kinds, great and small. I dont see how we can last longer than this year or next any way, he said. The Rooshian is going to drive the Turk out o Europe. Aint he doin it now? And aint it as clear as crystAl that that s the last warnin sign? His comrades reported that he had more than once already fixed the date, and gone up on the roof of his board- ing-house and flapped his arms in imita- tion of wings, endeavoring to fly, but part of this may have been only their waggish invention. In curious contrast with his dismal prognostics for the universe was his desire to possess a certain small house and bit of land at White-Fish Bay. It was an aspiration for which he had long hoarded his savings; he meant to fish, to cultivate vegetahles there, and make the spot the retreat of his old age, when he should retire from the factory. This small property, sometimes in the mar- ket, and then withdrawn again, had ad- vanced in value at an unequal pace with his accumulations, so that it kept al- ways about a thousand dollars ahead of him. I should like to ha married, too, if it was 50 s I could. I cant say I ye ever had what I should ha considered the best in this world, he went on, with a kind of patient smile that Mrs. Varem- berg considered pathetic. They call them improvident that plunges into it whether or no, but sometimes I ye thought may be 1 d better hen improv- ident, too; there s just about so much trouble to live through, no matter which 46 The Golden Justice. [July, way you fix it. But all that s too late now, for an old party like me. Oh, I m sure, Mr. Falinenstock, you re still a very young-looking, hand- some man, protested Mrs. Varemberg. Well, marm, said the veteran, much pleased, at least, if not convinced, I m glad there s them as thinks so. I sup- pose it would nt do for us to have things just as we wanted em in this mundane spear, or we would nt want to leave it. But I tell you thats got to be done pretty quick now, and in short order, too. The talk was rather more sober when they went over next to Hoolan, de- scrihed as one of the red-flag fellers. He was a small, spare man, with high cheek-bones, and a skin yellowed as by jaundice. He was distrustful and dis- posed, at first, to waive all discussion. He thought it idle, so far as the conver- sion was concerned of persons with such fixed and supercilious opinions as these must necessarily have, and also person- ally dangerous for one in his situation. He was lured into it by pleasant arts and small controversial traps slyly set for him by Mrs. Yaremberg. When asked as to the condition and prospec- tive future of the laboring man, he had but a gloomy picture to draw. The mechanic dont live out half his days, he said. He s old before his time, good for nothing to work, and ready to be planted away, just about the time when others is gettin ready to live. Look at Fahnenstock. He aint fifty yet, but you d take him for sev- enty. And how is old age provided for? Mrs. Varemberg inquired. It aint provided for. If he has had a family to bring up, he has nt had no chance to save anything; and, by that time, his children have all they can do to take care of themselves, without him. So when he is too old to work, he s turned out to starve. May be he gets a light place somewhere as night-watch- man for a while, but more like he goes to the poorhouse. What means had you thought of by which things could be made better? Congress ought to pass a law. He was evidently unwilling to let out any of the more violent socialistic theo- ries he was said to entertain. What kind of a law? A law to give every man a fair days wages for a fair days work. Would that not be a rather difficult matter for Congress to determine? Yes, made up of money kings, as it is now: hut the workin classes has got to get control of legislation themselves. Labor has got to be unified and stand together. Hoolan went on to complain of piecework as an agency particularly hard on the men, and largely responsible for their crippled condition. It over- stimulated effort, he said, drove them up to an impossible standard of perform- ance. The employers would try it long enough to find out what they could do, and then, returning to the old plan, tried to make this the rule for an ordi- nary days work; and so the pressure was increasing to an intolerable degree, while wages as constantly declined. I had often wondered what became of the older mechanics, said Mrs. Var- emberg; you so rarely see any of them about. No, you dont hardly ever see no old mechanics, responded the saturnine Hoolan; all you see is young ones, precious young and frisky. I m sure I dont half see what it s all about, said Mrs. Clinton, wearily, as they went away; but Mrs. Yarem- berg carried with her a keen interest in these men, and a new appreciation of the problem, that made her a much more valuable assistant to Barclay. William Henry Bishop. 1886.] Ouida. 47 OUIDA. IT is no light thing to be a popular writer; and when one has been a pop- ular writer for twenty-five years, more or less, and, under whatever variety and severity of protest, is quite as much read as ever at the end of that time, the phenomenon is undoubtedly worthy of attention. So much I take to be strict- ly true of the indefatigable novelist who calls herself by the curious name of Guida. Everybody reads her twenty or thirty books. The critic reads with a shrug, and the moralist with a sigh; the grave student with an apology, and the railway traveler with an ostenta- tious yawn; the school-girl (I mean, of course, the modern, unfettered school- girl) with bated breath and shining eyes, and the bank clerk and the lady help with nameless thrills of envious rapture. The professional translators must watch, one would think, every stroke of this industrious ladys pen, and quarrel, among themselves, for the privilege of extending to the remote barbarian the boon to which the Eng- lish-speaking races alone are born. And still there are no symptoms of failure in the abundant fountain (it would be more correct, perhaps, to say soda-foun- tam) from which these highly colored and sharply effervescent waters are drawn. Crowds always come to quaff the sparkling beverage, asking no ques- tions, for conscience sake, about the chemistry by which it is produced. The old sip for a wonder, and the young for a sign. Let us try and discover why and for what end. I will premise that this inquiry is go- ing to be, primarily and chiefly, a search for merits, rather than a citation of de- fects. There is very much reason to believe that this is in all cases the true method of criticism: to get inside of a subject, and then work outward; to fath om the character of the mind, if one can, before endeavoring to judge the pro- duction. It may not be altogether easy for a plain mortal, with no finer imple- ment than a steel pen, to put herself in Onidas place, but it ought, by all means, to be attempted. And first it may be remarked that in the general type of her tales she is real- ly the heir, and the legitimate heir, of very high traditions. She is by nature a flagrant romanticist; but so was Scott a romanticist, and Dumas pare and De la Motte Fouqud, and Lord Lytton and Lord Beaconsfield, and George Sand and Victor Hugo, and Jane Porter and the authoress of Thomas Thyrnau, and eke G. P. R. James. To be classifiable with such names, even to be at the foot of such a class, is to be a member of no mean school. Walter Scott is of course the master, as he was, in time, the precursor, and he must ever remain, by virtue of his historic divination, his glorious humor, and his healthful and virile moral sense, far and away the no- blest Roman of them all. But there are traces of his method and reflections of his spirit in every one of the writers I have named, and in a good many oth- ers, less than the least of these, who have, nevertheless, been able, for a mo- ment each, to catch the popular ear. They are all free, and profess to make their readers free, of a world of ardent love and furious war; of vast riches and dazzling pomp; of heroic virtues and brutal crimes; of consummate personal beauty, flower-like, fairy-like, god-like, as the case may be; of tremendous ad- ventures, enormous windfalls, crushing catastrophes, and miraculous escapes. High color, strong contrasts, loud music, and thrilling sensations ( I can do the big bow-wow style myself with any now going, says Scott, in his gallant and

Harriet Waters Preston Preston, Harriet Waters Ouida 47-58

1886.] Ouida. 47 OUIDA. IT is no light thing to be a popular writer; and when one has been a pop- ular writer for twenty-five years, more or less, and, under whatever variety and severity of protest, is quite as much read as ever at the end of that time, the phenomenon is undoubtedly worthy of attention. So much I take to be strict- ly true of the indefatigable novelist who calls herself by the curious name of Guida. Everybody reads her twenty or thirty books. The critic reads with a shrug, and the moralist with a sigh; the grave student with an apology, and the railway traveler with an ostenta- tious yawn; the school-girl (I mean, of course, the modern, unfettered school- girl) with bated breath and shining eyes, and the bank clerk and the lady help with nameless thrills of envious rapture. The professional translators must watch, one would think, every stroke of this industrious ladys pen, and quarrel, among themselves, for the privilege of extending to the remote barbarian the boon to which the Eng- lish-speaking races alone are born. And still there are no symptoms of failure in the abundant fountain (it would be more correct, perhaps, to say soda-foun- tam) from which these highly colored and sharply effervescent waters are drawn. Crowds always come to quaff the sparkling beverage, asking no ques- tions, for conscience sake, about the chemistry by which it is produced. The old sip for a wonder, and the young for a sign. Let us try and discover why and for what end. I will premise that this inquiry is go- ing to be, primarily and chiefly, a search for merits, rather than a citation of de- fects. There is very much reason to believe that this is in all cases the true method of criticism: to get inside of a subject, and then work outward; to fath om the character of the mind, if one can, before endeavoring to judge the pro- duction. It may not be altogether easy for a plain mortal, with no finer imple- ment than a steel pen, to put herself in Onidas place, but it ought, by all means, to be attempted. And first it may be remarked that in the general type of her tales she is real- ly the heir, and the legitimate heir, of very high traditions. She is by nature a flagrant romanticist; but so was Scott a romanticist, and Dumas pare and De la Motte Fouqud, and Lord Lytton and Lord Beaconsfield, and George Sand and Victor Hugo, and Jane Porter and the authoress of Thomas Thyrnau, and eke G. P. R. James. To be classifiable with such names, even to be at the foot of such a class, is to be a member of no mean school. Walter Scott is of course the master, as he was, in time, the precursor, and he must ever remain, by virtue of his historic divination, his glorious humor, and his healthful and virile moral sense, far and away the no- blest Roman of them all. But there are traces of his method and reflections of his spirit in every one of the writers I have named, and in a good many oth- ers, less than the least of these, who have, nevertheless, been able, for a mo- ment each, to catch the popular ear. They are all free, and profess to make their readers free, of a world of ardent love and furious war; of vast riches and dazzling pomp; of heroic virtues and brutal crimes; of consummate personal beauty, flower-like, fairy-like, god-like, as the case may be; of tremendous ad- ventures, enormous windfalls, crushing catastrophes, and miraculous escapes. High color, strong contrasts, loud music, and thrilling sensations ( I can do the big bow-wow style myself with any now going, says Scott, in his gallant and 48 Ouida. [July, charming tribute to Jane Austen) are the common properties of them all, and there can be no question that the aver- age human reader has a natural relish for such things, which is bound to grat- ify itself even when, as happens at the present moment, they are decidedly out of the literary fashion. We smile at the perfumed baths and jeweled hair- brushes of Ouidas young guardsmen; at the cataracts of diamonds which descend from the shoulders of her heroines when they go to the ball, and the curtains of rose-colored Genoa velvet, edged with old Venice point, which the valet or the maid will draw noiselessly aside, in or- der to let the noontide sun steal in upon her jaded revelers on the morning after a festivity. But Chandos himself is not more expensive in his habits than ILothair, and the ecstatic sibilation, like that of a child over a stick of candy, with which Ouida dilates on the luxu- ries which surround her favorites is par- alleled, to say the least, by the solemn rapture of the great statesman before the stock-in-trade of a fashionable jew- eler. The worship of wealth is vulgar and demoralizing, yet it is not absolute- ly and entirely vulgar. It is a possible root of all evil, but it is not the one, sole root, and even the apostle never meant to say that it was. It marches, as we used to say of the boundaries of a country, with very noble things, the supreme splendors of art, the possibili- ties of a vast beneficence. The trans- ference of wealth from one person to another is apt to be dizzying to him who gains no less than acutely uncomforta- ble to him who loses, but it is a natural, healthful, inevitable process. The abso- lute annihilation of wealth in fire, flood, or siege is a universal calamity. Riches mere giddy, golden riches, such as Ouida and the romanticists generally so constitutionally dote upon have al- ways played a great part in the moral development of mankind, and were prob- ably intended, from the beginning, so to do. They are for the possession of the few and the edification of the many; and whoever succeeds, whether by ar- gument or parable, in reconciling the minds of men to the fact that wealth must be where civilization is, but cannot be for all; whoever helps the many, in their need, to acquiesce in the abun- dance of the few, will have done more for his kind than all the socialists. The conception of Ouida as a moralist of this magnanimous type is doubtless a humorous one, and any good she may do in this direction will probably be in- direct and involuntary. The great, un- interesting middle class comes in for very little of her consideration; but of the lot of the extremely poor the pos- itively or possibly suffering poor she is not ignorant nor forgetful, as I shall have occasion to show, by and by. Meanwhile, it may be observed in her favor that at least she shows herself a better political economist than the far greater writer with whom we have just compared her. She does set some limit to the wealth even of her most opulent hero. After having handsomely en- dowed him with home estates as noble as any in England, a house in Park Lane, a hotel on the Champs-Elys6es, a toy villa at Richmond, and a summer palace on the Bosphorus, beside a yacht, kept always in sailing order, and servants accustomed to travel into Mexico or Asia Minor at a moments notice, she does, nevertheless, own him subject to the law which entails pecu- niary ruin upon the man whose expen- diture is exactly four times as great as his income; and he starves, when the time comes, with as much distinction as he had previously squandered. For Lothair, as for Monte Christo, no ruin is possible. Their investments are in the infinite. But then Disraeli and Dumas were not romanticists, merely, but idealists, while Guidas imagination, vigorous though it be, and prolific, sel- dom rises to really poetic heights. 1886.] Ouida. 49 It is genuine imagination, however, and takes one well away from the stuf- finess of the mere society column, which is all the small-fry of the later school seem to aspire to. Let us take as a fair illustration of her earlier man- ner of the period when she was wholly untrammeled by probability, and un- vexed, apparently, by more than the very slightest ezperience of life, or a super- ficial knowledge of books Idalia. In the first place, we have for a hero the penniless Scotch lord, in his mouldering tower: a man of kingly stature and fal- con eye, of indomitable pride and im- measurable descent, and of unparalleled prowess in the pursuit and slaughter whether of beasts or men. A coarse variation upon Ravenswood, indeed, but infinitely better than that daft creature Macleod of Dare, in that he lives and breathes, has wits and uses them. It was a rather happy thought, also, to name him Ercildoune, after the Rhymer; and though we are half tempted to abandon him in disgust, when we meet him in a Paris caf6, wringing the am- ber Moselle from his long mustaches, yet we are willing to believe, what is in itself a tribute to her creative power, that the vulgarity is the authors rather than her heros, and we decide, upon the whole, that we would like to know more about him. And we are sincerely glad that we have done so, when it comes to following the gallant Scot in his wild night ride, as bearer of dis- patches down the lonely Roumanian pass, and in that Homeric fight of his with the men who lay in ambush for him behind the fallen pine. The whole thing is magnificently described, and carries the reader along with something like the breathless credulity of his most tender years, up to the point where the queens messenger flings his precious papers into the foaming stream, and bares his bosom to the bullets of six thoroughly armed foes. How could he have escaped death, since they all fired, VOL. LVIII. NO. 34~i. 4 i$z bout portant? But escape he did, of course, though left for finished by his cowardly assailants; for are we not still in the first half of the first of the three mystic volumes? The dazzling crea- ture, robed in Eastern silks and blazing with Golconda gems, who found him, and had him conveyed for treatment to the skillful sisters of the white convent upon the mountain side, was no Yalkyria, come to unlock the warriors paradise, but a living woman, very handsome, nat- urally, and altogether most interesting and extraordinary. I must confess to a weakness for Idalia. As the ubiquitous genius of the Revolution in Europe a generation ago, the airy and beautiful head-centre of countless republican plots, with millions at the beck of her fairy fingers, luring peoples to revolt, and nerving individuals to the most enthu- siastic self-sacrifice, she seems to me far more boldly and successfully conceived than the renowned Mary Ann of the author of Lothair. Just what manner of woman Idalia was, personally, the author has been at such elaborate pains to tell us that it is somewhat difficult to determine. Here are a few of her precious indications: The reverse of Eug6nie de Gu6rin, who was always hoping to live and nev- er lived, she had lived only too much and too vividly. She had had pleasure in it, power in it, triumph in it; but now the perfume and the effervescence of the wine had evaporated. There was bitterness in the cup, and a canker in the roses that crowned its brim, for she was not free. Like the Palmyrean queen, she felt her fetters underneath the roses. At last she rose; she knew how many would visit her during the day, and she was, besides, no lover of idle dreams and futile regret. Brilliant as Aspasia and classically cultured as loYse, she was not one to let her days drift on in inaction. . . . No days were long for her, even now that she rebelled against the tenor and purport of her life. 50 Ouida. The riddle of the Sphinx can have been nothing to that of a lady who is comparable, in the same breath, to Eu- genie de Gu~rin, Zenobia, Aspasia, and H~loise. Yet, somehow, as in the case of Ercildoune, with whom she is fairly and, in the end, happily matched, the creature is so instinct with life and emo- tion that we believe in her, in spite of this pompous and foolish description. The suggestion, for instance, that she was not free is proved, by the event of the story, to do her gross injustice. It is a particularly vile suggestion, in this case, and may serve as text for a few disagreeable remarks which must inevitably be made, sooner or later, by any one attempting a fair appreciation of Ouida. Her ideal of vice is as fan- tastic and exaggerated as all her other ideals. She appears to have the same sort of diseased fancy for it which some people have for strong and foul odors. She would seem early to have adopted into her theory of life the following principle, which she enunciates clearly enough somewhere in Chandos, and which contains just the grain of truth calculated to make it thoroughly perni- cious The age rants too much against the passions. From them spring things that are vile, but without them life were stag- nant and heroic action dead. Storms destroy, but storms purify. Starting from this premise, and ac- companied erelong, it must be confessed, by a goodly number of those who claim to constitute the age, she proceeds to a sort of glorification of sensuality. She has the honor of having, to some ex- tent, anticipated Zola. She is eager to inform us that all her very noblest heroes, even one who, like Chandos, is made capable of sparing and forgiving a most malignant foe, have been at one time or another steeped in degrading indulgence. N or is ordinary sensuality sufficient for her. Adultery is often too pale, and she must needs hint at [July, something worse. She makes Idalia consent to pass for the mistress of her own father, and alarms Chandos with the ghastly idea that he may have been making love to a daughter of his. Doubt- less her vaulting ambition to portray these ecstasies of crime oerleaps itself, and suggests the idea that she may really be as ignorant of the world of men as she must be of that of letters, when she talks of poems half Lucre- tian and half Catullan, and is reminded how Dante walked the streets of Flor- ence five hundred centuries ago. The apologists of Lord Byron have some- times made a similar claim for him, namely, that his worst passages, his most utterly infamous intimations, were rather the freaks of a diseased fancy than the record of disgusting facts; but far distant be the time when it shall not seem specially monstrous for a woman to call for this kind of defense. Let Idalia stand as the type of the half dozen voluminous tales which be- long to the period when Onida was a romanticist pure et simple. It is the ablest, upon the whole, although there may be those who prefer the buoyant and beaming naughtiness of Under Two Flags to the rather reckless display of lofty sentiments and grand heroics which marks the earlier volume. Taken al- together, these books reveal a truly re- markable wealth of invention and no mean constructive power; an ability, which may well challenge our admira- tion, to conceive an almost endless va- riety of striking figures and picturesque situations, combined with an indepen- dence of conventionalities, whether mor- al or literary, which moves one to some- thing like awe. These books have, moreover, beside their intrinsic qualities, a certain interest in the history of fiction, as constituting, along with Lothair and perhaps My Novel and What Will He Do With It? as well as the earlier efforts of Guidas direct imitators, Miss Braddon, Mrs. Wood, etc., the very last 1886.] Ouida. 51 of the strictly romantic novels which can have been written in entire good faith upon the authors part. The times were changing rapidly in the years when these tales appeared, and it was inevitable that a mind as active and im- pressionable as Ouidas should change its tune and method in them. She was born, like all the restless and imagina- tive souls of our day who remember the forties, to the ardent and confident belief in a cause: and that was the cause of civil freedom, the propagation of the American idea, the emancipation of Europes oppressed peoples from the supposed tyranny of their effete kings, the cause of which Kossuth and Mazzini were the prophets, Lamartine the poet - laureate, and Garibaldi the doughty champion. That cause was by no means lost, still less was it admitted by its adherents to be lost, at the time when Ouida began to write. The clouds of glory which the century had trailed from its tumultuous in- fancy were still faintly rosy, but they were destined to be pretty thoroughly dissolved in the light of common day during its sixth and seventh decades. France kissed the rod of the unprinci- pled oppressor, and settled down, un- der her handsome new chains, to a sea- son of material prosperity and physical comfort which she has secretly regretted ever since it came to its inevitable end. Hungary, the haughty and intractable, also seized her opportunity to sign, on advantageous terms, a compact with her mortal foe. Italy alone had apparently remained true to her vivid colors, had broken her yoke and ousted her foreign invader, and set up for a free and united nation, vowed to modern ideas. Inci- dents of the war of Italian independence are very effectively worked in with the d~not2ment of several of Ouidas earlier and more exuberant romances, Idalia among them. The authoress had, by this time, elected to make Italy her home, and in some sort of very sincere fashion, albeit with much music and parade, had formally given her heart and plighted her troth to that endearing country. I believe the love which this queer genius bears to Italy to be an en- tirely genuine and disinterested senti- ment, as much so, perhaps, as any of which she is capable. Those books of hers which, like Pascarel, Signa, and In Maremma, may be classed under the head of Italian idyls do really teem with something resembling the large, lawless, unkempt, and yet impassioned beauty of the land itself, while the chronic and patiently borne misery of a large pro- portion of the Italian population fires her with a sort of wrathful pity, which in its turn moves her reader to honest sympathy with herself. Moreover, she feels the picturesque of Italy in every fibre; and if she is open to the charge of always writing more or less had Rus- kinese when she essays to depict it, which of us who were brought up on the Modern Painters can cast the first stone? There are real artistic verity and poetic feeling in such pictures as this of the Blue Grotto at Capri Perfect stillness, perfect peace, filled only with the low and murmuring sound of many waters; a beauty not of land nor of sea, sublime and spiritual as that marvelous azure light that seemed to still and change all pulse and hue of life itself; a sepulchre and yet a Paradise, where the world was dead, but the spirit of God moved on the face of the wa- ters. And this, of the olive For the olive is always mournful. It is, amid trees, like the opal amid jew- els. Its foliage, its flowers, its fruits, are all colorless. It shivers softly, as though it were cold, even on those sun- bathed hills. It seems forever to say, Peace, peace, where there is no peace, and to be weary because that whereof it is the emblem has been banished from the earth, because men delight in war. 52 Ouida. [July, And this, on the never - to - be - hack- neyed subject of Rome Rome is terrible in her old age. It is the old age of a mighty murderess of men. About her there is ever the scent of death, the abomination of desolation. She was, in the days of her power and sorcery, a living lie. She called herself the mother of free men, and she con- ceived only slaves. The shame of her and the sin cling to her still, and the blood which she has shed makes heavy the air which she respires. Her head is crowned with ashes, and her lips, as they mutter of dead days, breathe pes- tilence. And this, of the region round Signa, and the stern aspect of winter upon the Tuscan hills There is wild weather in winter at Signa. The mountain streams brim over, and the great historic river sweeps out in full flood, and the bitter Alpine wind tears, like a living thing, over the hills and across the plain. Not seldom the low-lying fields become sheets of dull, tawny water, and the little hamlets among them are all flooded; and from the clock-towers the tolling bells cry aloud for succor, while the low, white houses seem to float like boats. In these winters, if the harvest before have been bad, the people suffer much. They have little or no bread, and they eat the raw grass, even, sometimes. The country looks like a lake when the floods are on; only for ships there are churches, and the light-houses are the trees, and, like rocky islands, in all directions, the village roofs and the villa walls gleam red and shine gray, in the rain. It is only a short winter, and the people know that when the floods rise and spread they will find compensation, later on, for them in the doubled richness of grass and measure of corn. Still, it is hard to see the finest steer of the herd dashed a lifeless, dun-colored mass against the foaming piles of the bridge; it is hard to see the young trees and the stacks of hay whirled together against each other; it is hard to watch the broken crucifix and the cottage bed hurled like dead leaves on the waste of waters; it is hardest of all to see the little curly head of a dead child drift with the boughs, and the she~p, and the empty hen-coop, and the torn house-door, down the furious course of the river. . There are beautiful hills in this country, steep and bold, and formed chiefly of limestone and sand- stone, covered all over with gum-cystus and thyme and wild roses and myrtle, with low-growing laurels, and tall cy- presses, and boulders of stone, and old thorn-trees, and flocks of nightingales al- ways, and the little sad-voiced owl that was beloved of Shelley. Brunos farm- stead was on one of these hills; half the hill was cultivated and the other half was wild, and on its height was an old, gray, mighty place, once the palace of a cardinal, and where there now dwelt the steward of the soil on which Bruno had been born. His cottage was a large, low, white building, with a red roof and a great arched door, and a sun-dial on the wall, and a group of cypresses be- hind and a big walnut-tree before it. There was an old well, with some broken sculpture; some fowls scratching under the fig-boughs; a pig hunting for roots in the bare, black earth. Behind it stretched the wild hillside, and in front a great slope of fields and vineyards; and far below them, in the distance, the valley, and the river, and the bridge, with the high crest of upper Signa and the low-lying wall-towers of the Lastra on either side of the angry waters. When, now and then, a traveler or painter strayed thither, and said that it was beautiful, Bruno smiled, glad be.. cause it was his own country, that was all. But Italy was destined to do more for Ouida, as an artist, in the larger sense of the word, than to satisfy her ideal of the beautiful in landscape. An experi- ence was reserved for her there, or, more 1886.] Ouida. 53 probably, a series of experiences, which vastly enlarged her knowledge of living men and women, and corrected, rudely perhaps, but effectually, her notions of civilized human society in the nineteenth century. Whatever one may think of the spirit in which it is conceived, there can be no doubt that the book which goes by the sarcastic name of Friend- ship marks a distinct intellectual ad- vance on the part of the author. In it she clears at one leap the bounds which divide the romantic from the realistic school, and comes down on her old Peg- asus, indeed, and with plumes all flying, among the grim observers of our disillu- sioned latter day. Friendship is indu- bitably coarse and crude in parts, but there is no part of it which is not pre- eminently readable, and this is more than can be said of some of the in- nocuous idyls. As for the identifica- tions with real people, over which all tongues were busy, for a time, in the city where the scene of Friendship is supposed to be laid, the critic has ab- solutely nothing to do with them. He who will may see a bit of enraptured self-portraiture in the superfine figure of the peerless Etoile. Strictly speaking, the reader is concerned only with the fact that, though the painting is some- what overcharged, the figure is really one of extraordinary grace; while there is a certain penetration and subtlety in the analysis of Etoiles nature to which, for whatever reason, the author had not previously come near attaining. How profoundly and unsparingly studied, how consummately, if maliciously, painted, are the figures of Lady Joan Challoner and Prince loris! Each is almost a new type for the jaded devotee of fic- tion, and each leaves behind a singularly vivid memory. The intimate mixture of love and scorn with which Onida seems to regard the entire Italian peo- ple is raised to the power of a con- suming passion in her portraiture of loris: the gentlest and most helpless of aristocrats; the tenderest, falsest, and most worthless of lovers; the refined, sorrowful, indolent clairvoyant, ap- pealing and exasperating, fascinating and contemptible, representative of a thor- oughly exhausted patrician stock. The picture drawn in Friendship of the for- eign colony in a Continental city, its fri- volity and irresponsibility, its meanness, moral and pecuniary, its prostrate sub- serviency to rank, and its pest of para- sitic toadies and busybodies, is without doubt an ugly one: but it does resem- ble the real thing, alas! and is not very grossly caricatured; and if it have power to dissuade one individual, with strong home ties and affections arid an appre- ciable stake in life, one who is not driven away by the positive compulsion of cir- cumstances, from deciding to expatriate himself, it will not have been dashed off in vain. The note of sound reality, which Ouida touches almost for the first time in Friendship, continues to vibrate more or less perceptibly through all her sub- sequent productions; checking their ex- travagance, reducing their feverish tem- perature, regulating by the laws, at least, of remote probability their often insane and occasionally indecent action, impart- ing form and unity to her facile and rapid compositions. Enamored of gold and purple she still is, and always will be, but she has evidently learned some- thing of the beauty of nuances and the value of alloy. She has by no means ceased to dote upon princes and dukes, but she acknowledges them to be human. She fixes her eyes unwinkingly upon their glories, and dares even to analyze and to judge them. Her Othmars, her Wandas, her Princess Napraxines, en- dure the limitations and pay the debts of our common humanity. Often en- tangled in the snares of fine writing, still she succeeds in freeing herself wholly from them at times, and shows herself mistress, for pages in succession, of a clear, nervous, telling style. Gm- 54 Ouida. [July, niscience is not quite as much her foi- ble as formerly. Her mania for allu- sive and universal quotation has plainly, subsided; and her teeming ideas, wheth- er caught from the reviews of books or the hearsay of learned conversation, have become so far clarified and classi- fied that it would no longer be possible for her to write, His eyes dwelt on Trevenna with a strange wistfulness, a look which mute- ly said, Is it thee, Brutus? Or, He glanced at his butterflies as he chattered, and saw that the pin was en- tering their souls like iron. Or, In physics he did not believe; he never touched them. Air and sea-water were his sole physicians. Or, When a name is on the public mouth, the public nostril likes to smell a foulness in it. (!) Yet more notably, however, does this really shrewd and many - sided writer show the corrective touch of an enlarged experience, the worth of serious obser- vation and reflection upon palpable facts, in the development of what may be called her civic instinct; her power of appreciating the economic and political conditions which actually come under her eyes, and of estimating the probable results of their natural evolution. Al- ready, in the flowery Jpop6e of Idalia, amid the hymns and the fanfares, the alarums and excursions, and the gener- ally light, scenic, and, so to speak, dec- orative treatment of a vast and blind popular upheaval, there had occurred the following bit of acute criticism on one of the time-honored traditions of in- ternational policy in Europe. It is when there is a question of pecuniary recom- pense to the sublime Ercildoune, for having all but lost his own life through saving the Queens secret, in that fine scene in the Roumanian pass, to which allusion has already been made If you 11 pardon my saying so, I dont admire that system of indemnifi- cation, pursued Ercildoune. A single scoundrel, or a gang of scoundrels, com- mits an insult, as in this case, on Eng- land, or some other great power, through the person of her representative, or per- haps merely through the person of one of her people. The state to which the rascals belong is heavily mulcted, by way of penalty. Who suffers? Not the guilty, but the unhappy multitude, peasants, traders, farmers, citizens, gen- tlemen, all innocent, who pay the taxes and the imposts. Of an outrage on a great power, if accidentally com- mitted on a traveler by a horde of thieves, you take no notice whatever. If one were obviously done as a polit- ical insult, you would declare war. But when the thing happens in a small state, she is punished by an enormous fine, which half ruins her, for a crime which she could no more prevent than you could help, in Downing Street, the last wreckers murder which took place in Cornwall. Pardon me again, but I fail to see the justice or the dignity of the system; and, for myself, when my own conviction is that the assassins who stopped me were not Moldavians at all, what compensation could it be to me to have the money wrung from a million or two of guiltless people, whose country the cowards chose to select as their field? If you want to avenge me, track these das- tards, and give them into my power. This is only a bit of reflex action, to be sure, the gleam of an uncommonly lucid interval, an involuntary cry of common sense; but it foreshadows the powers of sharp insight and independent judgment which Onida was destined to develop, after her revolutionary revels were ended, and she had settled down to the face-to-face observance of the first results of political emancipation in her beloved Italy. She had expected to as- sist at an apotheosis; had dreamed of the brilliant exit from its dusty chrysalis 1886.] Ouida. 55 of a regenerated and rejuvenated nation; of the triumph, self-decreed, of an en- tire people; of a procession as long as Italy; and of a laurel crown for her own ilowing locks, very likely, upon the Cap- itol. She found herself partaker in a sordid and dismal disappointment. Lov- ing the Italian lower class, especially in Tuscany, as who can help loving who has ever lived among or been served by them ? loving them with all their faults, and the better, almost, for the childlike character of a good many of their faults, she could not fail soon to perceive that they, at least, were no great gainers by the change which had transferred them from the mild, hap-hazard surveillance of the amiable last Grand Dukes to the hands of the fussy and rapacious bu- reaucracy which meddles with all their humble affairs in the name of United Italy. There were indications, both in Pascarel and in Signa, that her sym- pathy with these helpless and obscure victims of modern progress might, some day, get the better of her self-conscious- ness, and sharpen her busy pen to a more stinging point than that, even, which had recorded the treachery of loris and the despair of Etoile. Finally, in the Village Commune, she brings her formal indictment against the present Italian government, and a tremendous indict- ment it is. The sad and simple intrigue of the book, the story of the poor, in- significant folk, whose minute means of subsistence were destroyed, their hopes crushed, and their lives quite ruined, be- cause their lot happened to lie in the path- way of the big, new governmental ma- chine, is told with great terseness and sim- plicity, for Guida. It merely illustrates and is quite subordinate to the political purpose of the Village Commune, which is, to say the truth, rather a pamphlet than a novel. Let the reader listen for a little to the erewhile flowery and lan- guishing romanticist, in this new vein of hers. It will at least give him a re- spectful notion of her versatility. Tyranny is a safe amusement, in this liberated country. Italian law is based on the Code Napoleon, and the Code Napoleon is, perhaps, the most in- genious mechanism for human torture that the human mind ever constructed. In the cities, its use for torment is not quite so easy, because where there are crowds there is always fear of riot; and besides, there are horrid things called newspapers, and~ citizens wicked and daring enough to write in them. But away in the country, the embellished and filtered Code Napoleon can work like a steam-plough; there is nobody to appeal, and nobody to appeal to; the people are timid and perplexed; they are as defenseless as sheep in the hands of the shearer; they are frightened at the sight of the printed papers and the carabiniers sword; there is nobody to tell them that they have any rights, and, besides, rights are very expensive lux- uries anywhere, and cost as much to take care of as a carriagehorse. The public creates the bureaucracy, and is eaten up by it: it is the old story of Saturn and his sons. Messer Gas- pardo was a very insignificant item of the European bureaucracy, it is true, but he was big enough to swallow the commune of Vezzaja and Ghiralda. Government, according to Messer Nellemane, and many greater public men have thought the same before him, was a delicate and elaborate machin- ery for getting everything out of the public that could be got. The public was a kid to be skinned, a grape to be squeezed, a sheep to be shorn; the pub- lic was to be managed, cajoled, bullied, put in the press, made wine of, in a word, wine for the drinking of Messer Nellemane. He was only a clerk, in- deed, with a slender salary, but he had the soul of a statesman. When a don- key kicks, beat it; when it dies, skin it: so only will it profit you. That was his opinion, and the public was the don- key of Messer Nellemane. 56 Ouida. [July, Messer Gaspardo INellemane stopped, espying, as I have said, that thing whose sight was beatitude and yet exasperation to him, a contravention. He had made a code of little by-laws, all brand new and of his own invention. He thought administration should be persecution. If it did not perpetually assert itself, who would respect it? He had made everything punishable that could possibly be distorted into requir- ing punishment. Every commune has the right to make its own by-laws, and Messer Gaspardo had framed about three hundred and ninety; and the Giunta, sleepily and indifferently, had assented to them, and the worshipful Syndic Cavaliere Durellazzo had looked them over and said, Va bene; va benissimo! And so, in Santa Rosalia, all the secretarys regulations had been adopted and had become law. Quite recently, he had incorporated into these regulations the law that nobody should cut reeds in the Rosa without permis- sion of and payment to the commune. L~tat, cest moi, and its pocket is mine, too, was always in the thoughts of ~esser Nellemane. So the fountain became a thing of the past, and the labor for its destruc- tion was entered, for a considerable sum, in the communal expenses, under the head of Works for the salubrity and decoration of Santa Rosalia. An ugly waste ground, filled with nettles and rubbish, was all the people got in its place; and as for the old stones, some people did say they were r& rected in a rich Russians villa, fifty miles away, Messer Gaspardo knowing the reason why. A gardener of the neighborhood swore to his neighbors that he had seen them there, and that he had heard they were the carved work of a great ancient sculptor. But Messer Nellemane said they had all been broken up to mend the roads, and had been of no value for aught else whatever. And so the sub- ject had dropped, as most inquiries into public wrongs or the expenditure of pub- lic money do drop; and though Santa Rosalia mourned for its lost fountain, it mourned altogether in vain, and the Giunta unanimously considered that the piazza looked very much better bare. Both trees and fountain begat humidity, they thought, and why should they not do in Rosalia just what was doing in Rome? The law should be a majesty, sol- emn, awful, unerring, just, as man hopes that God is just; and, from its throne, it should stretch out a mighty hand to seize and grasp the guilty, and the guilty only. But when the law is only a petty, meddlesome, cruel, greedy spy, mingling in every household act and peering in at every window-pane, then the poor, who are guiltless, would be justified if they spat in its face, and called it by its right name, a foul ex- tortion. . . - The Inquisitors are dead, but their souls live again in the impie- gati. This is a one-sided statement of the case, doubtless, but there is no denying that it is a remarkably able one. It is said to have had the result of adding a decided element of romantic insecurity to the audacious ladys own residence in Signa, and to have so exasperated the powers that be as to make them look back, with unavailing regret, to the summary way, with its assailants, of the rigime which theirs has displaced. Oth- er liberal-minded foreigners, long resi- dent in Italy, not so sensational and impassioned as Onida, and better in- structed, perhaps, in the countless diffi- culties of practical administration, will admit that there is too much truth in the Village Commune, even while they smile at its extravagance, and point to the fact that if the Tuscan peasant was happy and contented in his poverty un-. der the Grand Dukes, it was because his pet peccadilloes were all blandly over- looked, and none but political offenses were punished at all; while he lent his 57 1886.] Ouida. foolish voice as loudly as any to the plJbiscite which decreed their expulsion. My own impression is that in the more guarded and temperate re-affirmations of Guidas appendix to the book in ques- tion, we come as near as may be to the real gist of the matter It is irritating to see the foreign press, which knows nothing, actually, of the condition of things, laying down the law on Italian affairs. The English press attributes all the official evils of New Italy to the transmitted vices of the old rdgimes. Now I did not live during the old r~gimes, and cannot judge of them, but this I do know, that the bulk of the people regret passionately the personal peace and simple plenty that were had under them. The vices of the present time are those of a grasp- ing, swarming bureaucracy everywhere, and of the selfishness which is the worst note of the Italian character. It is strange that, with the pres- ent state of Ireland before their eyes, the whole of the public men of Italy should be as indifferent as they are to the perpetual irritation of the industri- ous classes at the hands of the munici- palities and their organization of spies and penalties. But indifferent they are. Whether Bismarck approve their Greek policy, or Gambetta do not oppose their doings at Tunis, is all they think about. The suffering of a few million of their own people is too small a thing to catch their attention. They think, like Moli& res doctor, Un homme mort nest quun homme mort, et il ne fait point de cons6quence, mais une formalit6 negligee porte un notable prdjudice l~ tout le corps de m6dicins. No one can accuse me of any polit- ical prejudices. My writings have al- ternately been accused of a reactionary conservatism and a dangerous socialism, so that I may, without presumption, claim to be impartial. I love conser- vatism when it means the preservation of beautiful things, I love revolution when it means the destruction of vile ones. What I despise in the pseudo- liberalism of the age is that it has be- come only the tyranny of narrow minds, vested under high-sounding phrases, and the deification of a policeman.~~ Impressed, at all events, by the deep feeling and evident candor of the wri- ter, and the almost total absence, in pas- sages like these, of her wonted vanity and parade, we may cordially admit that there is matter here fit to atone for many literary and social sins, and to give this erratic and often reckless story-teller a plausible claim on the immunities promised to him who con- sidereth the poor. I have, I think, fulfilled my engage- ment to say all that can fairly be said in favor of one whose books are in many hands and whose name is on many lips, while it is wholly impossible to disso- ciate either books or name from a cer- tain persistent odium. Power and va- riety are two very distinguished quali- ties in a writer, and these are possessed by Guida in so large a degree that very few indeed of the female writers now living can rival her. Let it not be sup- posed, however, that fiction such as hers, even at its best, is claimed to represent the highest type. When I said that the romantic style, though illustrated by great and memorable names, was no longer the literary mode, I was far in- deed from intending any disrespect to the school which has succeeded it. If we weary, sometimes, of the incessant occupation of the realist with every-day types of character, of the monotonous march of the action of his piece over the vast and melancholy levels of aver- age human experience, we must needs revere his universal sympathies, his in- difference to outside show and vulgar celebrity, his patient study of the springs of action and unflagging researches into the dim secrets of the human soul. Not every realist can be as George Eliot, or Daudet at his best, or the colossal 58 The Princess (Jasamassima. [July, Russians; or even as those refined rep- resentatives of the new school, who have done so much to enhance, with the reading world, the reputation of Ameri- can letters. But each, in his degree, may claim to have accepted the ideal, may appropriate something of the spirit of the greatest and weightiest of them all in his latest may we not yet for a long time have to say the last of his published utterances Jai dit tout ce qne je voulais dire, pour cette fois da moms: mais un doute p~nible maccable. Ii aurait peut-~tre mieux valu se taire, car peut-~tre ce que jai dit est du nombre de ces v~ri- t~s pernicienses, obscur~ment enfonies dans lame de chacun, et qui, pour res- ter inoffensives ne doivent pas ~tre exprimies; de m~me quil ne faut pas remuer un vieux yin, de crainte que le d~p6t ne remonte, et ne trouble Ia liqueur. Oii donc, dans ce r6cit, voyons nous le mal quil faut ~viter, et le bien vers lequel il faut tendre? Oii est le traitre? Oii, le h4ros? Tous sont bons et tous sont mauvais. Ce nest pas Kalouguine, avec son brilliant cou- rage, sa bravoure de gentilbomme, et sa vanit6, principal moteur de toutes ses actions. Ce nest pas Praskoukine, nul et inoffensif, hien quil soit tomh~ sur le champ de bataille, pour la foi, le tr6ne, et la patrie; ni Mikhailof, si timide, ni Pesth cet enfant sans conviction et sans r~gle morale, qui pouvaient passer pour des traitres ou des h~ros. Non, le h6ros de mon r~cit, celni que jaime de toutes les forces de mon ame, celni que jai t~ch~ de reprodnire dans toute sa beaut6, celui qui a & 6, est et sera toujours beau, cest le Vrai. 1 Harriet Waters Preston. THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA. BOOK FOURTH. XXXVII. HALF an hour after Paul Muniments departure the Princess heard another rat-tat-tat at her door; but this was a briefer, discreeter peal, and was accom- panied by a faint tintinnabulation. The person who had produced it was present- ly ushered in, without, however, caus- ing Madame Grandoni to look round, or rather to look up, from an arm- chair as low as a sitz-bath, and of very much the shape of such a receptacle, in which, near the fire, she had been immersed. She left this care to the Princess, who rose on hearing the name of the visitor pronounced, inadequately, by her maid. Mr. Fetch, Assunta called it; but the Princess recognized without difficulty the little fat, rusty fiddler of whom Hyacinth had talked to her, who, as Pinnies most intimate friend, had been so mixed up with his existence, and whom she herself had al- ways had a curiosity to see. Hyacinth had not told her he was coming, and the unexpectedness of the apparition added to its interest. Much as she liked see- ing queer types and exploring out-of- the-way social corners, she never en- gaged in a fresh encounter, nor formed a new relation of this kind, without a fit of nervousness, a fear that she might be awkward and fail to hit the right tone. She perceived in a moment, however, that Mr. Vetch would take her as she was, and require no special adjustments; 1 Ote. Leon Tolst6i. Sc~nes du Si~ge de Se- bastopol. Revue des Deux Mondes, December 1, 1885.

Henry James James, Henry The Princess Casamassima 58-76

58 The Princess (Jasamassima. [July, Russians; or even as those refined rep- resentatives of the new school, who have done so much to enhance, with the reading world, the reputation of Ameri- can letters. But each, in his degree, may claim to have accepted the ideal, may appropriate something of the spirit of the greatest and weightiest of them all in his latest may we not yet for a long time have to say the last of his published utterances Jai dit tout ce qne je voulais dire, pour cette fois da moms: mais un doute p~nible maccable. Ii aurait peut-~tre mieux valu se taire, car peut-~tre ce que jai dit est du nombre de ces v~ri- t~s pernicienses, obscur~ment enfonies dans lame de chacun, et qui, pour res- ter inoffensives ne doivent pas ~tre exprimies; de m~me quil ne faut pas remuer un vieux yin, de crainte que le d~p6t ne remonte, et ne trouble Ia liqueur. Oii donc, dans ce r6cit, voyons nous le mal quil faut ~viter, et le bien vers lequel il faut tendre? Oii est le traitre? Oii, le h4ros? Tous sont bons et tous sont mauvais. Ce nest pas Kalouguine, avec son brilliant cou- rage, sa bravoure de gentilbomme, et sa vanit6, principal moteur de toutes ses actions. Ce nest pas Praskoukine, nul et inoffensif, hien quil soit tomh~ sur le champ de bataille, pour la foi, le tr6ne, et la patrie; ni Mikhailof, si timide, ni Pesth cet enfant sans conviction et sans r~gle morale, qui pouvaient passer pour des traitres ou des h~ros. Non, le h6ros de mon r~cit, celni que jaime de toutes les forces de mon ame, celni que jai t~ch~ de reprodnire dans toute sa beaut6, celui qui a & 6, est et sera toujours beau, cest le Vrai. 1 Harriet Waters Preston. THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA. BOOK FOURTH. XXXVII. HALF an hour after Paul Muniments departure the Princess heard another rat-tat-tat at her door; but this was a briefer, discreeter peal, and was accom- panied by a faint tintinnabulation. The person who had produced it was present- ly ushered in, without, however, caus- ing Madame Grandoni to look round, or rather to look up, from an arm- chair as low as a sitz-bath, and of very much the shape of such a receptacle, in which, near the fire, she had been immersed. She left this care to the Princess, who rose on hearing the name of the visitor pronounced, inadequately, by her maid. Mr. Fetch, Assunta called it; but the Princess recognized without difficulty the little fat, rusty fiddler of whom Hyacinth had talked to her, who, as Pinnies most intimate friend, had been so mixed up with his existence, and whom she herself had al- ways had a curiosity to see. Hyacinth had not told her he was coming, and the unexpectedness of the apparition added to its interest. Much as she liked see- ing queer types and exploring out-of- the-way social corners, she never en- gaged in a fresh encounter, nor formed a new relation of this kind, without a fit of nervousness, a fear that she might be awkward and fail to hit the right tone. She perceived in a moment, however, that Mr. Vetch would take her as she was, and require no special adjustments; 1 Ote. Leon Tolst6i. Sc~nes du Si~ge de Se- bastopol. Revue des Deux Mondes, December 1, 1885. The Princess Casamassimct. 59 1886.] he was a gentleman and a man of expe- rience, and she would only have to leave the tone to him. He stood there with his large, polished hat in his two hands, a hat of the fashion of ten years before, with a rusty sheen and an undulating brim stood there without a saluta- tion or a speech, but with a little fixed, acute, tentative smile, which seemed half to inquire and half to explain. What he explained was that he was clever enough to be trusted, and that if he had come to see her that way, abruptly, with- out an invitation, he had a reason which she would be sure to think good enough when she should hear it. There was even a certain jauntiness in this confi- dence an insinuation that he knew how to present himself to a lady; and though it quickly appeared that he real- ly did, that was the only thing about him that was inferior it suggested a long experience of actresses at rehearsal, with whom he had formed habits of ad- vice and compliment. I know who you are I know who you are, said the Princess, though she could easily see that he knew she did. I wonder whether you also know why I have come to see you, Mr. Vetch replied, presenting the top of his hat to her as if it were a looking-glass. No, but it does nt matter. I am very glad; you might even have come before. Then the Princess added, with her characteristic honesty, Dont you know of the great interest I have taken in your nephew? In my nephew? Yes, my young friend Robinson. It is in regard to him that I have ventured to intrude upon you.~~ The Princess had been on the point of pushing a chair toward him, but she stopped in the act, staring, with a smile. Ah, I hope you have nt come to ask me to give him up! On the contrary on the contra- ry! the old man rejoined, lifting his hand expressively, and with his head on one side, as if he were holding his violin. How do you mean, on the contrary. the Princess demanded, after he had seated himself and she had sunk into her former place. As if that might sound contradictions, she went on: Surely he has nt any fear that I shall cease to be a good friend to him? I dont know what he fears; I dont know what he hopes, said Mr. Vetch, looking at her now with a face in which she could see there was some- thing more tonic than old-fashioned po- liteness. It will be difficult to tell you, but at least I must try. Properly speaking, I suppose, it s no business of mine, as I am not a blood relation to the boy; but I have known him since he was an urchin, and I cant help saying that I thank you for your great kind- ness to him. All the same, I dont think you like it, the Princess remarked. To me it ought nt to be difficult to say anything. He has told me very little about you; he does nt know I have taken this step, the fiddler said, turning his eyes about the room, and letting them rest on Madame Grandoni. Why do you call it a step? the Princess asked. That s what people say when they have to do something disagreeable. I call very seldom on ladies. Its long time since I have been in the house of a person like the Princess Casamassima. I remember the last time, said the old man. It was to get some money from a lady at whose party I had been playing for a dance. You must bring your fiddle some time, and play to us. Of course I dont mean for money, the Princess rejoined. I will do it with pleasure~ or any thing else that will gratify you. But my ability is very small. I only know vulgar music things that are played at theatres. 60 The Princess Casamassima. [July, I dont believe that; there must be things you play for yourself, in your room, alone. For a moment the old man made no reply; then he said, Now that I see you, that I hear you, it helps me to understand. I dont think you do see me! cried the Princess, kindly, laughing; while the fiddler went on to ask whether there were any danger of Hyacinths coming in while he was there. The Princess re- plied that he never came, unless by pre- arrangement, but in the evening, and Mr. Vetch made a request that she would not let their young friend know that he himself had been with her. It does nt matter; he will guess it, he will know it by instinct, as soon as he comes in. He is terribly subtle, said the Princess; and she added that she had never been able to hide anything from him. Perhaps it served her right, for attempting to make a mystery of things that were not worth it. How well you know him! Mr. Vetch murmured, with his eyes wander- ing again to Madame Grandoni, who paid no attention to him as she sat star- ing at the fire. He delayed, visibly, to say what he had come for, and his hesi- tation could only be connected with the presence of the old lady. He said to himself that the Princess might have divined this from his manner; be had an idea that he could trust himself to convey such an intimation with clear- ness and yet with delicacy. But the most she appeared to apprehend was that he desired to be presented to her companion. You must know the most delight- ful of women. She also takes a par- ticular interest in Mr. Robinson: of a different kind from mine much more sentimental, and then she explained to the old lady, who seemed absorbed in other ideas, that Mr. Vetch was a dis- tinguished musician, a person whom she, who had known so many in her day, and was so fond of that kind of thing, would like to talk with. The Princess spoke of that kind of thing quite as if she herself had given it up, though Madame Grandoni heard her by the hour together improvising on the piano revolutionary battle-songs and pteans. I think you are laughing at me, Mr. Vetch said to the Princess, while Madame Grandoni twisted herself slow- ly round in her chair, and considered him. She looked at him leisurely, up and down, and then she observed, with a sigh Strange people strange people!~ It is indeed a strange world, ma- dame, the fiddler replied; and he then inquired of the Princess whether he might have a little conversation with her in private. She looked about her, embarrassed and smiling. My dear sir, I have only this one room to receive in. We live in a very small way. Yes, your ladyship is laughing at me. Your ideas are very large, too. However, I would gladly come at any other time that might suit you. You impute to me higher spirits than I possess. Why should I be so gay? the Princess asked. I should be de- lighted to see you again. I am extreme- ly curious as to what you may have to say to me. I would even meet you any- where in Kensington Gardens or the British Museum. The fiddler looked at her a moment before replying; then, with his white old face flushing a little, he exclaimed, Poor dear little Hyacinth! Madame Grandoni made an effort to rise from her chair, but she had sunk so low that at first it was not successful. Mr. Vetch gave her his hand, to help her, and she slowly erected herself, keeping hold of him for a moment after she stood there. What did she tell me? That you are a great musician? Is nt that enough for any man? You ought to be content, my dear gentleman. 61 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. It has sufficed for people whom I dont believe you surpass.~~ I dont surpass any one, said poor Mr. Vetch. I dont know what you take me for. You are not a conspirator, then? You are not an assassin? It surprises me, but so much the better. In this house one can never know. It is not a good house, and if you are a respecta- ble person it is a pity you should come here. Yes, she is very gay, and I am very sad. I dont know how it will end. After me, I hope. The world is not good, certainly; hut God alone can make it better. And as the fiddler ex- pressed the hope that he was not the- cause of her leaving the room, she went on, Dock, dock, you are the cause; but why not you as well as another? I am always leaving it for some one or for some thing, and I would sooner do so for an honest man, if you are one but, as I say, who can tell? than for a destroyer. I wander about. I have no rest. I have, however, a very nice room, the best in the house. Me, at least, she does not treat ill. It looks to-day like the end of all things. If you would turn your climate the other side up, the rest would do well enough. Good-night to you, whoever you are. The old lady shuffled away, in spite of Mr. Vetchs renewed apologies, and the Princess stood before the fire, watch- ing her companions, while he opened the door. She goes away, she comes back; it does nt matter. She thinks it s a bad house, but she knows it would be worse without her. I remem- ber now, the Princess added. Mr. Robinson told me that you had been a great democrat in old days, but that now you had ceased to care for the peo- ple. The people the people? That is a vague term. Whom do you mean? The Princess hesitated. Those you used to care for, to plead for; those who are underneath every one, every thing, and have the whole social mass trampling on them. I see you think I m a renegade. The way certain classes arrogate to themselves the title of the people has never pleased me. Why are some hu- man beings the people, and the people only, and others not? I am of the peo- ple myself, I have worked all my days like a knife-grinder, and I have really never changed. You must not let me make you angry, said the Princess, laughing, and sitting down again. I am sometimes very provoking, but you must stop me off. You would nt think it, perhaps, but no one takes a snub better than I. Mr. Vetch dropped his eyes a min- ute; he appeared to wish to show that he regarded such a speech as that as one of the Princesss characteristic hu- mors, and knew that he should be want- ing in respect to her if he took it serious- ly or made a personal application of it. What I want is this, he began, after a moment: that you will that you will But he stopped before he had got further. She was watching him, listening to him, and she waited while he paused. It was a long pause, and she said nothing. Princess, the old man broke out at last, I would give my own life many times for that boys! I always told him you must have been fond of him! she cried, with bright exultation. Fond of him? Pray, who can doubt it? I made him, I invented him! He knows it, moreover, said the Princess, smiling. It is an exquisite organization. And as the old man gazed at her, not knowing, apparently, what to make of her tone, she continued: It is a very interesting opportunity for me to learn certain things. Speak to me of his early years. How was he as a child? When I like people I want to know everything about them. I should nt have supposed there 62 was much left for you to learn about our young friend. You have taken possession of his life, the fiddler added, gravely. Yes, but as I understand you, you dont complain of it? Sometimes one does so much more than one has in- tended. One must use ones influence for good, said the Princess, with the noble, gentle air of accessibility to rea- son that sometimes lighted up her face. And then she went on, irrelevantly: I know the terrible story of his mother. He told it me himself, when he was staying with me; and in the course of my life I think I have never been more touched. That was my fault, that he ever learned it. I suppose he also told you that. Yes, but I think he understood your idea. If you had the question to deter- mine again, would you judge different- ly? I thonght it would do him good, said the old man, simply and rather wearily. Well, I dare say it has, the Prin- cess rejoined, with the manner of wish- ing to encourage him. I dont know what was in my head. I wanted him to quarrel with society. Now I want him to be reconciled to it, Mr. Vetch remarked, earnestly. He appeared to wish the Princess to un- derstand that he made a great point of this. Ah, but he is! she immediately returned. We often talk about that; he is not like me, who see all kinds of abominations. He s a tremendous aris- tocrat. What more would you have? Those are not the opinions that he expresses to me, said Mr. Vetch, shak- ing his head sadly. I am greatly dis- tressed, and I dont understand. I have not come here with the presumptuous wish to cross-examine you, but I should like very much to know if I am wrong in believing that he has gone about with [July, you in the bad quarters in St. Giless and Whitechapel. We have certainly inquired and ex- plored together, the Princess admitted, and in the depths of this huge, luxuri- ous, wanton, wasteful city we have seen sights of unspeakable misery and hor- ror. But we have been not only in the slums; we have been to a music hall and a penny-reading. The fiddler received this information at first in silence, so that his hostess went on to mention some of the phases of life they had observed; describing with great vividness, but at the same time with a kind of argumentative mod- eration, several scenes which did lit- tle honor to our boasted civilization.~ What wonder is it, then, that he should tell me that things cannot go on any longer as they are? he asked, when she had finished. He said only the other day that he should regard him- self as one of the most contemptible of human beings if he should do nothing to alter them, to better them. What wonder, indeed? But if he said that, he was in one of his bad days. He changes constantly, and his impres- sions change. The misery of the peo- ple is by no means always weighing on his heart. You tell me what he has told you; well, he has told me that the people may perish over and over, rather than the conquests of civilization shall be sacrificed to them. He declares, at such moments, that they will be sacri- ficed sacrificed utterly if the igno- rant masses get the upper hand. He need nt be afraid! That will never happen.~~ I dont know. We can at least try! Try what you like, madam, but, for Gods sake, get the boy out of his mess! The Princess had suddenl.y grown ex- cited, in speaking of the cause she be- lieved in, and she gave, for the moment, no heed to this appeal, which broke The Princess (lasamassima. 1886.] from Mr. Vetchs lips with a sudden passion of anxiety. Her beautiful head raised itself higher, and the deep ex- pression that was always in her eyes be- came an extraordinary radiance. Do you know what I say to Mr. Robinson when he makes such remarks as that to me? I ask him what he means by civil- ization. Let civilization come a little, first, and then we will talk about it. For the present, face to face with those horrors, I scorn it, I deny it! And the Princess laughed ineffable things, like some splendid siren of the Revo- lution. The world is very sad and very hideous, and I am happy to say that I soon shall have done with it. But be- fore I go I want to save Hyacinth. If he s a little aristocrat, as you say, there is so much the less fitness in his being compromised, entangled. If he does nt even believe in what he pretends to do, that s a pretty situation! What is he in for, madam? What devilish folly has he undertaken? He is a strange mixture of contra- dictory impulses, said the Princess, musingly. Then, as if calling herself back to the old mans question, she con- tinued: How can I enter into his affairs with you? How can I tell you his secrets? In the first place, I dont know them, and if I did fancy me! The fiddler gave a long, low sigh, al- most a moan, of discouragement and perplexity. He had told the Princess that now he saw her he understood how Hyacinth should have become her slave, but he would not have been able to tell her that he understood her own mo- tives and mysteries, that he embraced the immense anomaly of her behavior. It came over him that she was incon- gruous and perverse, a more complicated form of the feminine character than any he had hitherto dealt with, and he felt helpless and baffled, foredoomed to fail- ure. He had come prepared to flatter her without scruple, thinking that would 63 The Princess Casamassima. be the clever, the efficacious, method of dealing with her; but he now had a sense that this primitive device had, though it was strange, no application to such a nature, while his embarrass- ment was increased rather than dimin- ished by the fact that the lady at least made the effort to be accommodating. He had put down his hat on the floor beside him, and his two hands were clasped on the knob of an umbrella which had long since renounced pre- tensions to compactness; he collapsed a little, and his chin rested on his folded hands. Why do you take such a line? Why do you believe such things? he asked; and he was conscious that his tone was weak and his inquiry beside the question. My dear sir, how do you know what I believe? However, I have my rea- sons, which it would take too long to tell you, and which, after all, would not particularly interest you. One must see life as one can; it comes, no doubt, to each of us in different ways. You think me affected, of course, and my behavior a fearful pose; but I am only trying to be natural. Are you not yourself a lit- tle inconsequent? the Princess went on, with the bright mildness which had the effect of making Mr. Vetch feel that he should not extract any pledge of as- sistance from her. You dont want our young friend to pry into the wretch- edness of London, because it excites his sense of justice. It is a strange thing to wish, for a person of whom one is fond and whom one esteems, that his sense of justice shall not be excited. I dont care a fig for his sense of justice I dont care a fig for the wretchedness of London; and if I were young, and beautiful, and clever, and brilliant, and of a noble position, like you, I should care still less. In that case I should have very little to say to a poor mechanic a youngster who earns his living with a glue-pot and scraps of old leather. 64 The Princess (Jasamassima. [July, Dont misrepresent him; dont make him out what you know he s not! the Princess retorted, with her baffling smile. You know he s one of the most civil- ized people possible. The fiddler sat breathing unhappily. I only want to keep him to get him free. Then he added, I dont under- stand you very well. If you like him because he s one of the lower orders, how can you like him because he s a swell ? The Princess turned her eyes on the fire a moment, as if this little problem might be worth considering, and pres- ently she answered, Dear Mr. Vetch, I am very sure you dont mean to be impertinent, but some things you say have that effect. Nothing is more an- noying than when ones sincerity is doubted. I am not bound to explain myself to you. I ask of my friends to trust me, and of the others to leave me alone. Moreover, anything not very nice you may have said to me, out of awkwardness, is nothing to the insults I am perfectly prepared to see showered upon me before long. I shall do things which will produce a fine crop of them oh, I shall do things, my dear sir! But I am determined not to mind them. Come, therefore, pull yourself together. We both take such an interest in young Robinson that I cant see why in the world we should quarrel about him. My dear lady, the old man plead- ed, I have indeed not the least inten- tion of failing in respect or courtesy, and you must excuse me if I dont look after my manners, flow can I when I am so worried, so haunted? God knows I dont want to quarrel. As I tell you, I only want to get Hyacinth free. Free from what? the Princess asked. From some abominable brotherhood or international league that he belongs to, the thought of which keeps me awake at night. He s just the sort of little fellow to be made a cats-paw. Your fears seem very vague. I hoped you would give me chapter and verse. On what do your suspicions rest? What grounds have you? the Prin- cess inquired. Well, a great many; none of them very definite, but all contributing some- thing his appearance, his manner, the way he strikes me. Dear madam, one feels those things, one guesses. Do you know that poor, infatuated phrasemon- ger, Eustace Poupin, who works at the same place as Hyacinth? He s a very old friend of mine, and he s an honest man, considering everything. But he is always conspiring, and corresponding, and pulling strings that lead away into God knows what. He has nothing in life to complain of, and he drives a roar- ing trade. But he wants folks to be equal, heaven help him; and when he has made them so, I suppose he s going to start a society for making the stars in the sky all of the same size. He is nt serious, though he thinks that he s the only human being who never trifles; and his machinations, which I believe are for the most part very innocent, are a matter of habit and tradition with him, like his theory that Christopher Colum- bus, who discovered America, was a Frenchman, and his hot foot-bath on Saturday nights. He has not confessed to me that Hyacinth has taken some secret engagement to do something for the cause which may have nasty con. sequences, but the way he turns off the idea makes me almost as uncomfortable as if he had. He and his wife are very sweet on Hyacinth, but they cant make up their minds to interfere; perhaps for them, indeed, as for me, there is no way in which interference can be effective. Only I did nt put him up to those devils tricks or, rather, I did, originally I The finer the work, I suppose, the high. er the privilege of doing it; yet the Pou- pins heave socialistic sighs over the boy, and their peace of mind evidently is nt 1886.] all that it ought to be, if they have given him a noble opportunity. I have ap- pealed to them, to a lively tune, and they have assured me that every hair of his head is as precious to them as if he were their own child. That does nt comfort me much, however, for the sim- pie reason that I believe the old woman (whose grandmother, in Paris, in the Revolution, must certainly have carried bloody heads on a pike) would be quite capable of chopping up her own child, if it would do any harm to proprietors. Besides, they say, what influence have they on Hyacinth any more? He is a deplorable little backslider; he worships false gods. In short, they will give me no information, and I dare say they them- selves are tied up by some unholy vow. They may be afraid of a vengeance if they tell tales. It s all sad rubbish, but rubbish may be a strong motive. The Princess listened attentively, fol- lowing her visitor with patience. Dont speak to me of the French; I have never liked them. That s awkward, if you re a social- ist. You are likely to meet them. Why do you call me a socialist? I hate labels and tickets, she declared. Then she added, What is it you sup- pose on Mr. Robinsons part? for you must suppose something. Well, that he may have drawn some accursed lot, to do some idiotic thing something in which even he himself does nt believe. I have nt an idea of what sort of thing you mean. But, if he does nt be- lieve in it, he can easily let it alone. Do you think he s a customer who will back out of an engagement? the fiddler asked. The Princess hesitated a moment. One can never judge of people, in that way, until they are tested. The next thing, she inquired, Have nt you even taken the trouble to question him? What would be the use? He would VOL. LVIII. No. 345. 5 65 tell me nothing. It would be like a man giving notice when he is going to fight a duel. The Princess sat for some moments in thought; then she looked up at Mr. Vetch with a pitying, indulgent smile. I am sure you are worrying about a mere shadow; but that never prevents, does it? I still dont see exactly how I can help you. Do you want him to commit some atrocity, some crime? the old man murmured. My dear sir, I dont want him to do anything in all the wide world. I have not had the smallest connection with any arrangement of any kind, that he may have entered into. Do me the honor to trust me, the Princess went on, with a certain dryness of tone. I dont know what I have done to deprive myself of your confidence. Trust the young man a little, too. He is a gen- tleman, and he will behave like a gen- tleman. The fiddler rose from his chair, smoothing his hat, silently, with the cuff of his coat. Then he stood there, whimsical and piteous, as if the sense that he had still something to urge min- gled with that of his having received his dismissal, and both of them were tinged with the oddity of another idea. Thats exactly what I am afraid of! he exclaimed. Then he added, contin- uing to look at her, But he must be very fond of life. The Princess took no notice of the insinuation contained in these words, and indeed it was of a sufficiently im- palpable character. Leave him to me leave him to me. I am sorry for your anxiety, but it was very good of you to come to see me. That has been interesting, because you have been one of our friends influences. Unfortunately, yes! If it had not been for me, he would not have known Poupin; and if he had nt known Pon- pin, he would nt have known his ehem The Prince8s Casamassima. 66 like Princess ical friend what s his name? Muni- ment. And has that done him harm, do you think? the Princess asked. She had got up. Surely: that fellow has been the main source of his infection. I lose patience with you, said the Princess, turning away. And indeed her visitors persistence was irritating. He went on, lingering, with his head thrust forward and his short arms out at his sides, terminating in his hat and umbrella, which he held grotesquely, as if they were intended for emphasis or illustration. 1 have sup- posed for a long time that it was either Muniment or you that had got him into his scrape. It was you I suspected most much the most; but if it is nt you, it must be he. You had better go to him, then! Of course I will go to him. I scarcely know him I have seen him but once but I will speak my mind. The Princess rang for her maid to usher the fiddler out, but at the moment he laid his hand on the door of the room she checked him with a quick gesture. Now that I think of it, dont go to Mr. Muniment. It will be better to leave him quiet. Leave him to me, she add- ed, smiling. Why not, why not? he pleaded. And as she could not tell him on the in- stant why not, he asked, Does nt he know? No, he does nt know; he has noth- ing to do with it. She suddenly found herself desiring to protect Paul Mu- niment from the imputation that was in Mr. Vetchs mind the imputation of an ugly responsibility; and though she was not a person who took the trou- ble to tell fibs, this repudiation, on his behalf, issued from her lips before she could check it. It was a result of the same desire, though it was also an in- consequence, that she added, Dont do t~hat you 11 spoil everything! She Casamassima. [July, went to him, suddenly eager, and her- self opened the door for him. Leave him to me leave him to me, she con- tinued, persuasively, while the fiddler, gazing at her, dazzled and submissive, allowed himself to be wafted away. A thought that excited her had come to her with a bound, and after she had heard the house-door close behind Mr. Vetch she walked up and down the room half an hour, restlessly, under the possession of it. XXXVI. Hyacinth found, this winter, consid- erable occupation for his odd hours, his evenings and holidays, and scraps of leisure, in putting in hand the books which he had promised himself, at Med- ley, to inclose in covers worthy of the high station and splendor of the lady of his life (these brilliant attributes had not then been shuffled out of sight), and of the confidence and generosity she showed him. He had determined she should re- ceive from him something of value, and took pleasure in thinking that after he was gone they would be passed from hand to hand as specimens of rare work, while connoisseurs bent their heads over them, smiling and murmuring, handling them delicately. His invention stirred itself, and he had a hundred admirable ideas, many of which he sat up late at night to execute. He used all his skill, and by this time his skill was of a very high order. Old Crookenden recognized it by raising the rates at which he was paid; and though it was not among the traditions of the proprietor of the estab- lishment in Soho, who to the end wore the apron with his workmen, to scatter sweet speeches, Hyacinth learned, acci- dentally, that several books that he had given him to do had been carried off and placed on a shelf of treasures at the villa, where they were exhibited to the members of the Crookenden circle who 67 1886.] The Princess (Jasamassimct. came to tea on Sundays. Hyacinth him- self, indeed, was included in this com- pany on a great occasion invited to a musical party, where he made the ac- quaintance of half a dozen Miss Crook- endens, an acquaintance which consisted in his standing in a corner behind sev- eral broad-hacked old ladies, and watch- ing the rotation, at the piano and the harp, of three or four of his masters thick-fingered daughters. You know it s a tremendously musical house, said one of the old ladies to another (she called it ouse ) ; but the principal impression made upon him by the per- formance of the Miss Crookendens was that it was wonderfully different from the Princesss playing. He knew that he was the only young man from the shop who had been in- vited, not counting the foreman, who was sixty years old, and wore a wig so curly that it was in itself a qualification for festive scenes, besides being accom- panied by a little frightened, furtive wife, who closed her eyes, as if in the presence of a blinding splendor, when Mrs. Crookenden spoke to her. The Poupins were not there which, how- ever, was not a surprise to Hyacinth, who knew that (even if they had been asked, which they were not) they had objections of principle to putting their feet chez les bourgeois. They were not asked, because, in spite of the place Eustace had made for himself in the prosperity of the business, it had come to be known that his wife was somehow not his wife (though she was certainly no ones else); and the evidence of this irregularity was conceived to reside, vaguely, in the fact that she had never been seen save in a camisole. There had doubtless been an apprehension that if she had come to the villa she would not have come with the proper number of hooks and eyes, though Hya- cinth, on two or three occasions, notably the night he took the pair to Mr. Vetchs theatre, had been witness of the pro- portions to which she could reduce her figure when she wished to give the im- pression of a lawful tie. It was not clear to him how the dis- tinction conferred upon him became known in Soho, where, however, it ex- cited no sharpness of jealousy Gru- gan, Roker, and Hotcbkin being hardly more likely to envy a person condemned to spend a genteel evening than they were to envy a monkey performing an- tics on a barrel organ: both forms of effort indicated an urbanity painfully ac- quired. But Roker took his young comrades breath half away with his el- bow, and remarked that he supposed he saw the old man had spotted him for one of the darlings at home; inquir- ing, furthermore, what would become, in that case, of the little thing he took to France, the one to whom he had stood champagne and lobster. This was the first allusion Hyacinth had heard made to the idea that he might some day mar- ry his masters daughter, like the vir- tuous apprentice of tradition; but the suggestion, somehow, was not inspiring, even when he had thought of an inci- dent or two which gave color to it. None of the Miss Crookendens spoke to him they all had large faces, and short legs, and a comical resemblance to that stertorous elderly male, their father, and, unlike the Miss Marchants, at Medley, they knew who he was but their mother, who had on her head the plumage of a cockatoo, mingled with a structure of glass beads, looked at him with an almost awful fixedness, and asked him three distinct times if he would have a glass of negus. He had much difficulty in getting his books from the Princess; for when he reminded her of the promise she had given him at Medley to make over to him as many volumes as he should re- quire, she answered that everything was changed since then, that she was com- pletely d6pouilhie, that she had now no pretension to have a library, and that, 68 The Prince8s in fine, he had much better leave the matter alone. He was welcome to any books that were in the house, but, as he could see for himself, these were cheap editions, on which it would be foolish to expend such work as his. He asked Madame Grandoni to help him to tell him, at least, whether there were not some good volumes among the things the Princess had sent to be warehoused; it being known to him, through casual admissions of her own, that she had allowed her maid to save certain articles from the wreck, and pack them away at the Pantechnicon. This had all been Assuntas work, the woman had begged so hard for a few reservations a loaf of bread for their old days; but the Princess herself had washed her hands of the business. Uhi, chi, there are boxes, I am sure, in that place, with a little of everything, said the old lady, in answer to his inquiry; and Hyacinth conferred with Assunta, who took a sympathetic, talkative, Italian interest in his undertaking, and promised to fish out for him whatever worthy volumes should remain. She came to his lodg- ing, one evening, in a cab, with an arm- ful of pretty books, and when he asked her where they had come from waved her forefinger in front of her nose, in a manner both mysterious and expressive. He brought each volume to the Princess, as it was finished; but her manner of receiving it was to shake her head over it with a kind, sad smile. It s beauti- ful, I am sure, but I have lost my sense for such things. Besides, you must al- ways remember what you once told me, that a woman, even the most cultivated, is incapable of feeling the difference be- tween a bad binding and a good. I re- member your once saying that fine ladies had brought shoemakers bindings to your shop, and wished them imitated. Certainly, those are not the differences I most feel. My dear fellow, such things have ceased to speak to me; they are doubtless charming, but they leave me Casama8sima. [July, cold. What will you have? One cant serve God and mammon. Her thoughts were fixed on far other matters than the delight of dainty covers, and she evi- dently considered that in caring so much for them Hyacinth resembled the mad emperor who fiddled in the flames of Rome. European society, to her mind, was in flames, and no frivolous occupa- tion could give the measure of the emo. tion with which she watched them. It produced occasionally demonstrations of hilarity, of joy and hope, but these al- ways took some form connected with the life of the people. It was the peo- ple she had gone to see, when she ac- companied Hyacinth to a music hall in the Edgeware Road; and all her excur- sions and pastimes, this winter, were prompted by her interest in the classes on whose behalf the revolution was to be wrought. To ask himself whether she were in earnest was now an old story to him, and, indeed, the conviction he might ar- rive at on this head had ceased to have any practical relevancy. It was just as she was, superficial or profound, that she held him, and she was, at any rate, sufficiently animated by a purpose for her actions to have consequences, actual and possible. Some of these might be serious, even if she herself were not, and there were times when Hyacinth was much visited by the apprehension of them. On the Sundays that she had gone with him into the darkest places, the most fetid holes, in London, she had always taken money with her, in consid- erable quantities, and always left it be- - hind. She said, very naturally, that one could nt go and stare at people, for an impression, without paying them, and she gave alms right and left, indiscrimi- nately, without inquiry or judgment, as simply as the abbess of some beggar- haunted convent, or a Lady Bountiful of the superstitious, unscientific ages who should have hoped to be assisted to heaven by her doles. Hyacinth never 69 The Princess Casamassima. 1886.] said to her, though he sometimes thought it, that since she was so full of the mod- ern spirit, her charity should be admin- istered according to the modern lights, the principles of economical science; partly because she was not a woman to be directed and regulated, she could take other peoples ideas, but she could never take their way. Besides, what did it matter? To himself, what did it mat- ter to-day whether he were drawn into right methods or into wrong ones, his time being too short for regret or for cheer? The Princess was an embodied passion she was not a system; and her behavior, after all, was more addressed to relieving herself than to relieving others. And then misery was sown so thick in her path that wherever her money was dropped it fell into some trembling palm. He wondered that she should still have so much cash to dis- pose of, until she explained to him that she came by it through putting her per- sonal expenditure on a rigid footing. What she gave away was her savings, the margin she had succeeded in creat- ing; and now that she had tasted of the satisfaction of making little hoards for such a purpose, she regarded her other years, with their idleness and waste, their merely personal motives, as a long, stu- pid sleep of the conscience. To do something for others was not only so much more human, but so much more amusing! She made strange acquaintances, un- der Hyacinths conduct; she listened to extraordinary stories, and formed theo- ries about them, and about the persons who narrated them to her, which were often still more extraordinary. She took romantic fancies to vagabonds of either sex, attempted to establish social relations with them, and was the cause of infinite agitation to the gentleman who lived near her in the Crescent, who was always smoking at the window, and who reminded Hyacinth of Mr. Micaw- ber. She received visits that were a scandal to the Crescent, and Hyacinth neglected his affairs, whatever they were, to see what tatterdemalion would next turn up at her door. This intercourse, it is true, took a more fruitful form as her intimacy with Lady Aurora deepened; her ladyship practiced discriminations which she brought the Princess to rec- ognize, and before the winter was over Hyacinths services in the slums were found unnecessary. He gave way with relief, with delight, to Lady Aurora, for he had not in the least understood his behavior for the previous four months, nor taken himself seriously as a cicerone. He had plunged into a sea of barba- rism without having any civilizing ener- gy to put forth. He was conscious that the people were miserable more con- scious, it often seemed to him, than they themselves were; so frequently was he struck with their brutal insensibility, a grossness impervious to the taste of bet- ter things or to any desire for them. He knew it so well that the repetition of contact could add no vividness to the conviction; it rather smothered and be- fogged his impression, peopled it with contradictions and difficulties, a violence of reaction, a sense of the inevitable and insurmountable. In these hours the poverty and ignorance of the multitude seemed so vast and preponderant, and so much the law of life, that those who had managed to escape from the black gulf were only the happy few, people of resource as well as children of luck; they inspired in some degree the inter- est and sympathy that one should feel for survivors and victors, those who have come safely out of a shipwreck or a battle. What was most in Hyacinths mind was the idea, of which every pul- sation of the general life of his time was a syllable, that the flood of democracy was rising over the world; that it would sweep all the traditions of the past be- fore it; that, whatever it might fail to bring, it would at least carry in its bosom a magnificent energy; and that it might 70 The Prince8s Casamassima. [July, be trusted to look after its own. When democracy should have its way every- where, it would be its fault (whose else?) if want and suffering and crime should continue to be ingredients of the human lot. With his mixed, divided nature, his conflicting sympathies, his eternal habit of swinging from one view to an- other, Hyacinth regarded this prospect in different moods, with different kinds of emotion. In spite of the example Eustache Poupin gave him of the rec- oncilement of disparities, he was afraid the democracy would ut care for per- fect bindings or for the finest sort of conversation. The Princess gave up these things in proportion as she ad- vanced in the direction she had so au- daciously chosen; and if the Princess could give them up, it would take very extraordinary natures to stick to them. At the same time there was joy, exul- tation, in the thought of surrendering ones self to the wave of revolt; of float- ing in the tremendous tide, of feeling ones self lifted and tossed, carried high- er on the sun-touched crests of billows than one could ever be by a dry, lonely effort of ones own. That vision could deepen to a kind of ecstasy; make it indifferent whether ones ultimate fate, in such a heaving sea, were not al- most certainly to be submerged in bot- tomless depths or dashed to pieces on re- sisting cliffs. Hyacinth felt that, wheth- er his personal sympathy should rest finally with the victors or the vanquished, the victorious force was colossal, and would require no testimony from the irresolute. The reader will doubtless smile at his mental debates and oscillations, and not understand why a little bastard book- binder should attach importance to his conclusions. They were not important for either cause, but they were impor- tant for himself, if only because they would rescue him from the torment of his present life, the perpetual laceration of the rebound. There was no peace for him between the two currents that flowed in his nature, the blood of his passionate, plebeian mother and that of his long-descended, supercivilized sire. They continued to toss him from one side to the other; they arrayed him in in- tolerable defiances and revenges against himself. He had a high ambition: he wanted neither more nor less than to get hold of the truth and wear it in his heart. He believed, with the candor of youth, that it was brilliant and clear- cut, like a royal diamond; but in what- ever direction he turned in the effort to find it, he seemed to know that behind him, bent on him in reproach, was a tragic, wounded face. The thought of his mother had filled him, originally, with the vague, clumsy fermentation of his first impulses toward social criticism; but since the problem had become more complex by the fact that many things in the world as it was constituted grew in- tensely dear to him, he had tried more and more to construct some conceivable and human countenance for his father some expression of honor, of tenderness and recognition, of unmerited suffering, or at least of adequate expiation. To desert one of these presences for the other that idea had a kind of shame in it, as an act of treachery would have had; for he could almost hear the voice of his father ask him if it were the conduct of a gentleman to take up the opinions and emulate the crudities of fanatics and cads. He had got over thinking that it would not have become his father to talk of what was proper to gentlemen, and making the mental reflection that from him, at least, the biggest cad in London could not have deserved less consideration. He had worked himself round to allowances, to interpretations, to such hypotheses as the evidence in the Times, read in the British Museum on that never-to-be- forgotten afternoon, did not exclude; though they had been frequent enough, and too frequent, his hours of hot re 71 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. sentment against the man who had at- tached to him the stigma he was to carry forever, he threw himself, in other conditions, and with a certain success, into the effort to find condonations, ex- cuses, for him. It was comparatively easy for him to accept himself as the son of a terribly light Frenchwoman; there seemed a deeper obloquy even than that in his having for his other parent a nobleman altogether wanting in noble- ness. He was too poor to afford it. Sometimes, in his imagination, he sac- rificed one to the other, throwing over Lord Frederick much the oftener ; some- times, when the theory failed that his father would have done great things for him if he had lived, or the assumption broke down that he had been Florentine Viviers only lover, he cursed and dis- owned them alike; sometimes he arrived at conceptions which presented them side by side, looking at him with eyes infinitely sad, but quite unashamed eyes which seemed to tell him that they had been hideously unfortunate, but had not been base. Of course his worst moments now, as they had always been the worst, were those in which his grounds for thinking that Lord Freder- ick had really been his father perverse- ly, cynically, fell away from him. It must be added that they always passed, for the mixture that he felt himself, so tormentingly, so insolubly, to be could be accounted for in no other manner. I allude to these divagations not be- cause they belong in an especial degree to the history of our young man during the winter of the Princesss residence in Ma- deira Crescent, but because they were a constant element in his moral life, and need to be remembered in any view of him at a given time. There were nights of November and December, as he trod the greasy pavements that lay between Westminster and Paddington, groping his way through the baffled lamplight and tasting the smoke - seasoned fog, when there was more happiness in his heart than he had ever known. The influence of his permeating London had closed over him again; Paris and Milan and Venice had shimmered away into picture and reminiscence; and as the great city which was most his own lay round him under her pall, like an im- measurable breathing monster, he felt, with a vague excitement, as he had felt before, only now with more knowledge, that it was the richest expression of the life of man. His horizon had been im- mensely widened, but it was filled, again, by the expanse that sent dim night- gleams and strange blurred reflections and emanations into a sky without stars. He suspended, as it were, his small sen- sibility in the midst of it, and it quiv- ered there with joy and hope and ambi- tion, as well as with the effort of renun- ciation. The Princesss quiet fireside glowed with deeper assurances, with as- sociations of intimacy, through the dusk and the immensity; the thought of it was with him always, and his relations with the mistress of it were more organ- ized than they had been in his first vis- ion of her. Whether or no it was bet- ter for the cause she cherished that she should have been reduced to her pres- ent simplicity, it was better, at least, for Hyacinth. It made her more near and him more free; and if there had been a danger of her nature seeming really to take the tone of the vulgar things about her, he would only have had to remem- ber her as she was at Medley to restore the perspective. In truth, her beauty always appeared to have the setting that best became it; her fairness made the element in which she lived, and, among the meanest accessories, constituted a kind of splendor. Nature had multi- plied the difficulties in the way of her successfully representing herself as hav- ing properties in common with the hor- rible populace of London. Hyacinth used to smile at this pretension in his nightwalks to Paddington, or home- ward; the populace of London were 72 The Princess Casamassima. scattered upon his path, and he asked himself by what wizardry they could ever be raised to high participations. There were nights when every one he met appeared to reek with gin and filth, and he found himself elbowed by figures as foul as lepers. Some of the women and girls, in particular, were appalling saturated with alcohol and vice, brutal, bedraggled, obscene. What remedy but another deluge, what alchemy but annihilation? he asked himself, as he went his way; and he wondered what fate there could be, in the great scheme of things, for a planet overgrown with such vermin, what fate but to be hurled against a ball of consuming fire. If it was the fault of the rich, as Paul Mu- niment held, the selfish, congested rich, who allowed such abominations to flour- ish, that made no difference, and only shifted the shame; for the terrestrial globe, a visible failure, produced the cause as well as the effect. It did not occur to Hyacinth that the Princess had withdrawn her confidence from him because, for the work of inves- tigating still further the condition of the poor, she placed herself in the hands of Lady Aurora. He could have no jeal- ousy of the noble spinster; he had too much respect for her philanthropy, the thoroughness of her knowledge, and her capacity to answer any question it could come into the Princesss extemporizing head to ask, and too acute a conscious- ness of his own desultory and superficial attitude toward the great question. It was enough for him that the little par- lor in Madeira Crescent was a spot round which his thoughts could revolve, and toward which his steps could direct themselves, with an unalloyed sense of security and privilege. The picture of it hung before him half the time, in col- ors to which the feeling of the place gave a rarity that doubtless did not literally characteristic the scene. His relations with the Princess had long since ceased to appear to him to belong to the world of fable; they were as natural as any- thing else (everything in life was queer enough); he had by this time assimi- lated them, as it were, and they were an indispensable part of the happiness of each. Of each Hyacinth risked that, for there was no particular vanity now involved in his perceiving that the most remarkable woman in Europe was, simply, very fond of him. The quiet, familiar, fraternal welcome he found on the nasty winter nights was proof enough of that. They sat together like very old friends, whom long pauses, dur- ing which they simply looked at each other with kind, acquainted eyes, could not make uncomfortable. INot that the element of silence was the principal part of their conversation, for it interposed only when they had talked a great deal. Hyacinth, on the opposite side of the fire, felt at times almost as if he were married to his hostess, so many things were taken for granted between them. For intercourse of that sort, intimate, easy, humorous, circumscribed by drawn curtains and shaded lamp-light, and inter- fused with domestic embarrassments and confidences, all turning to the jocular, the Princess was incomparable. It was her theory of her present existence that she was picnicking; but all the accidents of the business were happy accidents. There was a household quietude in her steps and gestures, in the way she sat, in the way she listened, in the way she played with the cat, or looked after the fire, or folded Madame Grandonis ubiq- uitous shawl; above all, in the inveter- acy with which she spent her evenings at home, never dining out nor going to parties, ignorant of the dissipations of the town. There was something in the isolation of the room, when the kettle was on the hob, and he had given his wet umbrella to the maid, and the Prin- cess made him sit in a certain place near the fire, the better to dry his shoes there was something that evoked the idea of the vie de province, as he had 73 1886.] The Prince8s Casamassima. read about it in French works. The French term came to him because it represented more the especial note of the Princesss company, the cultivation, the facility of talk. She expressed her- self often in the French tongue itself; she could borrow that convenience, for certain shades of meaning, though she had told Hyacinth that she did nt like the people to whom it was native. Cer- tainly, the quality of her conversation was not provincial; it was singularly free and unrestricted; there was noth- ing one might nt say to her, or that she was not liable to say herself. She had cast off prejudices, and gave no heed to conventional danger-posts. Hyacinth ad- mired the movement his eyes seemed to see it with which in any direction, intellectually, she could fling open her windows. There was an extraordinary charm in this mixture of liberty and humility in seeing a creature capa- ble, socially, of immeasurable flights sit dove-like, with folded wings. The young man met Lady Aurora several times in iMladeira Crescent (her days, like his own, were filled with work, and she came in the evening), and he knew that her friendship with the Prin- cess had arrived at a rich maturity. The two ladies were a source of almost rap- turous interest to each other, and each rejoiced that the other was not a bit dif- ferent. The Princess prophesied freely that her visitor would give her up all nice people did, very soon; but to Hya- cinth the end of her ladyships almost breathless enthusiasm was not yet in view. She was bewildered, but she was fascinated; and she thought the Prin- cess not only the most distinguished, the most startling, the most edifying, and the most original person in the world, but the most amusing and the most delight- ful to have tea with. As for the Prin- cess, her sentiment about Lady Aurora was the same that Hyacinths had been: she thought her a saint, the first she had ever seen, and the purest specimen con- ceivable; as good in her way as St. Fran- cis of Assisi, as tender and naive and transparent, of a spirit of charity as sublime. She held that when one met a human flower as fresh as that in the dusty ways of the world, one should pluck it and wear it; and she was always inhaling Lady Auroras fragrance, al- ways kissing her and holding her hand. The spinster was frightened at her gen- erosity, at the way her imagination em- broidered; she wanted to convince her (as the Princess did on her own side) that such exaggerations destroyed their unfortunate subject. The Princess de- lighted in her clothes, in the way she put them on and wore them, in the economies she practiced in order to have money for charity and the ingenuity with which these slender resources were made to go far, in the very manner in which she spoke, a kind of startled sim- plicity. She wished to emulate her in all these particulars; to learn how to econ- omize still more cunningly, to get her bonnets at the same shop, to care as lit- tle for the fit of her gloves; to ask, in the same tone, Is nt it a bore Susan Crottys husband has got a ticket of leave? She said Lady Aurora made her feel like a French milliner, and that if there was anything in the world she loathed it was a French milliner. Each of these persons was powerfully affected by the others idiosyncrasies, and each wanted the other to remain as she was, while she herself should be transformed into the image of her friend. One evening, going to Madeira Cres- cent a little later than usual, Hyacinth met Lady Aurora on the doorstep, leav- ing the house. She had a different air from any he had seen in her before; ap- peared flushed and even a little agitated, as if she had been learning a piece of bad news. She said, Oh, how do you do? with her customary quick, vague laugh; but she went her way, without stopping to talk. Hyacinth, on going in, mentioned to 74 Tke Princess the Princess that he had encountered her, and this lady replied, It s a pity you did nt come a little sooner. You would have assisted at a scene. At a scene? Hyacinth repeated, not understanding what violence could have taken place between mutual ador- ers. She made me a scene of tears, of most earnest remonstrance perfectly well meant, I need nt tell you. She thinks I am going too far. I imagine you tell her things that you dont tell me, said Hyacinth. Oh, you, my dear fellow! the Princess murmured. She spoke absent- mindedly, as if she were thinking of what had passed with Lady Aurora, and as if the futility of telling things to Hyacinth had become a commonplace. There was no annoyance for him in this, his pretension to keep pace with her views being quite extinct. The tone they now, for the most part, took with each other was one of mutual de- rision, of shrugging commiseration for insanity on the one hand and benighted- ness on the other. In discussing with her, he exaggerated deliberately, went to fantastic lengths in the way of reac- tion; and it was their habit and their entertainment to hurl all manner of de- nunciation at each others head. They had given up serious discussion alto- gether, and when they were not engaged in bandying, in the spirit of burlesque, the amenities I have mentioned, they talked of matters as to which it could not occur to them to differ. There were evenings when the Princess did nothing but relate her life and all that she had seen of humanity, from her earliest years, in a variety of countries. If the evil side of it appeared mainly to have been presented to her view, this did not diminish the interest and vividness of her reminiscences, nor her power, the greatest Hyacinth had ever encountered, of sketchy, fresh evocation and portrait- ure. She was irreverent and invidious, Casamassima. [July, but she made him hang on her lips; and when she regaled him with anecdotes of foreign courts (he delighted to know how sovereigns lived and conversed), there was often, for hours together, nothing to indicate that she would have liked to get into a conspiracy, and that he would have liked to get out of one. Nevertheless, his mind was by no means exempt from wonder as to what she was really doing in the dark, and in what queer consequences she might find her- self landed. When he questioned her she wished to know by what title, with his sentiments, he pretended to inquire. He did so but little, not being himself altogether convinced of the validity of his warrant; but on one occasion, when she challenged him, he replied, smiling and hesitating, Well, I must say, it seems to me that, from what I have told you, it ought to strike you that I have a title. You mean your engagement, your promise? Oh, that will never come to anything. Why wont it come to anything? It s too absurd, it s too vague. It s like some silly humbug in a novel. Vous me rendez la vie, said Hya- cinth theatrically. You wont have to do it, the Prin- cess went on. I think you mean I wont do it. I have offered, at least; is nt that a title? Well, then, you wont do it, said the Princess; and they looked at each other a couple of minutes i-n silence. You will, I think, at the pace you are going, the young man resumed. What do you know about the pace? You are not worthy to know, the Prin- cess rejoined. He did know, however; that is, he knew that she was in communication with foreign socialists, and had, or believed that she had, irons on the fire, that she held in her hand some of the strings that are pulled in great movements. - 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. 75 She received letters that made Madame Grandoni watch her askance, of which, though she knew nothing of their con- tents, and had only her general sus- picions and her scent for disaster, now become constant, the old woman had spoken more than once to Hyacinth. Madame Grandoni had begun to have sombre visions of the interference of the police: she was haunted with the idea of a search for compromising pa- pers; of being dragged, herself, as an ac- complice in direful plots, into a court of justice, and possibly into a prison. If she would only burn if she would only burn! But she keeps I know she keeps! she groaned to Hyacinth, in her helpless gloom. Hyacinth could only guess what it might be that she kept; asking himself whether she were seriously entangled, were being exploited by revolutionary Bohemians, predatory adventurers who counted on her getting frightened at a given moment, and offer- ing hush-money to be allowed to slip out (out of a complicity which they, of course, would never have taken serious- ly); or were merely coquetting with pa- per schemes, giving herself cheap sen- sations, discussing preliminaries which, for her, could have no second stage. It would have been easy for Hyacinth to smile at the Princesss impression that she was in it, and to conclude that even the cleverest women do not know when they are superficial, had not the vibra- tion remained which had been imparted to his nerves two years before, of which he had spoken to his hostess at Medley the sense, vividly kindled and never quenched, that the forces secretly arrayed against the present social order were pervasive and universal, in the air one breathed, in the ground one trod, in the hand of an acquaintance that one might touch, or the eye of a stranger that might rest a moment upon ones own. They were above, below, within, without, in every contact and combination of life; and it was no disproof of them to say it was too odd that they should lurk in a particular improbable form. To lurk in improbable forms was precisely their strength, and they would doubtless ex- hibit much stranger incidents than this of the Princesss being a genuine par- ticipant even when she flattered herself that she was. You do go too far, Hyacinth said to her, the evening Lady Aurora had passed him at the door. To which she answered, Of course I do that s exactly what I mean. How else does one know one has gone far enough? That poor, dear woman! She s an angel, but she is nt in the least in it, she added, in a moment. She would give him no further satisfaction on the subject; when he pressed her she inquired whether he had brought the copy of Browning that he had prom- ised the last time. If he had, he was to sit down and read it to her. In such a case as this Hyacinth had no disposi- tion to insist; he was glad enough not to talk about the everlasting nightmare. He took Men and Women from his pocket, and read aloud for half an hour; but on his making some remark on one of the poems, at the end of this time, he perceived the Princess had been pay- ing no attention. When he charged her with this levity, she only replied, looking at him musingly, How can one, after all, go too far? That s a word of cowards. Do you mean her ladyship is a cow- ard? Yes, in not having the courage of her opinions, of her conclusions. The way the English can go half-way to a thing, and then stick in the middle! the Princess exclaimed, impatiently. That s not your fault, certainly! said Hyacinth. But it seems to me that Lady Aurora, for herself, goes pretty far. We are all afraid of some things, and brave about others, the Princess went on. 76 At the arave The thing Lady Aurora is most afraid of is the Princess Casamassima, Hyacinth remarked. His companion looked at him, but she did not take this up. There is one particular in which she would be very brave. She would marry her friend your friend Mr. Muniment. Marry him, do you think? What else, pray? the Princess asked. She adores the ground he walks on. And what would Beigrave Square, and Inglefield, and all the rest of it, say? What do they say already, and how much does it make her swerve? She would do it in a moment; and it would be fine to see it, it would be magnifi- cent, said the Princess, kindling, as she was apt to kindle, at the idea of any great freedom of action. That certainly would nt be a case of what you call sticking in the middle, Hyacinth rejoined. Ab, it would nt be a matter of logic; it would be a matter of passion. When it s a question Qf that, the Eng- lish, to do them justice, dont stick. This speculation of the Princesss was by no means new to Hyacinth, and he had not thought it heroic, after all, that their high-strung friend should feel her- of a Suicide. [July, self capable of sacrificing her family, her name, and the few habits of gentil- ity that survived in her life, of making herself a scandal, a fable, and a nine days wonder, for Muniments sake; the young chemists assistant being, to his mind, as we know, exactly the type of mau who produced convulsions, made ruptures and renunciations easy. But it was less clear to him what ideas Muniment might have on the subject of a union with a young woman who should have come out of her class for him. He would marry some day, evi- dently, because he would do all the nat- ural, human, productive things; but for the present he had business on hand which would be likely to pass first. Be- sides Hyacinth had seen him give evidence of this he did nt think peo- ple could really come out of their class; he held that the stamp of ones origin is ineffaceable, and that the best thing one could do was to wear it and fight for it. Hyacinth could easily imagine how it would put him out to be mixed up, closely, with a person who, like Lady Aurora, was fighting on the wrong side. She cant marry him unless he asks her, I suppose and perhaps he wont, he reflected. Yes, perhaps he wont, said the Princess, thoughtfully. Henr~y fames. AT THE GRAVE OF A SUICIDE. You sat in judgment on him, you, whose feet Were set in pleasant places; you, who found The Bitter Cup he dared to break still sweet, And shut him from your consecrated ground. Come, if you think the dead man sleeps a whit Less soundly in his grave, come, look, I pray: A violet has consecrated it. Henceforth you need not fear to walk this way. S. AL B. Piatt.

S. M. B. Piatt Piatt, S. M. B. At the Grave of a Suicide 76-77

76 At the arave The thing Lady Aurora is most afraid of is the Princess Casamassima, Hyacinth remarked. His companion looked at him, but she did not take this up. There is one particular in which she would be very brave. She would marry her friend your friend Mr. Muniment. Marry him, do you think? What else, pray? the Princess asked. She adores the ground he walks on. And what would Beigrave Square, and Inglefield, and all the rest of it, say? What do they say already, and how much does it make her swerve? She would do it in a moment; and it would be fine to see it, it would be magnifi- cent, said the Princess, kindling, as she was apt to kindle, at the idea of any great freedom of action. That certainly would nt be a case of what you call sticking in the middle, Hyacinth rejoined. Ab, it would nt be a matter of logic; it would be a matter of passion. When it s a question Qf that, the Eng- lish, to do them justice, dont stick. This speculation of the Princesss was by no means new to Hyacinth, and he had not thought it heroic, after all, that their high-strung friend should feel her- of a Suicide. [July, self capable of sacrificing her family, her name, and the few habits of gentil- ity that survived in her life, of making herself a scandal, a fable, and a nine days wonder, for Muniments sake; the young chemists assistant being, to his mind, as we know, exactly the type of mau who produced convulsions, made ruptures and renunciations easy. But it was less clear to him what ideas Muniment might have on the subject of a union with a young woman who should have come out of her class for him. He would marry some day, evi- dently, because he would do all the nat- ural, human, productive things; but for the present he had business on hand which would be likely to pass first. Be- sides Hyacinth had seen him give evidence of this he did nt think peo- ple could really come out of their class; he held that the stamp of ones origin is ineffaceable, and that the best thing one could do was to wear it and fight for it. Hyacinth could easily imagine how it would put him out to be mixed up, closely, with a person who, like Lady Aurora, was fighting on the wrong side. She cant marry him unless he asks her, I suppose and perhaps he wont, he reflected. Yes, perhaps he wont, said the Princess, thoughtfully. Henr~y fames. AT THE GRAVE OF A SUICIDE. You sat in judgment on him, you, whose feet Were set in pleasant places; you, who found The Bitter Cup he dared to break still sweet, And shut him from your consecrated ground. Come, if you think the dead man sleeps a whit Less soundly in his grave, come, look, I pray: A violet has consecrated it. Henceforth you need not fear to walk this way. S. AL B. Piatt. 1886.] Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionar!, War. 77 FAILURE OF AMERICAN CREDIT AFTER THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. AT the close of the eighteenth cen- tury the barbarous superstitions of the Middle Ages concerning trade between nations still flourished with scarcely di- minished vitality. The epoch-making work of Adam Smith had been pub- lished in the same year in which the United States declared their indepen- dence. The one was the great scien- tific event, as the other was the great political event, of the age; but of nei- ther the one nor the other were the scope and purport fathomed at the time. Among the foremost statesmen, those who, like Shelburne and Gallatin, un- derstood the principles of the Wealth of Nations were few indeed. The simple principle that when two parties trade both must be gainers, or one would soon stop trading, was generally lost sight of; and most commercial legisla- tion proceeded upon the theory that in trade, as in gambling or betting, what the one party gains the other must lose. Hence towns, districts, and nations sur- rounded themselves with walls of legis- lative restrictions intended to keep out the monster trade, or to admit him only on strictest proof that he could do no harm. On this barbarous theory, the use of a colony consisted in its being a customer which you could compel to trade with yourself, while you could pre- vent it from trading with anybody else; and having secured this point, you could cunningly arrange things by legislation so as to throw all the loss upon this en- forced customer, and keep all the gain to yourself. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries all the commercial legislation of the great colonizing states was based upon this theory of the use of a colony. For effectiveness, it shared to some extent the characteristic features of legislation for making water run up- hill. It retarded commercial develop- ment all over the world, fostered monop- olies, made the rich richer and the poor poorer, hindered the interchange of ideas and the refinement of manners, and sac- rificed millions of human lives in misdi- rected warfare; but what it was intend- ed to do it did not do. The sturdy race of smugglers those despised pioneers of a higher civilization thrived in de- fiance of kings and parliaments; and as it was impossible to carry out such legislation thoroughly without stopping trade altogether, colonies and mother countries contrived to increase their wealth in spite of it. The colonies, however, understood the animus of the theory in so far as it was directed against them, and the revolutionary sentiment in America had gained much of its strength from the protest against this one-sided justice. In one of its most important aspects, the Revolution was a deadly blow aimed at the old system of trade restrictions. It was to a certain extent a step in realization of the noble doctrines of Adam Smith. But where the scientific thinker grasped the whole principle involved in the matter, the practical statesmen saw only the special application which seemed to concern them for the moment. They all under- stood that the Revolution bad set them free to trade with other countries than England, but very few of them under- stood that, whatever countries trade to- gether, the one cannot hope to benefit by impoverishing the other. This point is much better understood in England to-day than in the United States; but a century ago there was little to choose between the two coun- tries in ignorance of political economy. England had gained great wealth and power through trade with her rapidly

John Fiske Fiske, John Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War 77-89

1886.] Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionar!, War. 77 FAILURE OF AMERICAN CREDIT AFTER THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. AT the close of the eighteenth cen- tury the barbarous superstitions of the Middle Ages concerning trade between nations still flourished with scarcely di- minished vitality. The epoch-making work of Adam Smith had been pub- lished in the same year in which the United States declared their indepen- dence. The one was the great scien- tific event, as the other was the great political event, of the age; but of nei- ther the one nor the other were the scope and purport fathomed at the time. Among the foremost statesmen, those who, like Shelburne and Gallatin, un- derstood the principles of the Wealth of Nations were few indeed. The simple principle that when two parties trade both must be gainers, or one would soon stop trading, was generally lost sight of; and most commercial legisla- tion proceeded upon the theory that in trade, as in gambling or betting, what the one party gains the other must lose. Hence towns, districts, and nations sur- rounded themselves with walls of legis- lative restrictions intended to keep out the monster trade, or to admit him only on strictest proof that he could do no harm. On this barbarous theory, the use of a colony consisted in its being a customer which you could compel to trade with yourself, while you could pre- vent it from trading with anybody else; and having secured this point, you could cunningly arrange things by legislation so as to throw all the loss upon this en- forced customer, and keep all the gain to yourself. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries all the commercial legislation of the great colonizing states was based upon this theory of the use of a colony. For effectiveness, it shared to some extent the characteristic features of legislation for making water run up- hill. It retarded commercial develop- ment all over the world, fostered monop- olies, made the rich richer and the poor poorer, hindered the interchange of ideas and the refinement of manners, and sac- rificed millions of human lives in misdi- rected warfare; but what it was intend- ed to do it did not do. The sturdy race of smugglers those despised pioneers of a higher civilization thrived in de- fiance of kings and parliaments; and as it was impossible to carry out such legislation thoroughly without stopping trade altogether, colonies and mother countries contrived to increase their wealth in spite of it. The colonies, however, understood the animus of the theory in so far as it was directed against them, and the revolutionary sentiment in America had gained much of its strength from the protest against this one-sided justice. In one of its most important aspects, the Revolution was a deadly blow aimed at the old system of trade restrictions. It was to a certain extent a step in realization of the noble doctrines of Adam Smith. But where the scientific thinker grasped the whole principle involved in the matter, the practical statesmen saw only the special application which seemed to concern them for the moment. They all under- stood that the Revolution bad set them free to trade with other countries than England, but very few of them under- stood that, whatever countries trade to- gether, the one cannot hope to benefit by impoverishing the other. This point is much better understood in England to-day than in the United States; but a century ago there was little to choose between the two coun- tries in ignorance of political economy. England had gained great wealth and power through trade with her rapidly 78 Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. [July, growing American colonies. One of her chief fears, in the event of Amer- ican independence, had been the possi- ble loss of that trade. English mer- chants feared that American commerce, when no longer confined to its old paths by legislation, would somehow find its way to France and Holland and Spain and other countries, until nothing would be left for England. The Revolution worked no such change, however. The principal trade of the United States was with England, as before, because Eng- land could best supply the goods that Americans wanted; and it is such con- siderations, and not acts of Parliament, that determine trade in its natural and proper channels. In 1783 Pitt intro- duced into Parliament a bill which would have secured mutual uncondition- al free trade between the two countries; and this was what such men as Frank- lin, Jefferson, and Madison desired. Could this bill have passed, the hard feelings occasioned by the war would soon have died out, the commercial progress of both countries would have been promoted, and the stupid measures which led to a second war within thirty years might have been prevented. But the wisdom of Pitt found less favor in Parliament than the dense stupidity of Lord Sheffield, who thought that to ad- mit Americans to the carrying trade would undermine the naval power of Great Britain. Pitts measure was de- feated, and the regulation of commerce with America was left to the king in council. Orders were passed as if upon the theory that America poor would be a better customer than America rich. The carrying trade to the West Indies had been one of the most important branches of American industry. The men of iNew England were famous for seamanship, and better and cheaper ships could be built in the seaports of Massachusetts than anywhere in Great Britain. An oak vessel could be built at Gloucester or Salem for twenty-four dollars per ton; a ship of live-oak or American cedar cost not more than thir- ty-eight dollars per ton. On the other hand, fir vessels built on the Baltic cost thirty-five dollars per ton, and nowhere in England, France, or Holland could a ship be made of oak for less than fifty dollars per ton. Often the cost was as high as sixty dollars. It was not strange, therefore, that before the war more than one third of the tonnage afloat under the British flag was launched from American dock-yards. The war had violently deprived England of this enor- mous advantage, and now she sought to make the privation perpetual, in the de- lusive hope of confining British trade to British keels, and in the belief that it was the height of wisdom to impoverish the nation which she regarded as her best customer. In July, 1783, an order in council proclaimed that henceforth all trade between the United States and the British West Indies must be carried on in British-built ships, owned and nav- igated by British subjects. A serious blow was thus dealt not only at Ameri- can shipping, but also at the interchange of commodities between the States and the islands, which was greatly hampered by this restriction. During the whole of the eighteenth century the West In- dia sugar trade with the North Amer- ican colonies and with Great Britain had been of immense value to all par- ties, and all had been seriously damaged by the curtailment of it due to the war. INow that the artificial state of things created by the war was to be perpet- uated by legislation, the prospect of re- pairing the loss seemed indefinitely post- poned. Moreover, even in trading di- rectly with Great Britain, American ships were only allowed to bring in arti- cles produced in the particular States of which their owners were citizens, an enactment which seemed to add insult to injury, inasmuch as it directed especial attention to the want of union among the thirteen States. Great indignation 1886.] Pailure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. 79 was aroused in America, and reprisals were talked of, but efforts were first made to obtain a commercial treaty. In 1785 Franklin returned from France, and Jefferson was sent as minister in his stead, while John Adams became the first representative of the United States at the British court. Adams was very courteously received by George III., and presently set to work to convince Lord Carmarthen, the foreign secretary, of the desirableness of unrestricted in- tercourse between the two countries. But popular opinion in England was ob- stinately set against him. But for the Navigation Act and the orders in coun- cii, it was said, all ships would by and by come to be built in America, and every time a frigate was wanted for the navy the Lords of Admiralty would have to send over to Boston or Philadelphia and order one. Rather than do such a thing as this, it was thought that the British navy should content itself with vessels of inferior workmanship and higher cost, built in British dock-yards. Thirty years after, England gathered an unexpected fruit of this narrow policy, when, to her intense bewilderment, she saw frigate after frigate outsailed and defeated in single combat with Amer- ican antagonists. Owing to her exclu- sive measures, the rapid improvement in American ship-building had gone on quite beyond her ken, until she was thus rudely awakened to it. With similar short-sighted jealousy, it was argued that the American share in the whale- fishery and in the Newfoundland fishery should be curtailed as much as possible. Spermaceti oil was much needed in Eng- land: complaints were rife of robbery and murder in the dimly lighted streets of London and other great cities. But it was thought that if American ships could carry oil to England and salt fish to Jamaica, the supply of seamen for the British navy would be diminished; and accordingly such privileges must not be granted the Americans unless valuable privileges could be granted in return. But the government of the United States could grant no privileges because it could impose no restrictions. British manufactured goods were need- ed in America, and Congress, which could levy no duties, had no power to keep them out. British merchants and manufacturers, it was argued, already enjoyed all needful privileges in Amer- ican ports, and accordingly they asked no favors and granted none. Such were the arguments to which Adams was obliged to listen. The pop- ular feeling was so strong that Pitt could not have stemmed it if he would. It was in vain that Adams threatened reprisals, and urged that the British measures would defeat their own pur- pose. The end of the Navigation Act, said he, as expressed in its own preamble, is to confine the commerce of the colonies to the mother country; but now we are hecome independent States, instead of confining our trade to Great Britain, it will drive it to other coun- tries: and he suggested that the Amer- icans might make a navigation act in their turn, admitting to American ports none but American-built ships, owned and commanded by Americans. But under the articles of confederation such a threat was idle, and the British gov- ernment knew it to be so. Thirteen separate state governments could never be made to adopt any such measure in concert. The weakness of Congress had been fatally revealed in its inability to protect the loyalists or to enforce the payment of debts, and in its failure to raise a revenue for meeting its current expenses. A government thus sligbted at home was naturally despised abroad. England neglected to send a minister to Philadelphia, and while Adams was treated politely, his arguments were un- heeded. Whether in this behavior Pitts government was influenced or not by political as well as economical reasons, it was certain that a political purpose 80 Failure of American Credit after tke Revolutionary War. [July, was entertained by the king and ap- proved by many people. There was an intention of humiliating the Americans, and it was commonly said that under a sufficient weight of commercial distress the States would break up their feeble union, and come straggling back, one after another, to their old allegiance. The fiery spirit of Adams could ill brook this contemptuous treatment of the na- tion which he represented. Though he favored very liberal commercial re- lations with the whole world, he could see no escape from the present difficul- ties save in systematic retaliation. I should be sorry, he said, to adopt a monopoly, but, driven to the necessity of it, I would not do things by halves. If monopolies and exclusions are the only arms of defense against mo- nopolies and exclusions, I would ven- ture upon them without fear of offend- ing Dean Tucker or the ghost of Dr. Quesnay. That is to say, certain commercial privileges must be with- held from Great Britain, in order to be offered to her in return for reciprocal privileges. It was a miserable policy to be forced to adopt, for such restric- tions upon trade inevitably cut both ways. Like the non-importation agree- ment of 1768 and the embargo of 1808, such a policy was open to the objections familiarly urged against biting off ones own nose. It was injuring ones self in the hope of injuring somebody else. It was perpetuating in time of peace the obstacles to commerce generated by a state of war. In a certain sense, it was keeping up warfare by commercial in- stead of military methods, and there was danger that it might lead to a re- newal of armed conflict. Nevertheless, the conduct of the British government seemed to Adams to leave no other course open. But such means of pre- serving ourselves, he said, can never be secured until Congress shall be made supreme in foreign commerce.~~ It was obvious enough that the sep arate action of the States upon such a question was only adding to the gener- al uncertainty and confusion. In 1785 New York laid a double duty on all goods whatever imported in British ships. In the same year Pennsylvania passed the first of the long series of American tariff acts, designed to tax the whole community for the alleged benefit of a few greedy manufacturers. Massa- chusetts sought to establish committees of correspondence for the purpose of entering into a new non - importation agreement, and its legislature resolved that the present powers of the Con- gress of the United States, as contained in the articles of confederation, are not fully adequate to the great purposes they were originally designed to effect. The Massachusetts delegates in Congress Gerry, Holten, and King were in- structed to recommend a general conven- tion of the States for the purpose of re- vising and amending the articles of con- federation; but the delegates refused to comply with their instructions, and set forth their reasons in a paper which was approved by Samuel Adams, and caused the legislature to reconsider its action. It was feared that a call for a conven- tion might seem too much like an open expression of a want of confidence in Congress, and might thereby weaken it still further without accomplishing any good result. For the present, as a tem- porary expedient, Massachusetts took counsel with New Hampshire, and the two States passed navigation acts, pro- hibiting British ships from carrying goods out of their harbors, and imposing a fourfold duty upon all such goods as they should bring in. A discriminating tonnage duty was also laid upon all foreign vessels. Rhode Island soon after adopted similar measures. In Con- gress a scheme for a uniform naviga- tion act, to be concurred in and passed by all the thirteen States, was suggested by one of the Maryland delegates; but it was opposed by Richard Henry Lee 1886.] Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. 81 and most of the delegates from the far South. The Southern States, having no ships or seamen of their own, feared that the exclusion of British competi- tion might enable Northern ship-owners to charge exorbitant rates for carrying their rice and tobacco, thus subjecting them to a ruinous monopoly; but the gallant Moultrie, then governor of South Carolina, taking a broader view of the case, wrote to Bowdoin, governor of Massachusetts, asserting the paramount need of harmonious and united action. In the Virginia assembly, a hot-headed member, named Thurston, declared him- self in doubt whether it would not be better to encourage the British rather than the eastern marine; but the re- mark was greeted with hisses and groans, and the speaker was speedily put down. Amid such mutual jealousies and mis- givings, during the year 1785 acts were passed by ten States granting to Con- gress the power of regulating commerce for the ensuing thirteen years. The three States which refrained from act- ing were Georgia, South Carolina, and Delaware. The acts of the other ten were, as might have been expected, a jumble of incongruities. North Caro- lina granted all the power that was asked, but stipulated that when all the States should have done likewise their acts should be summed up in a new article of confederation. Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and Maryland had fixed the date at which the grant was to take effect, while Rhode Island provided that it should not expire until after the lapse of twenty-five years. The grant by New Hampshire allowed the power to be used only in one specified way, by restricting the duties imposable by the several States. The grants of Massa- chusetts, New York, New Jersey, and Virginia were not to take effect until all the others should go into operation. The only thing which Congress could do with these acts was to refer them back to the several legislatures, with a polite VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 6 request to try to reduce them to some- thing like uniformity. Meanwhile, the different States, with their different tariff and tonnage acts, began to make commercial war upon one another. No sooner had the other three New England States virtually closed their ports to British shipping than Connecticut threw hers wide open, an act which she followed up by laying duties upon imports from Massachusetts. Pennsylvania discriminated against Del- aware, and New Jersey, pillaged at once by both her greater neighbors, was com- pared to a cask tapped at both ends. The conduct of New York became es- pecially selfish and blameworthy. That rapid growth which was so soon to carry the city and the State to a position of primacy in the Union had already be- gun. After the departure of the Brit- ish the revival of business went on with leaps and bounds. The feeling of local patriotism waxed strong, and in no one was it more completely manifested than in George Clinton, the Revolutionary general, whom the people elected gov- ernor for nine successive terms. From a humble origin, by dint of shrewdness and untiring push, Clinton had come to be for the moment the most powerful man in the State of New York. He had immense influence with the mass of the people, and he has left behind him a reputation far beyond his real merit. So far as New York was concerned, he was a public - spirited man. He had come to look upon the State almost as if it were his own private manor, and his life was devoted to furthering its inter- ests as he understood them. It was his first article of faith that New York must be the greatest State in the Union. But his conceptions of statesmanship were extremely narrow. In his mind, the welfare of New York meant the pulling down and thrusting aside of all her neighbors and rivals. He was the vig- orous and steadfast advocate of every illiberal and exclusive measure, and the 82 Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. [July, most uncompromising enemy to a closer union of the States. His great popular strength and the commercial importance of the community in which he held sway made him at this time the most danger- ous man in America. The political victories presently to be won by Ham- ilton, Schuyler, and Livingston, with- out which our grand and pacific federal union could not have been brought into being, were victories won by most des- perate fighting against the dogged oppo- sition of Clinton. Under his guidance, the history of iNew York, during the five years following the peace of 1783, was a shameful story of greedy monop- oly and sectional hate. Of all the thirteen States, none behaved worse ex- cept Rhode Island. A single instance, which occurred early in 1787, may serve as an illustration. The city of New York, with its population of 30,000 souls, had long been supplied with fire- wood from Connecticut, and with butter and cheese, chickens and garden vege- tables, from the thrifty farms of New Jersey. This trade, it was observed, carried thousands of dollars out of the city and into the pockets of detested Yankees and despised Jerseymen. It was ruinous to domestic industry, said the men of New York. It must be stopped by those effective remedies of the Sangrado school of economic doc- tors, a navigation act and a protective tariff. Acts were accordingly passed, obliging every Yankee sloop which came down through Hell Gate, and every Jer- sey market boat which was rowed across from Paulus Hook to Cortlandt Street, to pay entrance fees and obtain clear- ances at the custom-house, just as was done by ships from London or Ham- burg; and not a cart-load of Connecti- cut firewood could be delivered at the back-door of a country-house in Beek- man Street until it should have paid a heavy duty. Great and just was the wrath of the farmers and lumbermen. The New Jersey legislature made up its mind to retaliate. The city of New York had lately bought a small patch of ground on Sandy Hook, and had built a light-house there. This light-house was the one weak spot in the heel of Achilleus where a hostile arrow could strike, and New Jersey gave vent to her indignation by laying a tax of $1800 a year on it. Connecticut was equally prompt. At a great meeting of business men, held at New London, it was unanimously agreed to suspend all commercial intercourse with New York. Every merchant signed an agreement, under penalty of $250 for the first of- fense, not to send any goods whatever into the hated State for a period of twelve months. By such retaliatory measures, it was hoped that New York might be compelled to rescind her odi- ous enactment. But such meetings and such resolves bore an ominous likeness to the meetings and resolves which in the years before 1775 had heralded a state of war; and but for the good work done by the federal convention another five years would scarcely have elapsed before shots would have been fired and seeds of perennial hatred sown on the shores that look toward Manhat- tan Island. To these commercial disputes there were added disputes about territory~ The chronic quarrel between Connecti- cut and Pennsylvania over the valley of Wyoming was decided in the autumn of 1782 by a special federal court, ap- pointed in accordance with the articles of confederation. The prize was ad- judged to Pennsylvania, and the gov- ernment of Connecticut submitted as gracefully as possible. But new troubles were in store for the inhabitants of that beautiful region. The traces of the massacre of 1778 had disappeared, the houses had been rebuilt, new settlers had come in, and the pretty villages had taken on their old look of contentment and thrift, when in the spring of 1784 there came an accumulation of disasters. 1886.] Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary Wor. 83 During a very cold winter great quanti- ties of snow had fallen, and lay piled in huge masses on the mountain sides, until in March a sudden thaw set in. The Susquehanna rose, and overflowed the valley, and great blocks of ice drifted here and there, carrying death and de- struction with them. Houses, barns, and fences were swept away, the cattle were drowned, the fruit trees broken down, the stores of food destroyed, and over the whole valley there lay a stratum of gravel and pebbles. The people were starving with cold and hunger, and Pres- ident Dickinson urged the legislature to send prompt relief to the sufferers. But the hearts of the members were as flint, and their talk was incredibly wicked. Not a penny would they give to help the accursed Yankees. It served them right. If they had stayed in Connecticut, where they belonged, they would have kept out of harms way. And with a blasphemy thinly veiled in phrases of pious unction, the desolation of the val- ley was said to have been contrived by the Deity with the express object of punishing these trespassers. But the cruelty of the Pennsylvania legislature was not confined to words. A scheme was devised for driving out the settlers and partitioning their lands among a company of speculators. A force of militia was sent to Wyoming, command- ed by a truculent creature named Pat- terson. The ostensible purpose was to assist in restoring order in the valley, but the behavior of the soldiers was such as would have disgraced a horde of barbarians. They stole what they could find, dealt out blows to the men and insults to the women, until their violence was met with violence in re- turn. Then Patterson sent a letter to President Dickinson, accusing the farm- ers of sedition, and hinting that extreme measures were necessary. Having thus, as he thought, prepared the way, he at- tacked the settlement, turned some five hundred people out-of-doors, and burned their houses to the ground. The wretch- ed victims, many of them tender women, or infirm old men, or little children, were driven into the wilderness at the point of the bayonet, and told to find their way to Connecticut without fur- ther delay. Heart - rending scenes en- sued. Many died of exhaustion, or furnished food for wolves. But this was more than the Pennsylvania legis- lature had intended. Pattersons zeal had carried him too far. He was re- called, and the sheriff of Northumber- land County was sent, with a posse of men, to protect the settlers. Patterson disobeyed, however, and, withdrawing his men to a fortified lair in the moun- tains, kept up a guerrilla warfare. All the Connecticut men in the neighboring country flew to arms. Men were killed on both sides, and presently Patterson was besieged. A regiment of soldiers was then sent from Philadelphia, under Colonel Armstrong, who had formerly been on Gatess staff, the author of the infamous Newburgh addresses. On ar- riving in the valley, Armstrong held a parley with the Connecticut men, and persuaded them to lay down their arms; assuring them on his honor that they should meet with no ill treatment, and that their enemy, Patterson, should be disarmed also. Having thus got them into his clutches, the knave forthwith treated them as prisoners. Seventy- six of them were handcuffed and sent under guard, some to Easton and some to Northumberland, wbere they were thrown into jail. Great was the indignation in New England when these deeds were heard of. The matter had become very seri- ous. A war between Connecticut and Pennsylvania might easily grow out of it. But the danger was averted through a very singular feature in the Pennsyl- vania constitution. In order to hold its legislature in check, Pennsylvania had a council of censors, which was assem- bled once in seven years in order to in- 84 Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. [July, quire whether the State had been prop- erly governed during the interval. Soon after the troubles in Wyoming the regu- lar meeting of the censors was held, and the conduct of Armstrong and Patter- son was unreservedly condemned. A hot controversy ensued between the leg- islature and the censors, and as the peo- ple set great store by the latter peculiar institution, public sympathy was gradu- ally awakened for the sufferers. The wickedness of the affair began to dawn upon peoples minds, and they were ashamed of what had been done. Pat- terson and Armstrong were frowned down, the legislature disavowed their acts, and it was ordered that full repara- tion should be made to the persecuted settlers of Wyoming. In the Green Mountains and on the up- per waters of the Connecticut there had been trouble for many years. In the course of the Revolutionary War, the fierce dispute between New York and New Hampshire for the possession of the Green Mountains came in from time to time to influence most curiously the course of events. It was closely connect- ed with the intrigues against General Schuyler, and more remotely with the Conway cabal and the treason of Arnold. About the time of Burgoynes invasion the association of Green iNfountain Boys endeavored to cut the Gordian knot by declaring Vermont an independent State, and applying to the Continental Congress for admission into the Union. The New York delegates in Congress succeeded in defeating this scheme, but the Ver- mont people went on and framed their constitution. Thomas Chittenden, a man of rough manners but very considerable ability, a farmer and innkeeper, like Is- rael Putnam, was chosen governor, and held that position for many years. New Hampshire thus far had not actively op- posed these measures, but fresh grounds of quarrel were soon at hand. Several 1 A very interesting account of these tronbies may be found in the first volume of Professor towns on the east bank of the Connec- ticut River wished to escape from the jurisdiction of New Hampshire. They preferred to belong to Vermont, because it was not within the Union, and ac- cordingly not liable to requisitions of taxes from the Continental Congress. It was conveniently remembered that by the original grant, in the reign of Charles II., New Hampshire extended only sixty miles from the coast. Ver- mont was at first inclined to assent, but finding the scheme unpopular in Con- gress, and not wishing to offend that body, she changed her mind. The towns on both banks of the river then tried to organize themselves into a mid- dle State, a sort of Lotharingia on the banks of this New World Rhine, to be called New Connecticut. By this time New Han~pshire was aroused, and she called attention to the fact that she still believed herself entitled to domin- ion over the whole of Vermont. Massa- chusetts now began to suspect that the upshot of the matter would be the parti- tion of the whole disputed territory be- tween New Hampshire and New York, and, ransacking her ancient grants and charters, she decided to set up a claim on her own part to the southernmost towns in Vermont. Thus goaded on all sides, Vermont adopted an aggressive policy. She not only annexed the towns east of the Connecticut River, but also asserted sovereignty over the towns in New York as far as the Hudson. New York sent troops to the threatened frontier, New Hampshire prepared to do likewise, and for a moment war seemed inevitable. But here, as in so many other instances, Washington ap- peared as peacemaker, and prevailed upon Governor Chittenden to use his influence in getting the dangerous claims withdrawn. After the spring of 1784 the outlook was less stormy in the Green Mountains. The conflicting claims were MeMasters History of the People of the United States. 1886.] Failure of American Credit after the Bevolutionar~y War. 85 allowed to lie dormant, but the possi- bilities of mischief remained, and the Vermont question was not finally settled until after the adoption of the Federal Constitution. Meanwhile, on the de- batable frontier between Vermont and New York the embers of hatred smoul- dered. Barns and houses were set on fire, and belated wayfarers were found mysteriously murdered in the depths of the forest. Incidents like these of Wyoming and Vermont seem trivial, perhaps, when contrasted with the lurid tales of border warfare in older times between half-civ- ilized peoples of mediawal Europe, as we read them in the pages of Froissart and Sir Walter Scott. But their his- toric lesson is none the less clear. Though they lift the curtain but a little way, they show us a glimpse of the un- told dangers and horrors from which the adoption of our Federal Constitution has so thoroughly freed us that we can only with some effort realize how nar- rowly we have escaped them. It is fit that they should be borne in mind, that we may duly appreciate the significance of the reign of law and order which has been established on this continent during the greater part of a century. When reported in Europe, such inci- dents were held to confirm the opinion that the American confederacy was go- ing to pieces. With quarrels about trade and quarrels about boundaries, we seemed to be treading the old-fashioned paths of anarchy, even as they had been trodden in other ages and other parts of the world. It was natural that people in Europe should think so, because there was no historic precedent to help them in forming a different opinion. No one could possibly foresee that within five years a number of gentlemen at Phila- delphia, containing among themselves a greater amount of political sagacity than had ever before been brought together within the walls of a single room, would amicably discuss the situation and agree upon a new system of government where- by the dangers might be once for all averted. Still less could any one fore- see that these gentlemen would not only agree upon a scheme among themselves, but would actually succeed, without seri- ous civil dissension, in making the peo- ple of thirteen States adopt, defend, and cherish it. History afforded no exam- ple of such a gigantic act of construc- tive statesmanship. It was, moreover, a strange and apparently fortuitous com- bination of circumstances that were now preparing the way for it and making its accomplishment possible. No one could forecast the future. When our minis- ters and agents in Europe raised the question as to making commercial trea- ties, they were disdainfully asked wheth- er European powers were expected to deal with thirteen governments or with one. If it was answered that the United States constituted a single government so far as their relations with foreign powers were concerned, then we were forthwith twitted with our failure to keep our engagements with England with re- gard to the loyalists and the collec- tion of private debts. Yes, we see, said the European diplomats; the United States are one nation to-day and thirteen to-morrow, according as may seem to subserve their selfish interests. Jeffer- son, at Paris, was told again and again that it was useless for the French gov- ernment to enter into any agreement with the United States, as there was no certainty that it would be fulfilled on our part; and the same things were said all over Europe. Toward the close of the war most of the European nations had seemed ready to enter into com- mercial arrangements with the United States, but all save Holland speedily lost interest in the subject. John Adams had succeeded in making a treaty with Holland in 1782. Frederick the Great treated us more civilly than other sov- ereigns. One of the last acts of his life was to conclude a treaty for ten 86 Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary, War. [July, years with the United States; asserting the principle that free ships make free goods, taking arms and military stores out of the class of contraband, agreeing to refrain from privateering even in case of war between the two countries, and in other respects showing a liberal and enlightened spirit. This treaty was concluded in 1786. It scarcely touched the subject of international trade in time of peace, but it was valuable as regard- ed the matters it covered, and in the midst of the general failure of Ameri- can diplomacy in Europe it fell pleas- antly upon our ears. Our diplomacy had failed because our weakness had been proclaimed to the world. We were bullied by England, insulted by France and Spain, and looked askance at in Holland. The humiliating posi- tion in which our ministers were placed by the beggarly poverty of Congress was something almost beyond credence. It was by no means unusual for the su- perintendent of finance, when hard pushed for money, to draw upon our foreign ministers, and then sell the drafts for cash. This was not only not un- usual; it was an established custom. It was done again and again, when there was not the smallest ground for sup- posing that the minister upon whom the draft was made would have any funds wherewith to meet it. He must go and beg the money. That was part of his duty as envoy, to solicit loans without security for a gove~rnment that could not raise enough mdney by taxation to de- fray its current expenses. It was sick- ening work. Just before John Adams had beell appointed minister to England, and while he was visiting in London, he suddenly learned that drafts upon him had been presented to his bankers in Amsterdam to the amount of more than a million forms. Less than half a mil- lion forms were on hand to meet these demands, and unless something were done at once the greater part of this pa- per would go back to America protested. Adams lost not a moment in starting for Holland. In these modern days of pre- cision in travel, when we can translate space into time, the distance between London and Amsterdam is eleven hours. It was accomplished by Adams, after innumerable delays and vexations and no little danger, in fifty-four days. The bankers had contrived, by ingenious ex- cuses, to keep the drafts from going to protest until the ministers arrival, but the gazettes were full of the troubles of Congress and the bickerings of the States, and everybody was suspicious. Adams applied in vain to the regency of Amsterdam. The promise of the Amer- ican government was not regarded as valid security for a sum equivalent to about three hundred thousand dollars. The members of the regency were polite, but inexorable. They could not make a loan on such terms; it was unbusiness- like and contrary to precedent. Find- ing them immovable, Adams was forced to apply to professional usurers and Jew brokers, from whom, after three weeks of perplexity and humiliation, he ob- tained a loan at exorbitant interest, and succeeded in meeting the drafts. It was only too plain, as he mournfully con- fessed, that American credit was dead. Such were the trials of our American minister in Europe in the dark days of the League of Friendship. It was not a solitary, but a typical, instance. John Jays experience at the unfriendly court of Spain was perhaps even more trying. European governments might treat us with cold disdain, and European bankers might pronounce our securities worthless, but there was one quarter of the world from which even worse meas- ure was meted out to us. Of all the barbarous communities with which the civilized world has had to deal in mod- ern times, perhaps none have made so much trouble as the Mussulman states on the southern shore of the Mediterra- nean. After the breaking up of the great Moorish kingdoms of the Middle 87 1886.] Failure of American Credit after the Revolutionary War. Ages, this region had fallen under the nominal control of the Turkish sultans as lords paramount of the orthodox Mo- hammedan world. Its miserable pop- ulations became the prey of banditti. Swarms of half-savage chieftains settled down upon the land like locusts, and out of such a pandemonium of robbery and murder as has scarcely been equaled in historic times the pirate states of Morocco and Algiers, Tunis and Trip- oli, gradually emerged. Of these com- munities history has not one good word to say. In these fair lands, once illus- trious for the genius and virtues of a Hannibal and the profound philosophy of St. Augustine, there grew up the most terrible despotisms ever known to the world. The things done daily by the robber sovereigns were such as to make a civilized imagination recoil with hor- ror. One of these cheerful creatures, who reigned in the middle of the eight- eenth century, and was called Muley Abdallab, especially prided himself on his peculiar skill in mounting a horse. Resting his left hand upon the horses neck, as he sprang into the saddle he simultaneously swung the sharp scimi- ter in his right hand so deftly as to cut off the head of the groom who held the bridle. From his behavior in these sportive moods one may judge what he was capable of on serious occasions. He was a fair sample of the Barbary mon- archs. The foreign policy of these wretches was summed up in piracy and blackmail. Their corsairs swept the Mediterranean and ventured far out upon the ocean, capturing merchant ves- sels, and murdering or enslaving their crews. Of the rich booty, a fixed pro- portion was paid over to the robber sov- ereign, and the rest was divided among the gang. So lucrative was this busi- ness that it attracted hardy ruffians from all parts of Europe, and the misery they inflicted upon mankind during four cen- turies was beyond calculation. One of their favorite practices was the kidnap- ping of eminent or wealthy persons, in the hope of extorting ransom. Cer- vantes and Yincent de Paul were among the celebrated men who thus tasted the horrors of Moorish slavery; but it was a calamity that might fall to the lot of any man or woman, and it was but rare- ly that the victims ever regained their freedom. Against these pirates the gov- ernments of Europe contended in vain. Swift cruisers frequently captured their ships, and from the days of Joan of Arc down to the days of Napoleon their skeletons swung from long rows of gib- bets on all the coasts of Europe, as a terror and a warning. But their losses were easily repaired, and sometimes they cruised in fleets of seventy or eighty sail, defying the navies of England and France. It was not until after Eng- land, in Nelsons time, had acquired su- premacy in the Mediterranean that this dreadful scourge was destroyed. Amer- icans, however, have just ground for pride in recollecting that their govern- ment was foremost in chastising these pirates in their own harbors. The ex- ploits of our little navy in the Mediter- ranean at the beginning of the present century form an interesting episode in American history, but in the weak days of the confederation our commerce was plundered with impunity, and American citizens were seized and sold into slav- ery in the markets of Algiers and Trip- oli. One reason for the long survival of this villainy was the low state of hu- manity among European nations. An Englishmans sympathy was but feebly aroused by the plunder of Frenchmen, and the bigoted Spaniard looked on with approval so long as it was Protestants that were kidnapped and bastinadoed. In 1783 Lord Sheffield published a pam- phlet on the commerce of the United States, in which he shamelessly declared that the Barbary pirates were really useful to the great maritime powers, be- cause they tended to keep the weaker nations out of their share in the carry- 88 Failure of American Credit after the Bevolutionary War. [July, ing trade. This, he thought, was a val- uable offset to the Empress Catherines device of the armed neutrality, where- by small nations were protected; and on this wicked theory, as Franklin tells us, London merchants had been heard to say that if there were no Algiers, it would be worth Englands while to build one. It was largely because of such feelings that the great states of Europe so long persisted in the craven policy of paying blackmail to the robbers, instead of joining in a crusade and de- stroying them. In 1786 Congress felt it necessary to take measures for protect- ing the lives and liberties of American citizens. The person who called him- self Emperor of Morocco at that time was different from most of his kind. He had a taste for reading, and had thus caught a glimmering of the enlightened liberalism which French philosophers were preaching. He wished to be thought a benevolent despot, and with Morocco, accordingly, Congress succeed- ed in making a treaty. But nothing could be done with the other pirate states without paying blackmail. Few scenes in our history are more amusing, or more irritating, than the interview of John Adams with an envoy from Trip- oli in London. The oily-tongued bar- barian, with his soft voice and his bland smile, asseverating that his only interest in life was to do good and make other people happy, stands out in fine contrast with the blunt, straightforward, and truthful New Englander; and their con- versation reminds one of the old story of Co~ur-de-Lion with his curtal-axe and Saladin with the blade that cut the silken cushion. Adams felt sure that the fellow was either saint or devil, but could not quite tell which. The envoys love for mankind was so great that he could not bear the thought of hostility between the Americans and the Barbary States, and he suggested that everything might be happily arranged for a million dollars or so. Adams thought it better to fight than to pay tribute. It would be cheaper in the end, as well as more manly. At the same time, it was better economy to pay a million dollars at once than waste many times that sum in war risks and loss of trade. But Congress could do neither one thing nor the other. It was too poor to build a navy, and too poor to buy off the pirates; and so for several years to come American ships were burned and American sailors enslaved with utter impunity. With the memory of such wrongs deeply graven in his heart, it was natural that John Adams, on becoming President of the United States, should bend all his energies to founding a strong American navy. A government touches the lowest point of ignominy when it confesses its inability to protect the lives and prop- erty of its citizens. A government which has come to this has failed in dis- charging the primary function of gov- ernment, and forthwith ceases to have any reason for existing. In March, 1786, Grayson wrote to Madison that several members of Congress thought seriously of recommending a general convention for remodeling the govern- ment. I have not made up my mind, says Grayson, whether it would not be better to bear the ills we have than fly to those we know not of. I am, how- ever, in no doubt about the weakness of the federal government. If it remains much longer in its present state of im- becility, we shall be one of the most contemptible nations on the face of the earth. It is clear to me as A, B, C, said Washington, that an extension of federal powers would make us one of the most happy, wealthy, respectable, and powerful nations that ever in- habited the terrestrial globe. Without them we shall soon be everything which is the direct reverse. I predict the worst consequences from a half-starved, limping government, always moving upon crutches and tottering at every step. John Fiske. 1886.] Si6~ql the Savage. 89 SIBYL THE SAVAGE. THE little village of Deepgrove, in Western Massachusetts, has a tragical colonial history. Legends cluster around the ancient mansions of Queen Annes War, of the surprise by the French and Indians and the long march to Canada through the winter snows. The Deep- grove people are tenacious of these memories, and have founded an antiqua- rian society for the preservation of ob- jects of historical interest. Prominent in their museum is the Memorial Hall, devoted to mural tablets bearing the names of the captives. One of these stones bears the curt inscription, SIBYL FORRESTER. SHE MARRIED A SAVAGE AND BECAME ONE. This brief legend stimulated my curi- osity. What could have induced a gen- tle Puritan maiden to marry an Indian? I searched through all the records and papers belonging to the society for some clue, but could find no other relic of the girl than a bit of lace, finely wrought by Sibyl at the age of fourteen, and given to a member of the family at Had- Icy before the burning of the village; and a miniature, poorly painted, depict- ing a child with a high forehead and thoughtful eyes. The miniature and lace had been contributed to the mu- seum by descendants of their first own- ers. The more I studied the pathetic face of this unknown girl, the greater became my interest in her. Other of the Deepgrove captives had married and settled among the Indians, but none were so held up to scorn as my poor Sibyl. I longed to find some excuse for her, and to defend her from the re- proach of becoming a savage. Later, her own defense fell into my hands in a somewhat remarkable manner. I was spending the summer in Can- ada, and, always interested in what con- cerned the history of the Deepgrove captives, I paid a visit to the indian vil- lage of Caughnawaga, the home of the descendants of the very tribe which as- sisted the French in their raid on West- ern Massachusetts. I chatted with the kindly priest, with the taciturn chief, and the courteous surveyors. I wan- dered over the La Crosse grounds, watched the launching of canoes, bought bright bead-work, and asked every one for legends and stories and old writings. I was most unexpectedly rewarded by a rich discovery. The store-keeper had a quantity of paper, which I was welcome to examine. It had belonged to a for- mer cure, but after his death, when his desk had been reviewed by the new in- cumbent, a bushel or so of trash had been turned out to the store-keeper as wrapping-paper. It had been slowly used all these years, brown paper being greatly preferred, as this was closely written over on both sides, and was not considered quite nice enough for lard and cheese. Prowling in the barrel brought from under the counter, I found several imperfect MSS. that greatly in- terested me. One of these was a neat little roll, closely written in English, and entitled The Story of Sibyl Cceur de Femme. Across it a manly goose-quill had scrawled in French and in red ink, The said Sibyl Cceur de Femme left this paper with me at her death, praying that it be sent to her relatives in New England; but as we know not who or where they may be, I have seen fit to preserve it among my papers until called for. [Signed] , Cur6. At last Sibyls Story was called for. I know not [she wrote] whether any may miss me at home, for my father and mother were killed at the first on- slaught, and my little brothers, who

L. W. Champney Champney, L. W. Sibyl the Savage 89-97

1886.] Si6~ql the Savage. 89 SIBYL THE SAVAGE. THE little village of Deepgrove, in Western Massachusetts, has a tragical colonial history. Legends cluster around the ancient mansions of Queen Annes War, of the surprise by the French and Indians and the long march to Canada through the winter snows. The Deep- grove people are tenacious of these memories, and have founded an antiqua- rian society for the preservation of ob- jects of historical interest. Prominent in their museum is the Memorial Hall, devoted to mural tablets bearing the names of the captives. One of these stones bears the curt inscription, SIBYL FORRESTER. SHE MARRIED A SAVAGE AND BECAME ONE. This brief legend stimulated my curi- osity. What could have induced a gen- tle Puritan maiden to marry an Indian? I searched through all the records and papers belonging to the society for some clue, but could find no other relic of the girl than a bit of lace, finely wrought by Sibyl at the age of fourteen, and given to a member of the family at Had- Icy before the burning of the village; and a miniature, poorly painted, depict- ing a child with a high forehead and thoughtful eyes. The miniature and lace had been contributed to the mu- seum by descendants of their first own- ers. The more I studied the pathetic face of this unknown girl, the greater became my interest in her. Other of the Deepgrove captives had married and settled among the Indians, but none were so held up to scorn as my poor Sibyl. I longed to find some excuse for her, and to defend her from the re- proach of becoming a savage. Later, her own defense fell into my hands in a somewhat remarkable manner. I was spending the summer in Can- ada, and, always interested in what con- cerned the history of the Deepgrove captives, I paid a visit to the indian vil- lage of Caughnawaga, the home of the descendants of the very tribe which as- sisted the French in their raid on West- ern Massachusetts. I chatted with the kindly priest, with the taciturn chief, and the courteous surveyors. I wan- dered over the La Crosse grounds, watched the launching of canoes, bought bright bead-work, and asked every one for legends and stories and old writings. I was most unexpectedly rewarded by a rich discovery. The store-keeper had a quantity of paper, which I was welcome to examine. It had belonged to a for- mer cure, but after his death, when his desk had been reviewed by the new in- cumbent, a bushel or so of trash had been turned out to the store-keeper as wrapping-paper. It had been slowly used all these years, brown paper being greatly preferred, as this was closely written over on both sides, and was not considered quite nice enough for lard and cheese. Prowling in the barrel brought from under the counter, I found several imperfect MSS. that greatly in- terested me. One of these was a neat little roll, closely written in English, and entitled The Story of Sibyl Cceur de Femme. Across it a manly goose-quill had scrawled in French and in red ink, The said Sibyl Cceur de Femme left this paper with me at her death, praying that it be sent to her relatives in New England; but as we know not who or where they may be, I have seen fit to preserve it among my papers until called for. [Signed] , Cur6. At last Sibyls Story was called for. I know not [she wrote] whether any may miss me at home, for my father and mother were killed at the first on- slaught, and my little brothers, who 90 Sibyl the Savage. [July, were redeemed and returned, were of too tender an age to care greatly for me; and yet would I fain hear news of my old playmates, and since that may not be would have them know how I fare. And first I must go back to a day in summer before the taking of the town, when there came to my fathers house two strangers appareled as Dutchmen, traveling, as they said, from Rensselaers- wyck on the Hudson to Boston, and de- manding shelter over night from the ap- proaching storm. When we marveled that they should have undertaken such a journey on foot, they replied that their horses had escaped from them at their last camping place. Of the two men, one was young and handsome, in despite of his tanned face and one hand sadly scarred as by fire and torture of the bar- barous savages. He held himself silent, but courteous, eating little and talking still less, and that in such outlandish English that none could understand. Supper had, the parson, coming in to see us, essayed some conversation, asking with which of the citizens of Albany they had acquaintance, upon which we understood the names of Schuyler and Van Rensselaer; and as it chanced that Parson Williams had some knowledge of John Schuyler, he was the better pleased, though disappointed to find they bore no letters. After the going of the parson the younger man did di- vert the children by imitating the cry and song of divers wild birds and little beasties. He also drew for us with a coal upon the heartb, so that we could scarce tear ourselves from him, and there was much clamor at our putting to bed. Rising the next morning by candle, as our custom was, and having laid the trenchers for breakfast, my mother sent me to the cellar for provisions; where I found all in confusion and much good victuals carried away, namely, a ham, a jug of cider, two neats tongues, with a baking of bread, a hogs harslet, and three dressed geese. When I made re port of this to my mother there was much dole and pother. My little broth- er, also, being sent to rouse our guests, made us to be still more consternated by the news that they were clean gone, having departed the house with our prov- ender during the night. Nor was my mother greatly mollified when she found in one of her pans a paper addressed unto herself, containing a pass for ono person on the Dutch ship Rhyneland, from New York to Rotterdam, signed by Johannes Schuyler. For, quoth she, though the reparation be greater than the damage, yet am I not likely soon to avail myself of this safe conduct, and we will find it but scanty eating in this large family. After this, search being made along the bank of the river, a small boat or skiff which had been moored thereabouts was discovered to have been stolen; and parties following down the stream found the boat bottom upward on a rock, as though wrecked by the storm and the violence of the current. But the men, or their bodies, did they not find, so that it was never certainly known whether they were that night drowned, or wheth- er they escaped safe to Canada; for it was now certainly believed that they were French spies. This belief was confirmed later on in this fashion. Mr. Williams wrote to his friend, Mr. Schuyler, of Albany, to know if he had knowledge of these men. And he replied that the friendly Indians of the Five Nations, or Iroquois, had brought into Shinectady two pris- oners, which they had., taken on the shores of the great lakes; which pris- oners had been in their power upwards of a twelvemouth, and had been very cruelly treated by them. One of these was a Jesuit priest, of note in Canada for his zeal for the conversion of the In- dians and for his astonishing journeys. The other was a coureur de bois, as the French call the lawless traders who, without license from their governor, do 1886.] Sibyl the & tvctge. 91 traffic with the savages for peltries, sell- ing the same to smugglers. When Mr. and Mistress Williams had read thus far they were scandalized to think to what excess of villainy we had given harbor- age. Mr. Williams read on, how Mr. Schuyler had offered to buy these cap- tives, and that the Iroquois were well pleased to barter the priest for a keg of rum, two Dutch cheeses, and a clock; for, said they, he is so great an eater, we had better charge ourselves with the famine or the pestilence. But the young trader was the property of a chiefs widow, whose husband had been slain by the French. She at the torture of the prisoners had it in her power to say whether one of them should die or be given her as a slave. And she, see- ing this man, by name Jacques Belceil, patiently endure all the malice of these wretches (nay, when she had herself suggested new tortures of more fran- tic cruelty, and had burned off two of his fingers in a heated calumet), was filled with so ardent an admiration for his heroism that she chose him, not as her slave, but as her husband; claiming that he should be adopted into the tribe to fill the place of the dead chief. But Jacques Beknil did steadfastly refuse to become her husband, declaring that he would die first, and calling upon the In- dians to put him to death. But the wo- man would not suffer this, saying that if he would not be her husband, then should he be her slave, and in the bitterness of her resentment reserving him to the daily experience of every degradation and cruelty which her malice could in- vent. But when he fell sick, either from pity or the fear that he might by death escape her persecutions, she had him brought to the habitations of the Dutch, seeking physic and a chirurgeon to recover him of his illness. Mr. Schuyler said, moreover, that he did his endeavor to purchase Jacques Belo3il from this woman, being greatly tendered in mind by his sad case; but she would in no wise part with him, and the tribe set out for their country, carrying him with them. But in the middle of the night he was awakened by a tapping upon his window, and there found the young man demanding succor and hid- ing, having escaped his foes. Where- upon he in mercy secreted him, and when the Indians returned on the mor- row stoutly denied his presence. The rage of the chieftainess, thus defrauded of her victim, was, he wrote, frightful to behold, she swearing that she would follow him to the confines of the oth- er world, yea, and into the hunting- grounds of the dead, to wreak her re- venge upon him. When the tribe final- ly departed, bearing this half - crazed woman with them, Mr. Schuyler related that he brought these escaped captives to Albany, and there, supplying both with clothes and money, did secure pas- sage for them on a vessel bound for Rotterdam. This he did for that he counted it not safe for two unprotected men to journey through the wilderness to Canada, and for that these same In- dians had brought tidings of unfriendly intentions on the part of the French, and a design of the late Count Fronte- nac, like to be carried out by his succes- sor the present governor, the Chevalier Vaudreuil, of descending upon the un- protected frontier settlements of the English. Scarce was the wonder of this event forgotten when Mr. Schuylers fear was realized, the French overflowing us as a flood; burning, pillaging, and slaying. Separated from my kindred, I became the captive of a young brave, Womans Heart: so called for his gentleness, and that he delighted not in cruelty and torture. The other Indians derided him also for his kindness to me; for, finding that my feet were half frozen, he dragged me on a sledge the whole of the toil- some way. Nevertheless, for all this, I gave him scant thanks, for my heart was full of bitterness. While on the 92 Sil~yl t1~e Savage. [July, march I marked one of the French soldiers, whom methought I had seen elsewhere, so that I stared at him, until he was out of countenance, and, falling behind the others, he came to me and took my hand, and I saw that it was Jacques Bekeil, whom we had harbored the summer before, and who repaid our confidence with such villainy. Not- withstanding, when he spoke me fair and kindly, I was in such a despair of misery that meseemed I had encountered a true friend, and I besought him with tears to rid me out of the power of my Indian master, which he promised to do; making me to understand that when we were come to Canada, where he could attain to his money, he would ransom me from the Indian, and see me safe returned to my people. After this he walked the whole of the way by my sledge, and I could see that he had learned more English words than for- merly, for we made shift to understand each other passing well. He parted also his rations with me, and sang French chansons, and sometimes with his gun brought down a bird, which he would lay in my lap. Moreover, at night he stood guard before the wigwam of boughs which Womans Heart built for my shelter; and though the Indian liked these attentions indifferently well, yet he suffered him, and they warmed themselves and cooked their food at the same camp-fire. And once Jacques Belceil spake of the victuals which he stole from our cellar, saying that he had never eat so good, and he was sorry that we had not served ourselves of the passage on the Dutch ship to escape these sorrows, for that this sortie was not of his liking, for he had himself been captivated, and liked it not. Then I told him what we had heard concerning him from Mr. Schuyler. At the men- tion of the chieftainess he crossed him- self and looked behind, as though he felt her following. And verily at that time a strange Indian was walking si lently behind him, and this savage did not belong to the tribe of Mahogs [Mo- hawks], who were the allies of the French, but had come with them from whence none knew. He was an ill- favored man, deeply pitted in the visage of the small-pox, and no one companied with him. At times Jacques Belceil flung him a bone or a morsel of moose meat, and it was for this reason, me- thought, that he followed him like a shadow. At last we came to a place where the commander, the Sieur Hertel de Rou- ville, divided the band, taking the sob diers with him to Canada by one way, and sending the Indians and captives another. At which parting it was made known to me that perchance I cared more for this French soldier than be- seemed mine own comfort. He too seemed loath to go, and promised me that he would make all speed to find ~ne again. When the dividance was made the strange Indian feigned not to under- stand, and went with the army; but he was presently sent back, and joined us again, and so we all came to the dwell- ings of the Indians, called the village of Cagnawaga, on the right bank of the St. Lawrence, near to the city of Mount Royal. Here is a mission and a Jesuit priest, wherefore these Indians are called praying Indians by their neighbors. Here also, with the spray of the rapids blown in their faces, they pitch their lodges, and shoot the falls in their birch- en boats. And surely I found kind- ness here, where I expected misery: for Womans Heart gave me to his mother, an aged squaw, whom I served as slave; but she was old and bed-rid, and could not beat me, so that what I did I did of my own free will, and see- ing that I shirked not my tasks and strove to pleasure her, she treated me more daughter-wise. Womans Heart too was brother-like, and gave me none occasion to bewail. But now something hap- pened which caused me great uneasi 1886.] Sibyl the Savage. 93 ness; not for myself, indeed, but for one for whom I cherished as great concern, namely, the young soldier, Jacques Bel- ril. The strange pock-marked Indian came often to our lodge, and with him others like him, who, Womans Heart told me, were Iroquois, come from a far country as ambassadors, to treat with the French concerning certain captives which they wished returned to them; and they had brought with them also their princess, a great woman in their country. This woman came to us one day, and my heart froze at the behold- ing of her, for never in my life had I seen so bloodthirsty a face, or one so devoid of all charitableness. I knew when I saw her that this was she who had so cruelly tortured Jacques Belceil, and I knew also by the famished look in her eyes that insomuch as she was capable of loving, if an insensate, tigerish pas- sion be love, she loved that man. They talked some time in the Iroquois lan- guage, and Womans Heart asked me if I knew where Jacques Bekeil dwelt, and I was glad to tell him that I knew not. Then he spake still more with her, and I comprehended that he coun- seled her to wait patiently, for where I was Jacques Belcl3il would surely come, for he had promised it. Then was I in great fear, for meseemed to be the bait to draw my friend into this deadly trap and gin. Womans Heart bade me place meat before his guests, and I did so; but the chieftainess discovered a long and sharp knife, hid in the folds of her robe and fastened about her neck by a cord, and she told us that as she hungered the knife hungered, and that she had vowed not to satisfy herself with flesh until this knife had eaten of Jacques Belceils heart. After they had left us I reproached Womans Heart for aiding her murder- ous designs, when he said that he would fain have the Frenchman dead, seeing, if this were so, I might think kindly on him. Then I understood for the first time that Womans Heart cared for me, and was eaten with jealousy; and I feared him, though he was gentle and gave me none affront by word or act. And now spring was come, and the bateaux began to go up the river, laden with fur-traders, coureurs de bois, and adventurers; and something said within my heart that he would soon come. One day, when the Iroquois Indians were hunting in the forest, and I had gone with some of the Indians to Mount Royal to barter goods, he did come. When I returned that evening I found the Iroquois pulling to pieces their lodge and preparing to depart hastily. And when I asked Womans Heart the meaning of this, he told me that while we were all away there arrived a ha- teaux of coureurs de bois, and that Jacques Belceil was with them; that he sought the cur6, and talked ~Vith him much, as also with Womans Heart, and was in a great chafe that he could not find me; but that his companions would not stay, and carried him presently away with them. The Iroquois were angry, when they returned, to have missed him, and their princess had given orders to follow by the first light. Then I fell on my knees before Womans Heart, and caught his hand, and begged him to follow after, and if possible out- strip the Iroquois, and warn Jacques Belceil, and save him. But he made an- swer moodily, Wherefore? That you may be his squaw? Then my fear and despair were so great that I promised Womans Heart that if he saved my friend from his enemies, for my sake, then would I renounce all white people and civilized life, and willingly become his wife. With that he rose up quickly, quitted the lodge, and returned presently with two young braves, his friends, and an Indian wench, who, he said, should care for his mother during our absence; for that I should go with them, to see the 94 Si6~Il the Savage. [July, business well done. At these tidings nay heart leapt for joy, and I said, We will save him, we will yet save him! iNow Jacques Belceil and his compan- ions, being bound for Lake Nipissing, had gone by the way of Saint Annes up the river Ottawa, and it was over this route that the Iroquois proposed to track them; but Womans Heart was of the opinion that, being strangers to the country, they could never come up with the more experienced voyagers, by rea- son of the numerous portages, the dense forests and swamps, and the crookedness and blindness of the way. His counsel, therefore, was that we should not at- tempt to follow, when we should un- doubtedly fall in with the Iroquois and excite their suspicions, but should rather go before, taking the longer but easier way up the St. Lawrence and the great lakes, the Lac Frontenac [Ontario], the Lac du Dauphin [Erie], and the Lac dOrleans [Huron], and so come against him before he could be made subject to any villainy. There was another reason why this decision of Womans Heart was good and sensible: for that all along our route at convenient distances we found settle- ments, either of the French or Indians, where we put in to provision ourselves; whereas the Ottawa throughout its en- tire course is a houseless wilderness. Our first stopping was at Fort de la Ga- lette, where was the former mission of the Abbd Piquet; thence past thousands of islands to the well-garrisoned Fort Frontenac; and so by ways and villages whose names I do not now recollect, I paddling often to aid the others, or fish- ing in the clear water to the portage of Toronto, and thence by a long portage past the great cataract of Niagara. And surely in all my life I have seen noth- ing so awful as these falls, coming straight down out of the hand of God, and filling the soul with amazement. Then came we to the abandoned fort of Niagara, and here found we all in good condition as left by the Chevalier de la Motthe; the great cross in the square, and the cabins empty, but not fallen in pieces. We entered into the bake-house, and I did bake bread in an oven the first time since my captivity, and it tasted exceeding good. It irked me also to leave these civilized habita- tions thus empty to the winds. So journeyed we on to the d6troit of the lake, where were fifty men who had made a trading post for beaver and oth- er peltries, which they say they smug- gle to the English, and that they create great havoc among the Indians by sup- plying them with Dutch rum and French brandy in exchange for their commodi- ties; and indeed I liked not the manner of life of these men, for they were many of them drunken, and they quarreled loudly among themselves, and we got away with all speed. Thus ~by stages, which it would be tedious to describe, we came in June to the settlement of Indians, of the Squirrel tribe, on Lake Nipissing, where we had counted on lighting on Jacques Belceil. We heard, indeed, that he and his companions had been there, but not finding the beaver as abundant as they had hoped, they had departed only four days before us for Michilimakinac. The chieftainess, or her people, none had seen; it was there- fore to be surmised that they were still upon the way. Glad at heart that we had at least outstripped them, we pre- pared to ascend the Lac dOrleans, bound for Michilimakinac, which is a strait communicating between the Lac dOrle- ans and the Lac des Illinois [Michigan]. But here a fresh disappointment awaited us, for we found that those we sought had descended the Lac des Illinois, with the intention of pushing across the coun- try to the great river Colbert, or Missis- sippi. We therefore redoubled our ex- ertions, striving most frantically to come up with them; for should they once at- tain the Mississippi, we feared lest they might pursue it to its very mouth, such 1886.] being the enticing stories brought back by the Chevalier La Salle and others, how it waters the English settlements of Virginia and Carolina, and empties into the Bay of Mexico. By hard rowing and good fortune in travel we came up to the party before they had reached the great river. But here, also, a grievous disappointment be- fell us, for Jacques Bekeil was not with them, having parted from them with one other at Michilimakinac, to go up the Lake Royal, or Superior, in search of ores of copper, which were said to abound at the head of this lake. So had we all our journey across the Lac des illinois for nothing, and as we then thought worse than nothing; for it was very possible that the Iroquois, ar- riving at Michilimakinac later than we, had obtained surer guidance, and were now far in advance of us. But it did not so chance; for as we returned we met them, bound, as we had been, for the country of the Illinois. When they saw us they challenged, and would know what we did in those waters; and Wo- mans Heart spoke them fair, but they were not satisfied. The chieftainess, also, when she saw me was the more suspicious, and would know if we had seen Jacques Behuil, and whither we were bound. To these questionings we replied with lies: that Jacques Bekeil was gone down the Mississippi, and that we were on our way home. With that they pressed on out of our sight; but the next morning we perceived that they had altered their course, and were re- turning, whether because they had given up the chase, or were suspicious of our movements, we could not rightly guess. When we reached Michilimakinac again the summer was past, and the young braves who had come with us would go no further, but left us, and, with our boat, returned home. But though the water was stormy, by reason of the au- tumn gales, we procured another canoe and pressed on. When we turned into 95 Sibyl the Savage. the Sault Ste. Marie we perceived that there was a boat following us, nor had we gone far before it came alongside, and we saw the Iroquois. They spake not to us, as they easily outstripped us, and we made sure they had received some fresh information; and it turned out that so they had, and from our own men. Now were we in greater trouble than ever, for our enemies were in ad- vance, and for lack of paddlers we could not keep pace with them. But the very winds favored us, for they pres- ently encountered a storm, and were wrecked under the painted cliffs, where the Indians resort for pipe-stones and for colored earths for their war-paint. So that again we passed them, and came, just as winter was setting in, to a little settlement of the Sieur Du Luth, where was a Jesuit priest, ten Frenchmen, and a tribe of friendly Indians. These re- ceived us kindly, and told us that Jacques Belceil and his companion were gone into the hills with\ an Indian guide, in search of copper, but counseled us not to follow, as they would soon be back, for that now the ice was forming, and the snow would soon be upon us. It was plain that we must bide here the winter, but first I could not rest till we had found Jacques Bekeil, and we set out the next day with Indians of that village upon his trail. And now the cold was very bitter, so that at night we had our noses frost-bit, and often I ihought to have perished, suffering as much as ever I did on the march from Deepgrove to Canada. At times we found his camp-fires, or the hollows where they had been, and this cheered us to press on; but when we had nearly reached him the blinding snow came down, and we were compelled to wait. And while we waited, who should come up with us but the Iroquois! The chief tainess was very angry, for she saw plainly now that we were at cross-pur- poses; bat there were so many of the friendly Indians with us that she dared 96 Sib~~l the Savage. [July, not give the word to her men to attack us. And there were we together, wait- ing the ceasing of the storm to go fur- ther. Right sure was I that none of us would sleep until it was over, but the snowing lasted four days, and we were fain to take rest by turns. At the last the Iroquois did get two hours start, and were off on snow-shoes through the forest, and we after so fast that we soon came where we could hear the crackling of the branches which they broke in their march. Suddenly through all the forest there rang a yell so very hideous that I knew they had attained to the object they sought. It is their war-cry! I said, my knees knocking together under me. Nay, replied Womans Heart, lis- ten again: it is not the shout of braves, but the yell of one squaw; and twice more that dreadful cry sounded, each time more distinct and frightful as we neared it. And when we were come to a little cleared space we found the last camp of Jacques Belceil and his companions, under a shelving rock, where, having lost their means of making a fire, they had cowered together, and had all frozen to death in the storm. The Iro- quois had brought out the bodies and stretched them upon blankets, and their chieftainess, standing over Jacques Bel- ceil, was brandishing her knife in the air and singing. When she saw me she made at me, but Womans Heart stood between, receiving a cut upon the arm; and she went back again, singing that we two had followed Jacques Bekeil for hate and love many a league, but that hate was strongest, for whereas I must now pause, she would still follow through the hunting-grounds of the here- after, there to find him and to do him deadly mischief. With that she stabbed herself with the knife, and sank down upon the body of Jacques Beheil, her men running forward to sustain her. After that litters were made for the four corpses, and we returned sorrow- fully to the settlement. For though I had greatly feared, and even hated, this woman, yet her death made me to pity her; and was also a great wonder to me, I having heard of many who died for love, but never of one who destroyed herself for hate, and that her victim might not escape her. And surely I like not to think of that unhappy ghost still following where the spirit of Jacques Belceil may be; though the priest tells me that he being a good Christian, and she an unbaptized heathen, she can never reach him. So were they buried all by the lake shore at the settlement, with one cross to mark their graves; and meseemed that my heart was buried with Jacques Belceil, and the death of the chieftainess shamed me as though she had done somewhat for hate that I would not have done for love, though I knew that could my death have saved him I would have died gladly. Womans He~irt and I were forced to bide at that place until the breaking up of the ice; and I served as laundress to the Frenchmen, and he made arrows and waited patiently the healing of his wound. And though he had not ful- filled his part of the bargain in saving Jacques Belceil from death, yet seeing that it was from no fault of his, and con- sidering the many perils, dangers, and adventures which he had passed through for my sake, yea, and his great pa- tience, which claimed nothing, my heart relented toward him, and when the spring came the priest united us in mar- riage, and we returned joyfully to our own home. There we found that his mother had died, and he made me sit on her mat as mistress of the lodge. And surely he has been a most kind and gen- tle husband, and our boys are hold and brave, but gentle-hearted also; and I would not have my life otherwise, for I am happy, save when I wake scared from my dreams, and think on the chief- tainess and Jacques Belceil. L. W. Ckampney. The Labor Question. 97 THE LABOR QUESTION. THE claims put forward by the Knights of Labor, and the means em- ployed to enforce them, have roused and alarmed the American people, who have been at once perplexed and angered by the apparent organized determination to overthrow settled principles of business and industry, and to deny rights justly regarded as among the most fundamen- tal and necessary to the existence of ordered society. That American citi- zens should ignore the elementary prin- ciples of the democratic system, and, apparently without suspecting the scope and meaning of their action, undertake to establish a tyranny subversive of their own laws and institutions, is perhaps what most surprises the public. But, happily for the country, the effect of the democratic spirit is to induce among thinking men a temperate and reasona- ble disposition; and the incongruity of the recent labor demonstrations with the social state which underlies them, instead of moving the American ob- server to sudden impatience and the de- sire to restore normal conditions forci- bly, impels him to study the situation cahrily, to the end that he may obtain a clear understanding of the causes of whatever is wrong or dangerous in it. In the first place, it is to be remarked that the organization of labor for its own protection had proceeded so far, before the Knights of Labor appeared, as to embrace most skilled industry in nearly all occupations. It is also to be observed that all such organization involves and presupposes the establishment of a mo- nopoly. rrhe first appeal to a working- man to join a trades-union is put on the ground that he will thereby obtain some special privileges. At the beginning, the tendency of all these movements is to abuse the power which union gives. During half a century of trades-union- VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 7 ism this has been the general experience. In proportion to the ignorance and back- wardness of the men the disposition to violence and tyranny has been exhibited. Self-interest being always one of the strongest influences in human society, and training of a special kind being re- quired to develop perception of the re- action upon the agents of wrong done to others, the tendency to maintain ones own rights, or what seem to be such, re- gardless of the rights of others, is neces- sarily strongest when the reflective fac- ulty is weakest. So in the infancy of labor organization strikes with violence were common. The non-union man was treated as an outcast. In England, more than in the United States, intoler- ance was displayed by trades-unions, and at Sheffield and Birmingham shocking barbarities were fo~r a time practiced, in the attempt to maintain the power and monopoly of the organizations. Serious injury has been inflicted upon trade and manufactures by these out- breaks, but labor itself has suffered most from them. First, be cause all strikes with violence are effectively strikes against labor quite as much as against capital; second, because, owing to impru- dent management, most strikes have been made on a falling market, and so have put the employers in a position where it was less costly to suspend production than to yield. Gradually, workingmen have learned some useful lessons, though it will no doubt be long before they gen- erally accept and abide by that princi- pIe of arbitration which offers the most hopeful solution, or accommodation, of the labor problem. It is, however, in skilled labor principally that an advance has been made; that is to say, among the most intelligent workingmen. If to-day there seems to be a revival of lawlessness in labor circles, it is partly

George Frederic Parsons Parsons, George Frederic The Labor Question 97-113

The Labor Question. 97 THE LABOR QUESTION. THE claims put forward by the Knights of Labor, and the means em- ployed to enforce them, have roused and alarmed the American people, who have been at once perplexed and angered by the apparent organized determination to overthrow settled principles of business and industry, and to deny rights justly regarded as among the most fundamen- tal and necessary to the existence of ordered society. That American citi- zens should ignore the elementary prin- ciples of the democratic system, and, apparently without suspecting the scope and meaning of their action, undertake to establish a tyranny subversive of their own laws and institutions, is perhaps what most surprises the public. But, happily for the country, the effect of the democratic spirit is to induce among thinking men a temperate and reasona- ble disposition; and the incongruity of the recent labor demonstrations with the social state which underlies them, instead of moving the American ob- server to sudden impatience and the de- sire to restore normal conditions forci- bly, impels him to study the situation cahrily, to the end that he may obtain a clear understanding of the causes of whatever is wrong or dangerous in it. In the first place, it is to be remarked that the organization of labor for its own protection had proceeded so far, before the Knights of Labor appeared, as to embrace most skilled industry in nearly all occupations. It is also to be observed that all such organization involves and presupposes the establishment of a mo- nopoly. rrhe first appeal to a working- man to join a trades-union is put on the ground that he will thereby obtain some special privileges. At the beginning, the tendency of all these movements is to abuse the power which union gives. During half a century of trades-union- VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 7 ism this has been the general experience. In proportion to the ignorance and back- wardness of the men the disposition to violence and tyranny has been exhibited. Self-interest being always one of the strongest influences in human society, and training of a special kind being re- quired to develop perception of the re- action upon the agents of wrong done to others, the tendency to maintain ones own rights, or what seem to be such, re- gardless of the rights of others, is neces- sarily strongest when the reflective fac- ulty is weakest. So in the infancy of labor organization strikes with violence were common. The non-union man was treated as an outcast. In England, more than in the United States, intoler- ance was displayed by trades-unions, and at Sheffield and Birmingham shocking barbarities were fo~r a time practiced, in the attempt to maintain the power and monopoly of the organizations. Serious injury has been inflicted upon trade and manufactures by these out- breaks, but labor itself has suffered most from them. First, be cause all strikes with violence are effectively strikes against labor quite as much as against capital; second, because, owing to impru- dent management, most strikes have been made on a falling market, and so have put the employers in a position where it was less costly to suspend production than to yield. Gradually, workingmen have learned some useful lessons, though it will no doubt be long before they gen- erally accept and abide by that princi- pIe of arbitration which offers the most hopeful solution, or accommodation, of the labor problem. It is, however, in skilled labor principally that an advance has been made; that is to say, among the most intelligent workingmen. If to-day there seems to be a revival of lawlessness in labor circles, it is partly 98 The Labor Question. [July, because for the first time an extensive organization of unskilled labor has en- tered the field. The apparent arrogance and unreasonableness of the Knights of Labor are in reality no new manifesta- tions. They but follow the common law of development. All trades-unions began in the same way. Even the doc- trine that employees may dictate to em- ployers not alone the rate of wages, but the personality of the wage-earners, and may exclude from the enjoyment of the universal right to labor all who are not members of the union, is a compara- tively old one, and is still enforced when- ever and wherever the conditions are favorable. The pretensions of the Knights of Labor have been given special promi- nence by the nature of their connection with the transportation system, and by the introduction, in aid of the strikes, of the boycott. For years we have been accustomed to hear of industrial strikes in which violence was employed. They have been so common in the Pennsyl- vania mining region as to excite little comment outside of the State where they occurred. But while these strikes have sometimes caused changes in the price of coal and other products, costing the public large amounts in the aggre- gate, they have not been so much in evidence as the recent disturbances. When a great railroad system is blocked by a lawless strike for weeks, the effects are serious and far-reaching. The South- western railroad strike, for example, has compelled the suspension of manu- factories, thus depriving thousands of workingmen of subsistence. It has caused food famines in several country towns, thus increasing the cost of living to other thousands. It has disturbed trade, both wholesale and retail, by the blockade of goods in transit. In other ways it has reacted widely, and there- fore has attracted public attention in an unusual degree. When such a reckless attack upon the business of the country is made for apparently no better reason than to display the power of the labor organization behind it, or, as has been said, to compel recognition of that organization by the railroad corpora. tions, it is inevitable that the public should be interested, and natural that it should be somewhat alarmed. rr~ use of the boycott has also tended to aggra- vate the feeling of uneasiness, and, viewed in connection with the demands of the Knights of Labor to exercise control over property they do not own, has created an impression that the situation is very serious. The boycott is un- doubtedly an odious and despicable prac- tice, and it has been so employed in this country as to emphasize its worst qualities. It is cowardly and cruel in principle: involving the combination of many against one; lending itself readily to purposes of private revenge and black- mail; and not merely un-American in spirit, but distinctly in violation of the laws of the & ountry. Clearly, such an institution cannot be tolerated in the United States, and as clearly it never could have been invented or introduced by men possessing any comprehension of free institutions. Not the least dis- quieting feature of the labor case, in- deed, is the obvious ignorance of a great many workingmen concerning the na- ture of the government of this coun- try. But if this fact is not reassuring, it is at least a perfectly natural and in- evitable result of the national policy. We have agreed to open the door wide to all the world, and all the world has accepted our invitation. We have re- lied confidently upon the tendency of our institutions, and above all upon our educational system, to counteract the disturbing effect of a continual influx of foreign ignorance. We have refused to adopt any precautions in the natu- ralization of foreigners, assuming that a brief residence in the country must bring full knowledge of the Constitution and laws. Under the circumstances, we The Labor Question. 99 ought not to be surprised that the pub- lie schools fail to keep pace with the immigration; that we acquire every year many thousands of citizens who cannot speak English, and who have not the faintest apprehension of Ameri- can institutions and governmental theo- ries; that, in effect, the country is being colonized from Europe with people who bring here complete theories of life, many of which are utterly opposed to our form, or to any form, of civiliza- tion. If the social and industrial conditions in the United States were to-day any- thing like those which existed when this national policy was adopted, perhaps there would be no reason to fear the results. But those conditions have un- dergone radical change. Little by lit- tle, as the country has filled up, as its resources have been developed, as its ma- terial wealth has increased, as its popula- tion has become denser, as its industrial centres have attracted larger numbers of operatives, as luxury has grown, the in- equalities, grievances, jealousies, which stimulate socialism in the Old World, have come to the front here. The law of free development, which has done such mighty things for us, has also wrought us not a little mischief. With the ex- pansion of our opportunities for the ac- quisition of wealth there has gone an abandonment to greed which has pro- duced much evil. In the race of specu- lation, honor, integrity, equity, all ster- ling principles, have been often sacri- ficed. Fortune, got no matter how, has been the goal of the majority. The laws, framed to prevent the more obvi- ous and common offenses, have proved powerless to punish audacious and fla- grant crimes. Great corporations, in no way specially vicious, but prone, like all men, to abuse their power, have absorbed the public domain, obtained possession of enormous tracts, divided millions, and then sought to evade their responsibili- ties. Capital employed in the industries has shown a greater stupidity than that of ignorant labor. It has acted with short-sighted rapacity and selfishness, has followed the principle of buying in the cheapest market to its most odious conclusions, has extinguished all sympa- thy between itself and the wage-earners. It is true that the condition of labor is generally better than it ever was be- fore. The assertion that the poor are growing poorer is emphatically untrue, and nowhere is it so destitute of founda- tion as in the United States. But it is equally true that the extension of luxury has been so great of late years as to heighten the contrast between wealth and decent poverty; so that, in com- parison with the modern millionaire, a man whose condition fifty years ago would have been thought enviable am pears little better than a pauper. These sharp contrasts sink into mens minds, and produce different impressions. When millionaires whose wealth has been ob- tained by sharp practice, by chicanery, by circumventing the laws, by monopo- lizing the national heritage, by gambling on the stock exchange, by making cor- ners in food products, by wrecking railways, by watering stocks, flaunt their money in the faces of the poor, these latter may become either resentful or emulous. If they feel that they them- selves have no vocation towards the en- terprises which have produced this afflu- ence; if they belong to the large class which lacks capacity to utilize opportu- nity; if they are at once intelligent and honest enough to perceive and revolt from the means employed, they will regard these evidences of prosperous au- dacity and knavery with indignation, and they will have a diminished respect for the system under which such tri- umphs can be obtained. If, on the other hand, the observers belong to the class from which so many modern rich men spring, they will carefully follow the careers of these pioneers, and will seek to catch the secret of their success, fully 100 prepared to employ it on their own be- half at the earliest opportunity. When, however, the foreign immi- grant, imbued with Old World socialism, lands here, he sees no new or unfamiliar conditions. He finds society ranging between the mansion and the tenement- house. He finds superfluous wealth at one extreme, and squalid destitution at the other. In the arrangement of the social machinery he sees less ceremony and form than in Europe, and marks an absence of nominal rank. But he soon perceives that rank is really present, if it is conventionally put in the back- ground, and that at bottom American society is modeled upon that of Europe. Remember that the foreigner brings with him strong opinions, generally, upon the wrongs of his class; and remember that there is at present no class in existence which possesses anything like the solidi- ty and catholic unity of the workingmen. Socialism has brought this about, and it is idle to imagine that socialism has noth- ing to do with the United States. Be- cause the extremists, the reds and anar- chists, appear to command little sympa- thy, it must not be inferred that social- ism has obtained no footing in the ranks of American labor. The programme of the Knights of Labor to-day is almost identical with that which the French collectivists adopted in 1880, and there is more than a coincidence in the fact. The truth is that, in proportion as the workingmen feel the impassability of the gulf that separates them from the rich class, they tend to become discontented and disaffected; and as the struggle for existence grows harder in our centres of population with the increase of im- migration and the fierceness of commer- cial and industrial competition, the chances of the average poor man to ac- quire wealth become smaller, thus put- ting him among the protestants against the existing situation, and, by conse- quence, among the prospective agitators and advocates of socialist theories. The Labor Question. [July, The influence of socialism upon the present labor troubles must be recog- nized. It is less a direct than a reflex influence. The American workingmen certainly entertain no revolutionary pur- pose wittingly, but it is none the less evident that they have been affected by the sentiments which are in the air. We are apt to count confidently upon the latent patriotism of the citizen. Hitherto that trust has certainly been justified. But the student of his own times cannot afford to ignore the pecul- iar tendency of modern socialism to break down the love of country, and substitute for it a class feeling as broad as humanity. A very careful observer, M. de Laveleye, says, It [socialism] has become a kind of cosmopolitan re- ligion. It oversteps frontiers, it oblit- erates race antipathies, and, above all, it eradicates patriotism, and tries to efface the very idea of it. Fellow-countrymen are enemies 4 they are employers; for- eigners are brothers if they live by wages. Of course this is intended to apply especially to the workingmen of Europe, but as the ranks of American labor are being continually recruited thence, the facts are not without signifi- cance for us. It is one among many tendencies having their influence upon the attitude of the labor unions just now so prominently before the public, Lnd all these tendencies must be taken into account if a just comprehension of what is going on in the minds of the masses is to be obtained. Socialist ideas, moreover, are propa- gated through a special literature, much of which is overlooked by men of busi- ness and politicians, but which has a considerable circulation. ~fb theories advanced by those who quarrel with the existing condition of things are various and contradictory. Land nationaliza- tion appears, to the disciples of Henry George, the panacea for all evils. Oth- ers deny that the author of Progress and Poverty has found the true solution 1886.] The Labor Question. 101 of the problem. Paternal government, collectivism, communism, are in turn advocated. But all the revolutionary projects agree in these particulars; name- ly, that the poor are victims of injustice, and that poverty ought to be made im- possible by legislation. That any form of socialism should be entertained in this country may seem strange to those who continue to believe in the popular ability to obtain, through the ballot, whatever is worth having. But such a belief has ceased to be general. Labor has tried politics, and is not satisfied with the results. It has found the poli- ticians always eager to profess whatever is required, but when they had attained their ends it has not found them willing to fulfill their promises. In truth, the workingmen have often been the dupes of demagogues, who, by undertaking to frame and carry out impossible or mis- chievous measures, have at once stimu- lated unreasonable demands, and pre- pared a decline of faith in the practica- bility of relief through the suffrage. It has been one of the misfortunes of American labor that its political power has deprived it of candid advisers. It has been flattered by all parties, and no party has had the courage to tell it un- palatable truths. The possession of this political power has caused it to be court- ed with a sycophancy which has had any- thing but wholesome effects, and the general tendency of politics upon labor has consequently been to disillusionize the intelligent workingmen, and to en- courage the unenlightened in extrava- gant pretensions and unworkable theo- ries. If labor is now unreasonable and dis- posed to tyrannize, it is only following in the footsteps of other classes. Not many years have elapsed since the farm- ers of the West made a similar experi- ment with the ballot. They had griev- ances against the railroads. The trans- portation problem presents some para- doxes which, to those who have not studied it, are apt to look like inequities. They so appeared to the Grangers, who forthwith went out to do battle for what they thought their rights. With political power in their hands, they con- trolled the law-making machinery. They hurried through measures intended to regulate the railroad business in the popular interest. They honestly be- lieved that their unquestionable com- mand of the political forces of the state enabled them to solve all problems. As they did not understand transportation, the laws made by them proved imprac- ticable, and when put in operation injured the public, and had to be repealed. Before this stage of evolution had been passed, however, popular sentiment re- acted upon the judicial machinery, and was reflected in some decisions which do not probably count for nothing in the growth of the tendency to ignore settled doctrines of property rights which alarm the public to-day. It is worth while to examine this case with some care, for it may have a de- cided bearing upon current events. In the Granger agitation, the protest of the threatened corporations against regulative legislation was largely ground- ed upon the venerable axiom that own- ership and control go together, and that they cannot be separated without a fatal invasion of property rights. Through a series of judicial decisions, culminating in those by the United States Supreme Court in the so-called Elevator Cases, this defense was wrenched away from the corporations. The doctrine was laid down that the legislature had a right to regulate the profits and general manage- ment of any business in the operation of which a public use could be shown. It was pointed out at the time by a dis- senting member of the court that this doctrine might be extended so as to in- clude almost any and every occupation in which men could engage; and that consequently it subjected not only cor- porate but private business to the ha- 102 The Labor Que8tion. bility of a legislative interference easily pushed, by ignorance or malice, to the point of confiscation. Actual experi- ment soon proved that the transporta- tion question could not be satisfactorily settled by measures not based on care- ful and intelligent study, and subse- quently it was discovered that complete publicity was a more effective reform agency than iron-clad statutes. But the new doctrine of legislative interference with property remained, and it cannot be doubted that it has exercised the in- fluence upon public opinion to be ex- pected from the utterances of 50 august a tribunal. It is interesting to observe that the question of the ownership and control of property underlies the dispute be- tween the Knights of Labor and their employers, just as it did the earlier quar- rel between the Grangers and the rail- road corporations. As the latter figure largely in the new disturbance, it may be thought that it is only a fresh phase of the old trouble; and in one sense this is true. It is not a long journey from the theory of legislative regulation of corporate property to the theory of pub- lic (say trades-union) regulation of both corporate and private property. If the legislature, which is merely the agent of the people, can regulate, why may not the people, if they choose, proceed, with- out the intervention of an agent, to en-, force their will? Such an argument might appear both reasonable and forci- ble to an ignorant man, and it must be admitted that the way has been pre- pared for the development of some such idea by antecedent events. The Knights of Labor claim the right to settle the wages they are to receive, and they deny to their employers the right to deter- mine whom they shall employ. This is to separate control from ownership, and in effect to transfer the latter by a meth- od of disguised confiscation. The prop- osition, when put nakedly, is revolting and alarming. Business men every- where appear to think that it involves so vicious a doctrine that to admit it would be to paralyze industry and com- merce, and to arrest progress complete ly. Yet it is a fact that the doctrine, in a slightly different form, has been the watchword, the war-cry, of many States in the Union, and that even in its pres- ent shape it has been repeatedly accept- ed at the hands of labor organizations. The exigencies of commerce, the pres- sure of competition, have compelled or induced many employers to submit to terms which they considered unjust and principles which they believed revolu- tionary. The selfish engrossment of the majority in their own affairs, rein- forced by the feelings of jealousy and dislike which corporate prosperity and corporate abuses had aroused, caused the invasion of property rights conse- quent upon the Granger agitation to be viewed with indifference. INow, when propositions of the same kind are ad- vanced in a broader field and a more ~onspicuous manner, the effect is star- tling, and it might be thought, from much of the comment, that the whole question was brand-new, and had never before been pressed upon public attention. There is, no doubt, a decided difference between the earlier and the later meth- ods of presentation. The Grangers in- voked the law. They acted through the recognized constitutional machinery. They obtained the sanction of the conrt of last resort to their demands. They were not amenable to the charge of vio- lence and lawlessness. In many of the recent strikes the defiance of law has been conspicuous. The men have acted apparently upon the theory that they had a right to enter upon and seize the property of their employers, and to fort cibly prevent non-union laborers from taking their places. But the Grangers were for the most part Americans. They understood the system of govern- ment under which they lived. They were familiar with the Constitution. 1886.] They knew that, possessing the ballot, they could control legislation. The Knights of Labor, on the other hand, are men of whom a large percentage are foreign born; who, representing un- skilled labor, necessarily hold in their assemblies a considerable element of ig- norance and deficient intelligence; who, like all ignorant bodies on first discover- ing the power of organization, are dis- posed to abuse that power; and who, therefore, naturally tend to seek by force that which better instructed people aim at through forms of law. Nor is this the only distinction be- tween the Knights of Labor and the Grangers. The former have compelled attention to the important fact that they are not warranted in assuming to represent American labor; that, in- deed, they constitute but a very small portion of that labor; that they are a minority, half a million as against eighteen millions of non-union workers; and that their contest is really far more against their own order than against capital. It is curious that they should inveigh against monopoly while they are endeavoring to set up the most odious and intolerable species of it, but there can be no doubt of the fact. The po- sition they have taken is that no man who does not belong to their order has a right to work for his living, and that they are entitled to dictate to every American workingman for whom he shall labor and at what wages. It is only necessary to state these claims to perceive that they involve a despotism more intolerable than the most spiritless and abject people known to history ever endured; and, like all organized despot- isms, the successful operation of this one demands the most servile submis- sion on the part of the members. A typical illustration is the case of the Patterson silk - mill, all the hands in which were made to go on strike by a walking delegate ~, who merely wished to show his authority. There was no The Labor Question. 103 grievance against the employers. The hands were satisfied with their condi- tion. But when the walking delegate (who was a cigar-maker, and knew noth- ing about the silk business) demanded the adoption of some absurd changes in the mode of work, and was refused, he snapped his fingers as he passed through the mill, on his way out, and all the hands, without asking a question, dropped their work and walked into the street. Afterwards that walking dele- gate was punished by his order, for he had no authority for his action. But the servility demanded by the Knights of Labor is shown most strikingly in the unhesitating obedience paid to this mans command by those who knew per- fectly well that they had no cause of complaint, and that consequently a strike could not be justified. So then it appears that while an ontsider has no rights as against the Knights of Labor, a member of the or- der possesses no rights as against its offi- cers and leaders. Its tyranny towards non-union men is not greater than its tyranny towards its own members. What an American citizen obtains by joining the order is, apparently, the sus- pension of almost every important right and immunity secured to him by the Constitution of the United States. He enters it a free man. He yields up his freedom thenceforth. He becomes a mere blind instrument in the hands of others, of others whose ignorance and stupidity he might convince himself of by the slightest examination, yet whom he permits to control his destiny, and in whose incompetent hands he places his independence. Strange that men should bow their necks to so heavy a yoke in the search for greater liberty. Strange that it should be thought possible to se- cure broader liberties by abandoning those already enjoyed. The Knights of Labor, however, are ambitious. They aim at combining in their own persons the characteristics and functions at once of 104 The Labor Question. [July, tyrants and slaves. For the sake of de- priving their neighbors of freedom they voluntarily relinquish their own, and that they may the better play the part of masters they reduce themselves to the condition of serfs. What the Declaration of Indepen- dence terms the unalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happi- ness is not recognized at all by these men. They practically assert that no- body who is not a Knight of Labor has any such right, and yet there are eight- een million workers in the country who do not belong to that order. The au- dacity, the irrationality, the subversive character, of the claims of this compar- atively small number of law - breakers and revolutionists would perhaps jus- tify amusement rather than alarm but for the manner in which their extraordi- nary attacks upon the structure of society have been received. For a considerable period it looked as though the trouble would be settled by general submission to their outrageous demands. When the impossibility of such a course be- came apparent, it was extremely doubt- ful for a time whether the local author- ities would summon courage to do their duty. The instrumentalities for vindi- cating the law and keeping order were at hand, but those charged with setting them in motion were politicians, and they were manifestly afraid of offending the law-breakers. Only the steadily growing pressure of a public opinion the trend of which could not be mis- taken at last compelled the adoption of decided and effective measures for the general protection. Meantime the spectacle presented was humiliating. Governors of States were seen, not administering the laws with energy and firmness, but shutting their eyes to the rampant lawlessness that surrounded them, and talking about the desirability of arbitration between corporations whose property was being destroyed and the criminals who were de stroying it. It is perhaps the first time that a proposition of the kind has been made, and it will be well for the coun- try if it is the last. The effect of this cowardice and unfaithfulness toduty was of course to confirm the strikers in the belief that they were within their rights in blocking traffic, killing en- gines, intimidating non-union men, and generally taking possession of the prop- erty of other people. The extent to which confusion of thought may be car- ried was further shown in the appear- ance of a disposition to regard the kind of lawlessness existing as different from the kinds already provided against by the law, and to speak as if some new legislation were required to deal with it. Of course the truth is that every unlaw- ful act committed by the strikers and boycotters has long been fully met by statutory provisions, and that nothing was needed but the proper enforcement of existing law. Perhaps the gradual growth of trades- unionism and the silent advance of its claims and pretensions may have contributed to this confusion, but the bold and sudden movement of the Knights of Labor has compelled the American people to realize that the ten- dency of modern labor organization is to create an imperium in imperio, a government established on lines which at many points traverse those on which the republic stands, and which, if it suc- ceeds in its avowed aims, must revolu- tionize the Union. What success by the Knights of Labor, as at present led and organized, would mean for the pub- lic generally may perhaps be conjec- tured pretty accurately from current events. In Lynn, Massachusetts, for example, the Knights undertook to com- pel a whole class of tradesmen to close their stores at six oclock in the even- ing. The majority to their discredit be it said abjectly submitted to this impudent command. They had their reward. The Knights naturally pro- 1886.] The Labor Question. 105 ceeded further. They demanded next that the tradesmen submit their tariffs of retail prices, to the end that their profits should be regulated. Fortunately, one man in Lynn, George Tarbox, was an old - fashioned American citizen. He knew his rights, and, knowing, dared maintain. He refused to obey the early-closing orders of the Knights of Labor. They threatened him with the boycott. He appealed to the public. The latter promptly responded, and the feeble folk who had bowed their necks to the yoke of the new tyrants gathered courage to rebel against the demand for the regulation of their price-lists. The lesson of this episode is important. The organization of labor is inevita- ble and necessary. But the American people have a right to demand that when labor organizes it shall do so un- der and with due regard to the laws of the land, and that it shall not proceed as if society were in a chaotic state, and every man was at liberty to regulate his actions according to his individual fancies. What the public have most to complain of is that labor organiza- tions ignore the laws, undertake to im- port principles antagonistic ~o them, em- ploy their power in illegitimate ways, and do this with an air of complete innocence and as a matter of course. Even the older trades - unions, which have learned something by hard ex- perience, by no means obtain from their organization the best possible re- sults. They are not so prone to strikes as formerly, and they endeavor to avoid violence when they do strike. But they are not above resorting to the boycott, and they seek to maintain a monopoly which is a wrong to labor in the aggregate. There is another defect in their working. They put too much stress on rights and too little upon du- ties. The modern trades-unionist is a man very sure to know what is due to himself from his employer. He is not so sure to recognize what is due to his employer from himself. Trades-union- ism certainly has not done much to pro- mote conscientiousness and excellence in the performance of work. Rather it has tended to put all workiugmen upon a dead level of perfunctory mediocrity. A system which aims at repressing indi- vidual superiorities in the avowed inter- est of the inferior workmen can have no other effect. A system which discour- ages enthusiasm in the employee, lest it should lead the employer to put his stand- ard too high and expect too much, is dis- tinctly debasing in its influence. It may secure work for a larger number, but it can do so only by the sacrifice of excel- lence, faithfulness, ambition, and individ- ualism. This is what most schemes of social- ism demand and necessitate, indeed. They are, with scarcely an exception, framed in direct opposition to natural law. The doctrine of the survival of the fittest finds no acceptance with mod. em socialists. They seek to reverse all the processes of evolution in order to find equal subsistence for the undeserv- ing and the deserving, for the incapable and the capable, for the lazy and the in- dustrious, for the stupid and the bright, for the vicious and the virtuous. At every step in the application of such doctrines, however, fresh difficulties are encountered; and as self-interest almost invariably determines the course finally taken, many odd contradictions and anomalies are involved. In the social republic there is to be no monopoly at all. In trades-unionism monopoly is the chief object, and to maintain it not only is all outside labor discriminated against, but the prospects of the coming generation are deliberately injured by the strict limitation of apprenticeship. Founded on principles which seem to apply to all labor, these organizations inevitably resolve themselves into close corporations. Initiated for the legiti- mate purpose of resisting the selfishness and greed of capital, they have devel 106 like Labor Question. [July, oped a rapacity of their own which is interfering seriously with production and industry generally, and which must be checked and brought within bounds before they can be what their founders hoped. The organization of labor has hither- to been in the hands of unfit men, with too few exceptions. The leaders have been selfish, narrow-minded, or ignorant. The true way to utilize the strength of united labor is to develop the individual power of the members. By no other means have great nations ever been formed. An association, the effective strength of which depends upon the sur- render of the rights and liberties of its members, may be a dangerous instrument for the use of adventurers and dema- gogues, but it cannot advance the inter- ests of the men themselves. The most urgent want of labor to-day is self-con- trol. In this free country no man en- dowed with average abilities need re- main all his life poor. If he has thrift, self-restraint, perseverance, he will pass from the ranks of labor to the ranks of capital. It is the saving man who be- comes the capitalist, the man who has force to deny himself indulgences. What a lesson lies in the drink-bill of the American workingmen. for instance! At a moderate estimate, it amounts to between four and five hundred million dollars a year. While labor is throw-. ing away that enormous sum annually, with what show of consistency can it lament its condition? One years re- mission of that destructive self-indul- gence would solve every labor problem extant; would provide a fund for the establishment of codperative works, for the sustenance of the sick and aged, for the maintenance and education of or- phans, for libraries and scientific schools, for all manner of helps. At present the workingman can hard- ly make both ends meet. Is it not be- cause he insists on creating capitalists out of the saloon-keepers, and, not con- tent with that, on submitting all his rights of citizenship to the same objects of worship? The saloon in politics is the most hideous abuse of the day, but where would it be if the workingmen withdrew their support from it? It keeps them poor. It keeps our politics corrupt. It supplies a constant stream of base adventurers, who disgrace the American name at home and abroad. It makes the terms public office and public plunder synonymous. It sti- fles progress, fosters pauperism, brutal- izes husbands and fathers, breaks wo- mens hearts, puts rags on the working- mans back, disease in his body, and shame and despair in his heart. Yet when labor is most disturbed, when the demand for advanced wages is loudest, when strikes are most frequent, when hunger and misery are most rife in the homes of the poor, the saloon flourishes still. There may be no bread at home, but there is always beer and whiskey at the bar, and the men who consider them- selves the victims of circumstances or the thralls of capital squander their earnings, spend their savings, in these dens. Can there be a serious labor question while this state of things con- tinues? Can workingmen talk gravely of their wrongs while it is plain to all the world that if they only saved the capital they earn they would be com- fortable? This aspect of the case has not been sufficiently examined, and for reasons which will probably occur readily to the reader. But it is really the key to the situation. When we see on the one side a yearly waste of between four and five hundred millions of dollars, and on the other side a body of men, the squan- derers of this vast fund, complaining that they have not sufficient opportunities, we cannot long be at a loss to compre- hend the true nature of the existing dis- satisfaction. It is clear that labor has been incited to seek from without the relief which ought to be sought from 1886] within. The socialist theory of a pater- nal state system which provides every- body with work and wages is a mis- chievous fallacy. It simply encourages indolence and dependence. The first duty of labor is to demonstrate its ca- pacity for self-government. At this mo- ment its drink-bill is an impeachment of that capacity. No man who spends half his earnings at a saloon can get on in the world, or has the least right to ex- pect to get on. Nor can any body of men follow the same course with better results. Prosperity is the reward of per- severing, temperate, ungrudging work. In these days there is, however, a great wind of new doctrine. We are asked to believe that it is possible to succeed in very different ways: that the less a man works, for example, the more he ought to receive; that national prosper- ity can be advanced by diminishing pro- duction; and many other equally hard sayings. But it may be confidently af- firmed that these new theories are des- tined to be short-lived, and that the world will have to be managed event- ually upon pretty much the old lines. Labor has got upon the wrong track. That is the truth. It has been misled by incompetent advisers. It has, no doubt, great opportunities before it. Organization under better management may lead it to a successful solution of the codperative problem, will certainly give it adequate protection, and is ca- pable of developing the best that its capacities can offer. But it is not by pursuing chimeras that the question can be settled satisfactorily, nor by ignoring duties and insisting upon rights. Thrift and temperance and reasonableness are three indispensable requisites to a for- ward movement. There can, however, be no thrift or temperance so long as a handful of ignorant men are permitted to throw scores of thousands of work- ingmen out of employment; so long as the saloon rules labor and handles it in politics; so long as the money that 107 The Labor Question. would carry comfort and decency to every laboring mans home in the land is diverted to enrich brewers and whis- key distillers and the keepers of their retail places. There can be no reasona- bleness so long as labor takes its argu- ments from the mouths of its worst en- emies, and starves itself to feed fat a crowd of chattering demagogues, who have only their own mean and sordid interests at heart, and neither under- stand nor care to understand the things which really concern their clients. It is necessary to dwell strongly upon these considerations. The man who cannot govern his own appetites must fail in the battle of life. The man who cannot deny himself must remain poor. No outside conditions can compensate for want of force of character. No reg- ulation of the hours of labor, no increase in wages, no monopoly of work, no trades-union rules, however cunningly contrived, can change the laws of nature. While the world lasts there will be fit and unfit men, and the former will pros- per and the latter will fail, will fail because they are not adapted to their environment. It may be possible to conceive of a world in which the present incapable should succeed; in which sloth and intemperance and defective intelli- gence should lead to fortune. But it would have to be a world radically dif- ferent from this, and therefore it is that the unfit ones whom we have with us must continue to fail to the end. The workingmen do not seem to have con- sidered these primary matters much as yet, but they are in greater present need of self-discipline than of anything else; and until they perceive this, and under- take to educate themselves, using their organization as a means to self-help rather than as an offensivc weapon wherewith to attack trade and industry, they are likely to do themselves and the country more harm than good. Unfortunately, the steady progress of such an educational process in the United 108 The Labor Question. [July, States is seriously interfered with by the constant addition of an ignorant el- ement to the labor population. Since this influx has for many years consisted largely of foreigners from the continent of Europe, who do not speak English, moreover, and who bring to us ideas of social growth often wholly antagonistic to American views, the difficulty has in- creased. It is not merely total igno- rance of our laws and governmental system that we have to contend with, but independent beliefs about govern- ment and the state which are opposed to our own altogether. One result of this is the conversion of labor organiza- tions into socialist propaganda, and the gradual introduction to labor agitation of socialist ideas and propositions. The extension of secret societies, ostensibly organized for mutual protection and help, thus involves a pressure upon the polit- ical machinery liable to become more dangerous and subversive as the numer- ical strength of the societies grows. This, however, is but one of the embar- rassing consequences of the national hospitality. A country possessing a ho- mogeneous population, and depending for the increase of that population upon nat- ural multiplication, may have to pass through many trials before it attains the stability of settled civilization; yet it will, as a rule, proceed steadily from one experiment to another, and will profit, by its various lessons. But if a country is continually adding to its population from without; if it is compelled to edu- cate a large percentage of its adult citi- zens, as well as its children; if at every critical juncture it has to deal with a formidable element which has no past experiences to guide it, the result must be that the same hard lessons will have to be learned again and again, and that much friction and loss of time will have to he endured. It may be that eventually we shall conquer these difficulties; that complete assimilation will take place at last. But before that can happen we shall be, for an indefinite period, so far as can now be seen, subjected to periodical disturb- ance and disquietude from this cause, and the national progress will be checked while we are laboriously and painfully recommencing the instruction which, under normal conditions, might have been necessary only once. The time is also approaching when our saturation point will have been reached, and when the pressure of population upon the means of subsistence will constitute as grave a problem as it has long been in Europe. If foreign immigration is to continue unchecked, not many years more of indifference to the implications will be permitted to our politicians, and from present indications it seems anything but certain that they will be prepared to meet the problem intelligently and successfully. But in the absence of any pronounced or organized public opinion on the subject of immigration, the only course open is to consider the existing conditions as settled, and to make the best of them. It is indeed curious that no protest has yet been heard from American labor on this head, if we ex- cept that from the Pacific coast against the Chinese; for, logically considered, the spirit of trades-unionism ought to be strongly opposed to any further in- crease of the labor element, and experi- ence has shown that in such cases for- eigners are generally the first to mani- fest hostility to new-comers. Importing ignorance and socialism free- ly as we do, however, we cannot reason- ably complain of the results. If of late they have been more disagreeable than usual, we must remember that the whole world is agitated by the labor question. It seems possible that we could have es- caped dangerous agitation of the prob- lem by pursuing a more conservative policy; by insisting more, for instance, upon America for Americans. Perhaps we have not sufficiently realized that even the largest continent must be filled 109 1886.] The Labor Question. in time. But we must lie upon the bed as we have made it, and sLice we are already face to face with revolu- tionary theories of the social system and the relations between capital and labor, we must endeavor to secure the ultimate preponderance of American over exotic doctrines; unless, indeed, we are prepared to indorse the superi- ority of the latter. As to that, no doubt, probably, need be entertained. The largest liberty com- patible with the maintenance of equal rights has been the national maxim since the foundation of the republic, and it has worked well, on the whole. A sys- tem which carefully provides for the free development of individuality is nec- essarily open to abuses. Where the re- spect for individual liberty coexists with a feverish pursuit of wealth, excessive greed will occasionally be evolved, and mischievous and demoralizing aggrega- tions of capital will occur. But these are the exceptions, not the rule. In the aggregate the democratic system has been vindicated. The advance of na- tional prosperity, in despite of many and grave drawbacks, has been so great as to excite the wonder of all other nations. The increase in the popular standard of comfort has been, if not so rapid as it might have been, certainly quicker and greater than in any other country. If we have produced a small number of millionaires, we have created millions of well-to-do citizens. The re- ports of our savings-banks show a sub- stantial condition of society in the mid- dle and lower grades. Notwithstanding their waste of capital in self-indulgence, the poor are better off than at any for- mer time, or in any other part of the world. Thanks to our liberal institu- tions, there is no barrier between our workingmen and capitalists. Any la- borer with health and pluck and judg- ment may become rich, and thousands do. It is not, then, to be expected that Americans will give up the advantages which they believe inhere in their sys- tem of government, to adopt methods which demand the extinction of indi- viduality, the surrender of freedom of action, and the conversion of the great republic into a sort of compromise be- tween a military despotism and a scheme of national pauperism. All such notions are idle fantasies. This country will proceed on the lines hitherto pursued and approved by suf- ficient experience. But it does not fol- low that there is not ample room for improvement in many things, and, among others, in the relations between capital and labor. Of late much has been said on behalf of arbitration. No doubt ar- bitration is a good thing, and courts of conciliation are good; in fact, anything is good which puts reason before main strength and passion, and which compels both parties to a dispute to discuss it coolly before an impartial and mutually friendly council. But before arbitration is adopted it is necessary to determine just where the opportunity for it begins, and recent events have shown the exist- ence of a good deal of confusion on this point. It may be laid down as an es- sential preliminary that arbitration is only in order when both parties are within their rights. If a body of work- men have struck, and are resting quiet- ly, refraining from all interference with the property of their employers, the case is one for arbitration. But if the strike has been followed by violence and lawlessness, arbitration is out of place. The case is then one for the police to deal with, and, if necessary, the militia. No doubt as to this can be permitted. Arbitration presupposes mutual fair play and forbearance. Of course the ques- tion involved goes to the very bottom of that of the rights of strikers. Those rights begin and end with the right to refuse to work for a given wage. If, after so refusing to work, the striker un- dertakes to prevent any one else from working in his place, he puts himself in 110 the wrong, and he must recede from that false position before arbitration can be applicable. Whenever this is fully real- ized by the workingmen the strike will be abandoned; and this is a change to be hoped for, inasmuch as it is fatally defective as an aid to labor. It can only succeed when it is impossible to re- place the striking element. As such oc- casions are comparatively rare in a coun- try where the organized labor forms so small a percentage of the whole, it fol- lows that a lawful strike can seldom succeed; once undertaken, however, the temptation to proceed to violence is great, so great that when the strikers are unskilled laborers it is found almost impossible to withstand it. In effect, when a lawful strike has any prospect of success arbitration would be better. When it has no prospect of success it is very liable to degenerate into crime. In any case, it is clumsy, uncertain, and dangerous. Whatever constitutes a motive for a strike is cause for arbitration. But ar- bitration, to be respected, must be re- spectable. President Clevelands mes- sage on the subject, and the law framed in Congress to carry his suggestion into effect, do not appear to meet the require- ments of the case. It is extremely doubtful whether anything can b~ ex- pected from professional arbitrators po- litically appointed. Every dispute be-. tween labor and capital involves spe- cial points, understood, as a rule, only by the men concerned on both sides, or by other men engaged in the same kind of business or manufacture. These are natu- ral arbitrators, and their decisions carry weight, but no such respect is likely to be paid the judgments of politicians. As to compulsory arbitration, it is a con- tradiction in terms, and the very idea involves the most revolutionary tenden- cies. To propose that the decision of an arbitrator shall be binding, without any regard to its reasonableness or even its legality, is to propose to change the The Labor Question. [July, relations between men so radically that the Constitution and the laws would thenceforth be practically little better than dead letters. If capital and labor are both disposed to be reasonable, they can and will find common standing- ground. The older trades-unions are already regarding the strike with dis- trust. The policy recently outlined by Mr. Arthur, the head of the Brother- hood of Locomotive Engineers, repre- sents the most advanced views on this subject. Mr. Arthur does not believe in strikes, and keeps his order out of them as much as possible. One result is that his organization is powerful and respected, and that when it has griev- ances little difficulty is experienced in getting them removed. Labor, of course, often has just cause of complaint. Capital is greedy and hard in too many instances, and tries to get the most possible service for the least possible pay. Employers who look on their employees merely as ma- chines cannot expect to be regarded with affection. Great corporations that screw their men down to the lowest notch in wages will never enlist the sympathy of the public. Selfishness and rapacity when manifested by rich men are even more odious than when the poor exhibit those evil qualities. If, when violence has been offered corpo- rate property, the expression of public indignation has been less than the cir- cumstances seemed to demand, the pre- vailing lukewarmness was undoubtedly attributable to want of sympathy with employers believed to be heartless and ungenerous to their servants. Sometimes these beliefs are ill-founded. There are corporations that treat their employees kindly and considerately. But it is to be regretted that there are very few of them, and that in the majority of cases the relations are those of mutual distrust or indifference. It is questionable whether, in the ab- sence of esteem or liking of any kind, 1886.] The Labor Question. 111 better relations can be established. Cer- tainly the tendencies of labor organiza- tion are away from closer connection be- tween employer and employed at pies- eat. The movement toward stronger demands for labor menaces whatever entente exists, and if the policy of the unions continues to be grasping and one-sided the effect upon capital must be serious. Most serious, however, for labor; for capital can always wait and can always subsist, while labor can do neither. Precisely because capital is realized labor it is stronger than labor. It represents the extent to which its possessors have advanced, in accumulat- ing savings, beyond those who have to work for their daily bread. Capital, moreover, can always move, while labor is not free to go where it pleases. In a contest of strength between the two forces, labor must always succumb, and this no matter what numerical strength the latter possesses. The more exten- sive and the fiercer the conflict, the soon- er must it end, for its extension can only involve rapid exhaustion of the mate- rial resources of labor. But all the friends and advisers of the workingman should warn him against entrance into such a strife. It is not that he is altogether wrong, or that he is not entitled to demand certain improvements in his condition. It is that, no matter what his equities, he cannot obtain them by unreasonable methods. A strike upon a falling market may appear just as to its surface propositions, but it is doomed to failure. A demand for increased wages or reduced working hours, or both, dur- ing a period of industrial depression is hopeless. As to the proposal for a shorter working-day, it is impossible to believe that those who make it at all understand what they are doing, for their success would be a calamity to them. This, however, is a graft from the tree of socialism, and as incongruous as most of the theories with which those wrong-headed people have filled the air, in these days of audacious and lawless speculation. Perhaps it is necessary that actual experiment should be had, to con- vince those whose reasoning powers are slight that if production generally is di- minished, the production of the wage-fund also must be reduced; and that if the same amount of work is to be performed, but by an increased number of hands, the average payments to labor will be smaller. When the impossibility of obviating either of these results is com- prehended, there will probably be less disposition among workingmen to be- lieve that problems of wages and hours of labor can be determined by fiat. There is a question connected with the labor issue which insists upon prompt determination, and which cannot be al- lowed to drift. It is the question, re- cently brought home to the country in startling ways, of anarchism. The gen- eral demand is naturally for stern re- pressive measures, and, the situation being what it is, they are necessary. But when the anarchists of to-day have been put down, how are we going to protect ourselves against the anarchists of to-morrow? It is a very grave con- sideration. These men form precisely the element from which modern civili- zation has most to apprehend. They are at odds with society from the foun- dations upward. They deny the justice and the desirability of any existing in- stitutions. They are proletarians, hav- ing no property stake anywhere. They believe in destruction, and not in con- servation. They are wholly unapproach- able by reason. In short, they live in society only for the purpose of injuring, and if possible overthrowing, civiliza- tion. Such men, insane with the in- sanity produced by unbalanced specula- tion upon defective intelligence, upon those aniemic brains which the deadly vices of great capitals curse the world with, such men must, be it admitted, suffer the full penalty of declaring open war upon the existing order of things, 112 The Labor Question. when they are taken flagrante delicto. But does it follow that this is the only or the best way of protecting society against them? Has the nation no re- sponsibility that admits, without ques- tion, these perverted creatures; that al- lows them to establish their propaganda; that looks oi indifferently while they are educating their dupes to lust after riot and massacre and anarchy; that leaves them free to do mischief until they have advanced from incendiary words to incendiary acts? Such a policy renders rigorous sup- pression ultimately unavoidable. But where is the boasted freedom of speech and action, when it can only be enjoyed on such conditions? Perhaps it is time to acknowledge that freedom of speech is never more than relative, and that if we are to avoid the necessity of putting down anarchist riots we must see to it that the dissemination of anarchist doc- trine is prevented. We have here a new problem. The anarchists are not to be regarded as fair material for citi- zenship. They hate American democ- racy as cordially as European absolut- ism. As one of them frankly declared at Chicago recently, they are against all laws and all governments, against the whole social and political system, against organized labor as much as capital. They have no sentimental associations with this republic. They come from the Old Worlds revolutionary muck- heap, and all their instincts and tenden- cies are aggressive, subversive, and de- structive. From their first appearance here they form an element of danger, a rallying-point for all the foes of society to gather around. All the influence ex- ercised by them is sinister. They cor- rupt those workingmen who speak their language. They encourage and play into the hands of the criminal class. To permit all this, however, is deliberately to prepare the way for the forcible re- pression which such a course always compels, and this is to vitiate our sys tem of government radically. Being what it is, anarchism should be pre- vented from germinating, instead of being permitted to grow, and then cut down with pain and difficulty when it is ripe. It has no more justification for free play among us than a cult of piracy would have, or such an academy of lar- ceny as Fagin the Jew kept. The safety of the state, which is not less a supreme law than in the days of Roman domin- ion, demands that every propaganda of iniquity be extirpated. There cannot be two opinions among sane men as to the character of anarchist doctrine, and the danger of permitting such doctrine to be taught ignorant foreigners, who havo no saving familiarity with American prin- ciples, has been too plainly manifested already for any doubt to be entertained on that point. Anarchism, therefore, ought to be taken at the beginning, not at the end. Humanity, policy, alike justify this view. If we permit these people to sow, we cannot complain at the character of the crop left to us to reap. We can prevent the sowing, and that is our plain duty in the future, both to ourselves and to the anarchists. The labor question will slowly work itself into a more hopeful condition, if not too much interfered with. The ex- periments lately undertaken in the line of transferring the ownership of prop- erty by forcible confiscation have result- ed so discouragingly for the experiment- ers that they have probably learned some fundamental truths in connection with the actual power of labor organ- ization. Unfortunately for human progress, it usually requires some such painful demonstration to convince the masses that there is a wide distinction between the possession of force and the power to compass economic ends. If the Knights of Labor have learned some useful les- sons, however, the employers of labor have perhaps received some instruction also. The generality of labor organi 1886.] In the (Jiouds. 113 zation at present tends to quicken the equitable tendencies of capital. The employer reflects more deeply upon the rights of labor when he realizes its abili- ty to check or stop production. There is room for concession on both sides, and if only time is given, capital and labor may come closer together. The chief danger lies in the hot-headedness of the least educated labor elements. Thus far they have been unable to control themselves at difficult junctures, and have shown a disposition to resort to illegitimate weap- ons, which they will have to abandon. In the end reason and equity must rule, and we may be sure that, under the sys- tem of free development which the re- public of the United States offers to all its citizens, the workingmen will obtain and enjoy every right and advantage which it is proper and lawful for them to possess: and while this does not im- ply that they are entitled to one right other or more than their fellow-citizens can claim, it does imply that they have more to hope from temperate and ra- tional action than they can possibly se- cure in any other way. George Frederic Parsons. IN THE CLOUDS. XVII. ALETIIEA stood motionless for some little time, still leaning on the fence. A stalk of golden-rod, brown and with- ered, its glory departed, touched the rails now and then. Its slight, infre- quent swaying was the only intimation of wind, except that the encompassing smoke, filling the vast spaces between heaven and earth, shifted occasionally, the dense convolutions silently merg- ing into new combinations of ill-defined shapes, colorless phantasmagoria, dim- ly looming. It might have seemed as if all the world had faded out, leaving only these blurred suggestions of unrec- ognized forms, like the vestiges of for- gotten ~eons. Even the harvesters did not maintain always a human aspect. Through the haze they were grotesque, distorted, gi- gantic; their hands vaguely visible, now lifted, now falling, in their deliberate but ceaseless work. They looked like va- grants from that eccentric populace of dreams, given over to abnormal, incon- sequent gestures, to shifting similitudes, to preposterous conditions and facile VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 8 inetamorphoses of identity. Alethea felt a strange doubt, in recognizing Sam Marvin, whether it were indeed the moonshiner whom she saw. An insistent silence possessed the air, broken only by the rustle of the crisp husks as the three dim figures pulled the corn. Suddenly there sounded a mad, scuttling rush, shrill canine yelps, and a series of nimble shadows vaulted over the fence. The coon ran up a tree, while the moonshiners dogs ranged themselves beneath it, with upturned heads askew, and gloating, baffled eyes, and moans of melancholy frustration, punctuated ever and anon with yaps of more poignant realization of the coons inaccessibility. Tige, irresolute, showed fight at first to the strangers; then he too sat down, and with quivering fore-paws and wagging tail wheezed and yelped at his fireside companion, as if he had had no personal acquaintance with the raccoon, had held with him no relations of enforced amity, and could not wait one moment to crunch his bones. The half-grown girl, de.sisting from her work, turned her head in the direc- tion of the noise, and caught a glimps&

Charles Egbert Craddock Craddock, Charles Egbert In the Clouds 113-131

1886.] In the (Jiouds. 113 zation at present tends to quicken the equitable tendencies of capital. The employer reflects more deeply upon the rights of labor when he realizes its abili- ty to check or stop production. There is room for concession on both sides, and if only time is given, capital and labor may come closer together. The chief danger lies in the hot-headedness of the least educated labor elements. Thus far they have been unable to control themselves at difficult junctures, and have shown a disposition to resort to illegitimate weap- ons, which they will have to abandon. In the end reason and equity must rule, and we may be sure that, under the sys- tem of free development which the re- public of the United States offers to all its citizens, the workingmen will obtain and enjoy every right and advantage which it is proper and lawful for them to possess: and while this does not im- ply that they are entitled to one right other or more than their fellow-citizens can claim, it does imply that they have more to hope from temperate and ra- tional action than they can possibly se- cure in any other way. George Frederic Parsons. IN THE CLOUDS. XVII. ALETIIEA stood motionless for some little time, still leaning on the fence. A stalk of golden-rod, brown and with- ered, its glory departed, touched the rails now and then. Its slight, infre- quent swaying was the only intimation of wind, except that the encompassing smoke, filling the vast spaces between heaven and earth, shifted occasionally, the dense convolutions silently merg- ing into new combinations of ill-defined shapes, colorless phantasmagoria, dim- ly looming. It might have seemed as if all the world had faded out, leaving only these blurred suggestions of unrec- ognized forms, like the vestiges of for- gotten ~eons. Even the harvesters did not maintain always a human aspect. Through the haze they were grotesque, distorted, gi- gantic; their hands vaguely visible, now lifted, now falling, in their deliberate but ceaseless work. They looked like va- grants from that eccentric populace of dreams, given over to abnormal, incon- sequent gestures, to shifting similitudes, to preposterous conditions and facile VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 8 inetamorphoses of identity. Alethea felt a strange doubt, in recognizing Sam Marvin, whether it were indeed the moonshiner whom she saw. An insistent silence possessed the air, broken only by the rustle of the crisp husks as the three dim figures pulled the corn. Suddenly there sounded a mad, scuttling rush, shrill canine yelps, and a series of nimble shadows vaulted over the fence. The coon ran up a tree, while the moonshiners dogs ranged themselves beneath it, with upturned heads askew, and gloating, baffled eyes, and moans of melancholy frustration, punctuated ever and anon with yaps of more poignant realization of the coons inaccessibility. Tige, irresolute, showed fight at first to the strangers; then he too sat down, and with quivering fore-paws and wagging tail wheezed and yelped at his fireside companion, as if he had had no personal acquaintance with the raccoon, had held with him no relations of enforced amity, and could not wait one moment to crunch his bones. The half-grown girl, de.sisting from her work, turned her head in the direc- tion of the noise, and caught a glimps& 114 of Alethea. She had an excited eye, high cheek-bones, and a thin, prominent nose. Her face looked peculiarly sharp inside her flabby sun-bonnet. She was at the growing age, and her frock was consequently very short for the bare, sun-embrowned legs which protruded from it. Her bare feet were long and bony. She seemed to be growing length- wise only, for her shoulders were nar- row, her arms slim. She had a callow, half-fledged look, not unlike a Shanghai pullet. Her manner was abrupt and fluttered, and her voice high and shrill. Laws - a - massy! she exclaimed, jumping precipitately backward on her long, attenuated legs, yander s Lethe Sayles! Both the man and the woman started violently, not because of the matter of the disclosure, but of its manner, as was manifested in his rebuke. By Gosh, Sereny! ef ye aint mighty nigh skeered me ter death! he cried angrily. Spose it air Lethe Sayles! He bowed his body grotesquely amidst the smoke, as he emphasized his reproof. Air she ennything so powerful oncom- mon ez ye hey ter jump ez sprightly ez ef ye hed stepped on a rattlesnake, an squeech out that-a-way? Howdy, Lethe, he added, with an odd contrast of a calm voice and a smooth manner, as if Alethea were deaf to these ameni- ties. Thrivin, I spose? Alethea faltered that she was well, and said no more. The imperative con- sciousness of all that she had done against him, of all for which she feared him, prevailed for a time. She knew that it would have been wiser to venture some commonplace civility, and then go. But that insistent conscience, strong within her, forbade this. She was all unprepared now for the disclosure of her testimony in the court-room, but the fact that she had ever intended to warn him made it seem as if this were due. She felt as if she had missed a certain fortification of her courage in that she In the Clouds. [July, had not had the privilege of trembling over the prospect, of familiarizing her- self with it, of approaching it slowly, but none the less surely, by lessening degrees of trepidation. She wondered that he did not look at her with more of the indignation which she knew he must feel toward her. Bitterness, however, was acridly manifested in the woman s manner, her averted head, her sedulous silence. She continued industriously pulling the corn, as if no word had been spoken, no creature stood by. The gal- linaceous girl, silent too, returned to her work, but often looked askance at Ale- thea over her shoulder. The man spoke presently. His face and figure were blurred now in the smoke. It was as if a shadow had purloined a sarcastic voice. Aletheas nerves were unstrung by the surprise of the meeting, and the fact that she could see only this elusive suggestion of his presence harassed and discomposed her Waal, Lethe, I dunno ez I be sprised ter see ye. I hey seen ye sech a many times whenst I never expected ye, startin up yander at Bokes barn ez sud- dint ez ef ye hed yer headquarters in the yearth or the sky. An jes at this junctry, wheust we air a-tryin ter steal our own corn away from hyar, ye kem a-boundin outn the smoke, like ye hed no abidin place more n a witch or that thar Herder on Thunderhead, or sech harnts. I never see yer beat ez a med- dler. Satan aint no busier with other folkses souls. She made no reply. The shifting va- por hid the tree where the bright-eyed coon hung fast by his claws, and the wheezing yapping of the foiled dogs be- sieging his stronghold seemed strangely loud and near since they were invisible. The shucks rustled sibilantly. The ears of maize fell with a monotonous sound upon the heaps in the turn row. What did the revenuers do when they kem up the mounting? Marvin asked suddenly. His tone was all alert 1886.] In the Clouds. 115 now with curiosity. He could reserve his rebukes till his craving for gossip should be satisfied. Conversation, a fine art elsewhere, assumes the dignity of a privilege in these sparsely settled wilds, where its opportunities are scant. They aint never kern, ez I knows on, said Alethea tremulously. They might come yet, and here he was still unwarned and at the mercy of accident. She had climbed the fence, springing lightly down on the other side, and had mechanically begun to assist them in their work, the usual courtesy of a guest in the mountains who finds the host employed. Slip-shuck it, Lethe, he remarked, calling her attention to the fact that the outer husks were left upon the stalks, and the ear, enveloped merely in its in- ner integuments, was thrown upon the heap. I hates powerful ter be obleeged ter leave all this hyar good roughness; he indicated the long rows of shucks upon the stalks. My cattle would be mighty thankful ter hey sech fedded ter em. But the corn itself air about ez much ez I kin haul so fur Dont ye tell her wharabouts we- uns lives nowadays, broke out the wo- man. She was standing near Alethea, and she turned and looked at her. The girls fresh and beautiful countenance was only more delicate, more sensitive, with that half-aifrighted perturbation on it, that piteous deprecation. The elder womans face was furrowed and yellow in con- trast; her large, prominent eyes, of a light hazel color, were full of tears, and had a look as if tears were no unfamil- iar visitants. She wiped them away with the curtain of her pink sun-bonnet, and went on pulling the corn. I dunno whar Sam Marvin lives, myself, the moonshiner declared, with reckless bravado. I dont go by that name no He straightened up and set his arms akimbo, as he laughed. Ye need nt send no mo o yer spies, Lethe, arter me, he declared. My neighbors way over yander dunno no sech man ez Sam Marvin. Aletheas lifted hand paused upon the shuck on the sere stalk. As she turned half round he saw her face in the smoke; her golden hair and fresh cheek, and the saffron kerchief tied beneath the round chin. He was not struck by her beauty; it always seemed a thing apart from her, the slightest incident of her personality, so much more forceful were the impressions of her character, so much more intimately her coercive opinions concerned those with whom she came in contact. But in her clear eyes he detected a surprise which he hardly understood at the moment. And he paused to look at her, wondering if it were only simulated. Her heart throbbed with a dull and heavy pain. So angry were they be- cause she would not promise to keep their secret. She shrank from their rage when she should tell that she had voluntarily disclosed it. Ye 11 be purtendin ez t war some- body else ez sent the spy ter make sure o the place whar we kep our still. I know ye! He wagged his head in more active assertion that her machina- tions could not avail against his discern- ment. I never sent no spy, faltered Ale- thea. Thar, now! What did I tell ye! he broke out, laughing disdainfully; the woman added a high, shrill, unmirthful refrain; even Serena the pullet, stepping about in the smoke on her long, yellow feet and in her abbreviated garments, cackled scornfully. Ye may thank yer blessed stars,~ cried the woman scathingly, she could hold silence no longer, ez ye done nuthin agin we-uns. An the revenuers never raided our still, nor got nare drap o our liquor, nor tuk nuthin 0 ourn. Yer bones would be a-bleachin on the 116 In the Clouds. [July, hillside ef they lied! Jes afore yer spy kern them white-livered men Sam, thar, an the tother distillers war a-talkin bout how they could make ye hesh up yer mouth, ez ye would nt keep it shet yersef. They lowed it never seemed right handy ter them ter shoot a woman same ez a man, an I jes up-ed an tole em ez ye desarved no bet- ter n a bullet through that yaller head o yourn, an they could git a shot at ye enny evenin whenst ye war a-drivin up the cow. An I lowed ez whenst a woman went a-meddlin an informin like a man, let her take what a man hey ter take. iNaw, sir! but they mus run away, count o a meddlin hussy like you-uns, an go live somwhar else! An I hed ter leave my home, an the three graves o my dead chilln, yander on the rise, ez lonesome an ez meagre-lookin ez ef they war three pertater hills. She burst into a tumult of tears. The smoke wafted down, obscuring her, there was commotion in its midst, for the wind was astir, and her sobs sounded from out the invisibility that had usurped the earth as if some spirit of grief were abroad in it. Shet up, Mria! Ye talk like ye lied no mo sense n a sheep. The chilln aint in them graves, Marvin said, with the consolations of a sturdy orthodoxy. Thar leetle bones is, said the spirit of grief from the densities of the clouds. And he could not gainsay this. She wept on persistently for the little deserted bones. He could not feel as she did, yet he could understand her feeling. His under jaw dropped a lit- tle; some stress of melancholy and so- lemnity was on his face, as if a saddened retrospection were evoked for him, too. But it was a recollection which his in- stinct was to throw off, rather than to cherish as a precious sorrow, jealously exacting for it the extremest tribute of sighs and tears. Lethe, he said suddenly, with a cheerful note, bein ez they never cotch us, did they pay ye ennything ez inform- er? I aint right sure how the law stands on that pint. The law pears ter me ter be a mighty onstiddy, contra- riwise contrivance, an the bes way ter find ennything sartain sure boutn it air ter sperience it. Did they pay ye ennything? I never informed the revenuers,~~ declared Alethea, once more. He turned upon her a look of scorn. I knowed ye war a powerful fool, a-talkin bout what s right, an preach- in same ez the rider, an faultin yer elders. But I never knowed ye war a liar an a scandalous hypocrite. The Bible say, Woe ter ye, hypocrites! I wonder ye aint hearn that afore; either a-wrastlin with yer own soul, or med. dun with other folkses salvation. It occurred to him that he preached very well himself, and he was minded, in the sudden vanity of the discovery, to reiter- ate, Woe unto ye, hypocrite! What makes ye low ez I gin the word ter the revenuers? demanded Alethea. Kase the spy kem up thar with yer name on his lips. Lethe Sayles, he sez, Lethe Sayles. The girl stared wide-eyed and amazed at him. Marvins wife noted the expression. Oh, glong, Lethe Sayles! she cried, impatiently; ye air so deceivin! -. The spy! faltered Alethea. Who war the spy? I never tole nobody bout seem ye at Bokes barn, nor whenst I - war milkin the cow, nuther, till a few weeks ago. Ye hed lef hyar fur months~ afore then. The woman, listening, with an ear of corn in her motionless hand, turned and cast it upon the heap with a significant gesture of rejection, as if she thus dis- carded the claims of what she had heard. - She sneered, and laughed derisively and shrill. The pullet, too, broke into mock- ing mirth, and then both fell to pulling corn with a sort of flouting energy. 1886.] I~ tAe Clouds. 117 Oh, shucks! exclaimed Marvin, with a feint of sharing their incredulity. But he held his straggling beard in one hand, and looked at Alethea seriously. To him her manner constrained belief in what she had said. Why, Lethe, he broke out, abruptly, t war nt a week arter that evenin whenst I seen ye a-milkin the cow when the spy kem. We-uns war a-settiu roun the still, we kep it in the shed-room, me an my partners, an we war a-talkin bout you-uns, an how ye acted; an Mria, she war thar, an she went agin ye, an lowed ez we hed better make ye shet yer mouth; an some o the boys were argufyin ez ye war jes sayin sech ez ye done ter hear yersef talk, an feel sot up in yer own pinion. They lowed ye d be feared ter tell, sure enough, but ye hankered ter be begged ter shet up. T war a powerful stormy night. I never hear a wusser wind ez war a-ca- vortin round the house. An the light- nin an thunder hed been right up an down sniptious. A lightnin ball mus hey bust up on Piomingo Bald, kase nex day I see the ground tore up round the herders cabin, though Ben Doaks war nt thar, hed gone down ter the cove, I reckon. Waal, sir, it quit storm- in arter a while, but everything war mighty damp an wet; the draps kep a-fallin offn the eaves. We could hear the hogs in the pen a-squashin about in the mud. An all of a suddenty they tuk ter squealin an gruntin, skeered mighty nigh ter death. An my oldest son, Mose, he lowed it war a varmint arter em; an he snatched his gun an runned out ter the hog-pen. An thar they war, all jammed up tergether, grunt- in~ an snortin; an Mose say he war afeard ter shoot mongst em, fur fear o hittin some o them stiddier the var- mint. An whilst he war lookin right keerful, the moon hed kem out by then, he seen, stiddier a wolf, suthin a-bowin down offn the fence. An the thing cotch up a crust o bread, or a rind o water-million, or suthin, out o the trough fur the hogs, an then sot up ez white-faced on the fence, a-munchin it an a-lookin at him. An Mose lowed he war so plumb sprised he los his senses. He lowed t war a harnt, it looked so onexpected. He jes flung his rifle on the groun an~ run. Its mighty seldom sech tracks hey been made on the Big Smoky ez Mose tuk. We-uns aint medjured em yit, but Mose hey got the name mongst the gang o bein able ter step fourteen feet at a stride. He showed his long, tobacco-stained teeth in the midst of his straggling beard, and as he talked on he gnawed at a plug of tobacco, as if, being no im- pediment to thought, it could be none to its expression. Mose lept inter the house, declarin thar war a harut a-settin on the fence. Ye know Jeb Peake ? hongry Jeb, they useter call him. Marvin broke off suddenly, having forgotten the signifi- cance and purpose of the recital in the rare pleasure of recounting. Even his wifes face bore only retrospective ab- sorption, and Serena had lifted her head, and fixed an excited, steadfast eye upon him. Waal, hongry Jeb war a-settin thar in the corner, an bein tolerble sleepy-headed he hed drapped off, his head agin the chimbley. An when Mose kem a-rampagin in thar, with his eyes poppin out, declarin thar war a harnt settin on the fence, eatin, Eatin what ~ sez hongry Jeb, a-start- inup. Ha! ha! ha! Jeb aint never forgot the bottom o the pot yit, chimed in the wife. I aint a-grudgin him ter eat, though, stipulated the moonshiner, nor the harnt, nuther. I jes lowed ez that thar white-faced critter a-settin on the fence, a-thievin from the hog, mought take up a fancy ter Moses rifle, lef onpertected on the ground. So I goes out. Nuthin war nt settin on the fence, ceptin the moonlight an that 118 thar onregenerate young tur-rkey ez nuthin could hender from roostin on the rails o the hog-pen, stiddier on a limb o a tree, longside o the tother tur-rkeys. An thar a fox cotch her afore day- break, interpolated Mrs. Marvin, sup~ plying biographical deficiencies. I always d!d blieve t war them thar greedy old hogs, said Serena. Marvin went on, disregarding the in- terruption: I picked up Moses gun, an in I kem. I barred up the door, an then I sot down an lighted my pipe. An Jeb, he tuk ter tellin tales bout all the folks ez he ever knowed ter be skeered haffen ter death KNare one of em war Jeb, remarked the observant Mrs. Marvin, seizing the salient trait of the romancer. In all Jebs tales he comes outn the big e-end o the hawn. An ez I sot thar, jes wallin my eyes round the room, I seen suthin that, ef the tothers hed said they seen, I d hey tole em they war lyin. T war a couple o eyes an a white face -peekin through the holes in the chinkin o the walls, whar the daubin bed fell out. T war right close ter me at fast, that war how I kem ter see it so plain. I lowed ter jes stick my knife right quick inter one o them eyes. I lowed war a raider. Fore I could move t war gone! Then all of a suddenty I seen the face an eyes peekin in close ter the door. I jes flew at it that time, war nt goin ter let nuthin hea- der I war twixt him an the door, an he jes run over me, interpolated the pullet. Knocked me plumb over, head fust, inter a tub o beer. Hed ter set in the sun all nex day fur my hair ter dry out, an I smelt like a toper. Sam Marvin not ungenially permit- ted his family thus to share in telling his story. He resumed with unabated ardor: In tI~e Clouds. [July, An I jumped through the door so quick that the spy jes did see me, an war steppin out ter run when I cotch him by the collar. I dont reckon thar ever war a better beatin n I gin him. I hed drapped my knife a-runnin, an I hed no dependence ceptin my fists. His face war so bloody I did nt know him a-fast, when I dragged him in the house, with his head under my arm. An when I seen him I knowed he never kem of hisself, but somebody had sent him. An I say, What did ye kem hyar fur? An he say, Lethe Sayles. An I say, Who sent ye? An he say, Lethe Sayles. Now, Lethe, see what a liar ye hey been fund out ter be! said the woman, scornfully. Lord knows I never lowed ye would kem ter sech. I knowed ye wheast ye war a baby. A fatter one I never see. Nobody would hey blieved ye d grow up sour, an preachified, an faultin yer elders, an bide a single wo- man, ez ef nobody would make chice o ye. Alethen looked vaguely from one to the other. Denial seemed futile. She asked mechanically, rather than from any definite motive, Did ye hear o enny revenuers arter that? Did nt wait ter, said Marvin. We bed beam enough, knowin ez ye bed tole, an the word bed got round the kentry, so ez the spy bed been sent up ter make sure o the place. We-uns war too busy a-movin the still an a-has- tlin off. Ef thar bed been time enough fur ennything, I reckon some o them boys would hey put a bullet through that thar sandy head o yonrn. Bat the raiders never kem up with we-uns, nor got our still an liquor, we-uns war miles an miles away from hyar the night arter Tad kem a-spyin. Alethea stood staring, speechless. Tad! she gasped at last. Tad! They all stopped and looked at her through the wreathing smoke, as if they hardly understood her. 1886.] In the Clouds. 119 Lethe, ye air too pretensified ter be healthy I Mrs. Marvin exclaimed at last. 0 course ye knowed, bein ez ye tole him, said the moonshiner. He did not resume his work, but stood gazing at her. They were all at a loss, amazed at her perturbation. Her breath came fast; her lips were parted. One lifted hand clung to the heavily enswathed ear of corn upon the tall, sere stalk; the other clutched the kerchief about her throat, as if she were suffocating. Her face was pale; her eyes were distended. I would nt look so pop-eyed fur nuthin, remarked the pullet, in callow pertness; she might not have been sus- pected of laying so much stress on ap- pearances. Im tryin ter think, said Alcthea, dazed, ef that war afore Tad war drownded or arterward. Marvin turned, and leered significant- ly at his family. Mus hey been afore he war drownd- ed, I reckon, he said satirically. Lethe Sayles, observed Serena reprehensively, ye air teched in the head. She tossed her own head with a con- viction that, if not strictly ornamental, it was level. Then, like the sane fowl that she was, she went stepping about on her long, yellow feet with a demure, grown-up air. Oh, said Alethea, fixing the dates in her mind, it mus hey been after- wards Likely, interrupted Sam Marvin. kase that very evenin arter I seen ye at the cow-pen Elviry Crosby kem an tole ez how Reuben Lorey hed bust down old man Gruffs mill, an his nevy Tad war in it, an war drownded in the river. Laws-a-me! exclaimed Mrs. Mar- vin, clutching her sun-bonnet with both hands, and thrusting it backward from her head, as if it intercepted the news. Waal, sir! cried the moonshiner, amazed. Oh, cried Alethea, clasping both her hands, ef I hed called ye back that evenin, an promised not ter tell, like I war minded ter do Ye lowed t war nt right, suggested the moonshiner. ye would hey knowed ez Tad war nt no spy, but war jes vagabondin round the kentry, a runaway, houseless an hongry; an ye would hey tuk him back ter old man Gruff, an Reuben would nt hey been tried fur killin him! Shucks, Mink war nt tried fur sech sure enough, said Marvin, uneasily. His face had changed. His wife was turning the corner of her apron nervous- ly between her fingers, and looking at him in evident trepidation. He hey been in jail fur months an months, said Alethea. An when he war tried, I told on the witness stand bout glimpsin Tad one night whenst I kem from camp, inns hey been the same night whenst he went up the mounting ter yer house, kase thar war a awful storm. An when I seen him suddint I screamed, bein sprised; an I reckon that war the reason he said Lethe Sayles. An at the trial they lowed I bed seen nuthin but Tads harnt, an the jury disagreed. An any an~ air Mink in jail yit? demanded the moonshiner, his jaw falling in dismay. The rescuers tuk him out, said Alethea. Waal, sir, he exclaimed, with a long breath. Ye see, he seemed to feel that he must account for his excitement and interest, hem hid out, I haint hearn no news, scacely, sence we-uns lef. Whar be Tad now? Alethea asked suddenly, realizing that here was the man who had seen him last. He glanced quickly at her, then in perplexed dubitation at his wife. Like 120 In the Clouds. [July, many women, she was willing enough to steer when it was all plain sailing, but among the breakers she left him with an undivided responsibility. She fell to pulling corn with an air of complete ab- sorption in her work. He made a clumsy effort at diver- sion. By Gosh, he declared, waving his hand about his head, ef this hyar smoke dont clar away, we-uns 11 all be sifflicated in it. But the smoke was not now so dense. High up, its sober, dun-colored folds were suffused with a lurid flush admitted from the wintry sunset. The black, dead trees within the inclosure stood out dis- tinctly athwart the blank neutrality of the gray, nebulous background. The little house on the rise was dimly sug- gested beyond the corn-field, across which skulked protean shapes of smoke, monstrous forms, full of motion and strange consistency and slowly realized symmetry, as if some gigantic prehis- toric beasts were trembling upon the verge of materialization and visibility. The wind gave them chase, for it was rising. It had lifted its voice in the silences. Like a clarion it rang down the narrow ravine below. But Sam Marvin, expanding his lungs to the freshened air, declared that he felt plumb sifflicated. Whar be Tad now? persisted Ale- thea. He spat meditatively upon the ground. Waal, Lethe, he said at last, that s more n I know. I dunno whar Tad be now. She detected consciousness in the manner of the woman and the girl. She broke out in a tumult of fear: Ye did nt harm Tad, did ye? with wild, terrified eyes fixed upon him. Ye did nt kill Tad fur a spy? kase he war nt. Shet up, ye blatant hussy! ex- claimed Mrs. Marvin, layin sech ez that at we-unss door. An shet up yersef, Mria. Least said, soonest mended, Marvin inter- posed. Look-a-hyar, Lethe Sayles, ye hey done harm enough; it may be kase it war right. Take sech satisfaction ez ye kin in yer notion. It never turned out right, turned out mighty wrong. I aint goin ter answer ye nare nuther word. I hey got a question ter ax you- uns right now. Who war it ye tole bout findin out t war me a-moonshin- in ? She detailed tremulously the scene in the court-room, and the impression it produced was altogether at variance with her expectations. Perhaps, how- ever, it was only natural that Sam Mar- vin should feel less interest in the be- lated disclosure, which he had thought was made months previous, than in the circumstances of the trial, Peter Roods death, the imprisonment of the jury, and the riot of the rescuing mob. As to his wife, she was chiefly shocked by the publicity attaching to testimony in open court. An ye jes stood up thar, Lethe Sayles, ez bold-faced ez a biscuit block, an lifted up yer outdacious voice afore all them men? Waal, sir! Waal! I dunno what the wimmin air a-comm ter ! I war obligated ter tell sech ez I knowed, Alethea contended against this assumption of superior delicacy. I nev- er felt no more bold-faced than in tellin speriunce fore the brethren at camp. Oh, child! cried Mrs. Marvin. It s the spirit o grace movin at camp, but at court it s the nimbleness o the devil. Alethea argued no further, for con- versation was impeded by the succeed- ing operations of gathering the crop. Marvin was leading the team of the great wagon from one to another of the heaps of corn. The huge creaking wheels crushed the ranks of stalks that fell in confusion on either side; the white canvas cover had been removed from the hoops, in order to facilitate the 1886.] in tAe Clouds. 121 throwiAg of the corn into the wagon. Through the wreaths of smoke appeared the long ears of a pair of mules. Sam Marvin had apparently found his new home in a thirstier locality than his old, for he was evidently thriving. The pair of mules might have been considered a sorry team in point of appearance: their sides were rubbed bare with the friction of the trace-chains; they were both un- kempt, and one was very tall and the other small, but they were stalwart and sure-footed and fleet, and a wonderful acquisition in lieu of the yoke of slow oxen she remembered. The continuous thud, as the ears of corn were thrown into the wagon, enabled Marvin to affect not to hear Aletheas reiteration as to Tads fate. I wisht ye d tell me suthin boutn Tad, she said piteously. I wisht I knew ye hed nt hurt him, nor nor She paused in the work, looking dreari- ly about her. The wind tossed her gar- ments; she was fain at times to catch her bonnet by the curtain, to hold it. The smoke had taken flight; dragons, winged horses, griffins, forgotten myths, all scurrying away before the strong blast. And still they came and went, and rose once more, for the wind that lifted the smoke fanned the fire. The flames were in sight along the base of Big Injun Mounting, writhing now like fiery serpents, and now rising like some strange growth in quivering blades; wav- ing and bowing, appearing and disap- pearing, and always extending further and further. They seemed so alive, so endowed with the spirit of destruction, so wantonly alert, so merciless to the fettered mountain that tossed its forests in wild commotion, with many a gesture of abject despair, and spite of all could not flee. Their strong, vivid color con- trasted with the dull garnet of the myr- iads of bare boughs and the deep, sombre green of the solemn pines. The smoke carried from the fire a lurid reflection, fading presently in the progress across the landscape of the long, dun-colored flights. The wintry sunset was at hand. The sky was red and amber; the plains of the far west lay vaguely purple beneath. On Waldens Ridge, rising against the horizon, rested the sun, from which somehow the dazzling fire seemed withdrawn, leaving a sphere of vivid scarlet, indescribably pure and intense, upon which the eye could nevertheless gaze undaunted. Pensive intimations there were in its reduced splendors; in the deep purple of Chilhowee, in the brown tints of the nearer ranges. Something was gone from the earth, a day, and the earth was sad, though it had known so many. And the night impended and the unim- agined morrow. And thus the averted Future turns by slow degrees the face that all flesh dreads to see. The voice of lowing cattle came up from the cove. The fires in the solitudes burned apace. I hey axed ye time an agin, Sam Marvin, whar Tad be. Ef ye dont tell, I 11 be bound ter blieve ye moonshiners hey done suthin awful ter him. They were about to depart on their journey. Already Serena was on her uneasy bed of corn in the ear. But the pullets life had been made up chief- ly of rough jouncing, and never having heard of a wagon with springs, she was in a measure incapable of appreciating her deprivation. She had wrapped a quilt of many colors about her shoulders, for the evening air was chill, and she looked out of the opening in the back of the canvas-covered wagon in grotesque variegation. Mrs. Marvin was climbing upon the wheel to her seat on the board in front. The moonshiner stood by the head of one of the mules, busy arrang- ing the simple tackling. He looked with a sneer at Alethea over the beasts neck. An I hey tole ye, Lethe Sayles, ez I dunno whar Tad be now. I m a mighty smart man, sure enough, but t would take a smarter one n me ter 122 in the Clouds. say whar Tad be now, an what he be a-doin He looked at his wife with a grin. She laughed aloud in tuneless scorn. The girl, gazing out of the back of the wagon as it jolted off, echoed the de- rision in a shrill key. And as the clumsy vehicle went creaking down the pre- cipitous slope, beyond the crest of which could be seen only the flaming base of the opposite mountain, all luridly afiare in the windy dusk, they seemed to Ale- thea as if they were descending into Tophet itself. XVIII. For a long time that night Alethea sat on the cabin porch in Wild-Cat Hol- low, absently watching the limited land- scape seen through the narrow gap of the minor ridges superimposed upon the great mountain. The sky was dark but for the light that came from the earth. The flames were out of sight behind the intervening ranges. Weird fluctuating gleams, however, trembled over the cove below, and summoned from the darkness that stately file of peaks stretching away along the sole vista vouchsafed to the Hollow. Sometimes the illumina- tion was a dull red suffusion, merging in the distance into melancholy grada- tions of tawny yellow and indeterminate brown, and so to densest gloom. Again. it was golden, vivid, fibrous, divergent, like the segment of a halo about some miraculous presence, whose gracious splendor was only thus suggested to the debarred in Wild - Cat Hollow. The legions of the smoke were loosed: down in the cove always passing in endless ranks what way the wind might will; along the mountain side marshaled in fantasies reflecting from the fires subtlc intimations of color, of blue -and red and purple; deploying upward, inter- posing between the constellations, that seemed themselves npon the march. There were clouds in the sky; the night was chill. Alethea gathered her shawl over her head. Now and then Tige, who sat beside her, wheezed and glanced over his shoulder at the door ajar, as if to urge her to go in. Sometimes he ran thither himself, looking backward to see if she would follow him. Then, as she continued motionless, he would come and sit beside her, with a plaintive whine of resignation. Tige was pensive and humble to-night, and was making an edifying show of repentance. On the homeward walk he had been dis- posed to follow the example of the moonshiners dogs and harass the coon, thereby becoming acquainted with the teeth of the smiling creature, and in- curring Aletheas rebukes and displeas- ure. It was a cheerful scene within, glimpsed through the half-open door, contrasting with the wild, dark world without, and its strange glares and fluc- tuating glooms and far-off stars and vast admeasurements of loneliness. The old woman knitted and nodded in her rock- ing-chair; Jessup and Mr. Sayles smoked their pipes, and ever and anon the old man began anew to detail the pipe- stem between his teeth the legends that his grandfather had learned from the Indians of the hidden silver mines in these mountains, found long ago, and visited stealthily, the secret of the lo- cality dying with its discoverer, who thus carried out of the world more than he brought with him. Their eyes gloat- ed on the fire as they talked, seeing more than the leaping yellow flames or the white heats of the coals below. It might seem as if the craving for pre- cious metal were a natural appetite, since these men that knew naught of the world, of the influence of wealth, of its powers, of its infinite divergences, should be a-hungered for it in their primitive fastnesses, and dream of it by night. On the top of the Big Smoky Mountings, on a spot whar ye kin see 1886.] In the Clouds. 123 the Tennessee River in three places at once, said the old man, repeating the formula of the tradition. Jessup puffed his pipe a moment in silence, watching the wreathing smoke. I know twenty sech spots, he said presently. The old man sighed and shifted his position. Me too, he admitted. But thar it be, he observed, fur the man ez air a-comm They fell silent, perhaps both project- ing a mental ideal of the man of the future, and the subservient circumstance that should lead him to stand one day on these stupendous heights, with sun- shine and clouds about him and the world at his feet, and to look upon the mystic curves of the river, trebly visi- ble, strike his heel upon the ground, and triumphantly proclaim, It is here! The dogs lay about the hearth; one, a hound, in the shadow, with his muz- zle stretched flat on the floor between his paws, had saurian suggestions, he was like an alligator. Leonidas and Lucinda had gone to bed, but the baby was still up and afoot. The fiat of nurs- ery ethics that gentry of his age should be early asleep had been complied with only so far as getting him into his night- gown, which encased his increasing plumpness like a cylinder. He wore a queer night-cap, that made him look in- congruously ancient and feminine. He plodded about the puncheon floor, in the joy of his newly acquired powers of lo- comotion, with reckless enthusiasm. His shadow accompanied him, magnified, elongated, his similitude as he might be in years to come; he seemed in some sort attended by the presentiment of his future. The energy, however, with which he had started on his long jour- ney through life would presently be abated. In good sooth, he would be glad to sit down often and be still, and would find solace in perching on fences and whittling, and would know that hustling through this world is not what one might hope. He had fallen under the delusion that he could talk as well as walk, and was inarticulately loqua- cious. Aletheas errand outside was to gath- er chips from the wood-pile hard by, to kindle the mornings fires. It had been long since rain had fallen, but the routine of spreading them upon the hearth, to dry during the night, was as diligently observed as if the reason that gave rise to the habit now existed. The splint baskets, filled and redolent of the hickory bark, stood at her feet, yet she did not move. She was solitary in her isolated life, with her exalted moral ideal that could compromise with nothing less than the right. She had known no human be- ing dominated by a supreme idea. The reformers, the martyrs, all who have looked upward, sacrificed in vain for her not even as a tradition, an exemplar might they uphold when she failed. Re- ligion was vague, distorted, uncompre- hended, in the primitive expoundings to which she was accustomed. Her in- herent conscience prevailed within her like some fine, ecstatic frenzy. It was of an essence so indomitably militant that in her ignorant musings it seemed that it must be this which marshals the human forces, and fights the battle of life, and is unconquered in death, and which the stumbling human tongue calls the soul. And yet so strange it was she thought that she could not always recognize the right, that she must sedulously weigh and canvass what she had done and what she might have done, and what had resulted. She dwelt long on the moonshiners story. She was heart-sore for the hun- gry idiot, filching from the hogs, and what forlorn fate had he found at last! She drew her shawl closer about her head, and shivered more with her fears than with the wind. She was very tired; not in body, for she was strong and well, but in mind and heart and life. Some- 124 In the Clouds. [July, how, she felt as if she were near the end, surely there was not enough vitality of hope to sustain her further, the frequent illusion of sturdy youth, with the long stretches of weary years ahead. There was even a certain relaxation of Minks tyrannous hold upon her thoughts. It was not that she cared for him less, but she had pondered so long upon him that her imagination was numb; she had beggared her invention. She could no more project scenes where he walked with all those gentler attributes with which her affection, de- spite the persistent contradictions of her subtler discernment, had invested him. She could no longer harass herself with doubts of his state of mind, with devis- ing troublous reasons why he had avoid- ed her, with fears of harm and grief menacing him. She had revolted at last from the thrall of these arid unrealities. She felt, in a sort of grief for herself, that they were but poor delusions that occupied her. He must come, and come soon, her heart insistently said. And yet so tired was her heart that she felt in a sort of dismay that were he here to- night there would be no wild thrill of ecstasy in her pulses, no trembling joys. All that she had suffered despair, and frantic hope that was hardly less poig- nant, and keen anxieties, and a stress of care had made apathy, quiet, rest, nul- lity, the grave, seem dearer than aught the earth could promise. He oughter hey kem afore, she said to herself, in weary deprecation. And then she thought that perhaps now, since he was at liberty again, he was happy with Elvira, and she experi- enced another pang to know that she was not jealous. The clouds had obscured the few stars. The wind was flagging; the smoke grew denser; the forest flames emitted only a dull red glow; the file of peaks that they had conjured from the blackness of night was lost again in densest gloom She was roused suddenly to the fact that it was intensely quiet in - doors. She could even hear the sound of the fire in the deep chimney-place; it was treadin snow, the noise being very similar to the crunch of a footfall on a frozen crust. She rose, looking upward and holding her hand to the skies; the glow from within fell upon her fair face, half hooded in the shawl, and upon her wide, pensive eyes. Flakes were falling; now, no more; and again she felt the faint touch in her palm. Her first thought was of Mrs. Jessup, and the impediment that a snow-storm might prove to her return; and thus she was reminded that the pedestrian within was still, for she no longer heard the thud of his bare feet on the floor. He had fallen asleep in a corner of the hearth, with a gourd in one hand, and in the other a doll made, after the rural fashion, of a forked twig arrayed in a bit of homespun. Tige watched him as he was borne off to his bed with an envy that was positively human. It was for the babys sake that Mrs. Jessup returned the next day, despite the deep snow that covered the ground. She had had a dream about him, she declared, a dreadful dream, which she could not remember. It had roused all the maternal sentiment of which she was capable. She had endured some serious hardship in coming to assure herself of his well-being, for she was obliged to walk much of the way up the mountain, the snow and ice making the road almost impracticable, and rendering it essential that there should be as little weight as possible in the wagon; to a woman of her sedentary habit this was an undertaking of magnitude. After her wild-eyed inquiry, Air Ebenezer well ez common? she seemed to hold him responsible for the deceit of her dream, as if he were in conspiracy with her sleeping thoughts, and to be disap- pointed that the trouble which she had given herself was altogether unnecessary. In the Clouds. 1886.] Ye fat gopher! she remarked, con- temptuously, eying his puffy red cheeks. Dont lean on me. I in fit ter drap. Lean on yer own dinner. I 11 be bound Lethe stuffed ye ez full ez a sassidge. She addressed herself to bewailing that she had curtailed her visit, having enjoyed it beyond the limits which the lugubrious occasion of the funeral might seem to warrant. Mis Purvine war mighty perlite an sa-aft spoken. I never see a house so fixed up ez hem air, though I dont blieve that woman hey more n two or three hogs ter slarter fur meat this year, ef that. I slep in the bedroom; war mighty nice, though colder n t war in the reglar house, through hevin no fire. I reckon that s what sot me off ter dreamin a pack o lies bout that thar great hearty catamount, fairly bust- in with fatness. I wisht I hed bided in the cove! Mis Purvine begged me ter bide. We-uns went ter the funel tergether, an the buryin, an we went round an seen my old neighbors, an traded ter the sto. An I spun some fur Mis Purvine. Mighty little, I 11 bet, declared her husband inopportunely, ef what ye do hyar be enny sign. Whereupon Mrs. Jessup retorted that she wished she had made an excuse of the snow to have remained with Mrs. Purvine until the thaw, and retaliated amply by refusing to tell what hymns were sung at the funeral, and to recite any portion of the sermon. This resolution punished the unof- fending members of the family as se- verely as Jessup himself; but it is a common result that the innocent many must suffer for the guilty unit, justice generally dealing in the gross. The old mans lower jaw fell, dismayed at the deprivation. He had relinquished sorting his lumber, and roused him- self to listen and note. The details would long serve him for meditation, and would gradually combine in his rec 125 ollection in dull mental pictures to dwell on hereafter, and to solace much lonely vacant time. Mrs. Sayles was irritated. Alethea had looked to hear something from Mink, and Jessup was unexpect- edly balked. Nothing could be more complete than Mrs. Jessups triumph, as she held her tongue, having her reason. Her opaque blue eyes were bright with a surface gleam, as it were; there was a good deal of fresh color in her face. She was neater than usual, having been smart- ened up to meet the folks in the cove. Her snuff-brush, however, was very much at home in the corner of an ex- ceedingly pretty mouth. As they all sat before the fire, she took off the socks which aunt Dely had lent her, and which she had worn up the mountain over her shoes, because of the snow; and she could not altogether refrain from re- mark. Ef these hyar socks hed nt been loant ter me, she said, holding one of them aloft, I could nt holp noticin how Mis Purvine turned them heels, knittin em. I do declar, ef these hyar socks fits Jerry Price, he hey got a foot shaped like Bucks, an no mistake. It jumped with her idle humor to keep them all waiting, uncertain whether or not she would relent and disclose the meagre gossip they pined to hear. Nothing was developed till Jacob Jessup, retaliating in turn, flatly refused to go and feed Buck, still harnessed in the wagon. Alethea rose indignantly. I dont lay off ter do yer work gin- erally, but I aint goin ter let the steer go hongry, she said, kase ye air idle an onfeelin. Dont ye let him go hongry, then, said Jessup, provokingly. It had ceased to snow. When Ale- thea opened the door many of the traits of Wild-Cat Hollow were so changed amidst the deep drifts that one who had seen it only in its summer garb might 126 hardly recognize it. Austere and bleak as it was, it had yet a symmetry that the foliage and bloom, and even the stubble and fallen leaves of autumn, served only to conceal. The splendid bare slope down the mountain, the precipitous as- cent on either side of the deep ravine, showed how much the idea of majesty may be conveyed in mere lines, in the gigantic arc of a circle. The boles of the trees were deeply imbedded in drifts. On the mountain above, the pines and the firs supported great masses lodged amongst the needles. Sometimes a sharp crack told that a branch had broken, over- burdened. The silence was intense; the poultry had hardly ventured off their roosts to-day; the gourds that hung upon a pole as martin-house were whitened, and glittered pendulous. Once, as Ale- thea stood motionless, a little black-feath- ered head was thrust out and quickly withdrawn. Down in the cove the snow lay deep, and the forests seemed all less dense, lined about as they were with white, which served in some sort as an effacement. Through the narrow gap of the ridges was revealed the long mountain vista, with the snowy peaks against the gray sky. Very distinct it all was, sharply drawn, notwithstanding that it lacked but an hour, perhaps, of the early nightfall. For a moment she had forgotten her errand; the next she turned back in surprise. Whar s Buck an the wagin? Oh, said Mrs. Jessup, still serenely casual, he s a-kernin up the mounting along o Ben Doaks. I met Ben, an I lowed ez I did nt know how I d make out ter drive sech a obstinate old steer up the mounting in all this snow. Buck hey fairly tuk ter argufyin bout the road ter go, till ye dunno whether ye air drivin the steer or the steer air drivin you-uns. I mos pulled off his hawns sence I been gone. So Ben, he lowed he d like ter kem an spen a few days along o we-uns, ennyhow. Why nt ye tell that afore? de In the Clouds. [July, manded her mother-in-law angrily. Ye want him ter low ez we air a-grudgin him victuals. Lethe, put in some me o them sweet taters in the ashes ter roast, an ye hed better set about sup- per right now. For Mrs. Sayles had been accounted in her best days a good housekeeper, for the mountains, and she cherished the memory of so fair a record. Perhaps her reputation owed something to the fact that she entertained a unique theory of hospitality, and made particularly elaborate preparations when the guests were men. Wimmen dont keer spe- cial bout eatin. Show em all the quilts ye hey pieced, an yer spun truck, an yer gyardin, an they 11 hey so much ter study bout an be jealous bout ez they wont want nuthin much ter eat. Now she proceeded to put the big pot into the little pot, to use a rural expression, singularly descriptive of the ambitious impossibilities achieved. She did it chiefly by proxy, directing from her seat in the chimney corner Aletheas movements, but wearing the absorbed, anxious countenance of strategy and re- source. The glory of the victory is due rather to the head that devised than to the hands that executed; as in greater battles the pluck of the soldiery is held subordinate to the science of the com- mander. It was no mean result that smoked upon the table when the sound of Bucks slow hoofs was heard on the snow with- out, and a warm welcome was in read- iness besides. A cheerful transition it was from the bleak solitudes: the fire flared up the chimney; the peppers and the peltry hanging from the rafters might sway in draughts that naught else could feel; the snow without was manifested only by the drifts against the batten shutters, visible in thin white lines through the cracks, and in that in- tense silence of the muffled earth which appeals to the senses with hardly less in- sistence than sound. 1886.] in the Clouds. 127 Bens aspect was scarcely so negative, so colorless, as usual, despite his pecul- iarly pale brown hair and beard. The sharp sting of the cold air had brought a flush to his face; his honest, candid gray eyes were bright and eager. His manner was very demure and propitia- tory, especially to Mrs. Sayles, who, in her turn, conducted herself with an ideally motherly air, which was imbued with many suggestions of approval, even of respect. Howdy, Ben, howdy. We-uns air mighty glad ter see ye, Ben. Dont ye git too proud, Ben, said Mrs. Jessup, roused from her inertia by the unwonted excitements of her journey to the cove, and, since she was not too lazy to exercise her perversity, thoroughly relishing it. They d be es ez glad ter see ennybody, it air so beset an lonesome up hyar. They fair- ly tore me ter pieces with thar ques- tions wheust I kem. And this reminded old man Sayles that the details of the funeral could be elicited from Ben Doaks. Upon request the young man lugubriously rehearsed such portions of the sermon as he could remember, prompted now and then by Mrs. Jessup, who did not disdain to re- fresh his recollection when it flagged; he even lifted his voice in a dolorous refrain to show how a certain hyme chune went. But his attention wan- dered when supper was over, and he ob- served Alethea, with a bowl of scraps in her hand and a shawl over her head, starting toward the door. The dogs ran after her, with voracious delight in the prospect of supper, and bounded up against the door so tumul- tuously that she had difficulty in open- ing it. Goin ter feed the dogs, Lethe? said Ben Doaks, seizing the opportunity. I 11 keep em back till ye kin git out. He held the door against the dogs, and when he shut it he too was on the outer side. It was not yet quite dark; the whiteness of the snow contended with the night. The evening star showed through the rifts in the clouds, and thea was obscured. The dogs were very dis- tinct as they ran hither and thither on the snow at Aletheas feet, while she leaned against the post of the porch and threw to them scraps from the bowl. Ben knew that his time was short. Lethe, he said, with a truly mascu- line tact, I hearn ez how ye hey done gin up waitin fur Mink. Her lustrous eyes seemed all un- dimmed by the shadows. The sheen of her hair was suggested beneath the faded shawl, drawn half over her head. What light the west could yet bestow, a pearly, subdued glimmer, was on her face. She said nothing. He lifted his hand to the low, shelving roof of the porch, for he was very tall, and the motion dislodged a few flakes that fell upon her head. He did not notice them. I hearn Mis Purvine low ye air all plumb outdone with Mink, an would nt hey him ef he war ter ax ye, an I reckon ye wont see him no mo. T aint likely, ye know. An Mis Purvine lowed ye hed been mightily streck with a man in Shaftesville, a town cuss (with acrimony), ez war mighty nigh demented bout yer good looks an sech. Now, Lethe, ye dunno nuthin boutn them town folks, an the name they hey got at home, mongst thar neighbors. She looked steadily at him, never moving a muscle save to cast more scraps to the dogs, who, when their tidbits be- came infrequent, or were accidentally buried in the snow by inopportune move- ments of their paws, gamboled about to attract her attention; rising upon their hind legs, and almost dancing, in a man- ner exceedingly creditable to untrained mountain dogs. An I lowed I war a tremenjious fool ter hey kep outn the way count o Mink, jes kase ye seemed ter set so much store by him. Tother folks mought 128 In the Clouds. kern in whilst I war a-holdin back. No- body aint never goin ter keer fur ye like I do, Lethe. Mink dont, never did. An my house air ready fur ye enny day ye 11 walk in. I got ye a rockin-cheer the tother day, an a spin- nin- wheel. It looks like home, sure enough, down thar, Lethe. I jes gazed at that thar rockin-cheer afore the fire till I could fairly see ye settin in it. But shucks, I kin hear ye callin chick- ens roun thar, Coo-chee, Coo-chee! enny time I listens right hard. He laughed in embarrassment because of his sentimentality. I reckon I inns be gittin teched in the head. It was snowing again. From those stupendous heights above the Great Smoky Mountains down into the depths of Piomingo Cove the flakes steadily fell. Myriads of serried white atoms interposed a veil, impalpable but opaque, between Wild-Cat Hollow and the rest of the world. Doaks looked about him a little, and resumed suddenly I aint purtendin I m better n oth- er men. I never could git religion. I aint nigh good enough fur ye, only I think mo of ye. I m mean bout some things. I could nt holp but think, whenst I hearn bout Mink, ez now ye d gin him up. I war nt bodaciously glad, but I could nt hoip thinkin t war bet- ter fur ye an me. Ye d be happier married ter me, Lethe, than ter him, enny time. I aint never goin to marry you-uns, Ben, she said drearily. An now ye hey hed yer say, an thar s no use a-jaw- in no mo boutn it. She turned to go in. Tige was already scratching at the door, as eager for the fire as he had been for his supper. She glanced at Ben over her shoulder, with some appreciation of his constancy, some commiseration for his disappointment. Ye hed better go make a chice mongst some o them gals in the cove, she suggested. He cast a glance of deep reproach [July, upon her, and followed her silently into the house. Their return was the occa- sion of some slight flutter in the circle, in which had prevailed the opinion that the young folks out in the cold war a-courtin. All relics of the supper were cleared away; the fire leaped joyously up the chimney. Lonidas and Lucindy were asleep. The baby in his night-gown, all unaware that he cut an unpresenta- ble figure before company, pounded up and down the floor, unmolested. The pipes were lighted. As Ben Doaks leaned down to scoop up a coal from the fire, his face was distinct in the flare, and Mrs. Jessup noted the disappoint- ment and trouble upon it. Mrs. Sayles too deduced a sage conclusion. A glance was exchanged between the two women. Then Mrs. Jessup, with a view to right- ing matters between these young people, whom fate seemed to decree should be lovers and only human perversity pre- vented, asked, Did ye tell Lethe the news bout Mink? Naw, he responded, somewhat shortly. I lowed she knowed it long ago.~~ Naw, she dont, said Mrs. Jessup; none o we-uns hyar on the mounting knowed it. She paused to listen to the wind, for it was astir without. A hollow, icy cry was lifted in the dark stillness, now shrill and sibilant, now hoarsely roaring and dying away in the distance, to be renewed close at hand. The boughs of trees beat together. The pines were voiced with a dirge. The porch trembled, and the door shook. Why, Lethe, resumed Mrs. Jessup, turning toward the girl, as she sat in a low chair in the full radiance of the fire- light, Mink aint outn jail. The res- cuers never tuk him out. The color left Aletheas face. Her doubting eyes were dilated. Mrs. Jes- sup replied to the expression in them. Mis Purvine, she lowed ez she an 1886.] In the Clouds. 129 you-uns hearn everybody sayin the res- cuers tuk him out afore ye lef town that mornin. That war town talk. But war nt true. The jailer an the sherff tied an gagged him, an tuk him out tharsefs in the midst o the dark, whenst nobody could see em. Makes me laff ter think how they fooled them boys! They jes busted up the jail so ez war nt safe ter try ter keep him thar no mo, an the nex day the depty an two gyards tuk him down ter the jail at Glaston, an thar he s safe enough. Alethea was thinking, with vague, causeless self-reproach, that she had let Sam Marvin, who had seen Tad since the disaster at the mill, go in the belief that Mink had been released. But how could she have detained him? And would he, a moonshiner, suffer himself to be subpcenaed as a witness, and thus insure his own arrest? Her lips moved without a sound, as if she were suddenly bereft of the power to articulate. Glaston, that s a fac, reiterated Mrs. Jessup, noticing the demonstration, kase I see Lijah Miles, ez war one o the gyards. He kem up ter the cove ter the funel, hem ez his wife war kin ter the corpse. She war one o the Grinnells afore she war married, not the Jermiah fambly, but Abadiahs dar- ter; an Abadiahs granmother war own cousin ter the corpses mother I dunno boutn that, said Mrs. Sayles, following this genealogical detail with a knitted brow and a painstaking attention. Corpse war bleeged ter hey hed a mother wunst, ef ever he war alive, said Mrs. Jessup recklessly. I reckon I know that, retorted Mrs. Sayles. But Lijah Miless wifes fa- thers grandmother war the aunt o the corpse, stiddier his mothers cousin, she tossed her head with a cheerful sense of accuracy, sure ez ye air a born sinner. Mrs. Jessup paused in her recital, VOL. LVIII. NO. 345. 9 leaned her elbows on her knees, and fixed her eyes on the fire, as if following some abstruse calculation. In the silence the wind outside swept about the house and whistled down the chimney, till even Tige roused himself, and lifted his head to listen and to growl. Waal, hey it so, said the young woman, unable to contradict. How- beit he war kin ter the corpse, he keni ter the funel, an arterward, ez he war goin back ter Shaftesville, he stopped at Mis Purvines an stayed all night. An he tole us boutn takin Mink ter jail in Glaston. An t war the fust Mis Purvine knowed ez Mink war nt out. But she lowed she d miss him less in jail n out. I reckon everybody feels that-a-way bout Mink, interpolated Mrs. Sayles. Folks never knowed what could hap- pen onexpected an upsettin till Minks capers larned em. Waal, none o his capers ever war like this las one o hisn, said Mrs. Jes- sup, nodding seriously. They tuk him ter Glaston, an Lijah Miles war one o the gyards. They tuk him on the steam- kyars. I 11 be bound Mink war fairly skeered by them steam - kyars! ex- claimed Mrs. Sayles, with all the as- sumption of superior experience, al- though she herself had never had a glimpse of them. Waal, I reckon not, from the way he kerried on cordin ter Lijah, said Mrs. Jessup, clasping one knee as she talked, eying the fire. Lijah lowed he never seen sech a fool. Mink got ter talkin ter the gyards an depty bout this hyar Jedge Gwinnan Need nt tell me nuthin bout Jedge Gwinnan. Jeemes air what they call him over yander in Kildeer County. An Jim, too. I knowed a woman ez knowed that mans mother whenst he war a baby. Waal, he s changed some sence then. He aint a baby now. Mink 130 In the Clouds. [July, kep a-talkin ter his gyards bout Gwin- nan, an swearin Gwinnan had spited him in the trial, put Pete Rood on the jury an sent em ter jail, an tole the sherff ter look arter his prisoner or he d escape the night Pete Rood fell dead, an tole em how ter keep the crowd from rescuin him, an all sech ez that. An what d ye reckon Mink lowed Gwinnan hed done it fur? Kase Gwinnan hed tuk a notion hisself ter Lethe Sayles, an lowed Mink war nt good enough fur her. The incongruity of the idea impressed none of them. They all looked silent- ly expectant as Mrs. Jessup went on Waal, Mink swore ez some day he d git his chance, an he d kill Gwin- nan, sure. An Lijah, he seen ze Mink war a-lookin at Jedge Gwinnan, the jedge, he war a-goin down on the train ter Glaston, an then out ter wharever he war a-goin ter hold court, an he war a-smokin in the smokin-kyar, Lijah say they call it, whar they hed Mink. An Lijah say Mink looked at Gwinnan with his mouth sorter open, an his jaw sorter drapped, an his eyes ez set ez ef he war a wild beastis. Once more the wind, tumultuous, per- vasive, with all the vast solitudes given over to it, swept down the mountain with shrill acclaim. Goin ter hey some weather arter this, ye mind my words, said Mrs. Sayles, listening a moment. Waal, Lijah never thunk nuthin mo, an Mink kep his eyes ter hisself the rest o the way. When they got ter Glaston the gyards sorter waited fur the tother folks ter git out fust, an then they started. Waal, Lijah say the dep- ty, he jumped offn the platform fust, an tole Mink ter kem on. An the depty, Lijah say the depty set a heap o store by Mink, he war a-tellin Mink ter look how many tracks an locomo- tives an sech thar war in the depot, an not noticin Mink much. An Lijah say he seen Mink dart ter one side; he lowed Mink war makin a bust ter git away. Naw, sir! Gwinnan hed stopped by the side o the kyar ter speak ter a man. Lijah say he felt like he war a-dreamin when he seen Mink lift up both his handcuffed hands an bring the irons down on the jedges head, jes like he done the depty when he war ar- rested. Lijah say him an the depty an the tother gyard hed thar pistols out in a second. But they war feared ter shoot, fur the jedge, stiddier drappiu on the groun, whurled roun an grabbed the man ez hit him. He got Mink by the throat, an held on ter him same ez a painter or sech. He nearly strangled Mink ter death, though the jedge war fairly blinded with his own blood. Mink writhed an wriggled so they could nt tell one man from tother. The gyards war feared ter shoot at Mink, kase they mought kill the jedge. They tore Mink loose at last. They lowed his face war black ez ef he hed been hung. He wont tackle Gwinnan agin in a hurry. Ye lowed Gwinnan war a feeble infant, mother; he aint very feeble now. Though he did faint arterward, an war hauled up ter the tavern in a kerridge. They hed ter hey some perlice thar ter holp keep the crowd off Mink, takin him ter jail. Waal, Lijah say they dunno whether the jedge will live or no, suthin the matter with his head. But even ef he do live, Lijah say we aint likely ter see Mink in these parts no mo fur a right smart while, kase he hearn thar ez assault with intent ter cmit murder air from three ter twenty-one year in the pentiary. An I reckon enny jury would gin Mink twenty Yes, sir, he needs a good medjure! exclaimed the negative Mr. Sayles, with unwonted hearty concurrence. Mink will be an old man by the time he do git back, computed Mrs. Sayles. Now, Lethe, argued Mrs. Jessup, aint ye got sense enough ter see ez Mink aint nobody ter set sech store on, 1886.] Two American Novels. 131 an ef ye like him it s kase ye air a fool? The girl sat as if stunned, looking into the fire with vague, distended eyes. She lifted them once and gazed at Mrs. Jes- sup, as if she hardly understood. Look-a-hyar, Lethe, what sorter face air that ye hey got onter ye? cried Mrs. Sayles. Ye better not set yer features that-a-way. I hey hearn folks call sech looks the dead-face, an when ye wear the dead-face it air a sign ye air boun fur the grave. Waal, that s whar we all air boun fur, moralized old man Sayles. Quit it! his wife admonished the girl, who passed her hand over her face as if seeking to obliterate the noxious expression. Ye go right up-steers ter bed. I m goin ter gin ye some yerb tea. She took down a small bag, turning from it some dried leaves in her hand, and looked at them mysteriously, as if she were about to conjure with them. The girl rose obediently, and went up the rude, uncovered stairs to the roof- room. After an interval Mrs. Jessup observed the jowering baby pointing upward. Among the shadows half-way up the stairs Alethea was sitting on a step, looking down vacantly at them. But upon their sudden outcry she seemed to rouse herself, rose, and disap- peared above. Charles Egbert Craddock. TWO AMERICAN NOVELS. THE failure of a piece of fiction which attempts much is another word, some- times, for success. Mr. Hardy hangs out a sign from Spinoza over the door to his house of entertainment, which reads: They who believe that they can speak, or keep silence, in a word, act, in virtue of a free decision of the soul, dream with their eyes open. It is from this text that he preaches his romance, and the application is in the words of his hero, at the end of the book : All we think and feel is but this world of movement, of mass and atom unable to control their own motions, and steeped in a sea so tremulously re- sponsive that your faintest breath breaks on infinite shores. You do not dare to move?. . . You cannot help it! Noth- ing moves of itself since the dance be- gan; nothing swerves but by collision. Others thou shalt drive, and they thee; 1 The Wind of Destiny. By ARTHUR SHER- BURNE HARDY, author of But Yet a Woman. Boston: Houghton, Muffin & Co. 1886. but thyself never. I, myself, capable for an instant of unifying the past and the present, am but one of these atoms, swept on by its own inertia, and dis- appearing as it came, a portent and -a wonder. Do you know what effect all this produces upon me? To create a faith so necessary in a Being so tran- scendent, that the inventions of men be- come puerilities. If we seem to place the philosophy of this romance in the foreground, it is be- cause the author himself, by his method, incites one to question his meaning. There are, so to speak, eight principal persons in the book, arranged in five pairs: these are the atoms that move in the dance; it is upon them that the wind of destiny blows; and the author, while he invites his readers to follow the movements of his characters, is a chorus that finds expression through pantomime. In other words, the author is so impressed by the profound mean- ing which underlies his story that, with- out direct intimation, he conveys to the

Two American Novels 131

1886.] Two American Novels. 131 an ef ye like him it s kase ye air a fool? The girl sat as if stunned, looking into the fire with vague, distended eyes. She lifted them once and gazed at Mrs. Jes- sup, as if she hardly understood. Look-a-hyar, Lethe, what sorter face air that ye hey got onter ye? cried Mrs. Sayles. Ye better not set yer features that-a-way. I hey hearn folks call sech looks the dead-face, an when ye wear the dead-face it air a sign ye air boun fur the grave. Waal, that s whar we all air boun fur, moralized old man Sayles. Quit it! his wife admonished the girl, who passed her hand over her face as if seeking to obliterate the noxious expression. Ye go right up-steers ter bed. I m goin ter gin ye some yerb tea. She took down a small bag, turning from it some dried leaves in her hand, and looked at them mysteriously, as if she were about to conjure with them. The girl rose obediently, and went up the rude, uncovered stairs to the roof- room. After an interval Mrs. Jessup observed the jowering baby pointing upward. Among the shadows half-way up the stairs Alethea was sitting on a step, looking down vacantly at them. But upon their sudden outcry she seemed to rouse herself, rose, and disap- peared above. Charles Egbert Craddock. TWO AMERICAN NOVELS. THE failure of a piece of fiction which attempts much is another word, some- times, for success. Mr. Hardy hangs out a sign from Spinoza over the door to his house of entertainment, which reads: They who believe that they can speak, or keep silence, in a word, act, in virtue of a free decision of the soul, dream with their eyes open. It is from this text that he preaches his romance, and the application is in the words of his hero, at the end of the book : All we think and feel is but this world of movement, of mass and atom unable to control their own motions, and steeped in a sea so tremulously re- sponsive that your faintest breath breaks on infinite shores. You do not dare to move?. . . You cannot help it! Noth- ing moves of itself since the dance be- gan; nothing swerves but by collision. Others thou shalt drive, and they thee; 1 The Wind of Destiny. By ARTHUR SHER- BURNE HARDY, author of But Yet a Woman. Boston: Houghton, Muffin & Co. 1886. but thyself never. I, myself, capable for an instant of unifying the past and the present, am but one of these atoms, swept on by its own inertia, and dis- appearing as it came, a portent and -a wonder. Do you know what effect all this produces upon me? To create a faith so necessary in a Being so tran- scendent, that the inventions of men be- come puerilities. If we seem to place the philosophy of this romance in the foreground, it is be- cause the author himself, by his method, incites one to question his meaning. There are, so to speak, eight principal persons in the book, arranged in five pairs: these are the atoms that move in the dance; it is upon them that the wind of destiny blows; and the author, while he invites his readers to follow the movements of his characters, is a chorus that finds expression through pantomime. In other words, the author is so impressed by the profound mean- ing which underlies his story that, with- out direct intimation, he conveys to the

Hardy's Wind of Destiny Book Reviews 131-133

1886.] Two American Novels. 131 an ef ye like him it s kase ye air a fool? The girl sat as if stunned, looking into the fire with vague, distended eyes. She lifted them once and gazed at Mrs. Jes- sup, as if she hardly understood. Look-a-hyar, Lethe, what sorter face air that ye hey got onter ye? cried Mrs. Sayles. Ye better not set yer features that-a-way. I hey hearn folks call sech looks the dead-face, an when ye wear the dead-face it air a sign ye air boun fur the grave. Waal, that s whar we all air boun fur, moralized old man Sayles. Quit it! his wife admonished the girl, who passed her hand over her face as if seeking to obliterate the noxious expression. Ye go right up-steers ter bed. I m goin ter gin ye some yerb tea. She took down a small bag, turning from it some dried leaves in her hand, and looked at them mysteriously, as if she were about to conjure with them. The girl rose obediently, and went up the rude, uncovered stairs to the roof- room. After an interval Mrs. Jessup observed the jowering baby pointing upward. Among the shadows half-way up the stairs Alethea was sitting on a step, looking down vacantly at them. But upon their sudden outcry she seemed to rouse herself, rose, and disap- peared above. Charles Egbert Craddock. TWO AMERICAN NOVELS. THE failure of a piece of fiction which attempts much is another word, some- times, for success. Mr. Hardy hangs out a sign from Spinoza over the door to his house of entertainment, which reads: They who believe that they can speak, or keep silence, in a word, act, in virtue of a free decision of the soul, dream with their eyes open. It is from this text that he preaches his romance, and the application is in the words of his hero, at the end of the book : All we think and feel is but this world of movement, of mass and atom unable to control their own motions, and steeped in a sea so tremulously re- sponsive that your faintest breath breaks on infinite shores. You do not dare to move?. . . You cannot help it! Noth- ing moves of itself since the dance be- gan; nothing swerves but by collision. Others thou shalt drive, and they thee; 1 The Wind of Destiny. By ARTHUR SHER- BURNE HARDY, author of But Yet a Woman. Boston: Houghton, Muffin & Co. 1886. but thyself never. I, myself, capable for an instant of unifying the past and the present, am but one of these atoms, swept on by its own inertia, and dis- appearing as it came, a portent and -a wonder. Do you know what effect all this produces upon me? To create a faith so necessary in a Being so tran- scendent, that the inventions of men be- come puerilities. If we seem to place the philosophy of this romance in the foreground, it is be- cause the author himself, by his method, incites one to question his meaning. There are, so to speak, eight principal persons in the book, arranged in five pairs: these are the atoms that move in the dance; it is upon them that the wind of destiny blows; and the author, while he invites his readers to follow the movements of his characters, is a chorus that finds expression through pantomime. In other words, the author is so impressed by the profound mean- ing which underlies his story that, with- out direct intimation, he conveys to the 132 Two American Novels. [July, reader something of the same impres- sion, and keeps him in a questioning mood. At first one asks, What is the story? But at last it dawns upon him that there is no story, properly speak- ing, and he finds himself asking, What is the meaning of the book? He is present at a drama of souls, and the dress in which they act their parts, the scenery with which the play is set, all the paraphernalia of the stage, are of little consequence. It is the indestruc- tible personality, under the countless in- fluences of life, that one must follow; and when the author of the drama is called for, one discovers that it is no less a person than God himself. Now the value of any romance un- doubtedly depends upon the psychologi- cal truth which is at the base, and the more the writer is penetrated by this truth, the more confidently will he guide the movements of its exponents; he must see the end from the beginning, he must look into the depths. But given this profound perception, this strong conception, there yet remains the neces- sity for a constructive art which shall reproduce the truth in characters and action that seem free and spontaneous. Mr. Hardy has undertaken to inter- pret, through the means of a romance, one of the deepest riddles of life, but unfortunately all his characters are con- scious of this riddle. He has not suc- ceeded in showing us people whose ac- tion upon each other is apparently self- determined, but really governed by Des- tiny; he has disclosed those moments in the lives of his characters when they are themselves aware of the uncontrol- lable forces. The consequence is that the reader feels oppressed by the atmos- phere of the book; it is charged too highly with impending elements, and the simplest action or word has a sort of undeveloped dynamic potency. It is possible that if Mr. Hardy had essayed to write a novel, that is, if he had resolved to use the ordinary events of a workaday world for the machinery of his philosophic thought, the necessity of sharply defined incident, action, and dialogue might have imposed healthful restrictions upon his tendency to sub- tlety. As it is, there is little ballast of realism. The dialogue is helpful to the spiritual plot, but it is not often in the language of the people; it is allusive, superintelligent, epigrammatic. The history of the persons engaged in the story is learned indirectly and by pa- renthesis. The action is of the kind which makes little account of time: the lovers meet, and their fate is instan- taneously settled; a row on the river, a walk in the woods, and all is done. These characteristics belong to the romance, and not to the novel; they serve the purpose of a writer who is in- tent upon the spiritual commerce of his personages, and is not disturbed by any difficulty which his readers may find in the geographical distribution of the scenes; Dinant does well enough for a localization of the foreign scenes, but when the persons remove their domicile, the change may be to England as much as to America, so far as any identifica- tion of places goes. It is interesting thus to see how much better the earlier portion of the book is than the latter. The background of foreign life serves an admirable pictorial purpose; and the romantic scenes projected from it have thereby a greater solidity and value. The background of native life, on the other hand is only a faint landscape; there are no striking subordinate fig- ures, there is no suggestion of common life, and, as a consequence, the scenes projected from this background have a certain unreality fatal to the highest romantic effects. The most significant romances are those which rise out of a familiar, common experience, and have their spiritual force heightened by the contrast. It is clearly as a romance that Mr. Hardys book will be judged. It will be 1886.] Two American Novels. 133 read with great pleasure simply as an artistic relief from the somewhat igno- ble realism which prevails in fiction. It will be read also, in spite of the struc- tural faults which we have noted, for the peculiarly noble air which pervades it, the extreme beauty of many of its pas- sages, the revelation of life flashed oc- casionally as from a diamond of light, and perhaps more than all for the very subtle charm which hangs over the whole movement of the story. The early pages are exquisite with this grace, and one never wholly loses the sense of what we can almost call the perfume of the book. But distillation of high po- tencies of life is a delicate business, and therefore, with all our admiration for what Mr. Hardy intended to do, we are still obliged to confess his book a noble failure as a piece of art. There could hardly be a greater con- trast in fictitious writing than that sug- gested by a comparison of Mr. Hardys book with Mr. Stocktons first novel. The Wind of Destiny is a serious work, and deals with great problems of human life; the form of fiction is used because it gives the author wider scope and freer power than biography, for instance, or history, would permit. The Late Mrs. Null is also fiction, but unadulterated by any serious purpose whatsoever. It is too much to say that the book marks a new departure in fictitious literature, at. though Mr. Stocktons peculiar style is already finding imitators, but it has an individuality which separates it in kind from current novels. It is not easy to say in a word in what this individual- ity consists, but any one who has read Mr. Stocktons ingenious short stories will understand us when we speak of his novel as a many-jointed short story. There is the same caprice, the same un- expected turn, the same drollery of sit- uation rather than of language, and the same absence of sentiment and moral 1 The Late Mrs. Null. By FRANK R. STocK- TON. New York: Charles Scribuers Sons. 1886. purpose. The book is delightfully un- moral. The characters go their several ways, undetermined by any noble ends or high designs; they behave like ordi- nary mortals in a world which is not troubled by the strainings of conscience; there are dilemmas, but they are not the dilemmas of a moral universe; there is a logic, but it is the logic of circum- stance, and rewards and punishments are served out by a justice so blind as not to know her left hand from her right. The gravity and matter-of-fact air with which Mr. Stockton relates his tale heighten the effect of the whim that governs in the conduct of his characters. He introduces a negro girl, whom, with the slightest irony in the world, he dubs good little Peggy; and this inimitable creature has a way of inventing facts with incredible agility, and reporting them with entire seriousness. She plays an insignificant part in the story, though she is a sort of Arid done in charcoal, but she stands really as a type of Mr. Stocktons genius. Good little Peggy manufactures a situation out of the slightest possible material, uses it for her own purposes as if it were one of the commonplaces of life, and goes her way with a clear consciousness of vir- tue. Everybody believes her for the time, because her manner carries con- viction. So we follow the ins and outs of the late Mrs. Null and her fellow- characters with scarcely any incredulity or sense of the absurdity of their rela- tion to each other, chiefly because Mr. Stockton, with his innocent air, never seems to be aware of any incongruity in their conduct. The drollery, as we have said, is a structural drollery, and not often one of language. Yet the quaintness which runs through all of this writers work begins to show itself very soon when he sets about any mere piece of descrip- tion, and the particularity of any enu- meration of details is pretty sure to end in a quip and quirk. It is, however,

Stockton's Late Mrs. Null Book Reviews 133-135

1886.] Two American Novels. 133 read with great pleasure simply as an artistic relief from the somewhat igno- ble realism which prevails in fiction. It will be read also, in spite of the struc- tural faults which we have noted, for the peculiarly noble air which pervades it, the extreme beauty of many of its pas- sages, the revelation of life flashed oc- casionally as from a diamond of light, and perhaps more than all for the very subtle charm which hangs over the whole movement of the story. The early pages are exquisite with this grace, and one never wholly loses the sense of what we can almost call the perfume of the book. But distillation of high po- tencies of life is a delicate business, and therefore, with all our admiration for what Mr. Hardy intended to do, we are still obliged to confess his book a noble failure as a piece of art. There could hardly be a greater con- trast in fictitious writing than that sug- gested by a comparison of Mr. Hardys book with Mr. Stocktons first novel. The Wind of Destiny is a serious work, and deals with great problems of human life; the form of fiction is used because it gives the author wider scope and freer power than biography, for instance, or history, would permit. The Late Mrs. Null is also fiction, but unadulterated by any serious purpose whatsoever. It is too much to say that the book marks a new departure in fictitious literature, at. though Mr. Stocktons peculiar style is already finding imitators, but it has an individuality which separates it in kind from current novels. It is not easy to say in a word in what this individual- ity consists, but any one who has read Mr. Stocktons ingenious short stories will understand us when we speak of his novel as a many-jointed short story. There is the same caprice, the same un- expected turn, the same drollery of sit- uation rather than of language, and the same absence of sentiment and moral 1 The Late Mrs. Null. By FRANK R. STocK- TON. New York: Charles Scribuers Sons. 1886. purpose. The book is delightfully un- moral. The characters go their several ways, undetermined by any noble ends or high designs; they behave like ordi- nary mortals in a world which is not troubled by the strainings of conscience; there are dilemmas, but they are not the dilemmas of a moral universe; there is a logic, but it is the logic of circum- stance, and rewards and punishments are served out by a justice so blind as not to know her left hand from her right. The gravity and matter-of-fact air with which Mr. Stockton relates his tale heighten the effect of the whim that governs in the conduct of his characters. He introduces a negro girl, whom, with the slightest irony in the world, he dubs good little Peggy; and this inimitable creature has a way of inventing facts with incredible agility, and reporting them with entire seriousness. She plays an insignificant part in the story, though she is a sort of Arid done in charcoal, but she stands really as a type of Mr. Stocktons genius. Good little Peggy manufactures a situation out of the slightest possible material, uses it for her own purposes as if it were one of the commonplaces of life, and goes her way with a clear consciousness of vir- tue. Everybody believes her for the time, because her manner carries con- viction. So we follow the ins and outs of the late Mrs. Null and her fellow- characters with scarcely any incredulity or sense of the absurdity of their rela- tion to each other, chiefly because Mr. Stockton, with his innocent air, never seems to be aware of any incongruity in their conduct. The drollery, as we have said, is a structural drollery, and not often one of language. Yet the quaintness which runs through all of this writers work begins to show itself very soon when he sets about any mere piece of descrip- tion, and the particularity of any enu- meration of details is pretty sure to end in a quip and quirk. It is, however, 134 Two American Novels. [July, when dealing with negro life that Mr. Stockton shows himself at his best. He fairly revels in this side-show of the worlds circus, and takes an almost child- ish delight in the exhibition of negro character and life. We suspect that the figure in the book which will linger longest in the readers mind is that of Aunt Patsy, and the description of the Jerusalem Jump, with Aunt Patsys exit from the world upon the occasion, is one of the most carefully written, as it is one of the most effective, passages in the book. It is not strange that Mr. Stock- ton should feel at home with the ne- groes. They offer him precisely that happy-go-lucky type of character which suits the world of his imagination. They save him the necessity of invention, and he can abandon with them that extreme gravity of demeanor which he is obliged to assume in order to give an air of rea- sonableness to his white characters. We are disposed to think that the book will suffer at the bands of many by being read as novels are apt to be read, at one or two sittings. It should have appeared as a serial, since the amusement which one extracts from it is largely due to the turns which the story takes, and not to any continuity of narrative. The improbability of sit- uations and persons cannot be covered for any length of time by any mere rea- sonableness of manner, and one who, sees throngh the thin disguise of Mrs. Nulls marriage long before the revela- tion comes is apt to get a little irupa- tient at mere ingenuity, and not to be quite appeased by the indefinite prom- ise of further complications. In other words, the book is so ineffective as a nov- el that the hardened novel-reader might easily undervalue its wit and casual quaintness, whereas, if he helped him- self to a little at a time, he would be likely to enjoy the queer bits as if he were reading so many short stories. So habituated is the author to this form of fiction that he sets about a new story within a dozen pages of the end of the book, and, instead of producing a climax to his story, furnishes a sort of annex. We recall only one other instance in literature where genuine humor is so entirely wanting in its obverse, pathos. The extremely slight expression of this quality in the account of Aunt Patsys death, and the hurried manner in which the somewhat pivotal scene of the find- ing of the shoes is passed over, serve to render the absence of it elsewhere more noticeable. Every one feels that the authors instinct is right, and that there would be an incongruity in the display of much feeling. But it is not pathos alone that is wanting; all sentiment is left out. Lawrence Croft, the principal lover, is laid up with a sprained ankle, and has recourse to some novels sent in to him by Mrs. Null. These books Lawrence looked over with indifferent interest, hoping to find one among them that was not a love story, but he was disappointed. They were all based upon, and most of them permeated with, the tender passion, and Lawrence was not in the mood for reading about that sort of thing. A person afflicted with a disease is not apt to find agreeable occupation in reading hospital reports upon his par- ticular ailment. So when the author of The Late Mrs. Null finds himself under the necessity of bringing his two lovers to a final understanding, he does it in a gingerly fashion, and with a cer- tain reluctant air that seems to be al- most a protest against the indecorum into which he is forced. Mark Twain is equally wanting in pathos, if we except his True Story, but Mr. Stocktons hu- mor has a reserve and a quality of in- genuousness which are bis own. It is idle business trying to analyze the pe- culiar nature of this writers charm, and one may be needlessly acute, but we sus- pect that in this case, as in many others, we owe something to the deficiencies of Mr. Stocktons intellectual make-up, and that one reason why we enjoy his novel 185 1886.] Needlework in Art. is that he is not a novelist. Humor novelists art, and we are too glad to which lurks so slyly in incident even get what Mr. Stockton alone has, to more than in phrase can dispense with quarrel with him for not giving what many of the conventionalities of the plenty of other writers can produce. NEEDLEWORK IN ART. THERE i5 a singular fascination in the history of the tools of men. In a certain sense they are the starting-point in which our knowledge of the past be- gins; and as one looks at some great museum that earth-mounds and shell- - heaps have given up to the spade of the archaeologist, such a one, for instance, as that in the cabinets of Bologna, the imagination is touched almost patheti- cally by those relics of the infancy of the race, that hear sometimes so humor- ous a resemblance to the instruments of war and industry that our jackknives used to fashion. To follow the develop- ment of the plough or the loom, the arrow or the ship, is to read the great book of civilization in the simplest and perhaps the most useful way; for these and the other real elements of universal life are its true alphabet. They outlive the nations they establish and bind to- gether, and the advance in their adapta- tion and application is a better gauge of progress than the rise and fall of em- pires. They are very like the forces of nature in moulding the destiny of man- kind, and more powerful than human laws; they have determined, one might say, the physique of castes in India, and, if modern speculation is to be believed, they may be thought to have affected, through inheritance, the arrangement of the brain-cells in the skilled artisans of Italy and Flanders. The history of a tool, in fact, if told in full, involves the successive stages of politics, art, and culture; to know it is to know what man has done. Such reflections may seem to be too vast in range to stand, like the innum- berable angels of the scholastic doctor, on the point of a needle; but the lady who has written this richly made vol- ume I would not think so. The needle is one of the oldest of tools, and from the time when it was shaped from a bone, and used to fasten the skins of beasts with sinews, down to the present age of the Kensington school, it has much to tell of its deeds. Of its mere utilitarian value, the great industry of clothing the race, little is said by the author; she considers the needle only in its works of art. One wonders whether its early use for ornamentation may not have been due to its being pr& minently the womans tool. Certain it is that seams hardly began to be before they were adorned. From the moment when the sense of beauty was first pleased with the needles work, however rude, it be- came the minister of art, and through all the ages it continued in an alliance with the ideal part of mans nature. It has been thought and no one can say nay to the theory that the needle was in reality the source of art; that paint- ings on the brick of INineveh and Baby- lon and in Egypt, that bas-reliefs on the temples of Greece, and all artistic work in wood, or clay, or stone, or metal, were in the first instance nothing more than imitations, in more durable mate- rials, of the woven and wrought hang- I Needle- Work as Art. By LADY M. ALFORD. London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Riv- ington. 1886.

Needlework in Art 135

185 1886.] Needlework in Art. is that he is not a novelist. Humor novelists art, and we are too glad to which lurks so slyly in incident even get what Mr. Stockton alone has, to more than in phrase can dispense with quarrel with him for not giving what many of the conventionalities of the plenty of other writers can produce. NEEDLEWORK IN ART. THERE i5 a singular fascination in the history of the tools of men. In a certain sense they are the starting-point in which our knowledge of the past be- gins; and as one looks at some great museum that earth-mounds and shell- - heaps have given up to the spade of the archaeologist, such a one, for instance, as that in the cabinets of Bologna, the imagination is touched almost patheti- cally by those relics of the infancy of the race, that hear sometimes so humor- ous a resemblance to the instruments of war and industry that our jackknives used to fashion. To follow the develop- ment of the plough or the loom, the arrow or the ship, is to read the great book of civilization in the simplest and perhaps the most useful way; for these and the other real elements of universal life are its true alphabet. They outlive the nations they establish and bind to- gether, and the advance in their adapta- tion and application is a better gauge of progress than the rise and fall of em- pires. They are very like the forces of nature in moulding the destiny of man- kind, and more powerful than human laws; they have determined, one might say, the physique of castes in India, and, if modern speculation is to be believed, they may be thought to have affected, through inheritance, the arrangement of the brain-cells in the skilled artisans of Italy and Flanders. The history of a tool, in fact, if told in full, involves the successive stages of politics, art, and culture; to know it is to know what man has done. Such reflections may seem to be too vast in range to stand, like the innum- berable angels of the scholastic doctor, on the point of a needle; but the lady who has written this richly made vol- ume I would not think so. The needle is one of the oldest of tools, and from the time when it was shaped from a bone, and used to fasten the skins of beasts with sinews, down to the present age of the Kensington school, it has much to tell of its deeds. Of its mere utilitarian value, the great industry of clothing the race, little is said by the author; she considers the needle only in its works of art. One wonders whether its early use for ornamentation may not have been due to its being pr& minently the womans tool. Certain it is that seams hardly began to be before they were adorned. From the moment when the sense of beauty was first pleased with the needles work, however rude, it be- came the minister of art, and through all the ages it continued in an alliance with the ideal part of mans nature. It has been thought and no one can say nay to the theory that the needle was in reality the source of art; that paint- ings on the brick of INineveh and Baby- lon and in Egypt, that bas-reliefs on the temples of Greece, and all artistic work in wood, or clay, or stone, or metal, were in the first instance nothing more than imitations, in more durable mate- rials, of the woven and wrought hang- I Needle- Work as Art. By LADY M. ALFORD. London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Riv- ington. 1886.

Alford's Needlework in Art Book Reviews 135-137

185 1886.] Needlework in Art. is that he is not a novelist. Humor novelists art, and we are too glad to which lurks so slyly in incident even get what Mr. Stockton alone has, to more than in phrase can dispense with quarrel with him for not giving what many of the conventionalities of the plenty of other writers can produce. NEEDLEWORK IN ART. THERE i5 a singular fascination in the history of the tools of men. In a certain sense they are the starting-point in which our knowledge of the past be- gins; and as one looks at some great museum that earth-mounds and shell- - heaps have given up to the spade of the archaeologist, such a one, for instance, as that in the cabinets of Bologna, the imagination is touched almost patheti- cally by those relics of the infancy of the race, that hear sometimes so humor- ous a resemblance to the instruments of war and industry that our jackknives used to fashion. To follow the develop- ment of the plough or the loom, the arrow or the ship, is to read the great book of civilization in the simplest and perhaps the most useful way; for these and the other real elements of universal life are its true alphabet. They outlive the nations they establish and bind to- gether, and the advance in their adapta- tion and application is a better gauge of progress than the rise and fall of em- pires. They are very like the forces of nature in moulding the destiny of man- kind, and more powerful than human laws; they have determined, one might say, the physique of castes in India, and, if modern speculation is to be believed, they may be thought to have affected, through inheritance, the arrangement of the brain-cells in the skilled artisans of Italy and Flanders. The history of a tool, in fact, if told in full, involves the successive stages of politics, art, and culture; to know it is to know what man has done. Such reflections may seem to be too vast in range to stand, like the innum- berable angels of the scholastic doctor, on the point of a needle; but the lady who has written this richly made vol- ume I would not think so. The needle is one of the oldest of tools, and from the time when it was shaped from a bone, and used to fasten the skins of beasts with sinews, down to the present age of the Kensington school, it has much to tell of its deeds. Of its mere utilitarian value, the great industry of clothing the race, little is said by the author; she considers the needle only in its works of art. One wonders whether its early use for ornamentation may not have been due to its being pr& minently the womans tool. Certain it is that seams hardly began to be before they were adorned. From the moment when the sense of beauty was first pleased with the needles work, however rude, it be- came the minister of art, and through all the ages it continued in an alliance with the ideal part of mans nature. It has been thought and no one can say nay to the theory that the needle was in reality the source of art; that paint- ings on the brick of INineveh and Baby- lon and in Egypt, that bas-reliefs on the temples of Greece, and all artistic work in wood, or clay, or stone, or metal, were in the first instance nothing more than imitations, in more durable mate- rials, of the woven and wrought hang- I Needle- Work as Art. By LADY M. ALFORD. London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Riv- ington. 1886. 136 Needlework in Art. ings of the most ancient temples, such as were used in the tabernacles of the Orientals. To the latest times of pa- ganism these precious stuffs, of which the peplos of Athene is the highest type, were retained in worship of the gods, and also in the festivals of monarchs, as at Alexanders marriage feast in the mar- velous tent of his Asian spoils; and do they not at the present hour robe the altars and priesthood of the larger part of Christendom, though secular fetes have lost such splendid shows of tapes- tries in our age of cotton prints and broadcloth? But whether or not needlework may justly claim to have been the parent of the arts, it has been of the family, and in its long course it has reflected the spirit of man in many phases and pic- tured his life, as the other prouder arts have done. It is astonishing, there- fore, only to one who does not reflect, to find the author of this volume some- what embarrassed by the richness of the materials, the variety and historic sweep of her subject; and amid it all it is interesting to observe how simple and universal are the laws of art, so that, as truly as all of gravitation was said to be in the fall of the apple, all of art seems to be in the management of the stitch. Just as in books of phi- losophy nowadays we come upon the eternal formulas of Spencer, on homo- geneity, differentiation, and heteroge- neity, and the rest, so in this work we find the sententice of Ruskin, that the material must determine the design, and the like. The result is that the volume gives a curiously mixed impression of orderliness when theory is under dis- cussion, and of bewilderment when facts are being registered. In dealing with the laws of the art the author is entirely at home, and her decisions clear and co- gent; perhaps in the field of history a limitation of the view, particularly in the department of archa~ology, might have given a definiteness and compact- [July, ness of which the unlearned reader may possibly feel the lack. The multitude of things referred to, however, is one of the charms of the book, and suggests, as nothing else could, the infinite number of ways in which the simple tools of mans craft have affected his civilized life, to which we have already alluded. One reason for the breadth of subject is that nearly all works of the needle in ancient times have perished; a few examples on leath- er or linen have survived in a more or less dilapidated state, but for the most part the handiwork of antiquity in this art must be studied from the monuments, from sculptured or painted representa- tions, or from those literary descriptions, such as Homers, which are the best record we possess of the character of the embroidered stuffs which filled the wardrobes and palaces of Asiatic cities, and were borne to other lands by the commerce of the Pho~nicians. One must go to archaeology for the history of the ancient art, perforce; and if one pushes the research farther, and asks what was the origin and meaning of the old patterns, such as the wave or wicker- work, and traces backward the conven- tional forms to the symbolism of the lotus of Egypt, the daisy of Assyria, and the immemorial tree of life with the yoked animals, and furthermore must include a type so distant from these as is the serpentine of the Lindis- fame Gospels, it is easy to see what an omnium gatherum of doubtful and pre- historic facts must result. The subject of crosses alone, from the sckwastika, or crossed sticks of the worship of fire (if that be its derivation), to the mean- dering combinations of mediawal times, is large enough to require a volume to itself. The division of these patterns, not many in number, into their classes opens another wide field, and in their passage from naturalism into symbol- ism, and thence into conventionalized forms, one may stop to study one of 1886.] The Contributors Club. 137 the movements common to all art from birth to extinction; while at the end the mathematical patterns with the Sar- acenic arabesque still remain to be treated. The way in which all these were transmitted from country to coun- try and from age to age, the great high. ways of commerce by which they passed, the market-points at which they met, such as Sicily in the mediteval times, must also be considered. The mere materials used, wool, flax, silk, and cot- ton, to mention no others, have each an interesting history, which cannot be wholly disregarded; and the schools of design which the needlework of each period reflected, from the Egyptian to the Italian, are to be touched on in a way that shall recall the motives, char- acteristics, and temper of the whole history of art. Thus, before one gets to so important a department as lace- work, his eye begins to get wearied with the survey in which so many mat- ters have called for attention, and he may be excused if a sigh for system, a more rigid system, at times escapes him. That portion of the volume in which the examples are described with some detail, and in many cases are profuse- ly illustrated, does not lie open to any similar objection. The mind rests on t.hese, and lets go of the general his- tory of the centuries and the problems of archeology. These examples natural- ly are mainly mediawal or Renaissance, and the greater portion are ecclesiasti- cal. They are beautiful to look at and delightful to read about. The chapter upon the school of English embroidery is an excellent study of a special sub- ject, and stands by itself, like a book within a book. The author has here a thorough knowledge of the period and the work, and is not hampered by the necessity of leaning on the monographs of learned scholars, as in the more gen- eral parts of her narrative. She is mis- tress of this particular branch of the English art, and of the theory of how it should now be practiced under the con- ditions of its modern revival. Her ac- count of the Kensington school, though brief, is interesting, and her advice to her fellow-workers in the attempt to bring needlework back to the artistic purpose it served before the days of sew- ing-machines is of the best. To have written such a book on one of the minor arts is to have filled an empty place in the great English library with practical effect. The illustrations, by their num- ber, excellence, and range, make it ad- mirable for reference, and justify its title; for it is not the history of the art of needlework which is written, but rather the great works of the needle are viewed with reference to the general artistic expression of the race. The efforts of Lady Marian Alford and her coadjutors, both in England and this country, to restore to the needle its office in domestic and church decoration have the sympathy of those who respect beauty and the adornment of the com- mon life; and all such will give her vol- ume a very difficult work to write their good wishes. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. WHAT is the best thing to do with implies a mistaken idea as to its ways. the mind when listening to music? Do It seldom does, in point of fact, take nothing with it, some one may reply; care of itself. It is bound to follow the. let it take care of itself. But this successive suggestions either of certain

Contributor's Club Contributor's Club 137-143

1886.] The Contributors Club. 137 the movements common to all art from birth to extinction; while at the end the mathematical patterns with the Sar- acenic arabesque still remain to be treated. The way in which all these were transmitted from country to coun- try and from age to age, the great high. ways of commerce by which they passed, the market-points at which they met, such as Sicily in the mediteval times, must also be considered. The mere materials used, wool, flax, silk, and cot- ton, to mention no others, have each an interesting history, which cannot be wholly disregarded; and the schools of design which the needlework of each period reflected, from the Egyptian to the Italian, are to be touched on in a way that shall recall the motives, char- acteristics, and temper of the whole history of art. Thus, before one gets to so important a department as lace- work, his eye begins to get wearied with the survey in which so many mat- ters have called for attention, and he may be excused if a sigh for system, a more rigid system, at times escapes him. That portion of the volume in which the examples are described with some detail, and in many cases are profuse- ly illustrated, does not lie open to any similar objection. The mind rests on t.hese, and lets go of the general his- tory of the centuries and the problems of archeology. These examples natural- ly are mainly mediawal or Renaissance, and the greater portion are ecclesiasti- cal. They are beautiful to look at and delightful to read about. The chapter upon the school of English embroidery is an excellent study of a special sub- ject, and stands by itself, like a book within a book. The author has here a thorough knowledge of the period and the work, and is not hampered by the necessity of leaning on the monographs of learned scholars, as in the more gen- eral parts of her narrative. She is mis- tress of this particular branch of the English art, and of the theory of how it should now be practiced under the con- ditions of its modern revival. Her ac- count of the Kensington school, though brief, is interesting, and her advice to her fellow-workers in the attempt to bring needlework back to the artistic purpose it served before the days of sew- ing-machines is of the best. To have written such a book on one of the minor arts is to have filled an empty place in the great English library with practical effect. The illustrations, by their num- ber, excellence, and range, make it ad- mirable for reference, and justify its title; for it is not the history of the art of needlework which is written, but rather the great works of the needle are viewed with reference to the general artistic expression of the race. The efforts of Lady Marian Alford and her coadjutors, both in England and this country, to restore to the needle its office in domestic and church decoration have the sympathy of those who respect beauty and the adornment of the com- mon life; and all such will give her vol- ume a very difficult work to write their good wishes. THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. WHAT is the best thing to do with implies a mistaken idea as to its ways. the mind when listening to music? Do It seldom does, in point of fact, take nothing with it, some one may reply; care of itself. It is bound to follow the. let it take care of itself. But this successive suggestions either of certain 138 The Contributors Club. [July, outside impressions, or of certain inner impressions which also had originally an external source. One may as well choose a little among these. Surely we might better direct the mental pano- rama by some voluntary choice than to have it directed by the accidental sight of a grotesque face in the audience, or the odd bowing of some one of the sec- ond violins. Does it make the sailing of a summer sea any the less idly lux- urious to touch the helm lightly from time to time? Now there are several ways open to choice in the management of the minds delicate steering apparatus, on such an occasion as the hearing of fine music. The worst way, no doubt, is to gaze fixedly at the performers, and so let the eye cheat the ear out of half its enjoy- ment. This is the besetting tempta- tion of the distinguished amateur, who is inclined to give his whole attention to the visible handling of whatever in- strument he himself may happen to play. At a recent concert I noticed that my neighbor riveted his interest, during a whole splendid movement of the sym- phony, on the agile gymnastics of one of the double-basses. But this is not so ill-advised as the trick some people have of staring at a singer, and even with an opera-glass, during a whole song. What can they carry away in the memory but a visual image of a wonderful openness of countenance, a kind of Iabio-dental display? I have always liked to close my eyes during any passage of orchestral music to which I wished to lend special atten- tion. It is surprising what sensitiveness and grasp this instantly gives to the au- ditory power. Sometimes, in a dark cor- ner under the gallery, one may indulge himself in the luxury. But on Kants immortal doctrine that one should do only those things which all may do, this closing of the eyes at a concert hardly seems proper in the body of the house. Would it not look queer if we all sat that way? ( Look queer to whom, if everybodys eyes were shut? Well, to the gentlemanly ushers; and the report- ers, whose eyes are always open; and the cornet and the bassoon, in their lucid intervals.) It is not necessary, how- ever, actually to close the outward eye. We may select some peg on which to hang it, so to speak, where no distract- ing image will interrupt our reverie. The middle of the back of some quiet person in front of us will generally do. Or we may happen to have that conven- ient faculty, possessed by so many, of fixing the bodily eye on a given point, while the minds eye is gradually with- drawn leagues and leagues behind it. There are two opposite ways, in par- ticular, open to the mind for its ex- cursions during music. It may either let itself become engaged in dreams of ones own personal destiny, memories of the past, fantastically intermingled, or dreams of what hath never been, and what can never be; or it may go out of itself into the life-dramas of others. Which is the better way? For exam- ple, in listening to one of those orches- tral duets of Rubinsteins, one may either disregard the composers indica- tion in the title, weaving his own per- sonal episodes at will from the changes of the chords; or he may occupy his imagination with the relations of the suggested Toreador and Andalouse; or he may hear only the far-off voices of well-known mortals and their per- plexing fates; or, finally, the music may but breathe an ethereal essence of hu- man life universal, too elusive for any individual incarnation. The question is like that which confronts the poet: Shall he sing his own joys and woes, or shall he create exterior dramatic idyls? Shall he follow the method of Byron, or of Browning? I am never merry, said Jessica, when I hear sweet music; and her Lorenzo was no philosopher, and could give but the shallowest explanation of 1886.] The Contributors Club. 189 the fact. Rossettis Monochord, if she could have waited so long for it, might have helped her to a better one Is it the moved air or the moving sound That is Lifes self and draws my life from me, That mid the tide of all emergency Now notes my separate wave, and to what sea Its difficult eddies lahor in the ground? Oh! whet is this that knows the ~ocd I came, The flame turned cloud, the cloud returned to flame, The lifted shifted steeps and all the way? No doubt it is the first instinct, with all of us, to let the eternal passion, eter- nal pain, of great orchestral music in- terweave themselves with the past, the possible, or, more often, the dear impos- sible, of our personal life-story. We are, for the time being, subjects of what Rossetti has noted, in his own private copy of the poem from which I have just quoted, as that sublimated mood of the soul in which a separate essence of itself seems, as it were, to oversoar and survey it. But would it not be nobler in the soul if its survey were wider? Would it not be better for the will, in its renunciation and vows of ser- vice, that these inchoate worlds of mu- sical harmony, these swaying tides of mysteriously organizing sound, an audi- ble chaos of multitudinous emotions over which a creative breath is hovering and calling life, with all its tragedies and comedies, into being, should be identi- fied to the imagination with the fates of other men than ourselves? There are persons, I am beginning to discover, who have but a very imperfect power of visual imagination. An inti- mate friend writes me, after only three years of separation, I have completely forgotten you. Or, rather, I remem- ber nothing but you, and not at all your outward aspect. Face, form, manner, have altogether faded, and cannot by any effort of will be recalled. But I can shut my eyes and see this friend form, features, color, a hundred particu- lar ways of gesture and manner more distinctly than any photograph could possibly present him. I could draw his profile on this paper; not composing it, but simply tracing it from my men- tal image, as if it were a silhouette laid down and followed mechanically with the pencil. Those of us who possess this common enough power might at least always give some fitting mise en sc~ne to a sym- phony, removing it from its incongru- ous situation in an ugly hall packed with monotonous rows of frivolous bonnets and sand-papered heads. We do not need Wagners aid to obliterate the mu- sicians and fill the stage with impressive scenery. In a moment, at will, we are reclining in a stately pine forest on a solitary mountain-side. Behind us tower great crags with fluted columnar front, like natures organ-pipes. Below and to the left hollows a piny gorge, blue with misty depth, up whose slope, from round the mountain~ s enormous flank, swells the sound of falling torrents. Beyond the granite ridge to the right goes down a broken foot-path to a hidden valley, where some momentous human passion- play begins now to be enacted. Or we are drifting on the ocean, and a storm is subsiding. All night we have driven before the tempest, and now at the first glimmer of dawn we strain our sight into the darkness, and listen for the roar of breakers. Sudden- ly the sound of all sweet and powerful instruments rises and mingles, as if from the very depths of the rolling sea. Have the forces of nature become audible in their battling together? Or have we drifted into the midst of a strife of mor- tal destinies, and is this the prelude to a mighty drama of the nations on the shores of some new world? Some competent person should write an essay on the bright side of hu- man ignorance. That ignorance has its bright side might perhaps be established on a priori grounds, since it would seem a kind of blasphemy to suppose 140 The Contributors Club. [July, that anything so natural and universal could be altogether a curse. A condi- tion into which we are all born, and out of which the best of us can never es- cape, must somehow be advantageous; unless, indeed, this world does really belong to the devil, an hypothesis which I, for my own part, steadfastly refuse to entertain, in spite of the theo- ries of some of my brethren and the practices of others. But without going into such profundi- ties (leaving questions of this sort for the competent essayist aforesaid), it is open to the least discerning of us to see that much of the interest of human life, no matter how commonplace, is depen- dent upon the element of uncertainty. It Thay fairly be accounted one of the few compensations of extreme poverty that the most trivial and prosaic details the question of to-morrows dinner, even must often be attended with something of that peculiar relish which nothing but the feeling of suspense can produce, and which more fortunate per- sons are fain to seek in trials of skill or in games of chance. To take a very different illustration, what would village or club gossip be worth if we knew the exact truth about our neighbors; if we could no longer surmise, put this and that together, and draw our own infer- ences inferences not highly valuable for their truth, it may be, but interesting. for their diversity and originality. What we all crave is a problem on which to exercise our ingenuity. We inherit a passion for riddles, and spend our days in solving them. Indeed, throughout the course of our intellectual develop- ment we are simply banded on, as we may say, from one class of enigmas to another, while others and still others stretch away before us in endless pro- gression. Amid the numerous attempts which have been made to define concisely the distinction between oursclves and our four-footed relatives, it seems strange that no one has ever hit upon this: Man is the only animal that loves a puzzle. It is this liking for a doubt, this appe- tite for the mysterious, which makes, in great part at least, the fascination of novels. What are four or five hundred pages of moderately good print when a plot is to be unraveled? How nimbly do we turn the leaves as curiosity pricks us on, chapter after chapter, till a sound of marriage bells announces the long- desired consummation! Herein, also, is to be found th~ peculiar attractiveness of new stories, as compared with older and possibly better ones. We are al- ready in the secret of Henry Esmond; the book is a guessed conundrum, as it were (I speak as a novel - reader); now for the latest Henry or Lucy, the narrative of whose love affairs is just off the press. It is abundantly affirmed, I am aware, that the new fiction is intrinsically supe- rior to the old; but on that point I must confess to a measure of skepticism. Perhaps lam not an unprejudiced judge; at my time of life it may be expedient to make some allowance for early pre- possessions. At all events, the claim of the moderns has before now put me in mind of one of Charles Lambs whim- sicalities. Somebody had boasted rath- er loudly of being a matter-of-fact per- son (realistic, as the present word is), when Lamb gave a sudden twist to the conversation by remarking, no doubt in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, Now, I value myself on being a mat- ter-of-lie man. Probably most of us have some time or other tried to imagine how it would seem to know everything. For one, however, I am bound to admit that I have never been able to gain any very clear conception of such a state. It is impossible for me to conjecture what it would be like to know all about myself, even, letting alone the remainder of the world. Yet why do I speak with this 1886.] The Contributors Club. 141 meaningless limitation? For of course I could not understand all about myself without possessing the same comprehen- sive acquaintance with everything else. Perfect knowledge of myself must of necessity include perfect knowledge of all with which I am in any sort of re- lation. In other words, and to make the statement general, it is only om- niscience that knows everything about anything. And if I really did know everything! Should I not forthwith begin to bewail the loss of my former estate? With no longer anything before which I could stand in awe; with nothing to pique the curiosity, nothing to be studied! Would not such a condition be like reading the same old novel over and over, yea, like downright stagnation and death, to a creature who had once tasted the delights of growth and acquisition? And yet, could one know everything without knowing the feeling of igno- rance and the pleasures of research? Here we are getting lost, as we always must when we seek to compass the infi- nite. Speculations like these are vain; some will perhaps call them sacrilegious. Let us keep within bounds, and, mean- while, await the coming of the better equipped author whose good offices in this matter we bespoke at the outset. There are two insuperable objec- tions. in my private and heretical opin- ion, to the so-called reformed spell- ing. One is that it would increase the already too great similarity in words. Syllables that are at present identical only to the ear would then become alike to the eye also. Now the true theory of a visible and audible language de- mands that the symbols ~f ideas should differ as much as the ideas. Rite, right, and write are three wholly distinct ideas, and their symbols ought to be corre- spondingly distinct. In the natural and undisturbed development of a language they would differ both to ear and to eye; but our present tongue is the re sult of confusing influences, and the sounds of our speech have been allowed in many instances to lose their differ- entiation. The eye, however, being a more intellectual organ than the ear, has refused to permit the visible sym- bols to break down into this indistin- guishable similarity. If we cannot have every idea represented by a different symbol to the ear, at least let us not throw away, at the command of a false notion, whatever difference remains to the eye. Mete, meat, meet; night and knight; sight, site, site; mind and mined; aisle arid isle; by, bye, buy; sent, scent, cent; sell and cell; wait and weight; all and awl, and a great number of other such pairs or triplets, would lose what little is left of their individual identity. Depend upon it, this difference of spell- ing has not been a result of accident. It has been retained because of a felt instinct of the usefulness of keeping things separate in appearance which are separate in fact. Any one who has dabbled in phonography knows that the fatal defect of all short-hand systems of writing, for any but those who make a long-continued specialty of their use, is the extreme similarity of the signs, es- pecially when combined in words and phrases. The advantage of our alpha- bet lies in the ingenious diversity of its forms, enabling the eye to seize on the special characteristic of each letter, even in hurried script. This is the secret of its having been retained unchanged through so many generations of men. My second objection to phonetic spell- ing is that it would petrify any language in the forms which it happened to have at the moment of adopting the re- form. Now I feel sure, whatever certain eminent philologists may say, that the language-making instinct is by no means extinct in us. So far as the iron grip of the dictionaries will let it, language tends to move and change. And this, too, not at hap-hazard, but in obedience to a felt congruity between sound and 142 Tite Contributors Club. [July, sense. One or two examples are as good as a hundred to illustrate this. Why do children, and all persons not standing in awe of the dictionary, in- cline to say tinny or teeny, for a minute object, instead of tiny, if not that the littleness of the sound is more suited to the littleness of the thing? And why do so many persons show a reluctance to pronouncing the o in the name of the Deity short, as in dog or fog? If a fixed phonetic spelling, hacked up by all the power of the more and more tyrannical dictionaries, is allowed to paralyze all the instincts of growth and change in the language, throwing it into a dead and fossil condition before its time, there will be no longer possible such progress as, for example, that from the old Eng- lish ic to the modern I. k was too in- significant a sound for the whole weight of the first person, and that, too, in its nominative case of willing and acting. The idea needed (and once had) a more fitting sound-symbol, and at last found it again in this noble vowel, a compound whose first tone is ak, that broadest and fullest utterance in any language. The consequences of unguarded and over-hasty speech are a matter of common lament; the mischief of re- pressed and laggard speech is of another sort, less obvious, less widely deplored, but none the less real. An odd, smile- and-tear-compelling volume will be that entitled Humor and Pathos of the Unsaid, even if it comes to be written. Somewhere among its visionary pages I seem to see a text that originally fell from the lips of an old friend of mine, who is in her ninetieth year. Having written a letter at her request, I laid down the pen, remarking, I have told J all the things we said in our pleas- ant talk of him. Is that all? she inquired, in a tone plaintive and re- proachful. You should have told him the things we meant to say. These words have since gathered a significance never dreamed of in their first utterance. To my mind they embody a very subtle kind of regret and self-dissatisfaction which we all at times feel, yet are at a loss to characterize. Why, as soon as a friend has withdrawn his presence, do we begin to see so many lost opportuni- ties in the conversation we have just had with him? Why do we, in dra- matic retrospect, set ourselves to round out every elliptical construction, to re- duce to devout simplicity every possible ambiguity in our speech, to enrich every feeble or halting expression thereof, and so (in drarAatic retrospect) arrive at a better understanding, fuller and sweeter confidences, stronger assurances of faith and loving service? Poor, tar- dily ingenious Soul, why said you not the thing you meant to say, the word that would have conciliated one inesti- mably dear, who now, for lack of that word timely uttered, pursues estranged ways? Our grief for the dead has perhaps no keener edge of pain than that which cuts with the recollection of foregone privileges of communication. Had we but said this or that, which, surely, we wished to say, and had they but left us the comfort of their responses! Even as regards the minor concerns of our social life, some regret of this sort is perpetually turning a thorn in our consciousness. The apt rejoinder, the happy acknowledgment of a favor received, the graceful word that would have relieved an awkward situation, have a singular trick of coming post- fact to the exigency. Beware of Had I wist, advises an old-time writer. Of all our resident genii or visiting spirits, there is not an- other so eloquent, so plausible, so tor- turous as the Angel of the After- thought, an incomparable illustrator and teacher of amenities, tact, appeal, and mastery. All these things which I have told you, observes the gently derisive angel, are the things you meant to say! 1886.] Books of the .Alonth. BOOKS OF THE MONTH. Science and Nature. The fifty-first volume of the International Scientific series (Appleton) is Physical Expression, its modes and principles, by Francis Warner. The basis of observations for this book was largely in children, and Dr. War- ner employed for this purpose both sound and im- becile children; he invented and applied a number of ingenious mechanical contrivances for register- ing expression, and he reached many interesting results. It is a discussion of the subject from a physiologists point of view. The fifty-second volume of the same series is devoted to Anthro- poid Apes, by Robert Hartman, and is an inter- esting study of these poor relations in their home as well as in captivity. An introductory chapter gives the history of our knowledge of them. The Mammalia in their relation to primeval times, by Oscar Schmidt. (Appleton.) The fifty-third vol- ume of the International Scientific series. It will be found, says the author, to contain proofs of the necessity, the truth, and the value of Darwinism as the foundation for,,the theory of descent, within a limited field, and is brought down to the most recent times. Upland and Meadow, a Poaetquissings Chronicle, by Charles C. Abbott, M. D. (Harpers.) Dr. Abbott, who is well known as a specialist in paLeontology, shows himself in this volume as an agreeable traveler within that limited area which can be reached from ones door-step in a days walk or paddle. It is a pleasure to welcome another to the select company which looks up to White of Selborne as master. Discussions on Climate and Cosmology, by James Croll. (Appleton.) Mr. Croll makes this volume in part a defense of his positions as laid down in his previous well-known writings. He has carried his investigations far- ther and has enlarged the scope of his work. An Apache Campaign, by John G. Bourke (Scrib- ners), though ostensibly a record of military ex- perience in 1883, is, by the way, a lively picture of the Apache Indians and the country traversed by them. The Putnams have brought out a pop- ular edition of Roosevelts capital Hunting Trips of a Ranchman. Brattleborough in Verse and Prose is a little book compiled and arranged by Cecil Hampden 1-loward. (Frank E. Housh, Brat- tieborough, Vt.) The larger part of this souvenir is occupied by verse, while H. H., T. W. Higginson, and Fanny Fern are drawn upon for prose sketches~ Persia, the Land of the Imams, a narrative of travel and residence, 1871-1885, by James Bassett. (Scribners.) Mr. Bassett was a missionary in Per- sia, and in the larger part of his book gives an account of his tours through the country: but his views are not merely those of a missionary ; he writes like a good observer and an intelligent man. In the latter part of the book he gives the result of his general judgment of the country as gathered from nearly fifteen years residence. A map ac- companies the volume, and there is a bibliography and a table of distances and altitudes, but no in- dex. Evolution of To-Day, by H. W. Conn. (Put- nams.) This is not, as the title might indicate, a philosophical account of how to-day was one of the possibilities of yesterday, but is a summary of the theory of evolution as held by scientists at the present time, and an account of the progress made by the discussions and investigations of a quarter of a century. The author goes about his task in a spirit of fairness. Charles F. Deems, on the contrary, in a tractate entitled Evolution, a Scotch verdict (John W. Lovell Co.), gathers a number of isolated dicta by scientific men in the true spirit of a polemic, and is plainly more de- sirous of having his side beat than of reaching the truth in the matter. The twenty-third Bulletin of the United States National Museum contains a bibliography of publications of Isaac Lea, preceded by a biographical sketch, by Newton Pratt Scud- der. Burma, as it was, as it is, and as it will be, by James George Scott. (Redway, London.) A sketch of the new dependency of Great Britain by an Englishman who knows the country and takes a very rosy view of his subject. Signs and Sea- sons, by John Burroughs (Houghton), contains a bakers dozen of out-door sketches which are al- ways new and always old. That is, Mr. Burt never wearies of Nature, and his stories of her seeming and doing are always fresh, but it is nothing but the good old world that he tells us about always. Poetry and the Drama. Tecumseh, a drama, by Charles Mair. (Hunter, Rose & Co., Toronto.) Mr. Mair writes with precision and dignity, but makes little attempt at preserving the qualities of the Indian. Tecumseh and the Prophet might be Englishmen or Frenchmen. Verses, Trans- lations from the German and Hymns, by W. H. Furness. (Houghton.) It is worth while to have in so agreeable a form Dr. Furnesss unrivaled translation of Schillers The Song of the Bell, a translation so close as to be perfectly adjusted to the music written for the original. The other verses have the grace and sweetness which char- acterize this scholar and divine. Songs of Old Canada, translated by William McLennan. (Daw- son Brothers, Montreal.) Fourteen French songs are given, with the translation on opposite pages. The translation is spirited and faithful, and the songs are worth preserving. Ziita Ku, or Songs from Silence, by Owen E. Longsdorf. (Scholl Brothers, Williamsport, Pa.) The poet hand- somely refers the inspiration in his poems to a graven image which was dug up in one of the Ohio mounds. In a sort of Hiawatha measure we have a good deal of theosophic bosh. Hough- ton, Muffin & Co. have issued the concluding four volumes of the works of Thomas Middleton, the second author in Mr. Bullens group of English Dramatists. The lover of choice hooks is re- minded that only three hundred and fifty copies 143

Books of the Month 143-144

1886.] Books of the .Alonth. BOOKS OF THE MONTH. Science and Nature. The fifty-first volume of the International Scientific series (Appleton) is Physical Expression, its modes and principles, by Francis Warner. The basis of observations for this book was largely in children, and Dr. War- ner employed for this purpose both sound and im- becile children; he invented and applied a number of ingenious mechanical contrivances for register- ing expression, and he reached many interesting results. It is a discussion of the subject from a physiologists point of view. The fifty-second volume of the same series is devoted to Anthro- poid Apes, by Robert Hartman, and is an inter- esting study of these poor relations in their home as well as in captivity. An introductory chapter gives the history of our knowledge of them. The Mammalia in their relation to primeval times, by Oscar Schmidt. (Appleton.) The fifty-third vol- ume of the International Scientific series. It will be found, says the author, to contain proofs of the necessity, the truth, and the value of Darwinism as the foundation for,,the theory of descent, within a limited field, and is brought down to the most recent times. Upland and Meadow, a Poaetquissings Chronicle, by Charles C. Abbott, M. D. (Harpers.) Dr. Abbott, who is well known as a specialist in paLeontology, shows himself in this volume as an agreeable traveler within that limited area which can be reached from ones door-step in a days walk or paddle. It is a pleasure to welcome another to the select company which looks up to White of Selborne as master. Discussions on Climate and Cosmology, by James Croll. (Appleton.) Mr. Croll makes this volume in part a defense of his positions as laid down in his previous well-known writings. He has carried his investigations far- ther and has enlarged the scope of his work. An Apache Campaign, by John G. Bourke (Scrib- ners), though ostensibly a record of military ex- perience in 1883, is, by the way, a lively picture of the Apache Indians and the country traversed by them. The Putnams have brought out a pop- ular edition of Roosevelts capital Hunting Trips of a Ranchman. Brattleborough in Verse and Prose is a little book compiled and arranged by Cecil Hampden 1-loward. (Frank E. Housh, Brat- tieborough, Vt.) The larger part of this souvenir is occupied by verse, while H. H., T. W. Higginson, and Fanny Fern are drawn upon for prose sketches~ Persia, the Land of the Imams, a narrative of travel and residence, 1871-1885, by James Bassett. (Scribners.) Mr. Bassett was a missionary in Per- sia, and in the larger part of his book gives an account of his tours through the country: but his views are not merely those of a missionary ; he writes like a good observer and an intelligent man. In the latter part of the book he gives the result of his general judgment of the country as gathered from nearly fifteen years residence. A map ac- companies the volume, and there is a bibliography and a table of distances and altitudes, but no in- dex. Evolution of To-Day, by H. W. Conn. (Put- nams.) This is not, as the title might indicate, a philosophical account of how to-day was one of the possibilities of yesterday, but is a summary of the theory of evolution as held by scientists at the present time, and an account of the progress made by the discussions and investigations of a quarter of a century. The author goes about his task in a spirit of fairness. Charles F. Deems, on the contrary, in a tractate entitled Evolution, a Scotch verdict (John W. Lovell Co.), gathers a number of isolated dicta by scientific men in the true spirit of a polemic, and is plainly more de- sirous of having his side beat than of reaching the truth in the matter. The twenty-third Bulletin of the United States National Museum contains a bibliography of publications of Isaac Lea, preceded by a biographical sketch, by Newton Pratt Scud- der. Burma, as it was, as it is, and as it will be, by James George Scott. (Redway, London.) A sketch of the new dependency of Great Britain by an Englishman who knows the country and takes a very rosy view of his subject. Signs and Sea- sons, by John Burroughs (Houghton), contains a bakers dozen of out-door sketches which are al- ways new and always old. That is, Mr. Burt never wearies of Nature, and his stories of her seeming and doing are always fresh, but it is nothing but the good old world that he tells us about always. Poetry and the Drama. Tecumseh, a drama, by Charles Mair. (Hunter, Rose & Co., Toronto.) Mr. Mair writes with precision and dignity, but makes little attempt at preserving the qualities of the Indian. Tecumseh and the Prophet might be Englishmen or Frenchmen. Verses, Trans- lations from the German and Hymns, by W. H. Furness. (Houghton.) It is worth while to have in so agreeable a form Dr. Furnesss unrivaled translation of Schillers The Song of the Bell, a translation so close as to be perfectly adjusted to the music written for the original. The other verses have the grace and sweetness which char- acterize this scholar and divine. Songs of Old Canada, translated by William McLennan. (Daw- son Brothers, Montreal.) Fourteen French songs are given, with the translation on opposite pages. The translation is spirited and faithful, and the songs are worth preserving. Ziita Ku, or Songs from Silence, by Owen E. Longsdorf. (Scholl Brothers, Williamsport, Pa.) The poet hand- somely refers the inspiration in his poems to a graven image which was dug up in one of the Ohio mounds. In a sort of Hiawatha measure we have a good deal of theosophic bosh. Hough- ton, Muffin & Co. have issued the concluding four volumes of the works of Thomas Middleton, the second author in Mr. Bullens group of English Dramatists. The lover of choice hooks is re- minded that only three hundred and fifty copies 143 144 Books of the Jllionth. [July. of each work are printed, and that the type is and the entire volume, of less than a hundred pages, then distributed. This admirably edited edition is a readable and pointed brochure. In spite of of the old English playwrights will soon be very the slight air of business about the lists at the end, difficult to obtain. The Outcast, and other poems, the book strikes an unprofessional reader as im- by Walter Malone. (Printed at the Riverside Press, partial and candid. National Academy Notes Cambridge.) Here is a volume of three hundred and complete catalogue to the sixty-first spring pages, written, the author advises us in his pref- exhibition. (Cassell.) This catalogue, now in its ace, for the most part between the ages of sixteen sixth year, is edited by Charles M. Kurtz, and is and nineteen. If he is a true poet, and should have a useful memorandum, since it contains photo- kept this volume in manuscript say for ten years lithographic reduced reproductions of many of the more, we wonder how many of the three hundred pictures, brief notes regarding the artists, and pages would ever find their way into print. Idle much general information concerning the Academy Rhymings, a collection of thoughts jotted down and its members. Woman in Music, by George in leisure moments, by John H. Mackley. (Jack- B. Upton (A. C. McClurg & Co., Chicago), is an son, Ohio.) Not a jot of poetry, however. interesting little monograph, treating not only the Translations from Horace, etc., by Sir Stephen E. general question implied in the title, but mdi- De Vere, Bart. (George Bell & Sons, London.) cating also the personal relations of women to the The etc. which curls itself upon the title-page is great composers. My Journal in Foreign Lands, simply an anacreontic, rendered from Walter by Florence Trail (Putnams), has its place here Mapes, and a couple of short poems. The trans- since the author devotes most of her attention to lations have vigor and compactness, but the loftier picture galleries. The book is not an important odes suffer less in the rendering than the lighter one, but it is iiaive. A Stroll with Keats, ihlus- lyrics. Summer Haven Songs, by James Herbert trated by Frances Clifford Brown. (Ticknor.) The Morse. (Putnams.) The refined work and play of uninformed reader would naturally suppose that a man of letters who has pure sentiment, a varied this was a poem, so entitled, written by a lover of form of expression, and excellent taste. The Keats, and illustrated. It is, in reality, excerpts Poet Scout, a Book of Song and Story, by Captain from Keatss poem beginning, Jack Crawford. (Funk & Wagufihls.) Why is it I stood tiptoe upon a little hill, that sentiment of the most melting character seems with illustrations reproduced apparently by some to well up most fluently from the Rocky Moun- process. It is too late to pronounce upon Keats, tains ? An Italian Garden, a Book of Songs, by and too soon, let us gently hope, to pronounce on A. Mary F. Robinson (Roberts Bros.), is a dainty the artist. We are in receipt of the current volume of verse, much of which has an exquisite numbers of LArt and The Portfolio, two pubhi- lyrical quality. Saint Gregorys Guest, and Re- cations that are without rivals in their own especial cent Poems, by John Greenleaf Whittier (Hough- lines. ton), contains eighteen poems, some of which have Litereture and Literary Criticism. Mr. Hor- been seen already by readers of The Atlantic, who ace Howard Furness has brought his new van- will therefore wish the volume. There is a deli- orum edition of Shakespeare to the sixth volume, cate bit of irony in Mr. Whittiers preface, which which is occupied by Othello. (Lippincott.) The poets who are egged on by their friends will not great value which the edition has is enhanced by enjoy. One finds great satisfaction in holding the editors decision in this volume to print the in one bunch flowers which separately are so fra- text of the first folio with scrupulous accuracy, grant and so beautiful. and to make all corrections and proposed emen- Art and illustrated Works. The second volume dations in the text. An interestiiig feature is the has been published of the History of Painting, use which he makes of actors comments, and the from the German of the late Dr. Alfred Woitmana reader is delighted to find how Booth and Fechter and Dr. Karl Woermann. It is occupied with the interpret character and scene. The editors own Painting of the Renaissance, and is translated by human interest is constantly intimated, and the Clara Bell, and published in America by Dodd, work is far removed from a mere dryasdust Mead & Co. The value of the work is greatly in- treatment. Mr. W. D. OConnor, under the ti- creased by the illustratiorn, which do not profess tie of Hamlets Note Book (Houghton), criticises to he works of art, but are excellent diagrams. Mr. Grant Whites criticism of Mrs. Putts Pro- Those which have the intention of pictures are de- inns, of Bacon, which was itself in effect a anti- fective in printing, which may be due to poor cism of the Shakespearean authorship. All this electrotypes. The translator has in some cases stays us from attempting a criticism of W. D. abridged the original and has added bracketed OConnor. Quis custodes custodiet? The one passages, indicating the English home of certain contribution which he appears to make to the pictures. The work is rather one of reference than Shakespeare stew is the suggestion that Raleigh reading. Etching in America, with lists of Amen- wrote the sonnets. The New York Shakespeare can etchers and notable collections of prints, by J. Society issues its third paper, William Shake- R. W. Hitchcock. (White, Stokes & Allen.) An speare and Alleged Spanish Prototypes, by Albert interesting little etching, the first produced by the R. Frey, who examines the question of Shake- oldest of our etching chubs, forms the frontispiece, speares indebtedness to Lope de Vega.

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The Atlantic monthly. / Volume 58, Issue 346 Galaxy, Atlantic Atlantic Monthly Co. Boston August 1886 0058 346
William Henry Bishop Bishop, William Henry The Golden Justice 145-167

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: ~ %laagapne of JLtterature, ~ciencc, tart, anti I~otitw~. VOL. L Viii. A UG CYST, 1886. No. CCCXL Vt. THE GOLDEN JUSTICE. VII. A RANDOM PROPHECY. SOMEWHAT like the notable Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, Barclay aspired also to grow acquainted with all who had anything unusual in their fortune or conduct. The many foreign nation- alities represented in the place appeared to him a considerable source of interest. Recollections of their scenery and tradi- tions at home invested even the poorest of them with a touch of romance, where- as he found the common order of Amer- icans looking down upon all alike with an ignorant prejudice and disdain. lie went to the German theatre, and an amateur play at the Bohemian Turn- halle. He passed, in his observing way, among the small, neat shops and cot- tages of the German quarter, tenanted by a most industrious and thrifty popu- lation. A part of this district was on the way to the factory. The sign Eng- lish spoken here was sometimes seen, and pots of flowers in the cottage win- dows showed that humble striving af- ter beauty amidst adverse surroundings that appeals to the kindly heart. A broom-maker had set up three crossed brooms on a post before his door, recall- ing the sign of that Dutch admiral who swept the seas. Next him, an ancient lightning-rod and weather-vane maker exhibited, in his small window, gilded yachts, birds, and fishes, the famous Dexter trotting at full speed, leaping stags, short-horn cows, and a profusion of other specimens of his handiwork. Barclay, having occasion to order something connected with the lightning- rods of his factory, entered this latter establishment. He found the proprietor to be a Dane, one Ole Alfsen, a garru- lous old fellow, who professed to be a weather-prophet, and was much inclined to boast of his exploits of former days. A son of his, William Alfsen, came in while Barclay was there, to bid his fa- ther good-by. He was just setting off, as it appeared, for a voyage in his own sloop, the South Side Belle. I have try first to make that boy a mechanic, said the father, taking the pains incidentally to explain some traits of this son, but I have to give it up; he bin a natural-born sailor. It come by his mothers family. William used to sail round with his uncle, what was a captain and brother of my wife, in the old country, when he was a small kid; and once he was a couple o years in one o them navy-yards, workin round the big guns. He s a strong, manly-looking young fellow, said Barclay. I trust he is successful. Well, he was pooty successful at first, but not so good now. He used to Copyright, 1880, by HOTJGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co. 146 The Golden Justice. [August, go over, with a load o small goods, to them Fox and Maniton Islands and Boy Blank [Bois Blanc] way, and Grand Traverse Bay, and Point Betsey, you know, what got no stores on em. He would blow his horn when he come in, and all them folks would come down to the dock and buy everything what he bring. That was an interesting business. Yes, but he lose his vessel; he went to help some other fellers, and his boat got away from him and foundered. Since then he got awful hard times. I lose my money in her, too, what I saved up, but I dont say nothing about that. The next day, Barclay, being obliged to drive down towards the Polish quar- ter, saw the same young man walking before him, and recognized him from the peculiar impression he had made. He had not yet sailed, then? The Polish settlement consisted of an area of yet poorer and more sparsely scattered shops and cottages than those of the Germans, which they adjoined. It was grouped around a few tall, un- painted wooden tenement-houses, con- taining many families each, and a solid, rather imposing ecclesiastical edifice of yellow brick, the church of St. Stanis- laus, which had twin steeples, terminat- ing in little domes covered with shining tin, in the Muscovite manner. Near the border-line, where the two nation- alities overlapped, began a small ravine, with neither grading nor sidewalks, but dignified with the name of Sobieski Street. Upon this irregular site, driven to it by the stress of economy, immi- grants had pitched their poor huts and cabins. Among them ran a variety of meandering paths, the right of way on which was disputed with human beings by the goats, geese, and swine. At the top of the ravine, where it joined a civ- ilized thoroughfare again, stood a neat cottage of two stories, the lower un- painted, which gave a suggestion as of a cellar above ground, the residence of our worthy friend Ludwig Trapschuh. Barclay chanced to see William Alf- sen steal cautiously up ~Sobieski Street, and disappear in the neighborhood of this dwelling. This Polish immigration, he recalled, as he drove on, was the outgrowth chief- ly of the later Russian persecutions, dating from about 1864. Partly as the last arrived, and partly on account of the uncouthness of their speech, they were generally rated lower than any others in the social scale. They were for the most part but common laborers. There were to be seen pouring forth from this district, every morning, a swarm of men, who proceeded to Mar- ket Square to wait for jobs of wood- cutting, or to distribute themselves on the railroads and public works of the city. They wore something like a uni- form of military-looking homespun frock- coats, full ia the skirts, big top-boots, round caps bordered with astrakhan, and, if it were cold, comforters and thick mit- tens. They had been serfs, or something very near it, at home, and still retained their thoroughly peasant - like aspect. They had constituted here, in a small way, an untrammeled new Poland: they came not from Russia alone, but from Prussia, and also that Austrian Galicia where Metternich had boasted that he had secured fifty years of tranquillity by three days of blood. But the op- pressors who had partitioned their coun- try had contrived to partition their spirits as well. They were found full of violent prejudices and ancient localisms: the Warsaw man fell out with him of Cra- cow, and the peasant of Lithuania with the peasant of Podolia or Ukraine. William Alfsen entered a poorer cot- tage than that of Ludwig Trapschuh, the rear of which it adjoined. A con- siderable piece of back-yard intervened between the two. He greeted there a heavy, dull-looking woman, who was Susanka Kraska, the mother of his tow- headed cabin-boy, Nicodem Kraska. 1886.] The Golden~ Justice. 147 Nick a good boy, make good sailor! he bawled, for Susanka was deaf. You dont let it get drown? she bawled in return. Her English was very defective, and even at its best had to be supplemented with some words of German. No, I dont let him get drownded. And with little more ado he went and sat down at a window which command- ed the back-yard before mentioned. He presently saw appear there a person for whom he sought, Stanislava Zelinsky. She no longer wore the trim dress in which he was wont to see her, but a linsey-woolsey petticoat and a bright handkerchief over her bosom. There rested on her shoulders a heavy wooden yoke, with a water-pail at either end, which she was going towards the well to fill. He hurried out, and ensconced him- self, as furtively as possible, behind a tall pile of wood, whence he whistled and called in a way to attract her atten- tion. The girl discovered him. I did nt know you was here. I thought you was sailed away, she said; refraining, after a first startled glance, from looking towards him, so as to be- tray her recognition of his presence. I want to see you once more, Stan- islava. I got something to say with you. I make believe go off. I sail through the bridge in big style, so your father and Barney think I gone away; then I tie up the boat down by the har- bor mouth, leave Nicodem take care of her, and come here. You must come right away out and take walk. Wait till I make done my work and get good excuse. They dont watch me now, because they think you was gone.~~ They arranged to meet at the corner of a certain vacant lot, on distant Wind- lake Avenue. Alfsen waited patiently till she had finished her household tasks, and sallied forth; then he stole down the ravine again, and joined her at the trysting-place. If the dull Dame Kraska regarded this manceuvre at all, possibly she thought it only a part of the necessary business of e~mploying her lazy son Nicodem as a cabin-boy, or possibly she winked at it because she had no great love for her neighbor, Ludwig Trapschuh. What happen you, Stanislava? asked Alfsen, at once. Why you wear that kind o dress? I got to; I must, all time, do house- work now. And you dont like milliner business no more? Why you leave Morgenroths store? I guess I was too sassy. When they say something against the Poland- ers, I say something back again, and they turn me out. Oh, no, you could nt be too sassy, Stanislava. Was that, sure, the rea- son? Well, my uncle and aunt dont want me to do no more such work, she ad- mitted. They stop me from every- thing. Once, you know, I was setting types in a German paper, and once I was painting them canisters in the Stamped-Ware factory, and once I dont forget paintin them canis- ters. Did nt I first see you when I used to work there, too? broke in the young mariner, interrupting her. But, Stan- islava, you have that money what you get from Governor Lane to pay your board. You must not pay your board and work so like a servant, too. They got big expenses, and they was my family, she answered, simply. By jinks! that was a swindle. I would keep that money, if it was me, or I would do what I please. How I can keep it? My uncle get it himself; I never get it in my hands. I would tell Governor Lane, then. Or I would tell Mrs. Varemberg; you say she s such a nice lady. It was my uncle and my aunt, reiterated the girl; alleging this in a 148 The aolden Justice. [August, naive way, as if it were so convincing a reason that nothing could by any pos- sibility be urged against it. I wonder what he give me that money for, any way? she added, presently. Oh, he got plenty. Alfsen was little enough troubled on this score, to which, indeed, he had never paid an instants attention. I had something very partikiar to say with you, Stan- islava, be began anew, hesitatingly. What I got to say is, I guess you must give me up, Stanislava. Give you up, Willie? she cried, as with sudden horror. Yes; you must get married with some smart feller what can take care of you. I got no good luck any more, no better luck that last trip as before. So I go down the lower lakes to look for some new kind o job, and perhaps I stay there, and dont never come back. What s the use? Willie, you must come back! she exclaimed, in frightened protest. I dont give you up, you undstand? I dont give you ~ But if I m no good no more? I keep company with you, all the same, she persisted obstinately. Reassured by this display of con- stancy, he next broached, in a sheepish way, another matter he had been turn- ing over in liis mind. We might get married right away by Pastor Freitag, he suggested, and no one know nothing about it. Then if they was to treat you too bad I could stop it. I would try to take you away the soonest possible. The girl seemed startled this time in a different way. I would nt be married by no Pastor Freitag, she responded, with a decided toss of the head, in sjilte of her recent avowal of affection. It was evident that she cherished a feminine ideal of something very much more elaborate in the way of a wedding than a clandestine ceremony by Pastor Freitag. This was a little man, a minister of the Lutheran sect, who lived a bachelor existence doing all his own cooking in the basement of his chapel, on one of the minor side streets. He was very latitudinarian in his theology, and ac- commodating in all his views; offering, for instance, to marry a couple either with or without a God. His chapel was, as it were, a local Gretna Green, and no small part of his scanty income was derived from expediting wedlock for persons disposed to be slightly infor- mal in their arrangements. But little further time was allowed for the discussion of Pastor Freitag or anything else. The pair, who had wan- dered, Jenny and Jessamy fashion, quite at their ease, and sometimes hand in hand, were suddenly confronted by a formidable apparition. It was no less than Ludwig Trapschuh. He had left his bridge, again, for one of his expedi- tions to see South Side aldermen, and the like, and found himself at the mo- ment in precisely that part of the town. The sight struck consternation to their souls. his niece gave a faint, involun- tary shriek, while Alfsen could only af- fect a dogged sort of smile. Didnt I tell you I wont let it? cried Trapschuh, in a choking fury, ad- dressing himself first to the young girl. Then, turning to Alfsen, he said, So-o-o you walk yourself with my niece-of-law? If I catch it again, I guess I knock you over the heels by the head. Before any violence could be done, however, Paul Barclay once more ap- peared upon the scene. Though he was but passing by, driving homeward, his presence no doubt acted as a restrain- ing influence. It was evident to him that a drama of some kind was in prog- ress: the young sailor had a defiant air, Stanislava was downcast and tearful, and Ludwig Trapschuh made the most typical of stern, low - comedy fathers. Barclay unavoidably gave it his atten- tion through his recognizing the partici 1886] The Golden Justice. 149 pants. As if this were only a signal for their breaking up, the little group, immediately after, dispersed. William Alfsen hurried down to the port, this time to cast off and put to sea without further artifice; Stanislava was dragged home by her irate guardian, and, arrived there, scolded roundly again, and all but beaten, by him and her aunt. The occurrence, however, sank deep into her recollection; Alfsens advice had its effect, and she manifested for the first time, shortly after, a spark of something like the true American independence. When pressed hard, she threatened to go to David Lane, say to him that she was able and anxious to earn her own living, and have the stipend stopped. Dont do it, Stanislava, begged Trapschuh, in great alarm. We got big expenses, and we could nt bring you up without that money. Remem- ber I was a poor man, and I was your uncle. You must give me freedom, then; I must do what I like. Her uncle was thus in some degree brought to book. She utilized her priv- ilege by exchanging the rude, domestic drudgery in which she had been en- gaged for occupations more congenial to her taste. She appeared at the Stamped-Ware Works, to solicit once more the stenciling of patterns on light boxes and canisters, which she had for- merly done, a kind of work sometimes to be taken home with her, and some- times done at the shop; and Barclay, to whom she addressed herself, was glad enough to accede to her request. He had a pleasant word more than once for this flower of the Polish settlement, partly as Mrs. Varembergs prot~g6e, and partly through the more pensive recollection, to which his mind some- times wandered, of the association of their progenitors together in the same untimely fate. The rigorous northern winter came on, and set its seal of ice on the naviga tion of the Great Lakes, not to be opened again till another spring. The last be- lated vessels came skurrying into port; some were embargoed at places where the sudden freezing up of the harbors found them. The storm-flag was flying almost constantly on its high perch, on the roof of the building of the Keeway- din Insurance Company. This square of vivid scarlet up in the gray sky in- dicated now snow-storms that blocked the railroads, now wind at forty miles an hour, and now blizzards of extreme cold that swept down into the streets, often driving all human life in-doors, and putting a stop to business transac- tions. The windows of the shops were sometimes as thickly covered by hoar frost as if by plates of zinc. The lake, impressive in every aspect, was frozen as far as the eye could see, and no one could say how much farther. What mysterious dramas were enacting in the long, dead winter out amid the winds and currents of that great deserted sea? Amid its roughened and broken ice could be seen here and there forbidding chan- nels of lead-colored green or purple water. On the farther verge, as it van- ished under the brooding sky, there seemed great breakers tossing, and ice- bergs moving in slow procession. The South Side Belle did not return to port, even among the belated craft, but some time afterwards the boy Nick Kraska made his way homewards, and related that she had been lost off the rough upper Michigan shore. Alfsen was laid up in hospital over there with various injuries, including a broken arm. He had been injured in going back after INicodem, who was afraid to strike out alone, through a heavy sea full of floating lumber; keeping thus the promise made to the mother to look after the boys safety. The sloop was as rotten as an old pumpkin, said a critic of the occurrence, at the Johannisberger House. She was loaded with a cargo of boards, and 150 The aolden Justice. [August, these thrashed around, broke through her sides, and scuttled her by themselves the very minute a good thumping sea set ~ Later on, William Alfsen appeared, one day, in person, at the Stamped-Ware Works, pale and emaciated, his arm still in a sling, and accompanying Stanislava, whom he had met, on some errand con- nected with her work. Foreman Akins pointed him out, and described the case to Barclay. There s a feller that used to be a smart hand to work, said he. He never d orter left; he did nt know when he was well off. Why not give him his place back again? That arm o his would nt let him be no use now. Unless, may be, it was some light job in the packin-room, he added. In due time, however, Barclay stopped, on his way up town, to offer the son of the aged weather-vane maker some light work in the packing-room. The young man was rather disposed to resent it at first, as savoring of charity, but he was made to feel that his services were real- ly in demand. During the interview, old Alfsen took occasion, as usual, to air his views on the weather and other topics. I make predictment, said he, that this is not a easy windter, but a strong,. cold, and enduring one. Lightning-rods were the favorite sub- ject of his discourse. It appeared that he was fond of assembling the children of the neighborhood round him to hear his stories of the mysterious element with which he had had so much to do. He would tell of the shattering of the masts of vessels by lightning. Once, he said, a great wheel of St. Elmos fire as large as a millstone had come roll- ing along the waves and pierced a ship in three places. Again, a ball of blue flame as large as a mans fist had leaped from an electrometer and killed its op erator, leaving a red mark on his fore- head and his shoes burnt from his feet. Some will be believing rods to be no use, because bringing down more lightning as what they can carry off, he said, in his odd dialect, but I beg to differ much with the believings of said persons.~~ Your experience has taught you dif- ferently, then? said Barclay, not un- willing to lead him on a little. Sure; only they must be good put up. How much power you think got one o them clouds bout ten thousand acres big, eh? All rod joints must be tight and not rusty, and the ends must be branched out in the ground, with plenty charcoals around it, else every- thing get~tore up. You have no doubt done some very important work in that line, yourself? I was the best lightnin-rods feller what you never see, returned the old man boastfully. I did ought to put up all that big work on the city hall, too, when it was build, but I did nt get enough politikle influence. And it took political influence for that, even when you were so good a workman? I bet you it take it; if you got no aldermans on your side, you get no job. When I was mad about it, they give me a small, little box to make, to put some papers in, in that statue; that job did nt amount to nothing at all. I bet you see her come down some day, and scatter them papers all round. You think the figure is not se- cure? I make predictment what she come down. Yes, sir, plenty times already see I her shake in the wind. Oh, anything shakes in a high wind. Well, but I guess the lightning some time hit her, any way. Them other fel- lers what put up the rods on the big dome and along that golded statue of Justice dont know nothing about it, he 1886.] The Golden Justice. 151 said, still cherishing his resentment of years before. I was the best feller for fixing up the right kind o rods, and if she dont got em, of course she must come down. William Alfsen proved a faithful per- son in the minor duties assigned him, and an intelligent one as well, from whom Barclay gathered many useful opinions about the needs and views of the work- ing class in which he was interesting himself. He made friends with him by degrees, and took him, more or less, as a companion and guide in what Mrs. Varemberg was pleased to call his eth- nographic explorations among the differ- ent races and conditions of men. They went together, one night, to a meeting of rabid socialists and unifiers of labor, held in the district somewhere near the factory. There was a speaker who had a strange way of perking out his chin, and appeared about to choke with each sentence, a huge man, who made but mild suggestions. There was another, a diminutive man, in an over- coat with ragged edges, and wide pan- taloons flapping over little feet like a womans, who proposed, in a piping voice, the most sanguinary measures. Hoolan, from the factory, was present, among others, and made a speech. Re- marking Barclay in the audience, he ad. dressed to him personally some ques- tions intended to be posers of a very crushing sort. It was much out of Bar- clays line, but he rose, nevertheless, and answered these and some other of the dangerous fallacies he had heard. He displayed before them in a few well- chosen, forcible words some economic doctrines, of the simple elementary sort, but novel and original enough in an as- sembly like that, little given to consid- ering more than one side of a question. There were groans and hisses, but Hoo- Ian stood by him; on the whole, they gave him fair play, and he derived from this incident a reputation for oratory, as he had already for courage. And yet again Barclay went with Alfsen to a Polish ball, of which the latter had apprised him. It was a cel- ebration of the military company, and was held in a rude wooden building, in a grove of leafless trees, dignified with the name of a park, near the south- era city limits. It was on a clear win- ters night. As they drew near the place, the moon shone down upon the Polish quarter, touching with a sparkle the bright tin domes of the church of St. Stanislaus, and gleaming white on the fields of driven snow all round about it, with much such an effect as might have been presented at the same mo- ment by an actual village of the steppes. Within, the Sobieski Guards moved about, resplendent in their uniforms of blue and red; and young women, with hands and wrists roughened by work, sat in rows on benches, while their hats and shawls depended from pegs behind them. Stanislava Zelinsky was there, very charming in white muslin, with blue ribbons in her hair. So jeal- ously guarded was she by her uncle, assisted in his vigilance by the rowdy Barney, that William Alfsen could only look at her from afar with longing and disconsolate eyes. Ludwig Trap- scbuh, to tell the truth, cherished no peculiar prejudice against Alfsen; he would have felt the snme way towards any other who threatened to take away from him his niece and source of reve- nue. But precautions as to others were needless, for she showed them no favor. Barclay, however, was a visitor who was treated with august consideration by his pleasing young employee, among the rest, and he talked with her at consider- able length. She could tell him some- thing of the traditions of her country: the wolf-hunting in the Carpathians; the ancient serpent-worship in marshy Lith- uania; the tarantass with a trotting and two galloping horses harnessed abreast; the wodki, or potato brandy; and a cer- tain famous plum jam, made in great ket 152 The Golden Justice. [August, ties set in the ground, and stirred about with wooden shovels. Finally, she in- duced the musicians to play for his es- pecial benefit the sweet and plaintive Kalina and some other national airs. The dancing was marked by great zest and facility. Why, indeed, should it not be? re- marked Barclay, as he went back to join his companion. Where, allowing for the rudeness of the company, should we expect to find more grace and spirit than here? Do we not owe them all the modern dances? What is Polka but the word that means a Polish woman? The Mazurka was the native dance of the Mazours, the Cracovienne that of Cracow, and the Varsovienne that of Warsaw. He paused, as he was leaving the place, to watch a waltz, in which the couples separated at a given signal, pointed mocking fingers at each other, clapped hands and stamped feet, then joined again and went on as before, all in harmonious rhythm. On the way home Alfsen deferentially confided to him his feelings about Stanislava, of which his listener had already heard something. Some o the girls gets mar- ried because they re tired o workin, and often gets a harder time than what they had before, said he. I dont want any o that; I dont want any girl what marries me to be scrubbin all the time at the wash-tub. He took so dark a view of his own prospects that no one was readier to admit the justice of the opposition of Trapschuh than himself. But your arm will soon be well ngain, returned his employer sympa- thetically; then you can get your old place back, earn good wages, and things will go all right with you. Yes, but I dont know if I can make good mechanic any more, hesitatingly. I m better on some kind of a boat. Only when a man lose his boat and I lose two he dont easy get no good place on any other one. If I could get on that revenue cutter, I like it, he added wistfully. Them government jobs pay pretty good, and you re sure you get your pay.~~ On the Florence Lane? What sort of a place would you want? Well, may be to watch around her, while she s laid up for the winter; and, after that, to work on her most any way, I could learn all. I would nt care much whether it was sailin or takin care o the guns; I understand most all that kind o business. Barclay began to speculate whether there was any reason why he should not get a deserving fellow, with a taste for the work, a government appointment on a revenue cutter. He apparently found none, for he said, I 11 speak to Lieutenant Gregg about it. But it so happened that peculiar cir- cumstances arose to prevent his speak- ing to Lieutenant Gregg about it in person, and to lead him to turn the matter over to other hands, instead. VIII. A MEETING AT THE FOOT OF THE GOLDEN JUSTICE. Barclay had first his popular period, then something very like an unpopular period, in the social life of Keewaydin. Looked upon as a person of exceptional distinction, he was bidden to all the usual entertainments and many especial- ly devised in his honor. Keewaydin, like most other American towns, did not frankly engage in pleasure for pleas- ures sake; there was generally an apol- ogetic air about it. Still, somebody coming or somebody going, a notable stranger in town, a charitable object to be furthered, furnished occasion for suf- ficient gayeties. The typical occasion, I should say, Mrs. Varemberg explained to him, is 1886.] The Golden Justice. 153 the visit of some young girl who was formerly school-mate, say, of a friend residing ia the place. As soon as it is known that such a person has arrived, all the acquaintances of the family hasten to the house, and steps begin at once to be taken for her entertainment. This inter-visiting of school friends, now that railroad fares are cheap, and the remotest points are really but a few days apart, seems one of the great North American agencies for unifying civili- zation, said Barclay, as if philosoph- ically. The boarding-school ought to be set upon a lofty pedestal of honor, as a leading factor in the modification of types .and the settlement of race prob- lems. What is the frequent upshot of these visits? The young stranger, flat- tered and feted, appears at her best. The young men are taken with the novelty; some one of them asks her to marry him, and she stays. She has been blown afar and taken root, just as the seeds of exotic plants are blown by the winds to spring up on coral islands. You are undoubtedly correct. But how beautifully poetical you are getting, in these late days! Oh, I have to be rather poetical, as a relaxation from the factory. Besides, I am a bit of the drift from distant shores, myself. Then we must have you follow the usual career. Who is to be the happy agent of your taking root and flowering on our coral reef? Naturally Miss Tel- son, our greatest fortune, whose money will be useful to you in your philan- thropic enterprises. A philanthropist, you know, can never have too much. Barclay objected to Miss Telson. She was the daughter of the leading capital- ist of the place, for others, in the mean time, had surpassed David Lane. She was a particularly dull, uninteresting girl; it was said of her even now that she did not know how to spend her in- come. Miss Shadwell, then, said Mrs. Var- emberg. This young woman, a grand. daughter of Shadwell of the Navigation Company, and probably the second in the list of fortunes, was a little midget scarcely out of her teens, with a face that already resembled a withered ap- ple. She had a rather terrific reputa- tion; she was a law unto herself, and was in the habit of making very pert and mischievous remarks. A Miss Mm- ford, who came third in the trio of heir- esses, mistakenly endeavored to render herself attractive by an elegant fragility; she thought it charming to profess to be utterly unable to do about everything anybody would have liked to have her do. No, said Barclay decisively, I should not take kindly to so much in- validism. I could not quite sink out of sight my ideal of blooming health. You do not like invalids, then? said Mrs. Varemberg, with sadness in her voice. Not the amateur kind; all my sym- pathy and admiration are reserved for the real article, he returned, with cheer- ful promptness, endeavoring to atone for his stupid slip of the tongue. Ab, I see your desideratum is beauty, not money, she rattled on, when she had recovered from this shock, or hidden her feeling. She affected to survey the field next from this point of yiew. She pretended many times thereafter, in a teasing way, to consider him a per- son who was sagely and maturely de- liberating upon the choice of a wife from among the eligible candidates. She would affect to send him forth as a champion to the fray, to equip him with her best counsels, comfort him in his dis- appointments, and the like. She repre- sented his heart as wavering in the di- rection now of this fascinating fair one, now of that. But when, after a consid- erable time, no results appeared from the campaign, she accused him of phleg- matic insensibility. She said he had a 154 heart made in compartments, like those of an ocean steamer; one or more of them might be broken with impunity, leaving the organ practically as good as ever. You will find a great deal of good blood in Keewaydin, said Mrs. Clin- ton, taking her part also in his social education. Many young men of the best families of New York and New England came here, in the early times, to better their circumstances or benefit their health. My brother was one of them. You naturally belong to this congenial element, and I would advise you to confine your acquaintanceship as much as possible within it. Of course we know your fathers name well, but your mother was a Ridgewood. The moment I heard your mothers name was Ridgewood, I knew all about you. We are very remarkable on the mothers side, also, said Mrs. Varem- berg. We are Bushwicks. The Bush- wicks let me see: they all married and had large families. Oh, yes, they were very extraordinary. There is a book about them; I am going to read it some time. Florence! protested Mrs. Clinton severely. Well, we shall not let Mr. Barclay have all the glory. I hardly supposed such distinctions much obtained here, said Barclay. They do not, insisted Mrs. Var- emberg. There are really none ex- cept those of the pocket-book. Who- ever has made his fortune is given a lit- tle time, it is true, to wash off the dust of the conflict, but he is not kept out of any of the rewards of it. Again the aunt protested. You two are such a pair of radicals and scoffers, said she, classing them together. But to be classed with Mrs. Varemberg in any category was subtly grateful to Barclay. There proved to be quite distinctions enough, however, of one sort and an- The aolden Justice. [August, other. To supplement the rest, the sec- tional divisions of East and West Sides and the like were carried into social life; each assumed to be all but suffi- cient to itself, and representatives of the one went to the other only on the occasion of some notable funeral or wedding. A society paper and society col- umns in the regular papers recorded the doings of a Shakespeare Club, a highly accomplished one, devoted to pri- vate theatricals. Clubs for the cultiva- tion of music of many varieties especial- ly flourished. The inspiration seemed to come in the first place from the large German population, so gifted in this art; and it might have been remarked that it was through a common interest in music that the two races began to over- come their early estrangement, and to intermingle and marry. The leading troupes of performers of all kinds, on their travels, were wont to play a night or two at the Grand Opera House or the Academy of Music. Neither thea- tre was quite so grand as its name. Bar- clay went to some houses where were played rhyming crambo and like games, in a half-romping way, often pleasanter than the more set entertain- ments. There were many interiors fitted up with charming taste, and these had inmates who showed themselves ner- vously anxious to keep at the level of the latest acquirements in literature, art, and general culture. They lamented their small advantages as compared with the favored denizens of the metropolis, but they often have given the best of these latter, who are apt to be distracted from reading, study, and most that is useful by too great a whirl of affairs, in their complex life, a wholesome lesson, in- stead. Barclay had the simplest, most un- ostentatious of manners, wherever he moved, and it was by no means his own fault if he became a centre of attrac- tion. The young women were perhaps 1886.] The Golden Justice. 155 a little overawed at first by his unusual eligibility, accomplishments, and good looks. Even the more reserved had their sweetest blandishments for him, while others threw themselves daringly at his head. All alike proved without avail; they found him impervious, and, after what was deemed a sufficient at- tempt, they drew off in despair. Justine DeBow assumed, on the strength of their early acquaintance, a closer intimacy with him than most of the others, an assumption which he, to a certain extent, conceded. Are you never coming to see me? she had asked him, more than once. He made short visits of ceremony and party calls, visiting large, handsome houses, where the young hostesses for it was the young, for the most part, who con- ducted all these matters came down to receive him. They sat with hands crossed in their laps, talked of Wachtels concert, iRistori, their European tours, and their trips to New York and to the Eastern seaboard in summer, liking to compare with his own. In time he dropped in at Justine DeBows, among the rest. She lived in a large wooden house, nearly square, painted in brown- ish tones. In the low fence, surround- ing its door-yard, was a gate swinging both ways, which clicked complacently to itself for some time after one had passed through. Barclay courteously asked after her mother, and received the reply that she would have come down, but her health was far from good, and she rarely saw visitors. What are your impressions of Kee- waydin now? his young entertainer asked him, hastening to change the sub- ject. I still find it highly interesting. My idea of an interesting place would be something very different, she returned, with an almost offended air. It would be a long way off, for one thing, and it would furnish rather more to keep one from dying of utter stagna- tion. I have not stagnated yet, with all my Germans and miscellaneous foreign- ers to explore. I ye been round the world a second time, as it were, since my arrival. But perhaps I am still too much in my first enthusiasm to advance any opinions of consequence. She looked at him in surprise. We dont see anything of the Germans, she said. Some of the young men go to the Germania Society, though, I believe, on Sunday nights, to see the beautiful Jewess, Rosa Blumenthal I would, if I were they; I would do most anything to keep alive. In this mood she was not at all like the formal little person he had first met on the steamer. She is pretty, as we have agreed, said Barclay, reporting the visit after- wards to Mrs. Varemberg, but I have not often seen a greater budget of dis- content in so small a compass. Which means that she interests you. I recollect an unusual character or situation was always sure to do it. Ab, well, my interests are so vast and varied nowadays that some of them will have to be neglected. The verdict that Barclay was indif- ferent, and even incorrigible, in the sen- timental way, was first rendered at St. Bartholomews Guild, a charitable asso- ciation of select young ladies of the place, and was confirmed at the Saturday Morning Club, a society, after the Bos- ton model, devoted to their intellectual improvement. Oh, he is fastidiously polite, and all that; no one could be more so. He looks at you in an appreciative way, and gives the most careful attention to all you say, pronounced a fair speaker, more frank than the rest, at the Guild, removing a score of pius from her mouth, to be the more untrammeled in the ex- pression of her opinion. But what does it all amount to? You feel, some- 156 The aolden Justice. [August, how, always kept at a distance. He is thoroughly cold; it is probably consti- tutional. I could never conceive of his fall- ing in love, said another; he is the kind of man to whom it would be im- possible. It was measurably certain that he had not fallen in love with any of them, and yet Jnstine DeBow held her peace. Neither was this authoritative judgment pronounced till forbearance had, as it were, ceased to be a virtue. Ample time had been allowed for revision of judg- ment, and the decision, coming from such a source, might be considered final. Paul Barclay also ran the gauntlet, with like imperturbability, of a mar- ried set, which had lately introduced, as something of a novelty in Keeway- din, certain fast practices of enjoy- ing life, derived from New York and foreign models, and carried into effect, as is often apt to be the case with imi- tations, in even exaggerated form. Bar- clay had seen the world, and was con- sidered amply eligible for this set, which was inclined to look upon him as a marked acquisition, and made him gra- cious overtures. It was noted for dash- ing little suppers with plenty of cham- pagne; the calling of one an other, by the members, by their first names; and the dancing of attendance upon the wives of others by gallant cavaliers, while the husbands showed the most agreeable complaisance in the world. A certain Mrs. Rycraft, a siren of the buxom sort, by no means without good looks, took the lead in the overtures to Barclay. Perhaps in order to be beforehand with the others, she carried them to notable iengths. She talked in a pensive way of the unsatisfactoriness of life, and con- fided to him that, gay as she seemed, she was often oppressed by moods of melan- choly. He found her woes but a curi- ous parody of the real and poignant ones of Mrs. Varemberg. She permitted herself a good deal of sympathy, she said, for men who are sometimes spoken of as bad men; they were often very much maligned, and they had many redeeming traits. She thought men ought not to marry; if she were a man, she would never think of it. But perhaps you make too little al- lowance for the human nature and the weakness of the masculine heart, said Barclay, affecting to humor her. Oh, he should fall in love. I would not put any countermand upon that, she rejoined, as in a kind of consterna- tion. Nothing is easier as I have heard than to fall in love a little with each successive pretty woman; but in falling in love, as some philosopher says, the first thing to do is to foresee the end. Perhaps it is not always so easy to get out of it. Have you any recipe to cover that? Oh, dont ask me for recipes. You must find the right person, and then you will not want to get out. And she left it a transparent mystery who the right one was. Not long after this, he received a very agitated-looking note, signed only with an initial. It was couched some- what in these terms Such a strange, unaccountable feel- ing has taken possession of me. It is so pleasant to think of your being here How dare I write this ? I will not send it yes, I will. But you must forget that it was ever written. Never speak of it, never think of it, I adjure von. Paul Barclay extricated himself from this entanglement with all the discretion possible, though perhaps no amount of discretion is ever sufficient, in such cases, to avoid making an enemy, who has but the greater power for harm, the more consideration that is used. After a varied collection of such small experiences, he inclined to with- draw himself altogether from the social 1886.] The Golden Justice. 15~ arena. But for the frigid atmosphere created by her father, he would have gone more and more often to Mrs. Var- embergs. Even as it was, his visits be- gan to attract comment. Why had those two so much to say to each other? Did they hold themselves aloof in assumed superiority? the gossips asked. And this Barclay, had he none of the natural impulses of his youth, that he showed no eyes and ears for the conceded beau- ties of the place? There were some, in truth, to win an anchorite, but they failed to attract him. As to all this, even the young man was often sorely puzzled at his own state of mind. A warm and impulsive blood really ran in his veins; few had a quicker eye than he for any beauty of face or form, a readier appreciation of all the attractions that go to make up the surpassing feminine charm. But, in some strange way, all virtue seemed to have gone out of him now. It pleased him to associate only with this weak and crippled existence; all other women had grown hardly more than tolerable to him. Am I not, he would ask himself, in trying to account for it, the widower of buried hopes, and is not my past of such a sort that I have no right to the ordinary present, and the future is no longer open to me? And, Why should I not use what is left to me as I choose? he added. A chivalrous ideal of remaining al- ways at her side, without hope of change or reward, began to frame itself vaguely in his mind. Why might he not make a career of such disinterested friendship? He would let no word or act of his trouble her peace of mind; the most perfect prudence should guard her against any aspersion by evil tongues; he would only wait, wait indefinitely, and offer such poor solace as his presence might afford. Do you never go to see any peo- ple? Do you take no part in these fes tivities at all? he was moved to ask her, after a time. I? How can I? How should I act if I did? If I were gay, the malicious would say I did not appreciate the gravity of my situation; if I were sad, that I was posing for their sympathy, or, worse yet, some of the kind-hearted would give it to me, and that I could not endure. Not even that of your Radbrooks, of whose life you have given me such attractive accounts? I have seen some- thing of them myself, by the way, and think you are right. Only, after all, another persons happiness seems a tame affair, compared to what one pictures for himself. To such places I can go least of all; they bring the tears to my eyes. Shall I confess to you that it is one of my peculiarities to weep at the sight of happiness? I cannot bear it. I have often turned away from happy couples, out-of-doors, and taken a different street to avoid them. You will laugh at a per- son so weak and ridiculous, will you not? But Barclay was far indeed from any disposition to merriment. At this rare admission that her suffering was mental as well as physical, he had no little pains to disguise his own emotion, which brought a decided lump into his throat. Yet, as there seemed nothing of perma- nent avail to be done, it became his rOle to save her in some way from herself, to aid her to pass her days more cheer- fully. He sometimes tried a raillery like her own. As she had called him Wat Tyler and Gracchus, he dubbed her the Exile, the Prisoner of the Lake, the Captive, and by many similar high- sounding titles. You must watch some spider, day by day, spinning its web in a corner of your cell; some little flower peeping up through a joint in the paving-stones, for your comfort, like various of your il- lustrious prototypes, he said. 158 The G~olden Ju8tice. [August, As to the cobweb, she returned, I hardly think our tidy Swedish house- maids will have left one, but the con- servatory is the most likely place for the flowers. Let us go and look. Perhaps the prismatic glitter of all these conservatories did more than any other feature to give the ordinary pass- er-by his idea of the magnificence of David Lane and the unclouded happi- ness that must necessarily prevail in so splendid an establishment. But the or- dinary passer-by, unfortunately, is not an accurate judge of the realities of things from their appearance; he does not al- ways know sufficient of the wants of him who appears to want the least, and how, after all the needs of the body are gratified, there may yet remain the even more imperious needs of the heart and mind. Mrs. Varemberg, pretending to seek the proper flower, culled one here and there, and then formed them all into a bouquet for her companion. How charm- ing, he thought, was the touch of her light, deliberate hand upon them; how privileged the object, inanimate or ani- mate, that might receive the benison of her caress! All this is rather my fathers taste than my own, the room for orchids, particularly, said she. A conserva- tory is not greatly to my liking. Nor to mine either, to tell the truth. This heaven of glass instead of the blue sky, this tepid, enervating atmosphere instead of the free air of nature, are but poor substitutes for the originals. The plants, in their artificial exist- ence, so carefully screened from every draught and inequality, remind me too much of my own. They too have a cowed and disconsolate air. You must give me some of the bolder of them, when I begin my landscape- gardening, to see what they will do out- of-doors. Your landscape-gardening? Yes; I have been waiting to break it to you. Barclays Island is going to be a bower of roses by Bendermeers stream. And the planingmill sings round it all the day long, he added. Oh, I assure you, you wont know it. He outlined for her some of his pro- posed innovations: he meant to paint the buildings, let in the honest light of day at the windows unimpeded by the time-honored cobwebs and grime, put up an ornamental stone gateway at the entrance to the grounds, clear away all the rubbish, and replace the slag and cin- ders by grass-plats varied with some few flower-beds, about all that could be done without tearing down the whole establishment. You will be the most original of manufacturers. Oh, no; they do these things in Mex- ico and Central America, he responded. It is charming, the way they have of caressing their industrial establishments which are the source of their wealth, down there. A man is no more ashamed to live alongside his cotton-mill or foun- dry than if it were a model stock-farm with us. As you ride along, you come, all at once, upon some imposing, castel- lated affair, with its gardens, terraces, fountains, statues, and mediieval-looking chapel, and find it to be simply a sugar. refinery or ore-reducing works, with the proprietors residence added. And you propose to introduce all this here? Oh, we cant expect to equal the Cen- tral Americans all at once, but we shall probably work up to it by degrees. ButPaul, you knowand an island, and such a paradise, broke in his companion, as if struck by a sudden reflection, it is quite idyllic. You ought to have some sort of a Virginia, also. You must find some beautiful maiden of the island, who will go about clad in coarse stuffs of Bengal, and Paul must bring her birds-nests, and shelter her from the rain under a huge banana leaf. 1886.] The Golden Justice. 159 And we must tell the seasons only by their fruits and flowers, and the hours of the day only by the shadows passing over, added Barclay, readily entering into the spirit of it. Will you not deign to be our Virginia, for the time being? He drew down over her head the leaf of a large plantain they chanced to be in close proximity to at the moment, after the manner of the well-known picture. David Lane had entered his conserva- tory, to walk briefly, as he was given to doing, among his orchids, that poised their curious shapes of butterfly and bird in the air like living things, and was a witness of this scene. It seemed to him to show a peculiarly intimate re- lationship between the pair. It was at last time for him to act, unless he would abandon all without a struggle. He scowled darkly by himself, but when they came up to him made a lame pretense of civility. When Barclay had gone, he took his daughter aside, and, without any reference to his real motive, spoke to her earnestly of her health, and strong- ly advised her to go at once on a visit to New York that had been before pro- posed. He himself would go with her. Her physicians had recommended it, for the benefit of the change, even if it should be only a short one. Her inertia was at last overcome. It is supposable, too, that the absence may, for certain reasons, have appealed to the better judgment of Mrs. Varemberg as de- sirable. Those two, accordingly, soon departed. There came about, howeve~r, a friendly correspondence, of a desultory sort, dur- ing the separation. It was sometimes grave, sometimes gay. The little fiction of Paul and Virginia, originating as de- scribed, was further continued. Mrs. Varemberg had a ready gift in the hu- morous way with her pencil, and she drew in the corners of her notes little caricatures, to which Barclay more rudely responded in kind as best he could. She showed the island, with its palms and plantains, always standing in the conventional conservatory tubs; Paul as a barefoot little urchin, with a very wise and knowing look, surrounded by his storks and turtles; old Fahnen- stock as the faithful negro Domingo; and Virginia a most demure and inno- cent little maiden in a striped cotton gown. Barclay, on the other hand, in his sketches, endeavored to make her something of an arrant little coquette. The thousand miles of distance inter- vening between them seemed to make the expression of certain sentiments easier; they sometimes wrote more free- ly than they had talked. I want to say to you, wrote Bar- clay, that your friendship, your intelli- gent sympathy with my plans, have been a great assistance and happiness to me. I do not know what I should have done without you. I think it has been more your kind encouragement than anything else that has made me go ~ In one letter he described to her a new plan for a pension fund for his workmen that he was endeavoring to put into practice. The fund was to be made up of a small sum reserved from the earnings of each week, supplemented by a beneficent provision arranged by the management. Then, when a man had completed his labors, he would have something to take care of him in his old age. But these are mere fag ends and side issues, he complained. Why am I not thoughtful? Why do I not make the grand discovery that will produce for all a robust and plentiful happiness? You will think so poorly of a person who can do no better than this. You will cross him off your books in dis- gust. Were your achievements greater than those of Wilberforce, or Adam Smith, or Peter Cooper, I dont know but I am making up a rather mixed catalogue, she replied, I shall al 160 The aolden Justice. [August, ways like the man better than the phi- lanthropist. It seems to me already a great discovery that you have found out how a master can add to the comfort of individuals under him But perhaps these are only the simple ideas of the poor, untutored mind of VIRGINIA. She wrote him once from New York of meeting his sisters at a reception. They opened on me with quite a fire of questions about you, she said. Is it possible that you have told me more of your affairs than you have them? I am, naturally, much flattered at the suggestion. I was prepared to preserve your confidence as much as possible, but we were dragged apart by the crowd, and meantime, if I meet them again, what am I to tell them? Do not tell them anything, too in- genuous Virginia, he wrote back in alarm. The fact is, they are of rather an interfering turn. I will tell them, myself, as much as is for their good, when I get around to it. He sent once a rude sketch as of Virginia, in this new life, surrounded by admirers, who vied for the honor of holding their respective banana leaves above her head, while Paul sulked on the island, with his own trailing idly be- side him, and the tortoises and flamin- goes looking on in sympathy at his de- jection. David Lane, in this absence, would have had her be gay, amused, as different as possible from her usual self. It would have pleased him to see her accept the small attentions of new admirers. As to his own objection to her divorce, to tell the truth, it would have been by no means insuperable, could he have been sure that, after her release, she would marry any other than Paul Barclay. His wish was but poorly gratified. She was offered dinners, flowers, opera boxes, by old friends and new. But what humor am I in for all this? she asked. She could not adapt herself to distrac tions. Her depression was increased, too, by some fresh news concerning her hus- band from an authentic quarter. Un- dci the immediate influence of this, she poured herself out to Barclay with a poignant sadness (and yet with an effort at self-repression) that wrung his heart with compassion for her sufferings. I am glad I am not with you, to heap the burden of my sorrows on you, in my selfish way, even more heavily, her words ran. Oh, I was made for happiness, and cannot reconcile myself to life without it. I must have been wrong from the first; why have I not tried to be good instead of to be hap- py? Thus she accused herself, she whom he thought the best of human be. ings in every thought and impulse. I suppose such as I are needed as an ex- ample to the others of the evils of ill- assorted marriage, just as the helots of Sparta were made drunk and shown to the patrician youth, as a warning against intemperance. She had heard that Varemberg had gone sometimes under assumed names, sometimes retaining his own to Al- giers, South Africa, Tonquin, and fitial- ly the Pacific Islands, and carried with him everywhere his reckless and aban- doned courses. She seemed afflicted at length with something almost like nos- talgia; it was evident that her sojourn was doing her no good, and David Lane, having no excuse for detaining her away indefinitely, brought her home. Barclay was privileged to see her al- most immediately on her return. Three days later he saw her again, under pe- culiar circumstances. A break had oc- curred in the machinery at the factory, and while this was being repaired he was not in active demand, and set out, one morning, to gratify a curiosity he had long felt to penetrate to the in- terior of the city hall, opposite, climb to the dome, a favorite point of view with strangers, and visit the Golden Justice at close quarters. The myste 1886.] The aolden Justice. 161 rious green weather-doors of the city hall were continually on the swing. They admitted a motley group of offi- cials, attorneys, hangers-on about all the departments, teachers to see the super- intendent of schools, citizens to pay or protest against their taxes, aldermen with their characteristic air of impor- tance, and, once a month, the county supervisors, who left their rusty-looking wagons, with rusty buffalo-robes thrown over the seats, at the curb-stones, all day long; and this movement was in prog- ress to-day as usual. There had been a day and night of successive rain, hail, thaw, renewed freezing, and then a light snow-fall. It was one of those occasions when Na- ture has produced from her simplest ma- terials effects of dazzling splendor that surpass the fable of Aladdins cave, or any bowers of enchantment whatever. The trees, encased in a panoply of ice to their most infinitesimal twigs, were woven together in exquisite traceries, as of crystal, pearl, and silver. A sky of pure, deep blue stretched overhead its canopy, in rich harmony with the rest. A brief truce had been struck with the rigors of winter, and the atmosphere was of an almost balmy mildness. Within the square, on the diagonal path crossing it, Barclay suddenly met with Mrs. Varemberg. She, too, had been drawn forth by the fascination of the morning, and was taking a short walk for exercise. Barclay involunta- rily noted her elegantly simple raiment of dark cloth, fitted close to her figure, and a small bonnet of like material, a pompon at the side of which supplied the only touch of bright color. She was cut out sharply against the carpet of snow behind her. The air and ex- ercise, with perhaps also the excitement of the unexpected meeting, gave her cheek an unwonted color, her spirits an unusual animation. An extraordinary change was already manifest, in the short interval since her return. It im VOL. LVIII. No. 346. 11 pressed Barclay somewhat as when the light is suddenly kindled in one of those oriental lanterns that, without illumina- tion, are dull and opaque. The foun- tain in the centre of the square, stand- ing by, frozen in the natural shapes of its running water, assisted at their con- ference, like some afrite out of a fairy tale. Broken icicles, fallen from the trees, crackled under the small heels of the approaching friend. Barclay asked her gallantly, referring to these, Are you the princess who scattered from her lips a shower of the most val- uable brilliants, as often as she spoke and wherever she moved? Can you doubt it? I have been talking to myself as I came along, she rejoined, laughing. But these are only a poor affair: had I known the prince, in person, would be abroad this morn- ing, there should have been some far more worthy of him. The prince was about to explore the city hall and mount to the dome, a point of view much recommended to novices in the sights of Keewaydin, I hear. Will you not go up, too, and chatter a little there, for the benefit of your subjects, and to keep the Golden Justice in countenance? It must be long since you have seen each other. I feel quite capable of it on such a glorious morning, but I think it would hardly do. Besides, I was on my way to my fathers office. Then perhaps the prince may go, too, as far as your fathers office. No, she objected hesitatingly. I fear it would be rather conspicuous, our walking together in the public streets. To speak frankly, it is naturally not at all an agreeable subject to talk about, some unpleasant comments have been made. I heard them even before I went away. They come principally, I be- lieve, from a Mrs. Rycraft, the pleasure of whose acquaintance I do not possess. Barclay raged inwardly at this evi- dence of the lurking malice of Mrs. Ry 162 The Uolden Justice. [August, craft. But life is too short, he ex- claimed, to let our conduct be regu- lated by nonentities and busybodies. They have no rewards, worth the hav- ing, to bestow, even if we conform; not one of them would step out of his way a hairs breadth for ones real pleasure or benefit. It is simply that if we do not conform, their energy is actively de- voted to trying to make us uncomfort- able. Even a sentiment founded on so un- reasonable a basis, I suppose, ought to be more or less deferred to, his hearer replied. A man ought to know how to defy opinion, a woman to submit to it. It is the old problem, mooted in Delphine, you know. Bali! ejaculated Barclay, at first; but he soon endeavored to check the expression of his discontent, for in his heart he knew she was right. Mrs. Yaremberg though this too was perhaps rather conspicuous let him stroll with her to the posts at the corner where the path took its exit upon the public streets. How lovely it all is! she broke off in a rhapsody. It is as if Nature had powdered her hair, in the Pompadour fashion, you see I must use feminine comparisons, and put on all her laces and diamonds. And you, too, it makes you look so well, so strong and blooming, one entirely forgets I will not be told I look well, she interrupted saucily; that implies that at some former time I have not looked so well, and no self-respecting princess who drops jewels from her lips can be expected to admit that. At any rate, I shall always find it difficult hereafter to believe that there is anything really serious in your illness. It is only coming home, she said more seriously. It is only a little temporary rally. Even my exile here somehow seems now preferable to any- thing else; the captive hugs her chains. Traveling tired me; I seemed to get all of its discomforts and none of its pleas- ures. You must know I have had flat- tering doctors tell me I might even get well, if I were at peace with myself, at rest within. But that is a very practi- cal recipe, is it not? They might as well recommend me to get the moon. And you wear your life out in this cruel way for what? It makes me think of the millions spent to maintain the great standing armies in peace, espe- cially if they never come to a conflict. But he discreetly checked with this his far-off reference to a form of relief he had once before proposed to her. I am reliably informed, said Mrs. Yaremberg, as they parted, that you have been a misanthrope and recluse during my absence. You do not go near the people who have been polite to you. This will never do; I shall be held part- ly responsible for it. We must put a stop to it. The reproach shall be no longer de- served; a proper consideration for the feelings of Mrs. Rycraft alone demands it, responded Barclay. With that his charming companion went on, smiling at his sarcasm, which she did not ldok upon as severe, while he disappeared within the echoing, marble-paved corri- dors of the city hall. Its two principal corridors crossed each other at right angles, and their junction was a rotunda, open to the dome above, from which it was somewhat too obscurely lighted. Over the first door encountered in the rotunda, to the right, was to be read the sign, Mayors Of- fice. Through open doors down the long halls were seen the officials non- chalantly at work, or idle. The comp- troller came out, in his shirt - sleeves, with a budget of vouchers, and entered the office of the county clerk, for the county, also, had its share in the costly building. A knot of contractors were gathered about the door of the Board of Public Works, discussing a disagreeable 1886.] The aolden Justice. 163 circumstance, and Barclay heard, in pass- ing, some part of their discourse. It seemed that Keewaydin was a city that had enacted a prohibition against the increase of its municipal indebtedness beyond a certain per cent. of its total property valuation, and it had been sud- denly discovered that this limit was al- ready reached. A paralyzing doubt had been set afloat by the press, whether further expenditure of any kind would be lawful till another years taxes were in. Ives Wilson now came out of the city attorneys office, and gave Barclay his hand, in his bustling way, as he cheer- fully accosted the waiting group. There 11 be no letting of contracts to-day, boys, said he. You may as well go home, and make yourselves com- fortable. I have it from the mayor and the city attorney; they 11 tell you them- selves presently. There s no money in the treasury, and there is nt going to be any, so you 11 have to get your healths without it. He seemed to have a fa- miliar acquaintance with all these men, Irish, German, or American, as the case might be, and to be as much at home in this stratum of society as any other. But we heard that Lane, or Jim De- Bow, or some o them rich fellers, would put up the money till the next taxes was in, said the German contractor, Kianser- man, eagerly. So they have. David Lane offered to do it, but Jim DeBow got in ahead of him. But that is to be used for nec- essary expenses; without it we might have had to turn off the gas and water, discharge the police, and shut up the public schools. There s no telling whether he 11 ever get his money back, either. It s yeer paper, so it was, that sprung it on us, and made all the hullabaloo! cried one Donlan, emphatically. If yez had left it alone, nobody would have known the limit was ~ Of course it was, assented the journalist gleefully. When you want the news, come to the Index. The rest of them will give you your ancient his- tory and dead languages. The Index deals in facts of the present day. Stop my paper, ye divil ! said IDonlan, a contractor of leading impor- tance. We could nt think of it, John. We would nt let you do yourself a damage you d never recover from. The circle, though indignant, remained perhaps but the more imbued with the mysterious reverence with which the common mind invests the newspaper profession. Ives Wilson and his Index which were, besides, clearly in the right of it in the present case were by no means to be judged by common rules. Barclay had sent to the janitor for the key, but now learned that it was al- ready in use. It had been taken by some other visitor or visitors, who had pre- ceded him to the dome. He set out, therefore, on his climb up the broad, principal iron staircase. He reached first the story of the handsome council chamber, the county court, where one Moses Levy was on trial for the firing of his store, to get the insurance money; and the circuit court of codrdinate juris- diction, where a recess was being taken to procure the attendance of a witness. .He had to ascend next a narrower, more winding staircase, of iron also. He passed through a great attic, where the ribs and braces of the construction plain- ly showed, and, opening, finally, a small door, stepped out into a sudden glare of light, and to a narrow balcony and promenade extending around the dome. When he had recovered his eyesight and taken his bearings a little, he was disappointed to find himself still so far remote frojn the Golden Justice. He had not been able to estimate its height while climbing, and this level, to which the general public were restricted, was at a long remove even from the lowest 164 The ~oldeu Justice. [August, part of her pedestal. lie looked down at the view, and again upward to catch some clearer glimpse of the details of the figure. Passing slowly round the promenade in this way, he came upon a figure leaning on the railing, with that musing air of a superior intelligence that a figure in a balcony always tends to assume, and recognized, with a start, David Lane. But the elder man was far more startled than he, and wore almost a de- tected, guilty air. Barclay had never seen him quite thus before. His pres- ence here was extraordinary; a person of his sort would by no means be ex- pected to bring up hither the weight of his age and infirmities, and at such a season of the year, for his own pleasure. Yet strange as it was, the wonderment of Barclay was not so extreme as to give it its impressiveness; it was the trouble in his own guilty conscience. They two were alone on the dome, with but small probability of being in- terrupted by any others. David Lane aimed to recover his usual composure, but, even when he had done so, to re- assume his ordinary churlishness was out of the question. I had some business with the mayor on this financial imbroglio, and when that was over the notion took me, for once in a way, to come up here, for for the benefit of the exercise. I am not beyond the need of a bit of exer- cise yet, he explained. It was thus he endeavored to disguise the promptings of an uneasy mind that sometimes drew him to the place, as the murderer is drawn to revisit the scene of his crime. He had been, too, if Bar- clay did but know it, to a very much higher level than this at which they now stood; he had climbed by a steep and recondite way, with many a gasp and breathing spell, to see that the lower fastenings of the Golden Justice seemed, at least, still secure. The financial difficulty you speak of has interested me very much, said Barclay affably, puzzled by, yet trying to ignore, the apparent confusion of the other. I have come to realize, I think for the first time, that there may be over - sanguine, improvident, bankrupt cities, as well as people. Yes, there are many of them in the West, and I believe they are not un- known in the East. There is a notable instance in this vicinity of a town so mortgaged to railroads (that have never been built, by the way) that it has for years been subject to be sold out under the hammer, only no legal body could be found to serve the papers on. As soon as there is any move of the sort the city council disbands, or holds its meetings in hiding. And was it some flagrant piece of corruption that caused Keewaydin to adopt its present provision? No, it was mainly a piece of pru- dent forethought, derived from the ex- perience of others. I do not, think Kee- waydin has ever been a very corrupt place. The many rival elements keep too strict a watch on each other for that. We have our talk of rings and bosses, it is true, but I sometimes fancy our papers only borrow the terms from oth- ers, and even use them with a certain pride, to give us a more metropolitan air. They were now looking down on the city, and they exchanged some few com- ments about it. Its masses looked small- er than usual, reduced to their lowest terms, as it were, by being cut out against the interspaces of snow. The telegraph wires connected all parts of it together, like the exposed nerves of some living organism. From the white streets the faint jingle of sleigh-bells came up to them; on the afternoon of such a day all the world would be on runners. Barclay could contemplate his own lodg- ings in the square below; at a distance could be discerned the chimneys of his factory, and elsewhere David Lanes 1886.] The Golden Justice. 165 house. The mysterious lake spread its expanse afar, with here and there some bank of mist or low-lying cloud upon it, out of which came an occasional twinkle of the ice, as if a celestial lance had shivered in the midst of it. And you, said David Lane, what brings you up so high, if one may ask? This view, which alone repays one, but still more, to speak frankly, the Golden Justice. She had allured me from a distance, and I had just been saying to myself, when I met you, how disappointed I was not to find myself nearer; I had hoped to come out at her very foot. Oh, fatality! to see the Golden Jus- tice? Alas, that he should be met with here on such an errand! This is as high as one can get, said David Lane coldly. A special permit is needed to go further, and even that is of no avail. It is a painful climb, and there is no egress but by a trap- door, nor any means of approaching the statue, after that, unless one should use a scaling ladder. In secret, no one knew better than hewhereof he spoke. And why has the Golden Justice allured you? he went on to ask. I have an eye for the decorative, and she appealed to me as a pleasing object, shining so golden yellow against her field of deep blue; but when I heard that the features were those of Mrs. Varemberg 1 found my interest at last fully accounted for. Barclay was not averse to bringing on an explanation of the anomalous condition of affairs, since the time and circumstances were favorable for it. David Lane seemed to incline in the same direction. Mrs. Varemberg still much occupies your thoughts, then? he asked, grave- ly attentive. You know how much she once oc- cupied me. Well, all that is past and gone; destiny was opposed to it, and, with time, my views have changed. Since she honors me with her friend- ship, I trust there is nothing in what has passed to make me withhold from her the tribute of my most respectful esteem, admiration, and sympathy, and my desire to be of service to her in any or all the troubles with which she may meet. Barclay dwelt with emphasis on the high-minded, disinterested character of his regard, hoping to vindicate himself from suspicions that he sometimes thought might be at the bottom of the opposition of David Lane. Possibly the latter knew him better than, at this time, he knew himself. Yes, the features are those of my daughter Florence, said the ex-gover- nor. We did not know, and were not wholly pleased with the resemblance at first; it was the artists eccentric way of paying us a compliment. He an- swered soberly, hut not resentfully. He was in fact in a sort of daze, and made no offer to continue the conversation. An awkward pause ensued. Barclay looked up again at the huge bulk of the figure, from the drapery of which broad reflected rays glinted down into their eyes. It seems she was utilized somewhat like a corner-stone, said he, in the most cursory way. I have been told that some documents were sealed up in her. Lane was as if thunderstruck. He fell to trembling, with an agitation such as even he had rarely known, and to hide it he altered his position, moving a little further along by the railing. It is a curious instance; I dont know that I ever heard of one before, pursued Barclay, in the same easy tone. It seems reserved for Keewaydin to do original things, in a number of ways. The whole matter of deposits in corner- stones sometimes impresses one curious ly. We leave dispatch-boxes along the roadside, as it were, to be opened by those 166 The Golden Justice. [August, who come after us, to give them news of us and our times. It is a little odd, however, considering all the corner- etones that are dedicated, how rarely you hear of one being opened. Is it be- cause it is too soon yet for our buildings to have begun to tumble down, flimsy as so many of them are? Or is there really no interest in the contents, these being so very trite when reached? No doubt it is due to the compara- tive unimportance of the matters gener- ally on deposit, replied David Lane, in a voice scarcely audible, struggling man- fully to retain the mastery of himself. It would be more considerate, though, if one generation would arrange little surprises for the next. What was it, for instance, you put into the Golden Justice? Oh, fatality! fatality! Was it not enough that this young man, of all oth- ers in the world, should have found them out in Europe, and become a suitor for his daughters hand? Was it not enough that avoidance of this should have precipitated such lamentable un- happiness? No, he must follow them here, establish himself in the place, even interest himself in the statue, mount to the dome, and be met with to- day under its very a~gis. Nor this alone; for now at last, with an innocence that but made it the more startling, he must put the finger of speculation on the. very box and its contents, on the con- fession itself. To what but one fatal result could all this concentration of events, all these successive approaches, this remorseless narrowing of the circle, be tending? The utmost efforts had availed to hinder no single step of its progress. It was a very long time ago, re- plied David Lane. At this distance of time it is not easy to remember, reports, statistics, the newspapers, I sup- pose; they could hardly have been any- thing of great moment. Alfsen, an old weather-prophet in my vicinity, told me about the box, the other day, and predicted that the Golden Justice would come down, and I should see the deposit scattered about my feet. I shall naturally be on the lookout for it with interest. He predicts that the Golden Jus- tice will fall? repeated the elder man in horror. He involuntarily cast another glance up at the mammoth figure tow- ering above them. She was certainly secure enough at present. Oh, a piece of garrulous nonsense. He keeps up some old grudge for not having been allowed to do all the work he wanted to on the city hall. Even prophecy, it appears, cannot free itself from the bias of personal injury. David Lane made something like a half circuit of the short promenade, then turned back upon his track, with a very altered bearing: as well as one so much troubled in mind and so reserved by re- cent habit could do so, he assumed to- wards the young man an open and friend- ly demeanor. I am glad to have met you here, he began. This situation, apart by ourselves, and free from danger of in- terruption, gives me, almost for the first time, an opportunity of welcoming you to the place. I seem to have seen far too little of you since your arrival. I trust it is not too late to express the real interest I feel in you and your af- fairs, and to ask if there is any way in which I can be of service. I confess I had sometimes thought your feelings towards me were quite of an opposite sort, returned Barclay, much surprised. Oh, no; why should you think so? Why should it be so? You are a young man, and I an old one. I have often many cares and troubles, and perhaps, sometimes, an unfortunate manner. Had Barclay desired to justify his opinion, he would have cited the re- jection of his suit together with a long course of marked coldness. But of what 1886.] The Indian Question in Arizona. 16T avail? And what warrant had he, after all, for questioning a fathers disposition of his daughters hand, in the supposed interest of her happiness, even at the expense of a certain subterfuge? To re-open the subject, furthermore, he feared might arouse distrust anew, and defeat the greater freedom of action that seemed promised him. Will you tell me about your enter- prise and your present prospects? asked David Lane. Barclay, thus encouraged, proceeded to give a brief, orderly account of the whole, from the first. This statement added to Lanes sense as of an inevita- ble fatality pursuing him. It impressed him as an investment such as might have commended itself to the judgment of any shrewd cool-headed man of busi- ness. It was no mere pretext for re- maining, and the circumstances were such that, given Barclays peculiar re- quirements, it would have been almost reprehensible not to have entered into it. They descended the stairs together. Lane offered Barclay his hand, at part- ing, with a cordiality in which, how- ever, was an indescribable shrinking. He wished him to come and dine, but it happened that day that Barclay could not. Thereafter, for a considerable time, it was not alone Mrs. Varembergs invi- tations and friendly offices he accepted, but her fathers as well. The two men were seen amicably together on the street and on Change, and the wise business head of David Lane even offered coun- sels that brought profit to the Stamped- Ware Works. And what did it all mean? Why, simply this: that when the hapless Mon- tezuma knew that the invading Span- iards, the Children of the Sun, destined to be the destroyers of himself and his people, had landed on his coasts, he sent costly presents, to endeavor to turn them aside from their march to his capital. So David Lane haplessly aimed to pro- pitiate the messenger by means of whom Destiny seemed stretching forth a long arm for his destruction. It was not that he was more reconciled to his fate than before, or saw clearly, as yet, the means of its accomplishment; but in the mood in which he found himself for the time being, further struggle, further resist- ance, seemed useless. William Henry Bishop. THE INDIAN QUESTION IN ARIZONA. IN the last five years, the raiding parties of the Apaches in Southern Ari- zona have been so active and constant in their work of murder and pillage that there has been no security for either life or property outside of the few towns. In that time more than a thou- sand citizens have been murdered, with all the accompanying barbarities of sav- age warfare, and an immense amount of property has been stolen or destroyed. Meanwhile, all industries in this region trade, grazing, mining, and agricul- ture have suffered partial or total pa- ralysis. The government seems power- less to protect its citizens or to maintain its peace and dignity against these out- laws. The press has been loud in its com- ments on the subject, but these do not usually go beyond the statement of the murders and depredations which have been committed, with an occasional as- persion on the efficiency of the regular army. They do not attempt to trace the causes of the evil, or to suggest a remedy for it, further than to express the simple opinion that the army should catch and

Robert K. Evans Evans, Robert K. The Indian Question in Arizona 167-177

1886.] The Indian Question in Arizona. 16T avail? And what warrant had he, after all, for questioning a fathers disposition of his daughters hand, in the supposed interest of her happiness, even at the expense of a certain subterfuge? To re-open the subject, furthermore, he feared might arouse distrust anew, and defeat the greater freedom of action that seemed promised him. Will you tell me about your enter- prise and your present prospects? asked David Lane. Barclay, thus encouraged, proceeded to give a brief, orderly account of the whole, from the first. This statement added to Lanes sense as of an inevita- ble fatality pursuing him. It impressed him as an investment such as might have commended itself to the judgment of any shrewd cool-headed man of busi- ness. It was no mere pretext for re- maining, and the circumstances were such that, given Barclays peculiar re- quirements, it would have been almost reprehensible not to have entered into it. They descended the stairs together. Lane offered Barclay his hand, at part- ing, with a cordiality in which, how- ever, was an indescribable shrinking. He wished him to come and dine, but it happened that day that Barclay could not. Thereafter, for a considerable time, it was not alone Mrs. Varembergs invi- tations and friendly offices he accepted, but her fathers as well. The two men were seen amicably together on the street and on Change, and the wise business head of David Lane even offered coun- sels that brought profit to the Stamped- Ware Works. And what did it all mean? Why, simply this: that when the hapless Mon- tezuma knew that the invading Span- iards, the Children of the Sun, destined to be the destroyers of himself and his people, had landed on his coasts, he sent costly presents, to endeavor to turn them aside from their march to his capital. So David Lane haplessly aimed to pro- pitiate the messenger by means of whom Destiny seemed stretching forth a long arm for his destruction. It was not that he was more reconciled to his fate than before, or saw clearly, as yet, the means of its accomplishment; but in the mood in which he found himself for the time being, further struggle, further resist- ance, seemed useless. William Henry Bishop. THE INDIAN QUESTION IN ARIZONA. IN the last five years, the raiding parties of the Apaches in Southern Ari- zona have been so active and constant in their work of murder and pillage that there has been no security for either life or property outside of the few towns. In that time more than a thou- sand citizens have been murdered, with all the accompanying barbarities of sav- age warfare, and an immense amount of property has been stolen or destroyed. Meanwhile, all industries in this region trade, grazing, mining, and agricul- ture have suffered partial or total pa- ralysis. The government seems power- less to protect its citizens or to maintain its peace and dignity against these out- laws. The press has been loud in its com- ments on the subject, but these do not usually go beyond the statement of the murders and depredations which have been committed, with an occasional as- persion on the efficiency of the regular army. They do not attempt to trace the causes of the evil, or to suggest a remedy for it, further than to express the simple opinion that the army should catch and 168 The Indian Question in Arizona. [August, kill the Indians who may chance at the time to be on the war-path. The parties engaged in this bloody tragedy, which is being perpetually en- acted, may be divided into four general classes: the Indian, the Frontiersman, the Army, and the Government. THE INDIAN. The Indian is no exception to the general law of cause and effect. That he is a murderer and a bandit can sur- prise no one who will reflect on what has been his treatment for the last twenty years. In 1871, in order to open certain parts of Arizona to civilized occupa- tion, about eight thousand Indians were placed on the San Carlos reservation, a region a hundred miles square. The agency is situated on the Gila River, in a / low, hot, dirty, unhealthful spot. Some of the tribes now forced to dwell there were mountain Indians. in their native haunts, they enjoyed one of the most delightful climates in the world. At San Carlos they endure one of the most abominable. There they suffer from long and extreme heat, bad water, fever and ague, and ophthalmia. They must appear at the agency on the weekly ration day. If they stay away, they get no rations. In going through the camps of the Chiracalmas and Warm Springs, I have been struck by the misery of their condition. It is these mountain Indians who have caused the most serious trouble. So far as I know, no successful effort has ever been made to instruct or assist them in agricul- ture. The government feeds them, and the agents have not, as a rule, con- sidered it the policy of their craft to make the Indian self-supporting. The game in that locality is nearly exhausted, so his occupation as a hunter is gone. There he exists, in a hot, sandy camp, on the banks of a low, sickly stream, without amusement, without hope, with no incentive to any good or useful labor. But he has one agreeable relaxation from his wretched imprisonment on the reservation, that of raiding the sur- rounding ranches. These raids are to him the most delightful diversion con- ceivable. The pleasure of killing and plundering, with the very slight risk of capture and punishment, renders this the ideal pastime in the Indians estima- tion. Let us imagine a few young bucks, utterly tired of their dreary camp life on the Gila. They talk over their posi- tion, and organize a raiding party. They easily supply themselves with arms and ammunition, which most frontier trades- men will sell them in any quantity. They tell their chief that they arc go- ing out; or, if he chance to disapprove of such expeditions, they say that they are going on a hunt to the northern part of the reservation, about Camp Apache and Mount Ord. Then, having determined the first ranch to be at- tacked, they quietly leave their camp, and move by easy marches on the doomed family. They reach the place. One or two creep forward and carefully recon- noitre. All the party assume their po- sitions in the rocks or grass, and patient- ly wait until they can take the family at the greatest disadvantage. For, though devoted to the sport of killing others, the Apaches are very much opposed to taking the slightest chances against their own lives. The looked-for opportunity arrives, and they spring from their con- cealment. They kill every human be- ing about the place, unless they can manage, with perfect safety to them- selves, to capture some of the ranch- men alive, in which case they will have the opportunity of enjoying an Indians favorite amusement, that of watching a white man die by slow degrees under the most inhuman tortures which savage ingenuity can invent. This entertain- ment completed, they help themselves to whatever pleases their fancy in the house, and then set it on fire. Finally, they 1886.] The Indian Question in Arizona. 169 collect all the horses, and, mounting the best, drive the others before them. The ball is now open. They will move with great rapidity, and will promptly agree on the destruction of another ranch, a hundred miles or more distant. Away they go, now galloping, now trotting, and subsiding into a walk only when the trail is very steep and rough. During this rapid march, they show great skill in keeping the loose horses ahead of them on the trail. An Indian can ride a tired horse from ten to twenty miles farther than can a white man. When a horse is entirely ex- hausted, his rider calmly dismounts, and proceeds to kill him, usually by stab- bing him many times with a long knife. It is very seldom that he will waste a precious cartridge on such an occasion, but under no circumstance will he leave a living horse behind him. iNow, if the party be in the humor for a meal, they build a small fire, cut slices from the dead horse, cook them a little, and eat their fill. Thus, in the stolen horse is combined both the means of transportation and the commissary. In this, the Indian possesses a vast ad- vantage over his soldier pursuer, who must ride one horse through an entire campaign, and whose rations and spare ammunition must be carried with him on pack-mules. In this way the raiding party can easily cover a hundred miles in twenty-four hours, while a company of cavalry, with its indispensable pack- train, can with difficulty accomplish more than thirty, in that rough, road- less country. rWTith the second ranch, the pro- gramme of the first is repeated. The Indians murder the inhabitants, plunder and burn the house, and drive off the horses. After this, the party may be seized with a desire to witness the effect of their escapade on the neighboring mili- tary posts. If so, they climb to some commanding elevation on Mount Gra ham, or about Helens Dome. From this vantage-ground, they can survey the surrounding country for a long dis- tance, and their practiced eyes can easily detect, by the clouds of dust in the val- leys, the approach of a column of troops twenty or thirty miles away. If they can see several of these columns on the march, they enjoy all the delights of a successful practical joker; for they are confident of their own safety, and have the satisfaction of knowing that they have put into the field several hundred troops. If their appetite for murder and plun- der is still unsatisfied, they may go into Old Mexico, and continue their tactics of rapid transit, ambuscade, and pil- lage. But it is probable that they will now be content with the results of the expedition. They will break up the loose organization of the party, and traveling singly, by night, individually make good their retreat to the camp on the Gila. The return of an Indian from such an expedition is a proud day in his life. He is a hero, he is a rich man. He has several good horses, and money, clothes, arms, and ammunition. He enjoys the approval of the old men of his tribe, the envy of the young ones who stayed in camp, and the boundless admiration of all the squaws. On the next ration day, he presents himself at the agency, and calmly resumes the enjoyment of the bounties of the government. If he has been missed, which is not probable, and is asked to give an account of him- self, he says that he has been hunting on the reservation, or that he has been look- ing for some ponies which had strayed away from his camp. Every Indian in his tribe would sooner die than utter a syllable to throw a ray of light on the case. Here you have the picture of the Apache, his home life and his amuse- ments. He is born a warrior and a rob- ber. Before the white man became his 170 The Indian Question in Arizona. [August, neighbor and his prey, he exercised his bloody proclivities on the surrounding Indian tribes. There is no law to pun- ish him, even could his crimes find him out, for he is a citizen or subject of a nation with whom our government has entertained treaty relations; and the ac- knowledgment of the treaty-making pow- er has always been held to he The most complete admission of the autonomy of a people. He is supposed to live under the restraints of tribal law. But what is tribal law? The Apache code will occupy but a few lines. Here it is Theft committed in the tribe is pun- ished promptly and often severely. Murder in the tribe is a personal af- fair, to be settled by the payment of an indemnity or by retaliation. All crimes successfully committed against the persons and property of in- / dividuals outside of the tribe are com- mendable achievements. The Chirica- hun, for instance, who kills and robs a white man, or an Indian of another tribe, is looked upon by his people very much as we regard a hunter who kills a deer, eats his flesh, and takes his skin, mere- ly as a successful sportsman. There, among the people of Arizona, dwelling about their ranches, their farms, and their mines, our government quar- ters, feeds, and looses this outlaw, who is swift as the eagle, cruel as the hun- gry wolf, and who, Fierce in a tyrannous freedom, Knows but the law of his moods. THE FRONTIERSMAN. The frontiersman who settles in Ari- zona or New Mexico belongs to one of two classes. Either he is a poor man, who goes West to conquer a home from the vast and unoccupied public domain; or he is a rich man, taking his capital to new fields, where it will be more remu- nerative than in the already crowded in- dustries of the East. In either case, if he succeeds in creating tax-paying prop- erty from what was formerly an unpro ductive waste, he is a public servant and benefactor. He has accepted the invitation of the government to make his home on the public domain. He has complied with all the forms of law. He is putting forth his labor, his enterprise, his capital, to increase the national wealth, and the government is under the most sacred obligation to exhaust all its wisdom and power to insure him perfect security for life and property. That the richest and most numerous civilized nation under the sun is unable to afford its citizens absolute protection from the murderous incursions of a few hundred savages is a proposition too absurd to deserve a moments consideration. When the frontiersman, year after year, sees his neighbors, his friends, his relations, fall an easy prey to the unre- strained Apaches, and when he sees no laws enacted, no adequate means de- vised, to protect them, he has a right to consider that the government has utter- ly failed in its obligations to him. Not only has it failed to protect him, but it has actually placed his enemy in a city of refuge, in easy striking distance of his home and family, and is further re- sponsible for a system which enables that enemy to prey upon him with al- most complete immunity from punish- ment. In May, 1882, I followed the trail of an Apache war-party from near San Carlos to San Simon, New Mexico, and counted forty-two men, women, and children murdered in mere savage ca- price, and, when time and opportunity permitted, murdered with accompanying barbarities which curdle the blood and sicken the heart. It is clearly the imperative and imme- diate duty of Congress to devise some effectual means of protecting the fron- tier citizens and restraining the Indians. In default of an Indian code vigorously enforced, the Apache in his present con- dition must he exterminated. Let every man judge for himself which horn of 1886.] The Indian Question in Arizona. 171 the dilemma is humanity, and which is barbarism. THE ARMY. The army represents the strong arm of the government for controlling the Indian and protecting the frontiersman. How inadequate are the means to the end is conclusively shown by the fact that, on the war-path, the relative speed of the Indian and the soldier is three to one. This is no aspersion on the effi- ciency of our cavalry. They are ready and willing to do all that brave men can do, but the task imposed upon them is simply impossible. I do not believe that there is a body of cavalry in the world that can keep in sight of a raiding party of Apaches, after they have plundered a few ranches, and provided themselves with several spare horses to the man. The treatment of the army by the government in Indian affairs is both dis- couraging and unjust. Let us assume for the moment that the various Indian tribes are really nations, possessing treaty power, the power to declare war and to make peace. One of these nations makes war on the United States. Both powers put their forces into the field. The Indians utterly disregard all the laws of civilized warfare. There is no such thing as an exchange of prisoners. If a wounded soldier falls into their hands, he is invariably put to death, after being subjected to the most cruel and savage tortures which it is possible to invent, and the orig- inality and ingenuity of the Indian in this respect is vast and varied. In short, they fight under the black flag. Now, one of the most firmly estab- lished rules of international law is that known as the lex talionis, the law of retaliation. This principle, applied to the treatment of prisoners, demands that they be treated with like consideration by both contending parties. If your enemy murders his prisoners, as a sim- ple act of self-defense you are bound to retaliate by putting to death an equal number of your prisoners. To fail to do this is not only encouraging him in his atrocities, but it is an injustice to the men whom you send to fight him. The Indian invariably makes a rigor- ous application of this law in his wars with other tribes, and he fully appreci- ates the great advantage which he pos- sesses over an enemy who persistently declines to apply it to his own protec- tion. I have talked with several Apaches on the subject, and they have expressed surprise, not unmixed with contempt, at our policy of non-retaliation. Now let us look at the position of the soldier in his relations with the hostile Indian. Every officer of the army, before he receives his commission, is supposed to be instructed in international law and the laws of war. He makes the ac- quaintance of the lex talionis, and reads General Orders No. 100 of 1863, being the rules for the government of the ar- mies of the United States in the field, compiled by Francis Lieber, LL. D., a manual still in force with us, and which is considered so able a treatise on the subject that it has been trans- lated and adopted by nearly every civ- ilized nation. Note the following ex- tracts from General Orders No. 100: Article 27. The law of war can no more wholly dispense with retaliation than can the law of nations, of which it is a branch. Yet civilized nations re- gard retaliation as the sternest feature of war. A reckless enemy often leaves his opponent no other means of secur- ing himself against the repetition of bar- barous outrage. Article 59. . . . All prisoners of war are liable to the infliction of retali- atory mea sures. Article 62. All troops of the ene- my, known or discovered to give no quar. ter in general or to any portion of the army, receive none. After learning his lesson from books, the young officer passes his examination, 172 The Indian Question in Arizona. [August, receives his appointment, and is assigned to a regiment in the West. Let us sup- pose that, in the course of time, he is ordered to take part in an expedition against hostile Indians. In following the trail of the war-party, he sees burned ranches, and the mutilated corpses of men, women, and children. During the campaign there is a brush with the en- emy. The advance guard comes upon them strongly posted among the rocks. A skirmish line is deployed, and their position attacked. During the encounter several soldiers are wounded, and that part of the line, being hotly pressed, gives way before reinforcements can come up. The Indians rush down and carry off the wounded men. Meanwhile, the whole command has come up and been deployed for action. The Indians beat a hasty retreat, and night stops the pursuit. The next day the young lieutenant comes upon the remains of the captured men. They have been staked out upon their backs, and hundreds of small pieces of wood, sharpened at one end, have been stuck into their flesh. The bits of wood have then been lighted and al- lowed to burn until they have extin- guished themselves in the victims blood. The charred bodies are buried, and the command moves on. At last, after hundreds of miles of marching, some of the Indians are cap- tured. They are brought into camp, and turned over to the commanding officer. Now, thinks the young officer, if ever there was an occasion that justified the prompt application of the lex talionis, and Articles 27, 59, and 62 of General Orders No. 100, it is here. In breath- less interest he approaches the com- manding officer, who sends for the of- ficer of the day, who comes up and sa- lutes. The commander says, Sir, you will take charge of these prisoners, and place over them a strong guard in the centre of the camp. First, you will take every precaution to prevent their escape; second, you will see that none of the guides, scouts, or frontiersmen with the command approach within a hundred paces of them, for some of these men have had friends and rela- tions killed by these very Indians, and I fear that the sight of the murderers of their people may so inflame their grief and resentment that they will attempt to kill them while in my keeping. This I am determined to prevent. You will notify the command that any person of- fering violence to the prisoners will be promptly and severely punished. That is all, sir. The young officer is immensely sur- prised at these instructions. He had expected to bear the order for the exe- cution of the prisoners. He had even gone so far as to make surmises on the probability of his having command of the firing party. But when he hears careful directions given for their safe preservation, his astonishment is so great that he even ventures to interro- gate his commanding officer on the sub- ject. Sir, he says, will not these prisoners be either hanged or shot, in retaliation for the atrocities which they have committed on citizens and prison- ers The commanding officer turns and regards in silence his interrogator for some seconds, while his surprise at the question and the earnest manner of him who puts it gives way to an apprecia- tion of the fact that this is the youngest lieutenant in the regiment, that it is his first campaign, that he is fresh from theories, books, and orders, that he knows little of the practical methods of handling the Indian question on the frontier, and that he does not yet ap- preciate the difference that often exists between the national statutes and the national practice. Then he says, grave- ly and kindly, Young man, I would rather go through a dozen Indian fights than kill one of those prisoners. 1886.] The indian Question in Arizona. 173 But, sir, says the lieutenant, of what force, then, are the lex talionis, and Articles I know all that, interrupts the commanding officer. They are in the books; but the sentiment of the East will not stand it. If I should retaliate on these prisoners, I should expect to be ignominiously relieved from my com- mand, and perhaps never get another. I should in all probability be either court-martialed, or investigated by a committee of Congress. The Eastern press would denounce me as an assassin and a monster of cruelty. I am now a major, after twenty-five years of hard service in the late war and on the fron- tier. In a short time I expect my pro- motion as lieutenant-colonel. But if I followed your very just and natural sug- gestion I should be so reviled by the press that my confirmation by the Sen- ate would probably be contested and de- feated, and my career would be blasted in the profession to which I have de- voted my life. An officer must regard the dominant prejudices of the day as well as the laws of war and General Orders. We serve in the peoples army, and we must he careful of their feelings. I might tell you more than one incident in the lives of officers whom I have known, who have acted in the manner indicated by the International Code and the Orders you quote with just such a result, an interrupted career, popular indignation, obloquy. After vouchsafing this explanation the older officer turns away, leaving the lieutenant to reflect on the intricacies of the profession of arms and the compli- cated nature of the Indian problem, both of which he had considered as very simple, and entirely mastered by him- self, when he joined his regiment six months ago. The main body of the hostiles soon dissolves into small parties, which, scat- tering in the mountains, leave behind such slight trails that pursuit is imprac ticable. The command of soldiers then breaks up, and the various companies return to their garrisons. Our young officer watches with interest the fate of the prisoners. They are sent to the nearest post, where they are kept under guard, each receiving the daily ration of a soldier. Finally, they are formally turned over to their agent. Just what he does with them is a mystery. Prob- ably he administers a severe lecture. Possibly he grants them pardon and ab- solution. At all events, they are soon at liberty on the reservation, enjoying the pleasures of camp life and govern- ment rations, and receiving the same treatment as the Indians who have spent the summer peacefully at home. Perhaps sotne readers will say that this is merely a romance. But every incident in my hypothetical case has been repeatedly true in the lives of many officers now in the service. In- deed, most of it is my own experience in the campaign against the Bannocks, in 1878. The experience of the civilized world shows conclusively that in extreme cases capital punishment is a just, necessary, and eventually a humane expedient. It acts as a protection to the good, and as a restraint upon the bad members of society. On the same principle, any re- flecting person will appreciate how ter- ribly our system of dealing with our wild Indians is in need of an act of Congress, or an order from the Presi- dent or Secretary of War, reviving and enforcing the law of retaliation in In- dian wars. Such an order would have a civilizing and humanizing effect upon the Indian himself, for it would deprive him of a great temptation to indulge his savage proclivities for torturing and murdering his prisoners, the knowl- edge that he can do so with impunity. It is also nothing more than an act of simple justice and humanity towards our army, in its struggles with a barbarous foe, to allow it to protect itself against 174 f/ike Indian Question in Arizona. [August, his nameless atrocities by taking advan- tage of this natural and fundamental law. THE GOVERNMENT. In reflecting on that lawless and bloody chaos known as our Indian poli- cy, now existing over a large portion of our frontier, the unprejudiced observer will be struck with the fact that the government and the nation owe them- selves, the Indian, and humanity a sol- emn debt, a debt until now almost entirely unpaid. If public sentiment has now brought sufficient pressure to bear to cause the government to really desire to abandon its long-continued practice of applying ineffectual means to solve a great problem, then it must promptly and vigorously do two things: First, enact an Indian code, establish Indian courts, and enforce their judg- ments by a machinery of law especially adapted to the peculiar circumstances of the case. Second, give the Indians land in sev- eralty, and encourage them to become self - supporting, independent farmers. If, after allowing them a fair trial, they will not work, then punish them under the Indian code as vagrants, having no visible means of support. The condition as regards laws and morals on the San Carlos reservation I can best illustrate by two incidents. The Apaches make from fermented corn a liquor called by them tizwin. By a judicious use of this, after from one to two days fasting, they can get very drunk. Tizwin is to them what whiskey is to the white man. One Sun- day in August of 1882, a report was brought into Fort Apache that there was a tizwin party and fight in progress among some Indians in camp across the river from the fort. The commanding officer, fearing that some of the Indian scouts belonging to the post, and hence temporarily under his jurisdiction, might be involved, ordered that the combatants should be brought to him. The guard found lying around a blanket, strewn with cards and red and white beans, one Indian alive and unhurt, another dead, with a ball through his heart, and two more rapidly bleeding to death from several deep cuts which they had mu- tually dealt each other. These were the remains of an Apache tizwin and card party. The living man was brought to the commanding officer, who asked him if he had killed a man in the camp across the river. The Indian answered that he had. The commanding officer then asked if he did not know that he had committed a great crime, and that he was a bad Indian, to which he laughingly replied, No, no. I not a bad Indian. I play cards with boy. He lose. He lose more. He no money he no pay he no good. So I kill him. That s all right. The commanding officer, perceiving that the Indian was too drunk to be safely left at liberty, ordered him to be confined in the guard-house. The next morning, after he was perfectly sober, he was released, and ordered to leave the post. The commanding officer had no right to keep him in the guard- house after he ceased to be a dangerous person by reason of his intoxication. Had he been sent to the agent at San Carlos, still there would have been no law under which to proceed against him. Or had the agent delivered him over to his chief, to be punished according to tribal law, the chief would have con- sidered a murder over cards as a purely personal matter, and have taken no no- tice of it. So much for tribal govern- ment among the Apaches. Again, I know an Indian named Chappo, who deliberately killed his own father, and received as the price of this most unnatural crime ten cartridges. Both the Indian and the crime are well known in Arizona. But there is no law to reach such cases. Perhaps Chappos chief considered the laborer worthy of 1886.] The Indian Question in Arizona. 115 his hire. And so the matter ended in Apache ethics. When we know the recklessness with which Indians kill each other, can we wonder at the levity with which they sometimes kill white men? I quote the facts concerning the major crime of murder. The same deplorable state of affairs exists in regard to lesser crimes and misdemeanors. In view of this, no humane and just man can deny the immediate necessity of putting them under the restraint and protection of a code of laws. This code should be ad- ministered by a judge appointed by the President, for they are not sufficiently advanced to appreciate the jury sys- tem. The next step is to do away with the ration system, and make the Indian self- supporting. The practice of issuing rations, though seemingly charitable and humane, is in the end demoralizing and degrading to the last degree. To be self-supporting under the conditions of our civilization, he must be a farmer. To be a farmer, he must have land; and to feel any security in the perma- nence of his condition, or any hearty interest in his work, the laud must be- long to him. To this it may be object- ed that he is not sufficiently advanced to have land in severalty. This is true. But if we wait for him to advance by natures slow process from the condition of the huntsman to that of the husband- man, he will be exterminated long be- fore he is ready for his land. In looking to the ultimate settlement of the Indian question, it is practically useless to set aside a reservation for a tribe. Such acts are merely temporary. We know, and the Indian knows, that the government has been, and probably will continue to be, powerless to insure any tribe in the peaceful possession of a reservation after white settlers have once determined to take it for farms. But if the titles were in severalty, in- stead of tribal, as now, and could not be conveyed within the period of ninety- nine years, it is possible that each Indian might then be able to hold enough land on which to earn his living. Look at the history of the Delawares, at peace with us since Braddocks de- feat, in 175~5, many of them our allies in the Revolution. Yet they have been pushed across the country from Pitts- burgh to the Indian Territory, and in their retreat have had five separate reservations solemnly secured to them forever. Many of the Indians at San Carlos are anxious to become independent by farming. But to raise anything on their land, irrigating ditches are necessary; and to construct an irrigating ditch re- quires much labor and some slight knowledge of engineering. An officer, who once acted as agent for a short time, told me a pathetic story of a tribe I think the Chiracalmas who have furnished so many murders of late. They went to work, under a medicine man as engineer, to make a ditch to irrigate some land upon which to raise corn and vegetables. They worked hard for several weeks, but when their work was done the water did not flow into the head of their ditch by three feet. Their engineers calculations were at fault, and their labor was lost. It is probable that their disappointment at the failure of their laudable endeavor resulted in several raids on neighboring ranches. If the government gives these Indians land, and encourages farming, it should also construct the irrigating ditches for them. The saving in rations would in a short time more than pay for the ditches. So much for the peaceable Indian with his laws and his lands. Now for a method of dealing with the bad Indians. The code which I contemplate would punish major crimes murder, rape, arson with death, and lesser offenses with fine and imprisonment. Leaving 176 The indian Question in Arizona. [August, the limits of the reservation would for a long time have to be regarded as a se- rious misdemeanor. The public safety in the West imperatively demands this restriction, at least in regard to the Apaches. To make the system prac- ticable, it would be well to introduce a feature of the French law. In France, in all prosecutions for offenses except those punishable with death or imprison- ment for life, it is not necessary that the offender he present at his trial. He is indicted and notified that on a cer- tain day he will be tried for a certain offense. If he sees fit to flee the coun- try, the trial proceeds without him. The witnesses are called and testify, the case is thoroughly investigated, and finally the sentence is duly pronounced and re- corded. This may strike the American mind very unfavorably; yet if France, one of the foremost civilized nations, adopts this method of procedure in her courts, we may certainly afford to use it, at least for a time, in enforcing the laws with our criminal Indians. The judge must have ample powers to employ posses to enforce the sentences of his court; otherwise, the law will prompt- ly fall into contempt. There is nothing which seems more despicable to the Indian than weakness or failure in any endeavor. The law thus equipped is ready to deal with offending Apaches. When an Indian has been tried and convicted, if he is not present to receive his sen- tence, the judge should have authority to send in pursuit of him several posses from tribes other than that of the crimi- nal. In cases where the sentence is death, they will be authorized to deliver the culprit dead or alive at the agency. In other cases, he must be brought in alive, and no undue severity used in his arrest. It will be left to the discretion of the judge to determine in what ex- treme cases to employ the expedient of trial in the absence of the prisoner. The posse, consisting of five or six In- dians, who capture the absconding crim- inal should be paid one thousand dollars. This would be about a just remunera- tion. Some statistician has worked out the problem, and asserts that every In- dian killed on the war-path, with our present methods, costs the government $100,000, not counting the lives of cit- izens and soldiers constantly lost. If these figures are correct, here is a mur- derer brought to justice, society avenged, and the law vindicated at a saving to the government of $99,000. It may be claimed that this is an au- tocratic measure. In some respects it is, when regarded by the Anglo-Saxon mind, resting its ideas of legal proced- ure and personal privilege on Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights. But it must be remembered that our wild In- dians are to-day distant at least a thou- sand years from even the threshold of these great ideas of civil organization and personal liberty. It is the height of folly to attempt to apply our riper institutions to his crude morality. If we give him a code, we must shape it to fit his requirements. This solution of the problem makes the Indian a persoa before the law, which at present he is not, any more than is the buffalo or the wolf. It gives him a code to protect and restrain him. It gives him land and a home, and makes it possible for him to become the independent, self-supporting, produc- tive, and useful rear-guard of our civili- zation. Robert K Evans. 1886.] On the Benefits of Superstition. 177 ON THE BENEFITS OF SUPERSTITION. WE in England, says Mr. King- lake, are scarcely sufficiently conscious of the great debt we owe to the wise and watchful press which presides over the form~tion of our opinions, and which brings about this splendid result, namely, that in matters of belief the humblest of us are lifted up to the level of the most sagacious; so that really a simple cornet in the Blues is no more likely to entertain a foolish belief in ghosts, or witchcraft, or any other supernatural topic, than the Lord High Chancellor or the leader of the House of Commons.~~ This delicate sarcasm, delivered with all the authors habitual serenity of mind, is quoted by Mr. Ruskin in his Art of England; assentingly, indeed, but with a half-concealed dismay that any one could find it in his heart to be funny upon such a distressing subject. When he, Mr. Ruskin, hurls his satiric shafts against the spirit of modern skepticism, the points are touched with caustic, and betray a keen impatience darkening quickly into wrath. Is it not bad enough that we ride in steam-cars instead of post-chaises, live amid brick houses in- stead of green fields, and pass by some of the most accomplished pictures in the world to stare gaping at the last new machine, with its network of slow- revolving, wicked-looking wheels? If in addition to these too prominent faults, we are going to frown down the old ap- pealing superstitions, and threaten them, like naughty children, with the correc- tive discipline of scientific research, he very properly turns his back upon us forever, and distinctly says he has no further message for our ears. Let us rather, then, approach the subject with the invaluable humility of Don Bernal Dias del Castillo, that gal- lant soldier who followed the fortunes of Cort~s into Mexico, and afterwards VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. 12 penned the Historia Verdadera, an in- genuous narrative of their discoveries, their hardships, and their many battles. In one of these, it seems, the blessed Saint lago appeared in the thickest of the fray, mounted on a snow-white char- ger, leading his beloved Spaniards to victory. Now the con questador freely admits that he himself did not behold the saint: on the contrary, what he did see in that particular spot was a cav- alier named Francisco de Morla, riding on a chestnut horse. But does he, on that account, puff himself up with pride, and declare that his more fortunate com- rades were mistaken? By no means! He is as firmly convinced of the pres- ence of the vision as if it had been ap- parent to his eyes, and with admira- ble modesty lays all the blame upon his own unworthiness. Sinner that I am! he exclaims devoutly, why should I have been permitted to behold the blessed apostle? In the same spirit honest Peter Walker strained his sight in vain for a glimpse of the ghost- ly armies that crossed the Clyde in the summer of 1686, and, seeing nothing, was content to believe in them, all the same, on the testimony of his neighbors. Sir Walter Scott, who appears to have wasted a good deal of time in trying to persuade himself that he put no faith in spirits, confesses quite humbly, in his old age, that the tendency to belief in supernatural agencies seems connected with and deduced from the invaluable conviction of the certainty of a future state. And beyond a doubt this ten- dency was throughout his life the source of many pleasurable emotions. So much so, in fact, that, according to Mr. Paters theory of happiness, the loss of these emotions, bred in him from child- hood, would have been very inadequate- ly repaid by a gain in scientific knowl

Agnes Repplier Repplier, Agnes On the Benefits of Superstition 177-186

1886.] On the Benefits of Superstition. 177 ON THE BENEFITS OF SUPERSTITION. WE in England, says Mr. King- lake, are scarcely sufficiently conscious of the great debt we owe to the wise and watchful press which presides over the form~tion of our opinions, and which brings about this splendid result, namely, that in matters of belief the humblest of us are lifted up to the level of the most sagacious; so that really a simple cornet in the Blues is no more likely to entertain a foolish belief in ghosts, or witchcraft, or any other supernatural topic, than the Lord High Chancellor or the leader of the House of Commons.~~ This delicate sarcasm, delivered with all the authors habitual serenity of mind, is quoted by Mr. Ruskin in his Art of England; assentingly, indeed, but with a half-concealed dismay that any one could find it in his heart to be funny upon such a distressing subject. When he, Mr. Ruskin, hurls his satiric shafts against the spirit of modern skepticism, the points are touched with caustic, and betray a keen impatience darkening quickly into wrath. Is it not bad enough that we ride in steam-cars instead of post-chaises, live amid brick houses in- stead of green fields, and pass by some of the most accomplished pictures in the world to stare gaping at the last new machine, with its network of slow- revolving, wicked-looking wheels? If in addition to these too prominent faults, we are going to frown down the old ap- pealing superstitions, and threaten them, like naughty children, with the correc- tive discipline of scientific research, he very properly turns his back upon us forever, and distinctly says he has no further message for our ears. Let us rather, then, approach the subject with the invaluable humility of Don Bernal Dias del Castillo, that gal- lant soldier who followed the fortunes of Cort~s into Mexico, and afterwards VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. 12 penned the Historia Verdadera, an in- genuous narrative of their discoveries, their hardships, and their many battles. In one of these, it seems, the blessed Saint lago appeared in the thickest of the fray, mounted on a snow-white char- ger, leading his beloved Spaniards to victory. Now the con questador freely admits that he himself did not behold the saint: on the contrary, what he did see in that particular spot was a cav- alier named Francisco de Morla, riding on a chestnut horse. But does he, on that account, puff himself up with pride, and declare that his more fortunate com- rades were mistaken? By no means! He is as firmly convinced of the pres- ence of the vision as if it had been ap- parent to his eyes, and with admira- ble modesty lays all the blame upon his own unworthiness. Sinner that I am! he exclaims devoutly, why should I have been permitted to behold the blessed apostle? In the same spirit honest Peter Walker strained his sight in vain for a glimpse of the ghost- ly armies that crossed the Clyde in the summer of 1686, and, seeing nothing, was content to believe in them, all the same, on the testimony of his neighbors. Sir Walter Scott, who appears to have wasted a good deal of time in trying to persuade himself that he put no faith in spirits, confesses quite humbly, in his old age, that the tendency to belief in supernatural agencies seems connected with and deduced from the invaluable conviction of the certainty of a future state. And beyond a doubt this ten- dency was throughout his life the source of many pleasurable emotions. So much so, in fact, that, according to Mr. Paters theory of happiness, the loss of these emotions, bred in him from child- hood, would have been very inadequate- ly repaid by a gain in scientific knowl 178 On the Benefits edge. If it be the true wisdom to direct our finest efforts towards multiplying our sensations, and so expanding the brief interval we call life, then the old unquestioning credulity was a more powerful motor in human happiness than any sentiment that fills its ground to-day. In the first place, it was closely associated with certain types of beauty, and beauty is one of the tonics now most earnestly recommended to our sick souls. Les fions daut fais were charming to the very tips of their dewy, trembling wings; the elfin people, who danced in the forest glades under the white moonbeams, danced their way without any difficulty right into the hearts of men; the swan-maiden, who ventured shyly in the fishers path, was easily transformed into a loving wife; even the mara, most suspicious and ter- rible of ghostly visitors, has often laid aside her darker instincts, and developed into a cheerful spouse, with only a tinge of mystery to make her more attractive in her husbands eyes. Melusina comb- ing her golden hair by the bubbling fountain of Lusignan, Undine playing in the rain-drenched forest, the nixie dancing at the village feast with her handsome Flemish lad, and the mermaid reluctantly leaving her watery home to wed the youth who captured her magic seal-skin, all belong to the sisterhood of beauty, and their images did good ser- vice in raising the vulgar mind from its enforced contemplation of the sordid troubles, the droning vexations, of life. Next, the happy believers in the su- pernatural owed to their simplicity deli- cious throbs of fear, not craven cow- ardice, but that more refined and com- plex feeling, which is of all sensations the most enthralling, the most elusive, and the most impossible to define. Fear, like other treacherous gifts, must be handled with discrimination: a thought too much, and we are brutalized and de- graded; but within certain limits it en- hances all the pleasures of life. When of Superstition. [August, Captain Forsyth stood behind the tree, that sultry summer morning, and saw the tigress step softly through the long jungle grass, and the aifrighted monkeys swing chattering overhead, there must have come upon him that sensation of awe which alone makes courage possi- ble.1 He knew that his life hung trem- bling in the balance, that all, depended upon the first shot he fired. He re- spected, as a sane man would, the mighty strength of his antagonist, her graceful limbs instinct with power, her cruel eyes blinkingin the yellow dawn. And born of the fear which stirred but could not conquer him came the keen transport of the hunter, who feels that one such su- premely heroic moment is worth a year of ordinary life. Without that dread, not only would the joy he lessened, and the glad rebound from danger to a sense of safety lost forever, but the disci- plined and manly courage of the Eng- lish soldier would degenerate into a mere brutish audacity, hardly above the level of the beast he slays. In children this delicate emotion of fear, growing out of their dependent condition, gives dignity and meaning to their courage when they are brave, and a delicious zest to their youthful de- linquencies. Gray, in his chilly and melancholy manhood, years after he has resigned himself to never again being either dirty or amused~ as long as he lives, goes back like a flash to the un- lawful delight of a schoolboys stolen freedom : Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. And who that has ever watched a party of children, listening with bright eyes and parted lips to some weird, uncanny legend, like that group of little girls, for instance, in Mr. Charles Gregorys picture Tales and Wonders, can doubt for a moment the fearful joys that ter- 1 The Highlands of Central India. By Cap- tain James Forsyth. 1886.] On the Benefits of Superstition. 179 ror lends them? Nowadays, it is true, their youthful ears are but too well guard- ed from such indiscretions until they are old enough to scoff at all fantastic folly, and the age at which they learn to scoff is one of the most astonishing things about our modern progress. They have ceased to read fairy stories, because they no longer believe in fairies; they find Hans Andersen silly, and the Arabian Nights stupid; and the very babies, skeptics in long-coats, scorn you openly if you venture to hint at Santa Claus. What did Kriss Kringle bring you this Christmas ? I rashly asked a tiny mite of a girl; and her answer was as emphatic as Betsey Prigs, when, with folded arms and a contemptuous mien, she let fall the ever memorable words, I dont believe there s no sich a person. Yet the supernatural, provided it be not too horrible, is legitimate food for a childs mind, nourishes its imagination, inspires a healthy awe, and is death to that precocious pedantry which is the least pleasing trait that children are wont to manifest. While few are will- ing to go as far as Mr. Ruskin, who, having himself been brought up on fairy legends, confesses that his first impulse would be to insist upon every story we tell to a child being untrue, and every scene we paint for it impossible, yet a fair proportion of the untrue and the impossible should enter iPto its educa- tion, and it should be left to the enjoy- ment of them as long as may be. Those of us who have been happy enough to believe that salamanders basked in the fire and mermaids swam in the deeps, that were-wolves roamed in the forests and witches rode in the storm, are rich- er by all these unfading pictures and unforgotten memories than our more scrupulously reared neighbors. And what if we could give such things the semblance of reality once more, could set foot in spirit within the enchanted forest of Broceliande, and enjoy the tempestuous gusts of fear that shook the heart-strings of the Breton peasant, as the great trees drew their mysterious shadows above his head? On either side lurk shadowy forms of elf and fairy, half hidden by the swelling trunks; the wind whispers in the heavy boughs, and he hears their low, malicious laughter; the dry leaves rustle beneath his feet, he knows their stealthy steps are close behind; a broken twig falls on his shoul- der, and he starts trembling, for unseen hands have touched him. Around his neck hang a silver medal of Our Lady and a bit of ash wood given him by a wise woman, whom many believe a witch; thus is he doubly guarded from the powers of evil. Beyond the forest lies the open path, where wife and chil- dren stand waiting by the cottage door. He is a brave man to wander in the gloaming, and if he reaches home there will be much to tell of all that he has seen and felt. Should he be devoured by wolves, however, and there is al- ways this prosaic danger to be appre- hended, then his comrades will relate how he left them and went alone into the haunted woods, and his sorrowing widow will know that the fairies have carried him away, or turned him into stone. And the wise woman, reproached, perhaps, for the impotence of her charms, will say how with her own aged eyes she has three times seen Kourigan, Deaths elder brother, flitting before the doomed man, and knew that his fate was sealed. So while fresh tales of mystery cluster round his name, and his children breathe them in trembling whispers by the fire- side, their mother will wait hopefully for the spell to be broken, and the lost given back to her arms; until Pierrot, the charcoal-burner, persuades her that a stone remains a stone until the Judg- ment Day, and that in the mean time his own hut by the kiln is empty, and he needs a wife. But superstition, it is claimed, begets cruelty, and cruelty is a vice now most rigorously frowned down by polite so- 180 On tite Benefits of Superstition. [August, ciety. Daring spirits like Mr. Besant may still urge its claims upon our re- luctant consideration, Mr. Andrew Lang may pronounce it an essential element of humor, or a purely speculative genius like Mr. Pater may venture to show how adroitly it can be used as a help to religious sentiment; but every age has pet vices of its own, and, being singular- ly intolerant of those it has discarded, is not inclined to listen to any argu- ments in their favor. Superstition burned old women for witches, dotards for warlocks, and idiots for were-wolves; but in its gentler aspect it often threw a veil of charity over both man and beast. The Greek rustic, who found a water-newt wriggling in his gourd, tossed the little creature back into the stream, remembering that it was the un- fortunate Ascalaphus, whom the wrath of Demeter had consigned to this loath- some doom. The mediawal housewife, when startled by a gaunt wolf gazing through her kitchen window, bethought her that this might be her lost husband, roaming helpless and bewitched, and so gave the starving creature food. 0 was it war-wolf in the wood? Or was it mermaid in the sea? Or was it man, or vile woman, ~y am true love, that misshaped thee ? The West Indian negress still bestows chicken-soup instead of scalding water on the invading army of black ants, be- lieving that if kindly treated they will show their gratitude in the only way that ants can manifest it, by taking their departure. Granted that in these acts of gentle- ness there are traces of fear and self- consideration; but who shall say that all our good deeds are not built up on some such trestle-work of foibles? La virtu niroit pas si loin, si la vanit6 ne lui tenoit pas compagnie. And what universal politeness has been fostered by the terror that superstition breeds, what delicate euphemisms containing the very soul of courtesy! Consider the Greeks, who christened the dread fu- ries Eumenides, or gracious ones the Scotch, who warily spoke of the devil as the good man, lest his sharp ears should catch a more unflattering title; the Dyak, who respectfully men- tions the small-pox as the chief; the East Indian, who calls the tiger lord or grandfather; and the Laplander, who gracefully alludes to the white bear as the fur-clad one, and then realize what perfection of breeding was involved in what we are wont to call ignorant credulity. Again, in the stress of modern life, how little room is left for that most comfortable vanity which whispers in our ears that failures are not faults! Now we are taught from infancy that we must rise or fall upon our own mer- its; that vigilance wins success, and in- capacity means ruin. But before the world had grown so pitilessly logical there was no lack of excuses for the de- feated, and of unflatteriiig comments for the strong. Did some shrewd Cornish miner open a rich vein of ore, then it was apparent to his fellow-toilers that the knackers had been at work, lead- ing him on by their mysterious tapping to this more fruitful field. But let him proceed warily, for the knacker, like its German brother, the kobold, is but a capricious sprite, and some day may beguile him into a mysterious pas- sage or long-forgotten chamber in the mine, whence he shall never more re- turn. His bones will whiten in their prison, while his spirit, wandering rest- lessly among the subterranean corridors, will be heard on Christmas Eve, ham- mering wearily away till the gray dawn brightens in the east. Or did some prosperous farmer save his crop while his neighbors corn was blighted, and raise upon his small estate more than their broader acres could be forced to yield, there was no opportunity afforded him for pride or self - congratulation. Only the witchs art could bring about 1886.] On the Benefits of Superstition. 181 such strange results, and the same sor- ceries that had aided him had, doubt- less, been the ruin of his friends. He was a lucky man if their indignation went no further than muttered phrases and averted heads. Does not Pliny tell us the story of Caius Furius Cresinus, whose heavy crops awoke such mingled anger and suspicion in his neighbors hearts that he was accused in the courts of conjuring their grain and fruit into his own scanty ground? If a woman aspired to be neater than her gossips, or to spin more wool than they were able to display, it was only because the pixies labored for her at night; turning her wheel briskly in the moonlight, split- ting the wood, and drawing the water, while she drowsed idly in her bed. And every night the pixies good Drive round the wheel with sound subdued, And leave in this they never fail A silver penny in the pail. Even to the clergy this engaging theory brought its consolations. When the Reverend Lucas Jacobson Debes, pastor of Thorshaven in 1670, found that his congregation was growing slim, he was not forced, in bitterness of spirit, to ask himself were his sermons dull, but promptly laid all the blame upon the biergen-trold, the spectres of the moun- tains, whom he angrily accused, in a lengthy homily, of disturbing his flock, and even pushing their discourtesy so far as to carry them off bodily before his discourse was completed. Indeed, it is to the clergy that we are indebted for much interesting informa- tion concerning the habits of goblins, witches, and gnomes. The Reverend Robert Kirke, of Aberfoyle, Perthshire, divided his literary labors impartially between a translation of the Psalms into Gaelic verse and an elaborate treatise on the Subterranean and for the most part Invisible People, heretofore going under the name of Elves, Faunes, and Fairies, or the like, which was print- ed, with the authors name attached, in 1691. Here, unsullied by any taint of skepticism, we have an array of curious facts that would suggest the closest inti- macy between the rector and the In- visible People, who at any rate con- cealed nothing from his eyes. He tells us gravely that they marry, have chil- dren, die, and are buried, very much like ordinary mortals; that they are invet- erate thieves, stealing everything, from the milk in the dairy to the baby lying on its mothers breast; that they can fire their elfin arrow-heads so adroitly that the weapon penetrates to the heart without breaking the skin, and he him- self has seen animals wounded in this manner; that iron in any shape or form is a terror to them, not for the same reason that Solomon misliked it, but on account of the proximity of the great iron mines to the place of eternal pun- ishment; and strangest of all that they can read and write, and have ex- tensive libraries, where light and toyish books alternate with ponderous volumes on abstruse mystical subjects. Only the Bible may not be found among them. How Mr. Kirke acquired all these particulars whether, like John Die- trich, he lived in the Elfin Mound and grew wise on elfin wisdom, or whether he adopted a less laborious and secluded method does not transpire. But one thing is certain: he was destined to pay a heavy price for his unhallowed knowl- edge. The fairies, justly irritated at such an open revelation of their secrets, revenged themselves signally by carry- ing off the offender, and imprisoning him beneath the dun-shi, or goblin hill, where he has since had ample oppor- tunity to pursue his investigations. It is true, his parishioners supposed he had died of apoplexy, and under that im- pression buried him in Aberfoyle church- yard; but his successor, the Rev. Dr. Grahame, informs us of the wide-spread belief concerning his true fate. An ef- fort was even made to rescue him from his captivity, but it failed through the 182 On the Benefits of Superstition. [August, neglect of a kinsman, Grahame of Du- chray; and Robert Kirke, like Thomas of Ercildoune and the three miners of the Kuttenberg, still drees his weird in the enchanted halls of elfiand. When the unfortunate witches of Warbois were condemned to death, on the testimony of the Throgmorton chil- dren, Sir Samuel Cromwell, as lord of the manor, received forty pounds out of their estate; which sum he turned into a rent-charge of forty shillings yearly, for the endowment of an annual lecture on witchcraft, to be preached by a doc- tor or bachelor of divinity, of Queens College, Cambridge. Thus he provided for his tenants a good sound church doc- trine on this interesting subject, and we may rest assured that the sermons were far from quieting their fears, or lulling them into a skeptical indifference. In- deed, more imposing names than Sir Samuel Cromwells appear in the lists to do battle for cherished superstitions. Did not the devout and conscientious Baxter firmly believe in the powers of witches, especially after hearing their sad confessions; and was not the gen- tle and learned Addison more than half disposed to believe in them, too? Does not Bacon avow that a well-regulated astrology might become the medium of many beneficial truths; and did not the scholarly Dominican, Stephen of Lu- signan, expand the legend of Melusina into so noble a history, that the great houses of Luxembourg, Rohan, and Sassenaye altered their pedigrees, so as to claim descent from that illustrious nymph? Even the Emperor Henry VII. was as proud of his fishy ances- tress as was Godfrey de Bouillon of his mysterious grandsire, Helias, the Knight of the Swan, better known to us as the Lohengrin of Wagners opera; while among more modest annals appear the families of Fantome and Dobie, each bearing a goblin on their crest, in witness of their claim to some shadowy supernatural kinship. There is often a marked contrast be- tween the same superstition as developed in different countries, and in the same elfin folk, who please or terrify us accord- ing to the gay or serious bent of their mortal interpreters. While the Keltic ourisk is bright and friendly, with a tinge of malice and a strong propensity to blunder, the English brownie is a more clever and audacious sprite, the Scot- tish bogle a sombre and dangerous ac- quaintance, and the Dutch Hudikin an ungainly counterpart of Puck, with hardly a redeeming quality, save a lum- bering fashion of telling the truth when it is least expected. It was Hudikin who foretold the murder of James I. of Scotland; though why he should have left the dikes of Holland for the bleak Highland hills it is hard to say, more especially as there were murders enough at home to keep him as busy as Cassan- dra. So, too, when the English witches rode up the chimney and through the storm-gusts to their unhallowed meet- ings, they apparently confined their at- tention to the business in hand, hav- ing perhaps enough to occupy them in managing their broomstick steeds. But when the Scottish hags cried, Horse and hattock in the devils name! and rushed fiercely through the tempestu- ous night, the unlucky traveler crossed himself and trembled, lest in very wan- tonness they aim their magic arrows at his heart. Isobel Gowdie confessed at her trial to having fired in this man- ner at the Laird of the Park, as he rode through a ford; but the influence of the running water turned her dart aside, and she was soundly cuffed by Bes- sie Hay, another witch, for her awk- wardness in choosing such an unpropi- tious moment.1 In one respect alone this evil sisterhood were all in harmony. By charms and spells they revenged themselves terribly on their enemies, and inflicted malicious injuries on thelr 1 Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. By Sir Walter Scott. 183 1886.] On the Benefits of Superstition. friends. It was as easy for them to sink a ship in mid-ocean as to dry the milk in a cows udder, or to make a strong man pine away while his waxen im- age was consumed inch by inch on the witchs smouldering hearth. This instinctive belief in evil spells is the essence, not of witchcraft only, but of every form of superstition, from the days of Thessalian magic to the brutish rites of the Louisiana Voodoo. It has brought to the scaffold women of gentle blood, like Janet Douglas, Lady Glam- is, and to the stake visionary enthusi- asts like Jeanne Dare. It confronts us from every page of history, it stares at us from the columns of the daily press. It has provided an outlet for fear, hope, love, and hatred, and a weapon for every passion that stirs the soul of man. It is equally at home in all parts of the world, and has entered freely into the religion, the traditions, and the folk-lore of all nations. Acta~on flying as a stag from the pursuit of his own hounds; Circes swinish captives groveling at their troughs; Bjirn turned into a bear through the malice of his stepmother, and hunted to death by his father, King Hring; the Swans of Lir floating mourn- fully on the icy waters of the Moyle; the loup-garou lurking in the forests of Brittany, and the oborot coursing over the Russian steppes; Merlin sleeping in the gloomy depths of Broceliande, and iRakuar buried fifty fathoms below the coast of Helluland, are all alike the victims Of woven paces and of waving hands, whether the spell be cast by an out- raged divinity, or by the cruel hand of a malignant foe. In 1857, Mr. Newton discovered at Cnidos fragments of a buried and ru- ined chapel, sacred to Demeter and Per- sephone. In it were three marble fig- ures of great beauty, some small votive images of baked earth, several bronze lamps, and a number of thin leaden rolls, pierced with holes for the con- venience of hanging them around the chapel walls. On these rolls were in- scribed the dirge, or spells, devoting some enemy to the infernal gods, and the mo- tive for the suppliants ill-will was given with great naivetJ and earnestness. One woman binds another who has lured away her lover; a second, the enemy who has accused her of poisoning her hus- band; a third, the thief who has stolen her bracelet; a fourth, the man who has robbed her of a favorite drinking- horn; a fifth, the acquaintance who has failed to return a borrowed garment; and so on through a long list of griev- ances.1 It is evident this form of prayer was quite a common occurrence, and, as combining a religious rite with a com- fortable sense of retaliation, must have been exceptionally soothing to the wor- shipers mind. Persephone was ap- peased and their own wrongs avenged by this simple act of devotion; but were it given to us now to inscribe, and by inscribing doom, all those who have bor- rowed and failed to return our books, we fear the halls of Tartaras would quickly overflow. The saddest thing about these faded superstitions is that the very men who have studied them most accurately are often least susceptible to their charms. In their eagerness to trace back every myth to a common origin, and to prove, with or without reason, that they one and all arose from the observation of natural phenomena, too many writers either overlook entirely the beauty and meaning of the tale, or treat it with a contemptuous indifference very hard to understand. Mr. Baring-Gould, a most honorable exception to this evil rule, takes occasion now and then to deal some telling blows at the extravagant theorists who persist in maintaining that every tradition bears its significance on its surface, and who, following up their preconceived opinions, cruelly overtax 1 The Myth of Demeter and Persephone. By Walter Pater. 184 On the Benefits the credulity of their readers. He him- self has shown conclusively that many Aryan myths are but allegorical rep- resentations of natural forces; but in these cases the connection is always dis- tinctly traced and easily understood. It is not hard for any of us to perceive the likeness between the worm Schamir, the hand of glory, and ~the lightning, when their peculiar properties are so much alike; or to behold in the Sleeping Beauty or Thorn-Rose the ice-bound earth slumbering through the long win- ter months, until the sun-gods kisses win her back to life and warmth. But when we are asked to believe that Wil- liam Tell is the storm-cloud, with his arrow of lightning and his iris bow bent against the sun, which is resting like a coin or a golden apple on the edge of the horizon, we cannot but feel, with the author of Curious Myths, that a little too much is exacted from us. I must protest, he says, against the manner in which our German friends fasten rapaciously upon every atom of history, sacred and profane, and demon- strate all heroes to represent the sun; all villains to be the demons of night or winter; all sticks and spears and arrows to be the lightning; all cows and sheep and dragons and swans to be clouds. But then it must be remembered that Mr. Baring-Gould is the most tolerant and catholic of writers, with hardly a hobby he can call his own. Sympathiz- ing with the sad destruction of William Tell, he casts a lance in honor of Saint George against Reynolds and Gibbon, and manifests a lurking weakness for mermaids, divining-rods, and the Wan- dering Jew. He is to be congratulated on his early training, for he assures us he believed, on the testimony of his Devonshire nurse, that all Cornishmen had tails, until a Cornish bookseller stoutly denied the imputation, and en- lightened his infant mind. He has the rare and happy faculty of writing upon all mythical subjects with grace, sympa of Superstition. [August, thy, and vraisemblance. Even when there can be no qu~tion of credulity either with himself or with his readers, he is yet content to write as though for the time he believes. Just as the author of Obiter Dicta advises us to lay aside our moral sense when we begin the mem- oirs of an attractive scamp, and to re- call it carefully when we have finished, so Mr. Baring-Gould generously lays aside his enlightened skepticism when he undertakes to tell us about sirens and were-wolves, and remembers that he is of the nineteenth century only when his task is done. This is precisely what Mr. John Fiske is unable or unwilling to accomplish. He cannot for a moment forget how much better he knows; and instead of an indulgent smile at the delightful fol- lies of our ancestors, we detect here and there through his very valuable pages something unpleasantly like a sneer. Where the modern calmly taps his forehead, explains Mr. Fiske, and says, Arrested development! the terri- fied ancient made the sign of the cross, and cried, Were - wolf! 1 Now a more disagreeable object than the mod- ern tapping his forehead, like Dr. Blim- her, and offering a sensible elucidation of every mystery, it would be hard to find. The ignorant peasant making his sign of the cross is not only more pic- turesque, but he is more companionable, in books, at least, and it is of far greater interest to try to realize how he felt when the specimen of arrested development stole past him in the shadow of the woods. There is, after all, a mysterious horror about the lame boy, some impish changeling of evil parentage, foisted on hell, perhaps, as Nadir thrust his earth-born baby into heaven, who every Midsummer Night and every Christmas Eve summoned the were - wolves to their secret meeting, whence they rushed ravenously over the German forests. The girdle of human 1 Myths and Mythrnakers. 1886.] On the Benefits of Superstition. 185 skin, three flnger-breadths wide, which wrought the transformation; the tell- tale hairs in the hollow of the hand which betrayed the wolfish nature; the fatality which doomed one of every seven sisters to this dreadful enchant- ment, and the trifling accidents which brought about the same undesirable re- sult are so many handles by which we grasp the strange emotions that swayed the mediteval man. Jacque Roulet and Jean Grenier, as mere maniacs and can- nibals, fill every heart with disgust; but as were-wolves an awful mystery wraps them round, and the mind is distracted from pity for their victims to a fasci- nated consideration of their own tragic doom. A blood-thirsty idiot is an ob- ject that no one cares to think about; but a wolf-fiend, urged to deeds of vio- lence by an impulse he cannot resist, is one of those ghastly creations that the folk-lore of every country has placed sharply and persistently before our star- tled eyes. Yet surely there is a touch of comedy in the story told by Van Hahn, of an unlucky freemason, who, having divulged the secrets of his order, was pursued across the Pyrenees by the mas- ter of his lodge in the form of a were- wolf, and escaped only by taking refuge in an empty cottage, and hiding under the bed. To us who are nourished from child- hood, says Mr. Fiske again, on the truths revealed by science, the sky is known to be merely an optical appear- ance, due to the partial absorption of the solar rays in passing through a thick stratum of atmospheric air; the clouds are known to be large masses of watery vapor, which descend in rain-drops when sufficiently condensed; and the light- ning is known to be a flash of light ac- companying an electric discharge. But the blue sky-sea of Aryan folk-lore, in which the cloud-flakes floated as stately swans, drew many an eye to the con- templation of its loveliness, and touched 1 Book of Were-Wolves. By Baring-Gould. many a heart with the sacred charm of beauty. On that mysterious sea strange vessels sailed from unknown shores, and once a mighty anchor was dropped by the sky mariners, and fell right into a little English graveyard, to the great amazement of the humble congregation just coming out from church. The sen- sation of freedom and space afforded by this conception of the heavens is a deli- cious contrast to the conceit of the Per~. sian poet, That inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling cooped we live and die; or to the Semitic legend, which described the firmament as made of hammered plate, with little windows for rain, a device so poor and barbaric that we wonder how any man could look up into the melting blue and admit so sordid a fancy into his soul. Scientific knowledge, even in the most modest men, confesses Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, has mingled with it something which partakes of insolence. Absolute, peremptory facts are bullies, and those who keep company with them are apt to get a bullying habit of mind. Such an admission from so genial and kindly a source should suffice to put us all on the defensive. It is not agree- able to be bullied even upon those mat- ters which are commonly classed as facts; but when we come to the misty region of dreams and myths and snper- stitions, let us remember, with Lamb, that we do not know the laws of that country, and with him generously for- bear to set down our ancestors in the gross for fools. We have lost forever the fantasies that enriched them. Not for us are the pink and white lions that gamboled in the land of Prester John, nor his onyx floors, imparting courage to all who trod on them. Not for us the Terrestrial Paradise, with its Welle of Youthe, whereat thei that drynken semen alle weys yongly, and lyven with- onten sykeness; 2 nor the Fortunate 2 Travels of Sir John Mandeville. 186 Endymion. [August, Isles beyond the Western Sea, where spring was ever green, where youths and maidens danced hand in hand on the dewy grass, where the cows Un- grudgingly gave milk enough to fill whole ponds instead of milking-pails, and where wizards and usurers could never hope to enter. The doors of these enchanted spots are closed upon us, and their key, like Excalibur, lies hidden where no hand can grasp it. The whole wide world is painted gray on gray, And Wonderland forever is gone past. All we can do is to realize our loss with becoming modesty, and now and then cast back a wistful glance where underneath The shelter of the quaint kiosk, there sigh A troup of Fancys little China Dolls, Who dream and dream, with damask ronnd their loins, And in their hands a golden tulip flower. Agnes ]?epplier. ENDYMION. How slowly falls you sickle from on high Through evenings silent sky, Flashing a splendor from its curv~id blade On the low-lying shade! Now in and out the narrow cloud that bars Its pathway from the stars It slips, and with a golden glory shines, Nearing the mountain lines. Nay, t is no sickle which some unseen hand Lets fall upon the land; It is the jewel of a ladys crown, As she steps lightly down. Night after night, down the aerial stair She stealeth unaware; Leaving the empire which she rules above, And all her state, for love. Behold, her feet have touched the rocky steeps Where the young shepherd sleeps, And larger burns her jewel as she moves In search of him she loves. And now it fades, and glimmers, and is gone. Happy Endymion! While here the world in sudden shadow lies, She bends above his eyes. Samuel V. Cole. +

Samuel V. Cole Cole, Samuel V. Endymion 186-187

186 Endymion. [August, Isles beyond the Western Sea, where spring was ever green, where youths and maidens danced hand in hand on the dewy grass, where the cows Un- grudgingly gave milk enough to fill whole ponds instead of milking-pails, and where wizards and usurers could never hope to enter. The doors of these enchanted spots are closed upon us, and their key, like Excalibur, lies hidden where no hand can grasp it. The whole wide world is painted gray on gray, And Wonderland forever is gone past. All we can do is to realize our loss with becoming modesty, and now and then cast back a wistful glance where underneath The shelter of the quaint kiosk, there sigh A troup of Fancys little China Dolls, Who dream and dream, with damask ronnd their loins, And in their hands a golden tulip flower. Agnes ]?epplier. ENDYMION. How slowly falls you sickle from on high Through evenings silent sky, Flashing a splendor from its curv~id blade On the low-lying shade! Now in and out the narrow cloud that bars Its pathway from the stars It slips, and with a golden glory shines, Nearing the mountain lines. Nay, t is no sickle which some unseen hand Lets fall upon the land; It is the jewel of a ladys crown, As she steps lightly down. Night after night, down the aerial stair She stealeth unaware; Leaving the empire which she rules above, And all her state, for love. Behold, her feet have touched the rocky steeps Where the young shepherd sleeps, And larger burns her jewel as she moves In search of him she loves. And now it fades, and glimmers, and is gone. Happy Endymion! While here the world in sudden shadow lies, She bends above his eyes. Samuel V. Cole. + 187 1886.] Six Visions of St. Augustine. SIX VISIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. I. FROM MRS. MARGARET ETHERIDGE MAYNARD (OF NEW YORK CITY) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDOVRR~ MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, February 22. Youn letter, my dear friend, has just arrived, and I instantly sit down to give you my frankest opinions of St. Augus- tine. In the first place, the climate is most disagreeable. I know they tell you it is nt, but it seems to be a prin- ciple of the Floridians not to tell the truth. The main industry of the State is deceiving strangers. You read in the newspapers of the weather we found last month. I thought we should per- ish. My room had a fireplace, and Rawdon s had a stove which smoked. My dear, I had to sit wrapped up in furs, with my feet on the hot-water bag, feeling, for all the world, just like the Greely party. There was not a sign of steam, or furnace, or any other kind of warmth, except stoves and fireplaces, in the house, and the halls were like Greenland: I always had to put on my bonnet and cloak to go down to the parlGr. Well, their oranges are all frozen, and I think most of the trees are gone, too, though they pretend they are not. And you need not think you will get lovely tropical fruit, for you wont, nothing but oranges, and they are either stale (picked before the frost) or half frozen. They are rank poison; but what do these greedy Augustines care that we are losing our health, eating their pestilential fruit? I expected to revel in delicious figs, dates, bananas, Japan plums, pineapples, alligator pears, gua- vas, and all the other things those ro- mancers that write the Florida circulars pretend you are going to have in a semi-tropical climate. I even had visions of eating bread-fruit. One man said it grew in Florida, and I thought it might as well grow in St. Augustine as anywhere else. Well, my dear, there is nothing, nothing in this wicked world but poor oranges. Sometimes, it is true, for a few days, you can get some mean, green little Nassau bananas, and once two pineapples strayed over from the same place. I saw some cocoa-nuts in the pod (I suppose they call it a pod; if they dont, they ought to), and I asked the man if they were fresh. He said, Well, yes in, pretty fresh. I got em bout two months ago. They aint for eating, ezactly; strangers like to take em home to show. There s the list, unless you call peanuts fruit. And Ithink it perfectly ridiculous! But to return to the climate: all Jan- uary was horrid. After the cold we had weeks of rain and fog. There is a great deal of fog here, and a great deal of rain; and when it is nt rainy or fog- gy the wind blows a gale. I really nev- er saw such a tempestuous place. It goes without saying that you cant walk. My dear Helen, dont delude yourself with any notion of walking here! Fig- ure to yourself streets without a vestige of sidewalk, unless you choose to call a little ragged, humpy ruin of concrete, about a foot wide, a vestige. It cer- tainly is nt anything else, and usually there is nt even that. They say it is a remnant of the old Spanish pavement. Probably, or the Mound Builders! The whole town is built on sand mixed with sharp little shells, which cut into your shoes and nearly drive you frantic. This is ankle-deep everywhere. You dont walk in St. Augustine; you wade! And the dust is something dreadful. But you would nt want to walk, any- how. The streets are so narrow that pedestrians have to retire into the shops

Octave Thanet Thanet, Octave Six Visions of St. Augustine 187-195

187 1886.] Six Visions of St. Augustine. SIX VISIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. I. FROM MRS. MARGARET ETHERIDGE MAYNARD (OF NEW YORK CITY) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDOVRR~ MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, February 22. Youn letter, my dear friend, has just arrived, and I instantly sit down to give you my frankest opinions of St. Augus- tine. In the first place, the climate is most disagreeable. I know they tell you it is nt, but it seems to be a prin- ciple of the Floridians not to tell the truth. The main industry of the State is deceiving strangers. You read in the newspapers of the weather we found last month. I thought we should per- ish. My room had a fireplace, and Rawdon s had a stove which smoked. My dear, I had to sit wrapped up in furs, with my feet on the hot-water bag, feeling, for all the world, just like the Greely party. There was not a sign of steam, or furnace, or any other kind of warmth, except stoves and fireplaces, in the house, and the halls were like Greenland: I always had to put on my bonnet and cloak to go down to the parlGr. Well, their oranges are all frozen, and I think most of the trees are gone, too, though they pretend they are not. And you need not think you will get lovely tropical fruit, for you wont, nothing but oranges, and they are either stale (picked before the frost) or half frozen. They are rank poison; but what do these greedy Augustines care that we are losing our health, eating their pestilential fruit? I expected to revel in delicious figs, dates, bananas, Japan plums, pineapples, alligator pears, gua- vas, and all the other things those ro- mancers that write the Florida circulars pretend you are going to have in a semi-tropical climate. I even had visions of eating bread-fruit. One man said it grew in Florida, and I thought it might as well grow in St. Augustine as anywhere else. Well, my dear, there is nothing, nothing in this wicked world but poor oranges. Sometimes, it is true, for a few days, you can get some mean, green little Nassau bananas, and once two pineapples strayed over from the same place. I saw some cocoa-nuts in the pod (I suppose they call it a pod; if they dont, they ought to), and I asked the man if they were fresh. He said, Well, yes in, pretty fresh. I got em bout two months ago. They aint for eating, ezactly; strangers like to take em home to show. There s the list, unless you call peanuts fruit. And Ithink it perfectly ridiculous! But to return to the climate: all Jan- uary was horrid. After the cold we had weeks of rain and fog. There is a great deal of fog here, and a great deal of rain; and when it is nt rainy or fog- gy the wind blows a gale. I really nev- er saw such a tempestuous place. It goes without saying that you cant walk. My dear Helen, dont delude yourself with any notion of walking here! Fig- ure to yourself streets without a vestige of sidewalk, unless you choose to call a little ragged, humpy ruin of concrete, about a foot wide, a vestige. It cer- tainly is nt anything else, and usually there is nt even that. They say it is a remnant of the old Spanish pavement. Probably, or the Mound Builders! The whole town is built on sand mixed with sharp little shells, which cut into your shoes and nearly drive you frantic. This is ankle-deep everywhere. You dont walk in St. Augustine; you wade! And the dust is something dreadful. But you would nt want to walk, any- how. The streets are so narrow that pedestrians have to retire into the shops 188 Six Visions of St. Augustine. [August, when two carriages pass each other. You always have to walk single file, so as to he ready to save your life by dodg- ing into a doorway. Of course they drive the horses, and especially ride the horses, at the top of their speed, these negroes would rather run over you than not! I suppose it does nt add much to the perils of the street to have no drain- age, and to see orange skins, papers, and every other kind of rubbish flung into the streets for you to tread over; but it certainly is unpleasant. As to drives: I think the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ought to forbid driving horses through these sandy roads. I should want to discharge my coachman if he treated my horses so. And there is nt anything hut sand and swamp. And, right here, I may as well free my mind about the drivers. They are liars from the cradle to the grave. I paid a colored man four dollars, the other day, to take me to Magnolia Grove. One of the things I went South to see was magnolias. We drove, and we drove, and we drove. It was hot and sandy and dusty, and I made him go slowly on account of the horses. Finally, we stopped. My dear, there was just one magnolia. The driver flicked the tip of his whip at the lone magnolia. Dat s it, said he. Where s Magnolia Grove? I asked. Dat s it, said he, yes in. But where are the rest of them? Dey aint no res, he replied. But why do they call it Magnolia Grove, then? I inquired. Kase of de magnolia, said he. This same man told me that the old market in the plaza was the old slave- market, and that his mother was sold there; and it never was anything more romantic than a fish-market. And he told me that a scrubby old cemetery, where he took me for a dollar, was the iluguenot cemetery, when there never were any Huguenots buried in St. Au- gustine; there never were any Hugue nots in St. Augustine, anyhow. What s- his-name killed theta all before they got here, and they were nt buried any- where, poor things. I read all about it in the guide book, after I got home; that man was lying the whole while. I have to squander my money on them still, because I cant walk in the sand; I m giddy, though I am not young, and I cant walk on the sea-wall; there is nothing but sand and sea-wall in Augustine. You ask about features of interest: there s a feature for you, an awful structure, hardly three feet wide, without an inch of railing between you and eternity, or, at least, ruining your clothes. One side is the bay, and the other side the sand of Augustine, five feet below. Oh, that s not much of a fall, your nephew says; but I have nt the figure for falling, and I leave the sea-wall to young Salisbury and my niece. By the way, he is a delightful fellow, and, entre nous, I fancy Emmy thinks so, too. You want to know about excursions. Well, the least objectionable is to North Beach. You can get over in a sail-boat, if you are nt seasick, and dont value your life; or you can take a dreadful little steamer (by climbing a ladder and walking a plank), and then probably have to wait an hour on the sand in the sun for it when you go back. There is nt anything to see but a beach. Then there is Matanzas, where you sail for- ever, and are likely to have the wind desert you, and be obliged to spend the night nowhere in particular. And there is a simply fiendish excur- sion to Anastasia Island. You go over in the steamer, at least I did, and when you get over you see a tramway built on piles, with a ditch on either side, and no room to fall out of the car, just merely a few planks for the horse to go over. The rails are of wood and all worn out; and there is a decrepit, ramshackle old platform on wheels, with a canopy, which they call a car; and 1886.] Six Visions of St. Augustine. 189 one poor little white invalid horse to drag it. Of course they load that car until it creaks and sways in the most awful manner, and then a brutal boy whips the poor horse along that dread- fully unsafe road. All this sickening peril is to get to the light-house. Then, if you like, you can jump into the bay- onet bush, and scramble over to the beach. When you get back to the shore you generally have to wait an hour; but you will have plenty to do, fighting sand- flies. Then, if the tide is out, you will have to escape to the steamer in small boats half filled with water. Ours had no oarlocks, and the man stood up and paddled with an oar, and did nt know how. Actually, I wonder that excur- sion did nt shatter my nerves entirely. After we were all in the steamer, towing the boats along, that boat swamped, swamped before our eyes. Think if we had all been in it! As to places of interest: there are some ridiculous little city ga4es (with no wall), an ugly old cathedral, and the fort. The fort is well enough in its way, but dont you let them show you the dungeons; you nearly break your back crawling into the horrid black holes, and you cant sleep all night for think- ing of the awful stories they tell you about cages and skeletons and the Span- ish Inquisition, and no end of horrors! All lies, too, my dear; I read about them in the guide book. In regard to hotels, well, perhaps I am too particular. But I can tell you one thing, they charge enough to be good. Prices, generally, are extortion- ate. Well, you see, maam, said an honest tradesman to me, we have three prices: one for ourselves, the people of the town, that s very reasonable; one for the winter residents, that s not so very high; and then we make a spe- cial price for the rank strangers! You will think they do, if you come. Last of all, you ask my advice about coming. Do you remember Punchs to the young man about to marry? It is mine, too, Dont! Your loving friend, MARGARET E. MAYNARD. P. S. I have just asked Rawdon her opinion; and she says that she cant find it in her conscience to recommend a town where they allow wild beasts like them halligators to be kept in yards, and to swim around loose in bar- rels in the shop windows. She hap- pened to notice a big one tied to a post in a yard once, and ran for her life, all the way from King Street to the San Marco. Another time she saw a para- graph in a paper about Northerners never leaving without an alligator. Now she regularly looks under the bed for them every night. Most like the otel s swarming with them this werry moment, mum, she says, in band- boxes and bath-tubs! Then she gath- ers her skirts tightly about her with one hand, and pokes with the umbrella han- dle in the other, and gives a little scream at every poke. I asked her why she screamed, and she said, Oh, mum, hit s for the hawfulness of it! I cant old in! I fancy Rawdon will be as relieved as I to go, and we leave for Charleston next Monday. Come there instead. M. E. M. II. FROM MISS EMILY ETHERIDGE LAWRENCE (oF CHICAGO, ILL.) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDO- vER, MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, February 22. DEAR MRS. HILL, I know auntie is writing you, and I am sure that she is saying something horrid about this dear, sweet, quaint, lovely old town. So I have treacherously borrowed her paper, and as you were so good as to ask me to write, too, I am going to do it now, and send my opinions along by the very same mail; I am hoping that you will open my letter first. Truly, dear Mrs. Hill, Augustine is lovely! The climate is delicious, soft, 190 Six Visions of St. Augustine. yet bracing. There is a good deal of fog; but the effects on the water are so exquisite that one does nt regret it, but quite the contrary. Mr. Salisbury is very good with his yacht, and takes us sailing so often that mamma and I are both in love with the bay. Every day, almost, we have a splendid sea breeze, and can make all the excursions by sail. I think there is no place like St. Augus- tine. I feel as though I were in Spain and England and America at the same time. It is most fascinating and roman- tic; and I feel as though I could never tire of these narrow, winding streets, with their funny little shops, where you can buy alligator - tooth jewelry, and shells, and photographs, and the dearest palmetto hats in the world. Mr. Salis- bury accuses me of intending to open a shop, I am buying so many, and poor mamma sighs and wonders how I am ever going to carry them all home. You speak of the walks and drives. There is no end of them. In the first place, there is the town itself. I send you some photographs. Are nt they perfect horrors? I took them myself. Mr. Salisbury supplied the human in- terest, as he calls it, by putting himself in the foreground. It is quite his own fault that his hands look so gigantic, and that he seems to have three of them in one of the pictures. He would put them out and wave them while the picture was going on. He said that he was rep- resenting one of Mr. Cooks personal- ly conducted tours, being conducted. Is nt he quite too absurd, sometimes? I wish the photographs were good, though, for the houses are so pictur- esque; built of this queer old coquina stone, all stained and blackened by li- chens, with dormer windows and hanging balconies (why they hang, and dont break down, is a puzzle to me) and roofs that do a hundred fantastic things no other American roofs dare to do, twist themselves into gables, project over bal- conies, step down and then project, or [August, hop up and make the roof for a side gal- lery. iNow dont you pine to walk past such houses? Why, the very names of the streets are tempting. King, St. George, Hypolita, Kuna, Spanish, Treas- ury, Baya, St. Francis, Tolomato, dont they make you think of Menendez and the Huguenots, and the Moors, and the English red-coats marching in, and Span- ish signoritas in black lace veils, and the Seminole Indians, and the Inquisition, and guitars, serenading, and everything else nice and romantic? And is nt it interesting to think that we are walking on the very pavement that the Span- iards made? There are lovely drives all about; and as for excursions, they are countless, by land or sea. INow the wild flowers are coming, and I rave over them. Yesterday, mamma, Mr. Salis- bury, and I went out on the Picolata road and picked bushels of jasmine. We left the carriage, and got so interested (finding thicker and thicker trees, you know how that is) that mamma began to think we were devoured by an alliga- tor, and was in an awful state of anx- iety. Rawdon has managed to give mamma her notions about alligators as beasts of prey. Then, there are all the sails. North Beach has such a nice beach and the most fascinating shells. Matanzas is weirdly beautiful, with its ruined fort and its associations. And there is a delightful excursion to An- astasia Island. You will laugh when you see the droll little primitive horse- car and ridiculous shaggy white pony that will meet you and take you over wooden rails to the lighthouse. There was such a load of us, and of course aunt Margie lifted up her voice in be- half of the beast. Boy, I heard her saying, you must nt whip him. How would you like to be whipped when you were pulling a load too heavy for you? Dear aunt Margie, she quite hates the place. She has tried three hotels, and is now at a fourth. We are at the 1886.] Six Visions of St. Augustine. 191 first of the discarded ones, and find it luxurious; but when I told her so, she only shook her head sadly, and said, My dear, you are young; you dont depend on your soup. She has her locked bath-tub and her Vienna coffee- pot and all her traps. Rawdon gets out the tea things every afternoon at four; auntie collects all the old tab- bies she knows, and they drink tea and abuse the place. They snub me, and they are too old for me to snub them, and it is enraging. There is one hor- rid old frump who is always flinging my age at me. What does nineteen know of the merits of a place? she says, meaning me. Well, I could nt know much less than she does! That is awfully ill-natured. I do beg your pardon, dear Mrs. Hill, and I will talk about something else, quick! You ask about the places of interest. I am sure one cant help liking the sea- wall (such good walking and such a magnificent view), and there are some sweet little city gates (you see them on all the preserve cans), and the cathedral is a joy; but the best of all is the fort. Is nt it wonderful to think of all that those towers have seen, how much triumph and what misery! They were built by poor Indians and captives, you know. I declare, when I reflect how cruel those wicked Spaniards were, I take solid comfort in thinking of De Gourgues, and of how Drake burned the fort and pillaged the town. I only wish he had burned up old Menendez in it. Just picture that cruel old thing wheed- ling the poor shipwrecked Frenchmen into surrending, and then going off and drawing that cross in the sand, with his lance! And think of those poor, unsus- picious men, with their hands tied behind their back, coming ten at a time; and then just as soon as they reached this fatal mark, the Spaniards stabbing them dead! You will remember that when you walk along the Matanzas beach. Matan- zas, Place of Slaughter, is nt it rightly named? Did you know that Os- ceola was confined in the fort before they sent him to Charleston? Poor Osceola, I liked his not letting them kill women and children. And that was fine, too, about the council, when he dashed his knife through the treaty, crying, The only treaty that I will make is with this! But you will imagine that I am rrennyson~s brook, that goes on for- ever. I will stop no, I wont, until I tell you about prices. I think them very reasonable, when you consider how short the season is, and that there is nothing but the season to live on. Who can wonder that they make all they can out of us while they have a chance! Now please pardon this long effusion, and dont let it prevent your coming. Always, dear Mrs. Hill, affectionate- ly yours, EMILY E. LAWRENCE. P. 5. There are good riding horses here, and very good tennis grounds. It is amusing to watch the game, even if one does nt play, so I mention it. Mr. Salisbury is the best player here. E. E. L. III. FROM COL. SAMUEL TURNER, U. S. A., TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDOVER MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, February 23, 1880. DEAR HELEN, JJfea culpa! mea culpa! I deceived you, but I did nt mean to. I am the man who advised you to go to St. Augustine. But it was nt this Augustine that I was talk- ing about. I was here nineteen years ago. Then it was the quaintest, dream- iest, most pathetic old Spanish town. The Minorcans spoke Spanish, every- body was ruined by the war, nobody thought of being enterprising, and the pretty Minorcan girls, slim and dark- eyed and pensive-looking, were a pleas- ant sight for a young fellow. The old coquina houses stood all over the town, and each house had its garden and high wall around the orange - trees. The 192 Six Visions of St. Augustine. plaza market was a market then; from four to six, every morning, you could buy the toughest Floridian beef and razor-backs (Floridian for pig, my ignorant friend; so called because their backs are thin and sharp as a razor), and as good fish as any man wants to eat. Then we came over from Picolata by stage. We crawled along for six miles, but we always came into town with a grand flourish, the four horses on a gal- lop and the horn going. We drew up opposite the post-offic~. The post-office was worth seeing then, I assure you. Formerly, when there was a governor, it was the Governors Palace, no less. There were arches in front, and a no- ble, high wall, with great pillars, all around the garden, and a row of pride of India trees before the wall. Well, now, what have they done? Spoiled everything. My adorable An- glo - Spanish town is trampled under the inexorable march of improvement. They have built fine villas and pulled down the old houses. They have run up cheap wooden shops and houses plas- tered all over with shingles, like fish scales; all alike, showy, ugly, and scamp- ily built. They have kicked the old rel- ics out of the way. The proprietor of a boarding-house had the old coquina bat- tery pulled down because it obstructed the view. The oldest house, where the date-palm (so old that no one re-. members any tradition of its planting) grew through the wall, is smartened up out of knowledge. The sculptured wall of the house, which cost so much that it ruined the Spanish treasurer, is gone, and the picket fence of a hotel has taken its place. They have even tried to pull down the city gates for the stone, but they did have the grace to stop that. They have stuck a big hotel up to stare the fort out of countenance, and there I am. It is comfortable enough; I have no fault to find with the comfort, but I wish the vandals that built it were in Matauzas Bay. They [August, have half a dozen more hotels, over the town, and are building another one by the river, which is to be in Span- ish style, with tropical courts and foun- tains and hanging gardens and the Lord knows what not. I hear rumors that they are going to try to get an appro- priation from Congress, and make Au- gustine a port of entry. Like enough. They have got two railroads, and they are fighting for a canal with the Halifax River, so as to bring up tropical fruits from South Florida. We are going to have right smart of a town, says the New South. They are. But the charm of the ever faithful city has withered under their enterprising hands, and is gone forever. Why, the Minorcans themselves have been scorched by this flaming zeal for improvement. They want to sell their places. Nineteen years ago, you could nt get a Minorcan to sell the home his father gave him, at any price. But now they dont even cling to the old tongue; the new generation cant talk S~nish. They have nt even spared the good old lies. They had to improve on them. I hardly recognized the ven- erable fiction of the cages found in the dungeon, when I read it in thc guide books. I have nt the heart to go to the fort and hear Sergeant McGuires successor hold forth. Oh, well, perhaps it is because I have been young, and now I am old; and more than the old ruins made Au- gustine beautiful to me then. To-day, I walk once more a sea-beat shore, A stranger, yet at home ; A land of dreams I roam. The prettiest sight to me, in Augus- tine, now, is the flock of young people, playing tennis in all the colors of the rainbow, or riding horseback. Young Salisbury is a fine fellow, and I see him nearly every day, riding, or walking, or sailing with a charmingly pretty young girl. I will wager he thinks St. Au- gustine delightful. But you and I, my Six Visions of St. Augustine. dear friend, ah, there is the differ- ence! Well, you might come and see for yourself; it is easy to get away again. Always your devoted friend, SAMUEL TURNER. IV. FROM MRS. CLARENCE ATTERBURY (WINTER RES- IDENT OF ST. AUGUSTINE) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL. ST. AUGUSTINE, February 22. DEAREST HELEN, Certainly, by all means come to Augustine. I am sure that you wont regret it. And now I am going to answer all your ques- tions in the most methodical manner, one by one. Climate? Charming! But there is nothing perfect on earth, and our poor Florida climate is no ex- ception, though I think it is expected to be. We do have rainy days in January, not many, but we have them; and last January it froze, but that was unprece- dented. Generally, the weather is de- lightful, with just enough of a sea breeze to blow away every particle of malaria. Walks and drives? They are endless. I will show you all the old houses. They are volumes of history, tragedy, and melodrama bound in brick and mor- tar. Our streets are nt yet what we hope they will be, but the soil has one advantage: you will seldom, if ever, need to wear rubbers, and if you get the right kind of boots you wont mind the sand. There are delightful drives in every di- rection, and we have the gentlest horse, that will let us loiter along and almost see the flowers grow. How beautiful they are now, too! The woods are full of yellow jasmine, and hawthorn, and wild-plum blossoms; and on the pine barrens, the ground is beautiful with in- numerable violets, blue and white, and dear little chaptalia, like daisies. The myrtles and oaks and magnolias keep their glossy green, and you wont miss the orange-trees, though we do. It was pitiful, but we ought to be thankful that it was no worse. The trees are not harmed, and in a months time will VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. 13 shake their white blooms in the face of the croakers. Excursions? If you are fond of sail- ing, they are innumerable; and I do so hope you are, for we have a new yacht, really, it is only a sail-boat, but we call it a yacht because that sounds grander; since our friends are all set-~ ting up yachts, why not we? Hotels? Good enough for any one; but I shant say a word about them, be- cause you are coming straight to us. The idea of your thinking of a hotel, Helen Hill! It is evident that you dont un- derstand the Southern character. Prices? Very reasonable, indeed; especially when you consider the long distance everything has to be transport- ed. Tourists will have Northern beef and Northern butter and Northern gro- ceries, and yet they grumble because they dont get all these at the very low- est Northern prices. But tourists grum- ble, anyhow, I think. Apropros of grumble-s, I paid a visit to Mrs. Maynard, as you asked. Now, s/Ic is typical. She is trying all the hotels, in rotation, with malice prepense, just to pick flaws. She wont sail, she wont drive, she wont walk; she expects all the fruits of the tropic zone and all the flowers to be blooming at once, here in Augustine, in February. And, of course, she is disappointed with the poor ancient city. But I dont think you will he. At least give us a trial. Clare is well and the children and all send love and join with me in begging you to come. Yours with much love, LAURA. V. FROM DANIEL CARVER LAWRENCE (or CHICAGO, ILL.) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDOvER, MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, February 22, 1S86. Mv DEAR MRS. HILL, Your favor of the 19th is at hand, and in reply I would say that, speaking generally, St. Augustine seems an interesting old town for a weeks visit; after that, I should call it pretty slow, a town of no enter- 1886.] 193 194 Six J4sions of prise. Particularly, will answer your questions as they come. I. The climate is fair to middling: better than Chicago in March, not so pleasant as Chicago in June. It rains considerable; but they say that is splen- did for the oranges. It blows most of the time; but they say that is healthy. It is very changeable, hot and cold the same day; but they call that a pleasant va~iety. I take it, they are a set of champion braggers in Florida, and lie as easily as they eat. I met a poor Eng- lishman, yesterday, one of a colony who had swallowed their big stories, and come over to South Florida to find per- petual sunshine and flowers, and noth- ing to do but wink at their orange-trees. When they got to their particular bit of ~wamp, they found there was nt any- thing perpetual in Florida except alli- gators and swamp fever. The English- man was pretty mad over the whole thing. I did nt mnch blame him, though he ought to have looked before he leaped. Fact of the matter is, the speculators have got hold of this State, and are boom- ing it for all it is worth. II. Walks and drives and excur- sions. Walking is bad in St. Augus- tine; no sidewalks, streets dusty, sandy, and to my mind in a disgraceful condi- tion. If the inhabitants were nt so busy trying to cheat strangers out of their last red cent, they might be more enterprising. The only decent walking place is the sea-wall, and that Uncle Sam looks after; if he did nt, it would be just as out of gear as everything else. So far as I can see, the Augustines are laying back on their oars, waiting to sell their marshes and sand lots at fabu- lous prices, and thinking all improve- ments worse than wasted, meanwhile. All the Floridians prefer to spend their money advertising in the Northern pa- pers and on circulars, what a grand, glorious semi-tropical country they have, to putting any of it into the land. They have been dawdling over a canal for the St. Augustine. [August, longest while, and will dawdle, I guess, until some confiding Northern capitalists come down and fix it. Drives are about as bad as the walking. Cant say any- thing about any excursions except the one to Anastasia Island. I am glad I went, for it was worth the trouble to see the shiftless horse-car railway they have there, wooden rails, and the worst- looking old Noahs ark of a car you ever saw, drawn by a little white pony that looked so feeble you wanted to put him on the car and push him. The road is laid on piles, over the swamp, which is chock full of bayonet plants. And there is a notice stuck up, warning you that walking over that road is charged at the same price as riding. So when, for any reason, the car does nt run, they get their little fifteen cents just the same. There s Florida thrift for you; they are bound to get your money, whether they give you anything for it, or not. III. Places of interest. Best of them is the fort. They say that cost so much that the Spanish king observed they must have built it of solid silver dollars. Shiftless about it, I guess. They say they had Indians and slaves and such fellows build it, and that sort of labor costs more than it comes to. I notice one thing about Florida, reading the history. All these colonies sent over here got their supplies from home. They never rolled up their sleeves and got their living out of the soil. Not they; if the ships with supplies did nt come, they waltzed back home, or else they starved. And they have kept on doing that way, ever since. They get the bulk of their provisions from the North, now, meat, groceries, canned vegetables, feed for their stock. Even most of the milk comes from the North, condensed, in cans, and about all the butter. Florida has always been a sort of colony. First Spanish, then English, now she is Yankee. About all the hotel- keepers and half the store-keepers are Yankees. 1886.] To the Memory of Helen Hunt Jackson. 195 IY. Hotels. Should nt like to ex- press an opinion; only what is called a first-class hotel here, with exalted prices, would cut a very small figure up North. V. Prices. They are high. The natives make the Yankees pay well for the property they buy or rent, and they pass the prices on to strangers. Lastly, you ask about my opinion of the advisability of your coming. I should nt presume to advise a lady. I dont like St. Augustine, but Mrs. Law- rence and Emmie will talk to you by the hour about what a charming place it is. 1 imagine Emmie likes the sailing and the riding horseback, but what the Madam finds to admire beats me; I sup- pose, however, she knows her own mind. Remember me to Hill. There is first- class fishing here. Tell him to bring his rod, if he comes. Hoping this long letter wont be quite useless to you, I am Very truly yours, D. C. LAWRENCE. VI. FROM BASIL SALISBURY (OF BOSTON, MASS.) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDOVER, MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, FebrBary 25, 1886. DEAR AUNT HELEN, I know it, you told me so; but it makes no difference. We are engaged. Please come and give us your blessing. St. Augustine is charming, now. The climate is perfect; bright, sunny, hardly any wind, and we have nt had a real rainy day for an age. You will like the walks; and I want to show you my new boat. Then you are interested in antiquities, and you can gloat over them here in the Ancient City. The hotels do very well, all of them. Prices are moderate. Dont you want me to go up to Jacksonville to meet you, if uncle Rufus does nt come? You know Emily, so I shant need to expatiate on that subject. Come and bless us, do. Your affectionate nephew, BASIL. FROM MRS. RUFUS HILL TO JUDGR RUFUS HILL, PORTLAND, MAINE. ANDOVER, MASS., Februar~ 28. DEAR RUFUS, You know it was you who wanted me to write to all our friends in St. Augustine, and get a cate~ gorical opinion from each. Now will you please look over these letters, and see if you can make anything definite about St. Augustine out of them, for 1 cant! But is nt it nice about Basil and Emily Lawrence? Your loving wife, HELEN. Octave Thanet. TO THE MEMORY OF HELEN HUNT JACKSON. A DEDICATION. GREAT heart of many loves! while earth was thine, Thou didst love Nature and her every mood: Beneath thine eye the frail flower of the wood Uplifted not in vain its fleeting sign, And on thy hearth the mast-trees blaze benign, With all its sylvan lore, was understood I Seems homely Natures mother-face less good, Spirit down-gazing from the Fields Divine? Oh, let me bring these gathered leaves of mine,

Edith M. Thomas Thomas, Edith M. To the Memory of Helen Hunt Jackson 195-196

1886.] To the Memory of Helen Hunt Jackson. 195 IY. Hotels. Should nt like to ex- press an opinion; only what is called a first-class hotel here, with exalted prices, would cut a very small figure up North. V. Prices. They are high. The natives make the Yankees pay well for the property they buy or rent, and they pass the prices on to strangers. Lastly, you ask about my opinion of the advisability of your coming. I should nt presume to advise a lady. I dont like St. Augustine, but Mrs. Law- rence and Emmie will talk to you by the hour about what a charming place it is. 1 imagine Emmie likes the sailing and the riding horseback, but what the Madam finds to admire beats me; I sup- pose, however, she knows her own mind. Remember me to Hill. There is first- class fishing here. Tell him to bring his rod, if he comes. Hoping this long letter wont be quite useless to you, I am Very truly yours, D. C. LAWRENCE. VI. FROM BASIL SALISBURY (OF BOSTON, MASS.) TO MRS. RUFUS HILL, ANDOVER, MASS. ST. AUGUSTINE, FebrBary 25, 1886. DEAR AUNT HELEN, I know it, you told me so; but it makes no difference. We are engaged. Please come and give us your blessing. St. Augustine is charming, now. The climate is perfect; bright, sunny, hardly any wind, and we have nt had a real rainy day for an age. You will like the walks; and I want to show you my new boat. Then you are interested in antiquities, and you can gloat over them here in the Ancient City. The hotels do very well, all of them. Prices are moderate. Dont you want me to go up to Jacksonville to meet you, if uncle Rufus does nt come? You know Emily, so I shant need to expatiate on that subject. Come and bless us, do. Your affectionate nephew, BASIL. FROM MRS. RUFUS HILL TO JUDGR RUFUS HILL, PORTLAND, MAINE. ANDOVER, MASS., Februar~ 28. DEAR RUFUS, You know it was you who wanted me to write to all our friends in St. Augustine, and get a cate~ gorical opinion from each. Now will you please look over these letters, and see if you can make anything definite about St. Augustine out of them, for 1 cant! But is nt it nice about Basil and Emily Lawrence? Your loving wife, HELEN. Octave Thanet. TO THE MEMORY OF HELEN HUNT JACKSON. A DEDICATION. GREAT heart of many loves! while earth was thine, Thou didst love Nature and her every mood: Beneath thine eye the frail flower of the wood Uplifted not in vain its fleeting sign, And on thy hearth the mast-trees blaze benign, With all its sylvan lore, was understood I Seems homely Natures mother-face less good, Spirit down-gazing from the Fields Divine? Oh, let me bring these gathered leaves of mine, 196 The Two Browns. [August, Praising the common earth, the rural year, And consecrate them to thy memory dear, Thoughts pilgrim to thy mortal bodys shrine, Beneath soft sheddir]gs of the mountain pine And trailing mountain heath untouched with sere! Edith JL Thomas. THE TWO BROWNS. I. BROWN left his chair by the fire somewhat impatiently, and dropped his newspaper on the rug; he crossed the dining - room to the bay - window, and stood with his back to his wife, looking out at the weather. Women were such persistent geese! He had a vague idea that she might take some notice of the disagreeable sleet and wind, and relent a little about hinting that he had better be at his office. She had already asked him to renew her subscription to the church newspaper (he would have to leave the stage and walk a block and a half), and had said that he must look in at her brother Bohs counting-room some time during the day to ask for his wifes health. She had furthermore given him two letters to post, and had reminded him three times that he must not forget them. I believe I will not go to the office to-day, Brown announced presently, with considerable dignity and even stern- ness, as if he would not brook the idea of being contradicted in any shape. His wife said nothing to this, which was a great disappointment; and after growing more and more disturbed for a minute or two he turned and offered his expla- nations. Mrs. Brown was devoting her- self to the baby, while the nursery-maid was busy up-stairs in the babys luxuri- ous quarters. Brown was usually nei- ther too proud nor too much occupied to devote himself to his daughter, also, but now he walked stiffly hack to the big chair by the fire, and took no notice of the little hands that were put out to him. The babys mother flushed sud- denly with something like anger, very unusual in her gentle face. It is such an abominable day, said Brown. I dont feel very energetic. There wont be a soul inside the office door, unless it s a book agent. I am going to make myself comfortable at home, and see something of you and yes, you little pink! He had come so near to neglecting the baby that his better nature could submit no longer, and he caught the smiling child, and went prancing round the breakfast table until she shrieked with delight, and family harmony was restored. Mrs. Brown smiled, too, they were a happy household; but she looked serious again directly, and re- turned to the charge. Ben, dear, she said, I dont like to have you neglect your profession.~~ Brown stopped his capering, and the - cups and plates gave a final jingle. When you know perfectly well how it neglects me! lie responded solemnly, with a twinkling eye. Even in the presence of the baby Mrs. Brown did not like to have such confessions made, and she looked up reproachfully. She kept up with great care the fiction of her husbands having already a fair law practice for a young man of his age, and a very promising outlook. Brown had no imagination;

Sarah Orne Jewett Jewett, Sarah Orne The Two Browns 196-209

196 The Two Browns. [August, Praising the common earth, the rural year, And consecrate them to thy memory dear, Thoughts pilgrim to thy mortal bodys shrine, Beneath soft sheddir]gs of the mountain pine And trailing mountain heath untouched with sere! Edith JL Thomas. THE TWO BROWNS. I. BROWN left his chair by the fire somewhat impatiently, and dropped his newspaper on the rug; he crossed the dining - room to the bay - window, and stood with his back to his wife, looking out at the weather. Women were such persistent geese! He had a vague idea that she might take some notice of the disagreeable sleet and wind, and relent a little about hinting that he had better be at his office. She had already asked him to renew her subscription to the church newspaper (he would have to leave the stage and walk a block and a half), and had said that he must look in at her brother Bohs counting-room some time during the day to ask for his wifes health. She had furthermore given him two letters to post, and had reminded him three times that he must not forget them. I believe I will not go to the office to-day, Brown announced presently, with considerable dignity and even stern- ness, as if he would not brook the idea of being contradicted in any shape. His wife said nothing to this, which was a great disappointment; and after growing more and more disturbed for a minute or two he turned and offered his expla- nations. Mrs. Brown was devoting her- self to the baby, while the nursery-maid was busy up-stairs in the babys luxuri- ous quarters. Brown was usually nei- ther too proud nor too much occupied to devote himself to his daughter, also, but now he walked stiffly hack to the big chair by the fire, and took no notice of the little hands that were put out to him. The babys mother flushed sud- denly with something like anger, very unusual in her gentle face. It is such an abominable day, said Brown. I dont feel very energetic. There wont be a soul inside the office door, unless it s a book agent. I am going to make myself comfortable at home, and see something of you and yes, you little pink! He had come so near to neglecting the baby that his better nature could submit no longer, and he caught the smiling child, and went prancing round the breakfast table until she shrieked with delight, and family harmony was restored. Mrs. Brown smiled, too, they were a happy household; but she looked serious again directly, and re- turned to the charge. Ben, dear, she said, I dont like to have you neglect your profession.~~ Brown stopped his capering, and the - cups and plates gave a final jingle. When you know perfectly well how it neglects me! lie responded solemnly, with a twinkling eye. Even in the presence of the baby Mrs. Brown did not like to have such confessions made, and she looked up reproachfully. She kept up with great care the fiction of her husbands having already a fair law practice for a young man of his age, and a very promising outlook. Brown had no imagination; 197 1886.] The Two Browns. he made no complaint; he knew plenty of fellows in the same box, and was not going to shoulder the whole shame of paying rent for a clientless office. He had begun to get tired of spend- ing his days there altogether, even with the resource of taking all the time he liked for an elaborate and social luncheon. His wife had been growing a trifle anxious lately because it was so difficult to tempt his appetite at dinner- time, and Fales, the wit of the lunch- eon club, had said in his affected little drawling voice only the day before, Shall have to cut this sort of thing, you know; getting too stout, and always hated eating my dinner in the middle of the day. Could do it with one client, but to-morrow I m expecting another. Brown suddenly remembered this, and smiled, because he had a quick, amusing fear lest the bad weather might keep Faless client at home. Then he gave a sigh, and gently deposited the baby in her mothers lap. I will go, you hard-hearted monsters, he said, kissing them both, but why I ever let myself he coaxed into studying law is the puz- zle of my life. If I had something to do I would work like a beaver. I ye got it in me, fast enough, but I hate this make-believe business. So would you. I do feel sorry about it; you know I do, answered Lucy, with great ten- derness and sympathy. I should be perfectly unhappy. But you have your studies, Ben, dear. I begin to hate those old yellow books, said Ben. Now if my father had let me study engineering, as I wished, I should have been in the mid- dle of things by this time. You never would have broken the chain? asked Lucy, with unfeigned anxiety roused by such treason- She had been so proud of Browns being the fourth lawyer of his line and of his precocious scholarship. He was only twenty-eight years and two months old at that moment, beside, and it was much too soon to lose all hope about his future. Brown went manfully out into the sleet a few minutes later, and his wife and the baby watched him from the window. He was a handsome, good- natured young man, and it was impossi- ble not to be proud of him, or to feel sorry at his temporary discomfort as he slipped and plodded along the encum- bered sidewalk. When he had paused for a moment at the corner to throw a last kiss to the baby and wave his hand, old Mr. Grandison, who stood at his own window opposite, nodded his head in sage approval. Good fel- low, he grumbled, with his chin plunged deep in his old-fashioned black silk stock. Comes of a good family and is sharp after his business. The damp air blew in at the window, and the spec- tator of Browns departure was obliged to turn away and seek his fireside again. He would have been perfectly thankful to change places with the young man, and go down town to do a stiff days work, as he used twenty years ago. Lucy Brown had turned aside from her window, also, and begun an eager mornings work. She had been dread- fully afraid that Ben would insist upon staying at home, and she felt hard- hearted in very truth. But when she had waked up that morning to find it snowing, she had resolved to have the books in the library thoroughly cleaned. Nobody would come in, and she would muster the household force, and of course attend to Bens private desk and papers herself. She was still excited by her narrow escape from complete disap- pointment, but she hoped she had not seemed anything but kind and affec- tionate in urging her husband that day of all others to go to his office. Mr. John Benedict Brown had an un- eventful journey to his place of busi- ness. He liked the bad weather, on the whole, he had so few things ordinarily 198 The Two Browns. [August, to match his youthful energy against, and he met two or three companions in misery, if one had any right to call these briefless barristers by such a hard name. Each carried his green bag, but Browns friend Fales unconsciously held his in such a way that the shape of a box of cigars was displayed unmistak- ably as its only contents. Faless office was farther down the street, and Brown remembered his promise about the sub- scription just in time not to pass the office of the paper. He would have sent a note to the publisher, to do his errand, but Lucy was very strenuous upon his settling the matter in person. Shc had paid for a year in advance, and the bill had been rendered again. She was most dependent upon this par- ticular publication, and seemed absurdly anxious to stand well in the publishers estimation. There was only one other man in the office beside the clerk, when Brown entered. This other man stood with his back to the door, looking over a file of newspapers, and until the small matter was settled, in a general and im- personal fashion that would have wound- ed Mrs. Brown, he gave no sign of con- sciousness of Browns presence. Then he laid down the newspapers and approached our friend. Snooks, old boy, how are you? he inquired affectionately, and a little timidly too, as if not quite certain of his reception. The very name of Snooks was suf- ficient: it had been Browns nickname at the school where he had fitted for col- lege. Anybody who called him Snooks had a right to favor after the space of at least a dozen years since those happy days when he had heard it often. This schoolmate had not followed the class to college, but he had been a good crony in his day, and a lad of some cleverness and an erratic habit of mind. Only a few days before, Fales, who had also been at the school, had asked our hero what had become of Checkley. Old Shekels they used to call him, for the inconse quent reason that he never had two cents in his pocket. He was kept at his studies by some kind and charitable friend, who forgot to an uggravating extent to sup- ply the minor comforts of life. Check- ley had developed an amazing gift for maintaining himself by an ingenious system of barter, like those savages who have not got so far in civilization as any sort of exchequer or strictly financial arrangements. The old brotherliness of the past quickly filled Browns heart. Checkley looked hungry, as usual, but he would take him to the office and make him a welcome companion that dull morning, and by and by they would have a hit of luncheon together. After all, the day promised well; he had feared a very special lack of entertainment. Come round to my office, said Brown, warmly. I ye nothing in the world to do this morning. Tell me what you have been about all this time. I 11 send for Fales presently; he was asking for you a day or two ago. We re both in the law; lots of time to call our own, too, he added, with a cheerful honesty which his wife would have in- wardly lamented and tried to explain. Checkley was out that day protected by a melancholy fall overcoat and no umbrella, but he took Browns umbrella, and carried it over both their heads with careful impartiality, as if it were his own. He looked as if he were grow- ing old, which seemed premature in a man of thirty. Brown could not help a suspicion that Checkley had made him- self up for some secret purpose. He always used to say that he meant to be a detective, and had been considered immensely clever in some boyish plays and pantomimes. However, another stolen glance made Brown feel certain that this appearance was Checkley as Himself, An Unsuccessful Man, and that the gray hairs which sprinkled his thin, straight, brownish hair were quite genu- ine. The thinness and lankness of his 1886.] The Two Browns. 199 boyhood had never fulfilled their prom- ise of a robust frame, but appeared to have suffered from exposure and neglect, like an unfinished building which has had time to let its timbers get rain- blackened and look poor. But the same spirit and shrewd de- termination twinkled from Checkleys eyes, and he kept step manfully with his well-clothed and well-fed acquaint- ance. This was a most fortunate meet- ing. Nothing had ever played better into his hands. Snooks Brown was al- ways a good fellow, and luck was sure to turn. You are nt in the Parishioners War-Cry office as a permanent thing, I imagine? asked Brown, with friendly desire to keep up the conversation, just as they stepped into the elevator. Odd that we should have happened to find each other there. I never was inside that place before. No, said Checkley. Truth is, it looked quiet and secluded, and I put into harbor there to dry off a little and get my wits together. Temporary asy- lum. I was paying that clerk the com- pliment of looking over his newspapers, but I think he was just beginning to suspect that I held them upside down. I had a kind of revenge on him when you came in. It looked as if we had an appointment, you know, and you were always so thundering respectable. Brown laughed with unaffected pleas- ure. He was not so far from boyhood as a stranger might imagine. There was something delightful about Check- leys turning up that wet February morning, and telling the most mortify- ing facts about himself with honest sin- cerity. He took the wet, thin overcoat and put it away with his own, and would have insisted upon his guests occupying the best chair in the office, if he had not promptly taken it without any invita- tion. There was an open wood fire, and Checkley stretched out a pair of very shabby shoes to dry with an air of comfort and satisfaction. He was a schemer, a dreamer, a curious plotter of insignificant things, but he never had been a toady or a beggar, and there was a golden thread of good humor and un- selfishness through his unprofitable char- acter. Brown had taken up a not very pon- derous mail that lay on his desk, two or three bills, as many circulars, and an invitation to make further subscription to the Art Club. He gravely looked these over, and put them in an orderly heap ~t the further edge of the blotter. Old Shekelss shoes were beginning to steam at the toes, and his host noticed that they looked about the size of his own shoes. At any rate, there was an extra pair of arctics in the office closet that could be offered before they went out to luncheon. Brown felt a glow of kind-heartedness spread itself over him, as he resolved to dress Checkley in com- fortable fashion before they parted again. You look just as you did when we used to stay up after hours, and sit be- fore the fire and tell stories, he said, jovially, to his guest. I dare say you could spin as good a midnight yarn as ever. You rich fellows see the world from a different angle, responded Checkley, who grew more luxurious every mo- ment. Now it really makes no differ- ence how long you have to wait for practice; it s sure to come, if only when you begin to settle up the family estates. There are half a dozen good round ones; and they never would like to choose any one else, all those good old aunties of yours. If you had been out of school when your father died, you would have gone on with at least a third of his business, and that was enough for you to handle. It is only a question of time, and you re rich any way. I dont like to see all your first-rate abilities rusting out, nevertheless. I always said there was more good stuff in you than in any of the fellows, more hold on and push 200 The Two Browns. [August, too, if you had anything to push, and got your energy well roused. I should just like to see you in a Western rail- road office, making things spin. iNow a poor dog like me, thrown out neck and heels into the water to get to land as best I can by myself, why, it s a good thing to meet a floating plank to rest a paw on now and then; and he turned to look Brown full in the eyes with a plaintive, doglike appeal, as if he unconsciously identified himself with his figure of speech. What have you been doing, old boy? Cant I lend you a hand, somehow? asked the sympathetic host. He began to feel that the minus Shekels was driv- ing at something definite, and he did not believe that he should make a fool of himself; but this was the first time that one of his boyhood friends had turned up, looking as if the world had used him badly. There ought to be some- thing done about it. Look here, said Checkley, with an air of secrecy, and he held out a sheaf of papers, which were produced from his breast-pocket as if the hand knew its way to them. I dare say, the owner remarked proudly, that you would nt believe that there is an enormous for- tune in that small space ? Brown tried to look interested, but his doubtfulness showed through. It is the surest thing alive, cons tinned Checkley. Have you got ten thousand dollars you could put your hand on? The listener nodded slowly; to tell the truth, he had a little more than that lying idle in the bank, because he really did not know how to reinvest it. The bulk of his property was in the hands of trustees to whom his father had con- signed it, but this was some money that had been left him by an old relative, long ago, in his own right. He had a vague idea of putting it into a country place some day or other. He had a sen- timent about keeping it by itself, and he wanted a nice old-fashioned farm by and by. For the present he and his wife spent their summers with Lucys mother, who would else have been alone in her great house at Newport. He could say neither yes nor no to such a question, or rat.her such a questioner, as this; yet a curiosity took possession of him to hear more, and Checkley saw his advantage. Now, my boy, he said, pulling his big chair close to Browns side at the desk, I helped work this out, and I twisted things round so that I have the right in my own hands. I simply have nt a cent, and I dont know where I can get it, unless you give it to me, to carry out the thing one step more. I need capital, he ended, persuasively, and gave another doglike look at Brown. The situation was growing common- place. Brown felt for the first time a little bored, and began to wonder how he should get out of it. He also no- ticed that Old Shekels had singed those confounded old shoes of his. It was be- coming doubtful if the arctic overshoes and the luncheon even would be consid- ered a handsome conclusion to their re- newed acquaintance. Now look here, said Shekels, with a cheerful smile. You are thinking how you can ever get rid of me, and that you have heard this sort of story before. I 11 tell you the rest of it in fifteen minutes, and then you can say that your business claims your time, and I 11 disappear like the jugglers rab- bit in the hat. In the shoes, Brown mentally cor- rected him, and tried to look resigned, and even pleased; but he played impa- tiently with his paper-knife. He felt provokingly young and helpless in Checkleys hands. Browns legal ancestry and the tradi- tions of his education had not prevented the love of his profession from being largely an acquired taste. He was equal to being a good lawyer by and 5y, but 1886.] The Two Browns. 201 his head was naturally fitted for affairs; and if there was one thing that he un- derstood more easily than another, it was mechanical intricacies. Checkley did not use his whole fifteen minutes in making sure of this ally. I do see it. Do you take me for a blind man? exclaimed the listener, springing to his feet, and marching across to the window, where he stood with his back to Checkley, just as he had looked out at the storm once before that day. lit is a great temptation, hut I cant throw up my law prospects. My career is cut out for me already. But I 11 give you a lift, Old Shekels, hang me if I dont Checkley grew calm as his friend be- came excited. Nonsense, said he. I dont want much of your time; it s your money I m after. You can keep your law business going, all the better for you. We are likely to have suits, but nobody can touch us. I dont ask you to decide now. Think it over, and think me over. I ye no security to give you but my plan itself. Do you smoke? said Brown am- icably, and Checkley answered that he did. As the story of this day cannot be suffered to grow any longer, the read- er must be content to know that these former schoolmates passed a most agree- able morning, that they bad a capital luncheon together, early, lest Check- ley might not have breakfasted well, and that Checkley accepted the overshoes and all other favors with generous lack of protest or false shame. H. A year from the time when he met his old playfellow, Brown was inclined to repent his whole indulgence in affection- ate civilities to a roving schemer. He assured himself that it had been an ex- pensive lesson, but one that he probably needed. A year later Brown was tri- umphant, and began to flatter himself that he knew a man and likewise a prom- ising enterprise when he saw them. He was doing very well in his law business. The family reputation for clearness of legal vision and successful pleading was gaining new laurels, and young J. Bene- dict Brown was everywhere spoken of as the most promising manofhisageatthe New York bar. Detractors hinted that there were dozens of brighter men, but that nobody could help picking up some crumbs of business with such a father and grandfathers behind him. Mrs. Brown led the company of her husbands admirers, and already indulged in dreams of his appearancc in the gloomy but noble garb of a chief justice. He was very busy in these days; long ago he had been obliged to take his breakfast at eight oclock instead of half past nine, and he was rarely at home until after six oclock at night, while it was not un- common that their seven-oclock dinner was considerably delayed. Lucy watched him with increasing anxiety, for fear that he would break himself down with overwork, but he never had seemed in such good health and spirits. The year before he had been so gloomy and de- spondent for a few weeks that she was always fearing a return, but at present there was no sign of any. To outward view the Benedict Browns were the most prosperous young people in the city. Fortune, position, everything that the social heart desired, seemed to be heaped upon them. A few croaking voices had begun to figure Browns prob- able expenses, and to insinuate that he must be living a good way beyond his income. Brown did not look like a debtor, however; he had an older and more determined appearance, as if he had weighty affairs on his mind and a high principle of conduct in regard to them. One morning early in March the hero of this tale hurried away from his break- 202 The Two Browns. [August, fast table, with a quick kiss on the top of his three-year-old daughters curly warm little head. They had been break- fasting alone together in a delightfully social way, and before Brown put on his overcoat he ran up-stairs, two steps at a time, to give another kiss to his wife and a young son some three weeks of age. Mrs. Brown already spoke of the unconscious morsel of humanity with proud respect as Benedict, but Brown himself was provokingly fond of calling him Johnny. He appeared to have a secret satisfaction and deep sense of pride and amusement in denying his son the family name. Who knew whether this might not be the most illustrious of all the five Benedict Browns? At present he was a very important and welcome person indeed in his own family. I am in an uncommon hurry this morning, said the father, turning hack for one word more as he went out. I have a business meeting to go to at nine. Lucy was one of those delightful wo- men who rarely demand particular ex- planations and are contented with gen- eral assurances, and she kindly advised Brown not to get too tired, and to be sure to come home by half past five if he could; she missed him so much more now that she was not busy herself and had to spend the whole day up-stairs. She had a vague desire to know about her husbands business, it seemed to interest him so much; but she did not like to expose her total ignorance of affairs, and had a theory, beside, that it was better for Ben to shake off his cares when he was at home. As Ben went down-stairs again, he was attacked by a sense of guilt more uncomfortable than usual, and said to himself that he must really tell Lucy all about the Planter Company. There was no fear of any catastrophe, it was far beyond the realm of experiments, and she was sure to hear of it from somebody else, and to feel hurt at his silence. The wonder was that he had hidden his head in the sand of his first name so long. The office of J. Benedict Brown, counselor at law, was unvisited, except by its faithful clerk and copyist, until some three hours later in the day. When the young lawyer reached a certain point on Broadway, he turned quickly to the right and went down a side street, as if he were well accustomed to such a course, and knew the shortest cut toward a dingy brick building which bore a clamorous sort of sign, The Farmers Right-Hand Man: The Electrical Au- tomatic Potato Planter. Brown and Checkley, Manufacturers. The door- way was blockaded with large packing- cases, and early as it still was for the business world there were several men in the counting - room, toward which Brown went at once. The workmen near by gave our friend a cheerful morn- ing greeting, and Mr. Checkley, who sat behind his desk, rose soberly, and pre- sented the new-corner to the counting- room audience as Our head of the firm, gentlemen, Mr. John B. Brown; and now we will proceed to business at once. Brown established himself at another desk, well stocked with papers, and be- gan to hunt for something in a lower drawer, the key of which he had taken from his own pocket. This was evi- dently not an occasional thing, this busi- ness interview; he took on even to the most indifferent observers eye an air of relationship to the place. The only thing that seems to be imperative this morning, Mr. Brown, said Checkley placidly, in a voice direct- ed to the other listeners, is a decision on our part in regard to the increase of our circular, almanac, and agent de- partments. We came to no conclusion yesterday. You have the figures before you on that sheet of blue paper. I think the least increase that we can manage is to quadruple the number of 1886.] The Two Browns. 203 circulars and almanacs over that of last year.~~ Checkley was in the habit of trying to give casual strangers as large an idea as possible of the magnitude of the Planter Companys business, so Brown listened respectfully, and waited for further information. These gentlemen, continued Mr. Checkley, are ready with an offer to make an extensive additional contract for the wood-work of the machines, and we will listen to them. In our liability to meet extraordinary orders at short notice, we are of course obliged to de- fend ourselves against any possible in- ability of theirs to furnish supplies. We find that the business grows with such rapidity that it is most difficult to make provision against surprise. You can easily understand (addressing the small audience) that an article like ours is valuable to every man who cul- tivates over three acres of land. In- dispensable, I may say, since it saves the hiring of labor, saves time, and saves strength. Such an article is one no farmer will be without when he once sees it work. Checkley was unusually fluent of speech this morning, and the interview went on prosperously. Somehow, the familiar place and familiar arguments struck Brown with a fresh vividness and air of reality. His thoughts wandered away to his law business for a few min- utes, and then he found himself again listening to another account of the elec- trical automatic potato planter which Checkley was giving to a new-coiner, a Western man, who was evidently a large dealer in agricultural supplies. There was a row of clerks behind a screen, and their pens were scratching diligently. Brown could see the high stacks of al- manacs through the dusty glass walls that fenced the counting-room, bright red almanacs, which combined a good selection of family reading with meteor- ological statistics and the praises of the potato planter judiciously arranged on every page. It looked as if there were almanacs enough already for every man, woman, and child in America, but Checkley knew what he was about. Brown had thought that almanacs were a step too low; he was conscious of a shameful wish now and then that he had embarked on any sort of business rather than a patent potato planter. The pride of the J. Benedict Browns, judges and famous pleaders at the bar, had revolted more than once in the be- ginning against such a sordid enterprise. But as for John B. Brown, the enter- prising manufacturer and distributer of an article that no farmer could do with- out felt an increasing pride in his suc- cess. He had merely made use of a little capital that was lying idle, and his own superfluous and unemployed energy. He believed that his legal affairs had been helped rather than hindered by this side issue of his, and he and Check- ley had fought some amazing fights with the world in the course of their short but successful alliance. Brown lazily opened a directory near at hand, and looked among the Bs. It was a new copy, and he nearly laughed aloud at the discovery that he figured twice on the page: Brown, J. Benedict, lawyer, Broadway; h. 38th St., and Brown, John B., B. & Checkley, machinists, 9th Aye; h. Jersey City. Here was a gen- eral masquerade! Checkley lived in Jersey City, and one of the clerks must have given wrong information, or else the directory agent had confused what was told him. Nobody knew where he lived, very likely. They called him The Boss, in the establishment, because he dressed well and had a less brotherly. and companionable manner than Check- ley. It was surprising, the way a man could hide himself in such a huge city as this. Yes, he must certainly tell Lucy that very night. They would have a capital laugh over it, and he could tease her about making Johnny a 204 The Two Browns. [August, partner instead of the fifth at the bar. Lucy was very fond of a joke, and she had no idea how rich they were going to be if affairs went on at this pace. Brown had felt very dishonest for a long time whenever he saw their advertise- ments in the papers, and had been near- ly ready to confess and be forgiven once the summer before, when he and Lucy took a little journey together up the Connecticut River, and Lucy had writhed in contemptuous agony over Checkleys desecratioii of natural scenery. Use Brown and Checkleys Electrical Auto- matic Potato Planter, and Save Ten Years of Life, was displayed on rocks and fences everywhere. Checkley him- self had used his short summer holiday in leading a gang of letterers into the rural districts, and this was the result. Could a man of ordinary courage con- fess at such a moment that the name of Brown was in reality her own property, and that she was unconsciously respon- sible for such vandalism? Checkley was rushing things this morning; he eagerly assured his guest that they had made the planter pay her own bills after the first six months, and had advertised only as fast as they gained the means. It was the first application of electricity to farming. Brown and I had little capital to start with, but we knew we had hold of a sure thing. I am not sure that there is anything that corresponds to it in the world of in- ventions, Checkley continued proudly. I have been an inventor all my life. Here you have a light-wheeled vehicle that one horse can drag all day and an in- telligent child can control. You only need to plough and harrow and manure your ground: then the planter is driven to and fro; it stops itself at proper dis- tances, a revolving harrow loosens the ground within a space twelve inches in diameter, this harrow is drawn up, the shovel throws the earth out at one side, the hopper lets fall sufficient seed, a sec- ond shovel arrangement covers it in, and a weight falls twice and banks it down, the horse steps on between the furrows. My dear sir, in the time I have consumed in telling you, four hills of potatoes are planted as well as if you had done each one separately with your own hoe; the average time is only three fifths of a minute. A horse soon learns the trick, for the brake is self-acting and stops him in the proper place. The only thing that troubled us in the beginning was the complaint of patrons that the horses gave trouble, and the hills went zigzagging all over the field. This new improvement makes a field as regular as a checker-board. With the brake that stops the planter instantly, the horse learns to anticipate, and makes his four steps forward and stops of his own ac- cord. It is less fatiguing for the horse than a plough or harrow, arid a treadmill is barbarous beside it. Then think of the heat of planting time and the waste of human energy! We are now per- fecting a re-hoer and digger, but our present enterprise is more than we can handle with ease. You have, rio doubt, read our testimonials. Hear this : a ten-acre field planted in half a day, with some help from a neighbor, read for yourself, sir! You need to be very careful of the gauges and setting your brakes proper- ly, Checkley confided honestly. Elec- tricity is a terrible force; there has been one bad accident through such careless- ness. The shovel arrangement was not set as it should be, and the machinc went on digging straight down, and would have carried the horse with it, if the harness had nt been so old that he freed him- self, and scrambled out of the pit. My dear sir, this will show you the power of that machine: it went down forty feet, right through gravel, rotten rock, and everything, until it struck a solid ledge, and that checked it at last. The whole neighborhood collected, and they got alarmed, thought she might be boring for a volcano or something; and they 1886.] The Two Browns. 205 rolled a big bowider out of a pasture near by, and let it drop right down on the planter; but that only damaged the wood-work and partly disabled the run- ning-work, for she kept tossing up splin- ters for a day or two. The man had nt a word to say, for it was a springy field, and the planter had struck water some- where and made him a first-rate well. He had been intending to dig one there- abouts for a good while. I want to know! exclaimed the wide-eyed listener. Brown heard this how of Checkleys eloquence, and was amused at the response. It seemed that the listener, a worthy, well-to-do Connecticut farmer, had an idea of in- troducing the automatic potato planter to his neighborhood, and was trying to obtain one on trial at reduced price, with a promise of wide influence in its behalf and cordial recommendation. Checkley believed in favoring the farmers, and the affair was presently concluded. Brown was amazed to hear his companion say that he, Brown, had been thinking that he should like to pay a visit to that neighborhood at county-fair time, and speak to the folks ou agricultural topics. Checkley liked his jokes, and Brown smiled, but he turned a little cold, and wondered if they were not going a trifle too fast. There might not be enough of him for two Browns, at this rate! But it was something to find him- self a busy, prosperous man instead of an idle, overgrown boy, and among the new firms of its class none stood better than Brown and Checkley. There was little time left for serious business conference, but Checkley had great executive ability, and so had Mr. John B. Brown, of Jersey City, for that matter. Checkley was thin yet and not very well dressed, but he had a buoyant, confident air. How well he knows human nature, and what a good fellow he is! thought Brown as they parted. Snooks is more of a man than the dandy I met in that newspaper office, reflected Checkley. I never have lost a cent for him, either, but hang me if we have nt had some narrow escapes. I got him in pretty deep once, when he had the worst doubts of me he ever had. Snooks looked solemn, but he never flung at me, or did anything but shoul- der half the blame and the worry, like a man. In the neighborhood of the companys office Brown met several business ac- quaintances, who gave him a friendly good - morning. He had gathered a whole new circle of associates, in his character of senior partner of Brown and Checkley. He had indulged in bad lunches with these friends, and already figured largely in the agricultural-im- plement world; he would have been deeply gratified if he had heard some- body say, as he went by, That s Brown, of the Planter Company. Those fellows are sweeping everything before them this spring. They ye got hold of as big a thing as the McCormick reaper. It was ten or fifteen minutes walk between the two offices, and when J. Benedict Brown, Esq., seated himself at his desk he was still thinking about his other business, which he usually insist- ed upon putting out of his mind. He never had looked at it so entirely from the outside. He was at heart a most conservative person. He was more fet- tered than he knew by his family pride and traditions, and he had become per- suaded of his ability to follow the law in a way that he never used to expect. He felt it in him to make his influence recognized at the bar, and to handle heavy pieces of business. Now that Checkley was so well established hej could slip out, and hold only a silent partnership, if he pleased. Yet an op- posing judgment in his own mind at the moment prevented him from cordiallyj accepting such an idea. There were some things, and he knew it, that Check- ley could not have planned nor have carried without him, and the concern 206 The Two Brown8. [August, might easily fall to pieces even now. There was his own boy, however, who must inherit as fair a name from him as he had from his father. There had never yet been a dishonored man of his name. Checkley had counted upon the value of the family reputation at first; he insisted that they were throwing away a great advantage by not adding the prefix of J. Benedict to the plain Brown and Checkley. J. Benedict Brown was a name of historical renown. Check- ley did not begin to understand yet that John B. Brown was as utterly unknown to the friends of the J. Benedict Browns as if he and his potato planter had never existed. He simply knew that Snooks was old-maidishly eager to keep his two occupations apart, and that only from half past eight to ten and from three oclock until dinner-time he was the steady shaft-horse of Brown and Check- ley. Brown sat in the Broadway office, busy at his work, having finished his re- flections without coming to any new de. cisions. He was working up a law case that he took great pride in. All his in- herited cleverness and a new love for such a puzzle delighted him; he never had felt a keener sense of his own power, and the planter was utterly for- gotten. Some one entered the office, and gave a chair one aggressive pull across the polished wood floor. It sounded as if the caster had left a damaging scratch, and Brown looked round with not a lit- tle annoyance. He felt a strange sus- picion that one of his Planter Company associates had at last hunted him down. There was an inner room for purposes of private consultation, and Brown sig- nified, after a proper interval, that the stranger might go there. It was a ~lark- ish place, where he had once tried to have his own desk; but it was much too gloomy, especially in the days when there was nothing to do. Except when he was at court, or at his other busi ness, he was very faithful to his post, and the stranger need not have been so unreasonably glad to find him at his office. I see that you re your fathers own son, the client began, in an asthmatic voice. He looked like a cross old fel- low, and Brown had an instant sense of relief because the first words had not been suggestive of the other place of business. I knew your father and grandfather before you, said Mr. Gran- dison, and I ye been out of lawyers hands these thirty years, more or less; but I ye got some light left, and when I got my blood up yesterday about some infringements, I thought over whom I could trust to defend me, and I decided that I would come round and look you over, to see if I could trust you with such a piece of work. I dont know whether you re not too young now, but it 11 be a feather for you if you can handle it. I m ready to pay what the work s worth, I 11 tell you that to begin with. The word infringements had an unpleasant sound, but Brown waited pa- tiently. He had some knowledge of this man, for whom his father had gained a famous case. Grandison was an inventor. On the whole, he could recall the case perfectly; he had tried to make himself familiar with it, for fu- ture use; but there was no possibility of those questions being reopened. My factories go on like clock-work, and have these twenty years, said the old man. Brown began to feel a per- sonal dislike. I thought I had dis- posed of all opponents and rivals long ago. Jenks and Rowley are our reg- ular lawyers, but now they re getting old, and they dont own me, any way. You see there are a couple of jackasses, over on Ninth Avenue, who have start- ed up an electrical potato planter, a capital good thing it is, too, that runs so close to that cog-wheel arrange- ment in the steam harrow we make that 1886.] The Two Browns. 207 I m going to stop them short, if I can; or, if I cant do that, 1 11 buy em out, if it costs a million to do it. You cant afford to let such a business as mine scatter itself, and I mean to hold it to- gether as long as I am here to do it. Brown felt a dampness gather on his forehead; then his manhood arose tri- umphant, and his courage declared itself equal to this emergency. He was not caught stealing, neither had he done anything dishonorable. There was no real incongruity in a Benedict Browns being interested in a potato planter; it had all been a fair, above-board busi- ness. He was ready to stand up for it. I ye been living in Thirty-Eighth Street, said the client, and I have often watched you come and go. I like to see a lad diligent and right after his business, as you are, and ready to go down town an hour or two earlier in the morning than the fashion is. I ye had my eye on you for a year or two. I started in life a poor boy, and never had the backing up that was ready for you; but I keep the run of my affairs, I can tell you. I dont get down town every day, by any means, but a thing like this that I want to consult you about fires me all up. Will you give me an idea of the case, Mr. Grandison? asked Brown politely. He was afraid he might be taking an unfair advantage, but the words were out, and the old manufac- turer, with much detail, laid the griev- ance before him. They re smart young men, he end- ed. I dont know their match. I hear they had a small capital, and laid it out mostly in advertising. One of them got hold of a half - worked - out notion and completed it, and bought out the owners right; and there was a small manufactory over in Jersey that had been swamped, and they got that for a song, too; and the minute the machine was on the market it went like wild-fire. In spite of constant extensions, they have been able to meet their obligations right along. I dont want to harm em if they 11 treat me fairly. I 11 give em a handsome sum down to sell out quiet- ly, or I 11 fight em all to pieces. Perhaps they can stand a fight, and can prove that their machine is no in- fringement on anybodys, suggested the lawyer, with a good deal of spirit. Mr. Grandison gave him a shrewd glance. This Brown is no relatiou to you, I hope? he said, doubtfully; but Brown flushed quickly, and made a lit- tle joke about the names not being at all uncommon. The client thought he was not pleased at being associated with a firm of machinists, and was sorry he had spoken. The boy felt older than he looked, no doubt. When the interview was ended, Brown, who had been very inexpressive of his opinions all the way through, assured his visitor that there were some reasons why he would not give any answer then about undertaking the case, and would ask his leave to defer a direct reply un- til tile next day. I shall be very glad to stop as I go up town in the after- noon, said our friend. The elder man thanked him, and said he should count it a great favor, if the weather were no better than at present, and went limp- ing away. Poor old soul! it was late for him to be taking pleasure in quarrels with his fellow-men. Checkley was going over to the works that afternoon, and there was no hope of seeing him until the next morning,. so Brown gave all his mind that he possi- bly could to being J. Benedict, the rising lawyer. He had some perplexing busi- ness upon which he tried hard to fix his attention, but the affairs of John B. Brown and the potato planter kept ris- ing before him in an uneasy, ghostlike way that was most disagreeable. He had put more of his thoughts into those side interests than he had been aware. The two years had gone by like a dream, but they had left a good many 208 The Two Browns. [August, permanent evidences of their presence. There was one of the teamsters, who had broken his leg early in the winter, and whom Brown had visited in the hos- pital, besides looking after the patients family. He had built up his own busi- ness reputation, and had grown ambi- tious about the success of the firm. He had determined at first to say nothing, even to his wife, until he knew whether he had made a fool of himself or not, but he was perfectly aware now that he had not made a fool of himself. He was evolving plans for giving all their workmen some share in the business, and was increasingly glad that he had a chance to work out some experiments in the puzzling social questions of the day. He was ready now to be something of a statesman. He was willing to be- lieve that he had got hold of the right thread of the snarled skein that linked labor with capital. His wife knew that he had some business interests apart from his law reports and his practice, and none of his friends would be sur- prised that he had been speculating a little. Fales would have got at the whole story, and told it, too; but he had gone abroad months before, and relin- quished his profession altogether, for the time being. Perhaps the time had come to choose between the two Browns; it would be hard to play both charac- ters, if the cares of either should double, for instance, and he was, perhaps, fated to be J. Benedict, after all. This was a melancholy thought, and the old wish returned that his other enterprise had concerned anything but an automatic potato planter. It might give him a nickname, and he never would be able to live the silly story down. Checkley was sure to project something new, and yet he was truly proud of the firm of Brown and Checkley, and would not see it cheated. Next day, Checkley happened to be alone in the office, and his partner beck- oned him out into an empty corner of their place of business, where they were well removed from the clerks and their scratching pens. Checkley laughed and shouted, and was at first unable to give any answer. Wants you to bring a suit of infringement against yourself, does he? he gasped at length. Go ahead, my boy; nobody 11 know the dif- ference. It will advertise us enormous ly. I have told you a dozen times that nothing would do us so much good as a rousing lawsuit. Now dont put on your best J. Benedict manners, but listen to me. I m not going to work myself to death. We have laid by something handsome already; if the old fellow will add to it, I am perfectly willing to sell out, if you are, just to make his last days happy. I ye got my head full of new electric notions, and I want to go to France and experiment. You tell him the whole story; he will be glad to get hold of the planter, and I shall be glad to let it go. I meant to go roving this summer. I 11 let it all drop. We have had a run of luck, and luck is apt to turn. We re young yet, you know, J. Benedict Brown, so I put this busi- ness into your hands. You re lawyer for the firm. Brown turned away mournfully; he was convinced more entirely than ever before of the erratic nature of his part- ner: yesterday with his whole soul bent on furthering the success of the planter; to-day ready to throw it by, and to wander away and spend all the money he had earned. Brown mental- ly resolved that it really was not safe to risk his good name any longer in such keeping, and that he should insist upon being made trustee of a share of his partners funds, so that Checkley might never come to the ground again. Checkley called him back in great excitement, when he was leaving the of- fice, a little later. Look here, said he. I was going to put this picturc into our next almanac as your portrait. I was in the patent-medicine business 1886.] The Princes8 Ca8amassimc~. once, and this was old Dr. Parkins, who made the Spring Bitters. I was going to start him again as John B. Brown, the Pennsylvania farmer and inventor. I think it would have been beneath our dignity, responded Brown, severe- ly. What became of your patent- medicine business? I never heard of that. Because it fell through, said Old Shekels, cheerfully. This was the only thing that never did. You re spoiling a first-class business man for a doubt- 209 ful lawyer. But Brown laughed, and straightened himself proudly as he went toward Broadway and his other office, which bore the shining brass door-plate with his honored name of J. Benedict Brown. That evening he confessed all to his wife. It was a great shock, but she bore it bravely. She knew little about busi- ness, but she believed with all her heart in respecting the traditions of ones fam- ily. Though, after all, one Brown had kindly made money for the other. Sarah Orne fewett. THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA. BOOK FOURTH. XXXIX. ON Saturday afternoons Paul Muni- ment was able to leave his work at four oclock, and on one of these occasions, some time after his visit to Madeira Crescent, he came into Rosys room at about five, carefully dressed and brushed, and ruddy with the freshness of an abun- dant washing. He stood at the foot of her sofa, with a conscious smile, knowing how she chaffed him when his necktie was new; and after a moment, during which she ceased singing to herself, as she twis~ted the strands of her long black hair together and let her eyes travel over his whole person, inspecting every detail, she said to him, My dear Mr. Muniment, you are going to see the Princess. Well, have you anything to say against it? Mr. Muniment asked. Not a word; you know I like prin- cesses. But you have. Well, my girl, I 11 not speak it to you, the young man rejoined. There s something to be said against everything, if you 11 give yourself trouble enough. VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. 14 I should be very sorry if ever any- thing was said against you. The man s a sneak who is only and always praised, Muniment remarked. If you did nt hope to be finely abused, where would be the encouragement? Ay, but not with reason, said Rosy, who always brightened to an argument. The better the reason, the greater the incentive to expose ones self. How- ever, you wont hear it, if people do heave bricks at me. I wont hear it? Pray, dont I hear everything? I should like any one to keep anything from me! And Miss Muniment gave a toss of her re- cumbent head. There s a good deal I keep from you, my dear, said Paul, rather dryly. You mean there are things I dont want, I dont take any trouble, to know. Indeed and indeed there are: things that I would nt know for the world that no amount of persuasion would in- duce me, not if you was to go down on your knees. But if I did if I did, I promise you that just as I lie here

Henry James James, Henry The Princess Casamassima 209-228

1886.] The Princes8 Ca8amassimc~. once, and this was old Dr. Parkins, who made the Spring Bitters. I was going to start him again as John B. Brown, the Pennsylvania farmer and inventor. I think it would have been beneath our dignity, responded Brown, severe- ly. What became of your patent- medicine business? I never heard of that. Because it fell through, said Old Shekels, cheerfully. This was the only thing that never did. You re spoiling a first-class business man for a doubt- 209 ful lawyer. But Brown laughed, and straightened himself proudly as he went toward Broadway and his other office, which bore the shining brass door-plate with his honored name of J. Benedict Brown. That evening he confessed all to his wife. It was a great shock, but she bore it bravely. She knew little about busi- ness, but she believed with all her heart in respecting the traditions of ones fam- ily. Though, after all, one Brown had kindly made money for the other. Sarah Orne fewett. THE PRINCESS CASAMASSIMA. BOOK FOURTH. XXXIX. ON Saturday afternoons Paul Muni- ment was able to leave his work at four oclock, and on one of these occasions, some time after his visit to Madeira Crescent, he came into Rosys room at about five, carefully dressed and brushed, and ruddy with the freshness of an abun- dant washing. He stood at the foot of her sofa, with a conscious smile, knowing how she chaffed him when his necktie was new; and after a moment, during which she ceased singing to herself, as she twis~ted the strands of her long black hair together and let her eyes travel over his whole person, inspecting every detail, she said to him, My dear Mr. Muniment, you are going to see the Princess. Well, have you anything to say against it? Mr. Muniment asked. Not a word; you know I like prin- cesses. But you have. Well, my girl, I 11 not speak it to you, the young man rejoined. There s something to be said against everything, if you 11 give yourself trouble enough. VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. 14 I should be very sorry if ever any- thing was said against you. The man s a sneak who is only and always praised, Muniment remarked. If you did nt hope to be finely abused, where would be the encouragement? Ay, but not with reason, said Rosy, who always brightened to an argument. The better the reason, the greater the incentive to expose ones self. How- ever, you wont hear it, if people do heave bricks at me. I wont hear it? Pray, dont I hear everything? I should like any one to keep anything from me! And Miss Muniment gave a toss of her re- cumbent head. There s a good deal I keep from you, my dear, said Paul, rather dryly. You mean there are things I dont want, I dont take any trouble, to know. Indeed and indeed there are: things that I would nt know for the world that no amount of persuasion would in- duce me, not if you was to go down on your knees. But if I did if I did, I promise you that just as I lie here 210 The Princess (ilasamassima. [August, I should have them all in my pocket. iNow there are others, the young wo- man went on there are others that you will just be so good as to tell me. When the Princess asked you to come and see her you refused, and you wanted to know what good it would do. I hoped you would go, then; I should have liked you to go, because I wanted to know how she lived, and whether she had things handsome, or only in the poor way she said. But I did nt push you, because I could nt have told you what good it would do you: that was only the good it would have done me. At present I have heard everything from Lady Aurora, and I know that it s all quite decent and tidy (though not really like a princess, a bit), and that she knows how to turn everything about and put it best end foremost, just as I do, like, though Iought nt to say it, no doubt. Well, you have been, and more than once, and I have had nothing to do with it; of which I am very glad now, for reasons that you perfectly know you re too honest a man to pre- tend you dont. Therefore, when I see you going again, I just inquire of you, as you inquired of her, What good does it do you? I like it I like it, my dear, said Paul, with his fresh, unembarrassed smile. I dare say you do. So should I, in your place. But it s the first time I have heard you express the idea that we ought to do everything we like. Why not, when it does nt hurt any one else? Oh, Mr. Muniment, Mr. Muni- ment! Ros~y exclaimed, with exagger- ated solemnity, holding up a straight, attenuated forefinger at him. Then she added, No, she does nt do you good, that beautiful, brilliant woman. Give her time, my dear give her time, said Paul, looking at his watch. Of course you are impatient, but you must hear me. I have no doubt she 11 wait for you; you wont lose your turn. Please, what would you do if any one was to break down alto- gether? My bonny lassie, the young man rejoined, if you only keep going, I dont care who fails. Oh, I shall keep going, if it s only to look after my friends and get justice for them, said Miss Muniment the delicate, sensitive creatures who require support and protection. Have you real- ly forgotten that we have such a one as that? The young man walked to the win- dow, with his hands in his pockets, and looked out at the fading light. Why does she go herself, then, if she does nt like her? Rose Muniment hesitated a moment. Well, I m glad I m not a man! she broke out. I think a woman on her back is cleverer than a man on his two legs. And you such a wonderful one, too! You are all too clever for me, my dear. If she goes and twenty times a week, too why should nt I go, once in ever so long? Especially as I like her, and Lady Aurora does nt. Lady Aurora does nt? Do you think she d be guilty of hypocrisy? Lady Aurora delights in her; she wont let me say that she herself is fit to dust the Princesss shoes. I need nt tell you how she goes down before them she likes. And I dont believe you care a button; you have got something in your head, some wicked game or other, that you think she can hatch for you. At this Paul Muniment turned round and looked at his sister a moment, smil- ing still and whistling just audibly. Why should nt I care? Aint I soft, aint I susceptible? I never thought I should hear you ask that, after what I have seen these four years. For four years she has come, and it s all for you, as well it might be, and you never showing any 1886.] The Princess (ilasamassima. 211 more sense of what she d he willing to do for you than if you had been that woolen cat on the hearth rug! What would you like me to do? Would you like me to hang round her neck and hold her hand, the same as you do? Muniment asked. Yes, it would do me good, I can tell you. It s better than what I see the poor lady getting clouded over, like a mirror that wants rubbing. You know a good deal, Rosy, but you dont know everything, Muniment remarked in a moment, with a face that gave no sign of seeing a reason in what she said. Your mind is too poetical. There s nothing that I should care for that her ladyship would be willing to do for ~ She would marry you at a days notice she d do that. I should nt care for that. Besides, if I was to ask her, she would never come into the place again. And I should nt care for that, for you. Never mind me; I 11 take the risk! cried Rosy, gayly. But what s to be gained, if I can have her, for you, without any risk? You wont have her for me, or for any one, when she s dead of a broken heart. Dead of a broken tea-cup! said the young man. And, pray, what should we live on, when you had got us set up? the three of us, without count- ing the kids. He evidently was arguing from pure good-nature, and not in the least from curiosity; but his sister replied as eager- ly as if he would be floored by her an- swer: Has nt she got two hundred a year of her own? Dont I know every penny of her affairs? Paul Muniment gave no sign of any mental criticism he may have made on Rosys conception of the delicate course, or of a superior policy; perhaps, in- deed, for it is perfectly possible, her in- quiry did not strike him as having a mixture of motives. He only rejoined, with a little pleasant, patient sigh, I dont want the dear old girls money. His sister, in spite of her eagerness, waited twenty seconds; then she flashed at him, Pray, do you like the Prin- cesss better? If I did, there would be more of it, he answered, quietly. How can she marry you? Has nt she got a husband? Rosy cried. Lord, how you give me away!~ laughed her brother. Daughters of earls, wives of princes I have only to pick. I dont speak of the Princess, so long as there s a prince. But if you have nt seen that Lady Aurora is a beautiful, wonderful exception, and quite unlike any one else in all the wide world well, all I can say is that I have. I thought it was your opinion, Paul objected, that the swells should remain swells, and the high ones keep their place. And, pray, would she lose hers if she were to marry you? Her place at Inglefleld, certainly, said Paul, as patiently as if his sister could never tire him with any insistence or any minuteness. Has nt she lost that already? Does she ever go there? Surely you appear to think so, from the way you always question her about it, replied Paul. Well, they think her so mad already that they cant think her any madder,~, his sister continued. They have given her up, and if she were to marry you If she were to marry me, they would nt touch her with a ten - foot pole, Paul broke in. Rosy flinched a moment ; then she said, serenely, Oh, I dont care for that! You ought to, to be consistent, though, possibly, she should nt, admit- ting that she would nt. You have more imagination than logic which, of 212 The Princess Casamassima. [August, course, for a woman, is quite right. That s what makes you say that her ladyship is in affliction because I go to a place that she herself goes to without the least compulsion. She goes to keep you off, said Rosy, with decision. To keep me off? To interpose, with the Princess; to be nice to her and conciliate her, so that she may not take you. Did she tell you any such rigmarole as that? Paul inquired, this time star- ing a little. Do I need to be told things, to know them? I am not a fine, strong, superior male; therefore I can discover them for myself, answered Rosy, with a daunt- less little laugh and a light in her eyes which might indeed have made it appear that she was capable of wizardry. You make her out at once too pas- sionate and too calculating, the young man rejoined. She has no personal feelings, she wants nothing for herself. She only wants one thing in the world to make the poor a little less poor. Precisely; and she regards you, a helpless, blundering bachelor, as one of them.~~ She knows I am not helpless so long as you are about the place, and that my blunders dont matter so long as you correct them. She wants to assist me to assist you, then! the girl exclaimed, with the lev- ity with which her earnestness was al- ways interfused; it was a spirit that seemed, at moments, in argument, to mock at her own contention. Besides, is nt that the very thing you want to bring about? she went on. Is nt that what you are plotting and working and waiting for? She wants to throw herself into it to work with you. My dear girl, she does nt under- sisind a pennyworth of what I think. She could nt if she would. And no more do I, I suppose you mean. No more do you; but with you it s different. If you would, you could. However, it matters little who under- stands and who does nt, for there s mighty little of it. I m not doing much, you know. Rosy lay there looking up at him. It must be pretty thick, when you talk that way. However, I dont care what happens, for I know I shall be looked after. Nothing will happen nothing will happen, Paul remarked, simply. The girls rejoinder to this was to say in a moment, You have a different tone since you have taken up the Prin- cess. She spoke with a certain severity, but he broke out, as if he had not heard her, I like your idea of the female aristocracy quarreling over a dirty brute like me. I dont know how dirty you are, but I know you smell of soap, said Rosy, with serenity. They wont quarrel; thats not the way they do it. Yes, you are taking a different tone, for some purpose that I cant discover just yet. What do you mean by that? When did I ever take a tone? her brother asked. Why, then, do you speak as if you were not remarkable, immensely re- markable more remarkable than any- thing any one, male or female, good or bad, of the aristocracy or of the vulgar sort, can ever do for you? What on earth have I ever done to show it? Paul demanded. Oh, I dont know your secrets, and that s one of them. But we re out of the common beyond any one, you and I, and, between ourselves, with the door fastened, we might as well admit it. I admit it for you, with all my heart, said the young man, laughing. Well, then, if I admit it for you, that s all that s required. 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. 213 The brother and sister considered each other a while in silence, as if each were tasting, agreeably, the distinction the other conferred; then Munimen t said, If I m such an awfully superior chap, why should nt I behave in keep- ing? Oh, you do, you do! All the same, you dont like it. It is nt so much what you do; it s what she does. How do you mean, what she does? She makes Lady Aurora suffer. Oh, I cant go into that, said Paul. A man feels like a muff, talking about the women that suffer for him. Well, if they do it, I think you might bear it! Rosy exclaimed. That s what a man is. When it comes to be- ing sorry, oh, that s too ridiculous! There are plenty of things in the world I m sorry for, Paul rejoined, smiling. One of them is that you should keep me gossiping here when I want to go out. Oh, I dont care if I worry her a little. Does she do it on purpose? Rosy continued. You ladies must settle all that to- gether, Muniment answered, rubbing his hat with the cuff of his coat. It was a new one, the bravest he had ever possessed, and in a moment he put it on his head, as if to reinforce his reminder to his sister that it was time she should release him. Well, you do look genteel, she remarked, complacently, gazing up at him. No wonder she has lost her head! I mean the Princess, she ex- plained. You never went to any such expense for her ladyship. My dear, the Princess is worth it she s worth it, said the young man, speaking seriously now, and reflectively. Will she help you very much? Rosy demanded, with a strange, sudden transition to eagerness. Well, said Paul, that s rather what I look for. She threw herself forward on her sofa, with a movement that was rare with her, and shaking her clasped hands she exclaimed, Then go off, go off quickly! He came round and kissed her, as if he were not more struck than usual with her freakish inconsequence. It s not bad to have a little person at home who wants a fellow to succeed. Oh, I know they will look after me, she said, sinking back upon her pillow with an air of agreeable security. He was aware that whenever she said they, without further elucidation, she meant the populace surging up in his rear, and he rejoined, always hilarious, I dont think we 11 leave it much to them. No, it s not much you 11 leave to them, I 11 be bound. He gave a louder laugh at this, and said, You re the deepest of the lot, Miss Muniment. Her eyes kindled at his praise, and as she rested them on her brothers she murmured, Well, I pity the poor Princess, too, you know. Well, now, I m not conceited, but I dont, Paul returned, passing in front of the little mirror on the mantel-shelf. Yes, you 11 succeed, and so shall I but she wont, Rosy went on. Muniment stopped a moment, with his hand on the latch of the door, and said, gravely, almost sententiously, She is not only beautiful, as beautiful as a picture, hut she is uncommon sharp, and she has taking ways, beyond any- thing that ever was known. I know her ways, his sister replied. Then, as he left the room, she called after him, But I dont care for any- thing, so long as you become prime minister of England! Three quarters of an hour after this Muniment knocked at the door in Ma- deira Crescent, and was immediately ushered into the parlor, where the Prin- cess, in her bonnet and mantle, sat alone. 214 The Princess Casamassima. [August, She made no movement as he came in; she only looked up at him with a smile. You are braver than I gave you credit for, she said, in her rich voice. I shall learn to be brave, if I as- sociate a while longer with you. But I shall never cease to be shy, Muni- ment added, standing there, and looking tall in the middle of the small room. He cast his eyes about him for a place to sit down, but the Princess gave him no help to choose; she only watched him, in silence, from her own place, with her hands quietly folded in her lap. At last, when, without remonstrance from her, he had selected the most un- comfortable chair in the room, she re- plied That s only another name for des- perate courage. I put on my bonnet, on the chance, but I did nt expect you.~~ Well, here I am that s the great thing, Muniment said, good-humoredly. Yes, no doubt it s a very great thing. But it will be a still greater thing when you are there. I am afraid you hope too much, the young man observed. Where is it? I dont think you told me. The Princess drew a small folded let- ter from her pocket, and, without saying anything, held it out to him. He got up to take it from her, opened it, and, as he read it, remained standing in fron,t of her. Then he went straight to the fire and thrust the paper into it. At this movement she rose quickly, as if to save the document, but the expression of his face, as he turned round to her, made her stop. The smile that came into her own was a little forced. What are you afraid of? she asked. I take it the house is known. If we go, I suppose we may admit that we go. Muniments face showed that he had been annoyed, but he answered, quietly enough, No writing no writing. You are terribly careful, said the Princess. Careful of you yes.~~ She sank down upon her sofa again, asking her companion to ring for tea; they would do much better to have some before going out. When the order had been given, she remarked, I see I shall have much less keen emotion than when I acted by myself. Is that what you go in for keen emotion? Surely, Mr. Muniment. Dont you? God forbid! I hope to have as lit- tle of it as possible. Of course one does nt want any vague rodomontado; one wants to do something. But it would be hard if one could nt have a little pleasure by the way. My pleasure is in quietness, said Paul Muniment, smiling. So is mine. But it depends on how you understand it. Quietness, I mean, in the midst of a tumult. You have rare ideas about tumults. They are not good in themselves. The Princess considered this a mo- ment; then she remarked, I wonder if you are too prudent. I should nt like that. If it is made an accusation against you that you have been where we are going shall you deny it? With that prospect, it would be sim- pler not to go at all, would nt it? Mu- niment inquired. Which prospect do you mean? That of being found out, or that of having to lie ? I suppose that if you lie you are not found out, Muniment replied, hu- morously. You wont take me seriously, said the Princess. She spoke without irri- tation, without resentment, with a kind of resigned sadness. But there was a certain fineness of reproach in the tone in which she added, I dont believe you want to go at all. Why else should I have come, es- pecially if I dont take you seriously? That has never been a reason for a 1886.] The Prince8s Ca8ctmctssimct. 215 man not going to see a woman, said the Princess. It s usually a reason in favor of it. Muniment turned his smiling eyes over the room, looking from one article of furniture to another: this was a way he had when he was engaged in a dis- cussion, and it suggested not so much that he was reflecting on what his in- terlocutor said as that his thoughts were pursuing a cheerfully independent course. Presently he observed, I dont know that I quite understand what you mean by that question of taking a wo- man seriously. Ah, you are very perfect, mur- mured the Princess. Dont you con- sider that the changes you look for will be also for our benefit? I dont think they will alter your position. If I did nt hope for that, I wouldnt do anything, said the Princess. Oh, I have no doubt you 11 do a great deal. The young mans companion was si- lent for some minutes, during which he also was content to say nothing. I wonder you can find it in your con- science to work with me, she observed at last. It is nt in my conscience I find it, said Muniment, laughing. The maid-servant brought in the tea, and while the Princess was making a place for it on a little table beside her she exclaimed, Well, I dont care, for I think I have you in my power! You have every one in your power, returned Muniment. Every one is no one, the Princess replied, rather dryly; and a moment later she said to him, That extraordi- nary little sister of yours surely you take her seriously? I m wonderful fond of her, if that s what you mean. But I dont think her position will ever be altered. Are you alluding to her position in bed? If you consider that she will never recover her health, the Princess said, I am very sorry to hear it. Oh, her health will do. I mean that she will continue to be, like all the most amiable women, just a kind of or- nament to life. The Princess had already perceived that he pronounced amiable emiable ; but she had accepted this peculiarity of her visitor in the spirit of imaginative transfigurement in which she had accept- ed several others. To your life, of course. ~he can hardly be said to be an ornament to her own. Her life and mine are all one. She is certainly magnificent, said the Princess. While he was drinking his tea, she remarked to him that for a revolutionist he was certainly most ex- traordinary; and he inquired, in answer, whether it were not rather in keeping for revolutionists to be extraordinary. He drank three cups, declaring that his hostesss decoction was rare; it was better, even, than Lady Auroras. This led him to observe, as he put down his third cup, looking round the room again, lovingly, almost covetously, You ye got everything so handy, I dont see what interest you can have. How do you mean, what interest? In getting in so uncommon deep. On the instant the Princesss expres- sion flashed into pure passion. Do you consider that~ I am in really far? Up to your neck, ma~ ~ And do you think that ii y va of my neck I mean that it s in danger? she translated, eagerly. Oh, I understand your French. Well, Ill look after you, Muniment observed. Remember, then, definitely, that I expect not to lie. Not even for me? Then Muni- ment added, in the same familiar tone, which was not rough nor wanting in respect, but only homely and direct, sug- gestive of growing acquaintance, If I 216 The Princess Casamassima. [August, was your husband, I would come and take you away.~~ Please dont speak of my husband, said the Princess, gravely. You have no qualificatiQn for doing so; you know nothing whatever about him. I know what Hyacinth has told me. Oh, Hyacinth! the Princess mur- mured, impatiently. There was another silence of some minutes, not disconnected, apparently, from this reference to the little bookbinder; but when Muniment spoke, after the interval, it was not to carry on the allusion. Of course you think me very plain, very rude. Certainly, you have not such a nice address as Hyacinth, the Princess re- joined, not desiring, on her side, to evade the topic. But that is given to very few, she added; and I dont know that pretty manners are exactly what we are working for. Ay, it wont be very endearing when we cut down a few allowances, said Muniment. But I want to please you; I want to be as much as possible like Hyacinth, he went on. That is not the way to please me. I dont forgive him; he s very silly. Ah, dont say that; he s a little brick! Muniment exclaimed. He s a dear fellow, with extraor- dinary qualities, but so deplorably con-. ventional. Yes, talking about taking things se- riously he takes them seriously, re- marked Muniment. Has he ever told you his life? asked the Princess. He has nt required to tell me. I ye seen a good bit of it. Yes, but I mean before you knew him. Muniment reflected a moment. His birth, and his poor mother? I think it was Rosy told me about that. And, pray, how did she know? Ah, when you come to the way Rosy knows! said Muniment, laugh- ing. She does nt like people in that predicament. She thinks we ought all to be finely born. Then they agree, for so does poor Hyacinth. The Princess hesitated an instant; then she said, as if with a quick effort, I want to ask you something. Have you had a visit from Mr. Vetch? The old gentleman who fiddles? No, he has never done me that honor. It was because I prevented him, then. I told him to leave it to me. To leave what, now? Muniment looked at her in placid perplexity. He is in great distress about Hya~ cinth about the danger he runs. You know what I mean. Yes, I know what you mean, Mu~ niment replied, slowly. But what does he know about it? I thought it was supposed to be a deadly secret. So it is. He does nt know any- thing; he only suspects. How do you know, then? The Princess hesitated again. Oh, I m like Rosy I find out. Mr. Vetch, as I suppose you are aware, has known Hyacinth all his life; he takes a most affectionate interest in him. He be- lieves there is something hanging over him, and he wants it to be turned off, to be stopped. The Princess paused, at this, but her visitor made no response, and she went on: He was going to see you, to beg you to do something, to interfere; he seemed to think that your power, in such a matter, would be very great; but, as I tell you, I requested him, as a particular favor to me, to let you alone. What favor would it be to you? Muniment asked. It would give me the satisfaction of feeling that you were not worried. Muniment appeared struck with the curious inadequacy of this explanation, considering what was at stake; he broke into a laugh, and remarked, That was considerate of you, beyond everything. 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. 217 It was not meant as consideration for you; it was a piece of calculation. The Princess, having made this an- nouncement, gathered up her gloves and turned away, walking to the chimney- piece, where she stood a moment ar- ranging her bonnet-ribbons in the mirror with which it was decorated. Muniment watched her with evident curiosity; in spite both of his inaccessibility to ner- vous agitation and of the skeptical theo- ries he entertained about her, he was not proof against her general faculty of creating a feeling of suspense, a ten- sion of interest, on the part of those who associated with her. He followed her movements, but, plainly, he did nt follow her calculations, so that he could only listen more attentively when she in- quired suddenly, Do you know why I asked you to come and see me? Do you know why I went to see your sister? It was all a plan, said the Princess. We hoped it was just an ordinary humane, social impulse, the young man returned. It was humane, it was even social, but it was not ordinary. I wanted to save Hyacinth. To save him? I wanted to be able to talk with you just as I am talking now. That was a fine idea! Muniment exclaimed, ingenuously. 1 have an exceeding, a quite inex- pressible, regard for him. I have no patience with some of his opinions, and that is why I permitted myself to say just now that he is silly. But, after all, the opinions of our friends are not what we love them for, and therefore I dont see why they should be what we hate them for. Hyacinth Robinsons nature is singularly generous and his intelligence very fine, though there are some things that he muddles up. You just now ex- pressed strongly your own regard for him; therefore we ought to be perfectly agreed. Agreed, I mean, about getting him out of his scrape.~~ Muniment had the air of a man who felt that he must consider a little before he assented to these successive prop- ositions; it being a limitation of his intellect that he could not respond with- out understanding. After a moment he answered, referring to the Princesss last remark, in which the others ap- peared to culminate, and at the same time shaking his head a little and smil- ing, His scrape is nt important. You thought it was when you got him into it. I thought it would give him pleas- ure, said Muniment. That s not a reason for letting peo- ple do what is nt good for them. I was nt thinking so much about what would be good for him as about what would be bad for some others. He can do as he likes. That s easy to say. They must be persuaded not to call upon him. Persuade them, then, dear mad. am. How can I persuade them? If I could, I would nt have approached you. I have no influence, and even if I had my motives would be suspected. You are the one to interpose. Shall I tell them he funks it? Muniment asked. He does nt he does nt! ex- claimed the Princess. On what ground, then, shall I put it? Tell them he has changed his opin- ions. Would nt that be rather like de- nouncing him as a traitor, and doing it hypocritically? Tell them, then, it s simply my wish. That wont do ~ou much good, Muniment said, with his simple laugh. Will it put me in danger? That s exactly what I want. Yes; but as I understand you, you want to suffer for the people, not by them. You are very fond of Robinson 218 The Princess Casamassima. [August, that s perfectly natural, the young man went on. But you ought to re- member that, in the line you have chosen, our affections, our natural ties, our timidities, our shrinkings His voice had become low and grave, and he paused a little, while the Princesss deep and lovely eyes, attaching themselves to his face, showed that, in an instant, she was affected by this unwonted adjura- tion. He spoke now as if he were tak- ing her seriously. All those things are as nothing, and must never weigh a feather beside our service.~~ The Princess began to draw on her gloves. You re a most extraordinary man. That s what Rosy tells ~ Why dont you do it yourself? Do Hyacinths job? Because it s better to do my own.,~ And, pray, what is your own? I dont know, said Paul Munimeut, with perfect serenity and good-nature. I expect to be instructed. Have you taken an oath, like Hya- cinth? Ah, madam, the oaths I take I dont tell, said the young man, gravely. Oh, you . . . ! the Princess mur- mured, with an ambiguous cadence. She appeared to dismiss the question, but to suggest, at the same time, that he was very abnormal. This imputation was further conveyed by the next words she uttered: And can you see a dear friend whirled away like that? At this, for the first time, Paul Mu- niment exhibited a certain irritation. You had better leave my dear friend to me. The Princess, with her eyes still fixed upon him, gave a long, soft sigh. Well, then, shall we go? Muniment took up his hat again, but he made no movement toward the door. If you did me the honor to seek my acquaintance, to ask me to come and see you, only in order to say what you have just said about Hyacinth, perhaps we need nt carry out the form of going to the place you proposed. Was nt this only your pretext? I believe you are afraid! the Prin- cess exclaimed; but in spite of her ex- clamation the pair presently went out of the house. They quitted the door to- gether, after having stood on the step for a moment, looking up and down, ap- parently for a cab. So far as the dark- ness, which was now complete, permit- ted the prospect to be scanned, there was no such vehicle within hail. They turned to the left, and after a walk of several minutes, during which they were engaged in small, dull by-streets, emerged upon a more populous way, where there were lighted shops and omnibuses and the evident chance of a hansom. Here they paused again, and very soon an empty hansom passed, and, at a sign, pulled up near them. Meanwhile, it should be mentioned, they had been fol- lowed, at a distance, by a cautious figure, a person who, in Madeira Crescent, when they came out of the house, was sta- tioned on the other side of the street, at a considerable distance. When they ap- peared he retreated a little, still, how- ever, keeping them in sight. When they moved away he moved in the same di- rection, watching them, but maintaining his distance. He drew nearer, seem- ingly because he could not control his eagerness, as they turned into West- bourne Grove, and during the minute they stood there he was exposed to rec- ognition by the Princess if she had hap- pened to turn her head. In the event of her having felt such an impulse, she would have discovered, in the lamp-light, that her noble husband was hovering in her rear. But the Princess was other- wise occupied; she failed to see that at one moment he came so close as to sug- gest that he had an intention of address- ing himself to the couple. The reader scarcely needs to be informed that his real intention was to satisfy himself as to the kind of person his wife was walk- 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. 219 ing with. The time allowed him for this inquiry was brief, especially as he had perceived, more rapidly than he sometimes perceived things, that they were looking for a vehicle, and that with its assistance they would pass out of his range a reflection which caused him to give half his attention to the business of hailing any second cab which should come that way. There are parts of London in which you may never see a cab at all, but there are none in which you may see only a single one; in ac- cordance with which fortunate truth, Prince Casamassima was able to wave his stick to good purpose as soon as the two objects of his pursuit had rattled away. Behind them now, in the gloom, he had no fear of being seen. In little more than an instant he had jumped into another hansom, the driver of which ac- companied the usual exclamation of All right, sir! with a small, amused grunt, which the Prince thought emi- nently British, after he had hissed at him, over the hood, expressively, and in a manner by no means indicative of that nationality, the injunction, Follow, fol- low, follow! XL. An hour after the Princess had left the house with Paul Muniment, Madame Grandoni came down to supper, a meal. of which she partook, in gloomy soli- tude, in the little back parlor. She had pushed away her plate, and sat motion- less, staring at the crumpled cloth, with her hands folded on the edge of the table, when she became aware that a gentleman had been ushered into the drawing-room, and was standing before the fire in an attitude of discreet expec- tancy~ At the same moment the maid- servant approached the old lady, and re- marked, with bated breath, The Prince, the Prince, mum! It s you he ave asked for, mum! Upon this, Madame Grandoni called out to the visitor from her place, addressed him as her poor young friend, and bade him come and give her his arm. He obeyed with sol- emn alacrity, and conducted her into the front room, near the fire. He helped her to arrange herself in her arm-chair, and to gather her shawl about her; then he seated himself near her, and remained with his pathetic eyes bent upon her. After a moment she said, Tell me something about Rome. The grass in the Villa Borghese must already be thick with flowers.~~ I would have brought you some, if I had thought, he answered. Then he turned his eyes about the room. Yes, you may well ask, in such a black little hole as this. My wife should not live here, he added. Ah, my dear friend, for all that she s your wife! the old woman ex- claimed. The Prince sprang up in sudden, passionate agitation, and then she saw that the rigid quietness with which he had come into the room and greeted her was only an effort of his good manners. He was really trembling with excite- ment. It is true it is true! She has lovers she has lovers! he broke out. I have seen it with my eyes, and I have come here to know! I dont know what you have seen, but your coming here to know will not have helped you much. Besides, if you have seen, you know for yourself. At any rate, I have ceased to be able to tell you. You are afraid you are afraid! cried the visitor, brandishing his arms. Madame Grandoni looked up at him with slow speculation. Sit down and be tranquil, very tranquil. I have ceased to pay attention I take no heed. Well, I do, then, said the Prince, subsiding a little. Dont you know she has gone out to a house, in a horri- ble quarter, with a man? I think it highly probable, dear Prince. 220 The Princess Casamassima. [August, And who is he? That s what I want to discover.~~ How can I tell you? I have nt seen him. He looked at her a moment, with his distended eyes. Dear lady, is that kind to me, when I have counted on you? Oh, I am not kind any more; it s not a question of that. I am angry as angry, almost, as you. Then why dont you watch her, eh? It s not with her I am angry. It s with myself, said Madame Grandoni, meditatively. For becoming so indifferent, do you mean? On the contrary, for staying in the house. Thank God, you are still here, or I could nt have come. But what a lodg- ing for the Princess! the young man exclaimed. She might at least live in a manner befitting. Eh, the last time you were in Lon- don you thought it was too costly! she cried. He hesitated a moment. Whatever she does is wrong. Is it because it s so bad that you must go? he went on. It is foolish foolish foolish, said Madame Grandoni, slowly, impres- sively. Foolish, ch~, ch~! He was in the house nearly an hour, this one. In the house? In what house? Here, where you sit. I saw him go in, and when he came out it was af- ter a long time, with her. And where were you, meanwhile? Again Prince Casamassima hesitated. I was on the other side of the street. When they came out I followed them. It was more than an hour ago. Was it for that you came to Lon- don? I dont know what I came for. To torment myself. You had better go back to Rome, said Madame Grandoni. Of course I will go back, but if you will tell me who this one is! How can you be ignorant, dear friend, when he comes freely in and out of the house where I have to watch, at the door, for a moment that I can snatch? He was not the same as the other. As the other? Doubtless there are fifty! I mean the little one, whom I met, in the other house, that Sunday afternoon. I sit in my room almost always now, said the old woman. I only come down to eat. Dear lady, it would be better if you would sit here, the Prince remarked. Better for whom? I mean that if you did not withdraw yourself you could at least answer my questions. Ah, but I have not the slightest de- sire to answer them, Madame Gran- doni replied. You~ must remember that I am not here as your spy. No, said the Prince, in a tone of extreme and simple melancholy. If you had given me more information, I should not have been obliged to come here myself. I arrived in London only this morning, and this evening I spent two hours walking up and down oppo- site the house, like a groom waiting for his master to come back from his ride. I wanted a personal impression. It was so that I saw him come in. He is not a gentleman not even like some of the strange ones here. I think he is Scotch, remarked Madame Grandoni. Ab, then, you have seen him? No, but I have heard him. He speaks very loud the floors of this house are not built as we build in Italy and his voice is the same that I have heard in the people of that country. Besides, she has told me some things. He is a chemists assistant. A chemists assistant? Santo Dio! And the other one, a year ago more than a year ago was a bookbinder. 1886.] The Princes8 Cc& samassima. 221 Oh, the bookbinder! murmured Madame Grandoni. And does she associate with no peo- ple of good? Has she no other soci- ety? For me to tell you more, Prince, you must wait till I am free, said the old lady. How do you mean, free? I must choose. I must either go away and then I can tell you what I have seen or if I stay here I must hold my tongue. But if you go away you will have seen nothing, the Prince objected. Ah, plenty as it i~ more than I ever expected to. The Prince clasped his hands together in tremulous suppliance; but at the same time he smiled, as if to conciliate, to corrupt. Dearest friend, you tor- ment my curiosity. If you will tell me this, I will never ask you anything more. Where did they go? For the love of God, what is that house? I know nothing of their houses, she returned, with an impatient shrug. Then there are others there are many? She made no answer, but sat brooding, with her chin in her protru- sivc kerchief. Her visitor presently continued, in a soft, earnest tone, with his beautiful Italian distinctness, as if his lips cut and curved the sound, while his fine fingers quivered into quick, em- phasizing gestures The street is small and black, but it is like all the streets. It has not importance; it is at the end of an endless imbroglio. They drovc for twenty minutes; then they stopped their cab and got out. They went together on foot some min- utes more. There were many turns; they seemed to know them well. For me it was very difficult of course I also got out; I had to stay so far behind close against the houses. Chiffinch Street, N. B. that was the name, the Prince gontinued, pronouncing the word with difficulty; and the house is No. 32 I looked at that after they went in. It s a very bad house worse than this; but it has no sign of a chemist, and there are no shops in the street. They rang the bell only once, though they waited a long time; it seemed to me, at least, that they did not touch it again. It was several minutes before the door was opened; and that was a bad time for me, because as they stood there they looked up and down. For- tunately you know the air of this place! I saw no light in the house not even after they went in. Who let them en- ter, I could nt tell. I waited nearly half an hour, to see how long they would stay and what they would do on coming out; then, at last, my impa- tience brought me here, for to know she was absent made me hope I might see you. While I was there, two per- sons went in two men, together, smoking, who looked like artisti (I did nt see them near) but no one came out. I could see they took their cigars and you can fancy what tobacco ! into the presence of the Princess. For- merly, pursued Madame Grandonis visitor, with a touching attempt at a hu- morous treatment of this point, she never tolerated smoking never mine, at least. The street is very quiet very few people pass. Now what is the house? Is it where that man lives? he asked, almost in a whisper. He had been encouraged by her con- senting, in spite of her first protests, to listen to him he could see she was lis- tening; and he was still more encour- aged when, after a moment, she an- swered his question by a question of her own: Did you cross the river to go there? I know that he lives over the water. Ah, no, it was not in that part. I tried to ask the cabman who brought me back to explain to me what it is called; but I could nt make him under- stand. The~y have heavy minds, the Prince remarked. Then he went on, 222 drawing a little closer to his hostess: But what were they doing there? Why did she go with him? They are plotting. Ecco! said Madame Grandoni. You mean a secret society, a band of revolutionists and assassins? Cc~pisco bene, that is not new to me. But perhaps they only pretend its for that, added the Prince. Only pretend? Why should they pretend? That is not Christinas way. There are other possibilities, the Prince observed. Oh, of course, when your wife goes away with strange men, in the dark, to far-away houses, you can think anything you like, and I have nothing to say to your thoughts. I have my own, but they are my own affairs, and I shall not undertake to defend Christina, for she is indefensible. When she does the things she does, she provokes, she in- vites the worst construction; there let it rest, save for this one remark, which I will content myself with making: If she were a dishonest woman, she would not behave as she does now, she would not expose herself to irresistible inter- pretations; the appearance of every- thing would be good and proper. I simply tell you what I believe. If I believed that what she is doing con- cerned you alone, I should say nothing about it at least, sitting here. But it concerns others, it concerns every one, so I will open my mouth at last. She has gone to that house to break up society. To break it up, yes, as she has wanted before? Oh, more than before. She is very much entangled. She has relations with people who are watched by the police. She has not told me, but I have per- ceived it by simply living with her. Prince Casamassima stared. And is she watched by the police? I cant tell you; it is very possible except that the police here is not like that of other countries. [August, It is more stupid, said the Prince. He gazed at Madame Grandoni with a flush of shame on his face. Will she bring us to that scandal? It would be the worst of all. There is one chance the chance that she will get tired of it, the old lady remarked. Only the scandal may come before that. Dear friend, she is the devil, said the Prince, solemnly. No, she is not the devil, because she wishes to do good. What good did she ever wish to do to me? the Italian demanded, with glowing eyes. Madame Grandoni shook her head very sadly. You can do no good, of any kind, to each other. Each on your own side, you must be quiet. How can I be quiet when I hear of such infamies? Prince Casamassima got up, in his violence, and, in a tone which caused his companion to burst into a short, incongruous laugh as soon as she heard the words, exclaimed, She shall not break up society! No, she will bore herself before the trick is played. Make up your mind to that. That is what I expected to find that the caprice was over. She has passed through so many follies. Give her time give her time, re- plied Madame Grandoni. Time to drag my name into an as- size court? Those people are robbers, incendiaries, murderers! You can say nothing to me about them that I have nt said to her. And how does she defend herself? Defend herself? Did you ever hear Christina do that? Madame Grandoni asked~ The only thing she says to me is, Dont be afraid; I promise you. by all that s sacred that you shant suf- fer. She speaks as if she had it all in her hands. That is very well. No doubt I m a selfish old woman, but, after all, one has a heart for others. f/Ike Princess (ilasamassima. 1886.] The Prince88 Ca8amas8ima. 223 And so have I, I think I may pre- tend, said the Prince. You tell me to give her time, and it is certain that she will take it, whether I give it or not. But I can at least stop giving her mon- ey. By Heaven, it s my duty, as an honest man. She tells me that as it is you dont give her much. Much, dear lady? It depends on what you call so. It s enough to make all these scoundrels flock around her. They are not all scoundrels, any more than she is. That is the strange part of it, said the old woman, with a weary sigh. But this fellow, the chemist to- night what do you call him? She has spoken to me of him as a most estimable young man.~~ But she thinks it s estimable to blow us all up, the Prince returned. Does nt he take her money? I dont know what he takes. But there are some things Heaven forbid one should forget them! The misery of London is something fearful. Che vuole? There is misery every- where, returned the Prince. It is the will of God. Ci vuol pazienza! And in this country does no one give alms? Every one, I believe. But it ap- pears that it is not enough. The Prince said nothing for a mo- ment; this statement of Madame Gran- donis seemed to present difficulties. The solution, however, soon suggested itself; it was expressed in the inquiry, What will you have in a country which has not the true faith? Ab, the true faith is a great thing; but there is suffering even in countries that have it. Evidentemente. But it helps suffer- ing to be borne, and, later, it makes it up; whereas here! . . . said the young man, with a melancholy smile. If I may speak of myself, it is to me, in my circumstances, a support. That is good, said Madame Gran- doni. He stood before her, resting his eyes for a moment on the floor. And the famous Sholto Godfrey Gerald does he come no more? I have nt seen him for months, and know nothing about him. He does nt like the chemists and the bookbinders, eh? asked the Prince. Ah, it was he who first brought them to gratify your wife. If they have turned him out, then, that is very well. Now, if only some one could turn them out! Aspetta, aspetta! said the old wo- man. That is very good advice, but to follow it is nt amusing. Then the Prince added, You alluded, just now, as to something particular, to quel gio- vane, the young artisan whom I met in the other house. Is he also estimable, or has he paid the penalty of his crimes? He has paid the penalty, but I dont know of what. I have nothing bad to tell you of him, except that I think his star is on the wane. Poverino! the Prince exclaimed. That is exactly the manner in which I addressed him the first time I saw him. I did nt know how it would hap- pen, but I felt that it would happen somehow. It has happened through his changing his opinions. He has now the same idea as you that ci vuol pazi- enza. The Prince listened with the same expression of wounded eagerness, the same parted lips and excited eyes, to every added fact that dropped from Madame Grandonis lips. That, at least, is more honest. Then he does nt go to Chiffinch Street? I dont know about Chiffinch Street; but it would be my impression that he does nt go anywhere that Christina and the other one the Scotchman go together. But these are delicate matters, the old woman added. 224 The Prince8s Casamassima. [August, They seemed much to interest her in- terlocutor. Do you mean that the Scotchman is what shall I call it? his successor? For a moment Madame Grandoni made no reply. I think that this case is different. But I dont understand; it was the other, the little one, that helped her to know the Scotchman. And now they have quarreled about my wife? It is all tremendously edifying! the Prince exclaimed. I cant tell you, and should nt have attempted it, only that Assunta talks to me. I wish she would talk to me, said the Prince, wistfully. Ah, my friend, if Christina were to find you getting at her servants! How could it be worse for me than it is now? However, I dont know why I speak as if I cared, for I dont care any more. I have given her up. It is finished. I am glad to hear it, said Ma- dame Grandoni, gravely. You yourself made the distinction, perfectly. So long as she endeavored only to injure me, and in my private ca- pacity, I could condone, I could wait, I could hope. But since she has so reck- lessly thrown herself into the most criminal undertakings, since she lifts her hand with a determined purpose, as you tell me, against the most sacred in- stitutions it is too much; ah, yes, it is too much. She may go her way; she is no wife of mine. Not another penny of mine shall go into her pocket, and into that of the wretches who prey upon her, who have corrupted her. Dear Prince, I think you are right. And yet I am sorry! sighed the old woman, extending her hand for assist- ance to rise from her chair. If she becomes really poor, it will be much more difficult for me to leave her. This is not poverty, and not even a good im- itation of it, as she would like it to be. But what will be said of me if, having remained with her through so much of her splendor, I turn away from her the moment she begins to want? Dear lady, do you ask that to make me relent? the Prince inquired, after an hesitation. Not in the least; for whatever is said and whatever you do, there is noth- ing for me in decency, at present, but to pack my trunk. Judge, by the way I have tattled. If you will stay on, she shall have everything. The Prince spoke in a very low tone, with a manner that be- trayed the shame he felt at his attempt at bribery. Madame Grandoni gave him an as- tonished glance, and moved away from him. What does that mean? I thought you did nt care. I know not what explanation of his inconsequence her companion would have given her if, at that moment, the door of the room had not been pushed open, to permit the entrance of Hyacinth Robinson. He stopped short on per- ceiving that Madame Grandoni had a visitor, but before he had time to say anything the old lady addressed him with a certain curtness: Ah, you dont fall well; the Princess is nt at home. That was mentioned to me, but I ventured to come in to see you, as I have done before, Hyacinth replied. Then he added, as if he were retreating, I beg many pardons. I was not told that you were not alone.~~ My visitor is going, but I am going too, said Madame Grandoni. I must take myself to my room. I am ner- vous and very sad. Therefore, kindly excuse me. Hyacinth had had time to recognize the Prince, and this nobleman paid him the same compliment, as was proved by his asking of Madame Grandoni, in a rapid aside, in Italian, Is nt it the bookbinder? Siccuro, said the old lady; while Hyacinth, murmuring a regret that he 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. 225 should find her indisposed, turned back to the door. One moment one moment, I pray! the Prince interposed, raising his hand persuasively, and looking at him with an unexpected, exaggerated smile. Please introduce me to the gentleman, he added, in English, to Madame Grandoni. She manifested no surprise at the re- quest she had none left, apparently, for anything but pronounced the name of Prince Casamassima, and then add- ed, for Hyacinths benefit, He knows who you are.~~ Will you permit me to keep you a very little minute? the Prince con- tinued, addressing the other visitor; af- ter which he remarked to Madame Grandoni, I will speak with him a little. It is perhaps not necessary that we should incommode you, if you do not wish to stay. She had for a moment, as she tossed off a satirical little laugh, a return of her ancient drollery: Remember that if you talk long she may come back. Yes, yes, I will go up-stairs. Felicissi- ma notte, signori! She took her way to the door, which Hyacinth, consider- ably bewildered, held open for her. The reasons for which Prince Casa- massima wished to converse with him were mysterious; nevertheless, he was about to close the door behind Madame Grandoni, as a sign that he was at the service of her companion. At this mo- ment the latter raised again a courteous, remonstrant hand. After all, as my visit is finished, and as yours comes to nothing, might we not go out? Certainly, I will go with you, said Hyacinth. He spoke with an instinct- ive stiffness, in spite of the Princes queer affability, and in spite also of the fact that he felt sorry for the nobleman, to whose countenance Madame Grando- nis last injunction, uttered in English, had brought a deep and painful blush. It is needless to go into the question of VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. what Hyacinth, face to face with an aggrieved husband, may have had on his conscience, but he assumed, naturally enough, that the situation might be grave, though indeed the Princes man- ner was, for the moment, incongruously conciliatory. Hyacinth invited his new acquaintance to pass, and in a minute they were in the street together. Do you go here do you gd there? the Prince inquired, as they stood a moment before the house. If you will permit, I will take the same direction. On Hyacinths answering that it was indifferent to him the Prince said, turning to the left, Well, then,, here, but slowly, if that pleases you, and only a little way. His English was far from perfect, but his errors were mainly errors of pronunciation, and Hyacinth was struck with his effort to express himself very distinctly, so that, in intercourse with a little rep- resentative of the British populace, his foreignness should not put him at a disadvantage. Quick as he was to per- ceive and appreciate, Hyacinth noted how a certain quality of breeding that was in his companion enabled him to compass that coolness, and he mentally applauded his success in a difficult feat. Difficult he judged it, because it seemed to him that the purpose for which the Prince wished to speak to him was one which must require a deal of explana- tion, and it was a sign of training to ex- plain adequately, in a foreign tongue, especially if one were agitated, to a per- son in a social position very different from ones own. Hyacinth knew what the Princes estimate of his importance must be (he could have no illusions as to the character of the people his wife received); but while he heard him care- fully put one word after the other, he. was able to smile to himself at his need- less precautions. Hyacinth reflected that at a pinch he could have encoun- tered him in his own tongue; during his stay at Venice he had picked up an 226 The Princess Casamassima. [August, Italian vocabulary. With Madame Grandoni I spoke of you, the Prince announced, dispassionately, as they walked along. She told me a thing that interested me, he added; that is why I walk with you. Hyacinth said nothing, deeming that better by si- lence than in any other fashion he held himself at the disposal of his interloc- utor. She told me you have changed you have no more the same opinions. The same opinions? About the arrangement of society. You desire no more the assassination of the rich. I never desired any such thing! said Hyacinth, indignantly. Oh, if you have changed, you can confess, the Prince rejoined, in an encouraging tone. It is very good for some people to be rich. It would not be right for all to be poor. It would be pleasant if all could be rich, Hyacinth suggested. Yes, but not by stealing and shoot- ing. No, not by stealing and shooting. I never desired that. no doubt she was mistaken. But to-day you think we must have pa- tience, the Prince went on, as if he hoped very much that Hyacinth would allow this valuable conviction to be at- tributed to him. That is also my thought. Oh, yes, we must have patience, said Hyacinth, who was now smiling to himself in the dark. They had by this time reached the end of the little Crescent, where the Prince paused under the street-lamp. He considered Hyacinths countenance for a moment by its help, and then he pronounced, If I am not mistaken, you know very well the Princess. Hyacinth hesitated a moment. She has been very kind to me. She is my wife perhaps you know. Again Hyacinth hesitated, but after a moment he replied, She has told me that she is married. As soon as he had spoken these words he thought them idiotic~ You mean you would not know if she had not told you, I suppose. Evi- dently, there is nothing to show it. You can think if that is agreeable to me. Oh, I cant think, I cant judge, said Hyacinth. You are right that is impossible. The Prince stood before his companion, and in the pale gas-light the latter saw more of his face. It had an unnatural expression, a look of wasted anxiety; the eyes seemed to glitter, and Hyacinth conceived the unfortunate nobleman to be feverish and ill. He continued in a moment: Of course you think it strange my conversation. I want you to tell me something. I am afraid you are very unwell, said Hyacinth. Yes, I am unwell; but 1 shall be better if you will tell me. It is be- cause you have comc back to good ideas that is why I ask you. A sense that the situation of the Princesss husband was really pitiful, that at any rate he suffered and was helpless, that he was a gentleman and even a person who would never have done any great harm a perception of these appealing truths came into Hya- cinths heart, and stirred there a desire to be kind to him, to render him any service that, in reason, he might ask. It appeared to Hyacinth that he must be pretty sick to ask any service at all, but that was his own affair. If you would like me to see you safely home, I will do that, our young man remarked; and even while he spoke he was struck with the oddity of his being already on such friendly terms with a person whom he had hitherto supposed to be the worst enemy of the rarest of women. He found himself unable to consider the Prince with resentment. 1886.] The Princess Casamassima. 227 The nobleman acknowledged the ci- vility of his offer with a slight inclina- lion of his long, attenuated person. I am very much obliged to you, but I will not go home. I will not go home till I know this to what house she has gone. Will you tell me that? To what house? Hyacinth re- peated. She has gone with a person whom you know. Madame Grandoni told me that. He is a Scotch chemist. A Scotch chemist? Hyacinth stared. I saw them myself two hours, three hours, ago. Listen, listen; I will be very clear, said the Prince, laying his forefinger on the other hand with an explanatory gesture. He came to that house this one, where we have been, I mean and stayed there a long time. I was here in the street I have passed my day in the street! They came out together, and I watched them, I followed them. Hyacinth had listened with wonder, and even with suspense; the Princes manner gave an air of such importance, such mystery, to what he had to relate. But at this he broke out: This is not my business I cant hear it! I dont watch, I dont follow. The Prince stared a moment, in sur- prise; then he rejoined, more quickly than he had spoken yet, But they went to a house where they conspire, where they prepare horrible acts. How can you like that? How do you know it, sir? Hya- cinth inquired, gravely. It is Madame Grandoni who has told ~ Why, then, do you ask me? Because I am not sure, I dont think she knows. I want to know more, to be sure of what is done in that house. Does she go there only for the revolu- tion, the Prince demanded, or does she go there to be alone with him? With him? The Princes tone and his excited eyes infused a kind of vividness into the suggestion. With the tall man the chemist. They got into a hansom together; the house is far away, in the lost quarters. Hyacinth drew himself together. I know nothing about the matter, and I dont care. If that is all you wish to ask me, we had better separate. The Princes face elongated ; it seemed to grow paler. Then it is not true that you hate those abominations! Hyacinth hesitated a moment. How can you know about my opinions? How can they interest you? The Prince looked at him with dismal eyes; he raised his arms a moment, a certain distance, and then let them drop at his sides. I hoped you would help me. When we are in trouble we cant help each other much! our young man exclaimed. But this valuable remark was lost upon the Prince, who at the moment Hyacinth spoke had already turned to look in the direction from which they had proceeded, the other end of the Crescent, his attention apparent- ly being called thither by the sound of a rapid hansom. The place was still and empty, and the wheels of this vehi- cle reverberated. The Prince peered at it, through the darkness, and in an in- stant he cried, under his breath, excit edly, They have come back they have come back! Now you can see yes, the two! The hansom had slack- ened pace and pulled up; the house be- fore which it stopped was clearly the house the two men had lately quitted. hyacinth felt his arm seized by the Prince, who, hastily, by a strong effort, drew him forward several yards. At this moment a part of the agitation that possessed the unhappy nobleman seemed to pass into his own blood; a wave of anxiety rushed through him anxiety as to the relations of the two persons who had descended from the cab; he had, in short, for several instants, a very 228 A Volume of Dante. [August, exact revelation of the state of feeling of a jealous husband. If he had been told, half an hour before, that he was capable of surreptitious peepings, in the interest of such jealousy, he would have resented the insult; yet he allowed him- self to be checked by his companion just at the nearest point at which they might safely consider the proceedings of the couple who alighted. It was in fact the Princess, accompanied by Paul Muni- ment. Hyacinth noticed that the latter paid the cabman, who immediately drove away, from his own pocket. He stood with the Princess for some minutes at the door of the house minutes during which Hyacinth felt his heart beat in- sanely, ignobly, he could nt tell why. What does he say? what does s/ic say? hissed the Prince; and when he demanded, the next moment, Will he go in again, or will he go away? our sensitive youth felt that a voice was given to his own most eager thought. The pair were talking together, with rapid sequences, and as the door had not yet been opened it was clear that, to prolong the conversation on the steps, the Princess delayed to ring. It will make three, four, hours he has been with her, moaned the Prince. He may be with her fifty hours! Hyacinth answered, with a laugh, turn- ing away, ashamed of himself. He has gone in sangue di Dio I cried the Prince, catching his compan~ ion again by the arm and making him look. All that Hyacinth saw was the door just closing; the Princess and Mu- niment were on the other side of it. Is that for the revolution? the trembling nobleman panted. But Hyacinth made no answer; he only gazed at the closed door an instant, and then, disengaging himself, walked straight away, leaving the Prince in the darkness, to direct a great, helpless, futile shake of his stick at the indifferent house. ffenr~y James. A VOLUME OF DANTE. I LIE unread, alone. None heedeth me. Day after day the cobwebs are unswept From my dim covers. I have lain and slept In dust and darkness for a century. An old forgotten volume, I. Yet see! Such mighty words within my heart are kept That, reading once, great Ariosto wept In vain despair so impotent to be. And once, with pensive eyes and drooping head, Musing, Vittoria Colonna came, And touched my leaves with dreamy finger-tips, Lifted me up half absently, and read; Then kissed the page with sudden tender lips, And sighed, and murmured one belov~d name. Caroline Wilder Feiowes.

Caroline Wilder Fellowes Fellowes, Caroline Wilder A Volume of Dante 228-229

228 A Volume of Dante. [August, exact revelation of the state of feeling of a jealous husband. If he had been told, half an hour before, that he was capable of surreptitious peepings, in the interest of such jealousy, he would have resented the insult; yet he allowed him- self to be checked by his companion just at the nearest point at which they might safely consider the proceedings of the couple who alighted. It was in fact the Princess, accompanied by Paul Muni- ment. Hyacinth noticed that the latter paid the cabman, who immediately drove away, from his own pocket. He stood with the Princess for some minutes at the door of the house minutes during which Hyacinth felt his heart beat in- sanely, ignobly, he could nt tell why. What does he say? what does s/ic say? hissed the Prince; and when he demanded, the next moment, Will he go in again, or will he go away? our sensitive youth felt that a voice was given to his own most eager thought. The pair were talking together, with rapid sequences, and as the door had not yet been opened it was clear that, to prolong the conversation on the steps, the Princess delayed to ring. It will make three, four, hours he has been with her, moaned the Prince. He may be with her fifty hours! Hyacinth answered, with a laugh, turn- ing away, ashamed of himself. He has gone in sangue di Dio I cried the Prince, catching his compan~ ion again by the arm and making him look. All that Hyacinth saw was the door just closing; the Princess and Mu- niment were on the other side of it. Is that for the revolution? the trembling nobleman panted. But Hyacinth made no answer; he only gazed at the closed door an instant, and then, disengaging himself, walked straight away, leaving the Prince in the darkness, to direct a great, helpless, futile shake of his stick at the indifferent house. ffenr~y James. A VOLUME OF DANTE. I LIE unread, alone. None heedeth me. Day after day the cobwebs are unswept From my dim covers. I have lain and slept In dust and darkness for a century. An old forgotten volume, I. Yet see! Such mighty words within my heart are kept That, reading once, great Ariosto wept In vain despair so impotent to be. And once, with pensive eyes and drooping head, Musing, Vittoria Colonna came, And touched my leaves with dreamy finger-tips, Lifted me up half absently, and read; Then kissed the page with sudden tender lips, And sighed, and murmured one belov~d name. Caroline Wilder Feiowes. 1886.] DomeBtic Economy in the Confederacy. 2~9 DOMESTIC ECONOMY IN THE CONFEDERACY. AMONG the many remarkable features of the war between the States the block- ade system was perhaps the most ex- traordinary. For extent and effective- ness it stands without a parallel in his- tory. Isolation on the part of one of the belligerents doubtless shaped the re- sult in larger measure than in any pre- ceding war of anything like the same magnitude. For it is to be questioned if there was ever before a great people so far from self-sustaining as was the South in 1861. Indeed, only by means of the modern facilities of transportation could it have been possible for a territory so large and populous to have fallen into a state of such absolute dependence on the outside world. Not only was steam an indispensable auxiliary of the Feder- als, rendering the invasion and retention of the revolting territory practicable, but it had fostered at the South a fatal economic condition which made the fail- ure of the Confederacy a foregone con- clusion from the first. How this abnor- mal state told when isolation came, and how desperately the people strove to remedy it, forms a curious and pathetic chapter of the war history. While war in the abstract had been vaguely apprehended for a generation, war in the concrete took the South, as all unpleasant things are apt to take optimistic human nature, by surprise. And optimism was as peculiarly charac- teristic of the Southern mind up to Ap- pomattox as the opposite quality has been ever since. Moreover, the political axiom of the day, that even should war arise the imperative need of cotton would at least force the European powers to keep their ports open, lulled the South into such security that hostilities over- took her with little more than the scant stock of crude and manufactured arti- cles necessary for current use. The few unvaried manufacturing es- tablishments that existed were of course utterly inadequate to supply the needs of the people, and neither machinery nor artisans were to be had to found new ones. Many of the most skilled workmen were Northern men, who either returned home on the outbreak of war, or slipped through the lines later on, as our fortunes grew darker and our need sorer. All such as remained at the South were insufficient to meet the mil- itary requirements of the hour. For the people in their domestic needs there was nothing left but a recourse to the rude contrivances of primitive days, which fortunately were not yet entirely obsolete in the rural districts. To these, as the slender stock of manufactured articles in the country gave out and the European powers persisted in holding aloof, the people turned with such skill and material as they were possessed of, to provide the necessaries of life. Spin- ning-wheels were set agoing; the scat- tered members of shapeless, half-for- gotten old looms were dragged to light; while the neighborhood blacksmith, cob- bler, and other petty craftsmen found themselves suddenly spring into impor- tant personages. On the ingenuity of each family, often of each individual, depended sooner or later their comfort, almost their existence. There was a suggestion of primeval life in the man- ner in which even in the veriest trifles one was thrown wholly on his own re- sources. Not only had a way to be in- vented to make everything, but in most cases a substitute had to be discovered for the crude material of which they were made, till between makings, reno- vatings, and remodelings, we became a nation of Crusoes. Indeed, if that era of home life had to be characterized by one word, there could be no choice as to

David Dodge Dodge, David Domestic Economy in the Confederacy 229-243

1886.] DomeBtic Economy in the Confederacy. 2~9 DOMESTIC ECONOMY IN THE CONFEDERACY. AMONG the many remarkable features of the war between the States the block- ade system was perhaps the most ex- traordinary. For extent and effective- ness it stands without a parallel in his- tory. Isolation on the part of one of the belligerents doubtless shaped the re- sult in larger measure than in any pre- ceding war of anything like the same magnitude. For it is to be questioned if there was ever before a great people so far from self-sustaining as was the South in 1861. Indeed, only by means of the modern facilities of transportation could it have been possible for a territory so large and populous to have fallen into a state of such absolute dependence on the outside world. Not only was steam an indispensable auxiliary of the Feder- als, rendering the invasion and retention of the revolting territory practicable, but it had fostered at the South a fatal economic condition which made the fail- ure of the Confederacy a foregone con- clusion from the first. How this abnor- mal state told when isolation came, and how desperately the people strove to remedy it, forms a curious and pathetic chapter of the war history. While war in the abstract had been vaguely apprehended for a generation, war in the concrete took the South, as all unpleasant things are apt to take optimistic human nature, by surprise. And optimism was as peculiarly charac- teristic of the Southern mind up to Ap- pomattox as the opposite quality has been ever since. Moreover, the political axiom of the day, that even should war arise the imperative need of cotton would at least force the European powers to keep their ports open, lulled the South into such security that hostilities over- took her with little more than the scant stock of crude and manufactured arti- cles necessary for current use. The few unvaried manufacturing es- tablishments that existed were of course utterly inadequate to supply the needs of the people, and neither machinery nor artisans were to be had to found new ones. Many of the most skilled workmen were Northern men, who either returned home on the outbreak of war, or slipped through the lines later on, as our fortunes grew darker and our need sorer. All such as remained at the South were insufficient to meet the mil- itary requirements of the hour. For the people in their domestic needs there was nothing left but a recourse to the rude contrivances of primitive days, which fortunately were not yet entirely obsolete in the rural districts. To these, as the slender stock of manufactured articles in the country gave out and the European powers persisted in holding aloof, the people turned with such skill and material as they were possessed of, to provide the necessaries of life. Spin- ning-wheels were set agoing; the scat- tered members of shapeless, half-for- gotten old looms were dragged to light; while the neighborhood blacksmith, cob- bler, and other petty craftsmen found themselves suddenly spring into impor- tant personages. On the ingenuity of each family, often of each individual, depended sooner or later their comfort, almost their existence. There was a suggestion of primeval life in the man- ner in which even in the veriest trifles one was thrown wholly on his own re- sources. Not only had a way to be in- vented to make everything, but in most cases a substitute had to be discovered for the crude material of which they were made, till between makings, reno- vatings, and remodelings, we became a nation of Crusoes. Indeed, if that era of home life had to be characterized by one word, there could be no choice as to 230 Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. [August, the term substitute. It may be added, in passing, that to this day the word is commonly used by the illiterate people of North Carolina as a synonym for all that is sorry and worthless. There was hardly a tree or plant that did not in the long run furnish at least one sub- stitute; being laid under tribute to feed or clothe the people, or to cure their ailments. Of these substitutes, some were in the beginning a rage, but each in the end a necessity. The absorption of the Southern mind in the war issue, coupled with its inherent non-inventive- ness, or, more accurately, its non-coin- pletiveness, can alone account for the paucity of permanently useful inven- tions that have arisen from that period of ceaseless experiment. The most serious matter of all was the great dearth of the prime staples of life themselves that overtook the South almost on the very threshold of war. The Confederacy was self-sustaining in breadstuff alone, and by breadstuff is meant Indian corn only, wheaten bread being regarded as a luxury by thousands in average circumstances, and the in- adequacy of transportation preven ted a proper distribution of even that. There was only one considerable saline, and the probability of a total failure of the salt supply, from its exhaustion or cap- ture, was a matter of ever-deepening anxiety. The meat product of the coun- try was largely insufficient at first, and after the loss of so much valuable terri- tory in Tennessee and Kentucky the government, by dint of buying, tithing, and impressing, was barely able to scrape together, week by week, the stinted ra- tions of bacon indispensable to keep life in the soldiers. Urgent as the need of recruits soon became, the authorities perforce adhered to the arrangement whereby the overseers of plantations were exempt from military duty, main- ly in consideration of the proprietors giv- ing bond to furnish the army with a few hundred pounds of bacon or beef an- nually. Private individuals, having the advantage of only one of the resources of the government, and that the least reliable, that of purchase, often found it impossible to procure meat at all. It took time to render available the limited product of iron and leather of which the country was capable. Iron was known to exist in various localities, but few of the mines had been developed, and both appliances and skilled labor were lack- ing to work them to any extent. The petty rural tanneries, tanning hides one half for the other and consuming eigh- teen months in the process, were the only dependence for leather. No sooner did the war and the at- tendant blockade become a certainty than the speculators, with swift and con- certed action, possessed themselves of almost the entire stock of salt, bacon, and leather, and withdrew them from market. Scarcely a country store or backwoods tan-yard escaped their visita- tion. A clique of half a dozen men ob- tained and held control of the only two nail factories in the Confederacy. By this means the speculators not only hastened and heightened the general stringency and distress, but through the exorbitant prices they were enabled to charge gave the first blow to the cur- rency. In fact, into such a vast evil did speculation soon grow that efforts were made, in the convention called in INorth Carolina in 1861, to suppress it entirely by means of fines, imprisonment, and confiscation. The measure failed, ex- cept in respect to salt, as did that to limit the growing of tobacco and cotton; Virginia having restricted the planting of the former, and South Carolina and Georgia that of the latter. Nor was the detestation in which both practices were universally held much more effi- cacious. Speculation grew ever fiercer and more unfeeling. Although those who grew large crops of cotton and tobacco were discountenanced and re- garded as half traitors, many persisted 1886.3 Domestic Econom~y in the Oonfederac~,. 2~1 in raising and accumulating these sta- ples, till the return of peace brought fabulous prices for all such stores as had been fortunate enough to escape the tithing, impressing, and burning agents of the Confederate government. From first to last, salt was the most precious of all commodities. To be worth ones salt was to have a value in- deed. Its price, scarcity, and the meth- ods by means of which its use could be largely dispensed with were subjects up- permost in every mind, and topics as common as the weather in every con- versation. Its exposure for sale could draw even the long-hoarded pittance of silver from its hiding-place; and when the Confederate government could pur- chase supplies on no other terms, an offer of part payment in salt never failed to work wonders. It was possible to subsist, or at any rate to exist, with lit- tle leather and less iron. Old utensils might be mended and mended again, and their use extended almost indefinitely; people might go barefoot and yet live; but at least salt enough to cure the ba- con was a sine qua non. The State of North Carolina, after making it unlawful to speculate in salt, appointed a salt commissioner and made an appropriation to establish evaporating stations on the coast; and when these proved inadequate, and the approach of Federal fleets and armies rendered them insecure, state works were established at Saltville, Virginia, the great saline of the Confederacy. Even this last re- source was uncertain, and the supply never continuous. Sometimes the gov- ernment monopolized the wells, still oftener the transportation; while the danger of having teams impressed at the works by the military authorities became so great that nothing save ex- treme individual necessity could induce the people to run the risk. At times not a pound of salt could be bought at any price. Many were driven to dig up the dirt floors of their smoke-houses, im pregnated with the meat drippings of years, and by a tedious process of leach- ing and boiling to obtain an apology for salt. Every method practiced by civil- ized or uncivilized man for the curing of meat without or with a modicum of salt was attempted. While many of these processes were failures, occasion- ing the loss of more or less priceless bacon, some effected cures which in point of durability might have competed with petrifactions themselves, and with fair prospects of success, supposing them to have been subjected to any agency of destruction short of Confederate hunger. Boundless was the excitement and in- dignation in North Carolina when, in 1864, it was falsely rumored that the governor of Virginia had determined to prohibit by proclamation the removal of salt beyond the borders of that State, as the governor of North Carolina had long before done in regard to cotton and woolen fabrics. We give Virginia blood, cried the press, and she refuses us salt. We have paved her soil with the bones of our best and our bravest, and now she forbids us to gather what may without blasphemy be called the crumbs of life, which she lets fall. Our women and children must die at her hands, in requital of their husbands and fathers having died in her defense. All the salt that the State was able to procure from Saltville and through the blockade was sold to the people giving the wives and widows of soldiers the preference at cost, which was usually about one fourth the market price. The greater part of the former was of very inferior quality; the coast salt espe- cially, being quoted at just half the price of the imported article. The last in- stallment of state salt, issued for the hog-killing in December, 1864, was at the rate of six pounds per capita of population. Shortly after that the works were destroyed by a Federal raid. In- deed, it was a matter of wonder to us, considering the vital importance to the 232 Domestic .Econom,y in the Confederacy. [August, Confederacy of this unique place, which had sprung into being and prominence with the suddenness of a mushroom city of the West, that the Federals should not earlier have put forth even more strenuous efforts than they did for its possession. The dearth of leather also drove the people to all sorts of grotesque expedi- ents. Sole leather especially, owing to the difficulty which the small tanneries experienced in its production, was ex- tremely scarce. Wood, which had long been worn to a very limited extent by the slaves in some localities, now came into general use in the making of shoes. A wooden shoe was among the very first inventions patented under the Confed- erate government. In the beginning a considerable variety of shapes prevailed. Some could do no better than dig out a rude wooden receptacle for the foot, a travesty on the sabot worn by the French peasants; a strip of leather be- ing attached to the top, by means of which the clog was secured to the ankle. But by far the best and most comfort- able style, and one which was adopted whenever the additional leather required was to be had, was a simple sole of ash, willow, or some light wood, to which full leathern uppers were fastened with tacks. At first these were made so thick, in order to insure durability, that among their various other effects was, that of adding very sensibly to the stat- ure of the community. Later on it was found better to make the soles thinner, and protect them from wear by nailing on their bottoms light irons, similar in shape to horseshoes. They were neces- sarily the noisiest shoes ever worn, al- ways announcing the approach of their wearers at~good round distance. When the air was clear and the ground frozen, one was by this means kept well ap- prised of the movements of his immedi- ate neighbors. Especially did their tell- tale clatter make them the abomination of the negro in his nocturnal rambles. The dismay of nervous people and care- ful housewives, their effect in-doors was indeed something terrific, though after irons came into vogue and lessened the impacting surface, the clatter was toned down to something under the tramp of a horse. Nor were they much less de- structive to floors, while carpets simply did not exist in their wake. Despite the scrubbings and scourings of a quar- ter century, their marks are yet to be seen in some houses. The use of wooden bottoms for shoes was by no means confined to the negroes. They were worn by the majority of la- boring people, as well as by many of both sexes who had been reared in afflu- ence. The scarcity of the last winter of the war drove whole families into them, except tho little feet which could not be trusted to steer such craft, but bore their share of martyrdom by being imprisoned indoors throughout the live- long dreary months. Great skill and caution were requisite to keep afoot in wooden bottoms at all. A queer spectacle it was, too, to see ones fellow-beings stepping gingerly around, as if there were universal misgivings as to the safeness of the earths crust. One may forget his first feat with firearms and even his first exploit on skates, but never his first flight on or, to be accu- rate, his first abduction by wooden bot- toms. If the soles, which in a clumsy attempt to fit the foot were shaped like rockers, were once set in motion, they persisted in inexorably tilting one for- ward, especially if descending a hill, till volition was utterly lost, and nothing short of an ascent or a fall could arrest them. However, in time they became comparatively manageable, one getting able to choose his own path, as well as to have some small voice in stoppages. Uppers were made of such random pieces of leather, or of anything bearing the faintest semblance to leather, that could be lighted on. Carriage curtains and buggy tops were acceptable. In 1886.1 Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. 233 some cases old morocco pocket-books were converted into childrens shoes; while many ladies managed to fashion themselves a sort of moccasin out of the most heterogeneous and unpromising materials. Woe to the careless wight who suffered his saddled horse to stand out near church, store, or post-office af- ter nightfall! The chances were that when he went to mount he would find that some one had appropriated his sad- dle skirts for sole leather, unless indeed he had forestalled such an act by appro- priating them to that end himself. Iron was now the precious metal. War not only monopolized the entire product of the South, but so sore was the need that frequent calls were made for plantation hells to be cast into can- non. Many church bells were also giv- en. In the cry for iron! iron! a large society of ladies undertook to furnish material for building an iron-clad by collecting all the broken pots, pans, and kettles in the Confederacy. The home folk had to depend almost entirely on the reworking of old iron. An active and unremitting search was maintained for every superfluous or cast-away scrap. All old vehicles and farm implements not absolutely indispensable were de- molished, and the iron they contained was diverted to the pressing needs of the moment. All idle nails were carefully drawn and laid away for future use. A sharp lookout was kept for stray pins. Womenkind made their boast of the weeks or months they had passed with- out missing a single pin; while the loss of a good darning-needle would have been a calamity involving perhaps half a neighborhood. The rapidity with which such indestructible articles as pins, needles, buttons, etc., disappeared from the face of the earth after the blockade was established was as unaccountable as the speed with which larger things wore out. Many a hard-beset house- wife, in her distress, vowed, and half believed, that the Yankee manufactur ers, with a prophetic eye to the future, had purposely made the wares sent South of the most worthless description, in order that their collapse might em- barrass us in the prosecution of the war. Of all manufactured articles, cotton cards were, under the circumstances, of most vital importance, and their scarcity the source of most anxiety. A small patch of cotton was now planted on every farm, to be made into clothing. Fingers were a good, if very tedious, substitute for gins, which existed, of course, only in the cotton district; but without cards to prepare the lint for spinning, the wheels and looms had been resurrected to no purpose. These want- ing, the cotton was useless, and there was no other resource. As every thread of clothing had to be homespun, tireless activity was necessary to provide for even a moderate-sized family of whites and blacks. The hum of the wheel and thump of the loom were necessarily al- most as ceaseless as the tick of the clock; and as few families possessed more than one pair of cards, they had to be plied far into the night to keep rolls ahead for the women at the wheel. When it is remembered how much depended on these frail implements, and that their replacement was altogether problemat- ical, it may be believed that their wear brought as many care wrinkles into the face of the materfamihias as the dimi- nution of the stint of salt itself. Only the trustiest hand on the place, usually the black mammy herself, was ever allowed to touch them; nor was ever chancellor with his seals, or priest with his relics, more vigilant or self-impor- tant. Despite the numberless attempts, it was late in the war, if at all; that a really successful pair of cards was made in the Confederacy. The renovation of old ones, so as to prolong their usefulness for a few weeks, was, I believe, the most that was ever achieved. Indeed, the wire from which they were made, being of foreign manufacture, was as unattain 234 Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. [August, able as the cards themselves. Every pair had to run the gauntlet of the blockade. The most valuable part of the cargo of the state blockade-runner, the Ad-Vance, consisted of bales of card- facing, to be attached to backs and han- dles on arrival. By this means Gov- ernor Vance was enabled almost to the very last to furnish the wives and wid- ows of Confederate soldiers with good cards at ten dollars a pair, which could not always be obtained at one hundred dollars in the open market. Much less than four years had sufficed to reduce the unreplenished wardrobes to nothing. Besides the effect of con- stant use, inroads had been made into them for every sort of purpose. Not to speak of the silk dresses, which amid the enthusiasm of the earlier, brighter days of the war had been converted into bat- tle-flags, woolen dresses and shawls had, later on, been made into shirts for the soldiers, as the carpets had been made into blankets, and the linen and curtains into lint and bandages for the wounded. Homespun or calico at ten dollars a yard was the only alternative for dress goods. In order that in point of dress all might be on the same footing, large societies of ladies bound themselves to wear noth- ing but the product of their own looms. These societies also had in view the dis- covery and dissemination of the best methods of dyeing and weaving, as well as the endless minutia~ of this strange, perplexing economy. For besides the difficulties of cards, wheel, and loom, a host of obstacles had yet to be sur- mounted. Sightly and permanent dyes had to be concocted from the roots, herbs, and barks of the country. Then per- haps vexatious thread, and implements in the way of scissors, needles, etc., the handiwork of a smith who had never till now attempted anything more deli- cate than plough-points or grubbing-hoes, had to be contended with. As a last re- sort, buttons were made of persimmon seed, through which holes were pierced for eyes. In many cases a mourning dress went the rounds of the neighbor- hood, as death entered one door after another. The a~sthetic faculty, then, proven to be ineradicable in womankind, was confined mainly to the selection and grouping of dyes for cotton cloth, and to elaborate hats and bonnets, made at infinite pains from shucks or straw, garnished with mysterious bits of finery reclaimed from no one knew where~ However, the rag-bag proved a magi- cal repository of boundless possibilities, whence the conjuring hand drew always just what was needed. Coffee had been almost the sole table beverage of the South, and no privation caused more actual discomfort among the people at large than the want of it. There was nothing for which they strove so eagerly and unceasingly to procure a substitute. Few indeed were the sub- stances which did not first and last find their way into the coffee-pot. Wheat, rye, corn, sweet-potatoes, pea-nuts, dan- delion seed, okra seed, persimmon seed, melon seed, are but a few of the substi- tutes which had their turn and their day. A fig for the difference between Ri-o and ry-e, said the wits. Eureka! cried an enthusiastic newspaper corre- spondent. Another of the shackles which holds the South the commercial thrall of the world is severed. Let South America keep her Rio and the antipodes its Java. It is discovered to be true beyond peradventure that as a beverage the seed of the sea-island cot- ton cannot be distinguished from the best Java, unless by its superiority; while the seed of the ordinary variety is found to be not a whit behind the best Rio. What a flutter of excitement and joy it raised in many a household and doubtless the scene in ours was typical to find that the great national plant, the very symbol of the Confed- eracy, was indeed so many-sided! It gave us greater confidence, if it were possible to have greater, in the power 1886.] Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. 235 and possibilities of the South, now that Cotton, the great king, had had another crown laid on his brow. So opportune was the discovery, too, that it struck us as almost a divine revelation, indicating the interposition of Providence in our favor. So eager were we to test it or rather to confirm it, for it was too good not to be true that we could not await meal-time. Residing in North Carolina and up the country, we had never seen any sea-island cotton, but the prospect of being confined to Rio was by no means appalling. A pickaninny was forthwith hurried off to the cotton patch, then sparsely flecked with newly opened boles. The apronful of precious stuff, now a veritable manna, was hardly in- doors before a dozen hands, of all sizes and colors, were tearing, picking, at the discredited fibre, in quest of the more priceless seed. The Rio was made and drunk. Despite the sorghum sweetening, the verdict was unanimous in its favor. I hope that the communication of this stupendous discovery to our neighbors added as immensely to our happiness as to our self-importance. But if in the last respect we sinned, retribution could not have been laggard. For although, owing to the fact that happily the recollection of disappointments and humiliations is less abiding than the opposite feelings, I am unable to tell exactly why and when we returned to parched bran, it is nevertheless true that we did. Receipts for making coffee without coffee (when the real article was al- luded to, strong emphasis on the word left no doubt as to which kind was meant) were extensively advertised in the newspapers, and in some instances sold by canvassing agents. But rye, okra seed, and meal or bran held in the long run the popular favor. Those who could afford an infinitesimal quantity of the real article, counted out by the grain, to flavor the substitute, were the envy of the neighborhood. A cup of pure and genuine coffee would in the eyes of many have been an extravagance akin to Cleopatras famous draught itself. The contents of a small gourd, which held our entire stock of the genuine ar- ticle for many months before the close of the war, must have gone towards the making of an incredible lake of coffee. The few votaries of tea consoled them- selves as best they could on a decoction of raspberry leaves or sassafras root. Some genius discovered in corn-fodder the exact flavor of black tea. Sugar, after the fall of Vicksburg, was almost as scarce as coffee. But in sorghum the people found a substitute which came perhaps nearer a success than any of the numberless makeshifts of the period. Sorghum, or Chinese sugar-cane, as it was then known, had been raised to some small extent in the State as early as 1857. It began to be largely planted in 1862, and during the two succeeding years its cultivation became general; sorghum-boiling adding another to the great Southern festivals of corn-shuck- ing and hog-killing. It was about the sole thing of which there was no stint in the Confederacy. Verily the land was submerged in sorghum. It sweet- ened the coffee, tea, and all the desserts of the time; sorghum candy was the national confection, sorghum stews the national festival. The strange creak- ing hum of the cane-mills pervaded the land. Every place was redolent of it; everything was sticking with it. As the juice, after being expressed by rude wooden mills on the farm, was boiled by unskilled hands in vessels of every imaginable shape and size, the most divers and surprising results often ensued. Here one farmer left his sor- ghum so underdone that it soured; there another so overcooked his that it refused to leave the barrel in which it had been poured. In short, every result between candy and vinegar was obtained. The product of no two farms, indeed of no two kettles, was alike in color, taste, or consistency. While a few succeeded 236 Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. [August, in making a tolerable syrup, the ma- jority were only learning the art when the war ended. As the sorghum was in most cases unavoidably boiled in iron vessels, the habitual users of it were easily to be distinguished by their ab- normally black teeth. Controversy as to its healthfulness and unhealthful- ness, its effect upon the teeth and the system in general, was almost as rife as that now carried on respecting whiskey and tobacco; and it may be added that it exerted about the same influence on the millions of consumers. Confederate stationery was a thing no less unique and characteristic than the other products of the time. The writing-paper, of a dingy salmon color, rough and furzy, was ruled with heavy, glaring blue lines, doubtless on the prin- ciple that the plainness of the land- marks should be in proportion to the difficulty of the way. But with this paper, such as it was, at $10 a quire, and envelopes in proportion, it was re- sorted to only after every available bit of paper, every page of old account- books, whether already written on one side or not, and even the fly-leaves of printed volumes had been ferreted out and exhausted. Envelopes were made of scraps of wall-paper and from the pictorial pages of old books, the white side out, stuck together in some cases with the gum that exudes from peach- trees. Ink had almost as many substi- tutes as coffee, and with nearly as great a variety of results. Sumac-berries, poke-berries, oak balls, and green persimmons set with rusty nails were oftenest used in concocting the fluids with which we blotted paper. We found that black-gum roots made fair corks. One of the very few things, if not the sole thing, that could be achieved with a dime was to post a letter. The ten- cent stamps, which were small and blue, bore a profile to all appearances a com- promise between those of the rival Presi- dents. The newspaper x~s of course the great institution of those feverish days. The war, in that it gave a powerful im- petus to reading and writing, and led the minds of the country people farther afield, was undoubtedly a great educator. Newspapers now found their way to the occupants of numberless cabins, whose literary needs and curiosity as to the outside world had hitherto been fully satisfied by two books: one written a couple of thousand years ago in Pales- tine, the other a couple o~ hundred years ago in England. Few indeed were the households which had not a member at the perilous front, and the war news was matter of personal interest to all. One of the many pathetic sights of home life was the eager expectation with which an illiterate wife, or mother, or father hur- ried off, on securing the long-coveted newspaper, in quest of a reader, and doubtless as column after column was gone over in vain, to wonder, simple souls, how so much could be written without a word of mention touching the one in their eyes all-important. The condition of each copy when it came from the country post-office proved it to have been already thoroughly fumbled by the eager crowd which always col- lected around such places for the perusal of all papers not called for immediately on the opening of the mails. To such an extent was this practice sanctioned by custom, or by mutual forbearance, that if one called and found his paper missing, the tone in which he was informed that some of the boys must have got hold of it and carried it off somewhere showed that an explanation rather than an apol- ogy was intended. Once in the hands of the people, the papers passed swiftly from door to door as long as they held together. Between this ceaseless thumb- ing and the manifold household needs for paper, which had to be supplied wholly from this source, it is not to be wondered that extremely few copies are now extant. 1886.] Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. 237 Strange and peculiar to the times in matter and material were the weekly papers that reached us. Pregnant as the days were, space could be found only for the most salient events. Here half a column described a pitched bat- tie; there a paragraph told all that we ever knew of a sharp skirmish, costing a hundred lives; again, a single sentence chronicled the daring and death of a dauntless handful. No one could form an idea as to what a day might bring forth. As the press was naturally reticent respecting such matters as might dis- hearten friends, or encourage foes, not even then escaping frequent threats of bridling measures at the hands of the Richmond government, the news- paper advertisements have a peculiar value, as giving within certain limits a true, because unconscious, presentation of the condition and attitude of the peo- ple. Most of these notices, which were no less characteristic of the times than the news matter, fell under three heads: the orders of the Confederate conscrip- tion and commissary officers; notices that certain worthies, urgently and unavoid- ably detained at home, wished to hire substitutes; and rewards offered for de- serters and runaway negroes. It is re- markable that in giving the approximate or probable whereabouts of the latter they were almost invariably represented as having returned to the old neighbor- hood from which they had once been removed, instead, as might be supposed, of making their way towards the Federal lines. The disproportion between the large quantity of land and the small num- ber of slaves advertised for sale strikes one, under the circumstances, as very singular and unaccountable. Neither the fact that the method followed in selling the two species of property was differ- ent, nor that much land was thrown on the market owing to the proximity of the advancing Federal lines, the slaves being removed to a place of safety, will, I think, entirely account for it. The true explanation, doubtless, lay largely in the spirit of combativeness which prompted men to cling with all the more tenacity to a species of property which they regarded as unjustly and malicious- ly attacked, coupled, too, with the scarce- ly formulated belief that if emancipa- tion ever came, confiscation and all that was dreadful must, as a natural conse- quence, come hand in hand with it. To the very last the newspapers referred to the high price of slaves as a proof of the determination and confidence of the Southern people in the struggle. The fewness of trade advertisements indicate a situation in which solicitation was incumbent on the buyer instead of the seller. An occasional cheap john, as a proof of his enterprise and philan- thropy, announced that he had been able to reduce the price of coffee to $40 a pound, sugar to $15, nails to $10, cali- co to $10 a yard, salt to $100 a sack, and other things to prices proportion- ally low. Grotesque and ironical to the last degree, and in more than one way, was an advertisement of the last winter of the ~var, in which an undertaker, in as lively fanfare of type as the font was then capable of, gave notice that he had just received through the blockade an assortment of mahogany coffins, with which he would be pleased to supply his friends and the public generally. How- ever, in view of the fact that the col- umns were profoundly silent as to the whereabouts of food and raiment, there was unquestionably much timeliness in the tender of such wares. After the rapid depreciation of the currency set in, no newspaper received subscriptions for more than six months in advance. With everything else at a hundred prices, $40 per half year for the dailies, and $20 for the weeklies, seemed strangely low. And although, between rough paper, worn type, and bad ink, they were sometimes only par- tially decipherable, and almost without 238 Dome8tic Economy in the Confederacy. [August, exception were reduced to half a sheet before the war was two years old, they nevertheless maintained a standard of excellence striking in those days of bungling attempts and lame efforts. The fact that the number of papers in North Carolina was reduced only from fifty-seven in 1861 to twenty-six in 1865, while at least nine tenths of all other business enterprises were ruined, proves journalism to have been the least unsuc- cessful occupation of the war period. The Confederate currency was too re- markable a feature of the times to be omitted in any account of them. The depreciation which began spontaneously at various places was many months in becoming general; nor was it ever near- ly uniform throughout the South. In the beginning it arose from no distrust of the currency itself. The great ma- jority of the people were willing to re- ceive, and actually did receive it at par, till the action of speculators forced up prices. Even then it passed as gold in the rural parts of North Carolina to the close of 1862. In fact, till the great twin disasters of July, 1863, destroyed ninety per cent. of the value of Confed- erate notes, there had been no great difference in the price of gold North and South. After that the currency sank with ever-increasing rapidity. The attempt of the Confederate Congress, by the act of February 11, 1864, tt restrict the circulation by forcing the conversion into bonds of all notes over five dollars, the first of the ensuing April, under penalty of a repudiation of one third their value, proved not only futile, but really disastrous. We felt the instant effect in the destruction of thirty-three per cent. of the value of every dollar in circulation, the small notes sympathizing with the larger ones. When the new issue, of which so much had beea fondly hoped, was at last ut- tered, it had far less purchasing power than the old before the damaging cur- rency bill was passed. But for the de vice of the government in bolstering up the currency by steadily selling gold, for many months towards the last, at sixty for one, the notes must have lost even the shadow of value they retained. During 1864 returned prisoners protest- ed that a dollar in bluebacks would buy more at Point Lookout than in Richmond. Indeed, to the extreme scarcity of all goods and supplies in the South, as much as to the inflation and consequent dis- trust of the currency, must be ascribed its depreciation. Excepting the consid- erable influx of counterfeit Confederate notes smuggled through the lines from the North, there were just fifteen times as many dollars iii circulation per capita, counting the population actually within the limits of the Confederacy, in Janu- ary, 1864, as in the same month of 1860. The fact that specie possessed five times its normal purchasing power is an ap- parent but not a real refutation of this assertion. Owing to the urgent demand for specie for the blockading and smug- gling trade, gold was no longer a stan- dard of value. Some idea of the in- fluence of this demand on the value of specie may be formed from the fact that the fall of Wilmington and the close of the blockade lessened the price of gold appreciably, although the Confederacy was tottering to its fall, with scarcely two months of life before it. Such an object of cupidity did the all-powerful silver gold being rarely or never seen in general circulation become to the whole people that years of vexatious experience with the unwieldy medium have hardly yet destroyed their venera- tion and affection for it. As for the last two years, at least, no one hoarded or even husbanded Con- federate money, it seemed a great deal more abundant than it really was. Nev- er before, away from the gaming-table, did money ever change hands so rapid ly. Each individual being bent and de- termined not to hold it, the whole com 1886.] Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. 239 munity was on the rack to keep the last dollar in circulation. That this should have been at all difficult, in face of the exorbitant prices that prevailed, is suffi- cient proof of the extreme scarcity of everything that man needs or wishes. A young subaltern in Richmond, in 1864, who, on a days furlough, before leaving for camp, went into a restaurant to disencumber himself of $400 in Jeff Davis shucks, and to make doubly sure took two acquaintances with him, found, when the reckoning came, after a by no means sumptuous repast, that he had not only succeeded in doing so, but had incurred an indebtedness of $800 be- sides. Then indeed money burned every pocket. If there was anything that the people valued less than money I never heard of it. A practical treatise point- ing out reliable ways of spending money would doubtless have had as many stu- dents then as one giving the opposite process now. The very appearance of the majority of the notes in circulation was calculated to destroy the traditionary respect of the people for money. While the execu- tion of some of the larger Confederate notes was, under the circumstances, of extraordinary merit, the popular com- plaint that the smaller bills and frac- tional currency, especially the state notes, did not even look like money was a just one. At their lowest ebb, neither in material nor execution would they have reflected credit on a village print- ing-office. A few months use sufficed pretty thoroughly to efface the letter- press, and at the same time to reduce the note to as many fragments as there had been creases in it, which fragments were commonly kept together by being pasted on a backing of newspaper, home- spun cloth, or other material that came to hand. While the abnormal economic condi- tion of which I have endeavored to give the most prominent features imposed more or less hardship on all, it bore very unequally on people of different occupations. The professional class and those who worked for salaries and wages naturally fared worst at a time when the struggle for bare existence taxed the energies of the majority to the utmost, and when the value of money was the most uncertain thing in a situation where nothing was certain. Besides, although the price of the necessities of life in- creased fifty and a hundred fold, pro- fessional emoluments, salaries, and wages advanced not more than ten, rarely more than five, fold. The monthly pay of a Confederate foot-soldier $15 a month, and that oftener than not in arrears would, for many months preceding Lees surrender, have barely sufficed, in Rich- mond, to buy a pound of bacon to eke out his pitiful rations, or a swallow of poor whiskey to induce momentary for- getfulness of hunger, although, per- chance, in Raleigh, at times, that amount might have put him in possession of both. The sum of $50, which the pri- vates received annually in commutation for clothing, was, when the method was abolished, hardly less inadequate than his pay. As the currency depreciated, even civilians, who could command some increase of pay, found that prices so out- grew their salaries that, if obliged to de- pend on them alone, they remained hope- lessly impecunious. However, any one with the opportunity and inclination to speculate which, in view of the fact that there was nothing but the bare ne- cessities of life in which to speculate, was held a shameful thing found little trouble in making more money than he could use. At the same time that the speculators were cudgeling their brains to devise new ways of spending the flood of Confederate money that poured in on them, the families of soldiers, and even of officers, unless they had independent means of support, were reduced to pen- ury, and but for the charity of neigh- bors, and the aid extended by the State in furnishing them food at cost, or, in 240 Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. [August, extreme cases, without charge, must have starved. The concentration of refugees within the Confederate limits, as the Federal lines advanced, increased still faster the constantly widening dispropor- tion between demand and supply in all the essentials of life. As has been aptly said, necessities became luxuries; and there were no comforts. It is such tests as these that reveal the wide differences between our real and imaginary needs. Many fam- ilies who before the war had held it im- possible to live on less than one thou- sand dollars a year found now that a sum with the purchasing power of one twen- tieth of that amount not only sufficed to keep soul and body together, but that enough was left to enable them to give a meal to every Confederate soldier who came within their reach. Meanwhile, the women of the household, the men being at the front or perhaps dead, after performing such domestic duties as were indispensable, devoted every moment to gratuitous work for the soldiers, usually giving the material sheets, valances, curtains, carpets, shawls, and woolen dresses, the accumulations of better days from which the articles were made. Many families lived mainly on sorghum and sweet-potatoes. Cases were known in which a sick person, the recipient of some chance delicacy, transmitted it to another, regarded in still greater need of it, who did likewise; and after passing in turn through vari- ous hands, till all knowledge of the first donor was lost, it came back to the house from which it started. In keep- ing with the severe economy of the times was the action of the boarding- schools, which, in order that the students might be deterred from taking more food than they could eat, imposed a pen- alty on all who left anything on their plates. It would be a strong arraignment of the wastefulness of a normal period to compare the quantity of even the most indispensable staple used per head with that used, say, in 1864, could either be exactly known. The straggling Con- federate who, when detected in a persim- mon-tree by his commanding officer, the fruit being yet unripe and powerfully astringent, declared in extenuation that he was compelled to draw up his stom- ach to fit his rations, described in home- ly phrase a process of which there was very wide need. Fortunate were those who were pro- ducers and as little dependent as possi- ble on the caprice and uncertainties of markets. Not only did the difficulty of transportation and the consequent in- equality of distribution cause the great- est diversity of prices to prevail in the State, or even in a much more restrict- ed area, it was not uncommon to find a difference of fifty or seventy-five per cent. in prices at places not fifty miles apart, both being on the railroad, but one could form no idea one day what he would have to pay the next, nor was there any certainty that he would be able to buy at all. Guided by rumor, a veritable Ariel in those days and on such errands, he might set out with one hun- dred dollars in pocket to buy a sack of salt, a pair of cotton cards, or even two barrels of corn or ten pounds of bacon, and learn on reaching the distant store, even if the coveted articles turned not out to be myths, that the whole stock had been exhausted the first half day, or that the merchant, falling suddenly into doubt as to finding opportunity to reinvest his money, had doubled prices, or closed his doors and refused to sell at all. Feuds strangely characteristic of the times sometimes arose between neigh- boring places. The speculators from one town, making a sudden foray into another, would strip it of everything that money could buy, carrying off their spoil for a profit. As a consequence, prices in the raided town leaped up a hundred per cent. at a bound, even if Domestic Economy in the Confederacy. 241 a downright famine did not ensue. A storm of indignation arose. The news- papers inveighed against it, the people resented it, and the feelings thus en- gendered in some instances outlived the war. Even in the larger towns it was a rare thing for the stores to stand open reg- ularly. When a merchant could find anything to sell he opened his doors, disposed of it quickly, and closed while in quest of another stock. Especially was this the case if he sold only block- ade goods. Some managed to do a less spasmodic business by dealing in rude articles of country manufacture, includ- ing always the ubiquitous sorghum. We now came to regard the charac- ter of the North Carolina coast, ~o long deplored as a bar to her commercial pros- perity, much in the nature of a divine blessing, foreordained from the begin- ning to be her salvation at this the su- preme crisis of her fate. We felt that the sands and storms at the mouth of Cape Fear and the wild sea off Hatter- as, rendering a thorough blockade im- possible, were as powerful allies of the South as the one hundred and twenty odd thousand men the State sent to the field. Especial interest was taken in the state steamer, the Ad-Vance. Her safety was an object of scarcely less so- licitude than that of a Southern army. In the poorest log cabin in the land, the minds of whose simple occupants had before traveled scarcely a dozen miles from home, the name of this steamer was a household word, inseparably as- sociated with the priceless salt and cot- ton cards on which the very existence of the family depended. Prayers for her safety went. up from every quarter, from gray-headed deacons and from children who were babes in arms when Sumter was fired on. Not a few saw the hand of Providence in her long im- munity from harm. Many a grudge was scored against the Richmond au- thorities, when in September, 1864, she VOL. LVIII. NO. 346. 16 was taken off Hatteras. Having had to surrender her anthracite to a Confed- erate cruiser, she had been obliged to put to sea with bituminous coal, which, lessening her speed and by its denser smoke betraying her whereabouts, led to her capture. But blockade running, like the divers other schemes of the times on which so many hopes were built, proved fruit- ful mostly in disappointment. We were ever on the eve of an era of plenty from this source, but foreign recognition itself was not more of a mirage. Al- though the Confederate Congress earW in 1864 prohibited the importation of luxuries, among which were numbered the finer fabrics of cotton and wool, in order that all possible space might be devoted to bringing in the prime neces- saries of life, and we were assured that swift steamers, painted a light blue to blend with the hues of sea and sky, stole in and out the Cape Fear at the rate of ten a month, less than one in eleven being taken, we at last awoke to the fact that these supplies were but as a drop of water to a wretch dying of thirst. Then there was always more or less of a scrimmage over the cargoes of the blockade runners, and it required the alertness and push of a person on the spot, as well as Confederate money ad libiturn, to put one in possession of any- thing like a stock of merchandise. Non- combatants were chary of trips from home, in those unsettled times. If a mans age did not clearly place him be- yond the conscription limits, the main object of his life, from which not even the passion for speculation could for a moment seduce him, was to avoid the conscription officers, whose methods were usually as summary as their power was untrammeled. As a consequence, the modicum of foreign goods that came in was not distributed even to the extent of which the deranged state of trans- portation would have admitted, the bulk of them going to the larger places. 242 Domestic Econom~q in the Confederacy. [August, Thus straitened were the people on whom were imposed the enormous taxes necessary to the maintenance of war, burdens which grew ever heavier, as the people became poorer. In an estimate made in the beginning of 1865, it was reckoned that the government would re- quire for the support of the war that year a sum more than twice as great as the total circulation of the South. The Confederate tax was then five per cent. ~n all property, twenty per cent. on in- comes and profits in trade, besides a special tax on hundreds of other arti- des, heavy in proportion as they could be construed to be luxuries. But long before this the government had seen that something more tangible than even an unlimited amount of its own notes, with their shadowy values, was indis- pensable to its existence. The tithing system had been established as early as April, 1863. This exacted a tenth of all farm produce not absolutely too per- ishable for transportation, sweet-pota- toes included. When tithes and taxes combined proved inadequate, as they soon did, recourse was had to the last resource of impressment. When the re- strictions by which the impressing pow- er was surrounded, forbidding the seiz- ure of provisions virtually from any save speculators, and even then, if on the way to market, prescribing a tedious method of appraisement, bade fair to render utterly barren this dernier res- sort, the Confederate agents ignored all trammels, and summarily impressed sup- plies wherever they could be found, paying for them at schedule rates, which were usually about one fourth the mar- ket price. The most vehement protest of the state press could never administer more than a temporary check to this practice. Among other things impressed were all pleasure horses, to be used in cav- alry service, and all firearms of every description, except a gun for each house- hold. In addition to the national taxes, tithes, and impressments enumerated above, the State of North Carolina, which, besides ministering largely to the wants of her sons in the regular service, maintained a considerable armament of her own, consisting of boys and old men not within the Confederate conscription limits, also levied a tax of two per cent. on all property, and at the close of the war was on the eve of exacting half a tithe additional. She also drafted slaves and fr~~e negroes, as she had need of them, for work on the fortifications. Al- though the slaves were impressed for only short periods, and their labor was paid for as liberally as the authorities paid for anything, this created more dis- content and disaffection than any other measure of that trying time. So mor- bidly sensitive had the people become in regard to this species of property that not even a friendly hand could touch it in the direst extremity without giving offense. So manifest was this spirit that the press taunted the slave-holders with being more willing to risk the lives of their sons than the value of their slaves in the support of the cause. How all these exactions were met, all these burdens borne, is one of those problems which inexorable necessity alone has ever been able to solve. That they were cheerfully borne, and that through all hardships and grievances the belief of the great mass of the peo- ple in the Confederacy survived to the end, are incontestable facts. David Dodge. 1886.] In the Cloud8. 243 IN THE CLOUDS. XIX. GWINNAN, upon recovering conscious- ness, showed no retrospective interest in the scene at the depot. He remarked imperatively to the physician whom he found in attendance that it was necessary for him to leave during the afternoon, in fact, as soon as possible, to hold court in a distant county. lie added, for the instruction of the doctor, that the clerk could open court, and had no doubt done so on Monday and Tuesday, and would be obliged to repeat this on Wednesday, without the presence of the presiding judge, but Thursday was the last day for which the statute had pro- vided the alternative. He evidently ex- pected that if the physician had any flimsy objections he would withdraw them before this grave necessity, under- standing that this was no time for the indulgence of professional whimseys. There was something so arrogantly disregardful of any other claims upon his attention, so belittling of merely corpo- real considerations, that the physician would have been a little less than medi- cal had he been able to repress a certain sense of domination as he answered, Well, that happened more than two weeks ago, judge, and I reckon court was adjourned over to the next term. Gwinnan became aware with a sort of amaze that the hands he lifted did not seem his own; that his head was light and giddy, or dully aching; that he was fretful and helpless; that no manner of respect was paid to his views. He was hardly pleased by the exchange of iden- tity with this ill-adjusted, listless, forlorn being; the less when he finally grew able to stand upon his feet again, and was informed that for the next month or so he must do nothing but seek to nterest and entertain the invalid, to see that he forbore to dwell on business, to seek to occupy his attention with pass- ing events, to divert him with trifles. It might have seemed even to others an arduous task to amuse with incidents a man whose every waking moment was occupied by principles. So completely had his rarefied, almost impersonal ju- dicial ambition, his pride of office, his solicitous reverence of its dignity, at- tenuated his sense of self that he cared little for Gwinnan as a man; he re- spected him as a judge. He had held himself sedulously to his aspirations; as it were on his knees, lie had served his vocation day and night. It was to him as essential an organic constituent of his being as the lungs; he could ill live without it, even for a time. Per- haps he might not have made the effort had not the physician warned him that he might never be fit for business, never again sit upon the bench, should he overexert himself now, before recover- ing from the effect of those terrible blows upon the skull. He became sud- denly tractable, wistful, and turned mournfully to the search of light enter- tainment. He assented with a dreary docility to the prescription of a change of air and scene. He accepted without demur, with a dull sense of endurance, the plan briskly devised for him to spend a week or two in Nashville, and if he did not recuperate rapidly to go thence South for the winter. He was not given to scanning his own mental poses and adjusting them to some theory of sym- metry; he could but feel, however, as if he were already dead, stalking among scenes in which he had no interest, half- heartedly mingling with men whose every instinct was as far removed from the spirit that swayed him as if some essential condition of existence divided them. It was with a truly post-mort~ai

Charles Egbert Craddock Craddock, Charles Egbert In the Clouds 243-262

1886.] In the Cloud8. 243 IN THE CLOUDS. XIX. GWINNAN, upon recovering conscious- ness, showed no retrospective interest in the scene at the depot. He remarked imperatively to the physician whom he found in attendance that it was necessary for him to leave during the afternoon, in fact, as soon as possible, to hold court in a distant county. lie added, for the instruction of the doctor, that the clerk could open court, and had no doubt done so on Monday and Tuesday, and would be obliged to repeat this on Wednesday, without the presence of the presiding judge, but Thursday was the last day for which the statute had pro- vided the alternative. He evidently ex- pected that if the physician had any flimsy objections he would withdraw them before this grave necessity, under- standing that this was no time for the indulgence of professional whimseys. There was something so arrogantly disregardful of any other claims upon his attention, so belittling of merely corpo- real considerations, that the physician would have been a little less than medi- cal had he been able to repress a certain sense of domination as he answered, Well, that happened more than two weeks ago, judge, and I reckon court was adjourned over to the next term. Gwinnan became aware with a sort of amaze that the hands he lifted did not seem his own; that his head was light and giddy, or dully aching; that he was fretful and helpless; that no manner of respect was paid to his views. He was hardly pleased by the exchange of iden- tity with this ill-adjusted, listless, forlorn being; the less when he finally grew able to stand upon his feet again, and was informed that for the next month or so he must do nothing but seek to nterest and entertain the invalid, to see that he forbore to dwell on business, to seek to occupy his attention with pass- ing events, to divert him with trifles. It might have seemed even to others an arduous task to amuse with incidents a man whose every waking moment was occupied by principles. So completely had his rarefied, almost impersonal ju- dicial ambition, his pride of office, his solicitous reverence of its dignity, at- tenuated his sense of self that he cared little for Gwinnan as a man; he re- spected him as a judge. He had held himself sedulously to his aspirations; as it were on his knees, lie had served his vocation day and night. It was to him as essential an organic constituent of his being as the lungs; he could ill live without it, even for a time. Per- haps he might not have made the effort had not the physician warned him that he might never be fit for business, never again sit upon the bench, should he overexert himself now, before recover- ing from the effect of those terrible blows upon the skull. He became sud- denly tractable, wistful, and turned mournfully to the search of light enter- tainment. He assented with a dreary docility to the prescription of a change of air and scene. He accepted without demur, with a dull sense of endurance, the plan briskly devised for him to spend a week or two in Nashville, and if he did not recuperate rapidly to go thence South for the winter. He was not given to scanning his own mental poses and adjusting them to some theory of sym- metry; he could but feel, however, as if he were already dead, stalking among scenes in which he had no interest, half- heartedly mingling with men whose every instinct was as far removed from the spirit that swayed him as if some essential condition of existence divided them. It was with a truly post-mort~ai 244 In the Clouds. [August, indifference he listened to the talk of his friends who sought him out during his stay in Nashville, very interesting talk, doubtless, but purposeless, ineffica- cious; they cited neither case nor sec- tion. lIe preferred to sit alone and idle before the blazing coal fire in his own room, expressionless with the stereo- typed hotel furniture; now and then he roused himself, with a conscientious start, when he found his mind revolving like a moth around some scintilla juris which had especial attraction for him. He had experienced a sense of re- luctant relinquishment to find how the weeks had fled during his illness. Win- ter had advanced; the Cumberland River was full of floating ice; the town had the shrunken, deserted, torpid aspect common to every Southern city when the snow is on the ground. No one was abroad without absolute necessity except the English sparrow, prosperous exile. In the hope of varying the te- dium, one evening, Gwinnan sat down in one of the arm-chairs drawn close to the balustrade of the corridor overlook- ing the rotunda. It was a coigne of vantage from which all the life of the hotel was visible. Below, at the desk, the in-coming travelers were register- ing their names; the click of billiards was a cheerful incident of the atmos- phere, with the rising of the fumes of many a cigar. On the opposite corn- dor the clatter of dishes could be heard from the dining-room, and occasionally there emerged gentlemen and tooth- picks. The rumble of the elevator sounded ceaselessly, and now and then fluttering flounces issued from its door which was visible down a cross-hall. Behind Gwinnan the great windows opened upon the snowy street. He could see the white roofs opposite gleam dimly against the nebulous sky. Carriage- lamps sometimes flashed past, yellow, lucent with jeweled effects. An electric light hard by flamed with a fibrous radi- ance, and empurpled the black night, and conjured circles, mystically white, far-reaching into the snow. The plate- glass gave a reflection of his long lank figure and the red velvet arm-chair, and of the innumerable children of the place, racing about, unrestrained, in white frocks, much bedizened. There was a dog among them, a poodle, in his white frock too, accoutered also with a sharp, shrill cry, and swiftly gamboling despite much fat. He had as independent an aspect as if he knew that all thc legis- lators crowded into all the caucuses in the city could not compass a dog-law that would interfere with his pretty lib- erty, or place a tax on his frizzy head. The sovereign people would have none of it. And so the obnoxious law stands repealed, and the dog-star is in the as- cendant. Now and then he came and sat at Gwinnans feet, with a lolling tongue and panting sides. There had been a caucus in the read- ing-room of the hotel, and presently the doors, opening upon the corridor, be- gan to disgorge knots of men, some of whom walked off together, others stood in discussion. Now and then one was seized by a lobbyist, lying in wait. Gwinnan was aware of Harshaws pres- ence before he saw him: a liquid, gur- gling, resonant laugh, and then the floater, accompanied by a colleague into whose arm he had hooked his own, came through the door. His hat was thrust on the back of his yellow head; he stroked his long yellow beard, with a gesture of self-satisfaction ; his face was broad, and animated, and pink with prosperity. Fortune was favoring Mr. Harshaw, and few men have ever basked in her smiles so appreciatively. He had at- tained the reputation of being very in- fluential in the House. His co6peration was eagerly sought. In truth, as a wire- puller he had developed marked dexter- ity, and there were precious few things that Mr. Harshaw could not accom- plish in a caucus. He did a little log In the Cloud8. rolling, but he was chary of the in- terchange of favors, carrying his point usually by persistence and pugnacity, and he possessed tremendous staying power as a debater. He had a certain barbaric delight in oppression; having become possessed of the opportunity, he used it often when neither he nor his eonstituents had anything to gain. He took advantage of his ascendency to pay off many old grudges, some of them of a purely arbitrary construction and a~s- thetic nature. He was in some sort aware that his colleagues were ashamed of his rough manners, his bullying, his coarse onslaughts, in which, being of the same political party, they were often constrained to appear as his supporters. He continually alluded to himself as if he were of peculiarly humble origin, representing himself as being of the People, from the People, and FOR the People, and forcing the conclusion that the other members from his region were bloated aristocrats. Nevertheless, who- ever would go to the state Senate next session, it was safe to say that the dem- agogue had assured his own nomination; for merit had a fine chance to be mod- est, as behooves it, while Mr. Harshaw was shaping the future by manipulating the present. And now suddenly he was not quite sure that he wanted the nomination. In these days, while he divided his time between the beautiful Capitol building and one of the hostelries of tho town, which was in his rural estimation hard- ly less magnificent, he meditated much upon Minks assault upon Judge Gwin- nan in the depot of Glaston. Not in ~he interest of his client; even the most solicitous of counsel could not be ex- pected to occupy his attention with the fate of the wayward Mink, who had passed beyond his aid. Minks deed did not in truth seem to Harshaw so very much amiss. Of course he recognized its moral turpitude, being one of those eognizable by the law, but he also per- ceived in it the finger of Providence, laid somewhat heavily, it must be confessed, on Gwinnan. He speculated deeply, despite his other absorptions, on who would probably be elected to supply Gwinnans place, in case of the death of the wounded incumbent, and he reflected that he himself as a lawyer was highly esteemed in that circuit, for he had a large practice throughout the region, and that moreover, by a certain fortuitous circumstance, he was eligible for the position; although his law office was in Shaftesville, he lived on his farm which was several miles distant, just within the boundaries of Kildeer Coun- ty, one of the judicial circuits over which Gwinnan presided. Apart from his re- pute at the bar, he was well known to the people at large through certain popuiar measures he had advocated. He devoted himself to these with re- newed ardor. He never allowed himself to view with a vacillating mind any course, however obviously salutary, when he had once discovered with a keen in- stinct that it was unlikely to secure the approval of the masses. Nevertheless, he applied his tact with such success that this foregone conclusion was not readily apparent, and he was continually beset for his influence. He had a secret gratulation that he was held in special veneration by the lobbyists. He could ill maintain the aspect of unwilling cap- tive, when he was waylaid and button- holed, and his attention eagerly entreat- ed for certain measures. As an anx- ious-faced man, who had evidently been awaiting him, stepped forward now, glancing with a casual apology at his friend, who walked on, Harshaws re- luctant pause, his frown, his important bored sufferance, were as fine histrionic- ally as if he were playing at being a statesman on a stage, which, indeed, he was. He listened with a divided mind to the outpouring of the lobbyist, his opaque blue eyes fixed in seeming de 1886.1 a 245 246 In the Clouds. [August, liberation upon the chandelier hanging down into the rotunda below, his ex- ceedingly red lips pursed up in a pucker of dubitation. Now and then he patted the toe of one boot on the floor medita- tively. Occasionally he looked his in- terlocutor full in the face, asking a ques- tion, presumably a poser; then he would triumphantly thrust out his very red tongue, and his resonant, burly laugh would vibrate above the dancing of the overdressed children, and the riotous barking of the dog, and the tinkling waltzes played by a band of musicians ranged about the fountain in the ro- tunda. His entertainment in his own self-importance and posings was so ab- sorbing that the lobbyists and the advo- cates of many measures were often at a loss to know how best to reach Mr. Ilarshaws desire to serve his country; for he did not love money, and his in- tegrity, as far as it was concerned, was above suspicion. All at once genuine interest suddenly usurped these feignings on his face. His eye fell on Judge Gwinnan walking along the corridor, and leaning upon a stout cane. He looked very thin, very pale, taller than before, and somehow his face was more youthful with the wistfulness of illness upon it, his hair clipped close, and the black patch on his head. He moved slowly, and with little spirit. Harshaw stepped briskly forward, with a curt Excuse me to the lobbyist, tak- ing no reproach for leaving him with his mouth open, for it seemed his normal condition. Why judge, Harshaw exclaimed, with his bluff familiarity, you look bloomin ! He was about to stretch out his hand, but desisted, noticing that Gwinnan held his hat in one hand, and leaned upon his stick with the other. He took the judge by the elbow, as he walked a few steps with him. A dim image of the pair paced along in the plate-glass windows, as if their doubles were stalking without in the snow in scenes of which they were unconscious. I had no idea you were pulling togeth- er so fast, he continued, scanning the face which was almost spectral in its at- tenuation and pallor, in close contrast to his own fat floridity of countenance, his red lips, his gleaming white teeth, his mane of yellow hair, and his dense yel- low beard. His wide, black soft hat stuck on the back of his head accented his high color. But I declare, it s worth while for a man to get hit over the head to find out how important he is, and how he is esteemed. I never knew more profound sympathy and indignation than the affair excited. As to myself, I felt it especially, as I had taken so much stock in that rascally client of mine. There was a pause. Gwinnan made no reply. His face was turned toward Harshaw with a certain unresponsive- ness, an inscrutable questioning, a ca- daverous gravity. His hollow eyes were very bright and large. Somehow they put Harshaw out of countenance. Some- thing there was in their expression be- yond his skill to decipher. He became a trifle embarrassed, and yet he could not have said why. He went on at ran- dom. He had observed that a number of people were remarking them. There was nothing strange in the peripatetic method that the interview had taken upon itself, hut suddenly he found it odd that Gwinnan had not paused. That fellow, Mink Lorey, is a most extraordinary and unexpected kind of scamp, Harshaw proceeded uneasily, making talk. To my certain knowl- edge, he cared so little about the girl that he refused to see her when she came to visit him in jail. But the idea of an- other man admiring her seemed to set him wild. Gwinnan stopped short. What girl? he asked, in his soft, inexpressive drawl. The girl that testified, Alethea Sayles, said Harshaw, relieved that 1886.] in the Clouds. 247 Gwinnan had spoken, striving for his old bluff assurance, but still conscious that he had lost his tact. She was pretty, very pretty indeed, and you were not alone in having the good taste to notice it. The rest of us did nt have to pay for it with a broken head, though, eh,judge? Ha! ha! There was a moments pause. Mr. Harshaw, said Gwinnan, lean- ing against one of the great pillars, the reflection in the plate-glass duplicating the posture on the snowy sidewalk, as if that other self, liberated and in iso- lated independence, busied in different scenes, now meditated, and now spoke, and now lifted a fiery glance, I will take this opportunity to tell you that I believe you to be an egregious liar, and I know you for an arrant hypocrite. Sir! cried Harshaw, starting back, tingling from the words as if they were blows. He made an instinctive gesture toward his pistol pocket; it was empty. He was acutely conscious of the men who pressed a little nearer, noticing the excitement. Gwinnans voice had a singular car- rying quality, and every deliberate, low- toned word was distinct. I repudiate your professions of friendship. I despise your protestations of sympathy. If your threats at the court - house door at Shaftesville had been earlier repeated to me, ludicrously impotent as they are, you should never have approached me again. Now, his voice broke suddenly, in his feeble- ness and excitement, and was thin and tremulous and shrill, keep out of my way, or I will beat you with this stick like a dog! Gwinnan had lifted the stick, and shook it threateningly in his trembling hand. Harshaw, with his own reasons for declining to give the first blow, could only shrink and wince in anticipation. The stick did not descend on him, how- ever, for Gwinnan turned, and, leaning on it, made his way down the corridor among the wondering men, who slowly opened an aisle for him in their midst. xx, It was a confused scene which Gwin- nan had left. Harshaws friends pressed about him, animated equally, perhaps, by curiosity and surprise. His self-re- straint had given way. He swore with every breath he drew, repeating, in an- swer to questions, the unlucky threat over and again. I said that he would be impeached, and that I would intro- duce the resolution in the House myself. Ai~d so, by God, I will! His face was hot and scarlet. The perspiration stood out on his forehead. He ground his teeth and clenched his hands. He would walk forward a few unsteady steps, then pause to reiterate and explain, and swear that if Gwinnan were not at deaths door he would cow- hide him within an inch of his life. The progress of the group, slow as it was, with these frequent interruptions, was in the direction of the stairs. It was chiefly composed of members of the legislature, and, there being a night ses- sion, they mechanically took their way to the Capitol. A few gentlemen loung- ing about the corridor were watching their exit with the gusto of disinterested spectators, as they disappeared down the staircase, reappearing below in the ro- tunda, Harshaw still in the van, his florid face bloated with rage, his hat on the back of his head, his hands thrust in the pockets of his trousers. His friends wore a becoming gravity, but Harshaw was too thoroughly a man of this world not to know how much more they val- ued the diversion he furnished than his interests as affected thereby. They all crossed the office, and disappeared final- ly through the street door, and the spec- tators on the corridor shifted their pos- tures, and tipped off the ash grown long on their cigars, and commented. 248 In the Clouds. [August, Biggest blatherskite out of hell, Ilarshaw is, remarked a young fellow, who flung himself diagonally into a seat, hanging his long legs over one arm of the chair and resting his back against the other. He put his cigar into his mouth, and puffed at his ease. He had a pale face, thin dark hair, irregular features, straight black eyebrows, and wide, restless black eyes, quickly glan- cing, with a suggestion of melancholy. He was handsomely dressed, although he wore his clothes with a slouching, irreverent air, as if he gave his attire scant heed. Despite their cut and qual- ity, there was nothing dapper about him. He had a lank, listless white hand and a foot singularly long and narrow. His forehead was remarkably high, austere, and almost noble; one might look in vain for correlative expressions in the other features. He was languid and inattentive, but this manner suggested affectation, for it did not elimiiiate the idea of energy. He smoked a great deal, and drank not much, but discrimi- natingly; he was proud of seeming reck- less, and of being more reckless than he seemed. He had other qualities more genial. He knew a good dog when he saw him. He knew a good horse, and lie loved him. He was the possessor of a liberal hand and a long purse. He had an enthusiastic admiration of fine principles, and he had the pity of it! his own definition of fine principles. He entertained a horror of anything base, and he~ had a command of very strong language to characterize it. He arrogated to himself the finer attri- butes. He strained for the heroic poise. He would feel nothing, believe noth- ing, do nothing, that was unbecoming of what lie esteemed the noblest ex- pression of man and gentleman. Never- theless he had no serious objects in life, no absorbing ambition, no ability to originate. But he could espouse an- other mans cause with a fervor of un- selfishness. The excitements and vicissi tudes of the affairs of others rejoiced the voids of his capacities for emotion. He was of the stuff of which adherents are made, essentially a partisan. His prototypes have ridden in the ranks of every losing cause since the world be- gan. He was of the essence of those who are born for freaks of valor, for vagrant enthusiasms, for misguided fan- tastic feuds, for revolution. One need have no special powers of divination to know that he was a man who must die in his boots. Do you think, sir, that Mr. Har- shaw had no foundation for his threat, said an elderly granger, who leaned against a pillar, no foundation for this charge against Judge Gwinnan? Gwinnan may have ruled against him a time or two, said Kinsard. That s about the size of it. He had a pedigree as long as his favorite colts, but this was the way he talked. It is a gross slander, then; it implies a stealage, or taking a bribe, or some malfeasance in office, the judicial of- fice, said one of the by-standers. It was very shabby in Harshaw to say it; then, thinking Gwinnan had never heard of it, to go fawning up, pre- tending to be so mighty friendly, re- joined another. Kinsards black eyes turned slowly from one speaker to the other. If I had been Judge Gwinnan, I would have killed him for it, he said, with his cigar held lightly between his fingers. I would have spilt his brains, not his blood; and I would have had some scientific man to find the precise section of the brain structure which ideated that theory, and I would have had it comminuted, and vaporized, and transmuted into nothingness. He spoke with calmness, as if these things were done every day for the vengeful in Tennessee. The granger took off his spectacles suddenly. He wanted to see this ex 1886.] In the Clouds. 249 traordinary young luau, who he had an idea was too dangerous to be at large. The others looked at him with a less serious air. They had heard him talk before. Well, said a certain Mr. Forsey, also a young man, who had dropped upon the broad window-seat and lounged there, holding one knee in his clasped hands, and smoking too, do you think Harshaw would have ventured to say it if there were no foundation for it, if Gwinnan had done nothing to sug- gest such a proceeding? What motive had Harshaw? He was a different manner of man. He bad close-cut fair hair, a face broad across the cheek-bones and narrow at the chin, sparse whiskers and a light gray, wide-open eye. He had a sedu- lously neat appearance, a soft tread, and delicate white hands, in one of which he held his hat. What motive? What motive for slander? Go to first principles. Gwin- nan has got something that Harshaw wants. He put his cigar into his mouth and went on talking as he held it fast between his teeth. What fools we all are! We make laws against predatory beasts and decree their extermination. Pay a bounty for the scalps of the ma- rauding men, I say, the sharp fel- lows who ravage and pillage and have contrived so far to keep the law on their side. But pshaw! he shifted his legs over the arm of the chair impatiently. He cant hurt Gwinnan. Talk cant compass the impeachment of a judge. Gwinnan is one of the strongest men on the bench. Made the stiffest show that ever was seen when he ran against old Judge Burns, who had sat on the bench in that circuit till everybody thought he owned it. Old man could have mort- gaged the bench, could have raised money on it, I have nt a doubt. Gwin- nan could nt have beat Burns, if he had nt been above reproach and suspi- cion; it s a tremendous thing to upset an old fixture like that. Gwinnan is a sound lawyer and a splendid man. Mr. Kinsards views, as his colleagues in the legislature had discovered to their confusion, were apt to confirm his hearers in the opposite opinion. A bill was much safer when be arrayed him- self against it. Mr. Forsey was not convinced that so serious a charge would have been made with absolutely nothing to support it. The idea of the blurt- ings of an uncontrolled rage occurred to neither of them. Forsey sat looking so steadily at the dappe