The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 970 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABP2287-0034 /moa/cent/cent0034/

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The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Note on Digital Production 0034 000
The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Note on Digital Production A-B

The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 970 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABP2287-0034 /moa/cent/cent0034/

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

The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Issue 1 Century illustrated monthly magazine Century monthly magazine Century magazine Scribner's monthly Forum Forum and century The Century Company New York May 1887 0034 001
The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages C-viii

U T~ CENTU RY ILLUSTRATED PXONTH LY PXAGAZIN E. M7qy IcS~6% Ic Octo/~erI& 67 T~ CENTURY C9, NEW-YORK. T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON. z~g. xxxzpz Ye2~}$erieJ 1~I~XIL / / ~ fT ft rt IPX!. x& i, 6? cx~ / / b-K ( V - L1 Lvxk4 Mr / Jr Copyright, z887, by THE CENTURY Co. /7 C/sg0 it~ THE DR VINNE PRESS. INDEX TO THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. VOL. XXXIV. NEW SERIES: VOL. XII. ADAMS, JOHN, AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF George Bancroft 434 With portrait of Oliver Ellsworth, and frontispiece portrait (facing page 353). ALSACE AND LORRAINE. See Blanc. ANIMAL LOCOMOTION IN THE MUYBRIDGE PHOTOGRAPHS Talcott Williams 356 Illustrations from photographs. APACHES, AMONG THE Frederick Schwatka 41 Illustrations by A. Brennan, I. R. Wiles, George DeForest Brush, E. J. Meeker, and from photographs. ATKINSON, EDWARD. Low Prices, High Wages, Small Profits; What makes them? 568 With charts. AZALIA Joel Chandler Harris. 540, 712, 88i Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. BIRD-CALLS. See Sportsman. BLANC, LouIs, PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF. WITH NOTES CONCERN- ~~-~arl Blind ING ALSACE AND LORRAINE 75 477 With a portrait. BOAT-RACING BY AMATEURS Henry Eckford 189 (See also College Boat-Racing.) BRITISH SONG, TWELVE YEARS OF Edmund Clarence Stedman.. 899 CAMERA CLUB OF CINCINNATI, THE Dwight W. Hun~ng~n.... 729 Illustrations from photographs. (See also Photographer.) CATHEDRALS. See Peter.borough and Ely. CHEMISTRY OF FOOD AND NUTRITION, THE W. 0. Atwater. 59, 237, 397, 733 Illustrations by W. H. Drake. CHRISTIAN SCIENCE, AND MIND CURE J. M. Bucklcy 418 COLLEGE BOAT-RACING AND THE NEW LONDON REGATTA Julian Hawthorne . . 176 Illustrations hy W. A. Rogers. COMET, Is IT A PIECE OF A William Earl Hidden Illustrations by Henry W. Troy. CONSTITUTION, THE FRAMERS AND FRAMING OF THE John Bach McMa.rter 746 (See also Topics of the Time, and Open Letters.) CROOKED JOHN H]almar Hjorth Boyesen.... 405 iv INDEX PAGE EDUCATION AND SOCIAL PROGRESS .. . T. 7. Munger z68 ELY CATHEDRAL Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer 803 Illustrations by Joseph PennelL EXILE, NOTES OF A PROFESSIONAL E. S. Nadal 28, 566 FLOWERS. See Wild Flowers. FOOD, How IT NOURISHES THE BODY W. 0. Atwater 237 Illustrations by W. H. Drake, and from photographs. FOOD, THE POTENTIAL ENERGY OF W. 0. Atwater 397 Illustrations by W. H. Drake, J. F. Runge, and from photographs. FOOD, THE DIGESTIBILITY OF W. 0. Atwater 733 With diagram and tables. FOOD. See Chemistry. FOOT-BALL, THE AMERICAN GAME OF Alexander Johnston 888 Illustrations by Irving R. Wiles. GREELY EXPEDITION. See Kivigtok. HAND-CAR 412, C. P. R John Heard, Jr 867 Illustration by Gilbert GauL HELEN Harriet Lewis Bradley 741 HUNDREDTH MAN, THE. (Conclusion.) Frank R. Stockton 30 192, 346, 497, 685, 872 IRVING, WASHINGTON, A GLIMPSE OF, AT HOME Clarence Cook 53 With frontispiece portrait (facing page 3). JACK Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 220 Illustrations by Mary Hallock Foote and I. R. Wiles. JEFFERSONS (THOMAS) HOME John C. Nicolay 643 With frontispiece portrait and illustrations by Harry Fenn. (See also Monticello.) KIVIGYOK, OUR, AN EPISODE OF THE LADY FRANKLIN BAY EXPEDITION. . A. W. Greely Illustrations by Mary Hallock Foote. J. J. Nicolay. LINCOLN, ABRAHAM: A HISTORY John Hay. Illustrations by Harry Fenn, E. J. Meeker, W. Taber, Gilbert Gaul, and from daguerreotypes and photographs. The Border Conflict 82 The Attack on Sumner and the Dred Scott Case 203 The Lincoln.Douglas Debates 369 Lincolns Cooper Institute Speech 509 Lincolns Nomination and Election 658 The Secession Movement 819 METEORITE. See Comet. MIND CURE. See Christian Science. MONTICELLO, THE LATER YEARS OF Frank R. Stockton 654 Illustrations by Harry Fenn. (See also Jefferson.) MUSIC, THE SPORTSMANS William J. Henderson 413 Illustrations by E. Seton Thompson. MUYBRIDGE PHOTOGRAPHS. See Animal. NEW LONDON REGATTA. See College Boat-Racing. PETERBOROUGH CATHEDRAL Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer 163 Illustrations by Joseph PennelL PHARAOH, FINDING Edward L. Wilson 3 Illustrations by I. R. Wiles, E. J. Meeker, and from photographs by the author. PHARAOH THE OPPRESSOR, AND HIS DAUGHTER, IN THE LIGHT OF John A. Paine II THEIR MONUMENTS $ Illustrations from photographs and fac-similes. PHOTOGRAPHER, THE AMATEUR Alexander Black 722 Illustrations from photographs. (See also Camera.) POETS, BRITISH. See British. INDEX v PAGE SISTER TODHUNTERS HEART H. S. Edwards 335 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. F. Hophinson Smith SNUBBIN THROUGH JERSEY ~ J. B. Millet . .483, 697 Illustrations by George Wharton Edwards, F. Hopkinson Smith, and Oliver H. Perry. SOCIAL PROGRESS AND EDUCATION 7. 7~ Munger 268 SONGS OF THE WAR, THE Brander Matthews 619 With notes on the Battle Hymn of the Republic ,, . Julia Ward Howe 629 With frontispiece portrait (facing page 483), and autographs of Julia Ward Howe, William Cullen Bryant, James R. Randall, and James S. Gibbons. SPORTSMANS MUSIC, THE William I. Henderson 413 Illustrations by E. Seton Thompson. STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER. See Uncle Tom. ToLsToI, COUNT, A VISIT TO George Kennan 252 With frontispiece portrait (facing page 163). UNCLE TOM AT HOME IN KENTUCKY James Lane Allen 852 Illustrations by E. W. Kemble, and frontispiece portrait of Harriet Beecher Stowe (facing page 803). WHITSUN HARP, REGULATOR Octave Thanet I I I Illustrations by E. W. Kemble. WILD FLOWERS, AMONG THE John Burroughs 323 Illustrations by Helena de Kay Gilder and Harry Fenn. ZWEIBAK; OR, NOTES OF A PROFESSIONAL EXILE E. S. Nadal ~8, 566 POETRY. AMIEL. (The Journal Intime.) Robert Underwood Johnson.. 40 ANGEL OF SLEEP, THE Robert Burns Wilson 947 DESERTER, THE Anthony Morehead DESIRE OF SLEEP E. R. Sill 345 DIVINE PARADOXES William H. Hayne 368 Fs~uLTYS SHIELD Edith M. Thomas . 334 H. H.s GRAVE M. Virginia Donaghe 711 HIS ARGUMENT. AD HOMINEM Sarah M. B. Piatt 88o IDEALS Juliet C. Marsh 412 IF Frances Hodgson Burnett... 74 INTERPRETATION Richard E. Burton 888 IRISH MOUND, FROM AN ANCIENT Sarah M. B. Piatt 53 I SHALL FIND REST Robert Burns Wilson 539 ISRAEL John Hay 126 Illustrations by Kenyon Cox. JAPANESE LOVER, THE REJECTED William Struthers .. 412 KEATS Robert Burns Wilson 110 Loss AND GAIN Kate Putnam Osgood 396 MADRIGAL, THE Samuel Willoughby Duftleld. 858 MY SHADOW Ellen M. H. Gates 850 NOBLESSE OBLIGE Robert Underwood Johnson.. 732 NOTHIN TO SAY James Whitcomb Riley 554 Illustration by Irving R. Wiles. ONE IN TWO Sidney Lanier 417 OVER THE HILLS Gertrude Hall 434 POSEIDON William Prescott Foster. . 266 REFORMER, THE E. R. Sill 345 SEAS VOICE, THE William Prescott Foster 266 SHAKSPERE, AFTER READING Charles Edwin Markham... 276 SILENCE Stuart Sterne 276 vi INDEX. PAGE SOLITUDE . Stuart Sterne 276 SONG OF FLEETING LOVE, A Alice Williams Brotherton 75 SUB PONDERE CRESCIT Thomas Went7.oorthHigginson 759 SUNKEN GRAVES Andrew B. Saxton 508 SUNRISE AT SEA . William Prescott Fo~~r 266 TIDE, THE GOING OUT OF THE Helen Gray Cone 916 THOU AND I . ... Sidney Lanier 417 Two IN ONE Sidney Lanier 417 VIRGO R. I. Philbrick 539 WASHINGTON, THE NAME OF George Parsons Lathrop.... 202 WHEN SHE COMES HOME James Whitcomb Rile, 175 WILD RIDE, THE Louise Imogen Guiney 945 WIND, AND THE STARS, AND THE SEA, THE William Prescott Foster..... 267 WOMAN AND ARTIST Alice Williams Brotherton... 740 XVON Julia C. R. Dorr 851 BATTLES AND LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR. ATLANTA, OPPOSING SHERMANS ADVANCE TO GeneralJoseph B. Johnston.. 585 Illustrations by E. J. Meeker, and from photographs. ATLANTA, THE STRUGGLE FOR General 0. 0. Howard.... 442 (See also Sherman.) BENTONVILLE, THE BATTLE OF Gesleral Wade Hampton.... 939 (See also Shermans March.) CEMETERY RIDGE, THE QUESTION OF COMMAND ON General Henry J. ......... 466 CHATTANOOGA, THE CAMPAIGN FOR. General W. S. .Rosecrans... 129 Illustrations by W. Taber, and from photographs. CHATTANOOGA, THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT General J. S. Fullerton 136 Illustrations by W. Taber, W. L. Shepherd, and from photographs. CIPHER DISPATCH, A MISSING CONFEDERATE . General Thomas Jordan.... 308 COLD HARBOR. See Wilderness. CRATER, TRAGEDV OF THE Major William H. Powell.. 760 Drawings by W. Taber, W. L. Shepherd, E. J. Meeker, and J. D. Woodward; maps by Jacob Wells. CRATER, A DASH INTO THE George L. Kilmer 774 Illustrations by W. Taber and J. D. Woodward. (See also Petersburg and Stedman.) CUMBERLAND, THE ARMY OF THE (See Chattanooga.!) DONALDSONS (GENERAL) FORTUNATE MISTAKE R. H. Eddy 617 GEORGIA AND THE CAROLINAS, MARCHING THROUGH Captain Daniel Oakey . .... 917 Illustrations by W. Taber, A. R. Waud, E. W. Kemble. GETTYSBURG. See Lee, Stuart, Cemetery Ridge, and Mosby. GRANT. See Vicksburg. HOODS INVASION OF TENNESSEE Colonel Henry Stone Illustrations by \V. Taber, Harry Feno, and from photographs. LEES INVASION OF PENNSYLVANIA, A REPLY TO GENERAL LON - (olonel W. Allan 150 STREET . . MOSBY, COLONEL, A REPLY General B. H. Ro~ertson.... 6i8 PETERSBURG, THE COLORED TROOPS AT General Henry G. Thomas . .. 777 Illustrations from paintings, photographs, and by W. Taber. (See also Crater and Stedman.) INDEX. vij PAGE SCOTT, ROBERT NICHOLSON, LIEUTENANT-COLONEL General H. W Boynton 467 SHERMAN, GENERAL, AND THE MARCH TO THE SEA General W. T. Sherman.... 464 (See also Atlanta.) SHERMANS MARCH FROM SAVANNAH TO BENTONVILLE General LI. W. Slocum 928 Illustrations by W. Taber, A. R. Waud, E. J. Meeker, and from photographs. SILENT BATTLE, THE CAUSE OF A John B. .DcMotte 617 SONGS OF THE WAR, THE Brander Matthews 619 With notes on the Battle Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe 629 With frontispiece portrait (facing page .483), and autographs of Julia Ward Howe, William Cullen Bryant, James R. Randall, and James S. Gibbons. SPOTSYLYANIA, HAND-To-HAND FIGHTING AT C. Norton Galloway 301 Illustrations by Frank H. Schell, W. Taber, C. W. Reed, and from drawings by the author. STEDMAN, FORT, ASSAULT AND REPULSE AT George L. Kilmer 783 Illustrations by E. J. Meeker, J. D. Woodward, and from photographs. (See also Crater and Petersburg.) STUARTS RIDE AROUND THE UNION ARMY IN THE GETTYSBURG ~ Colonel John S. Mosby 151 CAMPAIGN TENNESSEE. See Hood. UNION SENTIMENT AMONG CONFEDERATE VETERANS General R. E. Colston 309 VICKSBURG, GENERAL GRANT ON THE TERMS AT General U. S. Grant 617 WILDERNESS, FROM THE, TO COLD HARBOR General E. M. Law 277 Illustrations by Joseph Pennell, W. Taber, Edwin Forbes, A. R. Wand, J. D. Woodward, Harry Feon, and A. C. Redwood. TOPICS OF THE TIME. CIVIL SERVICE REFORM 469, 470 COLLEGE EXPENSES 470 CONSTITUTION, THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE 791 DEFENSE, AN URGENT MEASURE OF NATIONAL 630 EXECUTIVE RESPONSIBILITY 153 FOOD 57 GOVERNMENT, MUNICIPAL, REFORM IN . 470 GOVERNMENT BY GUILDS, THE PROBLEM OF 155 (See also Open Letters.) HISTORY, A NEW ERA IN Oua 469 HOPKINS, MARK 791 IMMIGRATION. See Shall Immigration. JURY SYSTEM, THE 953 LANDSCAPE-GARDENERS NEEDED FOR AMERICA 313 (See also Trees.) LAST HOPE OF THE MORMON, THE - 951 LEE, GENERAL. See Wolseley. LINCOLN HISTORY, THE 472 METROPOLITAN SPIRIT, THE 471 MORMON. See Last Hope. NAVY. See Defense. NIAGARA RESERVATION, THE 631 SHALL IMMIGRATION BE RESTRICTED ? 954 SOLDIER AND CITIZEN 950 SOUTH, THE NATIONS RECENT DEBT TO THE 154 TEACHER, A GREAT 791 TREES, SHALL WE PLANT NATIVE OR FOREIGN 792 WOLSELEYS (LORD) ESTIMATE OF GENERAL LEE 310 OPEN LETTERS APPLAUSE AS A SPUR TO PEGASUS William C. Wilkinson 316 BAPTISM. See Christian Union and Baptism. BLACK HAWK 159 BLIND, EDUCATION OF THE. No. I. As CHILDREN E B. Perry 633 Vii INDEX. PAGE CARTWRIGHT, MRS., THE DEATH OF Francis M. Hayes 318 CHRISTIAN UNION AND BAPTISM Herbert H. Hawes 955 CHRISTIAN UNION AND PENDING PUBLIC QUESTIONS Win. Chauncy Langdon .... UNION, FROM A UNITARIAN POINT OF VIEW ~ Edward Everett Hale 314 CHURCH Andrew P. Peabody 315 CHURCH UNION, FROM THE BAPTIST POINT OF VIEW N. S. MacArthur 474 CLAY, HENRY 317, 318 COSMIC DAY, THE H. N. J ett 317 EMERSON AND LINCOLN 159 FEDERAL BALANCE, THE .. Edward Eggleston 796 GERMANY, AMERICAN STUDENTS IN Morris B. Crawford 475 GOVERNMENT BY THE PEOPLE Robert Jones . 794 GOVERNMENT OF CITIES, THE Lucy Stone 477 GOVERNMENT, CITY, BY GUILDS John D. Cutter 157 HENRY CLAY, THE SLASHES, AND ASHLAND AGAIN W. A. W 958 LABOR AND CAPITAL, A CONNECTICUT EXPERIMENT Washington Gladden 472 LANDSCAPE-GARDENING John Thorpe 637 LINCOLN AND EMERSON 159 LINCOLN HISTORY, THE N. D. J 798 MINISTERIAL BUREAUX Washington Gladden 636 MINISTRY OF WELCOME, A C. F. Krotel 798 MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT. See Guilds. NEW ENGLAND EMIGRANT AID COMPANY, THE Eli Thayer 477 PHOTOGRAPHY AND AMERICAN ART 476 SECRET SOCIETIES IN COLLEGES Charles S. Robinson 957 RAMABAI SARASYATI, PUNDITA Emily J. Bryant 797 TOYNBEE HALL, LONDON R. R. Bowher 158 TYLER, JOHN Ben. E. Green . 317 VASSAR, SHALL YOUNG MEN GO TO 318 BRIC.A-BRAC. AGILE SONNETEER, THE Anthony Morehead i6o APHORISMS FROM THE QUARTER J. A. Macon 959 APRIL-FACE, THE, OR THE STUB-TAIL MULE Thomas Nelson Page x6o ART AND NATURE. (Drawing by E. W. Kemble) 959 AUCTION, NOTES ON AN. (Drawing) E. W. Kemble 479 BALLADE OF THE ROMANTIC POET .~ Harrison S. Morris 960 BATTLEDOOR C. S. P 480 BETWEEN THE LINES Walter Learned 8oo DOUBTFUL, VERY N. E. W 8oo FACE TO FACE H. W. Austin ... 8oo HARDTO SUIT A. W. N 8oo HUNDREDTH MAN, THE G. J. Wilbur 640 IN THE CAF~ T. N. Sullivan 640 IN THE OLD DAYS Margaret Vandegr~/t . 480 MISSING GLOVE, THE - Winifred H ells 960 MRS. PIPER Marian Douglas 319 OCKLAWAHA, ON THE Walter Learned 479 OLD-FASHIONED GIRL, AN James B. Kenyon 960 OUR SAINT Clinton Scollard ... 478 PARTING WISH, A N. F. Butts 479 PIN, A Ella Wheeler Wilcox 480 POINT DALEN~ON Frances Hodgson Burnett .. 320 REVISION Esther B. T~any 960 SEA-SIDE FLIRTATION, A Samuel Minturn Pech 8oo SLIP,A W. A. Ketchum 480 STUDY IN BLACK, A. (Drawing) E. W. Kemble 799 TRANSFORMATION A. C. Gordon 798 UNCERTAIN . .. Margaret Vandegrift 320 UNCLE ESEKS WISDOM i6o, 318, 478, 799 UNTANGLING THE FAMILY YARN (With drawing by E. W. Kemble.). . Eva N. D. Jarnette - 638 WAIT A BIT Jennie E. T. .Dowe I 6o WHENCE THESE TEARS N. Deland 320 WHO CAN TELL Ernest Whitney - 320

Edward L. Wilson Wilson, Edward L. Finding Pharaoh 3-11

E CENTURY MAGAZINE. VOL. XXXIV. MAY, 1887. No. i. FINDING PHARAOH. IN the neighborhood of three thousand three hundred years ago the land of Egypt, from Goshen to Thebes and beyond, was in an up- roar. The king was dead! Rame. es II., the pre- cocious youth who at the age often had joined his warrior-father Sethi I. upon the throne; the ruler whom his people regarded as a god; the oppressor under whom the Israelites are said to have sighed by reason of their bond- age; the great Sesostris of the Greeks,had breathed his last. The gay and busy life of the cities of the I)elta was hushed, and the hundred gates of Thebes were only opened to those who min- istered to the necessities of the living or who performed the sacred offices of the priesthood. All street processions, minstrel-bands, and mountebanks fled appalled. The cities which the great architect and artist-king had refounded, Raamses and Pithom, built by the forced labor of the He- brews, were in their meridian splendor. The Ramesseum at Thebes was yet unsurpassed, and the colossal monolith which represented the enthroned king was then unbroken. The glori- ous quartette of Abou-Simbel, but recently fin- ished, sat, as now, smiling at the Nubian sun. But Rameses II., in whose honor, for whose glory, and by whose command all these grand creations were finished, could look upon them no more with mortal eyes. His body was embalmed, and in due season the funeral procession followed. The mum- mied king was placed aboard the royal barge, and, attended by the priests and the images of the gods Horus and Isis and Hathor, was floated up the Nile to the Theban city of the Dead to Bib~n el-Mulouk, the St. Denis, the Westminster Abbey of the kings, and a great lamentation went up to the skies from stricken Egypt. As the funeral cort~ge journeyed slowly on, the frantic people of the cities and villages flocked to the quays to render homage to their dead ruler. Even the despised and persecuted Hebrew suspended labor betimes because his cruel overseer had forgotten him. The men rent their garments, the women tore their hair, and all gathered up the dust and threw it upon their heads. Tens of thousands of funeral offerings were cast into the sacred river, and the gods were called upon to attend the dead throughout the sacred journey. It was a dire day indeed. When the sad company bad arrived at the necropolis, all the complicated funeral rites were conducted with priestly ostentation. Then the body of Rameses was sealed in the great sarcophagus which had been cut from the limestone of Bib~n el-Mulouk. The location of the tomb was well known then, because it had been the habit of the monarch to visit it frequently during its exca- vation. More than once had the architect announced Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved. THE OCARABEUB EMBLEM OF IMMORTALITY ATTENDED BY A GOD. PHOTOGRAPHED BY THE ADYHOR BY MAGNESIAM LIGHT FROM A WALL IN THE ENTRANCE PASSAGE TO THE TOMB OF RETHI I. 4 FINDING PHA JAM OH that the tomb was ready, but he was as often met with the command to excavate still other vaulted halls and longer passages and side chambers, all to be finished with stuccoed walls adorned by representations in relief of the processions of the gods, of the life and work of the king, and of the scarab~us, the emblem of immortality. Moreover, all were to be richly colored. There is plenty of time for all that and much more before I am ready, said Rameses, and he returned to his capital. ]3ut he died before the work was completed. According to custom, after the burial the doorway to the tomb was walled up, and so disguised by rocks and sand as to make it impossible for any but the priests to discover its whereabouts. And although his original tomb, that of his father Sethi I., and that of his son Menephtah, had long before been discovered, they were empty, and until July, i88i, the real hiding- place of the Pharaoh of the Oppression~~ was a mighty secret. Then its door was opened, and soon after history in a measure repeated itself. The story of its finding is more romantic than any told in Egypt since Isis gathered the scattered remains of Osiris and buried his head within the alabaster temple at Abydus. For a number of years the acute officials of the Museum of Antiquities at BQlfq had seen funeral offerings and other antiquities brought from Thebes by returning tourists, which they knew belonged to the dynasty of Rameses II., of his father Sethi I., and of his grand- father Rameses I. Even scarabees bearing the cartouch of the great king were displayed by the innocent purchasers. This being so, ar- gued the clear-headed officials, the mummies of those royal personages must have been dis- covered by some one. By whom? Professor Maspero, the Director-general of the Bfil~q Museum, at once organized a detect- ive force to help him solve this conundrum. Arrest after arrest was made, and the basti- nado was applied to many a callous sole which had never felt even shoe or sandal. The wo- men stood by and browbeat the sufferers into silence while they endured the torture, and the men refused all information. In a line of tombs beyond the Ramesseum lived four sturdy Arabs named Abd-er- Rasoul. They supplied guides and donkeys to tourists who desired to visit the ruins of Thebes, and sold them genuine and spuri- ous antiquities. When they found a mummy, it being forbidden by law to sell it, the head and hands and feet were wrenched off and sold on the sly, while the torso was kicked about the ruined temples until the jackals came and carried it away. I purchased a head and hand of one of the brothers amid the dark shadows of the temple at Qfirneh. Early in i88i circum- stantial evidence pointed to Ahmed Abd-er-Rasoul as the one who knew more than he would tell. Profes- sor Maspero caused his arrest, and he lay in prison at Keneb for some months. He also suffered the basti- nado and the browbeating of the women repeatedly; he resisted bribes, and showed no melting mood when threatened with exe- cution. His lips told no more than the unfound tomb and not as much. BIBAN EL-MULSAK ENTRANCE-PASSAGE TA THE TOMB SF SETHI I. ON THE LEFT ARE THE CHAMBERS OF THE FINDING PHAFA OH 5 There,said the sullen guide; and 4here the enterprising Emil Brugsch Bey, with more than Egyptian alacrity, soon had a staff of Arabs at work hoisting the loose stones from a well into which they had been thrown. The shaft had been sunk into the solid limestone to the depth of about forty feet, and was about six feet square. Before going very far, a huge palm-log was thrown across the well and a block and tackle fastened to it to help bring up the d& bris. XVhen the bottom of the shaft was reached a subterranean passage was found which ran westward some twenty-four feet and then turned directly northward, continuing into the heart of the mountain straight except where broken for about two hundred feet by an ab- rupt stairway. The passage terminated in a mortuary chamber about thirteen by twenty- three feet in extent and barely six feet in height. There was found the mummy of King Pha- roab of the Oppression, with nearly forty others of kings, queens, princes, and priests. Not until June last was this most royal mummy released from its bandages. That event is my plea for telling now what I know L of the romantic finding and the place thereof. ENTRANCE TO THE TOMB OF SETHI I. IN BIBAN ELMULOUK OR THE A few months after the finding took place, VALLEY OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS. accompanied by my camera I visited the Finally his brother Mohammed regarded BiXl~q Museum and photographed the en- the offer of bakhshish, which Professor tire find. Emil Brugsch Bey is also an Maspero deemed it wise to make, as worth more amateur photographer, and we had already to him than any sum he might hope to realize fraternized during the Centennial Exhibition from future pillaging, and made a clean breast of 1876, where the Egyptian section was in of the whole affair. How the four brothers his care. Therefore at Bfil~q I not only en- ever discovered the hidden tomb has remained joyed a rare privilege at his hands, but also a family secret. his friendly advice and assistance. On July 5th, m88i, the wily Arab conducted The photography done, we embarked upon Herr Emil Bru~sch Bey, curator of the B61 the Khedives steamer Beuii Souef for Luxor. Museum, to Deir-el-Bahari and pointed out There we were met by Professor Maspero the hidin~,-place so long looked for, and Mohammed Abd-er-Rasoul, and together A long climb it was, up the slope of the we visited the scene of the latest drama of the western mountain, till, after scaling a great Nile. limestone cliff,ahuge, isolated rock was found. When we reached the chamber of the dead, Behind this a spot was reached where the the rope which had hoisted the royal mummies stones appeared to an expert observer and from the tomb was made fast to our bodies, tomb-searcher to have been arranged by was swung over the palm-log, and we were hand, rather than scattered by some upheaval lowered into the depths. As I dangled in mid- of nature. air and swayed from side to side, the rocky THE HANBWR!TINO ON THE WALL. 6 FINDING JHARA OIL pieces which I startled from their long slum- ber warned those who preceded me to look out below. At the bottom of the shaft, on the right and left wall of the entrance to the subterranean chamber, were written in black ink some curi- ous inscriptions. By whom, no one can more than conjecture. It was the duty of the an- cient Inspector of Tombs to make frequent visits to the royal dead, to repair the mum- my-cases and wrappings, and, if necessary, to remove all to a safer tomb. This handwriting on the wall may have been that of the Pharaonic tomb inspector whose duty it was to make record of every change. Professor Maspero being desirous of having photographs made of these inscrip- tions, the little American camera was set for the work, and succeeded in securing them even there in the bowels of the earth. Then,lighting our torch- es and stooping low, we proceeded to explore the long passage and the tomb at its terminus. The rough way was ~cattered with fragments of mummy-cases, shreds of mummy-cloth, bunches of papyrus plant, lotus flowers, and palm-leaf stalks, while here and there a funeral offering was found. After much stumbling we arrived at the inner cham- ber where, but a few weeks before, stood or reclined the coffins of so many royal dead. The camera must have a long time for its delicate, difficult work, and so we did not need to hurry. Seated upon a stone which for centuries had served as the pillow of priest or king while wait- ing for immortality, Herr Brugsch told me the whole story of his historical find. It was a unique inter- It made such an view. impression upon my mind that I can repeat the story here from memory, thougb I do not, of course, claim that the report is verbatim. Finding Pharaoh was an exciting experience for me, said my companion. It is true I was armed to the teeth, and my faithful rifle, full of shells, hung over my shoulder; but my assistant from Cairo, Ahmed Effendi Kemal, was the only person with me whom I could trust. Any one of the natives would have killed me willingly, had we been alone, for every one of them knew better than I did that I was about to deprive them of a great source of revenue. But I ex- posed no sign of fear and proceeded with the work. The well cleared out, I descended and began the exploration of the underground passage. Soon we came upon cases of porcelain fu- neral offerings, metal and alabaster vessels. draperies and trinkets, until, reaching the turn in the passage, a cluster of mummy-cases came into view in such number as to stagger me. Collecting my senses, I made the best ex OUTER MUMMY-CASE OF QUEEN OUMES NUFRETORI. FINDING PHARA OH. amination of them I could by the light of my torch, and at once saw that they contained the mummies of royal personages of both sexes; and yet that was not all. Plunging on ahead of my guide, I came to the chamber where we are now seated, and there standing against the walls or here lying on the floor, I found even a greater number of mummy-cases of stupendous size and weight. Their gold coverings and their polished surfaces so plainly reflected my own excited visage that it seemed as though I was look- ing into the faces of my own ancestors. The gilt face on the coffin of the amiable Queen Nofretari seemed to smile upon me like an old acquaintance. I took in the situation quickly, with a gasp, and hurried to the open air lest I should be overcome and the glorious prize still un- revealed be lost to science. It was almost sunset then. Already the odor which arose from the tomb had cajoled a troupe of slinking jackals to the neighbor- hood, and the howl of hyenas was heard not far distant. A long line of vultures sat upon the highest pinnacles of the cliffs near by, ready for their hateful work. The valley was as still as death. Nearly the whole of the night was occupied in hiring men to help remove the precious relics from their hiding-place. There was but little sleep in Luxor that night. Early the next morning three hundred Arabs were employed under my direction each one a thief. One by one the coffins were hoisted to the surface, were securely sewed up in sail-cloth and matting, and then xvere carried across the plain of Thebes to the steamers awaiting them at Luxor. Two squads of Arabs accompanied each sarcophagusone to carry it and a second to watch the wily carriers. When the Nile over- flow, lying midway of the plain, was reached, as many more, boatmen, entered the service and bore the burden to the other side. Then a third set took up the ancient freight and car- ried it to the steam- ers. Slow workers are these Egyptians, but after six days of hard labor under the July sun the work was finished. I shall neverfor- get the scenes I wit- nessed when, stand- ing at the mouth of the shaft, I watched the strange line of GOLD-FACED INNER MUMMY-CASE OF QUEEN helpers while they ARMED NOFRETARI. PHOTOGRAPHED AT THE BUL~Q MUSEUM. carried across that 7 HEAD OF PINOTEM II. FUOTOGOAFUCO FROM TOE MUFEY. historical plain the bodies of the very kings who had constructed the temples still stand- ing, and of the very priests who had offici- ated in themthe Temple of Hatasou near- est; away across from it Qfirneh; further to the right the Ramesseum, where the great granite monolith lies face to the ground; further south Medinet Abou, a long way be- yond the Deir-el-Medineh; and there the twin Colossi, or the vocal Memnon and his compan- ion; then, beyond all, some more of the plain, the line of the Nile, and the Arabian hills far to the east and above all; and with all, slowly moving down the cliffs and across the plain, or in the boats crossing the stream, were the sullen laborers carrying their antique burdens. As the Red Sea opened and allowed Israel to pass across dry-shod, so opened the silence of the Theban plain, allowed the strange fu- neral procession to pass, and then all was hushed again. When you go up, you will see it all spread out before you with the help of a little imagination. When we made our departure from Luxor, our late helpers squatted in groups upon the Theban side and silently watched us. The news had been sent down the Nile in advance of us. So, when we passed the towns, the peo- ple gathered at the quays and made most fran- tic demonstrations. The fantasia dancers were holding their wildest orgies here and there; a strange wail went up from the men; the women were screaming and tearing their hair, and the children were so frightened I pitied them. 8 FINDING PHARA OH A few fanatical dervishes plunged into the river and tried to reach us, hut a sight of the rifle drove them hack, cursing us as they swam away. At night fires were kindled and guns were fired. At last we arrived at Biilftq, where I soon confirmed my impressions that we had indeed recovered the mummies of the majority of the rulers of Egypt during the eighteenth, nine- teenth, twentieth, and twenty-first dynasties, including Rameses II., Rameses III., King Pinotem, the high-priest Nebseni, and Queen Nofretari, all of which you have seen and pho- tographed at Bdhq, arranged pretty much as I found them in their long-hidden tomb. And thus our Museum became the third and prob- ably the final resting-place of the mummy of the great Pharaoh of the Oppression. Thus was the story of finding Pharaoh modestly told me by my friend who had dis- played such enthusiasm and tact in securing for science what had puzzled science for so long a time to discover. When we ascended from the tomb I grouped my companions at its mouth and once more caused the camera to secure a link of history. Professor Maspero reclined upon the rocks at the right; Emil Brugsch Bey stood at the palm-log; and Mohammed was posed in front, holding the very rope in his hand which had served in hoisting royalty from its long-hid- den resting-place. Climbing the mountain across the valley I photographed the view on page 5 of the tomb terraces of Bibfin el-Mulouk, showing the tomb of Sethi I., whose mummy is now at Bfi.q. PROFESSOR MASPERO, EMIL BRUOSES HEY, AND MOHAMMED AMO-EM-MASOUL. PHOTODMAPHED AT THE MOATH OF THE SHAFT, OEIS-EL-MAHAOI. FINDING PHARA OH. The next day the shaft was filled up again, thus closing the door of the empty theater, for the drama was ended, and the actors were gone. I made a long Nile journey after that and photographed many a stone-cut permanent likeness of the Michael Angelo of Egypt. The profile of the southern colossus of the Great Temple at Abou-Simbel has all these centuries retained the beautiful expression left it by the Nubian chisel, and presents a striking resemblance to the photograph of the recently unfolded mummy of the great king. Of this unfolding the world has been told by almost every newspaper in it. When I xvas at Bdl~q, all I could catch of the Sesostris face and form was as it appeared after the last neat work of the Inspector of Tombs had been finished. Since the unfolding, which took place June ist, r886, the camera of iBrugsch Bey has enabled us all to see how Pharaoh looked. Likewise, the report of Professor Maspero, giving the particulars of his removal of the wrappings, has ever since been a topic of conversation all over the wide world. Only fifteen minutes were occupied in un- doing the labor of many days by the careful embalmers. The kingly body had reposed in peace at least twice as long as was en- joined by the faith of Isis in order to secure immortality. As recently as i88o it was offered to an American traveler for a reasonable bakh- shish, but declined because its genuineness was doubted. But no doubt noxv exists, for in black ink, written upon the mummy-case by the high- priest and King Pinotem, is the record testi- fying to the identity of the royal contents. Then upon the outer winding-sheet of the mummy, over the region of the breast, the indisputable testimony is repeated. The cov- erings being all removed by the careful hands of Professor Maspero, in the presence of the Khedive and other distinguished persons, Rameses II. appeared. Professor Maspero further reports that The head is long, and small in proportion to the body. The top of the skull is quite bare. On the temples there are a few sparse hairs, but at the poll the hair is quite thick, forming smooth, straight locks about five centimeters in length. White at the time of death, they have been dyed a light yellow hy the spices used in embalmment. The forehead is low and narrow; the brow-ridge prominent; the eyebrows are thick and white; the eyes are small and close together; the nose is long, thin, arched like the noses of the Bourbons, and slightly crushed at the tip by the pressure of the handages. The temples are sunken; the cheek-hones very prominent; the ears round, standing far out from the head, and pierced like those of a woman for the wearing of ear-rings. The jaw-hone is massive and strong; the chin very prominent; the mouth small, hut thick-lipped, and full of some kind of black paste. VOL. XXXIV.2. 9 This paste being partly cut away with the scissors, dis- closed some much worn and very brittle teeth, which, moreover, are white and well preserved. The mus- tache and beard are thin. They seem to have been kept shaven during life, but were probably allowed to grow during the kings last illness, or they may have grown after death. The hairs are white, like those of the head and eyebrows, but are harsh and bristly, and from two to three millimeters in length. The skin is of earthy brown, spotted with black. Finally, it maybe said the face of the mummy gives a fair idea of the face of the living king. The expression is unintellectual, perhaps slightly animal; but even under the somewhat gro- tesque disguise of mummification, there is plainly to be seen an air of sovereign majesty, of resolve, and of pride. The rest of the body is as well preserved as the head; but, in consequence of the reduction of the tis- sues, its external aspect is less life-like. The neck is no thicker than the vertebral column. The chestisbroad; the shoulders are square; the arms are crossed upon the breast; the hands are small and dyed with henna; and the wound in the left side, through which the embalm- ers extracted the viscera, is large and open. The legs and thighs are fleshless; the feet are long, slender, some- what flat-soled, and dyed, like the hands, with henna. The corpse is that of an old man, but of a vigorous and robust old man. We know, indeed, that Rameses II. reigned for sixty-seven years, and that he must have been nearly one hundred years old when he died. On the same day that the face of the great Sesostris was unwrapped, the mummy of PROFILE OP RAMESES II. PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUTHERN COLOSOOS AT TOE GREAT TEMPLE OP AROG-SIRREL. 10 FINDING PHARA OH Rameses III. was also revealed and his iden- tity established beyond question. And now these old-time kings stand in the glass cases of the Bfll~q Museum, in as close companionship with Pinotem and Nebseni as they were when found in their sequestered retreat. Once kings, princes, and priests, monarchs, tyrants, nd oppressors, equal with the gods, they now appear labeled and num- dered as antiquities, where all who desire may go and face them without fear. When they were first borne to the tomb, their frightened subjects cried to the gods for their entrance into immortality; and one of those gods was Rameses II., represented at Pithom in red syenite, seated in an arm- chair between the two solar gods Ra and Tum. But xvhen they xvere carried back to the Delta, the folds of sand which had for centuries covered their ancient city Zoan were being unwrapped by the spade and pick of the Egyptian Exploration Fund, and their frightened descendants cried unto Allah the God of Israel! Edward I. U/i/so;,. I MAMESEN II. IMMEDIATELY AFTER UNWINDING. FROM A PROTOARAPH MY EMIL MROGDOR MEY. A9ARE OF THE MOLAR MANEUM~ CAIRO, THE PRESENT RESTING-PLACE OP MAMEDES II. PHARAOH THE OPPRESSOR, ANT) HIS DAUGHTER, IN THE LIGHT OF THEIR MONUMENTS. HE ancient Egyptians have placed us greatly in their (Iebt by a science that surpasses ours. Even in the extravagant fancies of childhood over the tales and heroes of the Bible, we never dreamed that some day we might stand face to face with the figure of that new king over Egy~t who said unto his peo- ple, Behold, the people of the children of Israel are more and mightier than we Come on, let us deal wisely with them ; lest they multiply, and it come to pass that, when there falleth out any war, they join also unto our enemies, and fight against us, and so get them up out of the land ; of that father whose daughter not only spared the weeping babe in the little ark among the flags, but adopted the child, and he became her son, and she named him Moses; of that royal patron who thus educated him for the public ser- vice as a prince in his own house- hold; and yet of that sov- ereign in whose breast the preju- (lice of race ran so deep that he sought to slay this Moses, his foster-son, the moment he heard the hand of the latter had lifted itself against an Egyptian. Now, upon the reappearance (if this venerable monarch on the stage of modern life, one of the questions suggesting themselves as soon as our first surprise is over, is, How does this man of renown bear out his portraits upon the monuments? Placing his actual features side by side with the faces of the numerous statues and sculptures by which he sought to immortalize himself, are the latter thus found true to their subject? Do they present faithful likenesses of this very physiognomy before us? Whatever it may be, the answer to this ques- tion will also have a material bearing upon the accuracy of the art of that remote l)eriod. A second surprise lies in wait for us. It has often been remarked how the coun- tenance of Rameses II., whether upon colos- sal monolith or mural carving, together with those of other members of the Ramesside line before and after him, can scarcely have been purely Egyptian; and the conjecture has as often been hazarded that the type of expression they wear is obviously Semitic. Such a sur- mise has had for its foundation not only the narrow retreating forehead and the aquiline nose, but the long head from chin to crown and the entire cast of visage. The strange traits are limited to the Theban race or ruling class, in contradistinction to the race of primi- tive inhabitants of the lower Nile valley. Let us turn aside a moment to make this difference clearer by noting how the genuine Egyptians, having a better claim to be re- garded as the natives of the country, looked. Though their fac-similes have been preserved in the monuments all along through the ages, yet some of the best of them have come down to us from the earliest times. One of these is reproduced in illustration i, taken from a remarkable bust treasured in the Louvre. Whether regarded s a work of sculpture, or 1. ETHNIC TRAITN OF AN INDIGENOUS EGYPTIAN. FROM LENORMANTS HISTOIRE ANCIENNE GE LOAIENT.

John A. Paine Paine, John A. Pharaoh the Oppressor, and His Daughter, In the Light of Their Monuments 11-28

PHARAOH THE OPPRESSOR, ANT) HIS DAUGHTER, IN THE LIGHT OF THEIR MONUMENTS. HE ancient Egyptians have placed us greatly in their (Iebt by a science that surpasses ours. Even in the extravagant fancies of childhood over the tales and heroes of the Bible, we never dreamed that some day we might stand face to face with the figure of that new king over Egy~t who said unto his peo- ple, Behold, the people of the children of Israel are more and mightier than we Come on, let us deal wisely with them ; lest they multiply, and it come to pass that, when there falleth out any war, they join also unto our enemies, and fight against us, and so get them up out of the land ; of that father whose daughter not only spared the weeping babe in the little ark among the flags, but adopted the child, and he became her son, and she named him Moses; of that royal patron who thus educated him for the public ser- vice as a prince in his own house- hold; and yet of that sov- ereign in whose breast the preju- (lice of race ran so deep that he sought to slay this Moses, his foster-son, the moment he heard the hand of the latter had lifted itself against an Egyptian. Now, upon the reappearance (if this venerable monarch on the stage of modern life, one of the questions suggesting themselves as soon as our first surprise is over, is, How does this man of renown bear out his portraits upon the monuments? Placing his actual features side by side with the faces of the numerous statues and sculptures by which he sought to immortalize himself, are the latter thus found true to their subject? Do they present faithful likenesses of this very physiognomy before us? Whatever it may be, the answer to this ques- tion will also have a material bearing upon the accuracy of the art of that remote l)eriod. A second surprise lies in wait for us. It has often been remarked how the coun- tenance of Rameses II., whether upon colos- sal monolith or mural carving, together with those of other members of the Ramesside line before and after him, can scarcely have been purely Egyptian; and the conjecture has as often been hazarded that the type of expression they wear is obviously Semitic. Such a sur- mise has had for its foundation not only the narrow retreating forehead and the aquiline nose, but the long head from chin to crown and the entire cast of visage. The strange traits are limited to the Theban race or ruling class, in contradistinction to the race of primi- tive inhabitants of the lower Nile valley. Let us turn aside a moment to make this difference clearer by noting how the genuine Egyptians, having a better claim to be re- garded as the natives of the country, looked. Though their fac-similes have been preserved in the monuments all along through the ages, yet some of the best of them have come down to us from the earliest times. One of these is reproduced in illustration i, taken from a remarkable bust treasured in the Louvre. Whether regarded s a work of sculpture, or 1. ETHNIC TRAITN OF AN INDIGENOUS EGYPTIAN. FROM LENORMANTS HISTOIRE ANCIENNE GE LOAIENT. 12 PHA NA 011 AND HIS DA UGHTEIX. as a success in portraiture, or as a creation almost endowed with life, it is a rare attain- ment in plastic skill and a rival to the high- est art of any age. Professor G. Maspero sketches the prototype as follows: A great effort of the imagination is no longer re- quired to recover the figure of an Egyptian of the time of Kheops, who contributed his part to the construc- tion of the Pyramids: to-day we have merely to step into the Museum and look at the statues in the olden style there hrought together. At the first glance of the eye we shall perceive that the artist who produced them sought to effect a strict resemblance in the modeling of the head and memhers after the person whom he desired to represent; and yet, neglecting the peculiarities of each in- dividual, we may read- ily regain the common type of the race. The Egyptian . . . carried a head often too large in proportion to the hody, presenting usu- ally a spirit of mildness and even of instinctive sadness. The forehead is square, perhaps a trifle low; the nose short and round; the eyes are large and wide open; the cheeks filled out; the lips thick, hut not reversed; the mouth, somewhat wide, bears a smile of resig nation and almost of suffering. . . . And, even in our own day, the simple peasants have retained nearly in every particular the likeness of their ancestors, and such a fellak regards with aston- ishment the statues of Khawrd or the colossi of the Usertesens, which reproduce lineament by lineament, across the interval of more than four thousand years, the physiognomy of these old Pharaohs. We have only to compare this precur- sory portrait of an Egyptian who lived and died under the Old Empire with the remarkable picture of Rameses II. (2) viv- idly repeating a photograph of his mum- mys profile, in order to perceive the dis- similarity instantly. The two have not the first feature in common ; in fact the one is the opposite of the other at every turn, proportion, and measure. Clearly, the great Rameses by these presents is ae- monstrated to have belonged to the royal Theban race of foreign stock, just as the monuments indicated. Can this foreign stock be traced back to its source? Until modern research began in Egypt the answer to such a question was a positive No; but not long since a monument came to light whose testimony is strikingly confirmed by our mute effigy of the king. Among the ruins of Zoan Mariette Bey found a memorial slab of syenite, carved with a vignette on the upper part and inscribed on the lower portion, which at once became fa- mous under the title of The Tablet of Four Hundred Years (i). The subject of the vig- nette is a scene representing Rameses the Great offering wine to the god Set in his human form and wearing the white crown, an officer also in adoration standing behind the monarch. The object of the stela is thus revealed to be a recognition on the part of the king of that o. SPHINX SF ZOAN, BEARINS THE PORTRAIT OF THE SHEPHERD KINS APOPHIS. FROM RESSE ARCHEOLOSISOR. 2. PROFILE OF RAMESES II. FROM A PMOTOGRAPM OF THE MOMMY TAKEN ANOEO PROFESSOR MASPERO AT BALKS. PHARA OH AND HIS BA UGHTER. 3 Typhonic Set or Sutekh, and a participation in his worship, who had been the national deity of the Shepherds, at the ancient capital of these rulers. By the date of four hundred years from the king Set Aa-peh-peh Nubti, he uses an era founded upon the reign of one of these Shepherd Kings, a predecessor of Apophis. Furthermore, the officer explains, His Majesty ordered that a great tablet of cwi~ ~ ~ _ C ~pu~ 3. TABLET OF FOUR HONORER VEORO. FROM REOOE AROREOLOGIQOE. stone should be made in the great name of his fathers for the sake of setting up the name of the father of his fathers, apparently from bis parent Seti I. back to Set Aa-peh-peh, four centuries before, both named after the same deity; and thus we are gsven to understand that Rameses thereby sought to acknowledge and honor the line of the Shepherd Kings as his ancestors. Fortunately, we are to-day able to verify this acknowledgment and relationship in a conclusive, because physical, way. In the same ruins of Zoan Mariette Bey came across four very peculiar sphinxes, on the avenue leading up to the shrine of the temple. Writing to the Vicomte de Rouge, he describes them in the following terms: You will be struck by the style that characterizes these four sphinxes. The clever chisel which carved the body may, doubtless, have been that of au Egyp- tian; but I dare not say as much in regard to the hand that modeled the face with so peculiar an energy. The sphinxes of Egyptian origin impress us above all by their tranquil majesty. Generally the heads are portraits; and yet the eye is al- ways calm and wide open, the mouth always smiling, the contours of the visage always rounded; and especial- ly you observe that the Egyptian sphinxes al- most never abandon the grand head-dress with spreading wings, which harmonizes so well with the quiet unity of the monument. Here, how- ever, you are far from recognizing that type. The head of the Sphinx of Zoan is of an art with which I am really at a loss for aught to com- pare (i). The eyes are small,the nose is strong and arched though at the same time some- what flat, the cheeks are large while marked by prominent bones, the chin is a projecting one, and the mouth at- tracts notice l~y the manner in which it falls at the corners. The whole visage sympa- thizes with the rudeness of the features making it up; and the bushy mane encircling the head, to such extent as almost to bury it, im- parts a still more re- markable aspect to the monument. On beirnld- ing these strange fig- ures we perceive that we have under our eyes the products of an art not purely Egyptian, and also not exclusively foreign, and, accord- ingly, we conclude that the sphinxes of Avaris [Zoan] may well excite the immense intercst of dating from the time of the Hyksos [Shcpherd Kings] themselves. Upon the right shoulder of each one of our four sym- bolical sphinxes inscriptions, which had been graven there, have been chiseled out; but the name of the deity Sutekh still remains upon the head, then follows the title the beneficent god, then the illegible car- touches of the king, and the whole recalls so well, by the manner in which the inscriptions are disposed, by the length of the lines, by the style of the hieroglyphics surviving, the legend of Apophis upon the colossus of Ra-smenkh-ka [a statue of a seated Pharaoh found near by], that we cannot hesitate to read the same leg- ~7Sja 4 PHARA OH AND HIS PA UGHThR. end upon the new monuments. According to the Sal- her papyrus, Apophis reared a temple to the god Sutekh; and we cannot doubt that our sphinxes are owing to the piety of this king toward the deity of his nation, nor can we refrain from the thought that the sacred inclosure which these monuments were intended to embellish was the site of the temple of Sutekh at Avaris [Zoan]. . . . And if, as every indication leads us to suppose, Apophis is the Pharaoh of Genesis, it was this Apophis who raised Joseph to the rank of a minister. And, these sphinxes of Zoan being con- temporary with Joseph, can it be possible they have the signal honor of owing their origin to the son of Jacob personally, who would have the ordering of their execution? We are now ready to make the verifica- tion. The Tablet of Four Hundred Years and these sphinxes were discovered not far apart. Rameses the Great was the author of the tablet confessing descent from the Shep- herds, and to-day we possess the features of the latter copied by the sun: the Shepherds were the authors of the Zoan sphinx- es, to which they imparted their own faces. Let us compare the two, the profile of the sphinx, as above (4),witb the profile of the king in illustration 2. They are parallel Both have the same roundly retreating brow, the same arched nose, the same promi- nent lips, the same projecting chin, the same high cheek-bones, the same hollow cheeks what have they not exactly alike? They are a startling match. An eminent scholar, the Rev7 erend H. G. Tomkins, once wrote of the sphinx: What a front is this! full of gnarled strength. The brows are knit with anxious care; the full but small eyes seem to know no kindly light; the nose, of fine profile curve, yet broad in form, has its strongly chiseled nostrils depressed in accordance with the saddened lines of the lower cheek. The lips are thick and prominent, but not with the unmeaning fullness of the negro; quite the opposite. The curve is fine, the Cupids bow perfect which defines so boldly the upper outline: the channeled and curved upper lip has even an expression of proud sensitiveness, and there is more of sorrow than of fierceness in the drawn-down angles of the mouth. But if we could throw the lions mane of the sphinx around the head of the proud and lion-hearted though aged king, this descrip- tion would apply equally well to him, would it not? The family resemblance is so complete that one might be tempted to suspect the sphinx of really bearing the portrait of Rameses him- self, rather than that of some Shepherd king. But, unhappily for such a suspicion, Rameses II. once, having found a similar sphinx at the site of Pithom or having removed one from Zoan, actually engaged in the discreditable work of appropriating it to himself by trans forming the head of the Shepherd into an image of his own (i). The alteration consisted mainly in removing the shaggy mane of the lion in order to substitute the grand head- dress with spreading wings, a reduction which leaves the head too small for the body, while the outlines of the countenance remain almost untouched in the stolen monument. However, Rameses II. did inscribe his name on the front of the Sphinx of Apophis at Zoan, which he did not otherwise injure, and upon other sphinxes of the Shepherds where he added the title Friend or Beloved of Set; while upon various monuments recently un- covered on the same site by Mr. XV. M. Flin- ders Petrie, he is delineated iu the act of offering to Sutekh, who in one instance wears the white crown as on the Tablet of Four Hundred Years, but in two instances is un- crowned and long-eared. Such a verification is more than satisfactory. We are fully convinced that this tall king, so superhumanly towering as to be frightful to his enemies, rightfully belonged to the ruling rather than to the native race of Egypt; and, strange though it be, we allow his claim of blood-relation to those invaders, the Hyksos- Shepherds, whose expulsion from the Delta required the entire strength of the seventeenth Theban dynasty expended in a war of eighty years. Here lies the secret of that uniform, peculiar, superior cast of physiognomy run- ning through all the countenances of the Ramesside line, a line ever famous for being uncommonly handsome. And who were these Shepherds? whence did they enter Egypt? Such questions have confounded the wise ever since the revival of learning. The origin of the Shepherds has been referred to the pastoral ranges on the PHARA OH AND HIS BA UGI7I TEll. 5 ~cZZ~~ czzr~ lit I. RAMESES TATTER, SETI I. FROM A MONUMENT, FIGURED IN ROSELLINIS east of Egypt, to the Negeb, to the land of the Amorites, to the coast of the iPhilistines, to the hill of the Jebusites, and especially to the cities of Phcenicia. But grave objections lie against all these conjectures; and the more the ethnic type of the race is studied, the far- ther north and east, into Asia, its original home is carried. Some Hittite monuments re- cently discovered show a remarkable approach to its general aspect, yet many of the heads of Assyrian kings a still greater codrdination. Very striking agreements appear in some de- tails of custom, such as wearing a profusion of hair and the fashion in which it is (Iressed, exhihitecl in the familiar representations of Nimrocl strangling a lion, or the statue of the god Nebo. The latest verdict on these in- quirses is that of a distinguished scholar whom America delights to honor, Miss Amelia B. Edwards: The question of the Hyksos type remains unan- swered. It is neither Egyptian nor Ethiopic nor Semitic. It hears a more Northern stamp. It reminds Els that those early Chaldeans, who were driven ont hy the Elamites under Kuclur-nan-khundi, spoke and wrote a Turanian dialect, and that their hinod was akin to that of the yellow races which we now call Tartar and Mongolian. When the eighteenth dynasty came to an end with King Haremhebi, the royal line was extinct on the male side. So the nineteenth dynasty was founded by a warrior, Rameses I.; hut he was a usurper, lacking in an es- sential qualification royal blood. His son. Seti I., was also a brilliant con- queror; but to the Theban priests and men of learning he, too, was unsatisfactory, because, in like manner, royal blood did not course in his veins, and because he bore the offen- sive name of Set. However, ig on the con- trary, he was a scion of Shepherd stock, then to us he is a curiosity, from the fact that the 1-iyksos features of Rameseshis son must have descended through him, and in so doing left on him the typical marks of this mysterious race. How is it? has he got them too? Con- sult his portrait in illustration 6, and answer accordingly. Neither a long nor a second ex- amination is required to perceive in his looks a survival of the Sphinx of Zoan on the one hand, and a prophecy of his offspring on the other. A broxv reclining, a languid eye, a nose strongly arched, a mouth of almost voluptuous lips, a deep hollow beneath them that throws a round chin into accent all are there. He strikes involuntarily the same attitude of calm conteml)lation, or even pleasant reverie; but even in his style of wearing the hair he ap- pears to affect that odd, superfluous mane of his pastoral ancestors. Though only an out- line, this sketch has been chosen above many splendid examples of pictorial carving, for the sake of presenting features and not a scene. Some of the finest has-reliefs in all Egyptian sculpture have Seti I. for their subject and central figure, imparting the story of his life through the eye rather than through the ear, artistic object-lessons fairly changing study into enjoyment. A late witness, Monsieur Ch. Blanc, testifies: Seated upon a rouiid hase of a column, we exam- ined the nohlest has-reliefs ito the world! Seti was present in his own temple of Ahydus. His nohle head, at once human and heroic, todd and proud, stood out from the wall and seemed to regard us with a gen- tle smile. A wandering ray of sunlight penetrat- ed into the temple, and, falling upon the low sali- ence of the sculptured figures, gave them a re- lief and animation which was almost illusive. However, so va- ried are our resources that to-day we are not dependent on ancient art for an acqtiaintance with this refined and wor- shipful parent of him who forms the object of our inquisitive study. The famous Seti, too, was found among the royal mummies at Dair el-Bahari, along with Thothmes III. the il- lustrious, and Rameses II. the conqueror. And when his winding-sheets of mummy-cloth were umvound, and when, for the first time in so many long centuries, the light re-revealed those idiosyncratic features which of old in- spired many beautiful reliefs in stone, the merciless camera was also turned upon them, and in that sort of picture which is notori TAKEN ENOEM TRE DIREETION OF PROF. MANTERO AT MOLGO. PHARA OH AND HIS PA UGHTER. ous for never flattering nor ever detracting we have a proof of the very original himself (7), a proof, by the way, of more than one kind; a proof which betrays the work of the bas- relief artists, showing how well or ill they ren- dered their princely subject and a proof of Ramesside blood. In neither of these lines will any one who makes the comparison re- quire the help of hints as to points of conform- ity or affinity. Rather, the danger lies toward the opposite extreme. The casual examiner will be likely to declare, Difference there is none. Why! this pretended Seti is merely another photograph of the Rameses mummy- head taken from another direction of view! ]3ut Seti shrewdly made up for his own deficiency in the nobility then dominant by marrying a princess of the last or eighteenth dynasty, Tuaa by name. She was descended directly from Thothmes III. and Amenophis III. whose granddaughter she was; and the monumental records acknowledge her as Royal Wife, Royal Mother, Heiress, and Sharer of the Throne. Her mask, as it were, in illustration 8, reveals another source whence Rameses, her illustrious son, derived some of his classic type of countenance, along with the whole of his royal blood. For a work of such high antiquity we are not prepared for a treatment so truly artistic, and productive of so startling an effect. How vividly that sharp pro- file contrasts with the adjacent background! It speaks for itself as preserving an exact ap- pearance of a living being, with the utmost fidelity and delicacy. Nay, what trace of an- tiquity does it present? It is not too much to say that it marks a moment of Egyptian Renaissance which so closely approaches the Renaissance of art in Italy that, were its origin unknown, it might be mistaken for a product of that time. Tuaa, however, was predminently royal, not only in that her father was a king of the eighteenth dynasty, but in that on the mater- nal side, her mother, Til by name, the queen of Amenophis III., was a princess in her own right. Her father was a powerful king, and her mother a notable queen, of Naharaina or Mesopotamia. This information is preserved upon a large scarabreus, executed under Amen- ophis, whose inscription, having the following legend (9), may be translated thus: The living Horus, the Strong Bull, crowned by Truth, The Lord of Diadems, establishing laws, pacifier of The Two Countries, great warrior, smiter of the Eastern Foreigners, King of the Upper and Lower Egypt. NEB-MA-RA, Son of the Sun, AMENOPHIS, the ruler of The Thebaid the Giver of Life: The Great Royal Lady TJI, the living one; the name of her father was IUA, The name of her mother was TUAA, Who is the wife of the powerful King, His southern frontiers are to the Karni, His northern are to NAHARAINA. In the record upon another similar scara- biens, of the same age, Tii, the living one, is called the marvel, the daughter of the Chief of Naharaina. Of course we are curious to see how this marvelous princess held forth, if~ perchance, the monuments have taken and saved a picture of such a Great Royal Lady from the land of Rebekah and Rachel and Leah. And mirabile die/u / they have. It is found among the portraits of the queens in the Tombs of the Queens, on the west of the river Nile over against Thebes, where her own chamber of sepulture remains intact, together with all its sculptures and paintings, unharmed by fire (io). The family likeness on the maternal 8. TUAA, MOTHER OF RAMESES. FROM LEPRIURS DENKMALER ASS FOYPTEN. PHARA OH AND HIS PA UGHfEJ?. 7 side, (juite different from that of the Rames- side line in respect of angularity, is here re- vealed with intensity. The nose, especially, is straight and pointed; the brow is high and far from continuing the slope of the nose, im- plying an intellect of superior order. Though her lips indicate a loving heart, she evidently possessed more of spirit than of gentleness; while the remarkably exact relations and equal- ities of her features must have made her not only a very attractive but an exceedingly beau- tiful woman. If Rebekah and Rachel were only half so fair as she, they were well worth a journey away to Mesopotamia to win. And, possibly, they were not unlike in another very different respect. It will be remembered that Rachel, on the eve of the furtive departure from Mesopotamia, stole away the images of her fathers gods, which surely would be of no value to her unless she really trusted in them and meant to be true to their service in the land to which she was going. Tii, too, was equally loyal to her fathers idols, and carried the gods of Mesopotamia to Egypt. Being a worshiper of Baal, her example re- vived the adoration of the sun, in the religious rites of the royal family at least, leading to endless discord and trouble. Though a wife of Amenophis III., her daughter married his son Kim-en- Aten, who is famous for having discarded the gods of Egypt totally, and (under the influence of Tii?) for becoming a NOL. XXXJV.3. fanatical worshiper of the suns heamy disk. In the enthusiasm kindletl by a head wrought in white marble anti exhibiting a taste surpris- ingly a~sthetic, recognized as that of Tii by Mariette (though not by Maspero) after she had reached the proportions of a matronly tjueen, Monsieur Charmes declares: When we stop in admiration before the bead of Taia, at l3~l?~q, we feel ourselves unconsciously ririven by her charms . . . to forge a whole history, an historical romance, of which her enigmatic personality is the center and inspiration, and to fancy her the chief author of those religious tragerlies which disturbed her epoch and left a burning trace which has not yet cbs appeared. Having thus traced the probable origin of Rameses ancestors on his fathers side, by the aid of the Tablet of Four Hundred Years, back to Chaldea, antI the lineage of his mother, by the aid of the Marriage-record of Amenophis, back to Mesopotamia, he might be regarded in respect to race as an Assyrian rather than an Egyptian, might he not? Are we aware that a verse exists in the Bible, reading, For thus saith the Lord God: My l)eople went down aforetime into Egypt to sojourn there, And the Assyrian oppressed them without cause, whiub always has been an enigma? Commen- tators, indeed, unanimously say the sojourn in Egypt is here contrasted with the captivity in Assyria; but this leaves the statement in the first clause abruptly suspended, and would characterize a carrying away into captivity in- correctly as an oppression, while the very next verse (is. lii. 4,5) the discourse proceeds to turn from the Egyptian oppression to the con temporary Babylonian captivity in usual and precise terms: Now therefore, \vhat have I here, saith the Lord, That my l)eople is taken away for nought? H 10. TIi TOE MEDOPOTAMIAN FOINCEOS. FOAM ATNEOLIM I. :~\ e~ A:z::~J t9d~aLco~ J6~? (ZD~ i L~ I~ ~ A. MARRIAGE RECORD OF AMENOPHIS WITH TIi FOAM ROSELLINI. PHARA OH AND 1/IS PA LGHfEN. In Babylon the captives were treated as col- onists and citizens, not as slaves, whereas the real oppression occurred in Egypt alone. It is impossible to resolve this enigma except by regarding the conception of the prophet as remaining in Egypt and referring to Egypt in both clauses of the verse 4, the last bearing out and explaining the first; and then, when the question is raised, I-low could the oppressor of Israel in Egypt be an Assyrian? the answer is ready, Our present investigation has already ANOKEM ASS RAMESES. FROM PR~SSE 0 AVENNES HISTOIRE OF LAST EGOPTIEN ORPRES LES MONUMENTS. shown. Isaiah well understood in what way Rameses the Great was an Assyrian in Egypt, and so did they whom he addressed. And this first-born son of the union between Seti and Tuaa, because inheriting the double royalty of his mother, was instantly hailed as king, and recognized by a fastidious aristocracy as the ftiture sovereign of the land; and not only as a royal but as a divine being. To the people at large he was the personal representa- tion of the divine nature; they adored him, offered prayers to him, sang hymns of praise to him; his ministers addressed him in rever ent terms, his princes prostrated themselves in his presei~ce, his wives really worshiped him. And he appears to have believed himself superior to men an(l even allied to the gods for in such groups as that of Abi2 Kes/uiP, or Pithom, he seated himself between two solar deities, Ra on the one side, Tum on the other, and made his own image larger than either of theirs Indeed, he carried this vanity so far as to represent in certain sculptures Rameses as king burning incense before Rameses a (leity. His very name signifies Derived from Ra, nor does he hesitate to assume the titles Son c)fRa, Son ofthe Sun. Hownaturally he cries out, Where art thou, 0 my father Amen? And he blushes not to put into the speech of the Supreme Creator such words as these, Thus speaks the father of the gods, to his son who loves him, the first-born of his loins, I am thy father, I have begotten thee like a god; all thy limbs are supernal. One expression of this popular conceit relates to his nurture in early life he was regarded as having been nourished by the vestal divinity Anfikeb, whose maternal em- brace, as disclosed in illustration i i, he enjoyed and reciprocated by a pressure of the hand, at the same time looking up into his benefactresss face with filial affection. For observe that the artist has with intention thrown into the feat- ures of the goddess that noble classical pro- file of his real mother Tuaa, retaining also in those of Rameses as much as possible of the peculiar mold he developed in after life; both, therefore, are living portraits. The execution of this exquisitely colored intaglio, upon a wall of the temple at Bait el-Wali, dates from the very days of Rameses; its tone is chaste, and its design is carried out to the minutest detail. Both in feeling and in art the original is an advanced attainment in Egyptian effort. It is a composition whose excellence kindles new enthusiasm as a longer study unfolds its merits. Though the has-reliefs of this tem- ple relate to the opening life and early wars of Rameses, manifestly in this scene, though returning from his first excursion very hun- gry and thirsty, he had not yet passed be- yond a tender age. At first sight we may not be able to suppress a smile nor restrain the remark, Rather large for a babe! But, as the Egyptians would no sooner sketch their hero in the weakness of childhood than in the infirmity of old age, he is always upon the monuments attributed with immortal youth, beauty, felicity. Nor were the Egyptians alone in this sort of estimation of their idols Josephus indulges in a similar vein respecting that infant brought up by Pharaohs daughter God (lid also give him that tallness, when he was l)ut three years old, as was wonderful; and there was PHARA OH AND IllS PA UGHTIiR. 9 0! nol)ody so impolite as, when they saw Moses, they were not greatly surprised at the beauty of his countenance, which was so remarkable and natural to him that it detained the spectators, and made them stay loncrer to look upon him. Even in boyhood the countenance of Ram- eses began to exhibit the cast of his father; and the instant we look upon any one of his early copies we recognize the shape and color of his mature life as in a bud the proph- ecy of the open flower. One of these early portraitures is brought out in the next illustra- tion (i a). A royal ur~eus in winds about the fillet binding a head-dress on the brow, from. which on the left side depends that long artificial tress. recurved at the end, which every prince was bound to wear as long as his father remained still in the land of the living. Around the neck reposes a highly ornamental collar, in part com- posed of precious stones, the like of which apparently he never ceased to bear, if we may so judge from his next costume and that of his last portrait in this series. And the pelt of a panther, with its head resting on his left breast and one paw thrown over his right shoulder, half covering his tunic, marks the wearer as already a member of that sacred class of priests called Sam, more fully detailed in the next figure. All of which, however, fail to con- ceal the fresh round form of the lad, and the l)right look, the happy expression breaking forth in every feature about to blossom out in the face of the Rameses of the future. As 500fl as old enough, Rameses began to assist his father in every regal and ritualistic duty sometimes holding the plate of offer- ing, pouring the libation, pronouncing the in- vocation, or reciting the hymn of worship, while his father performed the sacred rites at other times, in order to learn the science of war, accompanying his valorous parent on military campaigns, and, at length, venturing forth alone to vi(:tory. In illustration 13 we behold him engaged in one of these services pouring out a libation of wine as set forth by a tablet in the Temple of Abydus, upon which Mr. Villiers Stuart declares more care has been lavished than on any- thing else in the entire temple; as a specimen of sculpture it is (ltiite a gem. In the strength of youth Rameses stands erect before an altar surmounted with flowers, partly shaven as to his head, yet retaining that side-lock which marks him still as a princely minor, and upon which he has lavished a golden clasp, a row of pearls, and a royal basilisk. Beads encircle his neck, and an elaborate collar. Over his shoulder hangs a panthers skin, which only priests of a certain rank had the right to wear. A leopard-headed buckle secures the apron- strings, and the straps suspending a plate of gold upon which are inscribed the cartouches of the heir to the crown. In his left hand he grasps a papyrus-roll, containing, doubtless, the litany of his worship. But, that counte- nance How, at this early age, it involves all the elements that are to render it peculiar in manhood, in old age, and even after three and thirty centuries have rolled away, traits, inherited mainly from the pateriial line, the salient chin, the iml)ulsive lips, a nose that would identify its owner quite as well as his name, and the extension of its outline over the brow at scarcely a different angle. But while the backward consanguinity is unmis- takable, the forward relationship between this unchangeable has-relief at Abydus and the veritable personage rendered equally un- changeable by the embalmer is also unmistak- RA. RAMESER AR PRIEST. FROM MARIETTEA AAYDAA. 12. AN EARLY PORTRAIT OF RAMEOLO. FERAl PRISSE A AVENN ER. 20 PHARA OH AND I/IS PA UGI/rEk. able, the only modification being due to the burden of many years. When grown to mans estate and elevated to the throne, the king Rameses lost none of his individuality. This is finely developed in the head of one among his surpassing images, reproduced in illustration 14, now enriching the Museum at Turin, but obtained early in the present century by the Italian collector Drovetti at Tanis in all probability. It pertains to a sitting statue, which ranks as the best one that has come down to us in point of complete form, unblemished preservation, and genuine artistic skill. Even without the tell-tale car- touches of Rameses upon the pilaster at the back, we should be struck instantly by the dis- tinction it conveys of its ancient original. He xvears a military casque bearing the royal ur~us, and holds in the right hand a crook, emblem of dominion. His large eyes betoken a large soul, a fearless purpose, and a con- sciousness of supremacy. While the nose is unusual in figure and size, yet the nostrils are refined. The lii)s are rich in kindliness and vigor. A serious thoughtfulness seems to per- vade the whole visage, as though the king were living over again some trying episode, with its fortunate deliverance, in bis past ex- perience. Shall we venture a guess as to the scene of that incident? Can this brave war- rior ever cease to brood over that narrow es- cape he had in his conflict with the Kheta, afar on the banks of the Orontes? And not one of my princes, not one of my captains of the chariots, not one of my chief men, not one of my knights, was there. My warriors and my chariots had ahandoned me. Thereupon I lifted up my voice: Where art thou, my father Amen? If this means that the father has forgotten his son, hehold have I done anything with- out thy knowledge, or have I not gone and followed the judgments of thy mouth? Shall it he for nothing that I have dedicated to thee many and nohle monu- ments? Behold, now, Amen, I am in the midst of many unknown peoples in great numhers. All have 15. RAMESES THE KING, AT TANIS. FROM LEPSIUS. PHARA Oft AN!) HIS PA UGHTLIY. uniteti themselves, antI I am all alone; no other is with me my warriors and my charioteers have de- serte(l me. I called to them, antI not one of them heard my vOice. The works of a multitutle of men are noth- in , Amen is better than they. And my voice found an echo in Hermonthis, and Amen heard it and came at my er v. He reached ont his hand to me, and I shouted for joy. lie called ont to me, I have hastened to thee, Rameses Mer-Amen. I am with thee. I am he, thy father, the snn-god Ra. Mv hand is with thee. All this came to pass. I was changed, licing made like the god Montbu. I burled the dart with my right hand, I fought with nix left hand. Not one of them raised his hand to fight their courage was smitten in their breasts; their limbs gave way. I made them fall into the waters just as the crocodiles fall iii. They tumbled down on their faces one after another. Each one as he fell, be raised himself not up again. A grove of palm-trees now flourishes where the city of Memphis, formerly a brilliant capital of Egypt, once stood. Out of all its magnifi- cent structures or splendid monuments only a single example survives the others, either drowned by the inundation of the Nile or by its waters left behind during nine months in the year, or groveling, face downwards, in the mire of a Pool during the remaining months. The f7!~//s call this sole remaining inhabitant Abi2 cl-Hin7~ The Father of Terror ; and every traveler to Egypt makes a pilgrimage to the spot to receive an impressive lesson of fallen greatness. It is one of those colossal statues of Rameses II. which its ambitious author scat- tered through his kingdom from one end to the other not in sitting posture, as the last one considered, but originally standing erect, with face to the north, against a pylon of the great Temple of Ptah, of which not a vestige is to be found to-day. The surpassing element in this monolithic image is that of height, be- ing ahout forty-four feet from end to end; though its grandeur of size is paralleled by a majestic grandeur of beauty and style. Again, as illustration i 5 well shows, the head so teems with the authentic character of the individual that we cannot tire of admiring it. How very exact the relation of brow to nose! while the entire face presents just such a contour as, from the mummy, we should suppose the feat- ures of Rameses must have had in middle life. When the statue fell to the ground the upper part of the double crown, or pscken/, towering above the head, was dashed away, and the feet were broken off; but everything else continues intactun us, false heard un- der the chin, even down to the royal titles en- graved upon a hreastplate, and a papyrus-roll held in the left hand. At the feet diminutive images of a prince and a princess, one of whom lifts an arm as if raised in supplication, reaching to the knee, are supposed to recall the peril from fire at Pelusium to himself as well as to his wife and children, in commem ii. HAMESES THE KING AT MEMPHIS. FROM FRISKS RAVENNEH. 21 22 PHAI& I 01/ AND 1113 PA UGIfTEIY. oration of rescue from which, through personal bravery as well as presence of mind and prayer, he reared memorial statues of the whole fam- ily before the grand sanctuary in Memphis. As if contemplating this miraculous extrication, the stony face cannot conceal the gratitude and Ieace of the king upon his second cleliv- erance. Yet amorigthese masterpieces of art from the clays of the nineteenth dynasty, one, judging from the fragment persisting to our day, sur- passed all others in a very rare element. In those thus far examined realism has been plain to be seen the fruit of an aim to repeat an act- ual face not in the least degree departed from nor fallen short of through inadequate talent. 15. RAMESES THE KING, AT THESES. FROM DESCRIPTION SE LESOPT. But in this one there are signs of the indul- gence of a conception, together with an effort, while remaining faithful to the real, to express a dream of an ideal king. The result is the most beautiful face of Rameses that was ever produced by Egyptian geniw;. It graced a court in that transcendent monument raised to the glory of the great potentate, the Rames- seum at Thebes. From illustration i6 we may easily separate the two components, one the object intended to be duplicated with whem we are now familiar, retaining his smile of self- compla cency, which, perhaps, always flitted around the lips of Rameses; the other a stamp upon that face of superhuman symmetry, of spiritual delicacy, reaching out after, really catching, that divine nature and dignity which Rameses was believed to share. So success- ful w-ere the authors of this statue in their de- sign that, as late as our own century when the French savazils reached it, they, looking stead- fastly thereon, actually thought it the face of a god: One could scarcely represent divinity uuder traits which should better cause it to he respected aud cher- ished. From this fragment in its faultless chisel- ing and polish, we may only imagine what amount of labor must have been expended upon the whole colossus of rosy syenite. It was the choicest monument, probably, in the grand structure of the Ramesseum. How innocently the messieurs of the French Commission add, This morcean of sculpture (leserves to he carried to Europe, in order to show to what degree of perfection the Egyptians attained in the art of cutting and finish- ing stone. Presently this morceau was conveyed to Eu- rope to the Louvre? No; but to a hall in the British Museum Compare this illustra- tion, for a moment, with the full-face view, on page io, of the mummied king. Is there any difference, aside from the contrast between the bloom of manhood and the emaciation of extreme senility? How many landmarks are common to both the heavy eyebrows, the face broadest at the cheek-bones, the prom- inent nose, the excessive lips, the sharply jut- ting chin The monument and the monarch. agree beyond all anticipation. Our series of representative portraitures of Rameses began with one made vivid by the aid of colors; it may, therefore, appropriately end with another ma(le as brilliant as a paint- ing by never-fatling pigments. It occurs at Abfi Simbel in Nubia, in the grotto or temple of Hathor. Of course, an illustration (r7) in black antI white cannot transmit any con- ception of those powerful tints which render the portrait as natural as life itself, and so per- fectly real that you wait to receive some reply to your greeting, or expect the monarch to descend from the wall and welcome you to his royal abode. The surpassing quality here is an intense expression. He is older now, equally tranquil, but less gracious and more stern. His complexion is a (leel) coppery red; his eye is very long, its a~)ple is black, its ball white, its lids overshadowing ; the nose is Rameses own, depressed at the end; while the mouth and chin are equally peculiar. His costume is a military one; a casque of cobalt- blue, enameled with studs of gold and orna- mented with the iir us, is bound behind by streaming bands. A broad collar adorns the PHARA OH AND 1115 PA (IGHTER. 23 iT. RAMESES THE KING, AT AEG SIMBEL. FROM EHOMPOLLION-LE-JEUNES MONUMENTS GE LEGOPTE. neck, variegated with circles and radiant points in blue, green, yellow, red, and black. The hue of his short-sleeved garment, crushed-straw- berry, has again come round into the height of fashion, and is rendered highly effective by dominos in black; you would readily im- agine the king might have taken the pattern from Josephs coat of many colors. But what sort of grotto or temple or abode is this at which we have arrived ? Here, cer- tainlv, the king can no longer complain that he is all alone. The temple at Bait el-Wall and the imposing Ramesseum are devoted to his glorious achievements; but here, on all sides, upon faade, walls, pillars, another fig- ure is met with; another presence keeps him company; another regent reigns conjointly with him on the throne. This sacred abode is consecrated to Hathor, the Egyptian Venus, and the second personage who shares it with him is his beloved wife, the idol and ruler of his heart, Mer-en-Mut Nefer-ari. Miss Ed- wards has unfolded the rgiso;i dgtre of the shrine, in most inimitable terms: The fagade is a daring innovation. ilere the whole front is hot a frame for six recesses, from each of which a colossal statue, erect and life-like, seems to be walk- ing straight out from the heart of the mountain (i8). These statues, three to the right and three to the left of ihe doorway, stand thirty feet high, and represent Rameses II. and Nefer-ari, his queen. Mutilated as they are, the male figures are full of spirit, and the fe- male figures are full of grace. The queen wears on her head the plumes and disk of Hathor. The king is crowned with the psckcnt, and with a fantastic hel- met adorned with plumes and horns. They have their children with them; the queen her daughters, the king his sons, infants of ten feet high, whose heads just reach the parental knee. The superb hieroglyplis that cover the faces of these buttresses and the front of this porch are cut half a foot deep into the rock, and are so large that they can he read from the island in the middle of the river. The tale they tell a talc retold, in many varied turns of 01(1 Egyptian style upon the architraves within is singular and interesting. Rameses, the Strong in Tiuth, the Beloved of Amen, says the outei legend mqde this divine Ahode for his royal wife, Nefer iii whom he loves. The legend within afies cioumerating the titles of the king, records that his ioyd wife who loves him, Nefer-ari the Beloved of Mut coi structed for him this Abode in the mountain of the Pui e Waters. On every pillar, in eveiy ~~ct of xvorship pictured on the walls, even in the sinctuai y, we find the names of Rameses and Nefer -iii coupled and inseparable. In this double dedication, and in the unwonted tender- ness of the style, one seems to detect traces of some event, perhaps of some anniversary, the particulars of which are lost forever. It may have been a meeting; it may have heen a parting; it may have been a prayer answered, or a vow fulfilled. We see, at all events, that Rameses and Nefer-ari desired to leave hehind them an imperishable record of their affection which united them on earth, and which they hoped would re- unite them in Amenti. What more do we need to know? We see that the queen was fair, that the king was in his prime. \Ve (livine the rest; and the poetry of the place at all events is ours. Even in these barren solitudes there is wafted to us a breath from the shores of old romance. We feel that Love once passed this way. and that the ground is still hallowed where he trod. In order to get a better view of this loving pair, let us separate the two statues at the right of the picture, or northern end of the fa- ade, from the remainder, and enlarge them as much as possible. This is done in illustra- tion 19. The two cartouches of Rameses the King stand over his head in the cornice, and one of them above the head of each statue at its left; the single cartouch of Mer-en-Mut Nefer-ari falls in the middle of the pilaster just at the elbow of the queen, beneath her title The Great Royal Wife, equivalent to Royal Wife, Chief Lady of the land. Out in the sunlight the wonted smile of the king returns, indicating a condition of happiness without alloy. Observe how remarkably this face, with the attire upon the head, coLirdi 0. FA9ASE OP THE TEMPLE SF MATHOR, AT ASH SIMBEL. FROM PRISSE SAVENNES 24 EHARA OH AND HIS PA cJGHTJEIY. nates with both the style and the detail of the Ramesseuni statue. Also, closely compare the two countenances of king and queen and note a very apparent kinship lying back of, older than, the relationship of husband and wife. Evidently the love that is now so warm and l)aran~ount in their lives is a continuation of an affection never less tender or strong. Upon a pillar deep within the recesses of this grotto, on the left, we may find a more exact delineation of this fair queen, revealing the same secret. Just tbe same bieroglyphs identify her as the Royal Wife, Great Lady Mer-en-Mut Nefer-ari. As illustration 20 in- dicates, she dons the plumes and horns and disk of the goddess to whom her home is dedicated; she wears a coronet; and, not un- like some fashionable ladies nowadays, she bears upon her head the livery of a bird, that of a vulture,in ber case, however, a symbol of maternity. Above the beak of the bird rises a hooded asp, carrying a miniature disk of the sun, always the emblem of a sovereign. A large ear- ring peeps from under a sun-bonnet, fringed with gold and falling around her shoulder. In her right hand she holds up a sistrum, or copper bo~v with cross-bars strung with beads, ornamented by a head of Hathor as a sign that she is a priestess of the highest rank or prophetess of peculiarly sacred character; while in her left she grasps a scourge as another sign of royal supremacy. In her outline the Egyptian artist manifestly tried to realize a beauty which he was never afterwards called upon to outdo: he has expressed a sweet grace, unitedi with a force of character, quite sufficient to gain and to keep the affections even of a Ra- meses the Great. A variant of her dedication of the temple to him reads, according to Mr. Villiers Stuart To the sovereign of the two lands, Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt, User- Ma-Ra, Son of the Sun, Beloved of Ra, Lord of Crowns, Rameses Mer-Amen, his loving Lady, Queen and Princess Nefer- tan has huilt a temple in the locality of Ahh~ hy the w~ ters. Grant him life for evermore. Throwing these epithetsinto a natural succession, His Princess an dQueen at once, we may curiously ask, Does the first of these terms explain the ro- mantic attach- ment tind offer the ground of exaltation to the last? If so, the revelation is capable of a test which will either confirm or dis- prove it. One step backward in her history would be a time when she had not yet assumed the title Mer-en- Mut, Beloved of the goddess Mut. just as her liege-lord was proud to call himself Mer-Amen, Beloved of Amen, and his son Mer-en-Utab, Be- loved of the deity Ptah. And such a period is readi - ly recovered. Among the 20. RARESER ROYAL WIFE, GREAT LADY has-reliefs of West Silsilis 19. TWO STATUES AT RIGHT OF PRECEDING FUtURE. THE QUEEN RER-EN-HAT NEFER-ARI AND TRE KIND RAMEDEG II. FRDM PRIRRE RAVENNEG. this same queen may be observed occupied with the pious task of offering sacrifice to cer- tain divinities (illustration 2 i). Here she is announced to the world as the Royal Wife, and the Great Royal Wife, Lady Ruler of the Two Lands, etc., while her cartouch reads merely Nefer-ari. Her insignia are essen- tially the same, the plumes, etc., of Hathor, a coronet, but no urreus, and now she holds a sistrum in each band high above the altars, upon which libation-jars are standing. As a sistrum-player, a/il-f, and in the act of per- forming certain religious ceremonies before an altar, she again signalizes her member- ship in that holy order of priesthood to which only the wives and daughters of kings could belong. Another step backward in her history would be a time when she had not yet attained the position of queen or the title of Royal Wife, but was known simply as Princess. Look- ing through the lists of royal daughters born to Rameses, among the troop depicted at Derr we find one little girl portrayed beneath the king, accompanied by his lion and about to dis- patch a group of prisoners, who lifts her arms on high and holds a sistrum in one hand, who wears a coronet, and bears the name of Ne- fer-ari. On the walls of the Great Temple here at Abd Simbel she also appears, beneath a similar scene, and is recorded as Nefer- tan by name: in illustration 22 is her picture. At first thought it might seem, from the oc- currence of Mer-en-Mut Nefer-ari in the com- pany of Rameses offering sacrifice on one wall in the Great Temple, and the occurrence of these daughters on another wall of the same temple, that the queen was grown when the princess was young. But on second thought this objection disappears; for this troop of prin- cesses is merely a genealogical table, a duplicate of oth- ers at Derr and at Thebes, without ref- erence to the queen, who is represented upon the walls of both these temples at Abfi Simbel as she appeared at sev- eral other epochs in her life; and also for the reason that among these vari- ous princesses, all alike of about a t w e lv e - y e a r- o 1 d size, no less than a whole generation of years must be di- 25 vided upthey could not all have been exactly twelve years of age at once. Let us estimate that the daughter of Pha- raoh the Oppressor was not far from sweet sixteen when she found the little waif upon the Nile: at this time she was only the Prin- cess Nefer-ari, and the Bible is perfectly accurate in referring to her as Pharaohs daughter. As Brugsch believes, this occurred in the sixth year of Rameses reign, who may then have been six-and-thirty years of age: we know that he had grown-up sons, who were as- sisting him in war, when he himself began to rule. On the other hand, votive tablets in our Hathor Temple, dating from the thirty-eighth year of Rameses reign, would indicate forty- eight and sixty-eight as the ages of the royal couple when this sacred abode was finished and in constant use. But in two or three or four or more years after her discovery of the ark in the flags by the rivers brink, the Princess became the kings peerless consort, and at first was dis- tinguished by no other than her former name, the Royal Wife Nefer-ari ; but, presently, for some reason best known to herself she added a second appellation, Mer-en-Mut, the basis of the Thermuthis (T-mer-mut) of Greek histoyians. Here lies the key to the strange procedure of Josephus, who first styles her Daughter, then calls her Thermuthis, and finally de- scribes her as Co-regent in the administration of affairs. And this very singularly clears up the rec- ords of other historians hitherto obscure. One of them, Georgius (Syncellus), calls Rameses Amosis Phara5 a close approx- imation, yet not a perfect echo, Amosis hav- ing lost an initial R in its transit across the sea and two thou- sands of years. Besides, he re- lates, The Daughter of Pha- raO, Thermuthis who was also called Pharia. Ah! this, too, has a familiar accent, Pharia? yet something is missing. What can it he? Again across the great sea and a space of twenty centu- ries Pharia has lost an initial N: if Georgius s rec- ord were to read PHARA OH AND HIS DA UGH/ER. 21. R ESER GREAT ROYAL WIFE NEFER-ARI. FROM LEPOIOR. VOL. XXXJV.4. 26 PHARA OH AND HIS DA UGHTER. Nepharia, nothing would be wanting. Thus, according to this authority, the full name of Pharaohs Daughter was no less than Ther- muthis- Nefer-ari. Another of them, Cedrenus, tells how the Daughter of Pharab was named Muthidis, as well as Thermuthis, and Pharffis. Of course, as before this, Phar~isis a reduced survival of Nefer-ari, while Muthidis stands as a fragment of Mer-Afld; and so in both combined we have represented about half of the long Egyptian designation Mer-en-Mut Nefer-ari. Artapanus, also, was right, as far as he went, in saying that PharaOs Daughter bore the name of Merrhis, which selects the other half of 21Pr1-Mut. By putting the halves pre- served by Cedrenus and Artapanus together, we get the whole of Mer-en-Mut after all. Unconscious ___ of all our per plexity in regard to her identity, the Daughter of Pharaoh is si- lently \vaiting for recognition, in life-size and bold relief, upon the walls of Hath- ors Grotto to- day (23). Agen- tler spirit never breathed from with a charm as / 03. HEAD OF PHARAOHS DAUGHTER. ENLARGED any countenance, together irresistible to us as it was to the king; and yet she exhibits no lack of intelligence, good sense, wit, or strength. She wears all the grace and majesty of a real queen: a marked refine- ment betrays her superiority in rank and race to everything natively Egyptian. The narra- tive of Josephus respecting the events which took place after Moses had ceased to be an infant abundantly exhibits Thermuthis as act- ive and influential in the government as any queen could be. She certainly exercised the power of veto when, having brought the boy Moses to her father, saying she intended him to be heir to his kingdom, and the great Ram- eses, drawing his daughters pet close to his breast and playfully putting the royal diadem on the head of the lad, the latter audaciously dashed it to the ground and trod upon it with his feet, for which act of evil omen the sacred scribe, looking on, made a violent attempt to kill him on the spot she snatched her dar- ling away, and so saved his life a second time. We shall also err if, from the standpoint of our better psychology, judicially condemn- ing the relation here involved, we pronounce it inadmissible. We are in search of facts, re gardless where they may lead; and we must judge the parties concerned by their standards and circumstances, not by ours. It is already. admitted by Pierret, Lenormant, and others that Bint-antha thus became the queen she was; while Wiedemann asserts the same as true, not of Bint-antha only, but of Amen- meri-t and of Neb-taui also. But, if of these three daughters or only of one, why not of Nefer-ari as well? Reflecting a moment upon the reputed number of the progeny of this great king, one hundred and seventy, half of whom must have been daughters, an array unprecedented in the annals of Egypt, we see how difficult a matter it must have been to find royal suitors for the hands of the prin- cesses. Rameses was at war with all the world within his reach until there was no king but himself in all his wide domains. Intermarriage was regarded as expedient by the lofty house of Egypt, as the true means of keeping its royalty pure and the family perfect. People in the olden times over there reasoned pre- cisely as the daughters of Abrahams brother did, when their mother became defunct by crystallization into a pillar of salt. Isaac, by Abrahams express direction, and Jacob took wives from their own kindred; and when Esau preferred to go out of the lines of con- sanguinity and marry Hittite damsels, it was a grief to Isaac and Rebekah. Besides, to- ward the end of Egyptian history the Ptole- mies were famous for close alliances, and we think it not so very strange only because we have got used to the fact. Rameses the Great was about thirty years old when he began to rule alone, and he reigned sixty-seven years. As Professor Mas- pero says in his report, And so he ought to have been almost a centenarian at death. The Scriptures imply that the Pharaoh who had brought thb Israelites nnder the yoke of bond- ag~ was sovereign on the throne when Moses was born, we may estimate, with Professor HI. Brugsch, in the sixth year of his reign. After this, Moses had time for growing up to adult age, and for retreating into Midian forty years, according to the chronology in our A. V., ere he could return to Egypt with safety. Can there be, therefore, an undercurrent of irony in the words of the Bible where it reads, And it caine to pass in process of time, that the king of Egypt died? Be this as it may, we have, also, the testimony of one profane historian, at least, who records of Sesostris that,having lived to so great age as to lose his sight, he preferred to put an end to his earthly existence rather than allow it to be further prolonged. This last act, Diodorus continues, was admired by the priests as well as by the other Egyptians, as terminating life in a manner worthy the ac PHARA OH AND HIS DA UGHTER. 27 tions of this king. Accordingly, the walls of his magnificent Ramesseum preserve a bas-relief depicting the apotheosis of this exalted scepter- bearer (24). He is seated as upon a throne still, and, already their equal, he enters the society of the gods, all of whom are engaged in in- scribing his name upon the fruits of the Tree of Life. On the left sits Amen-Ra-Tum, the sun, the supreme deity, under the form he as- sumes in the lower world where the dead reside. On the right stands Tahut, having the head of an ibis, god of science and all knowledges, scribe to the assembly of the immortals. In the midst and facing the king newly arrived, stands Safekh, the Lady of Writings or god- dess of letters, who, along with Tahut, carries in the left hand the emblem of perpetuity dur- ing millions and millions of years. The double royal cartouch of Rameses II. appears directly over his head; and even in this outline draw- ing of his countenance the artist of more than thirty centuries ago clearly endeavored to trace the very profile which time has dealt so ten- derly with and now in these last days has un- veiled to our reverent gaze. Even if his royal name had not been offi- cially written by the high-priest Pinotem upon his cerements, we would have been able read- ily to recognize and safely to identify the Great Rameses from his iconographic monuments. Jo/in A. Paine. ~1~) CARTOUCHES OP RAMESES A.-- KING OP THE UPPER AND LOWER COUNTRIES. 24. APOTHEOSIS OP RUMESER II. FROM LEPSIAR. ZWEIBAK; OR, NOTES OF A PROFESSIONAL EXILEV. LIGHT on the top of my remark that the passion of love, or that simple pas- sions of any sort, such as the plays describe, are not to be met with in Zweibak, comes the adorable spin- ster Phillis, accompanied by Amyntas, who has been in love with her for years. She is a really fine person, a tall, full, blonde woman, with a coquetry which ap- proaches philanthropy, it is so amiable, so vague and elevated. Her desire to please ex- pands itself into a fine and gentle enthusiasm. She has a freedom and a strength of position which would be possible to no other than an American spinster. She is not emancipated, or peculiar, or anything that is unbecoming, but sits by her tea-table like Deborah of old under her palm tree; from this position, in which I have often seen her, she radiates her interest in mankind in general and the male portion thereof in particular. Amyntas has been in pursuit of her for years, if that may be called pursuit, xvhere she does not fly and he scarcely dares follow. The af- fair has reached a state of suspended motion. He is quite content to be near her, to listen to the sound of her voice, and to be conscious of her movements. Indeed, it is to be doubted whetber her actual presence is necessary to him. I should think he might sit very com- fortably in the same room with one of her old dresses. An American should not spend the years of his early and middle life in Europe. When Americans first come abroad, they are very much taken up with associations. These are often so attractive as to make them think they could never weary of such things. A day or two after my first landing in England as a youngster, fifteen years ago, I went with a college friend to the Haymarket Theatre. This was in the time before the hand of the improver had been laid upon that charming abode of Thespis. It was a dingy white-and-gilt old place, stodgy and full of draughts, still redolent of old comedy and of the days of the pit and half price. We sat in the stalls in the second row from the orchestra, and were very near the actors. Our compatriot, Mr. Vezin, who was playing in The Man of Airlie, did us the great kindness to wink at us. I wonder if he was sensible of the effect upon our young minds of his benevolent action. In an instant I felt such a man about town. I was one with the wits of Queen Anne, with Colley Cibber and Barry and Betterton, and the dandies of fifty and a hundied years ago. We were very happy. The next day I went to a levee at St. Jamess Palace. A beef-eater in the dress of three cen- turies ago stood at a turn of the staircase, and, recognizing my black coat, motioned me in the direction of the e;i/r& . I was vastly pleased by the mans deferential manner. His sem- blance was in some way familiar to me. I looked again and saw that it was Henry VIII., no longer proud and valiant as in Holbeins picture, but contrite in mind, much tutored by the lapse of time and the course of events, having fully adopted the view of the school histories regarding his own actions, and now doing homage to the spirit of democracy in the person of a Yankee diplomate. But one cannot live on associations. One has but a single life and cannot spend that on traditions. Associations and traditions soon weary. I sometimes go and stay at the coun- try house of an old lady who has known pretty much every European celebrity of the century and who has entertained many of them under her most hospitable roof. She likes to talk about them. At first it was interesting to listen; but it has come to bore me sadly. The kind old lady sits discoursing all day upon the past of these eminent peopleto me, who am altogether interested in my own future. I begin to want a country badly. I have so long breathed foreign air as to have begun to wonder Whether the atmosphere of my own land, like this, is made of oxygen and nitro- gen, and whether our piece of ground has as much of the sun, the moon, and the stars as these countries. I am aware that my country is a great one, but I require in my exile an outward and visible sign of the fact. It has altogether too much moral and future great- ness. I wish it had more ships of war and bands of music. I would give some tons of moral greatness and, as for the future, would throw in an eon or two, for one smart drummer-boy. A year ago a United States ship of war vis- ited the country in which the writer holds a diplomatic appointment. I accompanied my chief on a visit to this ship. We were met at the dock by a steam launch, commanded by a midshipman, a tall youth with delicate and distinct features and a complexion that sug- gested ague. He told us he was from south-

E. S. Nadal Nadal, E. S. Notes of a Professional Exile 28-30

ZWEIBAK; OR, NOTES OF A PROFESSIONAL EXILEV. LIGHT on the top of my remark that the passion of love, or that simple pas- sions of any sort, such as the plays describe, are not to be met with in Zweibak, comes the adorable spin- ster Phillis, accompanied by Amyntas, who has been in love with her for years. She is a really fine person, a tall, full, blonde woman, with a coquetry which ap- proaches philanthropy, it is so amiable, so vague and elevated. Her desire to please ex- pands itself into a fine and gentle enthusiasm. She has a freedom and a strength of position which would be possible to no other than an American spinster. She is not emancipated, or peculiar, or anything that is unbecoming, but sits by her tea-table like Deborah of old under her palm tree; from this position, in which I have often seen her, she radiates her interest in mankind in general and the male portion thereof in particular. Amyntas has been in pursuit of her for years, if that may be called pursuit, xvhere she does not fly and he scarcely dares follow. The af- fair has reached a state of suspended motion. He is quite content to be near her, to listen to the sound of her voice, and to be conscious of her movements. Indeed, it is to be doubted whetber her actual presence is necessary to him. I should think he might sit very com- fortably in the same room with one of her old dresses. An American should not spend the years of his early and middle life in Europe. When Americans first come abroad, they are very much taken up with associations. These are often so attractive as to make them think they could never weary of such things. A day or two after my first landing in England as a youngster, fifteen years ago, I went with a college friend to the Haymarket Theatre. This was in the time before the hand of the improver had been laid upon that charming abode of Thespis. It was a dingy white-and-gilt old place, stodgy and full of draughts, still redolent of old comedy and of the days of the pit and half price. We sat in the stalls in the second row from the orchestra, and were very near the actors. Our compatriot, Mr. Vezin, who was playing in The Man of Airlie, did us the great kindness to wink at us. I wonder if he was sensible of the effect upon our young minds of his benevolent action. In an instant I felt such a man about town. I was one with the wits of Queen Anne, with Colley Cibber and Barry and Betterton, and the dandies of fifty and a hundied years ago. We were very happy. The next day I went to a levee at St. Jamess Palace. A beef-eater in the dress of three cen- turies ago stood at a turn of the staircase, and, recognizing my black coat, motioned me in the direction of the e;i/r& . I was vastly pleased by the mans deferential manner. His sem- blance was in some way familiar to me. I looked again and saw that it was Henry VIII., no longer proud and valiant as in Holbeins picture, but contrite in mind, much tutored by the lapse of time and the course of events, having fully adopted the view of the school histories regarding his own actions, and now doing homage to the spirit of democracy in the person of a Yankee diplomate. But one cannot live on associations. One has but a single life and cannot spend that on traditions. Associations and traditions soon weary. I sometimes go and stay at the coun- try house of an old lady who has known pretty much every European celebrity of the century and who has entertained many of them under her most hospitable roof. She likes to talk about them. At first it was interesting to listen; but it has come to bore me sadly. The kind old lady sits discoursing all day upon the past of these eminent peopleto me, who am altogether interested in my own future. I begin to want a country badly. I have so long breathed foreign air as to have begun to wonder Whether the atmosphere of my own land, like this, is made of oxygen and nitro- gen, and whether our piece of ground has as much of the sun, the moon, and the stars as these countries. I am aware that my country is a great one, but I require in my exile an outward and visible sign of the fact. It has altogether too much moral and future great- ness. I wish it had more ships of war and bands of music. I would give some tons of moral greatness and, as for the future, would throw in an eon or two, for one smart drummer-boy. A year ago a United States ship of war vis- ited the country in which the writer holds a diplomatic appointment. I accompanied my chief on a visit to this ship. We were met at the dock by a steam launch, commanded by a midshipman, a tall youth with delicate and distinct features and a complexion that sug- gested ague. He told us he was from south- ZWEIBAK; OR, NOTES OF A PROFESSIONAL EXILE. 29 em Ohio. The chief, who is a poet, said he looked like Nelson; a Nelson from the shores of the Miami seemed a funny notion; but he did nevertheless. I was expecting nothing and thinking of nothing when the launch reached a hole in the side of the black object we had seen in the offing. We ran up the steps to the deck, which had been hidden from us by the ships high walls and which was alive with a numerous company drawn up in the smart- est array; the admiral to the front, an ex- tremely handsome old man, in uniform of navy blue and brass buttons and white waistcoat, looking very grand and clean and bright and tarnation mad. (We should have been there before). There was a violent discharge of mus- ketry. My senses were shocked by the sharp rattling reports. The deck swam blushing with ten thousand flowers. In the twinkling of an eye I had been taken, after long absence, to a portion of the territory of my own country. It was her music, from the guns of four hun- dred thronging brothers, which tore the morn- ing air of that distant shore. It was her most sweet thunder which reverberated among those summer seas. I looked upward and be- held the flag floating supremely in its elemen- tal blue. I never dreamed they could make such a devil of a noise. The ships company went through their manceuvres; and then we were shown over the vessel. There was something rather flattering to ourselves, who had been treated with such consideration in the damn- your-eyes manner in which the officers hissed their orders sidewise to the common sailors, while we, so to speak, strode on superbly over their prostrate necks. It seemed very profes- sional and quite the right thing. The admiral asked us to dine with him in his cabin. He also asked the captain. It was particularly pleasant to see that the captain called him ~ similar instances of just authority and decent subordination being so rare among our countrymen. At dinner the admiral had sev- eral times told the colored boy who waited to fill my glass, which the boy was rather slow in doing. At length the ~admiral himself filled the glass, saying: That boy is determined you shant have anything to drink. The mod- eration and self-restraint of this impressed me greatly, when I knew that at a word he could have hanged the boy from the yard-arms. The ships company were again drawn up to take leave of the minister, who declared to the admiral when about to take the launch that it was the happiest day he had spent in England. As for me, I shall not attempt to describe the lively sentiments toward the grand old admiral I entertained at parting. I see by the papers that they have taken up the remains of John Howard Payne, the author of Home, Sweet Home, and carried them to America, the expens e of the proceed- ing having been borne by an American mil- lionaire. Mr. Payne had a very nice grave by the side of the Mediterranean. Why not have let him stay there? To have taken him up after so long a time and to have carried him such a distance and then for a Washington glee-club to get around him and sing a part- song seems to me to have been of the nature of an indignity. If Mr. Payne was a man of humor and refined sensibilities, as he probably was, I doubt if such a free treatment of him would have been to his taste. There is a notion at home that you may be allowed to do anything, if you will pay for it. And when a rich man wants to do something graceful, it is difficult for the authorities to gainsay him, a rich man with us being a big- ger thing than the Government of the United States. I trust that if any soft-hearted million- aire proposes to make a contribution to my traveling expenses, he will do so while I am in the flesh, and can come to such a nice place as this and spend it. It seems also that the De- partment of State made a somewhat unseason- abl~ concession in this matter. There must have been occasions when a leave of absence of sixty days and the necessary time required for transit, with permission to visit the United States, would have been appreciated by Mr. Payne. But to speak seriously, of course if there were people who wished to move Mr. Payne and were ready to pay for the transfer, the govermnent could hardly have refused to assist them to do so. A great department can hardly humor itself with the whims of taste in which an irresponsible itinerant like the writer may indulge himself. My countrymen have recently displayed a great access of necrologic zeal. Some Philadel- phians have made a determined effort to get possession of the body of William Penn, and as they are that sort of people who think there isnt anything you cant raise with a derrick, they are much surprised that their attempt should have been resisted. On the ground that Pittsburg was named after the elder Pitt, the Common Council of that city recently passed a resolution, requesting Lord Chatham to allow the remains of his ancestor to be re- moved there for interment. The great Lord Chatham said, If I were an American, I would never lay down my arms! By way of a tardy acknowledgement of this famous and magnanimous utterance, I now take this op- portunity of saying, If I were the Pitt family, I would never give up my grandfather! E. S. Nadal. THE HUNDREDTH MAN.* BY FRANK R. STOCKTON, STULL did not go into the country with his family, for it was necessary for him to remain some time longer in the city, in order to give attention to several branches of his va- ned business which had been neglected when his mind and time had been so greatly occu- pied by the disturbances at Vatoldis. But this occasioned no delay in the opening of his operations against the peace and welfare of Enoch Bullripple. He had no intention of doing anything in his proper person, and his presence was not at all necessary at the scene of action. Without allowing his motives to make any appearance whatever, he had en- gaged a competent agent to investigate the title-deeds and original surveys of the Bull- ripple farm; and he had found, as he had ex- pected to find, that not only was the old mans tenure of his property a very uncertain one, having depended for its endurance principally upon the fact that no one had ever cared to investigate its validity, but that there was an equal doubt of legal ownership in regard to the farm which he himself had acquired from ilVirs. People. Mr. Stull had reason to suspect this when he bought up the mortgages which eventually gave him possession of the farm, but the property came to him so easily he was willing to take the risks in regard to the title. Now it would serve his purpose very well, if, when the time came to push Enoch Bull- ripple to the wall, the old man could also see that Mr. Stull was being pushed. That would make it impossible for Enoch or his nephew to suppose that he had anything to do with the matter. But Mr. Stull was an excellent manager and a shrewd business man, and he did not pro- pose that the pushing he might receive should hurt himintheleast. 1-us present action was not entirely based on his desire to retaliate on the old farmer for the insults and injuries the latter had heaped upon him. If things should turn out as he expected, there was reason to hope that xvii. Author of Rudder Grange, The Lady, or the Tiger ? The Late Mrs. Null, The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine, etc. there would be much profit for him in his proposed transactions. The lands in ques- tion were not worth very much, looked upon from an agricultural point of view, but it was possible that they might, otherwise, be very valuable. Iron ore in paying quantities had been found in various parts of this region; and Mr. Stulls observations had led him to believe that the rolling country about Cherry Bridge was as likely to contain iron as any of the places where it had already been found. It would please him very well to form a company and put up a smelting-furnace on some spot convenient to the railroad; but, before he did this, he would like to become the owner of as much valuable mineral land in the vicinity as he could lay his hand upon. If there should be iron on his own farm, he would be very will- ing to give up his present hold upon it in order to acquire another which would be firm and secure; and if the Bullripple property should contain the desirable metal, he would most certainly buy up that property if it should be forced into the market. The agent selected to conduct these in- vestigations was exceedingly well adapted to the work; and, had he not undertaken it, it is doubtful if Mr. Stull could have found any one to whom he would have been willing to intrust it. This individual was Mr. Zenas Turby, who lived in the county town not far from Cherry-Bridge, where he ertgaged in a variety of vocations, most of which had some connection with the law. He collected debts, and took up any odds or ends of legal busi- ness which could be attended to by one who was not an actual lawyer. In the course of a long and intrusive life he had picked up a great deal of information, legal and otherwise, which frequently caused him to shine in the light of a useful man. There was one piece of busi- ness which most of his neighbors would have been very glad to see him engaged in, and that was an early attendance at his own fu- neral. But Mr. Turby had declined for many years to gratify this popular desire, and, al- though now over sixty, was so hale and hearty that the prevailing hope in his direction seemed likely to be much deferred. Among his other accomplishments Mr. Copyright, s886, by Frank R. Stockton. All rights reserved.

Frank R. Stockton Stockton, Frank R. The Hundredth Man 30-40

THE HUNDREDTH MAN.* BY FRANK R. STOCKTON, STULL did not go into the country with his family, for it was necessary for him to remain some time longer in the city, in order to give attention to several branches of his va- ned business which had been neglected when his mind and time had been so greatly occu- pied by the disturbances at Vatoldis. But this occasioned no delay in the opening of his operations against the peace and welfare of Enoch Bullripple. He had no intention of doing anything in his proper person, and his presence was not at all necessary at the scene of action. Without allowing his motives to make any appearance whatever, he had en- gaged a competent agent to investigate the title-deeds and original surveys of the Bull- ripple farm; and he had found, as he had ex- pected to find, that not only was the old mans tenure of his property a very uncertain one, having depended for its endurance principally upon the fact that no one had ever cared to investigate its validity, but that there was an equal doubt of legal ownership in regard to the farm which he himself had acquired from ilVirs. People. Mr. Stull had reason to suspect this when he bought up the mortgages which eventually gave him possession of the farm, but the property came to him so easily he was willing to take the risks in regard to the title. Now it would serve his purpose very well, if, when the time came to push Enoch Bull- ripple to the wall, the old man could also see that Mr. Stull was being pushed. That would make it impossible for Enoch or his nephew to suppose that he had anything to do with the matter. But Mr. Stull was an excellent manager and a shrewd business man, and he did not pro- pose that the pushing he might receive should hurt himintheleast. 1-us present action was not entirely based on his desire to retaliate on the old farmer for the insults and injuries the latter had heaped upon him. If things should turn out as he expected, there was reason to hope that xvii. Author of Rudder Grange, The Lady, or the Tiger ? The Late Mrs. Null, The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine, etc. there would be much profit for him in his proposed transactions. The lands in ques- tion were not worth very much, looked upon from an agricultural point of view, but it was possible that they might, otherwise, be very valuable. Iron ore in paying quantities had been found in various parts of this region; and Mr. Stulls observations had led him to believe that the rolling country about Cherry Bridge was as likely to contain iron as any of the places where it had already been found. It would please him very well to form a company and put up a smelting-furnace on some spot convenient to the railroad; but, before he did this, he would like to become the owner of as much valuable mineral land in the vicinity as he could lay his hand upon. If there should be iron on his own farm, he would be very will- ing to give up his present hold upon it in order to acquire another which would be firm and secure; and if the Bullripple property should contain the desirable metal, he would most certainly buy up that property if it should be forced into the market. The agent selected to conduct these in- vestigations was exceedingly well adapted to the work; and, had he not undertaken it, it is doubtful if Mr. Stull could have found any one to whom he would have been willing to intrust it. This individual was Mr. Zenas Turby, who lived in the county town not far from Cherry-Bridge, where he ertgaged in a variety of vocations, most of which had some connection with the law. He collected debts, and took up any odds or ends of legal busi- ness which could be attended to by one who was not an actual lawyer. In the course of a long and intrusive life he had picked up a great deal of information, legal and otherwise, which frequently caused him to shine in the light of a useful man. There was one piece of busi- ness which most of his neighbors would have been very glad to see him engaged in, and that was an early attendance at his own fu- neral. But Mr. Turby had declined for many years to gratify this popular desire, and, al- though now over sixty, was so hale and hearty that the prevailing hope in his direction seemed likely to be much deferred. Among his other accomplishments Mr. Copyright, s886, by Frank R. Stockton. All rights reserved. THE HUNDI?EDTH MAN 3 Turby was skilled in the search for iron ore, and this helped in a great degree to make him unpopular. The farmers in this part of the country had no desire to profit by the dis- covery of ore on their property. The profit they received from the culture of the surface of their fields was as satisfactory to them as it had been to their fathers, and they did not wish to dig and blast into the bowels of their farms in the pursuit of what might or might not be concealed therein. There were a few who had been shown the errors of this con- servatism, but the greater part of them still asserted that they wanted nobody prowling and prying around their farms looking for iron. Even if it should be found, there was at present no furnace in the neighborhood, and, consequently, no immediate demand for the ore; and, more than that, they were un- able to rid their minds of their old-fashioned prejudices against allowing other men to come and work upon their lands. Mr. Turby was very well pleased to take up this piece of business for Mr. Stull. There was gain in it, and, besides, all the fighting that would have to be done would be against Enoch Bullripple, and Turby liked that. For many years, and in various ways, these two had been pitted against each other, whenever oc- casion could be found for such pitting. What- ever one believed in politics, religion, or in regard to almost anything else, was doubted or denied by the other, and the fact that they were the two sharpest old fellows in that county was reason enough for their being very sharp against each other. Hitherto Enoch had generally got the bet- ter of Zenas Turby, and the latter, therefore, was very zealous in an affair which might give him the upper hand and a very hard and horny upper hand of a man who had not failed to get him down whenever it had been possible. The investigations regarding the title-deeds and surveys of the estates in question had been carried on at the county town, and Mr. Turby having made a satisfactory report upon these, it now remained to look into the iron branch of the business before Mr. Stull definitely de- termined how he would proceed in the affair. This made it necessary for Zenas Turby to visit the village of Cherry Bridge; and to Cherry Bridge he came. It was on a rainy morning that Mr. Bull- ripple, mounted on a great gray horse which would have been plowing in the corn-field had the weather been fair, rode up to the vil- lage house of entertainment, and tied his horse under a shed. There were several men sitting in a large covered porch in front of the house, but the first person Enoch saw was Zenas Turby. It cannot be said that in the mind of either of these men there ever arose a de- sire for social converse with the other, and yet, whenever they happened to meet, each experienced certain snappy emotions which were not unpleasurable. You here, Zenas Turby? said Enoch, as he took his seat in the one vacant wooden arm- chair. Havent seen you in Cherry Bridge for a good while. I thought, perhaps, that sulky of yourn had broke down at last from your havin forgot yourself and taken some- body in with you. As he said this Mr. Bullripple smiled, and looked around at the other men sitting in wooden arm-chairs, most of whom being his neighbors returned him an answering grimace of approbation of the little thrust he had given Zenas Turby. The latter did not smile. He was a strong, heavily built man. His face was smooth- shaven, and the little hair he had on his head was curly and of a reddish, sandy hue which madeit difficult to perceive whether it was turn- ing gray or not. He wore a long black coat, and the rest of his clothes and his hat were black, and he carried a stout cane with a long curved handle, well polished by the use of many years. He did not need this cane, but always to6k it with him when he drove. On such oc- casions he used it as a prodder with which to remind his horse that time is money; and when walking he carried it as a symbol of authority and a punctuator of his remarks. Now he gave a tap upon the floor which might indicate the opening of a paragraph, and fixing his sharp blue eyes upon his old antagonist, he said: Its all very well for you, Enoch Bullripple, to keep on talking about my sulky, for I ex- pect theres been many a time when youve wished it held two instead of one, so that you might get a chance of using some other per- sons horse-flesh instead of your own, but Ive lived long enough to know its a sight better for a man thats got business to attend to to drive about in somethin thatli hold himself and nobody else; so that wherever he goes he wont be asked to give somebody a lift whos too lazy to walk, or too stingy to keep a horse. My sulky carries me about all right, but it wont carry nobody else, and this suits me very well, even if it does sometimes come hard on you, Enoch Bullripple. And the big cane came down on the floor, marking a period apparently very satisfactory to the speaker. Mr. Bullripple grinned. Theres no man in this county, said he, outside of a lunatic asylum that would see you driving by with an empty four-seated wagon and ask for a lift in it if he didnt have enough money in his pocket to pay you a little more than common stage 32 THE HUNDREDTH ALAN fare. And I shouldnt wonder if the reason you stick to a sulky is to keep yourself from the temptation of stagin without a license. At this two or three of the company laughed, and Mr. Turby frowned. But Enoch, not car- ing for any reply to this remark, continued to speak. But what brought you up here any way, Zenas? he said. Taint the time of year for collectin bills. Did you come to look for iron? Ive heard youve been goin into that business. ~ Now nothing could have angered Mr. Turby more than this remark. Sneers in regard to his narrowness of disposition were not new to him, but he flattered himself that he always suc- ceeded in keeping his business a secret until he chose to divulge it. But here, at the very first question, Enoch had hit upon the object of his visit to Cherry Bridge. Whether its iron or gold or paper money, its none of your business, Enoch Bullripple. That is to say but here he checked him- self. He wished to make it very much the business of the other, but that was a matter which must not now be touched upon. All that Ive got to say about iron is just this: that there never was a bigger fool than the man whod go on plowin and workin his stony old fields and not get enough in any year to pay his honest debts, when all he has to do is to say the word and have a company dig iron out of his hillsand not hurt his fields and pastures nuther and pay him fifty cents for every load of ore took out. But there are fools of that kind and plenty of em, who might live in comfort and send their children to school if they only had sense enough to let other people come and get out of their farms the only thing worth gettin out of em. Its one thing, said Enoch, to own land with minerals in it and to go to work and get them minerals and make money on em. But its altogether another thing to have a man come that praps dont know no more about it than that pinter dog, and dig here, there, and anywhere, on your farm, and then go off and say that there aint iron enough on it to make a horse-shoe, and so spile your chance of sellin a part of your land if a com- pany ever did come along that wanted to buy it. Nobody wants a fellow huntin for iron on his place whos got a report to sell to the highest bidder. This was a hard hit, because a story had once been told that a farmer in the neighborhood of the county town had been urged by Mr. Turby to employ him to make a report on the mineral value of his lands, offering as a reason that it would be much better for the owner of a farm if the investigating agent had his in- terests at heart instead of those of the would- be purchaser. As the country people of that region had an old-fashioned idea that a report should be a simple statement of facts without reference to the interests of any particular em- ployer, this story thickened the cloud that for a long time had shaded Mr. Turby. Zenas frowned and looked steadily at the floor. I shouldnt think, said he, speaking slowly but very forcibly, that a man that goes off on some sort of a shindy in the very busi- est part of the year and leaves his farm to take care of itself and go to rack and ruin fur all he knows, ought to have anythin to say about what industrious fore-handed people choose to do with their lands. A part of what you say, Zenas Turby, an- swered Mr. Bullripple, is exactly right, and that is that you shouldnt think. - Thinkin is a business that you aint suited for. Theres a good many kinds of work that you can do first-rate, but you ought to get somebody else to do your thinkin. You was just right when you said you shouldnt think. At this there was a burst of laughter from the men in wooden arm-chairs; and Mr. Tur- by rose to his feet to make an angry reply. But he was not so quick of speech as was E noch, and the moment the laughter ceased the latter, also rising, got in ahead of his an- tagonist, and remarked: I havent got no time to stay here any longer palaverin about iron lands. But Ill just say this, Zenas Turby, that its a mighty good thing when a farmer gets his place in such a condition that when he wants to go away for a while to attend to some other business, it can run itself. XVII. Miss MATILDA STULL was very well aware that in her endeavor to get into the Cherry Bridge society she need not depend in the least on her mother. That lady was too glad to get away from the irksome and often em- barrassing social demands of the city to wish now for society of any kind. Usually spend- ing the summer at some fashionable watering- place, the quiet of this mountain farm-house gave her a sense of delightful repose she had not known for years, and she was entirely sat- isfied with the protracted absence of her hus- band, who, if he had been upon the scene, would most probably have insisted, as he al- ways insisted elsewhere, that she should push to the front of whatever society she might find about her and make herself clearly visible as the wife of J. Weatherby Stull. But the eldest daughter of the house felt that she was quite able to further her own interests in this matter, and, with this view, THE HUNDREDTH MAN 33 she set out on a walk to see Mrs. People. When her father should return she knew that she would be obliged to take the horses and the carriage when she wanted to go about the country, but now it suited her purpose much better to walk. It was easier to meet people, and perhaps to stop and talk with them, when walking than in driv- ing in the carriage. She looked upon Mrs. People as the only present thread of connec- tion between herself and the Cherry Bridge gentry, and it was her intention to make that good woman understand that it was her duty to impress upon the mind of Mrs. Jus- tin the importance of an early call upon the ladies of the Stull family, people of high posi- tion who had recently arrived in the neigh- borhood. She did not attempt to deceive her- self with the notion that anxiety to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Justin was at the bottom of her intended action, but she freely admitted to her own consciousness that through that lady the acquaintance of gentlemen, often a most necessary adjunct in the enjoyment of country life, would probably be made. She was yet some little distance from the Bullripple house, when she met John People, who was coming towards her on the narrow path through the grass at the side of the road. John was in his shirt-sleeves. He wore a broad straw hat, and on his shoulder he carried a hay-rake. His portly and upright figure ap- peared so well in this rural guise that Miss Stull could not help wishing for a moment that he were a gentleman disporting himself thus for his own pleasure, instead of being the son of that fat Mrs. People, taking a holiday from his restaurant, and working on the farm. Had she expected no other opportunities of male society during her country sojourn, Miss Ma- tilda would have been willing to ramble over the woods and fields with the sturdy John; but, as she had a lively hope of doing some- thing better in this line, she now looked upon him only in the light of a possible stepping- stone to some advantageous foothold. Good-morning, Mr. People, she said; isn t this a beautiful day?~~ John returned the salutation, and, taking off his hat, exposed to view his short yellow locks, as smoothly and evenly brushed as 1\liss Stull had ever seen them at Vatoldis. Are you going to work in the fields? ~ she said presently, as the two stopped. I was going, said John, with an empha- sis upon the ivas intending to indicate that such should not be his present purpose if Miss Matilda gave him an opportunity of remain- ing in her society. Miss Matilda understood the intonation perfectly, and she hesitated for a moment be- VOL. XXXIV. 5. fore she spoke. If the mother should happen to be away it might be a good thing to take a walk with the son, and if she could derive no other advantage from the ramble she felt she could obtain from John some additional information in regard to the persons whose acquaintance she desired. Is Mrs. People at home? she said, and disengaged? Oh, yes, said John, and she will be very glad to see you. Theres a lady in the house now, but I dont think she intends to stay very long. Who is it? asked Miss Stull quickly. It is Miss Armatt, the young lady who is staying with Mrs. Justin. Oh, indeed! said Miss Matilda. I think Ill go in and make a little call on your mother. Good-morning. John stepped aside to let her pass, and over his face there came a shadow of disappoint- ment. He did not know exactly what he had expected, but, whatever it might have been, he was not going to get it, and he could not prevent the shadow. Wont you walk with me as far as the gate? asked Miss Matilda with a smile. I dont always understand the opening of these big gates. She was not a workman who dropped her chisel and her saw into the dust and chips when- ever she did not happen to be using them. When, with another smile, she parted from John at the gate, she stepped very quickly to- wards the house. Miss Armatts presence there was a rare piece of good fortune, and she was very anxious to arrive before that lady left. Gay had walked over, across the fields, on an errand for Mrs. Justin, who was very glad to give her young friend an object for her morning walk, and thereby secure for her- self the uninterrtipted company of Mr. Strat- ford, who had come, by appointment, to assist her in the auditing of some complicated ac- counts of the association of which they both were members. Mrs. People was about half through one of her long statements of facts when Miss Stull appeared, and she and Miss Armatt were made acquainted. The visit of the two young ladies proved to be quite a long one, for Mrs. People was very anxious to talk. Miss Gay did not wish to leave until she had fully attended to her er- rand, and Miss Matilda did her best to make herself agreeable without regard to the passage of time. When, at last, Gay said that she pos- itively must go, and her business had been promptly brought to a conclusion, Miss Stull discovered that she would not be going out of her way if she should walk over a field or 34 THE HUNDREDTH MAN. two with her new-made acquaintance, and so they set out together. Mrs. Justin and Stratford, having finished their business, were standing together on the piazza, when the former exclaimed: Whos that coming over the field with Gay? Stratford looked steadfastly, but at first he was unable to answer. Presently, however, he recognized the young lady whom he had seen at the Bullripple farm, and in regard to whom he had made inquiries of Mrs. People. That, said he, is a daughter of J. Weatherby Stull. His family are, at present, at his farm. But it seems rather odd that Miss Armatt should be acquainted with his daugh- ter. Mrs. Justin had never heard anything of J. Weatherby Stull that she liked. It was during the life-time of her husband that Stuli had ac- quired his present possessions in the neighbor- hood, and Mr. Justin had been very indignant at the relentless manner in which Mrs. People had been driven from her home. Even if she had not looked upon the opinions of her hus- band as a guide for her own judgments, Mrs. justin would have despised the things that Mr. Stull had done, and would have despised the man who did them. He had lived very little on his farm after it had come into his posses- sion, and, while there, it had never entered into the mind of Mrs. justin that it was pos- sible for her to call upon his family. She had heard that they had againcome into the neigh- borhood, but although much of her old resent- ment at the mans actions had faded away, she did not consider the Stulls as people with whom she had the least concern; and had al- most forgotten that she had been told of their coming. Mrs. Justin looked gravely at the two young women, who had now stopped and appeared to be talking quite earnestly. I dont under- stand it, she said; Gay never mentioned the Stulls to me, and that does not look like a recent acquaintanceship. They are evidently taking leave of each other, and yet it seems impossible for them to tear themselves apart. This difficult deed was, however, accom- plished, and while Miss Matilda turned back and took her way across the fields, Gay came hurrying homeward. She threw herself into a piazza chair and made her report, and it was plain enough to her hearers that she had been very favorably impressed by Miss Stull. Shes a very nice girl, she said, and as friendly as she can be. She intended to walk only a little way with me, but we had so much to say that we got almost here before we knew it. I wanted her to come in and rest herself, but this she would not do, for she seems to be very particular about such things, and said it would not be proper for her to come here before any of this family had called upon her mother and herself. I suppose we ought to call on them as soon as we can, she continued, turning to Mrs. justin. I should think they would be very pleasant neighbors. And what I particu- larly like about Miss Stull is that she seems so much fonder of this country than of the fash- ionable places she is in the habit of going to. Mrs. Justin did not immediately answer. She had an instinctive aversion towards any- thing that bore the name of Stull, but her conscience would not allow her to believe that the sins of a husband and father should be visited upon a wife and daughter, and she could readily understand that it would be a severe punishment to ladies accustomed to society to find themselves in a country place where their few neighbors would not associate with them. But it is possible that even these conscientious and kindly feelings would not have been sufficient to urge her to an early movement in the direction of her social duties to the new-comers had not a fresh motive come to their assistance. It was evident that Gay had conceived a liking for Miss Stull, and it occurred to Mrs. justin that if her young pro- t~g~e could form a friendship with one of her own sex and age, it would interfere very much with that friendship for Mr. Stratford about which she found that she still had some fears, notwithstanding the fact that she had per- suaded herself that Gays love for Crisman would be invulnerable against all attacks, whether made under the guise of friendship or any other sentiment. She was glad to find that Mr. Stull was not expected to join his family very soon, and that his daughter did not suppose that, when he came, he would stay long. Miss Mati+da had heard that there had once been unpleasant feelings betxveen her father and the justins, and she was a young woman who generally knew what to say and when to say it. If, therefore, there was but little chance of having anything to do with Mr. Stull, it might be well, so reasoned Mrs. justin, to call upon his wife and daughter; and if the latter should appear to be the extremely pleasant young lady that Gay thought her to be, a companionship between the two would probably be a desir- able thing. Gays enthusiasm over this new acquaintance was very encouraging to Mrs. j ustin. That seems to be her natural dis- position, she thought, in regard to friend- ships, and it may not mean as much as I supposed it did. She therefore determined that she would call on the Stulls. But when this decision THE HUNDREDTH MAN 35 was announced to Mr. Stratford lie gave it a cold approval. It was well enough, he re- marked, to be courteous to new-comers, but he had always had a great dislike for Stull himself~ and from the little he had seen of his daughter he did not believe that her com- panionship was needed by Miss Armatt. But Mrs. Justin laughed was he such a judge of the nature of girls that he could tell their capabilities and qualities by a glance or two? XIX. A FEW days after the entrance of Miss Ma- tilda Stull into the Justin field of view, Mr. Horace Stratford was driving slowly along one of the by-roads in the neighborhood of Cherry Bridge. It was about the middle of the after- noon, and he was starting out on one of those mountain drives with which he varied his fish- ing and walking experiences. He had allowed his horse to fall into a small jog-trot; for a sensible man will not drive fast over the or- dinary by-road of mountainous neighborhoods when his mind is fixed upon a subject entirely unrelated to roads and driving. Mr. Stratfords mind was intently fixed upon the subject of his plans and purposes regarding the future welfare of Miss Gay Armatt. His desire to promote this welfare was as strong as ever, and his belief in the justice of his pur- poses was unshaken, but his hopes of their success were not quite so bright as they had been. He could not but admit to himself that while he had made upon the mind of this young lady quite as forcible an impression of the value of worthy male companionship as he had expected to make, that impression had not produced the result which he had hoped from it. Miss Gay, indeed, appeared capable of entertaining, at the same time, a true and earnest friendship for one man and a true and earnest love for another man. Thus, while he had gained for himself a most charming and sympathetic friend, Mr. Crisman still retained a loyal lady-love. Now while Stratford had no objection whatever to make for himself a charming friend, that was not the ultimate object of his carefully considered conduct to- wards Gay i-\imatt. If Mr. Crismans hold upon the girl were not loosened, it mattered little to her future what hold any one else re- tained upon her. Perhaps, said Stratford to himself Mrs. Justin may be right, and the girl,havingplighted her word, will stand to her promise through good or evil. Now this blind constancy was a quality of the soul of which Stratford did not approve. Adherence to the wrong under any circumstances was, in his opinion, un- worthy of a true man or woman. If, by any means, by comparison with other men, or by direct study of his character, Gay should discover that her lover was not the man she would have chosen had she deferred her de- cision until a little more age and a little more experience had given her better powers of judgment in regard to what a husband should be, then Gay was false to herself, and, in a manner, ~to Crism an also, if she married him. If Mr. Stratford had been consulted on the subject of the young ladys action after she had arrived at this conviction, he would have advised a clear and frank statement of her change of views, coupled with a proposition that the engagement be set aside by mutual consent. He truly believed that if women were to do this when they found they had made a mistake in the plighting of their affections, not only would they avert a great deal of future unhappiness, but they would find the matter much easier than they had supposed. The lover might flout and rebel at first, but there were ten chances to one that, if the engagement had existed for any considerable length of time, he would have discovered for himself that the cog-wheels of the attachment did not run smoothly together, and that he would be willing to separate them before they had become worn or injured. It often happens that it is easier for an inferior man to sever his attachment to a superior woman than it is for her to disengage her affections from him. The material of the attachment in the first instance is of poorer quality. But as Stratford was a sensible man, as has before been said, lie did not expect any such severe moral action on the part of Gay Armatt. He had hoped no more than that she might gradually grow away from Crisman, and Cris- man, consequently, dropping away from her, the engagement would come to an end without any particular effort on either side. But so far as he cotild now see, nothing of this kind seemed likely to happen. I have not understood, reflected Stratford, the varied powers of sympathetic action which exist in the soul of this young girl. I came to her as a friend, and she has received me as a friend, whereas with Crisman she connects no idea but that of love. Conse- quently she has never made any comparison between us. If I wish to make an impression which shall be of the slightest use I must get her to compare me xvith her lover. At first I thought I was about to succeed in this, but now I have my doubts. She takes him for what he is, and me for what I am, and is per- fectly satisfied with us both. It maybe said here that if Mr. Stratfords abil- ity to read the mind of a young girl had been as great as his belief in the obviousness of his 36 THE HUNDREDTH Il/AN superiority to Crisman, he might not have come to this conclusion. He was in the not unusual position of a person who doubts his ultimate success at the very moment he be- gins to succeed. Gay had already compared her lover, and that not favorably, with her friend. Mr. Stratford was so absorbed in his impor- tant cogitations that his horse now f~ll into a contemplative walk, and the two proceeded very slowly. But, Stratford continued in his converse with himself, I do not wish her to look upon me as a lover. In the first place I am not her lover in the least degree. And, again, I should consider it dishonorable, and entirely opposed to the spirit of my plan, even to ap- pear to be her lover. I would like her to look upon me as a man who might be somebodys lover, and, in that regard, to compare me with Crisman. I would like her to say to herself; If some one may have the love of a man like Mr. Stratford, who will appreciate her tastes and her aspirations as he will appreciate them, who will sympathize with and help her as he will sympathize with and help her, and who will, in every way, offer her that sufficient com- panionship which he will offer her, why may not my lover be such a man? If I can induce her to ask herself this question, and then seri ously to consider whether or not Crisman is that sort of man, I shall be perfectly satisfied. Easier were the tasks of tangled skeins and wind-driven feathers set by wicked step-moth- ers to forlorn princesses in the olden tales than was the task which this man now proposed to himself. And yet, without the slightest hope of the assistance of a fairy godmotber, he steadfastly set his mind upon it. Upon my word, exclaimed Stratford, speaking out in very decided tones, and draw- ing up his horse to a full stop, this is exactly like a story in a book! Only it is too imnrob- able. What do you mean? asked Gay, who had just emerged upon the road from a broad pathway through the woods. I mean, said Stratford, that I was bus- ily thinking of you, when you suddenly appear in the most unexpected manner, and in the most unexpected place. The place and the manner are simple enough, she said. Mrs. Justin has gone to call on the doctors wife, and after that she will drive over to the railroad station to pick up Mr. Crisman, and I thought I would kill the time until they came back by going out to look for rhododendrons, but it must be rather early for them, for I have only found this one little sprig. And she held up a small cluster of the deli- cately tinted pink and white blossoms for which she had been searching. It is not too early for them, said Strat- ford, but you would be likely to find only straggling bushes along that pathway. It would be difficult for you to go where they are abundant. But why didnt you visit the doctors wife? He would have been glad to extend the question, but saw no appropriate way of do- ing so. I dont care about going to see strangers, said Gay, and as we called upon the Stulls two days ago, I thought that was enough cer- emony for me in one week. If you xvill allow me, said Stratford, I will say that, however much you may desire to escape from social boredom, it is not right for you to be wandering by yourself in these woods. Gay laughed. There is nothing in the world to hurt me except snakes; and, do you know, I have tried hard to see a snake, but never could. And now tell me how you came to be thinking about me. It may have been, said Stratford disin- genuously, that I had some premonition of your appearance, but I dont believe it. I could not even have imagined that you would be wandering in these woods by yourself; and, really, Miss Armatt, you ought not to do it. But I am delighted to see you, for now I shall ask you to take a drive with me. You will come, will you not? And as he spoke he stepped down from the buggy. Gay looked at him with a little smile upon her lips. May I drive? she said. Her expression as she smiled and spoke, with her head a little on one side as she looked at him, was very youthful and very charming, for Gay when she slid down the straw-stack had not, as she supposed, left all her girlish- ness behind her. But Stratford was not alto- gether pleased. He did not wish to teach her to drive; he did not want to appear in the character of a tutor of any kind. But he an- swered promptly, Certainly, you shall do as you choose; drive or be driven. All that I ask is the pleasure of your company. How easily pleased! said Gay. And almost before he could touch her arm to as- sist her, she had stepped into the buggy. No, said Stratford, you must not sit there. You must sit on the right side. If you drive you must do it properly. That will be delightful, said Gay, quickly changing her seat. I do so like to do things in a regular way. It did not altogether satisfy Stratford that Gays pleasure in the mere act of driving seemed to exclude every other motive for THE HUNDREDTH MAN 37 wishing to accompany him. But he put the reins into her hands, adjusting them with much care, and made her also hold the whip. In difficult driving, he said, you should have the whip in your hand, in order that you may touch your horse if he hesitates. Is this to be difficult driving? asked Gay. Yes, he said. These rough country roads demand constant care and prudence, or you might find yourself in trouble. Oh, I like that! said Gay, settling her- self squarely in her seat, and I am going to be awfully particular. Will you jump in? Before I do so, said Stratford, I must ask you to turn your horse to the right, and separate the wheels on this side. As you are the driver, that is part of your duty to your companion.~~ Gay laughed as she turned the horse rather more than was necessary on one side. This is just perfect! she exclaimed. I feel as if I were managing everything. Are you quite comfortable, sir? she added when Stratford had taken his seat. Go on, he said, laughing, but quickly ex- claimed, Not so fast! You will dash us to pieces against some stone or stump. Gay drew in the horse, and then Stratford, in spite of his dislike of appearing on this oc- casion in the r6le of a teacher, proceeded to instruct his companion in the art of eluding the rocks, ruts, stumps, and fallen branches with which this seldom-used road was fre- quently obstructed. She applied herself with much earnestness to the difficulties of her task, but Stratford, desiring to put an end to this soul-absorbing occupation, which did not suit his purposes, and must, eventually, tire his companion, soon directed her to turn into a road in the woods which would shortly lead into the highway. You should have told me to beware of these branches, he said, as he pushed aside a protruding bough. To be sure I saw them myself, but it is the drivers place to give warn- ing of such things. I dont take much care of you, do I? said Gay, turning around and looking up into his face with a glance of laughing kindliness. I ought to manage things so that you would never have the least bit of a brush or a bounce. There now! she cried, as a sweeping branch took off her hat, I was thinking so much of you that I forgot myself. Whoa, sir! Stratford jumped out and picked up the hat, and when he resumed his seat Gay requested him to put it on for her as her hands were so full. And I am going to ask you, she said, as Stratford placed the hat on her head, and ad- justed, not very awkwardly, an elastic band beneath the thick coil of hair, if you wont hold this whip until we get out of the woods. It is really too much for me to have to attend to the reins, the whip, the stumps, the bushes, and you. When they turned into the broad open road Gay had the pleasure of a mile or two of good rapid driving. During this period of delight they met an open carriage, drawn by two horses, driven by a coachman, and containing a lady. Gay was so much occupied in keeping her horse exactly midway between the right-hand side of the road and the left-hand wheels of the other vehicle that she could do no more than give a little nod as she swiftly passed the carriage. Stratford took off his hat, and then remarked to Gay that it was a pity Miss Stull had to drive about the country by herself. Yes, said Gay. Her mother doesnt care to be out-of-doors, and she doesnt like to have her younger sisters with her. She said she would come to take me to drive, and perhaps she is now on her way to our house. Do you wish to turn back? said Stratford. No, indeed, she answered. That was the merest supposition of mine. And besides, even if she does want me, why should I slight yout invitation for one from her? And she gave the horse a little touch of the whip of which she had again taken possession. Gays prompt decision was a very gratifying one, but Stratford could not help asking him- self if her preference for his company was not due, in some degree, to the fact that she was driving. Presently he made a proposition. How would you like, said he, for me to take you on a mountain drive? It will be a novel ex- perience for you. I shall like it ever so much, said Gay, and if you want my seat I am quite ready to give it up, for this tight-rein driving has begun to tire my wrists. In the work we have before us, said Strat- ford, I shall certainly want the drivers seat. They now stopped at a gate by the side of the road, and Stratford having opened it, Ga3~ drove through, and then he took the reins. They passed at a good trot along a cart road which wound through a field of young corn, and leaving this by another gate they emerged upon a wide stretch of grassy hillside, inter- spersed with bushes, rocks, and trees. They skirted the base of the hill, following a track that gave some indications of b~ing a road, and which, by a series of gentle ascents, brought them to a forest on the side of a line of low mountains. Here Stratford turned into a wood-road which for some time led them 38 THE HUNDREDTH MAN steadily upward. At a point with which he seemed very ~vell acquainted he turned boldly into the woods, and wound in and out among the trees, which here being principally pines were little encumbered with underbrush, until he emerged upon the open mountain-side, where could be seen no track of wheel or hoof. You did that splendidly, said Gay. I cant imagine how you dared to drive right in among the trees. I have been through that way before, and knew I could find a free passage. And now, my lady, I want to warn you that we are going to leave everything which resembles civilized driving. Do you think you shall be frightened? I am sure you will not take me into any dangerous places, she said. There will be no danger whatever, he answered. I shall go nowhere where I have not driven before; and although we shall pass over a great deal of shelving ground, I assure you that we shall not upset. If you say it is safe, I am perfectly satis- fied, said Gay. Please go on. Stratford now proceeded at a steady walk along a slight terrace upon the mountain-side which afforded a very good roadway. To the left the vast forest stretched upward, while to the right lay a long green valley closed oh three sides, and utterly wild and uninhabited. Very soon they rounded a turn in the mount- ain-side, and here the terrace disappeared. The surface of the ground, however, was diver- sified by rounded knobs and horizontal shelves of projecting rock, and the general incline, even in the smoother places, was not great. Around and over the inequalities of the ground Stratford steadily made his way, taking advantage of every favoring surface; but, in spite of his carefulness, the buggy sometimes tipped very much to one side. You are sure we cant upset? asked Gay. Quite sure, Stratford replied. It would be extremely difficult to overturn a low-hang- ing vehicle like this, and everything about the buggy and harness is strong and intended for rough work. It is delightfully exciting, said Gay, and I dont intend to be afraid. The view is get- ting better all the time. When we round that next point, just be- yond us, said Stratford, we shall have the view I brought you here to see. It is different from anything else in the neighborhood. Having reached the point indicated, Strat- ford stopped, and they looked out on a scene of solemn grandeur. Below them was a deep and vast ravine, through which a dark river of tree-tops seemed to run into the valley they had first seen. Beyond this ravine rose a heavily wooded mountain, and to the right of that, and back of it, stood other mountain peaks, purpled by the distance. Still farther towering high on the left, its eastern side now dark in shadow, stood the loftiest mountain of them all, looking down upon its lower breth- ren with a certain stern solemnity, while be- tween it and the nearest peak Gay could see, far, far away, a line of light-blue mountain waves against the sky. For a few moments she sat without a word, and then she exclaimed: What magnificence! I never knew we had such mountains near us! They are the same mountains we always have in view, said Stratford, only we are on a point where we can see between their broken lines, and not merely look up against them as we generally do. The spot where they had stopped was the most available one in the vicinity for a mount- ain view, but the ground was very sloping, and even if they had had plenty of time be- fore them, Stratford would not have taxed the patience of his horse by requiring him to keep a stationary position there very long. After devoting some minutes to Gays intense en- joyment of the scene, he told her they must now turn round, and go back; and as this turning round on the mountain-side might excite nervousness in the mind of a lady he proposed to Gay that she should get out while he performed this feat. Are you going to stay in? she asked. Of course, he answered. Then so am I, said Gay. Stratford made no further remark, but driv- ing upon a projecting knoll, he backed the buggy up on a shelf of rock behind it, and turning the horse, drove down again to the spot where they had been standing. He knew what he was about, and his horse was per- fectly trustworthy; but the knoll was very small, and the downward view from the outer border of it was likely to give ohe a good idea of the precipitous. Stratford drove a short distance along the mountain-side, and then he drew up his horse. Now, said he, I am going to give you your choice. We can either go back the way we came, which you know is a long road, or I can drive down the mountain-side, which is not very steep just here, and when we reach the valley we shall find a wood-road which will lead us to that low hill, over there. Having crossed that, we shall soon find ourselves upon one of Mrs. Justins farm-roads which will take us directly to the house. Oh, let us go that way, by all means! said Gay. It must be ever so much nearer, and after what we have done I am ready for any- thing. THE HUNDREDTH MAN 39 Very good, said Stratford; and he be- gan the descent of the trackless mountain- side. He did not go directly down, but wound along in a serpentine way among the rocks, low-growing hushes, and over occasional stretches of coarse grass, which would some- times have proved difficult of passage had not the yielding mold given a sure foothold to the horse. Gay was very merry over the va- ried contingencies of this novel drive, although she could not refrain from some starts and exclamations when they found themselves go- ing straight down some short steep incline with the horse so far beneath the buggy that there seemed to be danger that the vehicle with its occupants would double over upon the steed. Once when the horse, thoroughly well trained in the business of holding back, actually sat down on his haunches, Gay gave a little cry and seized Stratford by the arm. Oh! she exclaimed, instantly relinquish- ing her hold, I must not do that or I shall hinder your driving. Stratford was not afraid of any interfer- ence with his driving, but he was a conscien- tious man, and essayed no unnecessary slopes for the purpose of encouraging an intuitive reliance. When they reached the valley, and had struck the wood-road, now almost overgrown, which led through a narrow stretch of forest, Gay gave a sigh of relief. I cant deny, she said, that it is a com- fort to feel that the buggy-wheels and the horses feet are on a level with each other. But I would not for anything have missed that mountain drive! It had more of delightful adventure about it than anything that ever happened to me. But I would not have al- lowed any other man in the world to drive me where you drove me. And let me say to you, said Stratford, turning towards her, that I know no other woman than yourself whom I could have trusted to be brave enough to trust me abso- lutely and entirely. I like to hear you say that, said Gay, with an expression that could not be mistaken for anything else than honest earnestness. So far, although these two had spent a good part of the afternoon together, they had had but little conversation except that which had been called forth by the unusual character of the surrounding circumstances, and this con- dition of things Stratford thought had lasted quite long enough. He certainly did not re- gret the circumstances, because they had pleased Gay, and had brought out in a strong light some interesting points in her disposition. But noxv he was glad that the rest of their trip would be uneventful. You are pleased, then, Stratford said, that I think well of you? Indeed I am! exclaimed Gay. I am a great deal more than pleased. Do you know, she continued, that it seems very strange, in fact, it is absolutely funny, when I think in what a different way I regard you now from that in which I looked upon you when I first knew you. I dont mind telling you that I liked you ever so much from the first day. Then I used to wish that you were my father, and to think that it would be perfectly charming to have such a father, entirely forgetting that you did not begin to be old enough to be a father to me. After that I wished you were my brother. But that did not last very long, for if you an- alyze the relationship of a brother, which I have done, having a very good brother who is a professor in a college out XVest, you will find that he is wanting in some of the varied qual- ities of companionship; at least that is what I discover in my one specimen. Now in you I find no want of the kind. Am I to understand, said Stratford, that you have analyzed my character? Indeed I have, she replied. In fact, I have done so two or three times. And what is the result? he asked. And in what light do you now regard me? The result is, said Gay, that it is impos- sible to place you in any class. I tried it and utterly failed. So I am going to let you stand all alone, by yourself. Whatever of approbation there was in Gays words or manner, there was nothing to indi- cate that she had ever thought of putting him into that class of men, who, not being fathers or brothers, might, upon occasion, make love. Do you analyze everybody? he asked. Oh, no indeed! said Gay promptly. Only a very few persons. You more than anybody else. Am I then so very difficult to understand? I do not think you would have been, said Gay, if I had known you a long time, and had, in a manner, grown up with you; but, you see, you came upon me so suddenly and swiftly, and I have known you so fast, if you understand that, that I had to look very closely into the matter in order to comprehend it all. And do you comprehend it? he asked. I think so, said Gay. And are you satisfied? Perfectly, she answered. Stratford was not perfectly satisfied. I wish, said he, that I could have been put among those persons who do not need to be analyzed. Gay turned upon him suddenly. There was a little frown upon her brow, but when she spoke she could not help smiling. You are 40 AAUEL. dreadfully grasping, she said. Here I have been putting you up higher and higher, on a loftier pedestal every time, and yet you are not satisfied. Pardon me, said Stratford, but if you had ever analyzed yourself you would not be surprised that I am hard to satisfy. Now I wonder what that means! said Gay. Are you going on developing and changing, so that I shall have to analyze you again? I hope you will not do it, he answered quickly, if there is any danger of my being placed on a lower pedestal, or perhaps being toppled over altogether. Dont you be afraid of that, said Gay, involuntarily laying her hand upon his arm. And Ill tell you one way in which I think of you. I have a feeling that if you were to ask me to do anything I should instantly go and do it. What do you think of that, sir? A thought had come with much promptness to Stratford, and he had said to himself that if he could thoroughly believe what Gay had said, he would impress the seal of happiness and success upon her life by instantly demand- ing that she should give up the man who would be to her like a worm at the root of all to which her ardent young soul looked forward. But he did not believe her, at least to such an extent, and he kept this thought to himself. You do me the greatest honor, he said, by placing such trust in me; and I wish I could tell you to do something which would make you happy for the rest of your days. Gay turned and looked at him with an ex- pression of inquiry which seemed somewhat foreign to her face, for her desires to know were generally promptly expressed in words. But now she said nothing, and, turning again from Stratford, sat quietly looking out before her. They had now crossed the valley and had reached the top of the rounded hill upon the other side. The day was drawing to a close, and in this exposed position the evening wind came fresh and cool upon them. Gays dress was thin, and Stratford, without remark upon the subject, stooped forward, and drew from under the seat a light woolen lap-robe which had hitherto been unneeded. This he placed around Gays shoulders, carefully arranging it so as to protect her well from the some- what chilly mountain breeze. Thank you, said Gay. And then she went on with her thinking. Among the many things which came into the mind of Stratford on their homeward road was the conviction that this mountain drive had occupied more time than he had ex- pected it would, and that Crisman must have arrived at least an hour ago at Mrs. Justins house. He wondered if Gay was thinking about this, but, if so, she certainly manifested no anxiety upon the subject. Comfortably wrapped up, with her hands folded under her improvised shawl, she nestled quietly in her corner of the buggy as if she were per- fectly satisfied with everything that was. Frank P. Slock/on. (To be continued.) AMIEL. (THE JOURNAL INTIME.) A FEW there are who to the troubled soul Can lay the ear with that physician-art Which by a whispered accent in the heart Follows the lurking treason that hath stole Into the citadel; a few whose scroll Of warning bears our safety, is a chart Of our unsounded seas, and doth impart Courage to hold the spirit to its goal. Of such is Amiel, lonely as a saint, Or as an eagle dwelling on peaks, in shade Of clouds, which now he cleaves for one wide look At the green earth, now for a circle faint Nearer the sun. Once more has Truth betrayed Secrets to Sorrow not in the sibyls book. Roberi Underwood Johnson.

Robert Underwood Johnson Johnson, Robert Underwood Amiel. (The "Journal Intime.") 40-41

40 AAUEL. dreadfully grasping, she said. Here I have been putting you up higher and higher, on a loftier pedestal every time, and yet you are not satisfied. Pardon me, said Stratford, but if you had ever analyzed yourself you would not be surprised that I am hard to satisfy. Now I wonder what that means! said Gay. Are you going on developing and changing, so that I shall have to analyze you again? I hope you will not do it, he answered quickly, if there is any danger of my being placed on a lower pedestal, or perhaps being toppled over altogether. Dont you be afraid of that, said Gay, involuntarily laying her hand upon his arm. And Ill tell you one way in which I think of you. I have a feeling that if you were to ask me to do anything I should instantly go and do it. What do you think of that, sir? A thought had come with much promptness to Stratford, and he had said to himself that if he could thoroughly believe what Gay had said, he would impress the seal of happiness and success upon her life by instantly demand- ing that she should give up the man who would be to her like a worm at the root of all to which her ardent young soul looked forward. But he did not believe her, at least to such an extent, and he kept this thought to himself. You do me the greatest honor, he said, by placing such trust in me; and I wish I could tell you to do something which would make you happy for the rest of your days. Gay turned and looked at him with an ex- pression of inquiry which seemed somewhat foreign to her face, for her desires to know were generally promptly expressed in words. But now she said nothing, and, turning again from Stratford, sat quietly looking out before her. They had now crossed the valley and had reached the top of the rounded hill upon the other side. The day was drawing to a close, and in this exposed position the evening wind came fresh and cool upon them. Gays dress was thin, and Stratford, without remark upon the subject, stooped forward, and drew from under the seat a light woolen lap-robe which had hitherto been unneeded. This he placed around Gays shoulders, carefully arranging it so as to protect her well from the some- what chilly mountain breeze. Thank you, said Gay. And then she went on with her thinking. Among the many things which came into the mind of Stratford on their homeward road was the conviction that this mountain drive had occupied more time than he had ex- pected it would, and that Crisman must have arrived at least an hour ago at Mrs. Justins house. He wondered if Gay was thinking about this, but, if so, she certainly manifested no anxiety upon the subject. Comfortably wrapped up, with her hands folded under her improvised shawl, she nestled quietly in her corner of the buggy as if she were per- fectly satisfied with everything that was. Frank P. Slock/on. (To be continued.) AMIEL. (THE JOURNAL INTIME.) A FEW there are who to the troubled soul Can lay the ear with that physician-art Which by a whispered accent in the heart Follows the lurking treason that hath stole Into the citadel; a few whose scroll Of warning bears our safety, is a chart Of our unsounded seas, and doth impart Courage to hold the spirit to its goal. Of such is Amiel, lonely as a saint, Or as an eagle dwelling on peaks, in shade Of clouds, which now he cleaves for one wide look At the green earth, now for a circle faint Nearer the sun. Once more has Truth betrayed Secrets to Sorrow not in the sibyls book. Roberi Underwood Johnson. AMONG THE APACHES. / MONG the few great A Indian tribes that cover vast areas of land and are so numerous in population that they are divided into many petty clans,we find the Apaches of the south-western part of our country holding no small place. The Apaches are di- vided into no fewer than seven principal clans, which acknowledge no common chief or chiefs, and have but little sympathy in common, even warring against one another under the stimulus of bribes, the pitiful j)ay of a soldier often being sufficient to ally them with their common enemy, the white men, against any of their brothers in blood. The word ~/ac/ie, converted back into its own language, signifies peojie, and is svnonv mous with many tribal names among savage nations, as Lacota!, or Dakota/i with the Sioux, and fz,zuiI with the Eskimo. The first conquest of the Apachesbyciviliza- tioi~, imperfect as the conquest was, came from the inroads of the Spaniards who had overrun old Mexico. It was more of a peaceful con- quest than those old Castilians were wont to make, much of it being, through the medium of the Spanish Jesuits, of a religious nature, and so early was this conquest that Santa Fe and Albuquerque, long considered frontier posts, claim ~)riority over St. Augustine, the first city of the Atlantic. One (2abe~a de Vaca appears to have been their first military conqueror, and they seem fortunate that in him there did not exist in cruelty and tyranny another Cort~s or Pizarro. Nor is this comparison wholly our own, for it is affirmed that the Apaches, singular as it may seem, know of the name and doings of Hernando Cort~s, probably through intertribal tradition, and picture him A CAMP. VOL. XXXJV.6,

Frederick Schwatka Schwatka, Frederick Among the Apaches 41-53

AMONG THE APACHES. / MONG the few great A Indian tribes that cover vast areas of land and are so numerous in population that they are divided into many petty clans,we find the Apaches of the south-western part of our country holding no small place. The Apaches are di- vided into no fewer than seven principal clans, which acknowledge no common chief or chiefs, and have but little sympathy in common, even warring against one another under the stimulus of bribes, the pitiful j)ay of a soldier often being sufficient to ally them with their common enemy, the white men, against any of their brothers in blood. The word ~/ac/ie, converted back into its own language, signifies peojie, and is svnonv mous with many tribal names among savage nations, as Lacota!, or Dakota/i with the Sioux, and fz,zuiI with the Eskimo. The first conquest of the Apachesbyciviliza- tioi~, imperfect as the conquest was, came from the inroads of the Spaniards who had overrun old Mexico. It was more of a peaceful con- quest than those old Castilians were wont to make, much of it being, through the medium of the Spanish Jesuits, of a religious nature, and so early was this conquest that Santa Fe and Albuquerque, long considered frontier posts, claim ~)riority over St. Augustine, the first city of the Atlantic. One (2abe~a de Vaca appears to have been their first military conqueror, and they seem fortunate that in him there did not exist in cruelty and tyranny another Cort~s or Pizarro. Nor is this comparison wholly our own, for it is affirmed that the Apaches, singular as it may seem, know of the name and doings of Hernando Cort~s, probably through intertribal tradition, and picture him A CAMP. VOL. XXXJV.6, 42 AMONG THE ATh GHES. alongside of de Vaca much to the detriment of the former. In fact, it was explained to mc that Cabe~a de Vaca, meaning a cows head, was but the Spanish translation of the Apaches name for the first soldier among them, and was thus given because the feast of the cows head was then held in reverential esteem. From Spanish rule, with the liberation of Mexico, they passed under the new govern- ment, and after the Mexican war with us the resulting boundary ran ruthlessly through the heart of their country, paying less attention to them than to the barren lands which it tlividecl, and which for untold ages had been their home. Nor did the thin sabulous strip known as the Gadsden Purchase do more than throw the preponderance of the great tribe upon our shoulders. The diplomatic Apa- ches were keen enough to see the new interna- tional relations, espe- cially as it bore Ul)O~ them as a people whose reliance for s ul)sistence, arms, ammunition, and clothing rested in no small way upon their success in raids upon the white people ; and from this standpoint they oscillated in friendship or enmity from one side of the border to the other with an alacrity that should rank them high among the diplomates of fame. On one side hung high the fair flag of truce, and on the other. as at half-mast, the hlack standard of no (mar- ter; an(l with such deadly and cruel effect \vas this alternation made, that we saw the humiliating spectacle of two civilized nations, claiming rank among the nations of the world, sitting in solemn conclave to devise a common plan that would annihilate a batch of breech- clouted bandits whose whole numbers would not have made the hundredth city in either land, and to do this surrendering the highest preroga- tive of national sovereignty the sacredness of their soil to the soldiery of the other. Once Victorio, a presumptuous anti daring chief of Apache land dared to flaunt the three hawk feathers of his lance in the faces of the eagles of both the North anti South; and all conversant with Indian history know how that chief met his tragic death, after being driven weary, exhausted, and hungry across the boundary line into the arms of the Mexi- can soldiery, where he and the greater part of \1MA APACHE AND FAMILY IIIIlIIING A lOUSE. AMONG fILE APACHES. 43 his band were swept from the face of the earth, Victorio dy- ing fearlessly at the front as became a chief. Mv first visit to Apache land was in 1871. Then the fa- vorite route to Ari- zona was to round BONITO. Cape St. Lucas of Lower California, sail through the gulf until the mouth of the Colorado was reached, up which shallow river boats plied and dis- trihuted passengers for the few river villages anti inland points where a scanty popula- tion wrested a precarious existence. Prom the mouth of the Colorado River it was deemed necessary to send through a courier with dispatches to Fort Yuma, distant ninety miles, I believe, by the trail. Three long days we were steaming up the swift, shallow, and tortuous river, and when we did finally reach Yuma we found that our courier, a lithe, active, young Yuma Apache, had slipped across the trail in thirteen hours, or at the rate of about seven miles an hour the whole tlistance. Dressed in the uniform that their Creator issued to them, with perchance a dangling necklace or armlet of heads to ornament it, antI a homeopathic breech-clout, these sinewy deer-hounds of the desert, with fists clinched across their breasts, with a mouth full of mes- sages, will keep tip a dog-trot, hour in and hour out, for a time only limited by that which is necessary to reach their objective point, how. APACHE RUNNERS. ever far it may he away, and this too across valleys carpeted with cactus, and hills and mountains heset with flinty footings. Some of their running feats of endurance are marvelous to relate, and are oftentimes made in a withering heat that makes life in the open field burden- some almost beyond bearing to the white man. These Yuma Apaches are the most westerly of the family, living along the Colorado River in its lower part in Arizona, while on the upper part is found the Mojave branch, two sub-clans almost identical in many characteristics. They alone of all the great Apache tribe cremate their dead, a cremation so effectual that it does not cease with the body, but includes all the personal effects, however valuable, even to their rvick-c- ups (the universal Ari- zona expression for their rude houses). These wickezips (as I notice the spelling in an Arizona journal) are made of a circular row of long lithe hrush, bent down toward the center and interwoven into a rough semi-glob- ular shape, not un- like the half of an egg- shell on its rim. Over OLDEST APACHE ON THE this is thrown other brush and a light sprink- ling of dirt as a protection from the suns rays. When these materials are scarce, mud is used as a substitute, the wealthier class being some- times supplied with a piece of canvas. Their more permanent abodes are now and then made by (ligging into a steep dirt bank at an expenditure of muscular energy that one would hardly thii~k possible among any band of Indians showing such squalor and laziness in every other department of life. The dialectic difference in the Yuma and Mojave Apache pronunciation of their com- mon language is not noticeably great, but these again, on the contrary, differ from all the other Apache tribes to an extent apparent to per- sons who make no profession to linguistics. Theirs are the harshest anti abound the most in guttural inflections of all the dialects of this desert tribe, some of which are toned clown to a softness dluite pleasant to the ear, although these extremes readily comprehend each other. Once the Yuma and Mojave bands held high rank as warriors among the Apache trihe, but their country being easy of access, they were the first to succumb to civilization, and have gone a long way on that road of extinction which is marked out to those pecul- iarly tempered savages who can absorb only 44 AMONG lYlE APACHES. the vices and but few of the virtues of such a contact. To combat their ailments they have only the usual superstitious rites of a fexv igno- rant medicine-men, and occasionally make use of those heroic and barbarous treatments so common with savages. One of these I think may be interesting. A great hole, large enough to receive the body of the invalid in a recumbent position, is dug in the ground. In this excavation a fire is maintained until the ground is heated to its greatest possible ex- tent, when the embers and ashes are scraped out. Several layers of damp mud are imine- diately used to plaster the walls of this fiery furnace, and the invalid is then placed within and covered up with mud, the head alone protruding. The escaping steam makes the torture endured by the poor wretch, for the thirty-six to forty-eight hours of misery in the prison of baked clay, oftentimes insup- portable, and but few survive the severe ordeal. A Mojave squaw, with the Amen- canized name of Polly, rallied from this terrible inquisition, but it took the kindest treatment for two months under the care of a white physician to save her life. Nearly all the Apaches are addicted to tat- tooing, their faces and wrists being usually adorned, and, as far as I casually noticed, there being no difference between the men and women. Paints and pigments of all charac- ters are eagerly sought for temporary personal ornamentation, the Yumas and Mojaves even descending to stove-polish, boot-blacking, and mud. Undoubtedly the latter, in some of its applications, serves a more practical purpose than mere ornamentation. A thin coating cf soft clay is matted through the hair and then plastered carefully down upon the skull, until it resembles, when dry, a shining bald head or an inverted earthen bowl. This is left on for two or three days, until it has subserved its purposes of deadly destruction, when the earthy skull-cap is broken with a stick and the beating process continued until every particle of dust is thoroughly eradicated, when the hair is washed with the soft pulp of the root of the Yucca palm, which produces a soapy lather. After this the hair is energetically rinsed and then whipped in the open air until dry. From all this manipulation it emerges as glossy and as soft as silk. This Yucca palm is commonly known as the Spanish bayonet and oftentimes as the soap-weed, the latter name being evidently derived from this peculiar use by the Indians and Mexicans. It is one of the most exten MEDICINE-MEN. AJIONG THE ATA CHES. 45 sively common plants of Apache land and contiguous countries, and it is wTell for those localities that a commercial use has been found for this abundant weed, its pulp, according to recent experiments, bidding fair to give a very tine grade of printing-paper. Thus thc vulgar soap-weed that cleanses the outside of the Apaches head may vet improve its interior through the medium of the press. The most barbaric forms of witchcraft havc within fairly recent periods been practiced by then. especially by the two bands we have named and the Tontos, a clan of central Ari- zona. Among the Apaches, men are never accused of this crime, brit, at extremely long and rare intervals, some luckless squaw in a village that has seen more than its share of misfortune is accused of these calamities as a witch. Either man, woman, or child can bear witness a ~ain st the unfortunate althou uh the a highest chief in the vicinity seems to be the lroper one to IJrose(rite her. The accusation once lodged, and, of course, as such complaints always are, believed without thought or trial, ~1 \CILL IIDDLEL~ ANI) MAIDEN. 46 AMONG THE APACHES. the entire village is summoned to the proceed- ings, which generally mean an execution. in carrying these on the victim is stripped to her waist and then tied up by her thumbs with- strong thongs, her toes barely touching the ground. All of their devilish energies are now bent on extorting a confession from the wretch. Any of those who have had any misfortune, however remote, imaginary, or real, are at per- fect liberty to flay the supposed witch with mezquite or willow switches until she faints from exhaustion, or terror and weakness forces a false confession in the vain hope of obtain- ing relief from her terrible condition. If she xviii not thus please them, the whipping is kept up until the executioners themselves are ex- hausted, when one by one they leave her to die, which results unless she be lucky enough to liberate herself from the thongs after the last one has departed. Should they wring a confession from her, she is beaten to death with stones and sticks, and all of her property burned, even to her rude house and ruder utensils. On ordinary deaths, these Apaches mourn for a fexv days in wild plaintive cries that the uninitiated might mistake, at a distance, for the cooing of the turtle-dove. The nearest relatives cut off their hair as close as possible, and their mourning is kept up until the hair grows out. All these latter rites are denied the poor wretch executed for witchcraft, but she is still entitled to a burial at the hands of her relatives if they make no display to insult the superstitious dignity of the tribe. There are but fexv other superstitions that have such disastrous results in their applica- tions. It would almost seem that they had some supernatural dread of water, and this in a country xvhere that fluid is conspicuously scarce. Fish never enters into their diet, al- though they are not hard to procure, and they repel them in a way that can only be based on superstition. Canoes are never used, although an occasional raft is made to transport effects in one direction, and, in general, a river is of no more use to them than furnishing drinking water or establishing a flat valley in which they can travel more readily on foot or horseback. In this xvay all traveling is done, and all house- hold effects are transported either on the backs of horses or of squaws, the women generally predominating. Some of the muscular feats of the latter, xvhile thus engaged, even rival the endurance and strength o fthe stronger (?) sex, as shown in their runners. A Yuma squaw has been knoxvn to carry over three hundred pounds of bulky hay between four and five miles over a mountain road and without stop- ping on the way. Not much xvas left to the imagination of the story-teller either, as the hay was weighed on tested scales and the route pursued was a well-known measured one. More marvelous cases are heard of oc- casionally, but they are not so authentic. Birds are also rejected as food, although they are used in cases of distressing scarcity; especially the xvild turkey, which stands better in their estimation. Other native articles of diet, on which they yet subsist to a certain extent, are baked mczca/, the bean of the mez- quite tree, the fruit of the giant cactus, and the prickly pear. To furnish them with meat they find extensive variety in the black and white tailed deer, antelope, bear, ground-rats, rattlesnakes, and rabbits (hares). Nothing exists to shQw that the Apaches xvere ever cannibals. No part of a slain animal is un- used, even the smallest bones being broken open in order to save the marrow. No drink-loving old topers ever enjoyed their liquor so much as have the Apaches when- ever they could procure it, a vice, however, that is rapidly subsiding as the tribes are con- centrated at agencies more directly under the eyes of watchful authorities. ili/czca/, made from that plant by the Mexicans, found its way in days gone by, when PoPu- lation was scattering and the laws lax, into Apache maws with every trade and deal- HEAD WAR-CHEF OF CHAFAHO APACHE SQUAW AND CHILD. AMONG THE APA CHES. 47 ing between the two races. From corn they make a fermented drink called tiz-reui;i, which is not as strong as the corn-whisky of civiliza- tion, but their peculiar method of drinking it compensates for its lack of strength. For some three days before it has reached its highest point of fermentation not a single piece of food is swallowed. At the end of that period they fill themselves to their utmost capacity with the unclarified liz-win. Although half starved, it takes but a few moments to make them feel as if they had had a major-generals rations for six months previous, while the most conspic- uous effect is to swell their bump of combat- iveness to an inordinate degree. If a large number have indulged in this liquor, serious outbreaks and disturbances are almost sure to ensue, especially if other bands of Indians or any whites are near enough for them to reach before this temporary, stimulated combative- ness has worn away. In fact, after having, when sober, decided to go upon the war-path, by far the most important preliminary is the manu- facture of huge quantities of liz-win. Its pe- culiar composition, and the no less peculiar manner of taking the liquor, gives it a most lasting effect upon the system, and an Indian with his stomach distended with it is said to have ahead of him a six to eight days spree, and during all this time his warlike qualities are sure to be most conspicuous. There is much evidence to show that alco- holic liquor made from corn is an ancient drink with these people, everything that was neces- sary to manufacture it being found in their old ruins, and under circumstances that make such a conjecture not unreasonable. Even in the caves of the old cliff-dwellers of Arizona there have been found cemented deposits of corn so ancient that when disturbed the grains fell from the cob a mass of impalpable powder, leaving the cob, singu- larly enough, as fresh as if it had been gathered but the harvest before. To ramble for a mo- ment from the main sub- ject, in considering the ancient cliff-dwellers of Apache land, I was not a little surprised to hear of many cliff- villages yet unexplored. An idea prevails that the cliffs and caves of Apache land have been nearly all included in the researches of ar- ch~eologists and curiosity hunters. An old Apache of San Carlos agency, whose perfect confidence had been w on by a government official, spoke of many that he knew had never been inspected and that were full of relics. He wished to conduct his confidant to a place not far distant. He added that only a small part of the remains known to the Apaches had ever been examined. San Carlos agency, on the river of the same name, is the great central point where the Government has gathered from time to time the greater portion of almost all the Arizona bands of Apaches, who are slowly acquiring the arts of peace and will soon be a useful part of the agricultural population of that region. Here from the eastern boundary are bands of the Yumas and Mojaves, of the Tontos and San Carlos Apaches from the central districts, and of the Sierra Blanca tribe from the north-eastern corner. The only important Arizona band not directly represented are the warlike Chiricahuas, and they are quartered on the reservation of which this agency is the headquarters,except the leaders, recently surrendered, who have been exiled to Florida. Their partly civilized, partly barbaric agency- life is not uninteresting in some of its aspects, especially while the barbaric element yet pre- dominates. The Government has cultivated their martial feelings, and at the same time turned them to its own account, by enlisting the most trusty warriors as soldiers in its own service, and using them as a police and de- tective force against one another, and espe- cially one tribe against another. No less than three full military companies of these scouts were, until re- cently, distributed among the Indians of this great agency; TORE, OR PEACHES. 48 AMONG THE APA ONES. and as the white soldiers were at the same time placed at distant points on the boun- daries of the reservation, the Indians were thereby lifted a little in their ideas of sover- eignty and self-government. In every cluster of rcickeups, and in fact in almost every family, might he found one of these scouts, acting in the interest of the Gov- eminent, and forming, in effect, a secret de- tcctive system more efficacious than the de- tective hureaus of civilization. While every crime was reported to the white chief-of-scouts, care was taken that the informer should never he known. But not long ago Ki-at-ti-na, the head war-chief of the Chiricahuas, tired of the monotonous restraint of the military, gathered around him a few of his bellnrerent band, still f)otsore from the war-path I hm indulged in a l)reliminary war-dance, md sending couriers to all likely to join them in ~in outbreak, im- patiently awaited results he chiefs fleetest courier was a spy, who ~~mve timely warning of all the concerted movements md intentions before an advance was meallx macic. The chiefs first intelligenceot tIm result of his plot was his arrest by the scouts of his own tribe and his arraignment before the authorities at the agency. An Indian accused of any crime is tried be- fore a jury of Indians, and when Ki-at-ti-na had gone through all the l)rocesses of his trial, there hung over his head a three-years sen- tence in the penitentiary at Alcatrfz within the Golden Gate. Even death has been meted out to offenders by Indian juries. A guard- house inclosed less refractory criminals, and through one of its windows peered the face of an Indian sentenced for life. These Indian soldiers, in all that pertain eci to arms, ammunition, pay, and rations, were on CX~t( tly the same footingas othersoldiers in the service, C\( ept that their term of enlistment mi ~ht be v~u iable. A calling of the muster-rolls soun(ls like that of Hungarian Ilussars or I olish Lqncers, a deception of the ear that an in~l)eetion of the written names would not confirm. Their smvme IJassion for finery and (lis~)lay crol)l)e(l to time surface in an inordi- nate (lesire fo miliVny l)aradle and exhibition, even to the extreme of monotonous ilrill, but much has been denied them in those par- ticulars, as on their primitive status rests much of their efhei y os scouts against other bands. In one ofthel ist mmd then one of the most im- l)ortalmt and decisive cam~)aigns waged against the most warlike band of the Apaches, the Chi- ricahuas of south-eastern Arizona, all of the friendly Apaclme scouts were employed and but one company of white troops, and in the con- APACHE FULL CHESS. AMONG THE APA CHES. 49 test w hich ensued in the broken mountainous defiles of the Sierra Madre of Mexico none of the white troops were used. Their endurance and rapidit\ ot action are sulDerior to that of white men ior they literally crawl in the grass like snai e~ and creep and dodge through the rock~l~ke squirrels in the branches of trees in then densest toliage. Portraits of some of their most famous scouts are given. Nat-tzuck-ei-eb, a Chiricahua squaw, was one of the most important a~ennst her own trihe in the cam- paa~ into Mexico just alluded to. Even before the main command had started she departed alone and on foot to determine the where- abouts of the hostiles in the fast- nesses of the Sierra Madre mount- ains. On this trip she was absent for about six weeks, unceasingly prosecuting her object. A Chin- cahua herself, it was evidently her intention to gain the Indian camp, claim that she had been captured by and escaped from the whites, find out all that she could, and then at the first favorable opportunity prove traitor to her tribe. Treach- ery is a distinguishing feature of the American Indian, but it is almost wholly a trait turned to account against the enemies of the tribe. Even the lowest Digger In- dian has some faint conception of honor in his tribal relations in war, andI among some it compares well with, if not exceeding, that among civilized nations, but the Apache seems to have absolutely none. The painstaking labor to which they will go to emphasize their cruel treachery seems almost fiend- ish in the extreme. Way back in the ~o s an emigrant family, wind- ing its toilsome way through the btirning desert of the Gila valley, on the road to California, found themselves, with an exhausted team, at the bottom of a steep bill, up which they vainly essayed to as- cend. A band of Tontos Apaches, bent on some fiendish foray, passing that way, came upon the scene and at once willingly offered their services to carry their effects to the top of the hill. Not only did they do this, but the empty wagon was spared to the ex- hausted horses and hauled up by hand. This wonderful act of kindness was terminated by the massacre of the owners on the crest of the mesa, while all unawares they were reloading their wagon, the only object of theirpretended NOL. XXXI\ 7. friendship being undoubtedly to secure this condition of apparent safety. I visited this soot over a decade later, and some four or five whitewashed head-boards, encircled by a neat fence of native mezquite brush, kindly placed there by some frontiersmen, were not only monuments to the dead, but to as foul a piece of treachery as was ever perpetrated by one of the most savage tribes. It will be seen that Nat-tzuck-ei-ehs nose A, has been somewhat abbreviated, an old mode of punishment among them for the highest order ofmarital infelicity that has been stopped by the authorities along with other cruel pun- ishments. In virtue and modesty the eastern Apaches compare favorably with the best of Indians, but unfortunately the same cannot be said of the western tribes. The most important scout in the campaign noted above was one Tzoe, whose translated XVAR-DRESS IN WARM WEATHER. AjlirONG THE AIIM CHES. 50 name is said to mean Peaches, at least he was known by this lat- ter name among the white people of Arizona. Tzoe had long been held in distrust by his tribe, and he de- serted them in or- der to save his life, which, from their low mutterings and half- concealed threats, he believed to be in dan- ger, knowing right well the Indian character, that they waste no time in hearing the argu- ments of the one fully accused. Going to the nearest agency, the San Carlos, was a jump from the frying-pan into the fire, as he was immediately imprisoned, tried, and sentenced to death. The general revolt of his tribe, however, made him more useful to the Government as a guide than as a corpse, and he was spared the latter alternative by accept- ing the former, and right well did he do his work. It seemed singularly dramatic that this forced outcast of the tribe, compelled to flee for his life to a place where life was not even ure, should in so short a time be leading back into their mountain stronghold an army of his kith and kin that stretched a third of their warriors over the pinnacled field. While General Crook was in the Sierra Madre mountains on this campaign after the Chiricahuas, many never before imagined sites of ancient races were discovered, and in such vast extent as to be almost bewildering in magnitude. There seemed to be a series of colossal steps or terraces made by man, the lowest of which, near the streams, was evi- dently inhabited by these crude and ancient people. On the tops of these hills or mount- aiim, around whose sides the steps or terraces appeared, and apparently independent of them, were immense and extremely effective fortifi- cations for the rude weapons they then must have had, a sort of rallying point of defense for the people living near the streams. Why these terraces, between the stream where they dwelt and overlooking fortifications where they probably fled in dan- ger, should have been constructed it seems hard to conjecture, unless it is possible that they lived near a constantly hostile and active enemy of which they had the greatest fear, and these, although for protection, were their garden-plats or limited grazing-grounds for their goats. An incline would have been as good, and would have cost no such immense outlay of labor in build- ing the retaining walls. In many places through these rude structures had protruded the large pines of the country, some of which were two to three feet, or even more, in diameter. Everywhere, often in no small quantities, could be found their pottery, huge stone mortars for grinding corn (called me-/a/es in the vernacular of the country), and stone im- plements of war, and axes and hatchets. Under the overhanging cliffs were found caves that had once been inhabited, one series of apartments having no less than twenty-two rooms. Over one of these rooms was a large granary, capa- ble of holding many bushels of grain. Here were corn-cobs, showing great age, mixed with pottery and stone axes. On the walls of these rooms were hieroglyphics and pictured representations, none of which were copied or secured. It seems not unreasonable to argue from their cheerless homes and mighty fortifi- cations that this was an inferior race of peo- ple in the age in which they lived. Even the Apaches who have made these labyrinths of lava their hiding-places superstitiously avoid these old ruins, and l)erChance this very fact may have saved to science valuable archteo- logical matter when the time comes for the investigation of these stranue ancients. Superstitions are shown in their dress and or- naments, or rather in the charms which adorn and compose these. The medicine jacket and belt are common to the whole Apache family, and are about the counterpart of similar dresses so common with savages. From the head of the GERONIMO. AMONG TITLE APA CHES. 5 Chiricahua hangs a single buckskin string about two inches wide and as many feet in length, its upper end braided in the hair. This is ornamented with all the different pieces of shells they can obtain, and for which they seem to have a reverence, while beads and orna- inents of silver and other metals help to cover it with an almost solid coating of decorations. iNlaidens may be distinguished from matrons by the peculiar arrangement of their hair, the former wearing what in their language is called a 11d71-7ee1l (iza/i-lec;i strictly interpreted is maiden). It is fiat and of a beaver-tail dumb- bell shape, covered with red, and closely stud- ded with gilt buttons, if procurable, the hair being tied up with this to prevent its flowing over the shoulders as with married squaws. In gel~eral, it may be said that the eastern tribes, Sierras Blancas and Chiricahuas, are far finer in dress than those of the western parts, the Yumas and Mojaves, the intermediate tribes of San Carlos and Tontos being also intermediate in dress. Still farther to the east in New Mexico are the Mezcalero and Coyotero Apaches, also very ornamental in dress. but in other respects beyond the ken of this article in their now quiet isolation. The war-dress of these warm-weather war- riors, when actually in a campaign, is not so resplendent in buckskin and beads, nor is it so warm. A gorgeous bonnet of three hawk feathers is about the only display, and the rest has a sort ofsiinplicity known only in the Garden of Eden. An old weapon with them was a heavy round stone at the end of a short stick, the two being wrapped and joined in a com- mon case of rawhide taken from the tail of a horse or ox so as to be continuous and seamless. This was usedlike a policemans club, and has its counterpart in the Sioux skull- smasher, a word which describes it at once. The wild Chiricahuas used the lance, and do some good work with it in a decisive fight. Even the armed warriors use it in killing cat- tle and stolen stock to save their ammunition thereby, while some of the most horrible tort- tires practiced on their captives by these fiends are inflicted by this instrument. With the intro- duction of fire-arms into their warfare fell the shield into disuse. It was a gaudy appendage of the primitive savage, but it exists among the Apaches only as a relic for which they can obtain so much money from the curiosity seeker. They care but little for money, how- ever, except to appease a craving for gambling, or to meet immediate wants. They are behind no other savages in their love for the allurements of gambling, and use all sorts of implements, from the most intricate games of cards to the simple throwing of sticks and hoops, and in nearly all of these games their play is one of hazard, in the excitement their horses, rifles, and even the shirts on their backs, changing ownership. Only in their dances do they excel the physi- cal energy put forth in their gambling plays. From sunset till sunrise can be heard the beating of their drums and tom-toms, and night after night is it kept up. Old squaws and young children dance until they can stand no longer, and cease from exhaustion and fatigue; a ces- sation of but a fewminutes and they are up and at it again. Their medicine dances take place in cases of sickness and distress, to drive away bad spirits or keep them from doing harm. In these the squaws are never allowed to take a part, but in peace, weddings, and feast dances, young and old of both sexes form a conspicu- ous part. The corn dance, to make that plant productive, is also a monopoly of the medicine-men, while besides all these there exists the war, the conquerors, and the chiefs dances, varying in type through all the possible motions and gesticulations of the human body. The ages which some of them reach appear surprising, considering their rough mode of life in the past, which seems sufficient to end it rapidly when the physical powers begin to fail. Got-ha, a Sierra Blanca, a once famous warrior of their tribe, is probably eighty or ninety years of age, and seems hale and hearty APACHE MOTHER AND INFANT. 52 AMONG THE AIM (iVIES. yet. Could this old sage of the sandy deserts concentrate the salient points of his life into a volume, it would rival the tales of Daniel Boone or Kit Carson. Age, however, finds only a place in their councils of peace, and young blood rules in times of war, unless some mighty chief; with a record of battles that none can gainsay, bears all before him even in his age. It is a keen appreciation of the eternal fitness of things that has helped them in no small way to hold for so long the mastery of the South-west in peace and in war. One mighty chief of theirs was Cochise, a household word in the literature of Indian depredations. A Chiricahua him- ~elf his success was sufficient to join many bands under his rule, and especially those rcnegados so common in all Indian warfares and so numerous in every band who will join every revolt without regard to tribe or cause, if the revolt only promise booty and that bloody excitement which their nature craves. For years he was the terror of all in Arizona, and for a long period before his own tribes could be turned against him the sum total of his battles placed him plainly ahead. For savage strategy and barbaric grand tactics he will always be a mark in the annals of Indian warfare, and will be better known as this country set- tles up to that extent that it will demand a history of its own. Cochise brave- ly acknowledged he was out-generaled once. A military train of a score of wagons, guarded ap- parently by only a small platoon of cavalry, bore down through Apache Pass, where Cochise had some two or three hun- dred warriors in waiting, and their eyes glis- tened with delight as they looked at the chance of an easy capture of the hard bread, molasses, sugar, and tohacco on which they might revel for weeks. They made one wild yelling charge on the train from every quarter, when, instead of savage luxuries, there came from each wagon a blinding, crashing volley from nearly a score of well-armed infantrymen. Cochises warriors were sent flying back like surf; and, as they fled up the steep sides of the cation, were picked off like squirrels in a tree. Cochise died some nine or ten years ago a natural death, a singular ending for one who had been so active in the trade of death. How- ever much they may have hated him in that frontier land, even their legislature honored hirnwith a conspicuouscounty, WIFE OF NACFWZ. showingthat their hatredcould not conscientiously descend into contempt. After Cochise came Victorio, whose fate has been noted. Then Nana led them for a brief period of time, and then came Nachez, son of Cochise, who rules the Chiricahua band. Juh (pronounced IIoo) was a noted leader, and met his death in a way that was scarcely heroic. Blindly drunk with mezca/ he attempted to ride from a Mexican town to his village, his head buried in his hands, and his elbows and the responsibility of getting home resting on the ponys shoulders. As they crossed a shallow stream, the horse, believing it was his turn, leaned forward for a drink, and Juh was pre- cipitated into the water, and there, with his face in that kind of liquor that he had not fol- lowed closely enough in his life, he was drowned. Loco is an impor- tant chief, he being at one time a medicine- man. In a career uniformly good as savages judge careers and nowhere brill- iant, it is hard to speak further of him in a contracted arti- WIFE OF cle. (4eronimo, said to be a captured Mexican youth, might be styled the Daniel Webster of the Apache Senate. His advice was always sought on every particular matter of state, and his influence therein was equaled by few before his incarceration in a Florida prison, as the result of the latest and one of the greatest outbreaks under him, which ended with his surrender. Chato, Bonito, Chihuahua, Mangas, and Zele form the lesser lights in this list of leaders. Railroads run their double bands of iron through their deserts, mines pour their ores from the sheltering sides of their mountain homes, an inexorable decree has cramped them to a corner of their country, where they now wrest a living from the soil they once trod as masters, and it may be well said that the Apache sun is near the horizon of their nat- ional destiny. ]7zvderic/e Schruatka. NOOHEZ, SON OF COCHISE. FROM AN ANCIENT IRISH MOUND. Q N this lone mound of legend, heaped by hands That have been still from immemorial years, Above their mythic chief, whose vassal lands Forget his name, so long forgotbytears, I dream. Below me wrath and ruin are. Englands ally there shook down Philips fleet. Here sings a young bird like some morning star. The old songs sorrow makes the new song sweet. Sara/i A!. B. ]zatt. A GLIMPSE OF WASHINGTON IRVING AT HOME. IT is now forty years and over since I was a school- boy at Tarrytown, and when I revisited the place not long ago I was not surprised to find it some- what altered. The changes I remarked were, however, only such as might have been looked for in a town so prettily situated and so near New York; and I was pleased to find that the memory of Washington Irving had restrained the hand of improvement from destroying the few objects to which his writings have given. an interest, as well as from defacing the sites which tradition or popular imagination has identified with the scenes of his delightful legend. Sleepy Hollow is still very much the same lazy country road it was in the old days when we school-boys wandered along it in the summer afternoons picking blackberries from the wayside vines. Following the turn- pike-road down the hill, we come to Beek- mans mill-pond; and crossing the pretty stream, the Pocantico, on the bridge over which Ichabod galloped, pursued in his mad flight by the headless horseman, we reach the old Dutch church, surrounded by the graves of many generations those of the earlier settlers clustering thickly about the church itselg while the newer graves people the rising ground toward the north. It is in this newer portion of the cemetery that Washington Irving lies. His grave is in the middle of a large plot purchased by him in 1853, six years before his death. The stone that marks his grave is a plain slab of white marble on which are engraved his name and date alone, without any memorial inscription. The path that leads to the entrance-gate of the plot is so worn by the feet of visitors that a stranger hardly needs to ask his way to the place. I confess I heard not without a secret pleasure that the relic-hunters so chip and hammer the stone that marks Irvings grave as to make its frequent renewal necessary. It VOL. XXXIV. 8. did not seem to me a grievous wrong, nor in any true sense a profanation of the grave, but rather a testimony to the lovableness of Irvings character, and an evidence of the wide extent of his fame, that, from filling the circle of the educated and refined among his countrymen, has now come to include that lower stratum of our common humanity which has only instinctive and, so to speak, me- chanical ways of expressing its feelings. Who is so insensible to the good opinion of his kind as not to think such a trodden path as this that leads to Irvings grave better than any writ- ten line of praise, and the very destruction of his ,monument, by this reprehensible clipping and chipping, a more enduring testimony to his work than any monument of brass! It would not have been easy to find a place more in harmony with the associations that gather about Irvings name as a writer than the spot in which he is buried. Even to-day, with all the changes that have been brought about by the growth of the neighboring settlement, the spirit of peace and quiet that used to brood over the region hovers there undisturbed. Irv- ings own words, in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, describing the grave-yard, the old church; and the stream that plays about its feet, reflect with the faithfulness of a mirror the scene as we behold it to-day. Here is the church, a small building with rough sides of the country-stone, surmounted by a picturesque roog and with an open bell-tur- ret over which still veers the vane pierced with the initials of the Vrederick Felypsen who built the church and endowed it in 1699. In our rambles about the grave-yard we used to find the bricks of light-colored clay, brought from Holland, and of which, so tradition said, the church had been originally built, or which had, at any rate, been largely used in its construction. The church was seldom used, except in the summer-time. On communion Sundays the handsome seventeenth-century Jacobean table of oak brought from Holland, where plenty like it may still be found, was set out, as it is to-day, with the plain vessels of silver pre

Clarence Cook Cook, Clarence A Glimpse of Washington Irving at Home 53

FROM AN ANCIENT IRISH MOUND. Q N this lone mound of legend, heaped by hands That have been still from immemorial years, Above their mythic chief, whose vassal lands Forget his name, so long forgotbytears, I dream. Below me wrath and ruin are. Englands ally there shook down Philips fleet. Here sings a young bird like some morning star. The old songs sorrow makes the new song sweet. Sara/i A!. B. ]zatt. A GLIMPSE OF WASHINGTON IRVING AT HOME. IT is now forty years and over since I was a school- boy at Tarrytown, and when I revisited the place not long ago I was not surprised to find it some- what altered. The changes I remarked were, however, only such as might have been looked for in a town so prettily situated and so near New York; and I was pleased to find that the memory of Washington Irving had restrained the hand of improvement from destroying the few objects to which his writings have given. an interest, as well as from defacing the sites which tradition or popular imagination has identified with the scenes of his delightful legend. Sleepy Hollow is still very much the same lazy country road it was in the old days when we school-boys wandered along it in the summer afternoons picking blackberries from the wayside vines. Following the turn- pike-road down the hill, we come to Beek- mans mill-pond; and crossing the pretty stream, the Pocantico, on the bridge over which Ichabod galloped, pursued in his mad flight by the headless horseman, we reach the old Dutch church, surrounded by the graves of many generations those of the earlier settlers clustering thickly about the church itselg while the newer graves people the rising ground toward the north. It is in this newer portion of the cemetery that Washington Irving lies. His grave is in the middle of a large plot purchased by him in 1853, six years before his death. The stone that marks his grave is a plain slab of white marble on which are engraved his name and date alone, without any memorial inscription. The path that leads to the entrance-gate of the plot is so worn by the feet of visitors that a stranger hardly needs to ask his way to the place. I confess I heard not without a secret pleasure that the relic-hunters so chip and hammer the stone that marks Irvings grave as to make its frequent renewal necessary. It VOL. XXXIV. 8. did not seem to me a grievous wrong, nor in any true sense a profanation of the grave, but rather a testimony to the lovableness of Irvings character, and an evidence of the wide extent of his fame, that, from filling the circle of the educated and refined among his countrymen, has now come to include that lower stratum of our common humanity which has only instinctive and, so to speak, me- chanical ways of expressing its feelings. Who is so insensible to the good opinion of his kind as not to think such a trodden path as this that leads to Irvings grave better than any writ- ten line of praise, and the very destruction of his ,monument, by this reprehensible clipping and chipping, a more enduring testimony to his work than any monument of brass! It would not have been easy to find a place more in harmony with the associations that gather about Irvings name as a writer than the spot in which he is buried. Even to-day, with all the changes that have been brought about by the growth of the neighboring settlement, the spirit of peace and quiet that used to brood over the region hovers there undisturbed. Irv- ings own words, in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, describing the grave-yard, the old church; and the stream that plays about its feet, reflect with the faithfulness of a mirror the scene as we behold it to-day. Here is the church, a small building with rough sides of the country-stone, surmounted by a picturesque roog and with an open bell-tur- ret over which still veers the vane pierced with the initials of the Vrederick Felypsen who built the church and endowed it in 1699. In our rambles about the grave-yard we used to find the bricks of light-colored clay, brought from Holland, and of which, so tradition said, the church had been originally built, or which had, at any rate, been largely used in its construction. The church was seldom used, except in the summer-time. On communion Sundays the handsome seventeenth-century Jacobean table of oak brought from Holland, where plenty like it may still be found, was set out, as it is to-day, with the plain vessels of silver pre

Sarah M. B. Piatt Piatt, Sarah M. B. From an Ancient Irish Mound 53-58

FROM AN ANCIENT IRISH MOUND. Q N this lone mound of legend, heaped by hands That have been still from immemorial years, Above their mythic chief, whose vassal lands Forget his name, so long forgotbytears, I dream. Below me wrath and ruin are. Englands ally there shook down Philips fleet. Here sings a young bird like some morning star. The old songs sorrow makes the new song sweet. Sara/i A!. B. ]zatt. A GLIMPSE OF WASHINGTON IRVING AT HOME. IT is now forty years and over since I was a school- boy at Tarrytown, and when I revisited the place not long ago I was not surprised to find it some- what altered. The changes I remarked were, however, only such as might have been looked for in a town so prettily situated and so near New York; and I was pleased to find that the memory of Washington Irving had restrained the hand of improvement from destroying the few objects to which his writings have given. an interest, as well as from defacing the sites which tradition or popular imagination has identified with the scenes of his delightful legend. Sleepy Hollow is still very much the same lazy country road it was in the old days when we school-boys wandered along it in the summer afternoons picking blackberries from the wayside vines. Following the turn- pike-road down the hill, we come to Beek- mans mill-pond; and crossing the pretty stream, the Pocantico, on the bridge over which Ichabod galloped, pursued in his mad flight by the headless horseman, we reach the old Dutch church, surrounded by the graves of many generations those of the earlier settlers clustering thickly about the church itselg while the newer graves people the rising ground toward the north. It is in this newer portion of the cemetery that Washington Irving lies. His grave is in the middle of a large plot purchased by him in 1853, six years before his death. The stone that marks his grave is a plain slab of white marble on which are engraved his name and date alone, without any memorial inscription. The path that leads to the entrance-gate of the plot is so worn by the feet of visitors that a stranger hardly needs to ask his way to the place. I confess I heard not without a secret pleasure that the relic-hunters so chip and hammer the stone that marks Irvings grave as to make its frequent renewal necessary. It VOL. XXXIV. 8. did not seem to me a grievous wrong, nor in any true sense a profanation of the grave, but rather a testimony to the lovableness of Irvings character, and an evidence of the wide extent of his fame, that, from filling the circle of the educated and refined among his countrymen, has now come to include that lower stratum of our common humanity which has only instinctive and, so to speak, me- chanical ways of expressing its feelings. Who is so insensible to the good opinion of his kind as not to think such a trodden path as this that leads to Irvings grave better than any writ- ten line of praise, and the very destruction of his ,monument, by this reprehensible clipping and chipping, a more enduring testimony to his work than any monument of brass! It would not have been easy to find a place more in harmony with the associations that gather about Irvings name as a writer than the spot in which he is buried. Even to-day, with all the changes that have been brought about by the growth of the neighboring settlement, the spirit of peace and quiet that used to brood over the region hovers there undisturbed. Irv- ings own words, in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, describing the grave-yard, the old church; and the stream that plays about its feet, reflect with the faithfulness of a mirror the scene as we behold it to-day. Here is the church, a small building with rough sides of the country-stone, surmounted by a picturesque roog and with an open bell-tur- ret over which still veers the vane pierced with the initials of the Vrederick Felypsen who built the church and endowed it in 1699. In our rambles about the grave-yard we used to find the bricks of light-colored clay, brought from Holland, and of which, so tradition said, the church had been originally built, or which had, at any rate, been largely used in its construction. The church was seldom used, except in the summer-time. On communion Sundays the handsome seventeenth-century Jacobean table of oak brought from Holland, where plenty like it may still be found, was set out, as it is to-day, with the plain vessels of silver pre .54 WASHINGTON ZR VING AT HOME. sented by Queen Anne, as the formula goes, that used to please my childish taste for things that had about them the flavor of old days. The same budding taste for antiquities led me and some of my school-mates to the old grave-yard, where we hunted up the oldest tombstones, scraping off the moss and lichens to decipher the names and dates, and enjoy- ing many a laugh over their carved ornaments, scrolls, and cockle-shells, and sturdy, dew- lapped Dutch cherubs, with their stumpy little wings scored like checker-boards for plum- age. Many of these gravestones were said to have been imported from Holland by the early settlers, like the bricks of which the church was built, the table in the church, and much of the furniture to be found in the farm- houses of the country-side, chairs and tables, cupboards, and even looking-glasses. The carvings, memorial verses, and scripture-texts upon these tombstones were cut by the more skillful workmen over-seas, and the names and dates were filled in here at home as oc- casion called. Even so early as when Mr. Irving wrote the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, he tells us that the bridge over which Ichabod Crane clattered half dead with fright, pursued by the head- less horseman, had long disappeared, and that the present one had been substituted for it,~ to avert the omen of the tragedy. The banks of the Pocantico above the bridge are greatly changed since those primitive days. They are now cleared of the underbrush that once clothed them so thickly and through which a narrow cow-path made its devious way. The cow-path is now an orderly lane, and the sunlight strikes through tamer leafage on a well-kept turf; for the banks of the pretty stream have been transformed into a rural pleasure-ground, where the plump Ka- trinas and spruce Ichabods of to-day may wander and flirt at their will on Sunday after- noons. Although Tarrytown retains certain of the features that it had when I first knew it, yet the general character of the place is very dif- ferent. When those of us who used to read Washington Irvings tales and sketches among the scenes in which they are popularly supposed to have been written read them now, in the midst of this combed and curled landscape, set about with overdressed houses, and inhabited by people who regulate their lives by the city clock, we no longer feel the harmony between the printed page and the life about us that we felt then. It was easy, in the old time, to be- lieve the story of Ichabod Crane, because the characters described in the tale were just such people as we met daily in the village street, or in the church on Sundays, and Irving has hardly made use of the novelists license in portraying them. The brisk little woman who was cook in our boarding-school was Mrs. Van Tassel; and the delicious fragrance of her bread, baked twice a week for us in an old-fashioned brick oven, has power even at this late day to make us forget that she had a temper of her own, of which her red-headed scape-grace of a son stood as much in awe as we. The question with us was, what was her relation to Katrina? For, to the boyish mind, the facts that she was a Van Tassel, and a native of Tarrytown, were convincing proofs that she belonged to the family of the renowned Baltus, albeit Fortune had played the good lady one of her jades tricks in reducing her to the position of cook to a parcel of unruly boys. And where, to-day, could be found such a figure as the weather-beaten deacon in the Dutch church presented when, in his blue coat and brass buttons, and his hair done up in a pigtail, he stood up in front of the pul- pit and took the first note of the psalm-tune with a tuning-fork; the parson giving out two lines of each verse at a time, and the congre- gation following the precentors lead with nasal unanimity! I came on the scene a little late to get the full benefit of the primitive time; but there was enough simplicity left to stamp the image of the place on my memory as a sleepy neigh- borhood, where dreaming was more in fashion than doing. The village itself was a dull Dutch market-town, consisting, in the main, of one long street that lumbered slowly up the hill from the riverside to the narrow plateau along which the Albany turnpike runs. There was no communication with the city of New York except by steamboat or by sloop, for the railroad which has since ruined the banks of the most beautiful river in the world was not so much as thought of at that time. In the winter we drove to the city in sleighs. I be- lieve no regular stage-coach plied between New York and Tarrytown. Considering how dead the village was, so far as active interests were concerned, we were fortunate as school-boys in having anything to quicken our minds in the history and asso- ciations of the region. We became strongly interested in the legendary gossip of the time of the Revolution, much of which centered about Andni; his capture on our side of the river, and his trial and execution at Tappan, directly opposite us, on the other side of the broad Tappan Zee. The tree under which Andr& s captors xvere sitting, playing cards, when he came up, for so the story ran, still stood in the field by the roadside; although, between the relic-hunters and the lightning, it WASHINGTON IRVING AT HOME. 55 had come, when I knew it, to present a rather forlorn appearance. Mr. Irving made good dramatic use of this tree in his Legend of Sleepy Hollow, but it is likely enough he had not seen it when he wrote the story. Our minds, thus kept awake by living in an atmosphere charged with legendary lore and with local history, were still further inspir- ited by living so near to a man of genius who had already made the country-side classic ground by his residence there, and bythe legends he had enshrined in the amber of his style. We were not aware, at that time, how slight was Mr. Irvings acquaintance with the region when he wrote the legend that has made it immortal. When he published the story of Rip Van Winkle he had not visited the Cats- kill Mountains, and.he went toTarrytownfor the first time in 1798, when he was fifteen years old, with his dog and gun, for a few days, and it would appear that he did not see the place again for several years certainly not until some time after The Sketch Book had made him famous. Mr. Irving first heard the story of the headless horseman from his brother-in-law, Mr. Van Wart, in Birmingham, at the time of his visit to England in 1819. The two homesick friends fell to talking about old times and scenes, and among the stories that Mr. Van Wart recalled was this one, which so tickled Irvings fancy that he sat down at once such was his happy, off-hand way and rapidly sketched the outline of his story, which he afterward finished in London and sent home to America, to be published, with other stories,as the sixth number of The Sketch Book. He says himself that the story is a mere thread on which to string descrip- tions of scenery, and surely all that he wrote came from his heart. He had seen the Hud- son for the first time in the full flush of eager boyhood, sailing up the river from New York to Albany, but without stopping anywhere, and the strong impression made upon his mind at that time by the beauty of the scen- ery, strengthened a little later by his visit to Tarrytown, was sufficient to root his imagina- tion in that region. Years afterxvard, home- sick and discouraged in London, the seed so early sown burst into sudden life; and in that one picture and its companion, Rip Van XVin- kle, all the landscape was painted breathing warm with life and feeling but with little more care for detailed resemblance to any one spot than a Claude or a Turner shows. Not far up the Sleepy Hollow road was the little country school-house which we had decided, on no better authority than that of childish imagination, must be the school-house in which Ichabod Crane taught. One day I ventured to ask Mr. Irving if it was really the same, and I can still see the sunshine-smile in his handsome face as he put me by with some quizzical, non-committal answer. Had I been wise, I should have known enough to be content with the credentials furnished hy imagination. But children have a very com- monplace hunger for facts, and so in my ignorance I exchanged a pleasing certainty for an empty doubt. While I was at school at Tarrytown, Mr. Irving was living on his little Sabine farm of Wolferts Roost, which afterward was so widely known as Sunnyside. The place, which origi- nally contained ten acres, afterward increased first to fifteen and finally to eighteen acres, lay on the river-bank a few miles below the village, in a neighborhood vaguely known as Dearmans. There was no distinct settle- ment at this point in my time, hut in 1854, the place, having secreted enough population to warrant it, was set off from Tarrytown and incorporated as a village, to which, out of compliment to Mr. Irving, the name of Irving- ton was given. Mr. Irving had never been a man of means, and at the time I speak of his early fame as a writer had almost died away. Had I been at school in any other place than Tarrytown, I suspect I should have heard very little about him. But our schoolmaster had named his school the Irving Institute, and had persuaded Mr. Irving, out of his abounding good nature and liking for young folks, to visit the school occasionally at Commencement time, and give out the prizes. This of course made it necessary to keep us acquainted with Irvings writings, and there were some of us who found this no ungrateful task. The History of New York and The Sketch Book we knew by heart. In the village, too, Irving was not without local honors. The new hotel was called the Irving Hotel, the myth-making spirit had already given a local habitation to all the in- cidents of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and strangers were directed on Sunday to the church where Mr. Irving was a regular attend- ant, and where they could study the great man at their leisure. All this, however, was the result of Mr. Irvings residence in the neighborhood. In New York, to say nothing of the country at large, comparatively little was said about Irv- ing. He was reckoned a little old-fashioned, and peoples eyes were turned rather to Long- fellow and Hawthorne and Emerson, and to Lowell, the newest risen star. Something of Irvings literary position in New York at that time was owing, no doubt, to the grudge that existed against him in the WASHINGTON JR VING AT HOME. minds of the descendants of the early Dutch settlers, on account of his History of New York. I crossed the ocean not long ago with a member of a New York family whose name is known as honorably as it is widely, and whose members have done good service in many fields of culture. In the long summer days on deck we talked of many things, and naturally enough, both of us being New York- ers, we came upon Irving. I xvas taken abackby the heat with which my companion attacked his name. He frankly expressed his dislike, and when I pressed for a reason, I found it to be that Irving had made New York ridicu- lous. The city had a more than respectable early history: it was one highly honorable, and Irvings book had turned it into irretrievable caricature. It would need a talent as great as his own for the talent was frankly. con- cededto paint the canvas over again; it was doubtful, now, if it would ever be done. I could not sympathize in the least with my companions view. As I looked at the matter, I thought New Yorkers ought to be much obliged to Irving for having built up so lively a structure on the flat marshland of their early history. And why should not New York have a fanciful early history as well as Rome or England? We read the stories of the Greek cities as if we believed them; why should we stick so at our own fabulist and his work the Dutch Herodotus, Diedrich Knicker- bocker, as Mr. John Duer, one of the old Knickerbockers, had the magnanimity to call him? Is it not likely that the stories of Mene- laus and Helen, of the wooden horse, and of sulking Achilles, were as disagreeable to old Greek and Trojan families as the fables of Van Twiller and Stuyvesant were to the old New Yorkers? Irving has been called the last of the my- thologists, but it must be admitted that Cable and Craddock are showing delightful skill in work of a similar kind. And the way in which a brilliant, charming, and sympathetic writer has been criticised in New Orleans enables us to understand how Irving was treated in New York. His nephews Life and Letters has some amusing anecdotes relating to the subject. Irving himself treated the mat- ter rather lightly, but even he must have had some feeling on the subject, for in his revised edition of the History, he withdrew the original dedication to the New York His- torical Society. A distinguished scholar, a member of one of the oldest and most re- spectable of the Dutch families, had said, in an address delivered before the Society, speak- ing of Irving and his History: It is pain- ful to see a mind, as admirable for its exquisite perception of the beautiful as it is for its quick sense of the ridiculous, wasting the riches of its fancy on an ungrateful theme, and its exu- berant humor in a coarse caricature. And to show how deep was the irritation caused by this coarse caricature, which Walter Scott and all the cultivated world of England found so delightful, and which was the foundation of Irvings fame and fortune, I would record that, while writing this paper, finding myself in the country, away from my books, I asked a member of a family which may surely stand as representative of every- thing the Knickerbockers had of best, if in her fathers library very rich in English lit- erature, and in beautiful editions, the envy of the bibliophile I could not find The Sketch Book. Well, no, was the half-amused, half- ashamed reply. We have not, I believe, a single work of Irvings. You know when grandfather lived, and we were young, Irving was tcdoo/ But in 1846, after his return from Spain, where he had most acceptably filled the posi- tion of Minister, Irvings sky, which, when all is said, had never been seriously obscured, cleared finally, and took on that mellow beauty which continued to the end of his life. Per- haps no incident will serve better to mark the date of the change in Irvings literary fortunes that the publication of Lowells Fable for Critics Set forth in October, the 31st day, In the year 48, G. P. Putnam, Broadway. Lowells enthusiastic greeting to Irving in this delightful burst of youthful spirits, one of the best characterizations in the poem, begins with an allusion to Irvings recent return from Spain. In the same year with the publication of the Fable for Critics began the re-issue of Irv- ings works }~y Mr. Putnam, most generous of publishers and kindest of men, whom not even a Napoleon would have found it in his heart to shoot, or if he had, no Charles Lamb would have toasted him for it. The success of this venture was very great. The eyes of the public were again turned upon Irving, and his early triumphs were renewed: no less than two hun- dred and fifty thousand volumes of the new issue of his works were sold during his life- time. Neither the public honors that were heaped upon him after his return, nor the prosperity that came so unexpectedly to reward his literary labors, had any charm to wean Mr. Irving from his taste for the simple pleasures of a country life, his plain house, his old friends, his little study lined with books, his rambles on horse- back among the well-known hills and lanes, his vine-trellised piazza (we have no American WASHINGTON ZR VING AT HOME. 57 name for this distinctively American thing) where he could sit at his ease in the summer evenings and hear the waves of the Hudson River lapping the shore at his feet. Everybody knows the exterior of the cot- tage at Sunnyside from pictures, engravings, photographs, or from having himself been one of the hundreds of pilgrims who have visited it. When Irving bought the place, in 1835, there stood upon it a small stone house called Wolferts Roost (Roost, rest), from a former owner, Wolfert Acker (the name of Acker is still heard in the neighborhood), who had been one of the Committee of Public Safety, and who had come here to set up his Rest, and take his ease. Mr. Irving called in the ser- vices of an architect, Mr. George Harvey, to fit up the cottage for his occupancy, and he was fortunate in finding so sympathetic an assistant. When it was finished, it had not only lost nothing of the character which first struck Irvings fancy, but it had that air of old times about it which is so hard to give to a new place, or even to an old place made over. The architect gave it back comfortable, and suited to Mr. Irvings needs, yet no less picturesque than it was when he first described it the little old-fashioned stone mansion, all made up of gable-ends, and as full of angles and corners as an old cocked hat. The principal external feature was a sub- stantial porch, supporting a room overhead, and with a crow-step gable surmounted by a weather-cock. Over the entr~ance to the porch is a stone bearing the architects name and title, George Harvey, Bomr, an abbreviation for Boumeister, which Mr. Irving had raked up as Dutch for architect. Every visitor, too, must have remarked the fine growth of English ivy which covers the eastern side of the cottage with a thick mantle of green so thick, indeed, that the windows of the second story had the look of being cut out of the solid mass of shining verdure. This ivy has grown from a slip brought from Mel- rose Abbey and presented to Mr. Irving by his friend Mrs. Renwick. This lady, Mr. Pierre Irving tells us, was a Miss Jeffrey of Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire, Scotland. She was the heroine of Burnss Blue-eyed Lassie, as well as of another of his songs, When first I saw my Jennies face. After Mr. Irvings return from Spain, in 1846, the services of Mr. Harvey were again called in for an addition to the cottage which should make living in it more comfortable as a permanent dwelling, with better offices and more commodious servants quarters, and this work was accomplished as successfully as the other. No material changes were made in the internal arrangement of the older part of the building, but externally, as a whole, the alter- ation was very marked: the sky-line was much enlivened by the pagoda-like roof over one portion, which was the subject of some good- natured raillery on the part of Irvings neigh- bors; and wben it was completed the house had a picturesque charm uncommon enough at that time. With the turn in Mr. Irvings literary fortunes which began at this time everything relating to his personality became of interest to the public, and artists found the cottage at Sunnyside a popular subject for sketches and pictures. The interior of Mr. Irvings house hardly corresponded with the promise made by the outside. As I remember, it was plainly but comfortably furnished; and, compared with almost any house lived in by a person of Irv- ings position to-day, would certainly be said to have a bare look. I was particularly struck with this in the parlor, where the only orna- ment I remember was the portrait of Irving painted in 1820 by Stuart Newton, and of which the head and bust, showing the fur collar of his coat, is engraved in his nephews Life and Letters. If the parlor were somewhat bare, Mr. Irv- ings study was hardly more attractive. It was a small room, to the right on entering, wifh windows looking to the south and east; that facing the east was framed in the ivy of which I bave spoken. In the middle of the room was the plain table, always in a state of healthy disorder, at which Irving wrote, and at the north end was an alcove filled with books. As a youngster fond of reading, and with my mind made up as to how the workroom of a famous author ought to look, I was much disappointed at the somewhat uninviting ap- pearance of this small chamber. But Irvings literary work had not been of a nature to make many books necessary, and the writings that have given him his true reputation the History of Nexv York, and The Sketch Book, with its followers in the same field were all written and published before he came to Sunnyside to live. There was nothing in Irvings surroundings, or in his way of life, to suggest the literary man. His house might have been that of any gentleman bachelor with a happy turn for indolence, with no ex- pensive tastes, but with an inborn relish for the simple pleasures of country life. This absence of picturesque or artistic sur- roundings, supposing it to have been noticed at all, was quickly forgotten, however, by all who met him, in the charms of his manners, and in the pleasure of listening to his talk. Yet it was not at once seen wherein the charm of his manner lay. No one of the stock epi- thets describes him. He had at fifty-seven, THE DESER TER. when I first saw him, the unconscious animal spirits of a boy. He could make himself at home with anybody, and put a child, or even a bore, at his ease. His fine face, to which no artist ever did justice, such was its mobil- ity of expression, was now all sunshine over his own mirth or that of somebody else, now working with emotion as he recalled old times or spoke of some friend from whom death had separated him, or from whom he had just now parted with little hope to meet again. Easy and natural as were Mr. Irvings manners, there was a strong individuality behind them they are reflected in his books, whose limpid style seems so easy to imitate, and yet is be- yond the reach of effort. I happened to be with him on one occasion when a young man whom he knew called upon him, and in the course of the conversa- tion informed him that he had recently married. XVho is the lady? said Mr. Irving; and on hearing the name What! a granddaughter of Mrs. ,the lady who declined to dance with Washington? Dear me! dear me! Since I have been writing the Life of Washington, I have heard of no end of ladies who had danced with Washington, but Mrs. is the only one I ever heard of who had declined to dance with him! And in the newspapers lately there was a story which might certainly have been true, if it were not. Irving was walking one day in his orchard when a small boy who was prowl- ing about accosted him, and with a confiden- tial air offered to show him the old mans best tree, if he would shake it for him! Irv- ing agreed; and By George, sir! if he didnt actually take me to the very best tree on my place! When I was last at Tarrytown, I was visit- ing at one of those handsome houses and THE DESERTER. B LINDEST and most frantic prayer, Clutching at a senseless boon, His that begs, in mad despair, Death to come; he comes so soon! Like a reveler that strains Lip and throat to drink it up The last ruby that remains, One red droplet in the cup. well-kept places which make the sleepy, slouchy ways of the region, such as it was in my school-boy days, seem more than ever like a dream. My hostess took me to the edge of the velvet lawn, and showed me a rock. That, she said, xve call Irvings seat. This place, nhen we bought it, was a farm. It belonged to old Captain S , and he told us that Mr. Irving used to climb this hill and sit on this rock overlooking the river and the landscape, and Captain S found it so pleasant to have him come, that he had the rock shaped into a rude seat to make it more comfortable. Here Irving would spread the plaid with which he was accustomed to protect his shoulders and which he used instead of an overcoat in walk- ing about, and here he sat with his old farmer friend beside him, and passed the hour in homely chat or alone with his own thoughts. The last time I saw Mr. Irving in his own house something turned the conversation to the group of American artists Leslie, Stuart Newton, Allston, and the restwith whom he was so intimate in London at the time of his first visit. I think what led to his speaking of his friends was my asking him some ques- tion about his portrait by Stuart Newton, which, as I have said, hung in the drawing- room. After a little, the talk turned on Allston, and he began to speak of him in the tender- est, most affectionate way. I was just read- ing over one of his letters, he said; and he rose quickly from his chair and went into his study to fetch it.~ Returning at once with the letter in his hand, he began to read it, but had not gone far when his recollections over- came him, his eyes filled with tears, and exclaiming, I cant bear it, he threw the letter down on the floor. Recovering him- self, he changed the subject, and I presently withdrew. Clarence Cook. Like a child that, sullen, mute, Sulking spurns, with chin on breast, Of the Tree of Life a fruit, His gift of whom he is the guest. Outcast on the thither shore, Open scorn to him shall give Souls that heavier burdens bore See the wretch that dared not live I Anthony Morehead.

Anthony Morehead Morehead, Anthony The Deserter 58-59

THE DESER TER. when I first saw him, the unconscious animal spirits of a boy. He could make himself at home with anybody, and put a child, or even a bore, at his ease. His fine face, to which no artist ever did justice, such was its mobil- ity of expression, was now all sunshine over his own mirth or that of somebody else, now working with emotion as he recalled old times or spoke of some friend from whom death had separated him, or from whom he had just now parted with little hope to meet again. Easy and natural as were Mr. Irvings manners, there was a strong individuality behind them they are reflected in his books, whose limpid style seems so easy to imitate, and yet is be- yond the reach of effort. I happened to be with him on one occasion when a young man whom he knew called upon him, and in the course of the conversa- tion informed him that he had recently married. XVho is the lady? said Mr. Irving; and on hearing the name What! a granddaughter of Mrs. ,the lady who declined to dance with Washington? Dear me! dear me! Since I have been writing the Life of Washington, I have heard of no end of ladies who had danced with Washington, but Mrs. is the only one I ever heard of who had declined to dance with him! And in the newspapers lately there was a story which might certainly have been true, if it were not. Irving was walking one day in his orchard when a small boy who was prowl- ing about accosted him, and with a confiden- tial air offered to show him the old mans best tree, if he would shake it for him! Irv- ing agreed; and By George, sir! if he didnt actually take me to the very best tree on my place! When I was last at Tarrytown, I was visit- ing at one of those handsome houses and THE DESERTER. B LINDEST and most frantic prayer, Clutching at a senseless boon, His that begs, in mad despair, Death to come; he comes so soon! Like a reveler that strains Lip and throat to drink it up The last ruby that remains, One red droplet in the cup. well-kept places which make the sleepy, slouchy ways of the region, such as it was in my school-boy days, seem more than ever like a dream. My hostess took me to the edge of the velvet lawn, and showed me a rock. That, she said, xve call Irvings seat. This place, nhen we bought it, was a farm. It belonged to old Captain S , and he told us that Mr. Irving used to climb this hill and sit on this rock overlooking the river and the landscape, and Captain S found it so pleasant to have him come, that he had the rock shaped into a rude seat to make it more comfortable. Here Irving would spread the plaid with which he was accustomed to protect his shoulders and which he used instead of an overcoat in walk- ing about, and here he sat with his old farmer friend beside him, and passed the hour in homely chat or alone with his own thoughts. The last time I saw Mr. Irving in his own house something turned the conversation to the group of American artists Leslie, Stuart Newton, Allston, and the restwith whom he was so intimate in London at the time of his first visit. I think what led to his speaking of his friends was my asking him some ques- tion about his portrait by Stuart Newton, which, as I have said, hung in the drawing- room. After a little, the talk turned on Allston, and he began to speak of him in the tender- est, most affectionate way. I was just read- ing over one of his letters, he said; and he rose quickly from his chair and went into his study to fetch it.~ Returning at once with the letter in his hand, he began to read it, but had not gone far when his recollections over- came him, his eyes filled with tears, and exclaiming, I cant bear it, he threw the letter down on the floor. Recovering him- self, he changed the subject, and I presently withdrew. Clarence Cook. Like a child that, sullen, mute, Sulking spurns, with chin on breast, Of the Tree of Life a fruit, His gift of whom he is the guest. Outcast on the thither shore, Open scorn to him shall give Souls that heavier burdens bore See the wretch that dared not live I Anthony Morehead. THE CHEMISTRY OF FOODS AND NUTRITION. J* THE COMPOSITION OF OUR BODIES AND OUR FOOD. Half the struggle of life is a struggle for food. EDWARD ATKINSON. I have come to the conclusion that more than half the disease which emhitters the middle and latter part of life is due to avoidable errors in diet . . . and that more mischief in the form of actual disease, of impaired vigor, and of shortened life, accrues to civilized man . . . in England and throughout central Europe from erroneous habits of eating than from the hahitual use of-alcoholic drink, considerable as I know that evil to he. SIR HENRY THOMPSON. If we will care for mens souls most effectively, we must care for their hodies also. BISs-toP R. S. FOSTER. proportion of the cost of living might he saved by better economy of food; how dietary errors compare in harmfulness with the use of alcohol; whether, as some urge, our next great reform is to be in our dietetics; and to what extent the spread of the gospel and the perfection of its fruit are dependent upon the food-supply, are questions which it is not my present purpose to discuss. I have quoted the foregoing statements, however, because they come with authority, and because, starting from the widely different standpoints of the economist, the physician, and the divine, the conclusions tally perfectly with those of some studies of my own. Mr. Atkinson cites statistics to show that all but the very few who are especially well-to-do, in this country as in Europe, must expend half or more than half of their earnings for their food; calls attention to our wastefulness, and urges the need of better economy in the pur- chase and use of food-materials. The error which Sir Henry Thompson most seriously de- plores is over-eating. It is a failure to under- stand, first, the importance of preserving a near equality between the supply of nutriment to the body and the expenditure produced by the activity of the latter; and, secondly, ignorance of the method of attaining this object in prac- tice, which gives rise to the various forms of disease calculated to embitter and shorten life. Bishop Foster, considering, on the one hand, the destitution that prevails, both at home, and especially in some of the countries where missionary effort is put forth so vigor- ously, and, on the other, the intimate de- pendence of mans intellectual and spiritual development upon his physical condition, urges that we may hope for the best culture of the Christian graces in the hearts of men only in proportion as adequate nourishment of their bodies is provided for. I have been led to the conclusions that, in this country, many people, not only the well- to-do, but those in moderate circumstances also, use a needless quantity of food; that part of this excess, however, is simply thrown away, so that the injury to health, great as it may be, is doubtless much less than if all were eaten; that one great fault with our dietaries is an ex- cess of meats and of sweetmeats; that even among those who desire to economize there is great pecuniary loss from the selection of ma- terials in which the actual nutrients are really, though not apparently, dearer than need be; that many whose means are limited make still more serious mistakes in their choice of food, so that they are often inadequately nourished when they might be well fed at less cost; and, what seems the most painful thing of all, that it is generally the very poor who practice the worst economy in the purchase as well as in the use of their food. The subject concerns the laboring classes in still other ways. Statistics as well as com- mon observation-bear emphatic testimony to the better condition of the American as com- pared with the European workingman in re- spect to his supply of the necessaries and comforts of life. Nowhere is this superiority more striking than in the quality and quantity of his food. And the difference in the dietaries of the two is especially marked in the larger amount of potential energy, of capability to yield muscular strength for work and to fulfill other uses in nutrition, xvhich characterizes the food of the American. That the American workman, in many cases at least, turns out more work per day or per year than his Euro- pean competitor is a familiar fact. That this superiority is due to more nutritious food as well as to greater intelligence is hardly to be questioned. But the better nourishment of the American wage-worker, as we shall see, * See The Food Question in America and Europe by Edward Atkinson in this magazine for Decemher, s886.

W. O. Atwater Atwater, W. O. The Chemistry of Food and Nutrition 59-74

THE CHEMISTRY OF FOODS AND NUTRITION. J* THE COMPOSITION OF OUR BODIES AND OUR FOOD. Half the struggle of life is a struggle for food. EDWARD ATKINSON. I have come to the conclusion that more than half the disease which emhitters the middle and latter part of life is due to avoidable errors in diet . . . and that more mischief in the form of actual disease, of impaired vigor, and of shortened life, accrues to civilized man . . . in England and throughout central Europe from erroneous habits of eating than from the hahitual use of-alcoholic drink, considerable as I know that evil to he. SIR HENRY THOMPSON. If we will care for mens souls most effectively, we must care for their hodies also. BISs-toP R. S. FOSTER. proportion of the cost of living might he saved by better economy of food; how dietary errors compare in harmfulness with the use of alcohol; whether, as some urge, our next great reform is to be in our dietetics; and to what extent the spread of the gospel and the perfection of its fruit are dependent upon the food-supply, are questions which it is not my present purpose to discuss. I have quoted the foregoing statements, however, because they come with authority, and because, starting from the widely different standpoints of the economist, the physician, and the divine, the conclusions tally perfectly with those of some studies of my own. Mr. Atkinson cites statistics to show that all but the very few who are especially well-to-do, in this country as in Europe, must expend half or more than half of their earnings for their food; calls attention to our wastefulness, and urges the need of better economy in the pur- chase and use of food-materials. The error which Sir Henry Thompson most seriously de- plores is over-eating. It is a failure to under- stand, first, the importance of preserving a near equality between the supply of nutriment to the body and the expenditure produced by the activity of the latter; and, secondly, ignorance of the method of attaining this object in prac- tice, which gives rise to the various forms of disease calculated to embitter and shorten life. Bishop Foster, considering, on the one hand, the destitution that prevails, both at home, and especially in some of the countries where missionary effort is put forth so vigor- ously, and, on the other, the intimate de- pendence of mans intellectual and spiritual development upon his physical condition, urges that we may hope for the best culture of the Christian graces in the hearts of men only in proportion as adequate nourishment of their bodies is provided for. I have been led to the conclusions that, in this country, many people, not only the well- to-do, but those in moderate circumstances also, use a needless quantity of food; that part of this excess, however, is simply thrown away, so that the injury to health, great as it may be, is doubtless much less than if all were eaten; that one great fault with our dietaries is an ex- cess of meats and of sweetmeats; that even among those who desire to economize there is great pecuniary loss from the selection of ma- terials in which the actual nutrients are really, though not apparently, dearer than need be; that many whose means are limited make still more serious mistakes in their choice of food, so that they are often inadequately nourished when they might be well fed at less cost; and, what seems the most painful thing of all, that it is generally the very poor who practice the worst economy in the purchase as well as in the use of their food. The subject concerns the laboring classes in still other ways. Statistics as well as com- mon observation-bear emphatic testimony to the better condition of the American as com- pared with the European workingman in re- spect to his supply of the necessaries and comforts of life. Nowhere is this superiority more striking than in the quality and quantity of his food. And the difference in the dietaries of the two is especially marked in the larger amount of potential energy, of capability to yield muscular strength for work and to fulfill other uses in nutrition, xvhich characterizes the food of the American. That the American workman, in many cases at least, turns out more work per day or per year than his Euro- pean competitor is a familiar fact. That this superiority is due to more nutritious food as well as to greater intelligence is hardly to be questioned. But the better nourishment of the American wage-worker, as we shall see, * See The Food Question in America and Europe by Edward Atkinson in this magazine for Decemher, s886. 6o THE CHEMISTRY Of FOODS AND NUTRITION is largely due to our virgin soil. With the growth of population and the increasing close- ness of home and international competition, his own diet cannot be kept up to its present nutritive standard, nor can that of his poorer neighbor and his foreign brother be brought up nearer to that standard, without better knowl- edge and application of the laws of food- economy. Some time since, at the instance of the United States National Museum, and in be- half of its food collection, I was led to un- dertake a study of the chemistry of foods. This has included with other matter a series of anal- yses of some of our common food-materials. To give some of the more practical results of this work, especially as viewed in the light of late research upon the more general subject of nutrition, is the purpose of the present articles.* A POUND of very lean beef and a quart of milk both contain about the same quantity of actually nutritious materials. But the pound of beef costs more than the quart of milk, and its nutrients are not only different in number and kind, but are, for ordinary use, more val- uable than those of the milk. We have here an illustration of a principle, or rather of two principles, of fundamental importance in the economy of nutrition: our food-materials con tam nutrients of different kinds and in differ- ent proportions, and the nutrients have differ- ent functions, different sorts of work to do in the support of our bodies. Add that it is es- sential for our health that our food shall sup- ply the nutrients in the kinds and proportions our bodies require, and that it is likewise im- portant for our purses that the nutrients be obtained at the minimum cost, and we have the fundamental tenets of our system of food- economy. The greater part of our definite knowledge of these matters comes from chemical study of food-materials, and from experiments in which animals are supplied with food of various kinds and the effects noted. In these latter, the food, the egesla, solid and liquid, and, in many cases, the inhaled and exhaled air are meas- ured, weighed, and analyzed. Hundreds, in- deed thousands, of trials have been made with animals of many kinds, and a great number with human beings of both sexes and different ages. The best ~vork has been done during the last two decades, nearly all of it in Europe, and the larger share in Germany. It involves the study of the profoundest problems of chemis ~ I am indebted to Professor Baird, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution and Director of the National Museum, for permission to reproduce here several charts prepared to illustrate the food collection; nor can I forbear adding that it was through the generosity try, physics, and physiology, the most elabo- rate apparatus, and the greatest care and patience of the workers. The labor of days and weeks is often required for a single ex- periment of a series, and the result of many series may often be condensed in a very few words. If one seeks famous names in this field he may find them in Liebig, Pettenko- fer, and Voit in Germany; Payen and Claude Bernard in France; Moleschott in Italy; and Frankland, Playfair, Lawes, and Gilbert in England, and many others. If he questions the practical value of the results, let him see how they are being applied in the construction of dietaries for the common people in Germany, and what they indicate as to the errors of our food-economy at home. If he would see how results of recent research in one country may be ignored, because unknown, by the writers of a different language in another, let him ex- amine some of our latest magazine articles and text-books, the names of the authors and pub- lishers of which ought to be a guarantee for better things. What we wish to consider now, however, is not the extent of the science, but some of its more important teachings in their applica- tions to our daily life. Our task is to learn how our food builds up our bodies, repairs their wastes, yields heat and energy, and how we may select and use our food-materials to the best advantage of health and purse. I begin our study together with a whole- some fear of the editor before my eyes, know- ing well that back of the courteous hint to make these articles not too abstrusely scien- tific there was a repressed warning to avoid the tone and language of the college lecture- room as unsuited to the pages of a magazine. But I must crave a little latitude; the results of scientific research cannot be explained without some tedious technicalities and dry details. How CHEMICAL ANALYSES ARE MADE. IF I cannot be interesting, I will be ortho- dox, and go back to the Catechism, whose second question is Of what are you made? and the answer, The dust of the earth. The fact that underlies this answer, namely, the identity of the elements of our bodies with those of the material objects around us, is one of the many which chemistry explains. This fact, embodied in the solemn language of the primeval curse, for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return, impressed upon us of Messrs. Thurber, Whyland and Co., of New York, in defraying a considerable portion of the pecuniary expense of the analyses hereafter referred to that the latter were made possible. THE CHEJJKUSTR Y OF FOODS AND NUTJUTION with our earliest religious teachings, clothed in fantastic imagery by poets, and under- stood so vaguely in the science. and dwelt upon so mysteriously in the philosophy of the past, is divested of much of its mystery by the matter-of-fact investigation of the present. The chemistry of to-day tells us of what ele- ments and compounds our bodies consist. It gives us at least a glimpse of the ways in which they are framed together by the won- tlerful processes of life, and how they go through the rotin d of growth and fruition, and are by decay resolved again into the forms from which they came. And the research of the past few years has shown us that even this decay is a vital process carried out by living creatures, whose mission is to take off the effete matter and fit it for use again. A friend of mine tells of an editor of a prom- inent journaland a Boston editor at that who was much surprised to learn that it is pos- sible to tell by use of the balance, the corn- hustion furnace, the filter, and other ap- pliances of the chemical laboratory, just what elements and compounds and what propor- tions of each make up the air or a mineral, or how much nitrogen there is in muscle or l)rotein in wheat flour. But to the chemist these are the most commonplace, though not al- ways the simplest, things. Indeed, our every- day handling of food materials often involves processes, though crude ones, of analysis. We let milk stand; the globules of fat rise in cream, still mingled, however, with water, protein, carbohydrates, and mineral salts. To separate the other ingredients from the fat, the cream is churned. The more perfect this sep- aration, f. e., the more accurate the analysis, the more wholesome will be the butter. Put a little rennet into the skimmed milk, and the casem, called in chemical language an albu- miami or protein compound, will be curdled and may be freed from the bulk of the water, sugar, and other ingredients by the cheese-press. To separate milk- sugar, a carbohydrate, from the whey is a simple matter. One may see it done by Swiss shepherds in their rude Alpine huts. But farmers find it more profitable to VOL. XXXTV9. put it in the pig-pen, the occupants of which are endowed with the happy faculty of trans- forming sugar, starch, and other carbohydrates of their food into the fat of pork. The New England boy who on cold winter mornings goes to the barn to feed the cattle, and solaces himself by taking grain from the wheat bin and chewing it into what he calls wheat-gum, makes. unknowingly, a rough sort of analysis of the wheat. With the crush- ing of the grain and the action of saliva in his motith, the starch, sugar, and other carbohy- drates are separated. Some of the fat, I. e., oil, is also removed, and finds its way with the carbohydrates into the stomach. The tena- cious gluten, which contains the albunminoids or protein and constitutes what he calls the gum, is left. When, in the natural order of events, the cows are cared for and the gum is swallowed, its albuminoids enter upon a round of transformation in the boys body, in the course of which they are changed to other forms of protein, such as albumen of blood or myosin of muscle; or are converted into fat, or are consumed with the oil and sugar and starch to yield heat to keep his body warm and give him muscular strength for his work or play. I am using such technical terms as protein and carbohydrates and speaking of chemical processes with which daily usage makes us chemists familiar and which the reader will find referred to so often in these articles that I wish him to become familiar with them also. In- deed, these things are so much a part of our- selves, so intimately connected with our every breath and motion and feeling, with our life and health and strength, that labor spent in learning about them cannot be lost. It will help toward understanding the facts if we note how some of them are found out. To this end I will introduce the reader into a laboratory, being aide(l in so doing by the illustrations of the chemical laboratory of Wesleyan Univer MAKING OXYGEN. 62 THE (~HE AIlS TIY Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION sity. They show the rooms in which some of the studies whose results are to be described beyond were made, and part of the apparatus actually employed. At one of the desks a student may be seen preparing oxygen. In a little flask he places some chlorate of potashthe material wbich we use as a medicine for sore throat. Tbis be heats by the flame ofa peculiar lamp underneath the flask. The oxygen is given off as gas and passes through a glass tube which is bent down- ward so as to open under the mouth of a glass jar, which latter has been filled with water and inverted over water in a basin. The oxygen bubbles tip into the jar, while tbe water at the same time runs out, and thus the jar is filled with the gas. It looks like ordinary air, but when the experimenter sets fire to a stick of wood, blows out the flame, thrusts the glow- ing end in the oxygen, it bursts instantly into a brill- iant flame. A piece of phos- phorus, kindled and placed in the oxygen, burns with a flame of blinding brightness. And a steel wire burns in this gas even more brilliantly than wood burns in ordinary air. Thus the student learns as he could not from text- book or lectures, that oxy- gen, which makes up nearly two-thirds of the weight of our bodies, and one-fifth of the weight of air, is the great supporter of combustion. l3ut our special purpose here is to note how chemical analyses are made. Let us take as an example a grain of wheat. It contains water, which we may dry out by heating; organic matter, which may be burned by combining with the oxygen of the air; and mineral mat- ters, which remain behind as ashes. The or- ganic matter contains fatty or oily substances, starch and other carbohydrates, and protein compounds. The object of the analysis is to separate these ingredients from one another and find what proportion of each is contained in the wheat. To make the analysis, we first grind the grain to flour. To find the proportion of water, we weigh off a small quantity very accurately in a chemical balance and put it in a little glass flask, the weight of which is known, and heat it for a number of hours, until the water is driven out. When itis perfectly dry it is weighed again. The loss in weight represents the quan- tity of water in the flour. This heating is con- ducted in a drying oven which is kept hot by a gas flame inside the support on which the oven rests. In order to prevent the action of the oxygen of the air upon the flour while it is being dried, we keep a current of hydrogen gas continually passing through it. The ap- paratus for generating the hydrogen and forcing it through the flasks is shown in the picture. In the large bottles above is sulphu- ric acid. This runs down the pipes into the tall narrow glass vessels on the floor. These latter contain zinc. When the acid comes in contact with the zinc, hydrogen gas is devel- oped, and passes up by tubes through the top of the dryiTig oven into the flasks. Such de- vices as these are necessary if we are to make large numbers of analyses with the greatest accuracy and speed. Like a steam-engine, they seem a little complicated, but the engineer understands his engine, and to the chemist his apparatus seems perfectly simple. YIEW IN AN ANALYTICAL LABORATORY. MAKING FAT EXTRACTIONS AND DRYING FOOD SUBSTANCES. THE CHEAUSTR Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION 63 We have next to find out how much oily matter the wheat contains. For this purpose we must have some means of getting the oil out, and weighing it. The oper- ation is by no means a diffi- cult one. Suppose we have a mixture of sugar and sand ___ and wish to find out how much sugar it contains. Sugar dissolves in water, sand does not. If we pour water into the cup containing the mixture, the sugar will dissolve, and if we pour off the water again the sugar will go with it and leave the sand behind. If instead of a cup we put the mixture in a little cloth sack, with meshes so fine that the sand will not pass through, and hold the sack over a dish and pour water into it, the water will dissolve the sugar and percolate through the cloth, carrying the sugar with it into the dish below. If then we boil off the water, the sugar will remain. We make use of an oper- ation analogous to this in separating the fat from our wheat. The fatty and oily matters of the wheat dissolve in ether; the starch, gluten, and other ingredients do not. We therefore use ether in place of water for the solvent. Instead of the bag we place the flour in a little glass cylinder (I) having its lower end covered with filter paper. This small tube is put inside a larger one (0) whose loxver end is drawn out into a neck like that of a funnel. This neck is then passed through the stopper of a little flask (F). If now xve pour ether into the inner tube, it will dissolve the fat, percolate through the filter paper, and fall into the flask below. By passing successive portions of ether through the flour, we shall, after a time, dissolve out all the fat. But this would require a great deal of time and ether, both of which are expen- sive. Suppose we had some means by which the ether, after bringing its freight of fat into the flask, could be 0 driven out, leaving the fat behind, caused to return into the inner jj tube, dissolve another portion of Jf fat and bring it into the flask, and ~ be made to repeat the round again and again. Suppose, furthermore, this operation should be made to go / on automatically, and that it could be carried on in several of these pieces of apparatus at once, while the analyst devoted himself to other work. Our analyses would F thus be greatly facilitated. Pre- cisely this is done in the apparatus at the left of the drying oven in FAT EXTRACTION, the large picture, which shows the chemist putting one of the pieces of ap- paratus together. To conduct the opera- tion he partly im- merses the flask in a cup containing water. Underneath is a lamp with aflame just hot enough to heat the water to a temperature some- what below the boil- ing point. The ether, which boils at a tem- perature much lower than water, changes to vapor and passes up- ward between the inner and outer tubes into a long pipe which winds upward through the tank above like the worm of a still. The tank is kept filled with cold water; the ether vapor is condensed to liquid, falls back upon the flour in the inner tube, dissolves out another portion of fat, carries it into the flask below, and is then once more evaporated, leaving the fat in the flask; and so the same portion of ether keeps on its round, passing up in the form of vapor, coming back as liquid, and bringing fat with it into the flask. When the fat is all extracted the operator takes the appa- ratus apart, boils off the ether once more, and weighs the flask with the fat. Knowing how much the empty flask weighs, he has simply to subtract its weight from that of the flask with the fat in it; the difference is the weight of the fat. The ways of finding the amount of nitrogen in food materials are of especial interest to us, because we use the nitrogen as a measure of the amount of protein, the most important of the nutritive ingredients. One of the most common of these ways, the soda-lime meth- as it is called in the laboratory, is illustrated in pictures herewith. The flour is heated with a mixture of soda and lime in a combustion-tube. The small diagram shows the tube ready for the heating or combus- tion, as it is termed. Connected with the long combustion-tube which holds the flour and PI MAKING A NITROGEN COMBUSTION TO ORTERMINE AMOUNT OF NITROGEN IN A GRAIN OF WHEAT. 64 THE CHEAUSTR Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION soda-lime is a bulb-tube containing a little acid. When the combustion-tube is heated in the furnace, as shown in the larger picture, the nitrogen of the flour is changed to ammo- nia, which is caught in the acid in the bulb- tube. When this is done we have only to find the amount of ammonia and calculate from it the amount of nitrogen. The picture of a chemist sitting by the window shows this latter operation. He has poured the contents of the bulb-tube into a dish called a beaker, added a few drops of litmus, which colors the liquid red, and is carefully drawing another liquid containing ammonia from an upright tube, called a burette, into the beaker. When just enough to neutralize the acid has been drawn into the beaker the color suddenly changes from red to purple. The burette is marked so that he knows just how much of the ammonia is required to neutralize the acid not neutral- ized by the ammonia from the wheat, and thus the quantity of the latter, and with it the quantity of nitrogen in the wheat, are known. By such operations as these we are enabled to make analyses of different food materials, of the tissues and fluids of the body, and of other substances as well. THE CHEMICAL ELEMENTS AND COMPOUNDS OF THE BODY. BEFORE entering upon our study of foods it will be well to consider with some detail the composition of the human body. For a brief statement of the elements nothing can serve us better than the accompanying reproduction of some of the case-labels of the food col- lection in the United States National Museum at Washington. The figures are as computed by Messrs. E. A. Welch and R. H. Pomeroy, students in this laboratory, who have been at more pains than any one else, so far as I am aware, to use data collated from all available sources. No one has ever made a complete chemical analysis of a human body, but anat- omists have made numerous weighings of the different organs, and chemists have analyzed their constituents. From the figures thus ob- tained it is possible to make an approximate estimate of the composition of the body of an average man, as is here done. The diagram on the opposite page will help to a clearer idea of the relative proportions of the elements in the body. In the latter the proportions are expressed in percentages, while in the National Museum labels the estimated weights are stated in pounds. These thirteen elements are combined with one another in the body, forming a great vari- ety of compounds. Chemists have discovered IL more than a hundred different compounds in the bodies of man and other animals. Instead of attempting to enumerate all of them here, it xvill be more to our purpose to consider some of the principal ones. In doing so we may take advantage of the fact that the compounds in the body and those in the food are very sini- ilar, and discuss them together. An ox eats grass and meal and transforms the compounds they contain into meat. We eat meat and wheat and change them into the materials of our bodies. Some of the com- pounds in the food are destroyed, others are only slightly changed in these transforniations. Water, which consists of the two elements hydrogen and oxygen, is a most important constituent of all animal and vegetable tissues. It makes up about seven-eighths of the whole weight of milk and of the flesh of oysters, one- fourth that of potatoes and very lean meat (muscle), one-third of bread, a little over half of well-fattened beef or mutton, and one-eighth of the weight of flour and meal. The body of an average man would, by the above calcula- tion, contain about sixty-one per cent. or three- fifths water. Of the materials of our bodies and of our foods the larger part is combustible, as was the case with the grain of wheat; that is to say, it will be burned if put in the fire. A small residue will, however, remain as ashes. This incom- bustible portion includes the so-called mineral matters. These latter consist of the metals potassium, sodium, magnesium, calcium and iron, combined with other elements, as oxygen, DETERMINING THE AMOUNT OF AMMONIA WHICH CAME FROM THE NITROGEN OF THE WHEAT. THE CHEMISTRY OF FOODS AND NUTRITION. CHART 1.CHEMICAL COMPOSITION OF THE HUMAN BODY. ELEMENTS. The chemical compounds of which our bodies are made up are shown hy chemical analysis to consist, mainly, of thirteen elements. Five of these elements are, when uncombined (I. e., each by itself and not united to any otiser element), gases. They are named: i. Oxygen, 2. Hydrogen, 3. Nitrogen, 4. Chlorine, 5. Fluorine. The other eight are solid substances. Of these, three are non-metals: 6. Carbon, ~. Phosphorus, 8. Sulphur. The remaining five are metals: 9. Iron, 10. Calcium, in. Magnesium, in. Potassium, 23. Sodium. Besides the above thirteen elements, minute quantities of a few others, as silicon, manganese, and copper, are found in the body. CARBON A SOLIB. The body of a man weighing 148 pounds would contain about 31 pounds of carbon. Fhe diamond is nearly pure carbon. Graphite (the so-called black lead of lead.pencils), anthracite coal, coke, lamp-black, and charcoal are impure forms of carbon. Carbon exists in combination with other elements in the body, of which it makes about one-fifth the whole weight, and in food. Carbon burns, i. e., combines with oxygen. In this combus- tion, heat and force are generated and carbonic acid gas formed. The carbon taken into the body in food combines with the oxygen of the inhaled air, yielding heat to keep the body warm and force, muscular strength, for work. The carbonic acid is given out by the lungs and skin. Carbon thus serves as fuel for the body and is the most iniportant fuel element. PHOSPHORUS A SOLIB. About pound and 6 ounces of phosphorus would be found in the body of a man weighing 148 pounds. Phosphorus is a non-metal, light, very inflammable, and so soft that it is easily cut with a knife. Since it burns so readily in air, it is here kept under water. United with oxygen, phosphorus forms what is known as phos- phoric acid. This, with lime, makes phosphate of lime. Most of the phosphorus of the body occurs in this form in the bones and teeth, though it is also found in the flesh and blood, and especially in the brain and nerves. The composition of the bodies of different persons varies greatly with age, size, fatness, etc. The ansounts of the several elements in the body of an average healthy man, five feet eight inches high, weighing 156 pounds with, and 148 pounds without, clothing, may be roughly estimated to be, in pounds and hundredths of a pound, somewhat as follows: WEIOHTS OF CHEMtcAL ELEMENTS IN THE Bony OF A MAN WEIGHING 248 POUNOS. Oxygen 92.4 pounds Carbon 31.3 Hydrogen 14.6 Nitrogen 4.6 Calcium 2.8 Phosphorus 1.4 Potassium Sulphur Chlorine Sodium Magnesium Iron Fluorine 02 Total 148.00 pounds HYDROGEN A GAS. The body of a man weighing 348 pounds is esti- mated to contain about 1412 pounds of hydrogen, which, if set free, would fill about 2600 cubic feet. Hydrogen, when uncombined, is a gas. It is the lightest sub- stance known. Combined with oxygen it foruss water, of which it constitutes one-ninth of the whole weight. Hydrogen occurs in combination with other elements in the body and in food. Hydrogen, like carbon, unites with oxygen of the inhaled air in the body, thus serving as fuel. The water produced is given off in the respiration through the lungs, and as perspiration through the skin. CALCIUM A METAL. The body of an average man weighing 148 pounds has been estimated to contain some 3 pounds of calcium. Calcium is a metal somewhat similar in appearance to mag- nesium or zinc. It is very difficult to obtain free from other elements. United with oxygen it forms lime. This, with phos- phoric acid, makes phosphate of lime, the basis of the bones and teeth, in which nearly all the calcium of the hody is found. With carbonic acid, it forms carbonate of lime, the chief ingredient of marble and limestone. LABELS FROM CASE OF SPECIMENS, ILLUSTRATING COMPOSITION OF HUMAN nonv, IN FOOD COLLECTION OF NATIONAL MUSEUSI. iE~ 1 ~ Cr55519 I IT iI~ ~ I CA Cl CIt 1 3 1.9 El. I PUOSPHIRCi I .i DIAGEAM I. ESTIMATED PEOPOETIONS OF CHEMICAL ELEMENTS. phosphorus, sulphur, and Chlorine. Thus, in bone we have phosphate of lime or calcium~ phosphate, which consists of calcium, phos- phorus, and oxygen; in muscle, potassium phosphate and potassium chloride, the latter a compound of potassium and chlorine, and so on. The mineral matters make about thirty per cent. of the weight of bone, one per cent. of the flesh and blood of animals, and from one-half of one to two per cent. of our ordinary veg- etable food materials. The mineral matters Constitute about six per cent. of the whole weight of the body of an average man. VOL. XXXIV. 10. The combustible portion of the body and of the food that nourishes it Consists of so- called organic compounds. Since these are the most important substances we shall have to do with in our study of foods and nutrition, we ought to have a tolerably clear understand- ing of the nature of at least the principal ones. If from a piece of meat we remove the bone, gristle, and fat as completely as practicable, and subject the remaining lean (muscle) to chemical analysis, we shall find about one- fourth, or, to speak more accurately, from twenty-two to thirty per cent., of it to consist9 of organic compounds, the rest being water with a very little mineral matter. Even if aM the visible fat is removed, part of this organic matter will consist of fat in microscopic parti- cles. The fatter the animal from which the meat comes, the more of these minute parti- cles of fat and the less water will there be in the muscle, a fact, by the way, which has the most interesting bearing upon the composi- tion of our own bodies, as we shall see later 65 66 THE CHEALISTE Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION on. If~ however, we assume that the fat and the mineral matter are both out of the way, some very remarkable compounds will re- main. The bulk will consist of substances very similar to the albumen or white of eggs, and hence called albuminoid albu- men-like compounds. They are sometimes called proteids, but the name aibuminoids is perhaps preferable. Albuminoids in different forms make the basis of blood and muscle. Fresh blood contains blood-albumen and other albuminoids; coagulated blood con- tains fibrine. Muscle contains muscle-albu- men, and other albuminoids called syntonin and myosin. The last is the chief constituent, except water, of muscle. Many persons are surprised to learn that myosin, instead of be- ing the tenacious substance of which muscle is commonly supposed to consist, is in living muscle probably liquid or semi-liquid. How the contractile power of the muscle of an ath- lete can be exerted by liquid or semi-liquid matter is one of the unsolved problems of chemical physiology. Albuminoids occur in great variety in plants as well as in animals, but they all consist of the four elements carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen, with perhaps a little sulphur or phosphorus. Along with muscle, the meat contains what we call gristle, the substance that bothers us so much when we try to carve with a dull knife. This name, however, is applied to several sub- stances, as tendon and cartilage, which, with skin and bone, etc., are called connective tis- sues. These tissues consist mainly of com- pounds like the collagen of tendon and the ossein of bone. They are very similar to gelatin (glue) and are changed to gelatin on beating with water. They are hence termed gelatinoids. The gelatinoids are thus the principal ingre- dients of connective tissue, as albuminoids are the principal ingredients of muscle and blood. The gelatinoids consist of the same elements as the albuminoids; these two classes differ from the other organic compounds in that they con- tain nitrogen, which most of the others do not. In speaking of the ingredients of foods, it is customary to give to both albuminoids and gelatinoids the generic name of protein. Pro- tein compounds are the most important of all the ingredients of foods. There is still another class of nitrogenous substances in meat which, though so small in quantity as to be often left out of account, are nevertheless extremely interesting. These are known in the chemical laboratory as cre~ atm, creatinin, carnin, etc., and are designated collectively as extractives, because they are extracted from flesh by water, as in the case with beef tea and Liebigs Meat Extract. Chemists find certain analogies between these extractives from flesh and them and caffein, the active principles of tea and coffee, which they likewise resemble in their stimu- lating effect. The African traveler Rohlfs tells how invigorating he found a little meat extract spread on a piece of dry bread. The familiar fact that dogs that are quiet and sub- dued with vegetable food grow fierce on meat is most probably explained as the effect of these same substances. Some people, oftenest those of a fine nervous organization, I pre- sume, find in meat a stimulating effect ap- proaching that of wine. The extractives are similar to alcohol in that they do not form tissue, flesh, or fat. They have, apparently, no effect as fuel. In brief, they are stimulants rather than nutrients. The extractives give the taste to fresh meat. They impart their savory smell and taste to soups, give roast beef its appetizing odor, and steak its toothsome taste. Our craving for meat is largely due to our fondness for these extractives, as the tastelessness of meat from which they have been removed in making soups bears witness. Indeed, I mistrust that the excessive use of meat, from which the average gourmand and many of us are veri- table gourmands in this respect suffers so much harm to health, is traceable to the redolence and relish of creatin and other extractives. Though the extractives are dif- ferent from true protein compounds, they con- tain nitrogen, and we may follow a common usage and class them as protein. The body of an average man will contain about eleven per cent. of albuminoids, a little over six of gelatinoids, and about one of ex- tractives, making in all not far from eighteen per cent. of protein. Among the most important organic com- pounds of tbe body and of foods are the fats, of which chemists recognize many different kinds. In the body of man and many other animals, the principal ones are stearin, palmi- tin, and olein. Stearin, which is obtained in large quantities from beef tallow, is much used for candles, because it does not melt readily. Olein, on the other hand, is an oil at ordinary temperature, and is a chief ingredient of olive oil. A large part of the fat of the human body con- sists of olein. The fats just named consist of the three elements carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen. The brain, nerves, and spinal cord contain substances called protagon, lecithin, cerebrin, etc., which, though commonly classed as fats, contain nitrogen and phosphorus, and are there- fore known as nitrogenized and phosphorized fats. They have an especial interest because they are believed to be somehow connected with mental activity. THE CHEMIST!? Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION 67 The fats make up about sixteen per cent. of the weight of an average man. The other compounds in the body are so small in amount that we might pass them by. One class, however, the carbohydrates, de- mand a moments notice, because they make up a large part of our food. These include sugar, starch, dextrin, and like substances. The principal ones in the body are glycogen,or liver-sugar, and inosite, or muscle-sugar. They consist of carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen, the same elements as occur in the fats, though not in the same proportions. They constitute only a fraction of one per cent. of the weight of a healthy human body. To recapitulate, the estimated weights of these compounds in the body of an average man weighing 148 pounds, or, with clothing, 156 pounds, may be stated as in the figures below. The percentage composition is set forth more graphically in Diagram II. lATER PROTEIN TOTAL VATS 15.1 CRRROROERARES. 110 ROSTERS SO DIAGRAM II. ESTiMATED PROPORTION OF CHEMICAL COM POUNDS IN THE HUMAN BODY. Compounds in the Body of a Man weighing x48 Pounds. Water 90.0 pounds Protein 26.6 Fats 23.0 Carbohydrates o. Mineral matters 8.3 Total 148.0 pounds. Of course I do not mean that this is an ex- act statement of the amounts of the compounds in the body of any given man or of an ideal man. These figures, like those above cited for the elements, are simply an attempt to show in a general way in about what proportions the materials probably occur in the body of an ordinary man of average size and weight. The bodies of different people vary widely in com- position. The flesh of lean persons has more water, and that of fat persons more fat, in pro- portion to the whole weight. A lean man may gain in weight without corresponding gain of muscle or other protein compounds. The store of fat in his body increases. Part of this fat accumulates in adipose tissue next to the skin and in other masses such as we see in meats. Part is disseminated in small particles through the muscles, bones, and other tissues. In studying the tissues of animals we find a considerable proportion of these particles of * This statemeDt is based not only upon observations recorded in memoirs and text-books of physiological Chemistry, but also upon a somewhat extended series fat to be so small as to be visible only by aid of a powerful microscope. A piece of muscle in which no fat can be seen with the naked eye may yield a considerable quantity of fat when treated with ether in the apparatus for fat-ex- traction. The muscles, bones, and other tissues contain large proportions of water. As the fat accumulates in them, part of the water goes out to make way for it. When, on the other hand, fat is removed from the living tissues, more or less of the water is restored.* Accordingly a gain of weight of the body may mean a gain, not only of a corresponding weight of fat, but of enough more fat to make up for the water that is lost. To get stout is really to grow fat faster than the scales tell us, and to grow lean is to grow watery. Of course gain of weight of the body may be due to increase of other materials than fat, as in the case of growing animals. So, too, there may be increase of protein with loss of fat, as in the muscle of an athlete when in a course of training. PROPORTIONS OF NUTRITIVE INGREDIENTS IN FOOD MATERIALS. HAVING learned what our bodies consist of; we have next to study the composition of the, food by which they are nourished. Viewed from the standpoint of their uses in the nutri- tion of man, our food materials may be re- garded as consisting of edible material and refuse, and the edible material as made up of water and nutrients. The accompanying adap- tation of charts prepared for the food collection of the National Museum summarize what is most necessary to say here about the constit- uents of food. We have next to notice the amounts of these ingredients in different food materials. The details will perhaps be best explained by an example. CONSTITUENTS OF SPECIMEN OF SIRLOIN OF BEEF. Zn meal as Zn flesh, edible bought, in j5ortion. ciuding refuse. Per cent. Percent. Refuse, bones, etc None. water 6o 45 Protein 20 55 Fat 19 I44~ Mineral matters s o3,~ rotal soo 100 As stated above, some fat sirloin of beef was found to consist of about one-fourth refuse made in this laboratory but still awaiting publication. It rests upon the assumption that the changes in com- position of the tissues of the human body are similar 68 THE CHEMiSTRY OF FOODS AND NUTRITION CHART 11.INGREDIENTS OF FOOD MATERIALS. NUTRIENTS AND NON-NUTRIENTS. Our ordinary food materials, such as meat, fish, eggs, potatoes, and wheat, etc., consist of: REFUSEas the bones of meat and fish, shells of eggs, skin of potatoes, and bran of wheat. EDIBLE PORTIONas the flesh of meat and fish, white and yolk of eggs, wheat flour. The edible substance consists of: WATER, NUTRITIvE INGREDIENTS OR NUTRIENTS. The principal kinds of nutrients are: i. PROTEIN, 2. FATS, 3. CARBOHYDRATES, 4. MINERAL MATTERS. The water, refuse, and salt of salted meat and fish are called non-nutrients, because they have little or no nutritive value. The water contained in foods and beverages has the same composition and properties as other waler; it is, of course, indispensable for nour- ishment, but is not a nutrient in the sense in which it is here used. In comparing the values of different food materials for nourishment, we may leave the. refuse and water out of account and consider only the nutrients. CLASSES OF NUTRIENTS. The following are familiar examples of compounds of each of the four principal classes of Nutrients: PROTEIN a ALBUMINoIDS: E. g., Albumen (white) of eggs; cosein (curd) of milk; myosin, the basis of muscle (lean meat); gluten of wheat, etc. 6 GELATINOIDS: E. g., Collagen of tendons; ossein of bones, 75hich yield gelatin or glue. Meats and fish contain very small quantities of another class of com- pounds called extractives (the chief ingredients of beef tea and meat extracts), which contain nitrogen, and hence are commonly classed with protein. FATS E.g., Fat of meat; fat (butter) of milk; ~ olive oil; oil of corn, wheat, etc. E.g., Sugar, starch, cellu- CARBOHYDRATES~ lose (woody fiber) F. g., Calcium phos- { lime; sodium chloride MINERAL MATTERS phate, or phosphate of L (commonsalt). It is to be especially noted that the protein com- pounds contain nitrogen, while the fats and carbo- hydrates have none. The average composition of these compounds is about as follows: Protein. Carbon ~ per cent. Hydrogen 7 Oxygen 24 Nitrogen .... Fats. y6.~ percent. .5 None Ca rbokydrates. 44 per cent. 6. 50 None bone, etc., and three-fourths edible flesh. The edible portion was analyzed and found to con- tain, approximately, sixty per cent. of water and forty per cent. of nutrients. Of the nu- trients the protein constituted, in round num- bers, twenty, the fats nineteen, and the mineral matters one per cent. Such numerical statements, however, are not entirely satisfactory, especially when a number are to be studied at once. Diagram III. (pages 70 and 71), in which the propor- tions of the ingredients are indicated by shaded bands, will doubtless be more acceptable. Until within the past dozen years very lit- tle attention has been given in this coun- try to the chemistry of animal and vegetable products, and most of the work actually done has had reference to their agricultural values. With the exception of analyses of cereals and dairy products we have very few American to those found to take place in the bodies of other animals. It is by no means urged that the qnantities of water and fat which thus mutually replace each other are exactly the same. A striking illustration of studies of materials used as food for man, aside from those referred to above as exe- cuted in behalf of the National Museum, and a series of in of the chemistry of food-fishes made for the United States Fish Commission. Much more work in this di- rection, including the more purely scientific study of the constitution of the materials, is, therefore, most pressingly needed. At the same time the analyses at hand, which have been used in compiling the figures of the diagram, will suffice to give a general and, I think, tol- erably correct idea of the average composl- tion of the materials. In some cases where American analyses are lacking, particularly of vegetable foods, I have used European analyses, of which a large number are on record. I ought to say that different specimens of the same kind of food material may vary the mutual replacement of water and fat may be seen in the case of the lean and the fat mackerel in Part II. of the double-page diagram of composition of food ma- terials beyond. THE C~HEMISTR Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION 69 widely in composition and that the analyses here given represent averages. Examples of these variations are shown in the cases of oys- ters and of mackerel in Part II. of the table. In these, however, the differences are unusu- ally wide, although very considerable varia- tions are found in other materials, especially in meats. The diagram tells its story plainly, and I need now call attention to but few points. It is interesting to note, in Part I., the differences in the amounts of refuse and edible portion in the different kinds of meats, fish, etc., as they are ordinarily found in the markets. Thus in some of the specimens of beef, as the round steak, the bone and other inedible mate- rials amount to only ten per cent. of the whole, whereas in the flounder the refuse amounts to two-thirds, and the edible portion to only one-third, of the whole. The bone, though counted here as refuse, yields, when properly boiled, a considerable quantity of nutritive matter, chiefly in the form of gelatine and fats. Fish, as we buy them in the markets, have on the average a larger proportion of refuse and less edible material than meats. Dairy products and most vegetable foods have very little refuse. in examining the edible portion of the materials, as shown in Part II., it is interest- ing to note the wide variations in the pro- portions of water and of nutritive substances. In general the animal foods contain the most water and the vegetable foods the most nutri- ents, though potatoes and turnips are excep- tions, the former being three-fourths and the latter nine-tenths water. Butter, on the other hand, though one of the animal foods, has on the average about nine per cent. of water. The milk from which itis made is not far from seven- eighths water. As stated above, meats have more water in proportion as they have less fats, and vice versi~, the fatter the meat the less amount of water in it. Thus, very lean beef (the muscle of a lean animal from which the fat has been trimmed off) may have seventy-eight per cent. of water and only twenty-two per cent, of nutrients. The rather fat sirloin of the dia- gram has sixty, and the very fat pork only about ten per cent. of water. The flesh of fish is in general more watery than ordinary meats, that of salmon being five-eighths water; codfish, over four-fifths; and flounder, over six-sevenths. Flour and meal have but little water, and sugar almost none. In examining the proportions of individ- ual nutrients, protein, fats, and carbohydrates, the most striking fact is the difference between the meats and fish, on the one hand, and the vegetable foods on the other. The vegetable foods are rich in carbohydrates, starch, sugar, etc., while the meats have not enough to be worth mentioning. On the other hand the meats abound in protein and fats, of which the vegetable foods usually have but little. Beans and oatmeal, however, are rich in protein, while fat pork has very little. The comparative composition of oysters and milk is worth noting. Both contain about the same total amounts of nutrients, but the proportions are quite different, the oysters having the more protein, and the milk the more fat. Roughly speaking, we may say that there is not a very great deal of difference between the nutritive values of a quart of oysters and a quart of milk. Considering the cost, however, the oysters are far the more expensive food. I have noticed that people in looking over such tables as this sometimes get at first a wrong impression. Thus rice contains about seven-eighths, and potatoes only one-fourth nutritive material. The first inference is that the rice is much more nutritious than pota- toes. In one sense this is true; that is to say, a pound of rice contains more than twice as much nutrients as a pound of potatoes. But if we take enough of the potatoes to fur- ~ nish as much nutritive material as the pound of rice, the composition and the nutritive val- ues of the two will be just about the same. In cooking the rice we mix water with it, and may thus make a material not very different in composition from potatoes. By drying the potatoes they could be made very similar in composition and food value to rice. Taken as we find them, a pound of rice and three and a half pounds of potatoes would contain nearly equal weights of each class of nutri- ents and would have about the same nutritive value. FL& UR AND BREAD. THE composition of wheat flour and wheat bread are worth notice here. The chief differ- ence is in the water, which makes about one- ninth the weight of the flour and one-third that of the bread. Of course different kinds of flour and bread vary widely in composition. The composition of wheat flour here stated is the average of a large number of analyses of American specimens, and doubtless represents very closely the average composition of the flour which people ordinarily buy. The figures for bread are the average of four analyses of loaves purchased at different times at bake- ries in Middletown, Connecticut. They agreed very closely in composition with each other and with an excellent specimen of home-made bread. I infer, therefore, that this was better than the average bakers bread, a supposition confirmed by published analyses of the latter, 70 DIAGRAM III. NUTRITIVE INGREDIENTS, WATER, AND PERCENTAGES OF THE DIFFERENT CONSTITUENTS NUTRITIVE INGREDIENTS NON-NUTRIENTS. PROTEIN. FATS. CARBO- MINERAL WATER. REFUSE. HYDRATES. MATTERS. Lean of meat, F iVy anaoz?y Sngar, starch, Bones, skin, skeits, Ginten of wheat, snbotances. etc. etc. etc., etc. PART I. MEATS, FISH, ETC., AS PURCHASED, INCLUDING BOTH EDIBLE PORTION AND REFUSE. 0 10 20 30 40 50 60 so 50 90 Beef, side, well fattened. I I Beef, rollnd, rather lean. Beef, neck , Been sirloin, rather fat.. Beef, flank Mutton, side well fattened. Mutton, leg Mutton, loin (chops)... Smoked ham Pork, very fat, salted .. ___________________ Chicken, rather lean ... , Turkey, medium fatness Flounder, whole Haddock, dressed a Bluefish, dressed Brook trout, whole Cod, dressed White fish, whole Shad, whole Turbot, whole Mackl, whole, very fat. Mackerel, whole, lean.. Mackl, whole, average. Halibut, dressed Salmon, whole Eel Salt codfiSh Smoked herring Salt mackerel Canned salmon Canned sardines Lobsters . Oysters (in shell) Hens eggs Where the ingredients amount to less than one-half of one per cent, they are omitted from this table. 100 0. REFUSE IN SPECIMENS OF FOOD MATERIALS. 71 INDICATED BY SHADED DEVICES. EXPLANATIoNsOf the different classes of nutritive ingredients or nutrients of food the protein compounds ( muscie-formers) are the most important in the sense that they alone form the hasis of the hinod, muscles, tendons, and other nitrogenous tissues of the hody. Protein, fats, and carhohydrates of food are all transformed into the fat of the hody and all serve as fuel to yield heat and energy (strength) for muscular work. As fuel, one part hy weight of fats is estimated to he equivalent to over two parts of protein or carhohydrates. A proper diet will include all the nutrients in proportions fitted to the needs of the user. Beef, side, well fattened. Beef, round, rather lean. Beef~ sirloin, rather fat.. well Mutton, side fattened. Flounder Cod Mackerel, very fat Mackerel, rather lean.. Mackerel, average Salmon Oysters, fat Oysters, lean 1 Oysters, average Cows milk Cows milk, skimmed.. Cheese, whole milk... Cheese, skimmed milk. Butter Oleomargarine Lard Wheat hread Wheat flour Rye flour Beans Oatmeal Coin (maize) meal Rice Sugar Potatoes Sweet potatoes Turnips Cahhage Apples Bananas In respect to quantity of nutrients. Mineral matters include salt. PART II. MEATS, FISH, ETC., EDIBLE PORTION; DAIkT PRODUCTS; VEGETABLE FOODS. 0 72 THE CHEMISTR Y OF FOODS AND NUTRITION which often show a much larger percentage of water, sometimes forty per cent. or more. In using the word better I do not refer to fla- vor, color, or texture, but to the proportion of nutrients and water. In making bread, a very little butter or lard and yeast and a good deal of water, by itself or in milk, are added to the flour. In the fermentation of the dough in rising, minor transformations take place in the carbohydrates, the chief being the change of sugar to carbonic acid gas and alcohol. In the baking, the alcohol and gases are mostly driven oW and part of the water goes with it. The chief difference between the flour and bread, therefore, is that the bread is more bulky, the gases having expanded it, and that it contains more water. In other words, in mak- ing flour into bread the baker renders it more palatable and increases the bulk and weight, but adds very little nutritive material. For him to manipulate it so as to get the most bulk and weight from the least flour is perfectly natural, and his loaf is apt to contain a large percent- age of water and have considerable space in- side filled with air and gas. The price of the bread per pound is apt to be twice that of the flour. When the poor man buys his pound loaf of bread of the baker for seven or eight cents he thus gets no more nutritive material than the well-to-do man obtains for three cents in the flour which he has baked at home. But if the poor mans family have no conven- iences for making the bread, there is nothing left for them to do but buy it from the baker. BUTTER AND OLEOMARGARINE. WITHIN a few years past substitutes for but- ter have become a very important article of commerce. The most important of these, oleo- margarine, agrees very closely in chemical composition with butter from cows milk, the chief difference being that the oleomargarine contains smaller proportions of the peculiar fats, butyrin, etc., which give butter its agree- able flavor. It is made by taking beef fat or lard, extracting part of the stearin, a material which is familiarly known in candles, and add- ing a small amount of butter to the residue. It is this small quantity of butter xvhich gives the butter-flavor to the whole. As will be explained when we come to con- sider the digestibility of foods, the difference in digestibility between butter and oleomargarine is at most too small to be of any considera- ble consequence for ordinary use. The nutri- tive values of the two are very nearly the same. In fulfilling one of the most important func- tions of food, that of supplying heat and mus- cular energy, butter and oleomargarine excel in efficiency all, or nearly all, of our other common food materials; at least such is the outcome of the best experimental testimony. In appearance and flavor the common kinds of oleomargarine resemble butter so closely that it is difficult even for an expert to distin- guish between them. These butter substitutes are manufactured at very low cost, so that they can be sold at retail at about half the price of butter. They are, therefore, food products of large economic importance and of great benefit to that large class of our population whose limited incomes make good dairy butter a lux- ury, and, for that matter, to all who need to economize in their living expenses. Like many other manufactured food prod- ucts, oleomargarine is liable to be rendered unwholesome by improper materials and meth- ods of manufacture. Butter, likewise, is often improperly made and is liable to become un- wholesome. In the considerable mass of evidence which has come under my own ob- servation there is no indication that butter substitutes, as they are actually sold in our markets, average less wholesome or healthful or are in any way less fit for human food than ordinary butter, though some observers in whose judgment I have confidence are in- clined to think that on the whole the advan- tage as regards wholesomeness is somewhat in favor of butter. Among the chemists who are recognized as authorities in these matters, both in this country and in Europe, there is very lit- tle difference of opinion as to the value of oleo- margarine for food. There is, however, a popular prejudice against imitation butter which is very unfort- unate, especially for people in moderate cir- cumstances and for the poor, whom it is most calculated to benefit. This prejudice, which a new food material very naturally meets, is fostered, an& often conscientiously, by repre- sentatives of the dairy interest, which fears from imitation butter a damaging competition, though the most accurate statistics show it to be far less serious than is generally believed. On the other hand, the benefit which butter substitutes are calculated to bring is largely prevented, and an immense wrong is done by the very general sale of the imitation under the guise and name and at the price of butter. In a number of States in which the dairy interests are large, the manufacture and sale of butter substitutes has been prohibited by legislative action. In other States laws have been enacted to regulate their sale and pre- vent fraud. An attempt was made in Congress to check the manufacture and sale by taxation sufficient to bring their cost nearly up to that of butter. In the law as actually passed, how- ever, the tax was very much reduced, so that THE CJIEAUSTR Y OF roots AND NUTRITION while it may help toward preventing improper sale of butter substitutes and, by obliging sellers to pay high license fees, may consider- ably interfere with their general use, it will not be as effective in excluding them from the markets as was desired. This is a case where mechanical invention aided by science is enabled to furnish a cheap, wholesome, and nutritious food for the people. Legislation to provide for official inspection of this, as of other food products, and to insure that it shall be sold for what it is and not for what it is not, is very desirable. Every rea- sonable measure to prevent fraud, here as else- where, ought to be welcomed. But the attempt to curtail or suppress the production of a cheap and useful food material by law, lest the profits which a class, the producers of butter, have enjoyed from the manufacture of a costlier article may be diminished, is opposed to the interests of a large body of people, to the spirit of our institutions, and to the plainest dictates of justice.* IN discussing the composition of our foods we must consider not only the quantities of nutritive ingredients which they contain, but also the part each one of these classes of nu- trients has to perform in the nourishment of the body, and the proportions which are ap- propriate for the diet of different persons. The protein compounds, sometimes called muscle-formers, are the only ones which contain nitrogen. According to the best ex- perimental evidence they alone form the basis of blood, muscle, tendon, and other nitroge- nous tissues of the body. As these tissues are worn out by constant use they are repaired by the protein of the food. The protein, fats, and carbohydrates are all transformed into fat. They all seem to share, therefore, in the formation of the fat of the body. They all likewise serve as fuel to maintain the heat of the body and to yield muscular energy for its work. Late experiments indicate that in those serving as fuel, one part by weight of fats is equivalent to a little over two parts of either protein or of carbohydrates. The mineral mat- ters make up a large part of the bones and teeth, small proportions are contained in the other tissues, and they are necessary for nu- trition in various other ways. It is a fundamental principle of food econ- omy that the diet should contain nutritive ma- terial adapted to the wants of the consumer. The following is from the late report of the Dairy Commissioner of Connecticut, which comes to hand just as this is being written: As a protection to consumers the national law is a failure, and the present tax is too small to benefit our dairies to any appreciable extent; a ten cent tax VOL. XXXJV.i 73 A great deal of experimenting and observation have been devoted to the determination of the quantities of protein, fats, and carbohy- drates needed for the daily nourishment of in- dividuals of different age and sex, at work or at rest, and subject to the varied conditions of life. In Germany, where the subject has been most thoroughly studied, it has come to be commonly accepted that about 4.2 ounces of protein, 2 ounces of fats, and 17.6 ounces of carbohydrates will make a fair daily ration for a laboring man of average weight and doing moderate work. Of course he can get on with less of one if he has more of the oth- ers. But there is a minimum below which he cannot go without injury, and his amount of protein should not fall much below the 4.2 ounces per day, though protein, as we shall see later on, is by far the costliest of the nu- trients. In animal foods, furthermore, it is usually associated with the so-called extract- ives, which have a peculiarly agreeable flavor. In accordance with one of those universal processes of natural selection which science is gradually helping us to understand, the food of the poor is apt to contain too little protein and that of the rich too much. The flesh of codfish contains, aside from water, little else than protein, butter is almost wh~olly fat, and sugar and starch are carbohy- drates. The lean meats are similar to codfish; fat pork resembles butter, and the chief nutri- ent of potatoes and rice is starch. Each of these materials is unfit by itself for nourish- ment. Milk, on the other hand, abounds in all the nutrients and is more nearly a per- fect food, for those with whom it agrees, than any other animal food material. While meats and fish are rich in protein, and most meats and some fish abound in fats, the vege- table foods generally lack protein and fats but have an excess of~carbohydrates, of which the meats and fish have none. Beans and pease, however, have a good deal of protein. We have here a very simple chemical ex- planation of a usage which, under the promptings of experience or instinct, i~ankind has almost every~vhere come to adopt, that of supplementing wheat and corn and rice and potatoes with meats and fish, or, when these are lacking, by beans, pease, or other vegetables rich in protein. There is a sound reason in the Hindus practice of eating pulse with rice, in the Irishmans use of skimmed milk with his potatoes, in the Scotchmans might more nearly have accomplished what the na- tional law was intended to accomplish, but as matters now stand the national law is simply a source of reve- nue to the national government, and practically levies a tax on poor people who can ill afford to bear it. 74 IF. partiality for oatmeal, haddock, and herring, and in the frugal New England diet of cod- fish and potatoes and pork and beans. Reserving further consideration of these sub- jects for future articles, J may briefly recapitu- late some of the main points already considered. First. Our bodies and our foods consist of essentially the same kinds of materials. Scco;zd. The actually nutritive ingredients of our food may be divided into four classes: protein, fats, carbohydrates, and mineral mat- ters. Leaving water out of account, lean meat, white of egg, casein (curd) of milk, and gluten of wheat consist mainly of protein compounds. Butter and lard are mostly fats. Sugar and starch are carbohydrates. Third. The nutrients of animal foods consist mainly of protein and fats. Those of the vege- table foods are largely carbohydrates. The fatter kinds of meat and some species of fish, as salmon, shad, and mackerel, contain con- siderable quantities of fat. The lean kinds of meat and such fish as cod and haddock con- tain very little fat. Beans, pease, oatmeal, and some other vegetable foods contain con- siderable quantities of protein. Four//i. The different nutrients have differ- ent offices to perform in the nutrition of the body. The demands of different people for nourishment vary with age, sex, occupation, and other conditions of life. Health and pe- cuniary economy alike require that the diet should contain nutrients proportioned to the wants of the user. W 0. A/water. IF. IF he had known that when her proud fairface Turned from him calm and slow Beneath its cold indifference had place A passionate, deep woe. If she had known that when her laughter rang In scorn of sweet past days His very soul shook with a deadly pang Before her light dispraise. If he had known that when her hand lay still, If she had known that every poisoned dart Pulseless so near his own, If she had understood It was because pains bitter, bitter chill - That each sunk to the depths of his mans heart Changed her to very stone. And drew the burning blood. If he had known that she had borne so much For sake of the sweet past, That mere despair said, This cold look and touch Must be the cruel last. If he had known her eyes so cold and bright, Watching the sunsets red, Held back within their deeps of purple light A storm of tears unshed. If he had known the keenly barb6d jest With such hard lightness thrown Cut through the hot proud heart within her breast Before it pierced his own. If she had known that when her calm glance swept Him as she passed him by His blood was fire, his pulses madly leapt Beneath her careless eye. If she had known that when he touched her hand And felt it still and cold There closed round his wrung heart the iron band Of misery untold. If she had known that when in the wide west The sun sank gold and red He whispered bitterly, Tis like the rest; The warmth and light have fled. If she had known the longing and the pain, If she had only guessed, One look one word and she perhaps had lain Silent upon his breast. If she had known how oft when their eyes met And his so fiercely shone, But for mans shame and pride they had been wet Ah! if she had but known! If they had known the wastes lost love must cross, The wastes of unlit lands, If they had known what seas of salt tears toss Between the barren strands. If they had known how lost love prays for death And makes low, ceaseless moan, Yet never fails his sad, sweet, wearying breath Ah! if they had but known. Fra;ices Hodgso;i Burnett.

Frances Hodgson Burnett Burnett, Frances Hodgson If 74-75

74 IF. partiality for oatmeal, haddock, and herring, and in the frugal New England diet of cod- fish and potatoes and pork and beans. Reserving further consideration of these sub- jects for future articles, J may briefly recapitu- late some of the main points already considered. First. Our bodies and our foods consist of essentially the same kinds of materials. Scco;zd. The actually nutritive ingredients of our food may be divided into four classes: protein, fats, carbohydrates, and mineral mat- ters. Leaving water out of account, lean meat, white of egg, casein (curd) of milk, and gluten of wheat consist mainly of protein compounds. Butter and lard are mostly fats. Sugar and starch are carbohydrates. Third. The nutrients of animal foods consist mainly of protein and fats. Those of the vege- table foods are largely carbohydrates. The fatter kinds of meat and some species of fish, as salmon, shad, and mackerel, contain con- siderable quantities of fat. The lean kinds of meat and such fish as cod and haddock con- tain very little fat. Beans, pease, oatmeal, and some other vegetable foods contain con- siderable quantities of protein. Four//i. The different nutrients have differ- ent offices to perform in the nutrition of the body. The demands of different people for nourishment vary with age, sex, occupation, and other conditions of life. Health and pe- cuniary economy alike require that the diet should contain nutrients proportioned to the wants of the user. W 0. A/water. IF. IF he had known that when her proud fairface Turned from him calm and slow Beneath its cold indifference had place A passionate, deep woe. If she had known that when her laughter rang In scorn of sweet past days His very soul shook with a deadly pang Before her light dispraise. If he had known that when her hand lay still, If she had known that every poisoned dart Pulseless so near his own, If she had understood It was because pains bitter, bitter chill - That each sunk to the depths of his mans heart Changed her to very stone. And drew the burning blood. If he had known that she had borne so much For sake of the sweet past, That mere despair said, This cold look and touch Must be the cruel last. If he had known her eyes so cold and bright, Watching the sunsets red, Held back within their deeps of purple light A storm of tears unshed. If he had known the keenly barb6d jest With such hard lightness thrown Cut through the hot proud heart within her breast Before it pierced his own. If she had known that when her calm glance swept Him as she passed him by His blood was fire, his pulses madly leapt Beneath her careless eye. If she had known that when he touched her hand And felt it still and cold There closed round his wrung heart the iron band Of misery untold. If she had known that when in the wide west The sun sank gold and red He whispered bitterly, Tis like the rest; The warmth and light have fled. If she had known the longing and the pain, If she had only guessed, One look one word and she perhaps had lain Silent upon his breast. If she had known how oft when their eyes met And his so fiercely shone, But for mans shame and pride they had been wet Ah! if she had but known! If they had known the wastes lost love must cross, The wastes of unlit lands, If they had known what seas of salt tears toss Between the barren strands. If they had known how lost love prays for death And makes low, ceaseless moan, Yet never fails his sad, sweet, wearying breath Ah! if they had but known. Fra;ices Hodgso;i Burnett. A SONG OF FLEETING LOVE. VE has wings as light as a bird, Guileless he looks, as a dove, of wrong; Whatever his song, be it brief or long, It still has this for an overword: Love has wings! Though to-day the truant may stay, Though he wooes and sues and sings, Only sorrow to maids he brings; Pout him and flout him, laugh him away: Love has wings / Hold your pulses calm, unstirred Calm and cool as a woodland pool, Let not his song your heart befool; List, through it all, for the overword: Love has wings. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. WITH NOTES CONCERNING ALSACE AND LORRAINE. Louis Blanc France not only lost the last surviving great leader of the time of the Second Republic, but also the ablest expounder of the History of Ten Years of Louis Philippes government; the, best re- cent inquirer into the doings and the real aims of the personages of the Great Rev- olution; and at the same time a man who during all his life had striven to better the lot of the laboring masses. The product of his youth, The Organization of Labor, may be subjected to a legitimate criticism; the generosity of his aspirations does not admit of any doubt. I first made his acquaintance during a tem- porary sojourn in London, in September, 1849. I still see him before me, with most lively recollection, as in his apartment, in Piccadilly, near Hyde Park, he stood with folded arms before the chimney. A very small but well built and even neatly proportioned man; of almost Napoleonic cast of features, such as may be found among not a few Corsicans; quite beardless, which in those later revolu- tionary days was a rare thing. The glance of his black, somewhat protruding eyes, lustrous, and verglng upon a dazzling changefulness; the thick dark-brown hair long and falling down straight; the color of the face rather brownish. In spite of the smallness of his stature for he was not higher than Thiers an impressive appearance, only diminished in walking by the slightly bent leg. He was clad, rather conspicuously, in a light blue dress-coat with gilt buttons, and a waistcoat with broad flaps, the so-called Robespierre vest. The garb was a reminiscence of the first Revolution. In his intercourse with Englishmen Louis Blanc displayed all his social qualities to great advantage. He was among the very few Frenchmen who spoke and wrote in Eng- lish, and who liked to learn from a nation which possesses a noble and powerful litera- ture exercising influence all over the world even as its political power is felt, sometimes for good, sometimes for evil, throughout the inhabited globe. Louis Blanc was in friendly relations with a number of prominent English authors and politicians of the most different party views. I will only name John Stuart Mill, the late Lord Bulwer Lytton, Thackeray, Hepworth Dixon, Thomas Hughes, and Lord Houghton. English affairs he treated, upon the whole, in his letters as a publicist, with great independence, and with an evident de- sire to be just in every direction. In society, the smallness of his stature, com- bined with the youthfulness of his visage and his habit of shaving the whole face, several times led to very exhilarating scenes. Even many years after his arrival in England, he was repeatedly mistaken for a youngster. A rela- tive writing to me from Germany just reminds me of the following laughable, but highly in- convenient, incident: Do you remember the dinner at your house, when we all waited so long, and in vain, for Louis Blanc? Your Irish housemaid had sent the boy away, say- ing that you were engaged! Another din- ner had to be arranged, in order to give my German relative a chance of meeting Louis Blanc. When Louis Blancs publisher died, and he temporarily found himself rather in fi- nancial straits, lectures were arranged for him, at my suggestion, in our St. Johns Wood Athenleum. Mysterlous Personages and Agencies before the French Revolution was their title. Quite a crowd of literary and po- litical celebrities were expected. By an over- Alice Williams Bro/her/on.

Karl Blind Blind, Karl Personal Recollections of Louis Blanc. With Notes Concerning Alsace and Lorraine 75

A SONG OF FLEETING LOVE. VE has wings as light as a bird, Guileless he looks, as a dove, of wrong; Whatever his song, be it brief or long, It still has this for an overword: Love has wings! Though to-day the truant may stay, Though he wooes and sues and sings, Only sorrow to maids he brings; Pout him and flout him, laugh him away: Love has wings / Hold your pulses calm, unstirred Calm and cool as a woodland pool, Let not his song your heart befool; List, through it all, for the overword: Love has wings. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. WITH NOTES CONCERNING ALSACE AND LORRAINE. Louis Blanc France not only lost the last surviving great leader of the time of the Second Republic, but also the ablest expounder of the History of Ten Years of Louis Philippes government; the, best re- cent inquirer into the doings and the real aims of the personages of the Great Rev- olution; and at the same time a man who during all his life had striven to better the lot of the laboring masses. The product of his youth, The Organization of Labor, may be subjected to a legitimate criticism; the generosity of his aspirations does not admit of any doubt. I first made his acquaintance during a tem- porary sojourn in London, in September, 1849. I still see him before me, with most lively recollection, as in his apartment, in Piccadilly, near Hyde Park, he stood with folded arms before the chimney. A very small but well built and even neatly proportioned man; of almost Napoleonic cast of features, such as may be found among not a few Corsicans; quite beardless, which in those later revolu- tionary days was a rare thing. The glance of his black, somewhat protruding eyes, lustrous, and verglng upon a dazzling changefulness; the thick dark-brown hair long and falling down straight; the color of the face rather brownish. In spite of the smallness of his stature for he was not higher than Thiers an impressive appearance, only diminished in walking by the slightly bent leg. He was clad, rather conspicuously, in a light blue dress-coat with gilt buttons, and a waistcoat with broad flaps, the so-called Robespierre vest. The garb was a reminiscence of the first Revolution. In his intercourse with Englishmen Louis Blanc displayed all his social qualities to great advantage. He was among the very few Frenchmen who spoke and wrote in Eng- lish, and who liked to learn from a nation which possesses a noble and powerful litera- ture exercising influence all over the world even as its political power is felt, sometimes for good, sometimes for evil, throughout the inhabited globe. Louis Blanc was in friendly relations with a number of prominent English authors and politicians of the most different party views. I will only name John Stuart Mill, the late Lord Bulwer Lytton, Thackeray, Hepworth Dixon, Thomas Hughes, and Lord Houghton. English affairs he treated, upon the whole, in his letters as a publicist, with great independence, and with an evident de- sire to be just in every direction. In society, the smallness of his stature, com- bined with the youthfulness of his visage and his habit of shaving the whole face, several times led to very exhilarating scenes. Even many years after his arrival in England, he was repeatedly mistaken for a youngster. A rela- tive writing to me from Germany just reminds me of the following laughable, but highly in- convenient, incident: Do you remember the dinner at your house, when we all waited so long, and in vain, for Louis Blanc? Your Irish housemaid had sent the boy away, say- ing that you were engaged! Another din- ner had to be arranged, in order to give my German relative a chance of meeting Louis Blanc. When Louis Blancs publisher died, and he temporarily found himself rather in fi- nancial straits, lectures were arranged for him, at my suggestion, in our St. Johns Wood Athenleum. Mysterlous Personages and Agencies before the French Revolution was their title. Quite a crowd of literary and po- litical celebrities were expected. By an over- Alice Williams Bro/her/on.

Alice Williams Brotherton Brotherton, Alice Williams A Song of Fleeting Love 75-82

A SONG OF FLEETING LOVE. VE has wings as light as a bird, Guileless he looks, as a dove, of wrong; Whatever his song, be it brief or long, It still has this for an overword: Love has wings! Though to-day the truant may stay, Though he wooes and sues and sings, Only sorrow to maids he brings; Pout him and flout him, laugh him away: Love has wings / Hold your pulses calm, unstirred Calm and cool as a woodland pool, Let not his song your heart befool; List, through it all, for the overword: Love has wings. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. WITH NOTES CONCERNING ALSACE AND LORRAINE. Louis Blanc France not only lost the last surviving great leader of the time of the Second Republic, but also the ablest expounder of the History of Ten Years of Louis Philippes government; the, best re- cent inquirer into the doings and the real aims of the personages of the Great Rev- olution; and at the same time a man who during all his life had striven to better the lot of the laboring masses. The product of his youth, The Organization of Labor, may be subjected to a legitimate criticism; the generosity of his aspirations does not admit of any doubt. I first made his acquaintance during a tem- porary sojourn in London, in September, 1849. I still see him before me, with most lively recollection, as in his apartment, in Piccadilly, near Hyde Park, he stood with folded arms before the chimney. A very small but well built and even neatly proportioned man; of almost Napoleonic cast of features, such as may be found among not a few Corsicans; quite beardless, which in those later revolu- tionary days was a rare thing. The glance of his black, somewhat protruding eyes, lustrous, and verglng upon a dazzling changefulness; the thick dark-brown hair long and falling down straight; the color of the face rather brownish. In spite of the smallness of his stature for he was not higher than Thiers an impressive appearance, only diminished in walking by the slightly bent leg. He was clad, rather conspicuously, in a light blue dress-coat with gilt buttons, and a waistcoat with broad flaps, the so-called Robespierre vest. The garb was a reminiscence of the first Revolution. In his intercourse with Englishmen Louis Blanc displayed all his social qualities to great advantage. He was among the very few Frenchmen who spoke and wrote in Eng- lish, and who liked to learn from a nation which possesses a noble and powerful litera- ture exercising influence all over the world even as its political power is felt, sometimes for good, sometimes for evil, throughout the inhabited globe. Louis Blanc was in friendly relations with a number of prominent English authors and politicians of the most different party views. I will only name John Stuart Mill, the late Lord Bulwer Lytton, Thackeray, Hepworth Dixon, Thomas Hughes, and Lord Houghton. English affairs he treated, upon the whole, in his letters as a publicist, with great independence, and with an evident de- sire to be just in every direction. In society, the smallness of his stature, com- bined with the youthfulness of his visage and his habit of shaving the whole face, several times led to very exhilarating scenes. Even many years after his arrival in England, he was repeatedly mistaken for a youngster. A rela- tive writing to me from Germany just reminds me of the following laughable, but highly in- convenient, incident: Do you remember the dinner at your house, when we all waited so long, and in vain, for Louis Blanc? Your Irish housemaid had sent the boy away, say- ing that you were engaged! Another din- ner had to be arranged, in order to give my German relative a chance of meeting Louis Blanc. When Louis Blancs publisher died, and he temporarily found himself rather in fi- nancial straits, lectures were arranged for him, at my suggestion, in our St. Johns Wood Athenleum. Mysterlous Personages and Agencies before the French Revolution was their title. Quite a crowd of literary and po- litical celebrities were expected. By an over- Alice Williams Bro/her/on. 76 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. sight, Louis Blanc, on this his first appearance as a lecturer in the English language, himself almost became a mysterious personage to the distinguished audience, the desk being so high that his head would scarcely have been visi- ble! Fortunately, in the nick of time, a foot- stool was provided, on which he stood all the while when speaking. The somewhat con- strained attitude imposed upon him thereby perhaps accounts to some extent for the rather formal and academic manner of his delivery. In the French Assembly, too, he had to make use of a stool. His eloquence had altogether something of the pulpit. One might almost fancy that his earliest trainin~ (a relative had intended him to become a priest) had left some mark upon him. There was something exceedingly meas- ured in his talk as soon as he began to enter upon a serious discussion. His full-sounding utterance, clearly distinct in every syllable, reminded the hearer a little of the southern French amplitude of vocaliza- tion. It was matched by the clearness and elegant firmness of his large and open hand- writing. Ah! he would say to hasty admir- ers, that is just my misfortune. Dont you see, it is because my manuscripts are so beau- tifully written that they are given to the worst, compositors. That is how the many misprints occur, which so vex me! In general intercourse he was the very type of amiability and politeness. Of the most dig- nified and exquisite bearing before strangers, he was fond of unbending before friends, of- ten showing a hilarity which broke into harm- less loud laughter. But never did he inten- tionally give pain to any one in conversation by his remarks. As towards the English, so he also felt greatly attracted towards Germans; but he never mastered, or even attempted to study, our tongue. During the Schleswig-Holstein war he gave a public and very useful proof of pro-German sympathy, although he there- by offended not a few English friends. The most influential section of the public opinion, and the majority of the statesmen of Eng- land, were on the Danish side. The Palmer- ston ministry sought to form an alliance with Napoleon III. for an armed attack against Germany. It was of the utmost importance to oppose these designs both in London and Paris. For years, the writer of these Recollec- tions had been at the head of a propagan- distic National and Democratic Association of Germans in England ( Society for Ger- man Freedom and Union ) which had made the Schleswig-Holstein question its specialty. Confidential memoranda, written by the two chief leaders of the Schleswig Parliament, but which they dared not even sign for fear of Danish persecution, had repeatedly been transmitted by me to Lord John Russell, the foreign secretary, by way of authentication. In Lord John Russells organ, the (then Lib- eral) Globe, I often took occasion to explain, above my signature, the grievances and aspi- rations of the Schleswig-1-lolstein people, as previously expressed in its three years unsuc- cessful war of independence (18485 i). Now, Louis Blanc, who during the new national war (186364) almost daily came to see me for purposes ofinformation, generously expounded the same views in his letters to the Paris Le Temps which afterwards were collected in a number of volumes entitled Lettres sur lAngleterre. We Germans really owed him gratitude for that. During all the long years of intimacy with Louis Blanc in England, our political relations always remained undisturbed by the slightest cloud. As a token of his never-changing sen- timents, I have before me many volumes of his different works with friendly inscriptions. Once, when I and my wife were for several days as guests in his house at Brighton, I was in- formed from abroad that in one of Louis Blancs letters to Le Temps there was a passage unjustly bearing upon German rights in the Rhinelands. It was painful to refer to such a matter at that particular moment. Upon consideration I yet thought it to be best nay, even a dutyto do so. He was quite unhappy when I addressed the question to him point-blank. He at once fetched all the num- bers of Le Temps which he had collected, and declared he was utterly unable to con- ceive the reproach. For safetys sake, with a view to possible contingencies in the future, I, however, entered upon a full discussion of the ideas then held on that subject by most Frenchmen, and formerly, no doubt, alsobyhim. In the course of the con- versation he suddenly observed that in case of a difference, a question as to the frontier might, after all, be solved by a popular vote. I replied that Germany could never so far forget her dignity as a nation, or her histor- ical rights drawn from community of blood and speech, and ancient possession, as to allow a vote to be taken on the question as to whether that portion of her people who dwell on the left side of one of her rivers should continue to form part of the Fatherland! Louis Blanc easily understood the point, and thus the mat- ter was disposed of. Few know how deeply even French De- mocracy had been tainted with the ideas of further conquest in the direction of the Rhine. One day a Frenchman of my acquaintance, who semi-officially represented President Jua PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. 77 rez and the Mexican Republic in London dur- ing the time of the war against the Napoleonic invasion, and with whom I had been on most friendly terms, unexpectedly broke forth in my own house, before German friends, in this way: If once we have the Republic in France, we shall march on the Rhine, even if we were to get all Germany on our back! (me~me Si nous aurions toute iAllemague sur le dos.) Mind! I replied to him, if once you have her on your back, you will not get her off again easily! During the struggles of the Prussian House of Commons against the budgetless and arbi- trary government of Herr von Bismarck, Louis Blanc, in Le Temps, supported the Ger- man Progressist and popular parties. Ferdi- nand Lassalle, the so-called German revo- lutionary agitator who took sides against the Prussian House of Commons, thus practi- cally sustaining Bismarck, confidentially asked Louis Blanc, one day, for a public letter of sympathy with his socialist agitation. It was to be a sort of certificate or pass for Lassalle among our working-classes. At tbat time Lassalle generally was looked upon as an ex- treme Republican aiming at a great social overthrow. For my part, I from the begin- ning considered him a mere ambitious Catilin- ai-ian. I thought, nay, I knew, that he, in secret collusion with the government, endeavored to traverse the aspirations of the liberal middle class, so that a despotic kingcraft in the pseu- do-socialist Grand Almoner style might be established, which would bide its true char- acter, like the Second Napoleonic Empire, under democratic phraseology. I expressed this view to Louis Blanc when he asked my advice as to what he should do in reply to Lassalles wish. Why, he practically acts as an agent of Bismarck, I said. I should not wonder if he played the part of a Persigny, aiming at office. Impossible! Louis Blanc replied. Do you mean this seriously ? Very seriously, I answered. In fact, I had given similar warn- ing in public by a fly-sheet against Lassalle, under the title, A Friendly Word to Ger- manys Workmen, Burghers, and Peasants. It took some time, however, indeed, a conver- sation of several hours,before Louis Blanc could be made to understand all the bearings of the case. His own former intercourse with the captive of Ham still played him an occa- sional mental trick in questions of mixed politi- cal and social import. Afterwards he said he was grateful for having been prevented from falling into the trap laid for him. The secret dealings of Lassalle with Bis- marck were, in later years, revealed by the German Chancellor himself~ in a speech in the Reichstag. My own informations had long ago pointed that way. Quite recently a letter has come to light, written by Lassalle to the well-knoxvn conser- vative and orthodox Professor Huber, whose semi-socialist views had been made use of by Prince Bismarck. In this letter, written during the full flush of his alleged revolutionary agitation, he begins by saying that he had been a Republican from his youth, but that he would be proud now to bear the banner of a Socialist Royalty. During the rising in Russian Poland, when I was in connection with the diplomatic rep- resentative in London of the Secret National Government at Warsaw, Louis Blanc warmly espoused the Polish cause. It was Mazzini who had first introduced Mr. Czwierczakie- witch to me. Through him I learnt before- hand the very date on which the intended rising was to begin; and the information turned out quite correct. German advanced Liberals and Republicans strongly favored the Polish cause. Being called to Scotland to address public meetings there at Glasgow, Stirling, and Hawick, I succeeded in bringing about petitions to the English Parliament in support of that cause. Louis Blanc, as may be seen from his Lettres sur lAngleterre, took these meetings as a text for his own writings. Some years afterwards, a review in the Lon- don Athenamm endeavored to make out that Louis Blanc had been favorable to a French war on the Rhine, which might lead to a change of frontiers in connection with the Polish question. I at once wrote to him as to how matters stood. He replied: BRIGHToN, 20 Grand Parade, 3i Juillet, 1867. MON CHER AMI: Je vous envoic les deux premiers volumes de mes Lettres sur lAngleterre. Je nai maiheureusement pas en ce moment, les 3e et 5e vo- lumes. Jai 6crit im mon 6diteur de Paris de men faire tenir quelques exemplaires. Jen mettrai un de c6t~ pour vous, dantant plus que vous y trouverez trois let- tres qui vous concernent. Je nai jamais conseill6 i~ Napoldon dannexer les Provinces rh~nanes; mais jai tr~s-d6cid~ment ex- prime le ddsir que La France nabandonnitt pas La Pologne, dfst-elle pour cela, et ii d~faut de tout autre moyen, faire La guerre au roi de Prusse, complice de lempereor de Russie dans l~gorgement des Polonais. La phrase cit~e dans lAthen~um est exactement citde; mais le sens en est d~termin6 par la conclusion de La lettre dod elle est tirae, conclusicm que voici e copie La traduction anglaise, nayant pas loriginal sous les yeux: FEB. 22, i863. What shall we desire? What shall we hope? It rests, perhaps, with the liberal party in Prussia to turn aside the genius of conquest while serving the interests of justice with a courage worthy of the cause. The Prussian liberals can do much for Poland they can do everything, perhaps; and therefore, at this moment, their responsihility in the eyes of the world is immense. By the military convention, the object of such general 78 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. and vehement protests, it is not only Russian Poland that is stricken, but Prussian Poland is outraged. The support of the Polish deputies in the Berlin Parliament cannot therefore be wanting to the German deputies, if the latter will understand that the true interests of their country are indissolubly bound up in this instance with the triumph of justice. Should the energy of their attitude and the potency of their efforts facilitate a re- sult that will respond to the sympathies of thefriends of freedom, without exciting their fears, they will render an inestimable service to Europe, for which England above all others will entertain an eternal gratitude. May Heaven inspire them! The question at issue is to se- curefor theprinc~ple of liberty, andfor it alone, the glory of having falsified the prediction falsely ascribed to Kosciusko: Finis Polonies. Salut cordial. Louis BLANC. I have never advised Napoleon to annex the Rhinelands; but I have very strongly expressed the wish that France should not forsake Poland, even if, for that purpose, and in the absence of any other means, she had to make war against the King of Prussia, the accomplice of the Emperor of Russia in the slaughtering of the Poles. This sentence of Louis Blanc, directed as it was against the disgraceful convention concluded between the Prussian King and the Czar, seemed to me to contain a dangerous theory for all that. Would it have been the right thing for Germany to declare war against France on account of the annexation of Garibaldis birthplace? If not, what right had Napoleon 111., of all rulers, to make war upon the King of Prussia which, after all, could only be done on German ter- ritory on the Rhinefor the alleged sake of Poland, but in reality for the purpose of a fresh annexation, similar to that of Savoy and Nice, which was the result of a so-called deliverance of Italy from the Alps to the Adriatic? Again, would not a successful war of that kind have riveted the Bonapartist yoke upon France even more firmly? I discussed these matters repeatedly, and very earnestly, with Louis Blanc. I told him that, in spite of the deep estrangement between Prussia and Southern Germany on account of the war of i866, all our countrymen would stand shoulder to shoulder as soon as a French army were to move upon our Rhinelands. I said that I would be the first, in such a case, to call out for the laying aside of party divis- ions for the purpose of common defense; and that, moreover, I was convinced of victory be- ing on our side. This latter view, especially, was one which Frenchmen of all political de- scriptions could with difficulty be brought to accept then. For the sake of your own country, for the sake of our common cause of freedom and civ- ilization, I pray you to exert yourself with all your power to dispel the illusions in which so many of your countrymen still indulge! I over and over again said to Louis Blanc, to LedruRollin, to Savoye, to Dupont, to Le- fevre, to Fonvielle, to Valentin, and others. And Louis Blanc was brought gradually to comprehend the full extent of the danger of a war with the Prussians, as the French, in their infatuation, would then and long after- wards say. In the American war, Louis Blanc advo- cated the cause of the Union; at first, some- what cautiously, afterwards with growing energy. His caution may partly have arisen in the beginning from a certain desire not to hurt too strongly the deplorable prejudices by which the majority of the governing classes in England were influenced; the Tre;tt affair, in which we pleaded for America the right of self-preservation, even though its government would no doubt make diplomatic amends to England. Louis Blanc at first gave the rea- sons for and against, with great deliberateness in the Temps, and without committing him- self. In every English house we had then to fight for the cause of the Republic. A second motive for Louis Blancs caution, in the be- ginning, was the delay of an emancipation decree. Why not proclaim emancipation at once, he said, and thus strike a mortal blow at the South? Like most of his countrymen, he was not aware of the complex state of political parties in the North. He had not, until then, devoted much study to American affairs. Being fully agreed with him as to the foul blot of slavery, I still could understand, even if I greatly re- gretted, the dilatory procedure of President Lincolns governnient.* A spurwas, however, required, now and then, to arouse the some- times flagging enthusiasm of our friend, whose utterances were closely watched by English- men. After a while, he rapidly went ahead, doing right good service to a cause upon which the hopes of the best thinkers of Europe cen- tered. I vividly remember the day when the ter- rible news of the assassination of President Lincoln reached London. The address of sym- pathy which I had forthwith proposed, and signed, in common with Freiligrath, Kinkel, and other Germans of London, was scarcely dispatched to the American embassy when Louis Blanc came to see me. His face bore the evidence of great mental distress. He seemed to think that the cause of the Repub- lic itself was once more in danger. On hear- ing of our manifestation, he immediately drew up a letter of his own, expressing sympathy * On this point we hope Mr. Blind will read Nico- lay and Hays Abraham Lincoln: A History. THE EDITOR. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. 79 with the loss experienced by the American nation. The political serfage under which his coun- try groaned meanwhile bore heavily upon his national and civic pride. When some signs of a revival of the opposition spirit at last exhib- ited themselves, he wrote to a French friend, M. Ferragus, who had visited him in his home, in Melina Place, St. Johns Wood: If only you knew what humiliations we have had to swallow as Frenchmen during that long banishment which, if it should con- tinue five years longer, will have lasted ex- actly a quarter of a century! How sad to hear on foreign soil wherever you present yourself: We pity you; but as to France, how could we pity her? She has at last found the man that was wanted for her repose and for our own. The French people are a people of chil- dren, and, what is worse, of dangerous children. It is well that the means of setting fire to the house has been taken from them. France is not made for freedom; and she feels this so well herself that she has perished by accom- modating herself to servitude. Freedom is only fit for us Englishmen, who are men. What torture is comparable to that which such insolent, cruel language inflicts upon a French- man living among those who hold it! Now, for twenty years, we have had to drink the cup of such insults to the very dregs. In the course of the same letter, Louis Blanc says that he always had declared that France, in spite of appearances, was always the great and mature nation, the manly nation which, at another epoch, had been the admiration of the world; that to believe her to be dead was to calumniate her slumber; and that she would awake prouder, nobler, more powerful than ever. In the meanwhile, exile was for the proscribed a moral agony, the sufferings of which baffle description. Events unfortunately did not justify his fore- cast. Instead of working out her internal re- vival by the strength of the popular forces, France allowed herself to be led on the war- track, when she only gained her Republican freedom at the expense of necessary defeat. He opposed with all his power, so far as in him lay, Napoleons war venture of 1870. His acquaintance with Germans in London had enabled him to perceive the tremendous risks which France ran. Not many weeks before the declaration of war, he, with his brother Charles, and a Progressist member of the Prus- sian House of Deputies, and Mr. and Mrs. Hepworth Dixon, and a number of other friends, were at dinner in our house. We spoke of the question of a peoples education and its bearing upon political affairs. I shall never forget, said Charles Blanc, how Durny [Napoleons Minister of Pub- lic Instruction] one day led me into a side- room of his office, showing me the Map of Ignorance of our country. The departments in which most people can read and write were in white color; those less advanced, in gray stripes; those most backward, in black. What a shock it gave me! So many departments were black or nearly so. You in Prussia are in that respect far ahead of us. In Germany 1 I answered. Indeed, I thought it was a specially Prus- sian institution, this compulsory law of edu- cation. No; it is the same all over our Father- land! I replied. He seemed to take mentally a note of it. The dinner passed off most pleasantly, un- til we spoke of ancient and modern Greece a theme I thought peculiarly pleasant to him as an enthusiastic admirer of and writer on Hel- lenic art and antiquities. Unfortunately, the question of the mixed race descent of the present Greeks was broached. Thereupon Charles Blanc all at once flew into a perfect passion, though everybody present was a warm well-wisher of the greater future of the Greece of our days. Neither for the past nor for the present would Charles Blanc, in spite of the fullest classic and later historical testi- mony, admit any alloy in the blood of the Greeks: not a Pelasgian, not a Thracian, not a Phenician, not a Slavonian admixture nothing but pure Hellenic descent. The conversation grew warm, on his part at least, beyond English custom. One of the ladies was so startled by his energy that she became ill, and had to leave the room. It xvas as if Charles Blanc whom his brother in vain endeavored to restrain were fighting some imaginary foe of his own country. The contrast to his uslkal amiability was incompre- hensible. A nervous electrical storm seemed to have got possession of him. A few days before the declaration of war by Napoleon III. against Prussia, we were at dinner in Louis Blancs house. A number of Frenchmen, Englishmen, Americans, were present, as well as the late Belgian Consul, M. Delepierre, who in spite of his French name had a very good Nether-German or Flem- ish heart. He was an able and well-known writer on Flemish literature. The question of war or peace was now uppermost in all mens minds and conversation. Suddenly Charles Blanc, while deprecating war, said he did not mean thereby to give up the right of France to the Rhenish Provinces which we have pos- sessed before ( que nous avons eues). How long? I asked. He would not enter on the question. I had 8o PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. often found that the best educated Frenchmen were really ignorant of history in that respect, and that they sometimes did not even know how purely German the population of those provinces was in speech.* All the politeness and amiability of Charles Blanc had returned. He acknowledged that he had been wrong. On his saying that France had possessed the Rhinelands before, the Belgian consul had significantly put in the remark: And how about the connection of Alsace and Lorraine with Germany in former times? In this way, there was sheet lightning, indi- cating coming things, even on occasions of pleasant social intercourse. Louis Blanc, in the meanwhile, sitrove cease- lessly, in his letters to the French press, to warn his country against the declaration of war. At last they would not even hear him any longer in the Liberal opposition press. These are the manuscripts of letters returned to me, un- published! he said one day, pointing out his rejected labor, in great grief. It may not be amiss to bring to recollection that when Napoleon III. asked for the war- credits, Gambetta, Jules Ferry, Jules Simon, Magnin, Dorian, Steenackers, as well as Thiers all men who came to power after Sedan all voted for the war-credits, in spite of previous op- position speeches. Jules Favre, after i866, that is to say, after a disruption in the national body of Germany, had considered France entitled to an indemnification, in the way of a cession of Germany territory! So did Vic- tor Hugo! At first, Thiers merely objected to the war of 1870 because he thought France was not sufficiently prepared. Thiers cast his vote against declaration of war, first, last, and ever. After the war was in full course, Louis Blanc, it is true, finally voted against the Treaty of Peace, which involved the cession of territory. This, however, could only signify a personal protest. He knew too well that the sword of France was broken. When the war was over, we again met re- peatedly in London and Brighton, where we were together for several weeks in most friendly and intimate intercourse. He had a great deal to tell then as to the Commune insurrection. That rising, in Prince Bisinarcks view, had a legitimate kernel, overlaid by madness and horror. A further element in the insurrection of the Commune was the desire to save France from a new Royalist reaction, as planned by the Assembly at Bordeaux. Louis Blanc endeav- ored to bring about a compromise and an am- nesty; feeling repelled, as he did, on the one * For a dispassionate and interesting account of the early history of Alsace and Lorraine, see The French hand, by the wild vagaries of the Commune, and out of sympathy, on the other, with the re- actionists of the Assembly, in which he yet had to continue as a member. If men like you leave us, Gr6vy very justly said to him, the reactionists will get free scope! But the wildest attacks were made upon Louis Blanc from both sides. Ultras of the Commune be- spattered his character in the most hideous manner. He bore it all quietly. In the conflagration of Paris, which marked the last stage of the reign of the Commune, Louis Blanc lost a great many movables and valuable things, provisionally stored up, dur- ing the siege, at a railway station. His most painful loss was that of the manuscript of a new work he intended to bring out: The Salons of the Eighteenth Century. I believe it was founded on the lectures he had formerly given in England on the same subject. The manuscript perished in the flames. Seeing France defeated after a war against which he had in vain protested, and democracy deeply rent by internal divisions, he scarcely alluded to his own personal losses. The cal- umnies heaped upon him he repaid by work- ing, at the expense of his health, in common with Victor Hugo, Cl~menceau, and Camille Pelletan, for an unconditional amnesty of the exiles and prisoners of the Commune. Under Marshal MacMahons government I once was in a position to make an early communication to him, from an excellent source, by way of warning the Republican party against a lawless surprise. Of this com- munication, I believe, he made good use among the advanced Left of the Chamber of Deputies, of which he was the head. On his part, when referring to Gambetta,he expressed himself before me in words of great mistrust towards that highly ambitious leader. He looked upom him as a danger to the Common- wealth. So far back as 1872, Louis Blanc showed me the proof, in writing, of a move he had made among the advanced Left against Gambettas policy. The paper in question bore the signatures of a number of Louis Blaiics intimate political associates. My own views in regard to Gambettas aspira- tions towards personal government fully coincided with, if they did not even go much beyond, his own. It was after I had broached this subject, that Louis Blanc, at Brighton, suddenly took from the breast-pocket of his coat the paper in question, giving it to me for confidential perusal. Both Louis Blanc and Gambetta having gone now, I can openly bear testimony to a fact which is calculated to shed light on contemporary history. Conquest of Lorraine and Alsace, by Henry M. Baird, in this magazine for February, 1871. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF LOUIS BLANC. Louis Blanc felt keenly th manner in which he was neglected when his old friend Grflvy became President of the Republic. He was placed under the ban of the Opportunists who now are prepared to crowd flowers upon his tomb. Being for1d of England he wi~hed to ~be sent to London as ambassador. When Challe- mel Lacour was gazetted to that post, Louis Blanc turned his face to the wall to die. He ceased to struggle against terrible infirmities. The painful illness and death of his brother Charles was a blow from which he never re- covered. Death, as Victor Hugo said, was, in the case of Louis Blanc, a deliverance. Charles Blanc had died early in 1882. The two brothers were known to be bound up by a fraternal love of extraordinary warmth. It is said that when Louis Blanc, before the Rev- olution of 1848, was the object of a murderous attack, Charles, living far away in another part of France, exclaimed almost at the same hour that some dreadful accident must have hap- pened to his brother which indeed turned out to be true. Whatever the explanation of this occurrence may be, Dumas ma(le use of the oft-repeated story in his Corsican Brothers; the Blancs being, as before stated, of Corsican descent from the mothers side. A~zr7 Blinds VOL. XXXIV. T2. LOUIS BLANC. (FROM A PORTRAIT BY A. GILBEN.) [BEGUN IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.] ABRAHAM LINCOLN: A HJSTORY.* BY JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY, PRIVATE SECRETARIES TO THE PRESIDENT. THE BORDER cONFLIcT. UT of the antagonistic and contending factions men- tioned in the last two chap- .~ ters the bogus legislature ~ and its Border-Ruffian ad ~ herents on the one hand, and the framers and sup- porters of the Topeka Con- stitution on the other, grew the civil war in Kansas. The hogus legislature numhered thirty-six members. These had only received, all told, 619 legal bond fide Kansas votes; but, what answered their purposes just as well, 4408 Missourians had cast their ballots for them, making their total constituency (if hy discard- ing the idea of a State line we use the word in a some- what strained sense) 5427. This was at the March election, 1855. Of the re- maming 2286 actual Kan- sas voters disclosed by Reeders census, only 791 cast their ballots. That sum- mer s emigration, however, being mainly from the free States, greatly changed the relative strength of the two parties. At the election of October 1st, 1855, in which the free-State men took no part, Whitfield, for delegate, recelved 2721 votes, Bor- der Ruffians included. At the election for members of the Topeka Constitutional Convention, a week later, from which the pro-slavery men abstained, the free- State men cast 2710 votes, while Reeder, thelr noml- nee for delegate, received 2849. For general service, therefore, requiring no spe- cial effort, the numerical strength of the factions was about equal; while on ex- traordinary occasions the two thousand Border-Ruf- fian reserve lying a little farther hack from the State line could at any time easily turn the scale. The free-State men had only their convictions, their intelligence, their courage, and the moral support of the North the conspiracy had its secret combination, the territorial officials, the legislature, the bogus laws, the courts, the militia officers, the Presi- dent, and the army. This was a formidable array of advantages; slavery was playing with loaded dice. With such a radical opposition of sentiment, both factions were on the alert to seize every available vantage ground. The hogus laws having been enacted, and the free-State men having, at the Big Springs Convention, resolved Copyright by J. G. Nicolay and John Hay, i886. All rights reserved. WILSON SHANNON. (AFTER AN / KANSAS IN CIVIL WAR.

J. J. Nicolay Nicolay, J. J. John Hay Hay, John Abraham Lincoln: A History. The Border Conflict 82-110

[BEGUN IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.] ABRAHAM LINCOLN: A HJSTORY.* BY JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY, PRIVATE SECRETARIES TO THE PRESIDENT. THE BORDER cONFLIcT. UT of the antagonistic and contending factions men- tioned in the last two chap- .~ ters the bogus legislature ~ and its Border-Ruffian ad ~ herents on the one hand, and the framers and sup- porters of the Topeka Con- stitution on the other, grew the civil war in Kansas. The hogus legislature numhered thirty-six members. These had only received, all told, 619 legal bond fide Kansas votes; but, what answered their purposes just as well, 4408 Missourians had cast their ballots for them, making their total constituency (if hy discard- ing the idea of a State line we use the word in a some- what strained sense) 5427. This was at the March election, 1855. Of the re- maming 2286 actual Kan- sas voters disclosed by Reeders census, only 791 cast their ballots. That sum- mer s emigration, however, being mainly from the free States, greatly changed the relative strength of the two parties. At the election of October 1st, 1855, in which the free-State men took no part, Whitfield, for delegate, recelved 2721 votes, Bor- der Ruffians included. At the election for members of the Topeka Constitutional Convention, a week later, from which the pro-slavery men abstained, the free- State men cast 2710 votes, while Reeder, thelr noml- nee for delegate, received 2849. For general service, therefore, requiring no spe- cial effort, the numerical strength of the factions was about equal; while on ex- traordinary occasions the two thousand Border-Ruf- fian reserve lying a little farther hack from the State line could at any time easily turn the scale. The free-State men had only their convictions, their intelligence, their courage, and the moral support of the North the conspiracy had its secret combination, the territorial officials, the legislature, the bogus laws, the courts, the militia officers, the Presi- dent, and the army. This was a formidable array of advantages; slavery was playing with loaded dice. With such a radical opposition of sentiment, both factions were on the alert to seize every available vantage ground. The hogus laws having been enacted, and the free-State men having, at the Big Springs Convention, resolved Copyright by J. G. Nicolay and John Hay, i886. All rights reserved. WILSON SHANNON. (AFTER AN / KANSAS IN CIVIL WAR. on the failure of peaceable remedies to resist them to a bloody issue, the conspiracy was not slow to cover itself and its projects with the sacred mantle of authority. Opportunely for them, about this time Governor Shannon, appointed to succeed Reeder, arrived in the territory. Coming by way of the Missouri River towns, he fell first among Border-Ruffian companionship and influences; and perhaps having his inclinations already molded by his Washington instructions, his early impressions were decidedly adverse to the free-State cause. His reception speech at Westport, in which he maintained the legality of the legislature, and his determination to enforce their laws, de- lighted his pro-slavery auditors. To enlist further his zeal in their behalf, a few weeks later they formally organized a law-and-order party by a large public meeting held at Leav- enxx-orth. All the territorial dignitaries were present; Governor Shannon presided; John Calhoun, the Surveyor-General, made the prin- cipal speech, a denunciation of the aboli- tionists supporting the Topeka movement; Chief-Justice Lecompte dignified the occasion with approving remarks. With public opinion propitiated in advance, and the governor of the territory thus publicly committed to their party, the conspirators felt themselves ready to enter upon the active campaign to crush out opposition, for which they had made such elaborate preparations. Faithful to their legislative declaration they knew but one issue, slavery. All dissent, all non-compliance, all hesitation, all mere silence even, were in their stronghold towns, like Leav- enworth, branded as abolitionism, declared to be hostility to the public welfare, and pun- ished with proscription, personal violence, expulsion, and frequently death. Of the lynch- ings, the mobs, and the murders, it would be impossible, except in a very extended work, to note the frequent and atrocious details. The l)resent chapters can only touch upon the more salient movements of the civil xvar in Kansas, which happily were not sanguinary; if, how- ever, the individual and more isolated cases of bloodshed could be described, they would show a startling aggregate of barbarity and loss of life for opinions sake. Some of these revolting crimes, though comparatively few in number, were committed, generally in a spirit of lawless retaliation, by free-State men. Among other instrumentalities for execut- ing the bogus laws, the bogus legislature had appointed one Samuel J. Jones sheriff of Douglas county, Kansas Territory, although that individual was at the time of his appoint- * Phillips, Conquest of Kansas, p. 152, et. seq. t Shannon, order to Richardson, Nov. 27th, 1855. 83 ment, and long afterwards, United States post- master of the town of Westport, Missouri. Why this Missouri citizen and Federal official should in addition be clothed with a foreign territorial shrievalty of a county lying forty or fifty miles from his home is a mystery which was never explained outside a Missouri Blue Lodge. A partial solution is afforded in the fact that f ones was apparently a born persecutor, overflowing with zeal for slavery. Whether chosen by accident or design, his fitness to be- come the active agent of the conspiracy gives his name and acts a lamentable prominence in Kansas history. A few days after the law-and-order meet- ing in Leavenworth, there occurred a murder in a small settlement thirteen miles west of the town of Lawrence. The murderer, a pro- slavery man, first fled to Missouri, but returned to Shawnee Mission and sought the official protection of Sheriff Jones; no warrant, no examination, no commitment followed, and the criminal remained at large. Out of this inci- dent, the officious sheriff managed most in- geniously to create an embroilment with the town of Lawrence. Buckley, who was alleged to have been accessory to the crime, obtained a peace-warrant against Branson, a neighbor of- the victim. With this peace-warrant in his pocket, but without showing or reading it to his prisoner, Sheriff Jones and a posse of twenty- five Border Ruffians proceeded to Branson s house at midnight and arrested him. Alarm being given, Bransons free-State neighbors, already exasperated at the murder, rose under the sudden instinct of self-protection and res- cued Branson from the sheriff and his posse that same night, though without other violence than harsh words.* Burning with the thirst of personal revenge, Sheriff Jones now charged upon the town of Lawrence, because that was the stronghold of the free-State men of the territory, the viola- tion of law involved in this rescue, though Lawrence immediately and earnestly disa- vowed the act. But for Sheriff Jones and his superiors the pretext was all-sufficient. A Bor- der-Ruffian foray against the town was hastily organized. The murder occurred November 21st, the rescue November 26th. November 27th, upon the brief report of Sheriff Jones, demanding a force of three thousand men to carry out the laws, Governor Shannon issued his order to the two major-generals of the skeleton militia, to collect together as large a force as you can in your division, and repair without delay to Lecompton, and report your- self to S. J. Jones, sheriff of Douglas county.t The Kansas militia was a myth; but the Bor- Same order to Strickler, same date. Senate Does., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. II., p. 53. ABRAHAM LINCOLN 81. ABRAHAM LINCOLN 4cr Ruffians, with their backwoods rides and shot-guns, were a ready resource. To these an urgent appeal for help was made; and the leaders of the conspiracy in prompt obedi- cnce placarded the frontier with inflammatory hand-hills, and collected and equipped compa- nies, and hurried them forward to the rendez- vous without a moments delay. The United States Arsenal at Liberty ,Missouri, was hroken into and stripped of its contents to supply can- non, small arms, and ammunition. In two days after notice a company of fifty Missourians made the first camp on Wakarusa Creek, near Franklin, four miles from Lawrence. In three or four days more an irregular army of fifteen hundred men, claiming to be the sheriffs posse, was within striking distance of the town. Three or four hundred of these were nominal residents of the territory all the remainder were citizens of Missouri. They were not only well armed and supplied, hut wrought up to the highest pitch of partisan excitement. While the gov- ernors proclamation spoke of serving writs,t the notices of the conspirators sounded the note of the real contest. Now is the time to show * Shannon, dispatch, Dec. i ith, i855, to President Pierce. Senate Does., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. II., P. 63. game, and if we are defeated this time, the ter ritory is lost to the South, said the leadersj There was no doubt of the earnestness of their purpose. Ex-Vice-President Atchison came in 1~erson, leading a battalion of two hundred Platte county riflemen. News of this proceeding came to the people of Lawrence little by little, and finally, becom- ing alarmed, they began to improvise means of defense. Two abortive imitations of the Missouri Blue Lodges, set on foot during the summer by the free-State men, provoked by the election invasion in March, furnished them a starting-point for military organiza- tion. A committee of safety, hurriedly insti- tuted, sent a call for help from Lawrence to other points in the territory for the pur- pose of defending it from threatened invasion by armed men now quartered in its vicinity. Several hundred free-State men promptly re- spondedto the summons. The Free-State Hotel served as barracks. Governor Robinson and Colonel Lane were appointed to command. Four or five small redoubts, connected by rifle- pits, were hastily thrown up; and by a clever t Shannon, proclamation, Nov. 29th, ;S~5. Ibid., p. 56. Phillips, p. i65. NITED STATES ARSENAL, LI3EETY. (REDRAWN FROM PHOTOGRAPHS IN POSSESSION OP GOLONRI NATHANIEL GRANT. ABRAHAM LINCOLN 85 artifice they succeeded in bringing a twelve- pound brass howitzer from its storage at Kansas City. Meantime the committee of safety, ear- nestly denying any wrongful act or purpose, sent an urgent appeal for protection to the commander of the United States forces at Fort Leavenworth, another to Congress, and a third to President Pierce. Amid all this warlike preparation to keep the peace, no very strict military discipline could be immediately enforced. The people of Lawrence without any great difficulty ob- tained daily information concerning the hostile camps. They, on the other hand, l)rofessing no purpose but that of defense and self-protection, were obliged to permit free and constant in- gress to their beleaguered town. Sheriff Jones made several visits unmolested on their part, and without any display of writs or demand for the surrender of alleged offenders on his own. One of the rescuers even accosted him, conversed with him, and invited him to dinner. These free visits, however, had the good effect to restrain imprudence and impulsiveness on both sides. They could see with their own eyes that a conflict meant serious results. With the advantage of its defensive position, Lawrence was as strong as the sheriffs mob. On one point especially the Border Ruffians had a wholesome dread. Yankee ingenuity had invented a new kind of breech-loading gun called Sharpes rifle. It was, in fact, the best weapon of its (lay. The free-State volunteers had some months before obtained a partial supply of them from the East, and their range, ra~)i(lity, and effectiveness had been not only duly set forth but highly exaggerated by many marvelous stories throughout the ter- ritory and along the border. The Missouri backwoodsmen manifested an almost incredi- Me interest in this wonderful gun. They might be deaf to the equalities proclaimed in the Declaration of Independence or blind to the moral sin of slavery, but they comprehended a rifle which could be fired ten times a minute and kill a man at a thousand yards. The arrivals from Missouri finally slackened and ceased. The irregular Border-Ruffian squads were hastily incorporated into the skel- eton Kansas militia. The posse became some txvo thousand strong, and the defenders of Lawrence perhaps one thousand. Meanwhile a sober second thought had come to Governor Shannon. To retrieve some- what the precipitancy of his militia orders and proclamations, he wrote to Sheriff Jones, De JAMES H. LANE. (BY PERMISSION OF THE STROWERIDGE LiTHOGRAiHINO Co.) 86 ABRAHA Il/ LINCOLN. cember 2(1, to make no arrests or movements unless by his direction. The firm defensive attitude of the people of Lawrence had pro- duced its effect. The leaders of the conspiracy became distrustful of their power to crush the own. One of his militia generals suggested that the governor should require the outlaws at Lawrence and elsewhere to surrender the ~harpes rifles; another wrote asking him to call out the Government troops at Fort Leav- enworth. The governor, on his part, becoming doubtful of the legality of employing Missouri militia to enforce Kansas laws, \vas also eager to secure the help of Federal troops. Sheriff Jones began to grow importunate. In the Mis- souri camp while the leaders became alarmed the men grew insubordinate. I have reason to believe, wrote one of their prominent men, that before to-morrow morning the black flag will be hoisted, when nine out of ten will rally around it, and march without orders upon Lawrence. The forces of the Lecompton camp fully understand the plot and will fight under the same banner, t After careful deliberation Colonel Sumner, commanding the United States troops at Fort Leavenworth, declined to interfere without ex- plicit orders from the War Department4 These failing to arrive in time, the governor was obliged to face his own dilemma. He hastened to Lawrence, which now invoked his protectioi~. He directed his militia generals to repress clis- order and check any attack on the town. In- terviews were held with the free-State com- manders, and the situation was fully discussed. A compromise was agreed upon, and a formal treaty written out and signed. The affair was pronotinced to be a misunderstanding ; the Lawrence party disavowed the Branson rescue, denied any previous, present, or prospective organization for resistance, and under sundry vovisos agreed to aid in the execution of the laws when called upon by proper au- thority. Like all compromises, the agreement was half necessity, half trick. Neither patty yield hone was willing to stly or ready to fight manfully. The free-State men shrank from forcible resistance to even bogus laws. The Missouri cabal, on the other hand, having three of their best men constantly at the gov- ernors sidle, were compelled to recognize their lack of justification. They did not diare to ig- nore upon what a ridiculously shadiowy pre- SHARPE S RIFLE. ORIGINAL IN PO5SE5SION OF TOE KANSAS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) text the Branson peace-warrant hadi grown into an army of two thousand men, audi how, tinder manipulation of Sheriff Jones, a question- able affidavit of a pro-slavery criminal had been expanded into the ~aSZIS 127/i of a free- State town. They consented to a compromise to cover a retreat. When Governor Shannon announced that the diifhculties were settled, the peo~)le of Lawrence were suspicious of their leadlers, andi John l3rown manifested his readiness to head a revolt. But his attemptedl speech was hushed tiown, audi the assurance of Robinson anti Lane that they had madle no dishonora- lie concession finally quieted their followers. There were similar murmurs in the pro-slavery camps. The governor was denounced as a traitor, and Sheriff Jones declared that he would have wiped out Lawrence. Atchison, on the contrary, sustainedl the bargain, ex- plainihg that to attack Lawrence undier the circumstances wouldi ruin the Democratic cause. But, he ahied with a significant oath, boys, we will fight some time! Thir- teen of the captains in the Wakarusa camp were called together, and the situation was tiuly explained. Ihe treaty was accepted, though the governor confessed there was a silent diissatisfaction at the restilt. He or- dered the forces to disband; prisoners were liberated, audI with the opporttine ai(i of a furious rain-storm the 1-lordler- Ruffian army gratitially meltodi a way. Nevertheless the Riehardsoo to Shannon, 1)eeember 3d, i855 ; Phil- lips, Conquest of Kansas, p. I55. Anderson io Riehardsoo ; Phillips, Conc1nest of Kansas, p. 2i0. Sunnier to Shannon, liiecember mit, i555 Phillips, p. m54. ~ Shannon to Presi(leHt Pierce, December mith, i855. Senate Does., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. II., p. 63. COLONEL E. V. SUMNER. (FRom A PHOTOGRAPH BY KEET & OESISILL.) ABRAHAM LINCOLN 87 Wakarusa ~ar left one bitter sting to rankle in the hearts of the defenders of Lawrence, a free-State man having been killed Dv ~ pro-slavery scouting party. The truce patched up by this Lawrence treaty was of compar- atively short duration. The ex- citement which had reigned in Kansas during the whole sum- mer of 1855, first about the en- actments of the bogus legislature, and then in regard to the forma- tion of the Topeka Constitution, was now extended to the Amer- ican Congress, where it raged for two long months over the election of Speaker Banks. In Kansas dtiring the same period the vote of the flee-State men upon the Topeka Con- stitution and the election for free-State officers under it kept the territory in a ferment. Dur- ing and after the contest over the speakership at Washington, each State legislature became a forum of Kansas debate. The general public interest in the controversy was shown by discussions carried on by press, pulpit, and in the daily conversation and comment of the people of the Union in every town, hamlet, and neighborhood. No sooner did the spring weather of i8~6 permit, than men, money, arms, and supplies were poured into the territory of Kansas from the North. In the Southern States also this propagandism was active, and a number of guerilla leaders with followers recrtiited in the South, and armed and stistaineci by Southern contributions and appropriations, found their way to Kansas in response to urgent appeals of the Border chiefs. Buford of Alabama, Titus of Florida. Wilkes of Virginia, Hampton of Kentucky, Treadwell of South Carolina, and others, brought not only enthusiastic leadership, but substantial assistance. Both the factions which had come so near to actual battle in the H\XTakarusa war, though nominally (lisband- ed, in reality preserved and continued their military organization, the free-State men through apprehension of danger, the Border Ruffians because of their purpose to crush out opposition. Strengthened on both sides with men, money, arms, and supplies, the contest was gradually resumed with the open- ing spring. A FREE-STATE BATTERY (1856). (REDRAWN FROSI A DAOCERREOIYPE IN POSSESSION OF TILE KANE S HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) The vague and double-meaning phrases of the Lawrence agreement furnished the earliest causes of a renewal of the quarrel. Did you not pledge yourselves to assist me as sher- iff in the arrest of any person against whom I might have a writ? asked Sheriff Jones of Robinson and Lane in a curt note. We may have said that we would assist any proper official in the service of any legal l~roc- ess ,they replied, standing upon their inter pretation.* This was, of course, the original controversy slavery burning to enforce her usurpation, freedom determined to defend her birthright. Sheriff Jones had his pockets always full of writs issued in the spirit of persecution, though often baffled by the sharp wits and ready resources of the free- State peol)le, and sometimes defied out- right. Little by little, however, the latter became hemmed and bound in the meshes of the various devices and proceedings which the territorial officials evolved by hook and crook out of the bogus laws. President Pierce, in his special message of January 24th, declared what had been done by the topeka movement to be of a revolutionary character which would become treasonable insurrection if it reach the length of organized resistance. Following this came his proclamation of February x ith, leveled against combinations formed to resist the execution of the territorial laws. Early in May Chief-Justice Lecompte held a term of his court, (luring which he de- livered to the grand jury his famous instruc- tions on constructive treason. Indictments. were found, writs issued, and the principal free-State leaders arrested or forced to flee from the territory. Governor Robinson was arrested without warrant on the Missouri River, and l)rought back to be held in military custody till Septem- iser. Lane went East and recruitedl additional help for the contest. Meanwhile holloway, pp. 275, 276. CANNON USED IN THE ATTACK ON LAWRENCE. ORIDINAL IN POSSESSION OF THE KANSAS IIIRTORICAL SOCIElY.) 88 Governor Robinson being on bis way East, tbe steamboat on wbieb be was traveling stopped at Lexington, Missouri. An nnautborized mob induced tbe governor, witb tbat gentle persuasiveness in wbicb the Border Ruffians bad become adepts, to leave tbe boat, detaining him at Lexington on the acensation tK t be was fleeing from an indictment. In a few days an officer came with a requisition from Governor Shan- non, and took tbe prisoner by land to Westport, and afterwards from there to Kansas City and Leavenworth. Here be was placed in tbe cnstody of Captain Martin, of tbe Kid apoo Rangers, wbo proved~ kind jailer, and materially assisted in protecting bim from the danger- ous intentions of tbe mob which at tbat time held Leavenworth under a reign of terror. Mrs. Robinson, who has kindly sent us a sketch of the incident, writes: On tbe night of the 28th [of i\Iay] for greater security General Richardson of the militia slept in the same bed with the prisoner, while Judge Lecompte and Marshal Donaldson slept just outside of the door of the prisoners room. Captain M. rtin said, I shall give you a pistol to help protect yourself with if worse comes to worst! In the early morning of the next day, May 2ptb, a company of ABRAHAiJI LINCOLN GOVERNOR CHARLES ROBINSON IN CUSTODY OF CAPTAIN MARTIN, OF THE EICKAPOO RANGRRS.~ (FROM A DAOURRRROTYPR IN POSSESSION OF MRS. ROBINSON.) ABRAHAM L1iVCOLA~ 89 Sheriff Jones, sitting in his tent at night, in the town of Lawrence, had been wounded by a rifle or pistol ball, in the attempt of some unknown person to assassinate him. The people of Lawrence denounced the deed; but the sheriff hoarded up the score for future revenge. One additional incident served to precipitate the crisis. The House of Representatives at Washington. presided over by Speaker Banks, and under control of the opposition, sent an investigating committee to Kansas, consisting of Win. A. Howard of Michigan. John Sherman of Ohio, and Mordecai Oliver of Missouri. which, by the examination of numerous wit- nesses, was probing the Border-Ruffian in- vasions, the illegality of the bogus legislature. and the enormity of the bogus laws to the very bottom. Ex-Governor Reeder was in attend- ance on this committee, supplying data, point- ing out from personal knowledge sources of in- formation, cross-examining witnesses to elicit the hidden truth. To embarrass this damaging exposure, Judge Lecompte issued a writ against the ex-governor on a frivolous charge of con- tempt. Claiming but not receiving exemption from the committee, Reeder on his personal responsibility ref used to permit the deputy marshal to arrest him. The incident was not violent, nor even dramatic. No posse was summoned, no further effort made, and Reeder, fearing personal violence, soon fled in dis- guise. But the affair was magnified as a crowning proof that the free-State men were insurrectionists and outlaws. It must be noted in passing that by this time the territory had by insensible degrees drifted into the condition of civil war. Both parties were zealous, vigilant, and denuncia- tory. In nearly every settlement suspicion led to apprehension, apprehension to combi- nation for defense, combination to some form of oppression or insult, and so on by easy tran- sitions to arrest and concealment, attack and reprisal, expulsion, theft, house-burning, cal)- ture, murder, and massacre. From these, again, sprang barricaded and fortified dwellings, camps and scouting parties, finally culminat- ing in roving guerilla bands, half partisan, half predatory. Their distinctive characters, however, display one broad and unfailing difference. The free-State men clung to their prairie towns and Iorairie ravines with all the obstinacy and courage of trtie defenders of their homes and firesides. The pro-slavery tiragoons with one empty saddle came riown from the fort, and while the pio-slavery men still slept, the prisoner and his escort were on their way across the prairies to Lecompton in the charge of officers of the LTnited States Army. The governor and other prisoners were kept on the prairie near Lecompton until the ioth of Septem- her, 1856, when all were releascd.TtiE AUTHORs. AOL. XXXIV. i~. parties, unmistakable aliens and invaders, always came from or retired across the Mis- souri line. Organized and sustained in the be- ginning by voluntary contributions from that and distant States, they ended by levying forced contributions, by pressing horses, food, or arms from any neighborhood they chanced to visit. Their assumed character changed with their changing opportunities or necessities. They were sqtiatls of Kansas militia, companies of peaceftil emigrants, or gangs of irresponsible outlaws, to suit the chance, the whim, or the need of the moment. Since the unsatisfactory termination of the Wakarusa ~var, certain leaders of the con- spiracy had never given up their project of punishing the town of Lawrence. A pro- pitious moment for carrying it out seemed now to have arrived. The free-State officers and leaders were, t banks to Judge Lecomptes doctrine of constructive treason, under indict- It will interest otir readers to know that the former editor-in-chief of Tot: Ci:x-ruitv, Dr. J. G. Holland, formetl a partnership with I)r. Itohinson in i845, and opened with him a hospital in Springfieltl, Massachu- setts. Circumstances, however, soon led to the clis- continuance of this enterprise- ItoiTors CENTURY. ANDREW II. ECEDEE IN Olsocise. (rsoa nIOTOOEAPH IN POSSESSION OF THE KANSAS HISTOSICAL SOcIETY.) 90 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. ment, arrest, or in flight; the settlers were busy with their spring crops; while the pro- slavery guerillas, freshly arrived and full of zeal, were eager for service and distinction. The former campaign against the town had failed for want of justification; therefore they now took pains to provide a pretext which would not shame their assumed character as defenders of law and order. In the shoot- ing of Sheriff Jones in Lawrence, and in the refusal of ex-Governor Reeder to allow the deputy-marshal to arrest him, they discov- ered grave offenses against the territorial and United States laws. Determined also no longer to trust Governor Shannon, lest he might again make peace, United States Mar- shal Donaldson issued a proclamation on his own responsibility, on May i nh, 1856, commanding law-abiding citizens of the territory to be and appear at Lecompton, as soon as possible and in numbers sufficient for the execution of the law. ~ Moving with Memorial, Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. II., p. 74. I Phillips, Conquest of Kansas, p. 289290. all the promptness and celerity of preconcert, ex-Vice-President Atchison, with his Platte County Rifles and two brass cannon, the Kick- apoo Rangers from Leavenworth and Wes- ton, Wilkes, Titus, Buford, and all the rest of the free lances in the territory began to concen- trate against Lawrence, giving the marshal in a very few days a posse of from five hundred to eight hundred men, I armed for the greater part with United States muskets, some stolen from the Liberty arsenal on their former raid, others distributed to them as Kansas militia by the territorial officers. The governor refused to interfere to protect the threatened town, ~ though urgently appealed to do so by its citi- zens, who after somewhat stormy and divided councils resolved on a policy of non-resistance. They next made application to the marshal, who tauntingly replied that he could not rely on their pledges, and must take the liberty to execute his process in his own time and man- ner. The help of Colonel Sumner, command- t Memorial, Senate Does., 3d Sess. 34tli Cong. Vol. II., p. 75. ~l Ibid., p. 77. MORDECAI OLIVER. WM. A. HOWARD, CRAW .IAt-IRDMERRD~~. KANSAS INVESTIGATING COMMITTEE. (FROM PHOTOGRAPH IN POSSESSION OF THE KANSAS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) ABRAIIAAI LINCOLN 9 F A ~ HE FREE ST STE HOTEL, LA\XRENCR, KANSAS. (FROM A PHO- TOGEAFH IN FOSSESSION OF THE KANSAS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) ing the United States troops, was finally in- voked, but his instructions only permitted him to act at the call of the governor or marshal.* Private parties who had leased the Free-State Hotel vainly besought the various authorities to prevent the destruction of their property. Ten days were consumed in these negotia- tions; but the spirit of vengeance refused to yield. When the citizens of Lawrence rose on the 21st of May they beheld their town in- vested by a formidable military force. During the forenoon the deputy marshal rode leisurely into the toxvn attended by less than a dozen men, being neither molested nor opposed. He summoned half a dozen citizens to join his posse, who followed, obeyed, and assisted him. He as leisurely continued his pretended search and, to give color to his errand, made two arrests. The Free-State Hotel, a stone building in dimensions fifty by seventy feet, three stories high, and handsome lv furnished, previously occupied only for lodging-rooms, on that day for the first time opened its table accommodations to the pub- lic, and had provided a free dinner in honor of the occasion. The marshal and his posse, including Sheriff Jones, went among other in- vited guests and enjoyed the proffered hos- pitality. As he had promised to protect the hotel, the reassured citizens began to laugh at their own fears. To their sorrow they were soon undeceived. The military force, partly rabble, partly organized, had meanwhile moved into the town. To save his official skirts from stain, the deputy marshal noxv went through the farce of dismissing his entire posse of citi- zens and Border Ruffians, at which juncture Theriff Jones made his appearance claiming ~ ~LINs OF THE FEEE STSTE HOTEL (PROM A PHOTOGRAPH IN IO~SESSIO OF THE EA7NSSS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) the posse as his own. He planted a com- pany before the hotel, and demanded a surren- der of the arms belonging to the free-State military companies. Refusal or resistance be- ing out of the question, half a dozen small can- non were solemnly dug up from their buried concealment and, together with a few Sharpes rifles, formally delivered. Half an hour later, turning a deaf ear to all remonstrance, he gave the proprietors until five oclock to remove their families and personal property from the Free- State Hotel. Atchison, who had been ha- ranguing the mob, planted his two guns before the building and trained them upon it. The in- mates being removed, at the appointed hour a few cannon-balls were fired through the stone walls. This mode of destruction being slow and undramatic, and an attempt to blow it up with gunpowder having proved equally unsat- isfactory, the torch was deliberately applied, and the structure given to the fiames.t Other squads had during the same time been sent to the several printing-offices, where they broke the l)resses, scattered the type, and demolished the furniture. The house of Governor Robin- son was also robbed and burned. Very soon the mob was beyond all control, and spreading itself over the town engaged in pillage till the darkness of night arrested it. Meanxvhile the chiefs sat on their horses and viewed the work of destruction with open delight. If we would believe the chief actors, this was the law-and~order party, executing the mandates of justice. Part and parcel of the affair was the pretense that this exploit of prairie buccaneering had been authorized by Judge Lecomptes court, the officials citing in their defense a presentment of his grand jury, de- claring the free-State newspapers seditious Sumner to Sbannon, May 12th, iS56. Senate DOCS., 3rd SCSS. 34th Cong. Vol. V. Memorial, Senate i)oCS., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. II., pp. 7385. CANNON SURRENDERED AT LAWRENCE, MAY lIST, ii56. (ORIDINAL IN POSSRISION OF TIlE EANSAS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 92 I3REA ING UP A PRO~SLAVERV CAMP. pub1icatiOflS~ and the Free-State Hotel a re- bellious fortification, and ~~cornmendiflg their ab tement as nuisanceS.~ The travesty of American government involved in the trans- action is too serious for ridicule. In this inci- dent, contrasting the creative and the de- structive spirit of the factions, the Emigrant Aid Society of Massachusetts finds its most honorable and triumphant vindicaf On. The whole proceeding was so childish, the misera- )le plot 0 transp~ rent, the outrage so gross, as to bring disgust to the better class of Border Ruffians thei selve who were witnesses and accessories. The free-State men have recorded the honorable conduct of Colonel Zadock Jackson of Georgia, and Buford of Alabama, as well as of the prosecuting attorney of the county, each of whom denounced the pro- ceedings on the spot.t JEFFERSON DAvis ON REBELLION. WRILE the town of Lawrence was yet undergoing burning and pillage, Governor Shannon wrote to Colonel Sumner to say that as the marshal and sheriff had finished making their rrests, and he presumed had by that time dismissed the posse, he required a company of United States troops to be sta- tioned at Lawrence to secure the safety of the citizens in both persons and property, ~ asking also a like company for Lecompton and Topeka. The next day the citizens of Lawrence had the opportunity to smother their indignation when they saw the smol- dering embers of the Free-State Hotel and the scattered fragments of their printing presses patrolled and protected by the ~ederal dragoons whose presence they had so vainly implored a few days before. It was high time the governor should ove. The sack of Lawrence had unchained the demon of civil war in good earnest. The guerilla bands with their booty spread over the coun- try, nd the free-State men rose in a spirit of fierce retaliation. Assassinations, house-bUrn ings, expulsions, and skirmishes broke out with frightful speed in all quarters. The sud- den shower of laxvles~ne5s fell on the just and the unjust; and, forced at last to deal out Holloway, ~ Memorial to the Presi cut. ~ ShannOn to Sumner, May 21St, 1856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 38. ~ Sumner to Howard, May ~6th, x8~6. Ibid., p. 37. ABRAHAM LINCOLN equal protection, the governor (June 4th) 15- sued his proclamation directing military or- ganizations to disperse, without regard to party, names, or distinctions,* and empower- ing Colonel Sumner to enforce the order.t That carefal and discreet officer, who had from the first counseled this policy, at once proceeded to execute the command with his characteristic energy. He disarmed and dis- persed the free-State guerillas,John Brown s among the earliest, liberated prisoners, drove the ~~issou~ans, including delegate Whitfield and General Coffee of the skeleton militia, back across their State line, and stationed five companies along the border to prevent their return. He was so fortunate as to accomplish all this without bloodshed. I do not think, he wrote, June 23d, there is an armed body of either party now in the territory, with the exception perhaps of a few freebooters.t The colonel found very soon that he was only too efficient and faithful. My measures have necessarily borne hard against both par- ties, wrote Sumner to the War Department, for both have in many instances been more or less wrong. The Missourians were perfectly satisfied so long as the troops were employed exclusively against the free-State party; but when they found that I would be strictly impartial, that lawless mobs could no longer come from Missouri, and that their interfer- ence with the affairs of Kansas was brought to an end, then they immediately raised a hue and cry that they were oppressed by the United States troops. The complaint had its usual prompt effect at Washington. By orders dated June 27th the colonel was super- seded in his command, and Brigadier-General P. F. Smith was sent to Leavenworth. Known to be pro-slavery in his opinions, great advan- tages were doubtless expected by the conspir- acy from this change. But General Smith xvas an invalid, and incapable of active ser- vice; and so far as the official records show, the army officers and troops in Kansas con- tinued to maintain a just impartiality in their dealings with the vexed political quarrel of the day. The removal of Governor Shannon a few weeks after Colonel Sumner once more made Secretary Woodson, always a willing instru- ment of the conspiracy, acting governor. It was under this individuals promptings and proclamation, Shannon being absent from the territory, that Colonel Sumner, before the ar- rival of the orders superseding him, forcibly ~ Shannon Proclamation, June 4th, 1856. Senate Does., 3d. Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 47. I Shannon to Sumner, June 4th, 1856. Ibid., p. 45. * Sumner to Cooper, June 23d, i8~6. Ibid., p. 50. VOL. XXXIV. 14. 93 dispersed the free-State legislature on the 4th of July, as narrated. For this act the cynical Secretary of XVar, Jefferson Davis, was not slow to send the colonel an implied censure, II perhaps to justify his removal from com- mand; but not a word of reproof went from President or Secretary of State to the acting governor. It has already been stated that for a con- siderable length of time after the organization of Kansas Territory the Missouri River was its principal highway of approach from the States. To antislavery men who were unwilling to conceal their sentiments, this had from the very first been a route of difficulty and danger. But now that political strife culminated in civil war, the Missourians established a com- plete practical blockade of the river against Northern men or Northern goods. Recently, however, railroads had been pushed forward across Iowa, and the Northern emigration to Kansas little by little found a new route through that State and Nebraska. It was about this time that great conster- nation was created in pro-slavery circles by the report that Lane had arrived at the Iowa border with a Northern army, exaggerated into fabulous numbers, and intent upon fight- ing his way to Kansas. Parties headed by Lane and others and aggregating some hun- dreds had in fact so arrived, and were more or less provided with arms, though they had no open military organization. While spies and patrols were on the lookout for marching companies and regiments, they, concealing their arms, quietly slipped down in detached parties to Lawrence. Thus reiinforced and in- spirited, the free-State men took the aggress- ive, and by several bold movements broke up a number of pro-slavery camps and gatherings. Greatly exaggerated reports of these affairs were promptly sent to the neighboring Mis- souri counties, and the Border Ruffians rose ahiTlost to a man for a third military invasion of Kansas. Governor Shannon, not yet notified of his removal, reported to General Smith that Lecompton was threatened with an attack. General Smith, becoming himself alarmed, called together all available force for the pro- tection of the territorial capital, and reported the exigency to the War Department. All the hesitation which had hitherto characterized the instructions of Jefferson Davis, the Secre- tary of War, in the use of troops otherwise than as an officers posse, instantly vanished. ~ Sumner to Cooper, Aug. ith, x8~6. Senate Does., 3d Seas. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. ~8. II Sumner to Cooper, Aug. 11th, 8~6. Endorsement, Aug. 27th, sS~6. Senate Does., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 59. ABRAHA ill LiNCOLN The whole Kansas militia was placed under the orders of General Smith, and requisitions were issued for two regiments from Illinois and two from Kentucky. The position of the insurgents, wrote the Secre- tary, as shown by your letter and its inclosures, is that of open rebellion against the laws and constitu- tional authorities, with such manifestation of a purpose to spread devastation over the land as no longer justi- fies further hesitation or indulgence. To you, as to every soldier, whose habitual feeling is to protect the citizens of his own country, and only to use his arms against a public enemy, it cannot be otherwise than deeply pain- ful to be brought into conflict with any portion of his fellow-countrymen. But patriotism and humanity alike require that rebellion should he promptly crushed, and the perpetration of the crimes which now disturb the peace and security of the good people of the terri- tory of Kansas should be effectually checked. You will therefore energetically employ all the means within your reach to restore the supremacy of the law, always endeavoring to carry out your present pur- pose to prevent the unnecessary effusion of blood. The cold-blooded Secretary, who could read a description of the sack of Lawrence unmoved, had probably cast his eye upon the Platte coun- ty battle-call in the Weston Argus Extra, which formed one of the generals inclosures. So sudden and unexpected has been the attack of the abolitionists that the law-and-order party was un- prepared to effectually resist them. To-day the bogus free-State government, we understand, is to assemble at Topeka. The issue is distinctly made up; either the free-State or pro-slavery party is to have Kansas Citizens of Platte county! the war is upon you, and at your very doors. Arouse yourselves to speedy ven- geance and rub out the bloody traitors. It was perhaps well that the pro-slavery zeal of General Smith was less ardent than that of Secretary Jefferson Davis, or the Amer- ican civil war might have begun in Lawrence instead of Charleston. Upon a little fuller in- formation and more mature reflection, the gen- eral found that he had no need either of the four regiments from Illinois and Kentucky or Border-Ruffian mobs led by skeleton militia generals, neither of which he had asked for. Both the militia generals and the Missourians were too eager even to wait for an official call. General Richardson ordered out his whole division on the strength of the Argus Extra and neighborhood reports,t and the entire bor- der was already in motion when Acting Gov- ernor Woodson issued his proclamation de- claring the territory to be in a state of open in- surrection and rebellion. General Smith found it necessary to direct his first orders against the Border-Ruffian invaders themselves. * Jefferson Davis, Secretary of War, to General Smith, Sept. 3d, 1856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 29. August iSth, 1856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. LII., pp. 767. Richardson to General Smith, August s8th, s8~6. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 75. It has been rumored for several days, be wrote to his second in command, that large numbers of persons from the State of Missouri have entered Kan- sas, at various points, armed, with the intention of at- tacking the opposite party and driving them from the territory, the latter being also represented to he in considerable force. If it should come to your knowl- edge that either side is moving upon the other with the view to attack, it will become your duty to ob- serve their movements and prevent such hostile collisions. II Lieutenant-Colonel Cooke, upon whom this active field work devolved, because of the gener- als ill health, concentrated his little command between Lawrence and Lecompton, where he could to some extent exert a salutary check upon the main bodies of both parties, and where he soon had occasion to send a remon- strance to the acting governor that his mili- tia was ransacking and burning housesil To the acting governors mind, such a remon- strance was not a proper way to suppress re- bellion. He therefore sent Colonel Cooke a requisition to invest the town of Topeka, dis- arm the insurrectionists, hold them as prison- ers, level their fortifications, and intercept aggressive invaders on Lanes trail ; ** all of which demands the officer prudently and politely declined, replying that he was there to assist in serving judicial process, and not to make war on the town of Topeka.tt If~ as had been alleged, General Smith was at first inclined to regard the pro-slavery side with favor, their arrogance and excesses soon removed his prejudices, and he wrote an un- sparing report of the situation to the War Department. In explanation of the position of affairs, lately and now, I may remark that there are more than two op- posing parties in the territory. The citizens of the territory who formed the majority in the organization of the territorial government, and in the elections for its legislature and inferior officers, form one party. The persons who organized a State government, and attempted to put it in operation against the authority of that established by Congress, form another. A party, at the head of which is a former Senator from Missouri, and which is composed in a great part of citizens from that State, who have come into this ter- ritory armed, under the excitement produced by re- ports exaggerated in all cases, and in many absolutely false, form the third. There is a fourth, composed of idle men congregated from various parts, who assume to arrest, punish, exile, and even kill all those whom they assume to be bad citizens; that is, those who will not join them or contribute to their maintenance. Every one of these has in its own peculiar way (except some few of the first party) thrown aside all regard to law, and even honesty, and the territory ueder their sway is ravaged from one end to the other. . Until the day before yesterday I was deficient in force ~ August 25th, sS~6. Ibid., p. So. Deas, A. A. C. ,to Lieutenant-Colonel Cooke, August 28th, sS~6. Ibid., p. 85. Cooke to Deas, August 3sst, sS~6. Senate Does., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 89. ~ Woodson to Cooke, Sept. ist, s8~6. Ibid., p. 90. Cooke to Woodson, Sept. 2d, 1856. Ibid., p. 91. 94 ABJIAIIAAL LINCOLN 95 to operate against all these at once; and the acting governor of the territory did not seem to me to take a right view of affairs. If Mr. Atchison and his party had had the direction of affairs, they could not have ordered them more to suit his purpose. E All such truth and exposure of the conspir- acy, however, was unpalatable at Washing- ton; and Secretary Jefferson Davis, while approving the conduct of Colonel Cooke and expressing confidence in the general, neverthe- less curtly indorsed upon his report: The only distinction of parties which in a military point of view it is necessary to note is that which dis- tinguishes those who respect and maintain the laws and organized government from those who comhine for revolutionary resistance to the constitutional au- thorities and laws of the land. The armed comhina- tion of the latter class come within the denunciation of the Presidents proclamation and are proper suhjects upon which to employ the military force. t Such was the state of affairs when the third governor of Kansas, newly appointed by Pres- ident Pierce, arrived in the territory. The Kan- sas pro-slavery cabal had upon the dismissal of Shannon fondly hoped that one of their own clique, either Secretary Woodson or Surveyor General John Calhoun, would be made execu- tive, and had set on foot active efforts in that direction. In principle and purpose they en- joyed the abundant sympathy of the Pierce administration; but as the presidential elec- tion of 1856 was at hand, the success of the Democratic party could not at the moment be endangered by so open and defiant an act of partisanship. It was still essential to placate the wounded antislavery sensibilities of Penn- sylvania and other Northern States, and to this end John W. Geary of the Keystone State was nominated by the President and unani- mously confirmed by the Senate. He was a man of character and decision, had gone to the Mexican War as a volunteer captain, and had been m.ade a colonel and intrusted with an important command for merit. Afterwards he had served as postmaster, as alcalde, and as mayor of the city of San Francisco in the tur- bulent gold excitements of 18489, and was again made a funding commissioner by the California legislature. ~ Both by nature and experience, therefore, he seemed well fitted to subdue the civil commotions of Kansas. But the pro-slavery leaders of the territory were very far from relishing or desiring quali- fications of this character. In one of their appeals calling upon the Missourians for as- sistance in men, provisions, and munitions, that we may drive out the Army of the North, Smith to Cooper, Sept. ~oth, 1856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 8o. Sec. \Var, endorsement, Sept. 23d, on letter of Gen. Smith to A. G., Sept. soth, s8~6. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 83. they had given the President and the public a piece of their mind about this appointment. We have asked the appointment of a successor, said they, who was acquainted with our condition, with the capacity to appreciate and the holduess and integrity requisite faithfully to discharge his duty re- gardless of the possihle effect it might have upon the election of some petty politician in a distant State. In his stead we have one appointed who is ignorant of our condition, a stranger to our people; who, we have too much cause to fear, will, if no worse, prove no more efficient to protect us than his predecessors e cannot await the convenience in coming of our newly appointed governor. We cannot hazard a second edi- tion of imhecility or corruption! Animated by such a spirit, they now bent all their energies upon concentrating a suf- ficient force in Kansas to crush the free-State men before the nexv governor could interfere. Acting Governor Woodson had by proclama- tion declared the territory in a state of open insurrection and rebellion, and the officers of the skeleton militia were hurriedly enroll- ing the Missourians, giving them arms, and planting them in convenient camps for a final and decisive campaign. It was on September 9th, 1856, that Gov- ernor Geary and his party landed at Leaven- worth. Even on his approach he had already been compelled to note and verify the evi- dences of civil war. He had met, fleeing from the territory, Governor Shannon, who drew for him a direful picture of the official inheri- tance to which he had come.1 While this in- terview took place, during the landing of the boat at Glasgow, a company of sixty Missouri Border Ruffians was embarking, with wagons, arms, and cannon, and with the open declara- tion that they were bound for Kansas to hunt and kill abolitionists. * * Similar belligerent preparations were in progress at all the river towns they touched. At Kansas City the vigi- lance committee of the blockade boarded and searched the boat for concealed abolitionists. Finally arrived at Leavenworth, the governor saw a repetition of the same scenes, parades and military control in the streets, fugitives within the inclosure of the fort, and hundreds of minor evidences of lawlessness and a reign of terror. Governor Geary went at once to the fort, where he spent the day in consultation with General Smith. That same evening he wrote to Secretary of State Marcy a report of the days impressions which was anything but reassuring Leavenworth in the hands of armed men committing outrages under the Washington Union, August ist, 1856. ~ Gihon, p. 130. I Woodson, Proclamation, August 25th, m8~6. Sen- ate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 8o. Gihon,p. 104. ~*Gihon, pp. 1045. 96 ABRAHAM LINCOLN shadow of authority; theft and murder in the streets and on the highways; farms plundered and deserted; agitation, excitement, and utter insecurity everywhere, and the number of troops insufficient to compel peace and order. All this was not the worst, however. Deep in the background stood the sinister apparition of the Atchison cabal. I find, wrote he, that I have not simply to con- tend against bands of armed ruffians and brigands whose sole aim and end is assassination and robbery infatuated adherents and advocates of conflicting po- litical sentiments and local institutionsand evil-dis- posed persons actuated by a desire to ohtain elevated positions; but worst of all, against the influence of men who have been placed in authority and have em- ployed all the destructive agents around them to pro- mote their own personal interests at the sacrifice of every just, honorable, and lawful consideration. Such is the condition of Kansas faintly pictured. In making the foregoing statements I have endeavored to give the truth and nothing but the truth. I deem it important that you should be apprised of the actual state of the case; and whatever may be the effect of such revelations, they will he given from time to time without extenuation. ~ Discouraging as he found his new task of administration, Governor Geary grappled with it in a spirit of justice and decision. The day following his interview with General Smith found him at Lecompton, the nominal capital of the territory, where the other territorial of- ficials, Woodson, Calhoun, Donaldson, Sheriff Jones, Lecompte, Cato, and others, constituted the ever-vigilant working force of the Atchi- son cabal, precisely as had been so truthfully represented to him by General Smith, and as he had so graphically described in his yester- days letter to Marcy. Paying little heed to their profusely offered advice, he adhered to his determination to judge for himself; and at once issued an inaugural address, declaring that in his official action he would do justice at all hazards, that he desired to know no party and no section, and imploring the people to bury their past strifes, and devote themselves to peace, industry, and the material develop- ment of the territory. t As an evidence of his earnestness lie simultaneously issued two proc- lamations, ~ one disbanding the volunteer or Missouri militia lately called into service by Acting Governor Woodson, and the other commanding the immediate enrollment of the true citizen militia of Kansas Territory, this step being taken by the advice of General Smith. He soon found that he could not govern * Geary to Marcy, Sept. pth, i856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. II., p. 88. Geary, Inaugural Address, Sept. i ith, i856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. ii6. t Geary, Proclamation, Sept. i ith, i8~6. Ibid., Vol. II., pp. 934. Kansas with paper proclamations alone. His sudden arrival at this particular juncture was evidently an unexpected co;ifretemfs. While he was preaching and printing his sage admoni- tions about peace and prosperity at Lecompton, and laboring to change the implements of civil war into plowshares and pruning-hooks, the Missouri raid against Lawrence, officially called into the field by Woodsons proclama- tion, was about to deal out destruction to that town. A thousand Border Ruffians (at least two eye-witnesses say txventy-five hundred), led by their recognized Missouri chiefs, were at that moment camped within striking distance of the hated New Boston. Their published address, which declared that these traitors, assassins, and robbers must now be punished, must now be taught a lesson they will remem- ber, that Lanes army and its allies must be expelled from the territory, left no doubt of their errand. This news reached the governor about mid- night of his second day in Lecompton. One of the brigadiers of the skeleton militia was apparently in command, and not yet having caught the cue of the governor~ s intentions, reported the force for orders, in the field, ready for duty, and impatient to act. fl At about the same hour he received a message from the agent he had sent to Lawrence to distribute copies of his inaugural, that the people of that town were arming and prepar- ing to receive and repel this contemplated attack of the Missourians. The governor was dumfounded at the information. His prom- ises and policy, upon which the ink was not yet dry, were already in jeopardy. Instead of bringing peace his advent was about to open ivar. In this contingency the governor took his measures with true military promptness. He immediately dispatched to the Missouri camp Secretary Woodson with copies of his inaugu- ral, and the adjutant-general of the territory with orders to disband and muster out of service the Missouri volunteers, [ while he himself; at the head of three hundred dragoons and a light battery, moved rapidly to Law- rence, a distance of twelve miles. Entering that town at sunrise, he found a few hundred men hastily organized for defense in the im- provised intrenchments and barricades about the place, ready enough to sell their lives, but vastly more willing to intrust their protection to the governors authority and the Federal ~ Geary to Marcy, Sept.I2th, i856. Ibid., p. 95. I General Heiskell to Geary, Sept. i ith and i2th, i856. Gihon, pp. i367. Geary to, Marcy, Sept. ifith, 1856. Senate Docs., 3d Sess. 34tb Cong. Vol. II., p. io7. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 97 troops.* They listened to his speech and readily promised to obey his requirements. Since the Missourians had officially re- ported themselves to him as subject to his orders, the governor supposed that his in- ~Linctions, conveyed to them in writino and 0 vii~. and borne by the Secretary and the adju- tant-general of the territory, would suffice to seni them back at once to their own borders. and he returned to Lecompton to take up his thorny duties of administration. But though forewarned by ex-Governor Shannon and by General Smith, the governor did not yet real- ize the temper and purpose of either the cabal conspirators or the Border-Ruffian rank and tile. He had just dispatched a military force in another direction to intercept and disarm .a raid about to be made by a detachment of Lanes men when news came to him that the Missourians were still moving upon Lawrence in increased force, that his officers had not yet delivered their orders, and that skirmishing had begun between the outposts. Menaced thus with dishonor on one side and contempt on the other, he gathered all his available Federal troops, and hurrying for- ward posted them between Lawrence and the invaders. Then he went to the Missouri camp. where the true condition of affairs be- gan to dawn upon him. All the Border-Ruffian chiefs were there, headed by Atchison in per- son, who was evidently the controlling force, though a member of the legislature of the State of Missouri, named Reid, exercised nomn al command. t He found his orders unheede I and on every hand mutterings of Lmpa~ience and threats of defiance. These in~ ~bnr aliens had not the least disposition colonel Cooke to Porter, A. A. G., Sept. i3th, i556. ~en-ee Doe 3d Sess. 34th Cong. \ol. III., p. 113. \\ ilcki p ioS Gihon, p. 152. olooel c ool e to Porter, Sept. i6th, 1856. Senate Doe 3d Ses 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. 121. JOhN XV. GEARY (1866). (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY DRAPER & OLSTEII).) to receive commands as Kansas militia; they invoked that name only as a cloak to shield them from the legal penalties due their real character as organized banditti. The governor called the chiefs together and made them an earnest harangue. He explained to them his conciliatory policy, read his in- structions from Washington, affirmed his de- termination to keep peace, and appealed per- sonally to Atchison to aid him in enforcing law and preserving order. That wily chief, seeing that refusal would put him in the attitude of a law-breaker, feigned a ready compliance, and he and Reid, his factotum commander, made eloquent speeches calculatedl to produce submission to the legal dlemands made upon them. j Some of the lesser captains, however, were mu- tinous, andl treated the gov- ernor to choice bits of Border- Ruffian rhetoric. Law and violence vibrated in uncertain balance, when Colonel Cooke, commanding the Federal troops, took the Boor and cut the knot of discussion in a summary way. I felt called uuon to say some words my- self, he writes naively, ap- pealing to these militia officers as an old resident of Kansas and friend to the Missourians to submit to the patriotic tIe- mandi that they should retire, VOL. XXXTV.i4 HOUSE OCCUPIED BY GOVERNOR GEARY. 98 ABRAHAM LINCOLN assuring them of my perfect confidence in the inflexible justice of the governor, and that it would become my painful duty to sustain him at the cannons mouth. * This argument ivas decisive. The valiant border chiefs felt will- ing enough to lead their awkward squads against the slight barricades of Lawrence, hut quailed at the unlooked-for prospect of encountering the carbines and sabers of half a regiment of regular dragoons and the grape- shot of a well-drilled light battery. They ac- cepted the inevitable; and swallowing their rage and still nursing their revenge, they con- sented perforce to retire and be honorably mustered out. But for this narrow contin- gency Lawrence would have been sacked by the direct agency of the territorial cabal a second time. Nothing could more forcibly demonstrate the unequal character of the contest between the slave-State and the free-State men in Kansas, even in these manmuvres and conflicts of civil war, than the companion exploit to this thirct Lawrence raid. The day before Governor Geary, seconded by the cannon argument of Colonel Cooke, was convincing the reluctant Missourians that it was better to accept, as a reward for their unfinished expedi- tion, the pay, rations, and honorable discharge of a muster out, rather than the fine, im- prisonment, or halter which the full execution of their design would render them liable to, another detachment of Federal dragoons was enforcing the bogus laws upon a company of free-State men who had just had a skirmish with another detachment of this same invad- ing army of Border Ruffians, at a place called Hickory Point. The encounter itself had all the usual characteristics of the dozens of simi- lar affairs xvhich occurred during this prolonged period of border warfare a neighborhood feud; neighborhood violence; the appearance of organized bands for retaliation; the taking of forage. animals, and property; the fortifying of two or three log-houses by a pro-slavery comj)any then on its way to join in the Law- rence attack, and finally the appearance of a more numerous free-State party to dislodge them. The besieging column, some three hundred and fifty in number, had brought up a brass four-pounder, lately captured from the pro-slavery men, and with this and their rifles kept ~p a long-range fire for about six hours, when the garrison of Border Ruffians capitu- lated on condition of being allowed honor- al~lyto evacuate their stronghold and retire. The casualties were one man killed and several wounded.t Cooke to Porter, Sept. i6th, i556. Senate Does., t Examination, Senate Don., 3d Sess. 34th Cong. 3d Sess. 34th Cong. Vol. III., p. i22. Vol. IL, pp. I56x69. BRAWN BY WILLiAM BREYMAN LITBIBGBAPBEB By I. H. BBBTBRD. BATTLE OF HICKoRy POINT. (IN POSSESSION Ov Il-IF KANSAS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) ABRAHAJVif LINCOLN. 99 The rejoicing of the free-State men over this not too brilliant victory was short-lived. Returning home in separate squads, they were successively intercepted by the Federal dragoons acting as a posse to the Deputy United States Marshal, ~ who arrested them on civil writs obtained in haste by an active member of the territorial cabal, and to the number of eighty-nine t were taken prisoners to Lecompton. So far the affair had been of such frequent occurrence as to have l)ecome commonplace a frontier free fight, as they themselves described and regarded it. But now it took on a truly remarkable aspect. Sterling G. Cato, one of the pro-slavery territorial judges, had been found by Gov- ernor Gearv in the Missouri camp drilling and doing duty as a soldier4 ready and doubtless more than willing to take part in the projected sack of Lawrence. This Federal judge, as open a law-breaker as these Hickory Point prisoners (the two affairs really forming part of one arid the same enterprise), now seated himself on his judicial bench and com- mitted the whole party for trial on charge of murder in the first degree; and at the Octo- ber term of his court proceeded to try and condemn to penalties prescribed by the bogus laws some eighteen or twenty of these prisoners, for offenses in which in equity and good morals duspt~nn X\OO(l to Colonel Cooke, Sept. i6th, 1856. ~enatc Does d Cess. 34t11 Cong. Vol. III., PP 123 1 20. C e~nx to Mocv, October 1st, 1856. Senate Does., 3d Se~ 34th Cong. Vol. II., p. m~6. ~ Recold of examination, Senate Docs., 3d Sess. GENERAL P. ST. GROIO;K COORK (1861). 34th Cono 4 oh II., p. 169. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN 135 WHITRHGRST.) Ii; ~// SASAPHES IS J. H. IN LECOMPTON PRISON. (IN PoS5RSSION OF TOG KANSAS HISTORICAL SOCIETY.) 0 H 0 0 H H z 0 z 0 H H ABRAHAM LINCOLN I0I he was personallyparticeps criminis some of the convicts being held in confinement until the following March, when they were par- doned by the governor. * Inter arrncz silent leges, say the publicists; but in this particular instance the license of guerilla war, the fraudu- lent statutes of the territory, and the laws of Congress were combined and perverted with a satanic ingenuity in furtherance of this wretched conspiracy. The vigorous proceedings of Governor Geary, the forced retirement of the Missou- rians on the one hand, and the arrest and con- viction of the free-State partisans on the other, had the effect to bring the guerilla war to an abrupt termination. The retribution had fallen very unequally upon the two parties to the conflict, t but this was due to the legal traps and pitfalls prepared with such artful design by the Atchison conspiracy, and not to the personal indifference or ill-will of the gover- nor. He strove sincerely to restore impartial administration; he completed the disband- ment of the territorial militia, rei~nlisting into the Federal service one pro-slavery and one free-State company for police duty. By the end of September he was enabled to write to Washington that peace now reigns in Kan- sas. Encouraged by this success in allaying guerilla strife, he next endeavored to break up the existing political persecution and in- trigues. It was not long, however, before Governor Geary became conscious, to his great surprise and mortification, that he had been nominated and sent to Kansas as a partisan manceuvre, and not to institute administrative reforms; that his instructions, written during the presi- dential campaign, to tranquillize Kansas by his energy, impartiality, and discretion, ~ really meant that after Mr. Buchanan was elected he should satisfy the Atchison cabal. In less than six months after he had come to the territory, clothed with the executive authority, speaking the Presidents voice, and representing the unlimited military power of the republic, he, the third Democratic governor of Kansas, was, like his predecessors, in secret and ignoble flight from the province he had so trustfully come to rule, contemned and execrated by his party associates, aban- doned and disgraced by the Administration which had appointed him, and without pro- tection to guard him from the assault of high- wayman or assassin. Humiliating as was this local conspiracy to plant servitude in Kansas, a more aggressive political movement to nationalize slavery in all the Union was about to eclipse it. THE CONVENTIONS OF r8~6. IN the State of Illinois, the spring of the year 1856 saw an almost spontaneous impulse to- ward the formation of a new party. As already described, it was a transition period in politics. The disorganization of the Whig party was ma- terially increased and hastened by the failure, twO years before, to make Lincoln a Senator. On the other hand, the election of Trumbull served quite as effectively to consolidate the Democratic rebellion against Douglas in his blind determination to make the support of his Nebraska bill a test of party orthodoxy. Many of the Northern counties formed Re- publican organizations in the two previous years; but the name was entirely local, while the opposition, not yet united, but fighting in factions against the Nebraska bill, only * Gihon, pp.1423. Geary, Executive Minutes, Sen- entitled to indemnity. The detailed figures and values ate Docs., ist Sess. 35th Cong. Vol. VI., p. 195. of property destroyed are presented as follows The Kansas territorial legislature, in the year Amount of crops destroyed, $37,349.61; number 1859, by which time local passion had greatly sub- of buildings burned and destroyed, 78; horses taken sided, by law empowered a non-partisan board of three or destroyed, 368; cattle taken or destroyed, 533. commissioners to collect sworn testimony concerning Amount of property owned by pro-slavery men, $77,- the ravages of the civil war in Kansas, with a view of 198.99; property owned by free-State men, $335,. obtaining indemnity from the General Government 779.04; property taken or destroyed by pro-slavery for the individual sufferers. These commissioners, men, $318,718.63; property taken or destroyed by after a careful examination, made an official report, from free-State men, $94,529.40. which may be gleaned an interesting summary in num- About the loss of life the commissioners say, Al. hers and values of the harvest of crime and destruction though not within our province, we may be excused for which the Kansas contest produced, and which report stating that, from the most reliable information that can be relied upon, since eye-witnesses and participants we have been able to gather, by the secret warfare of of both parties freely contributed their testimony at the the guerilla system, and in well-known encounters, invitation of the commissioners, the number of lives sacrificed in Kansas during the The commissioners fixed the period of the war as be- period mentioned probably exceeded rather than fell ginning about November ut, u855,andcontinuinguntil short of two hundred. . . . That the excitement in about December 1st, 1856. They estimated that the en- the Eastern and Southern States, in u556, was insti- tire loss and destruction of property, including the gated and kept up by garbled and exaggerated ac- cost of fitting out the various expeditions, amounted to counts of Kansas affairs, published in the Eastern and an aggregate of not less than $2,000,000. Fully one- Southern newspapers, is true, most true; but the half of this loss, they thought, was directly sustained by half of what was done by either party was never chroni- actual settlers of Kansas. They received petitions and clod! I-louse Reports, 2d Sess. 36th Cong. Vol. took testimony in 463 cases. They reported4l7cases as III., Part I, pp. 90 and 93. t Marcy to Geary, August 26th, s856. Gihon, p. 272. 102 ABRAHAM LINCOLN acknowledged political affinity under the gen- eral term of the Anti-Nebraska party. In the absence of any existing party ma- cbin ery, some fifteen editors of anti-Ne- braska newspapers met for conference at Decatur on the 22d of February and issued a call for a delegate State convention of the Anti-Nebraska party, to meet at Bloom- ington on the 2pth of May. Prominent lead- ers, as a rule, hesitated to commit themselves by their presence at Decatur. Not so with Mr. Lincoln. He could not attend the delib- erations as an editor; but he doubtless lent his suggestion and advice, for we find him among the distinguished guests and speakers at the banquet which followed the business session, and toasts to his candidacy as the next United States Senator show that his leadership had suffered no abatement. The assembled editors purposely set the Bloom- ington convention for a somewhat late day in the campaign, and before the time arrived, the political situation in the State was already much more clearly defined. One factor which greatly baffled the calcu- lations and forecast of politicians was the ex- istence of the Know-Notbing or American party. It was apparent to all that this order or affiliation had during the past two years spread into Illinois, as into other States. But as its machinery and action were secret, and as no general election had occurred since 1854 to exhibit its numerical strength, its possible scope and influence could only he vaguely estimated. Still it was clearly present as a positive force. Its national council had in February at Phila- delphia nominated Fillmore and Donelson as a presidential ticket; but the preponderating Southern membership forced an indorsement of the Kansas-Nebraska act into its platform, which destroyed the unity and power of the party, driving the Northern delegates to a bolt. Nevertheless many Northern voters, indifferent to the slavery issue, still sought to maintain its organization; and thus in Illinois the State Council met early in May, ratified the nom- ination of Fillmore for President, and nomi- nated candidates for governor and other State offices.* The Democratic party, or rather so much of that party as did not openly repudiate the pol- icy and principle of the Kansas-Nebraska act, made early preparations for a vigorous cam- paign. The great loss in prestige and numbers he had already sustained admonished Douglas that his political fortunes hung in a doubtful bal- ance. But he was a bold and aggressive leader, to whom controversy and party warfare were rather an inspiration than a discouragement. Under his guidance, the Democratic State con- * History of Illinois, Davidson and Stuv6, p. 648. vention nominated for governor of Illinois William A. Richardson, late a member of the House of Representatives, in which body as chairman of the Committee on Territories he had been the leader to whom the success of the Nebraska bill was specially intrusted, and where his somewhat unscrupulous parliament- ary management had contributed materially to the final passage of that measure. Thus the attitude of opposing factions and the unorganized unfolding of public opinion, rather than any mere promptings or combina- tions of leaders, developed the cause of the anti-Nebraska men of Illinois. Out of this condition sprang directly one important ele- ment of future success. Richardsons candi- dacy, long foreshadowed, was seen to require an opposing nominee of unusual popularity. He was found in the person of Colonel William H. Bissell, late a Democratic representative in Congress, where he had denounced disunion in i 8~o, and opposed the Nebraska bill in 1854. He had led a regiment to the Mexican war, and fought gallantly at the battle of Buena Vista. His military laurels easily carried him into Congress; but the exposures of the Mex- ican campaign also burdened him with a disease which paralyzed his lower limbs, and compelled retirement from active politics after his second term. He was now, however, once more recov- ering; and having already exhibited civic tal- ents of a high order, the popular voice made light of his physical infirmity, and his friends declared their readiness to match the brains of Bissell against the legs of his opponents. One piece of his history rendered him spe- cially acceptable to young and spirited Western voters. His service in Congress began amid exciting debates over the Compromise meas- ures of i8~o, when the Southern fire-eaters were already rampant and reckless. Seddon of Virginia, in his eagerness to depreciate the North and glorify the South, affirmed in a speech that at the battle of Buena Vista, at that most critical juncture when all seemed lost save honor, amid the discomfiture and rout of the brave but unfortunate troops of the North through a mistaken order, the no- ble regiment of Mississippians had snatched victory from the jaws of death. t Replying some days later to Seddons innuendo, Bis- sell, competent by his presence on the battle- field to bear witness, retorted that when the 2d Indiana gave way, it was McKees 2d Kentucky, Hardins ist Illinois, and Bissells 2d Illinois which had retrieved the fortunes of the hour, and that the vaunted Mississippi regiment was not within a mile and a half of the scene of action. Properly this was an is- sue of veracity between Seddon and Bissell, of January 23d, 1850; Globe, app. 78. ABRAHAM LINCOLN 103 easy solution. But Jefferson Davis, who com- manded the Mississippi regiment in question, began an interchange of notes with Bissell which from the first smelt of gunpowder. Were his reported remarks correct? asked Davis in substance. Bissell answered, repeat- ing the language of his speech and defining the spot and the time to which it applied, add- ing, I deem it due, in justice alike to myself and the Mississippi regiment, to say that I made no charge against that regiment. Davis persisting, then asked, in substance, whether he meant to deny General Lanes official report that the regiment of Mississippians came to the rescue at the proper time to save the for- tunes of the day. Bissell rejoined, My re- marks had reference to a different time and place from those referred to by General Lane. At this point both parties might with great propriety have ended the correspondence. Sufficient inquiry had been met by generous explanation. But Davis, apparently determined to push Bissell to the wall, now sent his chal- lenge. This time, however, he met his match in courage. Bissell named an officer of the army as his second, instructing him to suggest as weapons muskets, loaded with ball and buckshot. The terms of combat do not appear to have been formally proposed be- tween the friends who met to arrange matters, hut they were evidently understood; for the affair was hushed up, with the simple addition to Bissells first reply that he was willing to award the Mississippi regiment the credit due to their gallant and distinguished services in that battle. The Bloomington convention came togeth- er according to call on the 29th of May. By this time the active and observant politicians of the State had become convinced that the anti-Nebraska struggle was not a mere tem- porary and insignificant abolition excite- ment, but a deep and abiding political issue, involving in the fate of slavery the fate of the nation. Minor and past differences were therefore generously postponed or waived in favor of a hearty coalition on the single dom- inant question. A most notable gathering of the clans was the result. About one-fourth of the counties sent regularly chosen delega- tions; the rest were volunteers. In spirit and enthusiasm, therefore, it was rather a mass- meeting than a convention; but every man present was in some sort a leader in his own locality. The assemblage was much more representative than similar bodies gathered by the ordinary caucus machinery. It was an earnest and determined council of five or six hundred cool, sagacious, independent thinkers, called together by a great public exigency, led and directed by the first minds of the State. Not only did it show a brilliant array of emi- nent names, but a remarkable contrast of for- mer antagonisms: Whigs, Democrats, Free- soilers, Know-nothings, Abolitionists; Judd, Yates, Peck, Swett, Trumbull, Davis, Lovejoy, Browning, Codding, Williams, and many more. Chief among these, as adviser and actor, was Abraham Lincoln. Rarely has a deliberative body met under circumstances more exciting than did this one. The Congressional debates at Washington and the civil war in Kansas were each at a cul- mination of passion and incident. Within ten days Sumner had been struck down in the Senate, and the town of Lawrence sacked by the guerilla posse of Atchison and Sheriff Jones. Ex-Governor Reeder, of that suffering territory, addressed the citizens of Bloomington and the earliest-arriving delegates on the even- ing of the 28th, bringing the very atmosphere of the Kansas conflict into the convention itself. The convention met and conducted its work with earnestness and dignity. Bissell, already designated by unmistakable popular indications, was nominated for governor by acclamation. The candidate for lieutenant- governor was named in like manner. So little did the convention think or care about the mere distribution of political honors on the one hand, and so much, on the other, did it regard and provide for the success of the cause, that it did not even ballot for the remaining candidates on the State ticket, but deputed to a committee the task of selecting and arranging them, and adopted its report as a whole and by acclamation. The more difficult task of draft- ing a platform was performed by another com- mittee, with such prudence that it too received a unanimous acceptance. It boldly adopted the Republican name, formulated the Repub- lican creed, and the convention further ap- pointed delegates to the coming Republican national convention. There were stirring speeches by eloquent leaders, eagerly listened to and vociferously ap- plauded; but scarcely a man stirred from his seat in the crowded hall until Mr. Lincoln had been heard. Every one felt the fitness of his making the closing argument and exhortation, and right nobly did he honor their demand. A silence full of emotion filled the assembly as for a moment before beginning his tall form stood in commanding attitude on the rostrum, the impressiveness of his theme and the signifi- cance of the occasion reflected in his thought- ful and earnest features. The spell of the hour was visibly upon him; and holding his audi- ence in rapt attention, he closed in a brilliant peroration with an appeal to the people to join the Republican standard, to 104 ABRAHAM LINCOLN Come as the winds come, when forests are rended; Come as the waves come, when navies are stranded. The influence was irresistible; the audience rose and acknowledged the speakers power with cheer upon cheer. Unfortunately the speech was never reported; but its effect lives vividly in the memory of all who heard it, and it crowned his right to popular leadership in his own State, which thereafter was never dis- puted. The organization of the Republican party for the nation at large proceeded very much in the same manner as that for the State of Illinois. Pursuant to separate preliminary corresl)ondence and calls from State commit- tees, a general meeting of prominent Repub- licans or anti-Nebraska politicians from all parts of the North, and even from a few bor- der slave States, came together at Pittsburgh on Washingtons birthday, February 22d. Ohio, New York, and Pennsylvania sent the largest contingents; but around this great cen- tral nucleus were gathered small but earnest delegations, aggregating between three and four hundred zealous leaders, representing twenty-eight States and territories. It was merely an informal mass convention; but many of the delegates were men of national char- acter, each of xvhose names was itself a suf- ficient credential. Above all, the members caught the inspiration of wisdom from their opportunity; they were cautious, moderate, conciliatory, and unambitious to act beyond the requirements of the hour. They contented themselves with the usual parliamentary rou- tine; appointed a committee on national or- ganization; issued a call for a delegate convention; and adopted and put forth a stir- ring address to the country. Their resolutions were brief, and formulated but four demands: the repeal of all laws xvhich allow the intro- duction of slavery into territories once conse- crated to freedonr resistance by constitutional means to slavery in any United States terri- tory; the immediate admission of Kansas as a free State, and the overthrow of the present national Administration. In response to the official call embodied in the Pittsburgh address, the first national con- vention of the Republican party met at Phil- adelphia on the r7th of June, 1856. The character and dignity of the Pittsburgh pro- ceedings assured the new party of immediate prestige and acceptance; with so favorable a sponsorship it sprang full-armed into the political conflict. That conflict which opened the year with the long congressional contest over the speakership, and which found its only solution in the choice of Banks by a plurality vote, had been fed by fierce congressional de- bates, by presidential messages and proclama tions, by national conventions, by the Sumner assault, by the Kansas war; the body politic throbbed with activity and excitement in every fiber. Every free State and several border States and territories were represented in the Philadelphia convention; its regular and ir- regular delegates counted nearly a full thou- sand of eager local leaders, full of the zeal of new proselytes. The party was too young and its prospect of immediate success altogether too slender to develop any serious rivalry for a presiden- tial nomination. Because its strength lay evidently among the former adherents of the now dissolved and abandoned Whig party, Seward naturally took highest rank in leader- ship; after him stood Chase as the represen- tative of the independent Democrats, who, bringing fewer voters, had nevertheless con- tributed the main share of the courageous pioneer work. It is, however, a just tribute to their sagacity that they were willing to wait for the maturer strength and riper opportu- nities of the new organization. Mr. Justice McLean of the Supreme Bench, an eminent jurist, a faithful Whig, whose character happily combined both the energy and the conserva~ tism of the great West, also had a large follow- ing; but as might have been expected, the convention found a more typical leader, young in years, daring in character, brilliant in ex- ploit; and after one informal ballot it nomi- nated John C. Frt~mont of California. The credit of the selection and its successful man- agement has been popularly awarded to Fran- cis P. Blair, senior, somewhat famous as the talented and powerful newspaper lieutenant of President Jackson; but it was rather an intuitive popular choice, which at the moment seemed so indisputably appropriate as to pre- clude necessity for artful intrigue. There was a dash of romance in the per- sonal history of Fr~mont which gave his nomination a high popular relish. Of French descent, born in Savannah, Georgia, orphaned at an early age, he acquired a scientific edu- cation largely by his own unaided efforts in private study; a sea voyage as teacher of mathematics, and employment in a railroad survey through the then wilderness of the Tennessee Mountains, developed the taste and the qualifications that made him useful as an assistant in Nicollets scientific explora- tion of the great plateau where the Missis- sippi River finds its sources, and secured his appointment as second lieutenant of topo- graphical engineers. These labors brought him to Washington, where the same Gallic restlessness and recklessness which had ren- dered the restraint of schools insupportable brought about an attachment, elopement, and ABRAHAM LINCOLN Io5~ marriage with the daughter of Senator Ben- ton of Missouri. Reconciliation followed in good time; and the unexplored great West being Bentons peculiar bobby, through his influence Fr& mont was sent with an exploring party to the Rocky Mountains. Under his command sim- ilar expeditions were repeated again and again to that yet mysterious wonderland; and never were the wildest fictions read with more avidity than his official reports of daily adven- ture and danger and discovery, of scaling Un- climbed mountains, wrecking his canoes on the rapids of unvisited rivers, parleying or battling with hostile Indians, or facing star- vation while hemmed in by trackless snows. One of these journeys had led him to the Pacific coast when our war with Mexico let loose the spirit of revolution in the then Mexican province of California. With the abandon of a petrel in a storm, Fr~mont joined his little company of explorers to the insurrectionary faction, organized the revolt, improvised and took command of a mounted regiment, overturned the tottering local Mexi- can authority and put her remnant of officials to flight, setting up instead a temporary gov- ernment under a declaration of independence. NOL. XXXJV.15. With others he skillfully assisted in turning this movement into a conquest of the country for the United States; and when through the famous gold discoveries California was soon afterwards organized and admitted as a new State of the Union, Fr6mont became for a brief period one of her first United States Senators. So salient a record could not well be with- out strong contrasts, and of these unsparing criticism took advantage. High romance was changed to merciless ridicule by thousands of sharp newspaper quills in the savage dissec- tions to which presidential candidates are sub- jected. Hostile journals (lelineated Frdmont as a shallow, vainglorious, woolly-horse, mule-eating, free-love, nigger-embrac- ing black Repul)lican; an extravagant, in- subordinate, reckless adventurer; a financial spendthrift and political mountebank. As the rea(lin g public is not always skillful in winnow ing truth from libel when artfully mixed in print, even the grossest calumnies were not without their effect in contributing to his de- feat. To the sanguine zeal of the new Re- publican party, however, Fr~mont was for the hour a heroic and i(leal leader; for upon the vital point at issue, his antislavery votes and MILLARD FILLMORE. (FRoM A DAGUERREOTYPE.) io6 ABRAHAM LINCOLN clear declarations satisfied every doubt and inspired unlimited confidence. However picturesquely Fr~mont for the moment loomed up as the standard-bearer of the Republican party, future historical interest centers upon the second act of the Philadel- phia convention. It shows us how strangely to human wisdom vibrate the delicately bal- anced scales of fate; or rather how inscrutable and yet how unerring are the far-reaching processes of divine providence. The principal candidate having been selected without con- tention or delay, the convention proceeded to a nomination for Vice-President. On the first informal ballot William L. Dayton of New jersey received 259 votes and Abraham Lincoln of Illinois rio the remaining votes I oi Dn id Wilmot of I~ennsyivania, 43; Preston Kmo of Neo X oik, 9. Charles Sumner of Massachu- setts, ~6, Thom~ H 1 oid of Ohio, 7; Cassius M. Clay of lventuckx ~ Iacoh Colhmer of Vermont, 15; Will- iam F f Dhnston of Pennsx ivinia, 2; Nathaniel P. l3anks of Mis achu~e~ 46 Henry Wilson of Massachusetts, 7 \\ uha ii PenniuLton of New Jersey, I; Carey of INco Jersex ~ C PomeioyofKansas,8; J. 14. Old- being scattered among thirteen other names.* The dominating thought of the convention being the assertion of principle, and not the promotion of men, there was no further con- test; t and though Mr. Dayton had not re- ceived a majority support, his nomination was nevertheless at once made unanimous. Those who are familiar with the eccentricities of nomi- natin g conventions when in this listless and drift- ing mood know how easily an opportune speech from some eloquent delegate or a few adroitly arranged delegation caucuses might have re- versed this result; and imagination may not easily construct the possible changes in his- tory which a successful campaign of the ticket in that form might have wrought. What ~vould have been the consequences to America and (lin(~5 of Ohio 2. The vote in detail for Lincoln was Maine, s ; New 1-Iampshire, 8; Massachusetts, 7; Rhode Island, 2; New York, 3; Pennsylvania, Is; Ohio, 2; In(liana, 26; Illinois, 33; Michigan, ~ California, 52. Mr. T. S. Van Dyke, son of one of the delegates to Philadelphia, kindly writes us: Nothing that Mr. Lin- cohi has ever written is more characteristic than the following note from him to my father just after the JOSIN c. FRCMONT. (rsosi A STEEL ILATE IN ro55E55I0N OF 5155. FF~2I0NT.) ABRAHAM LINCOLN 107 humanity had the Rebellion, even then being vaguely devised by Southern Hotspurs, burst upon the nation in the winter of 1856, with the nations sword of commander-in-chief in the hand of the impulsive Fr~mont, and Lin- coln, inheriting the patient wariness and cool blood of three generations of pioneers and In- dian-fighters, wielding only the powerless gavel of Vice-President? But the hour of destiny had not vet struck. The platform devised by the Philadelphia convention was unusually bold in its afhrma- tions, and most happy in its phraseology. Not only did it deny the authority of Congress, or of a territorial legislature, of any individual or association of individuals, to give legal exist- ence to slavery in any territory of the United States ; it further Resolved, that the Consti- tution confers upon Congress sovereign power over the territories of the United States for their government, and that in the exercise of this power it is both the right and the duty of Congress to prohibit in the territories those twin relics of barbarism, polygamy and sla- very. At Buchanan, recently nominated by the Democratic National Convention in Cin- cinnati, it aimed a barbed shaft Resolved, that the highwaymans plea that might makes right, embodied in the Ostend circular, was in every respect unworthy of American diploma- cv, and would bring shame and dishonor upon any government or people that gave it their sanction. It demanded the maintenance of the principles of the Declaration of Independence, of the Federal Constitution, of the rights of the States, and the union of the States. It favored a Pacific railroad, congressional appropria- tions for national rivers and harbors; it af- firmed liberty of conscience and equality of rights; it arraigned the policy of the Admin- istration; demanded the immediate admis- sion of Kansas as a State, and invited the affiliation and codperation of men of all parties, however differing from them in other respects, in support of the principles declared. The nominees and platform of the Phila- delphia convention were accepted by the oppo- sition voters of the free States with an alacrity and an enthusiasm beyond the calculation of even the most sanguine; and in November a vote was recorded in their support which, though then unsuccessful, laid the secure foun- tlation of an early victory, and permanently es- tablished a great party destined to carry the country through trials and vicissitudes equal in convention not for publication, but merely as a pri- vate expression of his feelings to an old acquaintance: SPRINGFIELD, ILL., june 27, 1856. 1-lox. Toux ~Ax DYRE. Mv DEAR SIR : Allow me to thank you for yoc: kind notice of me in the Philadelphia convention. magnitude and results to any which the world had hitherto witnessed. In the present year none of the presiden- tial honors were reserved for the State of Illi- nois. While Lincoln thus narrowly missed a nomination for the second place on the Repub- lican ticket, his fellow-citizen and competitor, Douglas, failed equally to obtain the nomina- tion he so much coveted as the candidate of the Democratic party. The Democratic national convention had met at Cincinnati on the 2d day of June, i8~6. If Douglas flattered himself that such eminent services as he had rendered the South would now find their reward, his disappointment must have been severe. A frequent phenomenon of hu- man nature again occurred. While the bene- fits he had conferred were lightly estimated or totally forgotten, former injuries inflicted in his name were keenly remembered and re- sented. But three prominent candidates, Bu- chanan, Pierce, and I)ouglas, were urged upon the convention. The indiscreet crusade of Douglass friends against old fogies in 1852 had defeated Buchanan and nomin ated Pierce; now, by the turn of political fortune, Buchan- ans friends were able to wipe out the double score by defeating both I~ierce and 1)ouglas. The bulk of the Southern tlelegates seem to have been guided by the mere instinct of p~~s- ent utility; they voted to renominate Pierce, When you meet Judge Dayton presem~t my respects, and tell him I think him a far better man than I for the position he is in, and that I shall support both him and Colonel Frdmont most cordially. Present my best respccts to Mrs. V., and believe me, Yours truly, A. LINcoLN. WILLIAM L. DAYTON. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY MOSES C. ERTZ.) xo8 ABJYAHAM LINCOLN because of his subservient Kansas policy, for- getting that Douglas had not only begun it, but was their strongest future ally to continue it. When after a day of fruitless balloting they changed their votes to Douglas, Buchanan, the so-called old fogy,j ust returned from the Eng- lish mission, and therefore not handicapped by present personal jealousies and heart- burnings, had secured the firm adhesion of a decided majority, mainly from the North.* The two-thirds rule was not yet fulfilled, but at this juncture the friends of Pierce and Douglas yielded to the inevitable, and with- drew their favorites in the interest of har- mony. On the seventeenth ballot, therefore, and the fifth day of the convention, James Buchanan of Pennsylvania became the unan- imous nominee of the Democratic party for President, and John C. Breckinridge of Ken- tucky for Vice- President. The famous Cincinnati platform holds a conspicuous place in party literature for length, for vigor of language, for variety of topics, for boldness of declaration; and yet, strange to say, its chief merit and utility lay in the skill- ful concealment of its central thought and purpose. About one-fourth of its great length is devoted to what to the eye looks like a somewhat elaborate exposition of the doc- trines of the party on the slavery question. Eliminate the verbiage and there only re- mains an indorsement of the principles contained in the organic laws establishing the Territory of Kansas and Nebraska (non- interference by Congress with slavery in State and territory, or in the District of Columbia) and the practical application of the princi- plesis thus further defined: Resolved, that we recognize the right of the peo- ple ofall the territories, including Kansas and Nebraska, acting through the legally and fairly expressed will of a majority of actual residents, and whenever the num- ber of their inhabitants justifies it, to form a Constitu- tion with or without domestic slavery, and he admitted into the Union upon terms of perfect equality with the other States. We have already seen how deliberately the spirit and letter of the principle was vio- lated by the Democratic national administra- tion of President Pierce, and by nearly all the Democratic Senators and Representatives in Congress; and we shall see how the more ex- plicit resolution was again even more flagrantly On the sixteenth ballot Buchanan received ifiS votes, of which i2i were from the free States and 47 from the slave States; Douglas received i22 votes, of which 49 were from the free States and 73 from the slave States; Cass received 6 votes, all from the free States; Pierce had been finally dropped on the previous ballot. Proceedings of Cincinnati Convention, p. 45. I The vote more in detail was: For Buchanan, slave States, Alabama, 9; Arkansas, 4; Delaware, 3; Flor violated by the Democratic national adminis- tration and party under President Buchanan. For the present, however, these well-rounded phrases were especially convenient; first, to prevent any schism in the Cincinnati conven- tion itself, and, secondly, to furnish points for campaign speeches; politicians not having any pressing desire, nor voters the requisite critical skill, to demonstrate bow they left tin- touched the whole brood of pertinent queries which the discussion had already raised, and which at the very next national convention were destined to disrupt and defeat the Dem- ocratic party. For this occasion the studied ambiguity of the Cincinnati platform made possible a last codperation of North and South, in the face of carefully concealed mental res- ervations, to secure a presidential victory. It is not the province of this work to de- scribe the incidents of the national canvass, but only to record its results. At the election of November, 1856, Buchanan was chosen President. The poI)ular vote in the nation at large stood: Buchanan, I,838,i69; Fr~mont, 1,341,264; Fillmore, 874,534. By States Bu- chanan received the votes of fourteen slave States and five free States, a total of 174 elec- tots; Fr~mont the vote of eleven free States, a total of 114 electors; and Fillmore the vote of one slave State, a total of eight electors.t Our recital has carried us forward beyond the regular order of chronological events; we must therefore turn back and once more take up the thread of local political history in the State of Illinois. Among the other work of the Bloomington convention was the nom- ination of a full ticket of Presidential electors, at the head of which was placed Abraham Lincoln. While this was a gratifying mark of honor, it was also a somewhat onerous post of duty, involving a laborious campaign of speech-makihg in support of the Republican presidential ticket. This duty Mr. Lincoln performed with faithful zeal, making about fifty speeches before election. Among the ad- dresses which he thus delivered in the differ- ent counties, it is interesting to read a frag- ment of a speech he made at Galena, Illinois, discussing the charge of sectionalism, the identical pretext upon which the South inaugu- rated its rebellion against his administration four years afterward: ida, ~ Georgia, In; Kentucky, I2; Louisiana, 6; Mis- sissippi, 7; Missouri, 9; North Carolina, io; South Carolina, 5; Tennessee, 12; Texas, 4; Xirgmnia, 15. Free States, California, 4; Illinois, ; Indiana, 13 New Jersey, 7; Pennsylvania, 27. Total, 74. For Fr~mont, free States, Connecticut, 6; Iowa, 4; Maine,8; Massachusetts, 13; Michigan, 6; New Hamp- shire, 5; New York, 35; Ohio, 23; Rhode Island, 4; Vermont, 5; Wisconsin, 5. Total, 1 14. For Fillmore, slave State, Maryland, 8. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. You further charge us with being disunionists. If you mean that it is our aim to dissolve the Union, I for myself answer that it is untrue; for those who act with me I answer that it is untrue. Have you heard us assert that as our aim? Do you really believe that such is our aim? Do you find it in our platform, our speeches, our conventions, or anywhere? If not, with- draw the charge. But you may say that though it is not our aim, it will be the result, if we succeed, and that we are therefore disunionists in fact. This is a grave charge you make against us, and we certainly have a right to demand that you specify in what way we are to dissolve the Union. How are we to effect this? The only specification offered is volunteered by Mr. Fillmore in his Albany speech. His charge is that if we elect a President and Vice-President both from the free States it will dissolve the Union. This is open folly. The Constitution provides that the President and Vice-President of the United States shall be of different States; but says nothing as to the latitude and longitude of those States. In s8a8 Andrew Jackson of Tennessee and John C. Calhoun of South Carolina were elected President and Vice-President, both from slave States; but no one thought of dissolving the Union then on that account. In 1840 Harrison of Ohio and Tyler of Virginia were elected. In 1841 Harrison died and John Tyler succeeded to the presi- dency, and William R. King of Alabama was elected acting Vice-President by the Senate; hut no one sup- posed that the Union was in danger. In fact, at the very time Mr. Fillmore uttered this idle charge, the state of things in the United States disproved it. Mr. Pierce of New Hampshire and Mr. Bright of Indiana, bath from free States, are President and Vice- President, and the Union stands and will stand. You do not pretend that it ought to dissolve the Union, and the facts show that it wont; therefore the charge may be dismissed without further consideration. No other specification is made, and the only one that could be made is, that the restoration of the restric- tion of 1820 making the United States territory free territory would dissolve the Union. Gentlemen, it will require a decided majority to pass such an act. We, the majority, being able constitutionally to do all that we purpose, would have no desire to dissolve the Uuion. Do you say that such restriction of slavery would be unconstitutional, and that some of the States would not submit to its enforcement? I grant you that an unconstitutional act is not a law; but I do not ask and will not take your construction of the Constitution. The Supreme Court of the United States is the tribunal to decide such a question, and we will submit to its decisions; and if you do also, there will be an end of the matter. Will you? If not, who are the disunionists, you or we? We, the majority, would not strive to dis- solve the Union; and if any attempt is made it must be by you, who so loudly stigmatize us as disunionists. But the Union, in any event, will not be dissolved. We dont want to dissolve it, and if you attempt it we wont let you. With the purse and sword, the army and navy and treasury in our hands and at our com- man(l, you could not do it. This government would be very weak indeed if a majority with a disciplined army and navy and a well-filled treasury could not preserve itself, when attacked by an unarmed, undisciplined, unorganized minority. All this talk about the dissolu- tion of the Union is humbug, nothing but folly. We do not want to dissolve the Union; you shall not. With three presidential tickets in the field with the Democrats seeking the election of ~ Galena Advertiser, copiedinto the Illinois State Journal, August 8th, 1856. For President, Buchanan (Dem.), Io5,3~ Frd- VOL. XXXIV. i6. Buchanan and Breckinridge, the Americans, or Know-Nothings, asking votes for Fillmore and Donelson, and the Republicans making pros- elytes for Fnimont and Dayton the political campaign of 1856 was one of unabated activ- ity and excitement. In the State of Illinois the contest resulted in a drawn battle. The American party held together with tolerable firmness in its vote for President, but was largely disintegrated in its vote on the ticket for State officers. The consequence was that Illinois gave a plurality of 9164 for Buchanan, the Democratic candidate for President, while at the same time it gave a plurality of 4729 for Bissell, the Republican candidate for gov- ernor.I Half victory as it was, it furnished the Illinois Republicans a substantial hope of the full tri- umph which they achieved four years later. About a month after this election, at a Repub- lican banquet given in Chicago on the ioth of December, i8~6, Abraham Lincoln spoke as follows, partly in criticism of the last annual message of President Pierce, but more espe- cially as an unsleeping leader and prophet sounding a new battle-call and pointing out the rising star of promise: We have another annual presidential message. Like a rejected lover making merry at the wedding of his iival, the President felicitates himself hugely over the late presidential election, lie considers the result a si~nal triumph of good principles and good men, and a very pointed rebuke of bad ones. He says the peo- ple did it. He forgets that the people, as he coin- placently calls only those who voted for Buchanan, are in a minority of the whole people by about four hun- dred thousand votes one full tenth of all the votes. Remembering this, he might perceive that the rebuke may not be quite as durable as he seems to think that the majority may not choose to remain perma- nently rebuked by that minority. The President thinks the great body of us Erd- monters, being ardently attached to liberty, in the ab- stract, were duped by a few wicked and designing men. There is a slight difference of opinion on this. We think he, being ardently attached to the hope of a sec- ond term, in the concrete, was duped by men who had liberty every way. He is the cats-paw. By much drag- ging of chestnuts from thefire for others to eat, his claws are burnt off to the gristle, and he is thrown aside as unfit for further use. As the fool said of King Leer, when his daughters had turned him out-of-doors, Hes a shelled peascod. [Thats a sheald peascod.] So far as the President charges us with a desire to change the domestic institutions of existing States, and of doing everything in our power to deprive the Con- stitution ~nd the laws of moral authority, for the whole party on belief, and for myself on knowledge, I pro- nounce the charge an unmixed and unmitigated false- hood. Our government rests in public opinion. Whoever can change public opinion can change the govern- ment practically just so much. Public opinion, on any subject, always has a central idea, from which all its minor thoughts radiate. That central idea in our polit- mont (Rep.), 96,180; Fillmore (Am.), 37,45 i. For Governor, Richardson (Dem.), 106,643; Bissell (Rep.), 111,372; Morris(Am.), 19,241. 109 KIM 7S. 110 ical public opinion at the beginning was, and until re- cently has continued to be, the equality of men. And although it has always submitted patiently to whatever of inequality there seemed to be as matter of actual necessity, its constant working has been a steady prog- ress towards the practical equality of all men. The late presidential election was a struggle by one party to discard that central idea and to substitute for it the opposite idea that slavery is right in the abstract, the workings of which as a central idea may be the per- petnitv of human slavery and its extension to all coun- tries and colors. Less than a year ago the Richmond Enquirer, an avowed advocate of slavery, regardless of color, in order to favor his views, invented the phrase State equality, and now the President, in his mes- sage, adopts the Enquirers catch-phrase, telling us the people have asserted the constitutional equality of each and all of the States of the Union as States. The President flatters himself that the new central idea is completely inaugurated; and so indeed it is, so far as the mere fact of a presidential election can inaugurate it. To us it is left to know that the majority of the pen- ple have not yet declared for it, and to hope that they never will. All of us who did not vote for Mr. Bu- chanan, taken together, are a majority of four hundred thousand. But in the late contest we were divided be- tween Fr~mont and Fillmore. Can we not come to- gether for the future? Let every one who really believes, and is resolved, that free society is not and shall tint be a failure, and who can conscientiously declare that in the past contest he has done only what he thought best, let every such one have charityto believe that every other one can say as much. Thus let bygones be by- gones; let past differences as nothing be; and with steatly eye on the re4 issue, let us reinaugurate the good old central ideas of the Republic. We can do it. The human heart is with us, God is with us. We shall again be able not to declare that all States as States are equal, nor yet that all citizens as citizens are equal, but to renew the broader, better declaration, including both these and much more, that all men are created equal. * Illinois State Journal, December i6th, s8~6. [We are indebted for much valuable aid in preparing the Kansas illustrations to Judge F. G. Adams, Sec. retary of the Kansas State Historical Society. En. C. M.] KEATS. DEATH hath his fancies, and why not? A king So great as he must have his royal whim,~ Sometimes a fool, sometimes the wailing string Of some slain minstrels harp, must humor him. There was a youthful singer once, a soul Loved of the gods, and hence not loved of men, Who sang too well, and, shame to say, the whole Small race of songsters rose against him then. And all the critics too like daws that peck Some lustrous jewel from its golden set- ting Beaked his fair lines, so, hastening on to wreck The fragile bark that every flaw was fretting. Love, also, with his barb~d baby spear Racked all the chambers of his heart with anguish~ But bravely through it all, more strong and clear, Went up his matchless song that would not languish. And all so well he pleased the sable king, Though many a famous bard sang at his call, That straight he sent his messenger to bring This tortured soul which pleased him best of all. So Keats was brought, and when his strain beguiled The sad-faced king and his brave company To strange, unwonted tears Death kindly smiled, Approving his unequaled minstrelsy. And when at times his watchful eye could trace The swiftly passing spasm of fierce pain Which swept across the minstrels pallid face, He quickly cried, Thy songs were not in vain; Fixed in the worlds large memory they shall live, Undying as that beauty to whose shrine Thy kneeling soul brought all thou hadst to give; All things of which thy heart once dreamed are thine: As thou didst leave them they shall picture thee Both to thine own and far-off other lands, And while men sing, thy name shall never be Forgotten in their songs. And so he stands, A fair-formed image of immortal youth Breasting the steep hillside of lifes endeavor; A white-robed herald of eternal truth Shouting a message from the gods forever. Roberi Bie~rns Wilson.

Robert Burns Wilson Wilson, Robert Burns Keats 110-111

KIM 7S. 110 ical public opinion at the beginning was, and until re- cently has continued to be, the equality of men. And although it has always submitted patiently to whatever of inequality there seemed to be as matter of actual necessity, its constant working has been a steady prog- ress towards the practical equality of all men. The late presidential election was a struggle by one party to discard that central idea and to substitute for it the opposite idea that slavery is right in the abstract, the workings of which as a central idea may be the per- petnitv of human slavery and its extension to all coun- tries and colors. Less than a year ago the Richmond Enquirer, an avowed advocate of slavery, regardless of color, in order to favor his views, invented the phrase State equality, and now the President, in his mes- sage, adopts the Enquirers catch-phrase, telling us the people have asserted the constitutional equality of each and all of the States of the Union as States. The President flatters himself that the new central idea is completely inaugurated; and so indeed it is, so far as the mere fact of a presidential election can inaugurate it. To us it is left to know that the majority of the pen- ple have not yet declared for it, and to hope that they never will. All of us who did not vote for Mr. Bu- chanan, taken together, are a majority of four hundred thousand. But in the late contest we were divided be- tween Fr~mont and Fillmore. Can we not come to- gether for the future? Let every one who really believes, and is resolved, that free society is not and shall tint be a failure, and who can conscientiously declare that in the past contest he has done only what he thought best, let every such one have charityto believe that every other one can say as much. Thus let bygones be by- gones; let past differences as nothing be; and with steatly eye on the re4 issue, let us reinaugurate the good old central ideas of the Republic. We can do it. The human heart is with us, God is with us. We shall again be able not to declare that all States as States are equal, nor yet that all citizens as citizens are equal, but to renew the broader, better declaration, including both these and much more, that all men are created equal. * Illinois State Journal, December i6th, s8~6. [We are indebted for much valuable aid in preparing the Kansas illustrations to Judge F. G. Adams, Sec. retary of the Kansas State Historical Society. En. C. M.] KEATS. DEATH hath his fancies, and why not? A king So great as he must have his royal whim,~ Sometimes a fool, sometimes the wailing string Of some slain minstrels harp, must humor him. There was a youthful singer once, a soul Loved of the gods, and hence not loved of men, Who sang too well, and, shame to say, the whole Small race of songsters rose against him then. And all the critics too like daws that peck Some lustrous jewel from its golden set- ting Beaked his fair lines, so, hastening on to wreck The fragile bark that every flaw was fretting. Love, also, with his barb~d baby spear Racked all the chambers of his heart with anguish~ But bravely through it all, more strong and clear, Went up his matchless song that would not languish. And all so well he pleased the sable king, Though many a famous bard sang at his call, That straight he sent his messenger to bring This tortured soul which pleased him best of all. So Keats was brought, and when his strain beguiled The sad-faced king and his brave company To strange, unwonted tears Death kindly smiled, Approving his unequaled minstrelsy. And when at times his watchful eye could trace The swiftly passing spasm of fierce pain Which swept across the minstrels pallid face, He quickly cried, Thy songs were not in vain; Fixed in the worlds large memory they shall live, Undying as that beauty to whose shrine Thy kneeling soul brought all thou hadst to give; All things of which thy heart once dreamed are thine: As thou didst leave them they shall picture thee Both to thine own and far-off other lands, And while men sing, thy name shall never be Forgotten in their songs. And so he stands, A fair-formed image of immortal youth Breasting the steep hillside of lifes endeavor; A white-robed herald of eternal truth Shouting a message from the gods forever. Roberi Bie~rns Wilson. WHITSUN HARP, REGULATOR. )LLY ANN SHINAULT was mending the Clover Bend ferry-boat. The ferry- boat was nothing more than an old scow, leaky and un- ruly. Lum, Polly Anns hus- band, meant to mend it that morning; but Lum was scouring the bottom after a stray mule. So Pofly Ann had pounded the head of the hatchet on the handle they have a natural tendency to part and go their separate ways in a Southern yard and was patching the leaks herself. They said at the Bend that Polly Ann was pow ful handy. She was a handsome young woman. Some blending of French and Span- ish blood from the earliest Arkansas travelers had given her the mass of purple-black hair under her mans hat, the clear olive of her skin, her velvet black eyes, and delicate profile. Her eyelashes were long and thick and curled at the ends. Long eyelashes and small features are not uncommon in Arkansas faces. Did Polly Ann smile, she showed a rarer beauty, even little teeth, white as milk. But Polly Ann seldom smiled, being a silent, serious creature whose own husband felt a trifle in awe of her. Her primitive repairs completed, she straight- ened her bent shoulders, clasped her hands be- hind her neck, and looked about her. When she stood she was tall and erect as a young cypress. Her eyes spanned the Black River flowing at her feet, and took in, without noting, the whitewashed walls of the mill, the store, and the score or two of houses that go with an Ar- kansas cotton plantation. The time was early in November. The cotton was ready for pick- ing, and flakes of white spattered the brown fields. The yards were frowsy xvith stalks of gimson weed and withered grass. The great cypress forest shut in the cleared space like a wall. The scene was monotonous, yet about it vas something somber and vast, a loneliness that the presence of the few low-browed houses seemed to mark rather than lessen. A little spiral of smoke drifting above a chimney here and there, some pigs dotting the sandy road, a few riderless horses patiently drooping their noses against the fence rail before the store, were the only signs of habitation. Behind Folly Ann lay the canebrake and the forest. The water mirrored the Shinault cabin with its one wee window and stick and dirt chimney. During the war (not so far back by many years, that November day, as now) escaped prisoners used to hide in the canebrake. After the war runaway convicts from the stockade at Powbatan found shelter there sometimes, and then the cane would be crushed by the leaps of panting hounds; and many a night had Folly Ann shuddered, listening to the dogs baying, and picturing the wretch crouched among the sodden grasses. Plenty of grim traditions hung, heavy as its own miasma, over the cypress swamp. Not a rod away was the bare spot, dented by cypress knees, where Old Man Bryces cabin stood un- til the guerillas murdered him and his wife and burned their bones under their home. A whole company of guerillas had dangled from the sycamore limbs for that murder. The shape- less green in front of the store had been the scene of bloody quarrels. Down by the river bank, on the little knoll which the spring cov- ered with wild flowers, Bud Boas had killed his partner. Boas was tried and acquitted; but his own conscience was not so lenient as men. As the slain man fell he had flung out his hand, touching Boass cheek. Ever since, the unhappy slayer had been haunted by a touch. He would wake from sleep, screaming that he felt the hand. At his work, at home, at camp- meetings even, where he would go in the vain hope of eluding his persecutor, the tortured man might spring up, wildly rubbing his face, and rush away, or fall in convulsions horri- ble to see. From no other cause than this ghostly touch, he had seasons of drinking hard, but it was said that liquor could not blunt his senses. Boass cabin was near the Shinaults; and this afternoon while Folly Ann stood looking, she saw his limp figure in butternut jeans slip through the store doorway and creep along the bank. Years ago Boas had been an exception- ally tall and strong man, bringing a backwoods- man s stature, muscle, and ruddy tan from the Tennessee mountains; now his stooping shoul- ders and lank chest matched the sickly pallor of his face, with its hollow cheeks and restless, faded eyes. Approaching the shore, he hailed Folly Ann with a Whooop! She got into the scow and pushed off. She paddled as easily as an Indian. Meanwhile Boas had been joined by another man, who drew the boat up on the beach, saying, Hows all, Folly Ann?

Octave Thanet Thanet, Octave Whitsun Harp, Regulator 111-126

WHITSUN HARP, REGULATOR. )LLY ANN SHINAULT was mending the Clover Bend ferry-boat. The ferry- boat was nothing more than an old scow, leaky and un- ruly. Lum, Polly Anns hus- band, meant to mend it that morning; but Lum was scouring the bottom after a stray mule. So Pofly Ann had pounded the head of the hatchet on the handle they have a natural tendency to part and go their separate ways in a Southern yard and was patching the leaks herself. They said at the Bend that Polly Ann was pow ful handy. She was a handsome young woman. Some blending of French and Span- ish blood from the earliest Arkansas travelers had given her the mass of purple-black hair under her mans hat, the clear olive of her skin, her velvet black eyes, and delicate profile. Her eyelashes were long and thick and curled at the ends. Long eyelashes and small features are not uncommon in Arkansas faces. Did Polly Ann smile, she showed a rarer beauty, even little teeth, white as milk. But Polly Ann seldom smiled, being a silent, serious creature whose own husband felt a trifle in awe of her. Her primitive repairs completed, she straight- ened her bent shoulders, clasped her hands be- hind her neck, and looked about her. When she stood she was tall and erect as a young cypress. Her eyes spanned the Black River flowing at her feet, and took in, without noting, the whitewashed walls of the mill, the store, and the score or two of houses that go with an Ar- kansas cotton plantation. The time was early in November. The cotton was ready for pick- ing, and flakes of white spattered the brown fields. The yards were frowsy xvith stalks of gimson weed and withered grass. The great cypress forest shut in the cleared space like a wall. The scene was monotonous, yet about it vas something somber and vast, a loneliness that the presence of the few low-browed houses seemed to mark rather than lessen. A little spiral of smoke drifting above a chimney here and there, some pigs dotting the sandy road, a few riderless horses patiently drooping their noses against the fence rail before the store, were the only signs of habitation. Behind Folly Ann lay the canebrake and the forest. The water mirrored the Shinault cabin with its one wee window and stick and dirt chimney. During the war (not so far back by many years, that November day, as now) escaped prisoners used to hide in the canebrake. After the war runaway convicts from the stockade at Powbatan found shelter there sometimes, and then the cane would be crushed by the leaps of panting hounds; and many a night had Folly Ann shuddered, listening to the dogs baying, and picturing the wretch crouched among the sodden grasses. Plenty of grim traditions hung, heavy as its own miasma, over the cypress swamp. Not a rod away was the bare spot, dented by cypress knees, where Old Man Bryces cabin stood un- til the guerillas murdered him and his wife and burned their bones under their home. A whole company of guerillas had dangled from the sycamore limbs for that murder. The shape- less green in front of the store had been the scene of bloody quarrels. Down by the river bank, on the little knoll which the spring cov- ered with wild flowers, Bud Boas had killed his partner. Boas was tried and acquitted; but his own conscience was not so lenient as men. As the slain man fell he had flung out his hand, touching Boass cheek. Ever since, the unhappy slayer had been haunted by a touch. He would wake from sleep, screaming that he felt the hand. At his work, at home, at camp- meetings even, where he would go in the vain hope of eluding his persecutor, the tortured man might spring up, wildly rubbing his face, and rush away, or fall in convulsions horri- ble to see. From no other cause than this ghostly touch, he had seasons of drinking hard, but it was said that liquor could not blunt his senses. Boass cabin was near the Shinaults; and this afternoon while Folly Ann stood looking, she saw his limp figure in butternut jeans slip through the store doorway and creep along the bank. Years ago Boas had been an exception- ally tall and strong man, bringing a backwoods- man s stature, muscle, and ruddy tan from the Tennessee mountains; now his stooping shoul- ders and lank chest matched the sickly pallor of his face, with its hollow cheeks and restless, faded eyes. Approaching the shore, he hailed Folly Ann with a Whooop! She got into the scow and pushed off. She paddled as easily as an Indian. Meanwhile Boas had been joined by another man, who drew the boat up on the beach, saying, Hows all, Folly Ann? 112 WHITSUN HARP~ REG ULA TOE. Polly Ann had not seen him until he spoke; and she flushed ~ little, as though from sur- pnse. You come back, Whitsun Harp? said she. Got back yistiddy, the man replied. He had a slow full voice, with a kind of severe melody in its cadence not in the least like the high-pitched Arkansas drawl. Whitsun Harp was a head shorter than Boas. He wore a blue flannel shirt, and broxvn jean trousers tucked into high boots, all quite whole and clean. His compact, powerful frame was not of the Arkansas type any more than his dark, square, resolute face; yet, in the phrase of the region, he had been born and raised on the Black River bottom. At first glance, one could see a resemblance between him and the young woman,not a likeness of feature, but of manner and expres- sion; both had the same direct, serious gaze, the same slow speech, and the same proud bear- ing. When Polly Ann reddened, Harp grew paler. The men stepped into the boat, and Polly Ann greeted Boas: Howdy, Mr. Boas ? My healths mighty triflin, answered Boas; someway, Im puny all the time; sorter misry in my ches; some days I feel powful weak, caynt skeercely walk. Ora she lows shell send fer Dr. Vinson, but I dont guess its no use. Doctors does good sometimes, said Polly Ann. Say, Polly Ann, said Harp, II heerd tell you alld los a mewl. Lums went ayfter it, said Polly Ann; we missed it Monday, an we waited an waited fer it to come back, an it didnt, so Lum hes went ayfter it. Lum lows its stole, he lows some cotton-picker toled it off. Looks like, assented Boas; them cotton- pickers is mighty ornery folks. Harp asked a few questions, short and to the point; and when the boat landed he drew Polly Ann aside, while Boas stooped to mend a dilanidated shoe with a rag. Polly Ann, said Harp, I come to see ye. Ill tend to yo mewl. Ye know I ar turned regerlater. Ive heerd tell ont. Waal, hits so. I aim to mek these yere pyarts mo decenter. Polly Ann, this yeres a turrible mean kentry, drinkin an sw arm an~ fightin an devilment er all kins o goin on! An the chilen bein raised to drink an fight an die jes like we uns; Polly Ann, hit aint right! An thar aint no need fer it to be, neether. I ben in other settlements. They aint like we all; theyve got brick chimbleys, an battened heouses, an a school-heouse whar they kin hey preachin, stiddier hevin it in a loft like we all. We mought, too, but were so triflin we caynt mek a riffle. Looks like, agreed Polly Ann politely. Yit how to holp it? Id lay an study the hull night through, Polly Ann, studin beout hit. The mo I studied the wuss it looked. Waal it war ayfter ye taken up with Lum an war merried, hit come preachin Sunday, an I went ter preachin. Twar the best out at preachin I ever heerd. All beout calls. God called some on us one way an some a tother, but we wuz all called ter his sarvice. An I says ter myself, Lord, how ar I called? I ar the bes blacksmith in the bottom, but I caynt talk wuth a shuck. An, Polly Ann, a voice said back, clars a boat-whistle : Whit- sun Harp, ye caynt talk folks decent, but ye kin lick em decent. They need a regerlater yere mon a preacher. I jes growed cole all over, fur I war walkin all by my lone self en the bottom, not a critter reoun cept boegs. Lord, says I ter the sky, theyll kill me shore, if I turn regerlater an lick em. An watll maw do then? So I went home tur- rible troubled in my mind. Polly Ann, wen I got home maw was in one ur er spells, an afore sundown she war dead. li/zet war the Lord Amightys answer to my hesitatin. Ayfter thet I went ter wuk. Fust I sarved notice on them men thet got drunk reglar Saturday nights at the store. Then I licked them thet persisted in wrong-doin. I licked ole Skirey fer oppressin the pore; an I evened it up by lickin two niggers thet wudnt do a fair days wuk fer their wages. I licked Sol Looney fer fightin with his wife, an I licked a right smart fer stealinthetar beout all. Law me, said Polly Ann, admiring him, but, Whitsun, don they fight ye? Folks don like ter be licked. Theyve got to fight or be licked one. Mos times I ar too spry fer em an take their knives an pistils way. They did shoot a shoot at me wunst, but hit missed. Polly Anns dark eyes were shining through a mist of eagerness, and her lip quivered as she said: But they mought hit ye! Yes, said Harp quietly, while something gentle and unusual relaxed his features, a look at once patient and sad; waal, ef they didnt kill me, I wud go on jes the same, an ef hit did I aint no wife nur babies ter grieve ayf- ter me, an I reckon the Lord kin tek keer Clover Bend some other way. Polly Ann drew a deep breath. Looks like twuz a call! said she. Tis a call, shore, said Harp solemnly; I waynted ter tell ye sos ye wud know the truth beout it, folks lyin so ginerally. Its no dif WHI7SUN HARP, ]?EG ULA ]OR. 3 fer ter me beout the res, but I waynted you ter know bekase we uns played tergether w en we wuz little tricks, an I allus tole ye everythin, ye remember. She remembered. Perhaps she remembered more, for her cheeks grew red, and her brown fingers were clasped together so tightly that they made dents in the knuckles. An, continued Harp very gently, ef I shud hey ter do suthin thet ye moughtnt like, hits kase I hey ter an not my seekin bein called. Yell consider thet thar, Polly Ann? I dont guess yell ever do nuthin ye don hole ter be right, Whitsun Harp. Thankee, Polly Ann, said Harp. He al- most timidly touched her hand, holding it for a second in a loose clasp. Then he strode away without a glance at Boas. The latter rose di- rectly and joined Polly Ann. Did Whitsun Harp say onythin beout Lum ter ye? said Boas. Naw, said Polly Ann; wat fer shud he? Boas seemed to have a difficulty in speak- ing; he had to clear his throat twice before he could say; Waal, fact is, Polly Ann, hes heerd tell waal, lies beout Lum like he ben too much ter the store an dances an sich like tricks, an Whitsun he loxvs Lums triflin an hes warned him. Warned Lum? cried Polly Ann. Said like hed lick im, ef he don quit, replied Boas with primitive directness. He laid the tips of his fingers on her sleeve, and his face grew earnest. Fer the good Lords sake, Polly Ann, don ye let Lum mad Whitsun! Nary man en this bottom kin stan agin him. Ye know Steve Elder, how big he is? He done stole a par boots at the store. Whitsun he seen it, but he never let on; but wen this yere Steve comes fer his acceount he fins at the bottom, One par boots, so much. Putt down by Whitsun Harp. Wen he read thet ar he never opened is mouth. Jes paid. He knowed he cudnt stan up agin Whitsun. All the while Boas talked he was scanning Polly Anns face to see the effect of his words. Thar war a circus feller too. He brung a mighty ornery, mean show ter the Bend, and Whitsun warned him not ter show thet ar show agin; but he pitched is tent an wuz marchin reoun in front, a puttin on doeg, wen up comes Whitsun, an he says, Didnt I warn ye not ter show yo durned ondecent show yere? sez e. An he slapped ~ip thet ar feller an flung him cross a log an pulled his belt reoun an yanked out is pistil an flung hit clar n cross the road an licked thet ar circus feller tell he hollered. An ye member ole Skirey thet he guy the bud to, spiter him an is two sons. He knocked the big un down, an the little one lit a shuck mighty spry. An who killed the mad dog with a hammer? An who held the wild hoeg by the tail tell Mark Lady cud stick im ? them two men off their hosses en the cane, an their guns empty! Naw, naw, Polly Ann, don let Lum mad Whitsun! An taint lickins thets mos ter fear. His woful eyes turned from Polly Anns face in a fleeting, shrinking, indescribable glance towards the river bank they mought git ter fight- in! I aint feered fer Lum ef they do, said Lums wife haughtily. But no sooner had the well-meaning threat- ener gone than she ran into the cabin, shut the door, and flung her proud head on the table, in a passion of tears. Lum Shinault came home by moonlight. His wife had saved his supper, and he stretched his legs out beneath the white oil-cloth with a sigh of content. My, my, my! said Lum in his soft, pleas- ant voice, talk beout cookin! Polly Ann, ye allers git thar with both feet. Fried pork an sop an taters an pie an light bread! Ony- thin mo ter foller? A faint smile lifted the corners of Polly Anns mouth. She knew her gifts, and ap- preciation is sweet. I reckon, Lum con- tiriued, hit meks a differ eatin en a purty room. This yeres a right purty room, Polly Ann. He looked about the room, and she looked at him. The room was poor and bare enough, with its log walls and uneven floor; but the big cotton-stuffed pillows on the bed shone out of the dusk; there was a clock on the rude mantelpiece, a red cushion on the black and gilt rocking-chair, and a log thicker than a mans body was blazing in the fire-place. The flames, rather than the sickly gleam of the grease lamp, lighted the room and Lum Shi- naults face. He was of low stature and slight, and in the firelight he made one think of a terra-cotta figure, he was so all of a color, hair, skin, and clothes all the same, whitish- brown. But he had sparkling brown eyes and a sensitive mouth that could shut firmly. Did ye fin the mewl? said his wife. Not a hide nur a har er the blamed crit- ter, answered Lum cheerfully, but I seen a big gang er turkeys. Reckon I shot one, but I cudnt fin hit. XVhitsun Harp wuz yere; he lows hell fin the mewl fer us. Lum whistled. His meal being finished, he got up and stood close to his wife. She had knotted a scarlet handkerchief about her throat, which suited her olive skin and black hair. Lum slid his arm around her waist. Ye ar turrible good-lookin, Polly Ann, said he smil 4 WHITSUN HARJ REGULATOR. ing half wistfully; I sot a heap er store by ~ She neither accepted norrepulsed the caress; merely stood, her hands clasped before her, absently gazing at the fire. His arm fell; but in a second he put out his hand again, to finger softly a stray lock of hair. An Bud Boas, he was yere too, said Folly Ann; he lows yed bes be keerful kase Whitsuns mad at ye. He lows yo too triflin. An I low Whitsun Harps too meddlin cried Lum, opening his brown eyes angrily. Wat busness ar hit er hisn? I don rent er him. Taint his plantation. To my no- tion, Whitsun bed orter be run off this yere place Hes did a heap er good yere, said Folly Ann was it the firelight, Lum wondered, that made her cheeks so red? Look at the fightins an drinkins hes stopped! Thar aint ben a man killed yere sence he turned reg- erlater. Tharll be one killed mighty quick though ef he don quit projickin roun an lickin folks permiscus. Folly Ann laid her hand on her husbands arm, looking down at him, for she was taller than he. Lurn, she said solemnly, he is called, Whitsun is. They caynt hurt him till his works did. Don ye say anythin agin im, Lum. Lums frown turned into a broad grin. Oh, laws! called ter lick folks? Ef thet aint the durndest trick! But he is, she insisted; hes hed signs an tokens. Don go agin im, Lum. Waal, honey, said Lum easily, I aint purportin ter go agin im. Hes too big a bar fer me ter tackle. Folly Ann turned away abruptly. Lum looked after her, all the light-hearted care- lessness gone out of his face. Pears like I jes cudnt please her nohow, he thought while he busied himself clearing the table. Lum had the haoit of helping his wife about the house; he had acquired it helping his mother, Lums father being triflin. At the same time Folly Ann was thinking: He won fight hisself or run enter no dan- ger, hut hell sick the rest on, an him stan by. She hardly noticed how deftly Lum wiped the dishes and brushed out the room. Be ye too tired ter listen ter a leetle music, honey? he said when he had put the broom behind the door. Naw, said Folly Ann, trying to smile, I dont guess Im ever too tired fer music. Faint as the smile was, Lum welcomed it and took down his violin with a brighter face. He played a long while; at first, simple melodies of the plantation and the camp- meeting; then, as his thoughts drifted into other memories, they took their own shape in music rude as his life, but weird and sad like the cypress brake. Lum was born a musician. He had a wonderful ear but the scantiest knowledge, most of which came from a strolling violinist who had the swamp fever ~n Lums cabin and left a book of songs for payment. Lum learned the songs by heart. They were as commonplace as possible, but the ideas, worn shabby through the handling of generations, xvere new and splendid to Lum. Why not? They could not have been any fresher to him if they had just been discovered. They lifted and adorned his notion of love. They aided the ever-increasing power which his wife exercised over his imagination. He thought of her in their language, which had a dignity and charming tenderness quite lack- ing in the speech of his birthplace where a man took up with a girl and married her, making no more ado about it; the song words were so pretty and kind-sounding, it was like kissing a girl to say them. Lum was too shy to say them himself. Once he ventured to call Folly Ann Darling, instantly blushing up to his eyes. She did not seem to mind, neither did she seem pleased. It was the way in which she always met her husbands af- fection. This passive endurance of his love had come to have a kind of terror for Lum. He could not understand his wife. To go back to the beginning, as Lum did to-night on his violin strings,he had married Folly Ann out of compassion. He was in the field when Old Man Gooden fell dead in a fit of apoplexy. He helped Folly Ann carry her father into the house, and he witnessed her passionate, dumb agony. Lum had a soft heart, unfettered ex- cept by a few rustic attentions to a certain pretty. widow on the plantation, Mistress Savannah Lady. When he beheld Folly Anns desolate condition his heart melted. Nary kin nighern the Sunk Lans, mused Lum, hits turrible hard. An she sot sich store by her paw, an he muched* her so. They sorter kep ter theyselves, too, I dont guess they wuz the socherbel kin. Nary un waitin on er neether, less hit ar Whitsun Harp. Ef he don merry her, I reckon I bed orter. Taint no mon neighborly. Whitsun making no sign, he carried out his intention. Folly Ann assented gravely, almost silently, to whatever he proposed. Nothing was easier than to rent a cabin and a pair of mules from the Northern men who had bought the plan- tation, and settle down to raise a crop. * To much; Arkansas for to pet, to caress, to make much of. WHITS UN HARI REG ULA TOR. 5 Folly Ann, after the first outburst, put her grief stoically away and only worked the harder. Folly Anns father came from the Sunk Lands, that mysterious region cre- ated by the great Lisbon earthquake, an island in the swamps, half the year cut off from the world, forgotten except by a few traders. Un- til she was fifteen she had lived the solitary life of the people and grown up in their indi- an-like reticence. When she was fifteen, her mother died and her father took her to Clover Bend. She was now twenty-three years old, and she had been married hardly five months. Lum was a man of the lowlands, who inher- ited French instincts of sociability and liked idling about and gossiping. He took his nexv relations lightly at first, but soon his wifes stronger nature fascinated him. She awak- ened all the ardor and tenderness in him, this beautiful, silent, haughty, patient wo- man. She ar fairer nur the flowers, quoted Lum from the songs ; an shes got a right smart er sense too, he added in the vernac- ular. He declared his wifes superiority with much frankness. Law me, said he to Boas, it was a few days later, and they sat on the store counter, indulging in the unpre- tending luxury of brown sugar and crackers, law me, Folly Anns wuth a hull crap er me! Yed orter see the plunder sheve bought, pickin cotton Waal, then, interrupted Boas, dropping his customary mild, plaintive drawl to a loxver key, wy fur be ye so possessed ter cavoort reoun with Savannah Lady? Me! exclaimed Lum. Yes, jes you, repeated Boas with an anx- ious gaze into Lums scarlet face. They lows like ye taken up with er. Boy, ye hadnt or- ter be agwine on thet way! Nur ye hadnt orter come yere, fiddlin an carryin on, an yo wife ter home, by her lone self, studyin an~ grievin Folly Ann don grieve, said Lum rather sullenly; leastways she don grieve ayfter mc, nohow. In cose I mean, he went on quickly, she ar grievin fer her paw. In cose, said Boas. There was a pause. An ez regardin Mistress Lady, Lum said finally, giving the full prefix with dignity, on ordinary occasions one would only say Mis in Arkansas, we uns wuz raised together an natchelly have frienly feelins. But ef ye ar lowin thet I even her or ary nother lady ter Folly Ann ye ar a long sight outer yo reckonin, thets all. I knaw I taken her ter the singin school the fiddler hed; but Folly Ann neverd go thar ter sing- in~, kase waal, Folly Ann jes natchelly cayn t sing, caynt cotch a tune. An ez fer me goin ter the store an drinkin, I disre member how often I done come yere; but I knaw I never got drunk onywhar, not the least bit on earth. But I aint purportin to be goin yere ter fiddle nights, Bud Boas, never no mo. Folks aint got no call ter say I don ruther stay by Folly Ann than ony- whar nelse. Thets so, said Boas. I knawed they wuz lyin. Lum did not tell Boas that he only went to the store because he thought Folly Ann did not care to see him home, and his heart was sore. He could not say that, since it would seem like complaining of Folly Ann. But Boass caution set him thinking; gossip must be loud to rouse that haunted soul from its dream of pain. Thet thars wat Whit Harp hez heerd, dad burn him, growled Lum, an blame my skin ef I don blieve thet ar Savannah ar jes foolin with me fur ter tol on Steve Morrow. XVhich it happened was precisely the case. Savannah wanted to marry the stockman, Morrow, and she used Lum to help her, not at all sorry to make Folly Ann jealous, if she could, as well as Morrow. Aint thet thar jes like the critter? said Lum with perfect good humor; its a rig on me an Steve though. Yet he felt a queer resentment against Harp a resentment not diminished by the sight of his lost mule munching cotton stalks in his own field. Whitsun fotched im, Folly Ann explained. It seemed to Lum that she spoke as though proud of Harps success. Lum, the best-tempered man on the planta- tion, ground his teeth. I swar I hate thet thar Whitsun Harp! he was thinking. The next time that he saw Harp was mail day. Twice a week a rider brought the mail to Clover Bend. The post-office was in the store, just as the court-room was, whenever the majesty of the law was invoked or a jail needed. The store had a wide platform the right height to serve instead of a horse block. Savannah Lady rode up to the plat- form as Whitsun came through the door. She was a pretty, kittenish, fair little woman, and her hair, which was of a lovely reddish-brown color, had a trick of escaping in little ringlets and blowing round her white neck. After all, there was no great harm in her; but to Harp she was the embodiment of all that was dan- gerous and alluring in woman. Lum was on the platform so near that com- mon gallantry required him to help her alight. Somehow she stumbled, so he held her for a second by the elbows. Harp, black as night, watched her recover herself, laugh, blush, and flutter into the store. He strode up to Lum. Lum Shinault, said he in a low tone and very deliberately, ef ye don quit yo ornery triflin ways Ill lick ye! i i6 WHITS UN HARP, REG ULA TOR. Then Ill kill ye, shores death, Whitsun Harp: Lum gasped, choked with passion. Whitsun only gave him a steady gaze and turned on his heel. Lum felt himself despised. A week went by. Polly Ann was conscious of a change in Lum. Though kind as ever, his shy caresses were no longer offered. He worked harder and seldom went to the store, an he jis studies the plum wile, said Polly Ann. One day Mrs. Boas came over to ask Lum to get some quinine and whisky at the store for Boas. He hed one er is spells,so the poor wife always named Boass fits of terror, an he run out en the woods an got soppin wet an cotched cole an pears like hit gits a leetle mucher all the wile. After Lum was gone Polly Ann bethought herself of some corn which should be ground, and that it was grinding day at the mill. Like the store, the millwas a versatile and accommo- dating establishment, ginning cotton, sawing wood, or grinding corn with equal readiness. So saddling the big gray horse, which was at once her dowry and her inheritance, she led him to the ferry and paddled boat, horse, and woman across the stream. The Clover Bend ferry was deserted, but it was accustomed to de- sertion, being conducted on Southern princi- ples: if you came when the ferryman was away you must wait until he got back, that was all. Polly Ann saw Lums wagon-box boat on the sand, and riding up the bank she perceived Lum himself walking through the cypress brake. Cypress Swamp, or the Black River bottom, is like a dry river channel winding through the higher land. When the spring overflow comes the lustrous green water rushes among the tree trunks, and the high land be- comes a multitude of islands and peninsulas; but most of the year the channel is dry, and in autumn the cypress boughs spread a soft russet carpet on the ground; the hackberry, maples, live-oaks, and holly-trees which min- gle with the cypress splash the foliage with splendid hues, the sunlight filters through the branches and prints shifting shadows of the vines masking the thorn-trees, or turns the red berries into dots of flame. Then the cypress brake is beautiful. But Lum Shinault was not thinking of its beauty. 1-le was walking slowly, his head sunk between his shoulders. Studvin! said Polly Ann. Lum looked up. The silhouette of a horses head had fallen across his path. A sun-bonnet was bent over the mane. The bonnet hid the womans face, but that ringlet of dazzling hair, floating under the cape, could only belong to one person. Horse and rider stopped. So did the footman. His shadow spread out gigantic on the ground. Then both shadows were blended together as if in an embrace. Did Polly Ann grow angry? Not in the least; she could see too well. Wats got Savannah Lady? said she; looks like Lum was guvin er wisky an holdin uv er. This, indeed, was what he was doing. For once there was no guile about Savannahs acts; Lum had served her turn. Young Mor- row had spoken, and she was on her way to buy her wedding finery when she was seized with a chill; but she still rode on, clinging to her horses neck, until she met Lum. He gave her some whisky. Now by an evil chance, at this moment, Whitsun Harp must needs enter the scene on a gallop. He saw the shadows, he saw the bright head on Lums shoulder, the little hands clutching Lums arm. A shower of cypress boughs whirled in the air; a pawpaw branch snapped, wrenched away by a furious hand; and Lum lifted his eyes to see Whitsuns face. I tell ye, yo mistaken! shouted Lum. Its too late for talking now, said Whit- sun, deep and low. He jumped off his horse and caught Lum by the throat. The smaller man was like a baby in his grip. Lum, writhing and strug- gling in an impotent fury of rage and shame, hardly felt the blows. Suddenly the hand at his throat released him so suddenly that he was hurled to the ground; he heard his wifes voice, shrill with anger: Whitsun Harp, wat ye doin ter my man? He sat up, his brain swimming, specks of fire and blood floating in the air; but there was Whitsun standing empty-handed, and Polly Anns face over the grays head. I didnt aim ye shud ever knaw on t, Polly Ann, said Whitsun, I cudnt holp it, hit he.d ter be did. Ill never fergive ye en this worl, Whitsun Harp! said Polly Ann. Lum put his hands on the tree near him and got to his feet. He leaned on the tree and steadied his choked and shaking voice enough to say, Look a yere, Whitsun Harp, Ill kill ye fer this. Harp did not glance toward him; he took one step forward as though he would speak to Polly Ann, but at her gesture of repulsion he turned silently and mounted his horse. On horseback, he reined in his horse, and looking at Polly Ann, said again, I cudnt holp it, before he galloped away. Savannah was shivering and crying. Hit you ary lick, Savannah? said Lum. Naw, naw, sobbed she. Oh, Lum, oh, Mis Shinault, twant my fault! I warjes sick. Whitsuns heerd lies on me n Lum. Im goin WHITSUN HARP, REGULATOR. 7 ter be merried ter Steve Morrow nex week. Fer the Lords sake, don tell im; he wudnt never speak ter me agin! I done my best I pulled Whitsun 5 arm For all his misery Lum burst into a bitter laugh. ~Muster hendered Whitsun a heap, you holdin on, said he. You go long home, Sa- vannah, an don be skeered er we uns tellin; jes tek keer ye don let on nuthin yoself never mm wat happens! Something in his face checked her answer she was scared, and glad to ride away. The husband and wife were left alone to- geth er. Lum looked at Polly Ann, who was very pale. Ye come jes in time, Polly Ann, said he. I wudnt o blieved yed a taken it, Lurn Shinault, said she bitterly, with yo knife on too. Pull vo belt reoun! VOL. XXXJV.x7. Mechanically, Lum put his hand to his belt, which had been twisted so that the knife was in the back. I done forgot beout the knife, muttered Lum, reddening; thet ars a favor- yte trick er Harps. Then, in a second, be added: II aint goin ter tek hit, Polly Ann. She said nothing. Ye don blieve me, cried Lum. Taint no use talkin, said she wearily. Ill hey it out with im. Ye low Im a or- nery, triflin. pusillanimous Whars the use callin yoself names? in- terrupted Polly Ann. I don wanter yere no mo beout it. Reckon Boasli waynt is wis- ky onyhow. Thar tis uner the gum-tree. Loin looked at his wife with imploring eyes and quivering mouth; at that moment he was longing to fling his arms about her and sob out THEN I LL KILL YE, SHORES DEATH. ii8 WHITSUW HARP, REG ULA TOE. POLLY ANN. his shame on her breast. Poor Lums grand- father was a Frenchman. Polly Ann did not look at him, but went on arranging her bag of corn; all Lum could see was the profile of her sun-bonnetthereis noth- ing sympathetic about a sun-bonnet. Bes git on ter the mill eflwaynt a pone erbread terday, said Folly Ann. Be back ter dinner, Lum. She rode on a little way and stopped. Im goin ter hey a plum good din- ner fer ye, Lum, she called back. Thankee, Folly Ann, said Lum. He watched her until the trees hid horse and rider. Folly Ann lows thar aint no trou- bles men persons caynt cure with eatin an drink- in, said he; drinkin, he eyed the whisky bottle lying at the foot of the gum-tree, naw, thar aint ony comfort fer me en thet ar. Im en a hole, an tharsjes one way outen hit. No good talkin ter Folly Ann, shes sot. Twud ony pester her. Oh, my Lord, aint it hard! I wisht I cud hey kissed her jes wunst, he said, after a while, ony fer ter say good-bye. How soft her cheek wuz! An thar war a little blue vein jes uner the ear. Waal, hit won mek no differ ter her, but I wisht He walked on slowly until he came to the boat on the sand. He could see his own cabin. He remembered the day that he brought Folly Ann to ithis wedding-day. He crawled into the boat, lay clown in the stern, and cried like a child. PART II. FOLLY ANNS good din- ner waited in vain. Lum did not come. Yet she was sure that, while at the well drawing water, she had seen his figure through the window. She blew the horn. She called at the top of her voice. Finally she went to the shed to see if the horse was gone. Gone he was, and there was a piece of brown wrapping-paper, such as they used at the store, tacked on to a log and directed to Mistris Shinalt. She took it down, turned it over, and saw a single sentence, written in pencil, in cramped, care- ful letters: Darling Folly an i taken your WIT/ITS UN HARP, REGULATOR. I 19 Hoss fer a Errant i wunt be bak your Lovin Husban. C. Shinalt. Law me! said Polly Ann, he mought hey come in, anyhow. An the dinners plum spiled. She was wretched over the mornings work, but she did not feel alarmed, having no be- lief in Lums courage; and when she discov- ered that the gun was gone, she merely thought that he meant to shoot squirrels. But Lum was seeking other game. His er- rand was to kill Whitsun Harp. The smol- dering jealousy and resentment of weeks had hurst into a flame that was shriveling his heart. He had been beaten before his wife, his wife who valued strength and bravery beyond everything. And Whitsun, whom she praised because he was so strong and brave, had beaten him. How many times had she praised Whitsun to his face. Like enough she had wanted the regulator all along, and had only taken up with Lurn because Whitsun didnt speak girls did such things Lum knew from the songs. Here was the secret of her being so quiet and sad and of that queer way she had with her that made him feel farther away, in the same room, than he did thinking of her, miles off, in the bottom. I never cud much her like I cud tother gells, thought Lum; I allus hed ter study ont afore I cud putt my arm reoun her waist. Reckon I sorter spicioned, inside, thet it pestered her. Pore Polly Ann! It was like Lum to feel no anger, only compassion, for his wife. Hits bad fer her too turrible bad, he pondered; ef its me gits killed up she caynt hey no mo truck xvi him, an ef its him shell natchally hate the sight er me! Waal, she won be pestered with it; Ill go off on the cotton-boat afore sundown. All through this wide worl Ill wandern, my love, said Lum, his thoughts unaffectedly shaping themselves in the xvords of his songs. They did not cause him to waver in his purpose; he knew Polly Anns notions of manly honor too well. Old Man Gooden shot a man once. Paw hed ter shoot him, Polly Ann ex- plaine d; he spatted paxv en the face. An ef a feller spatted me, wud I hey ter shoot him? Lum had asked, amused by her earnestness, for this was before he passed the careless stage of his marriage. Wudnt ye waynt fer ter shoot im? said Polly Ann, fixing her beautiful grave eyes on his smiling face. Waal, I shudnt crave it, said Lum. But ye wud, Lum, ye wiid shoot him! Mabbeef I cudnt run away, answered Lurn, and he had laughed at her face over that speech. He did not laugh now, riding with his bruised throat and aching shoulders, and the gun slung across his saddle-peak. Him or me, groaned Lum hits him or me one! Thar aint no tother way! He was riding through the bottom lands above the mill. The entire bottom was like an innocent jungle with its waving green Un- BUD BOAS. dergrowth of cane. Pigs were rooting under the trees, and the heads of cattle rose above the cane, turning peaceful eyes of satisfied appetite upon Lums reckless speed. There was no reason for haste, really, out- side the relief which motion gives to a per- turbed soul, for Lum knew that Whitsun was buying a horse of a farmer up on the bayou, and would have to return by the same road. But he did not slacken his pace until he came on a man riding more leisurely. The man hailed him, and he saw Boas. Wy, I xvuz at yo heouse, said Lum, ant Mis Boas lowed ye wuz en bed. So I war, said Boas in a weak, high voice, butI got up I got up! 120 WHIPS C/N HAJ?f REGULATOR. Toby shore, toby shore, said Lum sooth- ingly. He saw the man could barely keep in his saddle for trembling and that his features were ghastly; but Lum had the humblest Southern- ers innate politeness; it was not deemed good manners in Clover Bend to take notice of any- thing singular in Boass appearance or conduct; there was one unhappy explanation always ready. Lum, through his daze of anguish, felt a prick of pity for this miserable being who had done many a kindness to Lums mother in his unhaunted days. He stretched out his arm and supported Boas by the elbow. Oh, Im peart enough, said Boas; I waynter tell ye suthin, Lum. The younger man resigned himself with inward impatience to a slower gait. This yeres a sightly kentry, Lum, aint it? said Boas, gazing about him, but I aint repinin ter leave it. Be ye gwine ter Texas? Fardern Texas, boy. Dr. Vinson was over an he tole me naw, Lum, ye don need ter say yo sorry, I know ye ar. Ye benlike a son terme sence ever ye wuz a little trick an played with my boys. Ye wuz the least little trick er all. Ye member em, Lum, sich peart, likely boys they wuz, an they all died up an nary un ter home, peaceable like: Mat an Tobe drownd- ed, an Mark throwed from his hoss. All on em ayfter ye know wat all three en one year, ev ry chile wed got, Ora an me. Hit war hard ter endure, Lum, turrible hard. It war so, said Lum. Waal, theyre all on em gone. An Ill be gone, too, a fore long. I aint repinin. Lum, ye never heerd me talk ont; I cudnt bar ter speak; but, somehow, pears like twud ease my mm a bit ter tell ye suthin er my feelins, Lum; ef I hednt er hen so mortal skeered er meetin up with Grundy, Id a killed mysef a long spell back, I wud so. Im wore out. Boy, ef so be yo tempted ter fight, mind yosef er me! I killed Gruncly Wild, killed im fair too; but, Lord ferguv me, I done went enter thet ar fight aim!;; ter kill. I low thet war how he got is bolt on me. Fer hes never lef me sence. Fust I wudnt guy in. Be thet ar all the harntin ye kin mek out ? sez I. But hit kep a comm an a comm, never no differ, tell hit crazied me, Lum Nur thet warnt the wust on it. The wust war hem skeered the hull wile, spectin an dreadin never no tell. Did ye never hey a door a squeakin, Lum? A squeakin door ar a mighty little trick; taint nuthin, ye may say; but yell he a settin an thet thar doorll squeak an stop, an then itll squeak agin, an then not, an then squeak an squeak an squeak tell ye git up, swarm mad, an shet the door. Li;;;;, Icudni s/;et I/ic door / I taken ter drinkin, but I cudnt git so drunk thet Id not feel thet thar cole han er hisn a flap flabbin on my face. Hits wore me out. At las I jes give up; an, my Lord! peared like his soul farly enjyed trompin on me, r arm an~ chargin like twuz a wil hog! Oh, my Lord! my Lord ! The man shook in his saddle with the horror of his recollections. But he con- trolled himself enough to go on, though the sen- tences came in pants. Then I membered thet thar tex an eye fer an eye an a tooth fer a tooth. ilit come ter me cud I ony swap a life with the Lord fer Grundys then it mought be he wud tek Grundy offen me an let me die en peace. I don ax no mo. He stopped, gasping and coughing while Lum h& d him. Lum was deeply touched; he was not a whit moved from his intention; but he was touched, and he felt a somber sense of comradeship, thinking, Mabbe Ill know how ye feel, ter- morrer. Boas continued: An, Lum, wile I war studyin an prayin, Lord, let thy pore sinful sarvint wipe the blood-guiltiniss offen his soul an not hey terdie BE YE ON HIS SIDE? WHLTSUN HAIU REG ULA TOR. skeered! i~um, I heerd them Case boys frum the hills tlkin outside. They wuz come ter borry my bateau. They wuz ayfter Whitsun Harp, bekase hed prommused the big un, Ike, a lickin fer beatin Ole Man Bryce outen is cot- ton. They wuz lowin ter pick a fight xvi him an kill him. I peeked outer a crack an seen em. Two hed guns, an all three hed knives. So I tole Ora ter tell em xve lowed ter use our oxvn boat. But they got a bateau farder down, an I seen em en the river, so I hed Ora roxv me over an I borried Looneys hoss, it bein so easy an Im agwine ter xvarn im. The river twists so, an thars a right smart er groun tween Young Canes whar he ar an the xvater, I kin git thar fust, easy Say, little tricks, wat ye bellerin fer? The road had passed a little clear- ing, made in Arkansas fashion by burning down the trees. The cabin in the center had no win- dow, and the door xvas open, showing three particularly dirty children ~vho were all crying together. The oldest stuck a shaggy white head out to say, Hits fer maw? Whars yer maw done gone? Shes done gone ith Mr. Harp fer ter see Aunt Milly Thorn, kase Uncle Tobe Thorn done lick er hide offen er, said the child, evi- dently repeating an older tongues story. I sended three men ayfter er, but she aint come back, an we uns is hungry. Oh dear, maw! maxv! Hush, hush, honey, said Boas, trembling, whar did the men come from? They come from a boat, an they axed fer Mr. Harp, an they said they wud fotch maw back in the boat. XVill ye fotch maxv? Ter Tobe Thorns, screamed Boas, clutch- ingLumsarm; d ye onnerstan, Lum? Thets cross the big bayou, the heouse on the bank; they kin cut cross en the bateau, an the road goes way off tother side. I caynt do hit, Lum, the Lord don mean ter parden me! An pore Whitsun shaking Lums arm in his uncontrollable agitation Lum, mabbe its tended fer you ter save im! Yo hoss never makes a blunder. Ye knaw the bottom, an ye kin ride through the brake fast fast! Lum turned a dull, deep red; he felt him- self suffocating xvith passion; he saw his re- venge lost, and xvith it everything else. Yet he could not wrench his last hope from this hunted, desperate, dying creature. And Boas had been kind to his mother. Lum, ye will do hit, pleaded Boas, I knaw ye don bear no good will ter Harp, but, God Amighty, hes a human critter, ye won see im murdered xven ye kin save is life! Ye caynt be so hard-hearted Oh, Lum, do it ter save me, ter holp me outen the hell I ben en fer five year! Yes, said Lum, Ill go fer you, Boas. VOL. XXXIV. iS. 121 His face was as white as Boass, but Boas could not see; he pushed his helper by the shoulder to hurry him, panting, Go long, then, fast, fer Gods sake! God bless ye, boy, yell save two men stidden one. I-low he rides, an I useter ride thet way The children cried, and he went to them; Lum was out of sight in t~e high cane. The young fellow rode furiously. Beneath that pleasant green sea lay pronged roots and logs and ugly holes. Thorn-trees stretched out their spiked limbs, wild grape-vines flung their beautiful treacherous lassos on the breeze, and pawpaw saplings, stout enough to trip a horse, were ambushed in the cane. Through them all crashed the brave gray, leaping, dodging, beating down the cane with his broad chest, and never slackening his speed. It looked like a frantic race through the wilderness, but, with the woodmans instinct, the rider, leaving the perils below to the beasts sure eyes, was really guiding him on an invisible course. At last Lum drew rein before another clear- ing. He could see Thorns cabin and women in the gallery, and, riding along the shore, nearer and more distinct, the figure of a man on horseback, plainly Whitsun Harp. Lum galloped up to him. The regulator carried pistols in the holsters of his old cavalry saddle; the barrel of one flashed out as Lum approached. Ye aint no call ter be skeered er me I shouted Lum. Not this time. Look out fer the Case boys thar, on the bateau! Theyre a comm! Shucks! said Whitsun. He gave Lum a long and keen glance which apparently satis- fied him, for he addressed himself at once to the more imperative danger. In fact, the Case boys were landing. Ike, the tallest, he to whom the lickin had been promised, stood up in the boat, as the keel grated on the sand, and hailed Lum: Say, Lum Shinault, moosey outer yere, we haint no gredge agin you / Wat mought ye hey come fer then? said Lum sarcastically. Ter guy thet thar regerlater a show ter lick Ike, ef he tlarst, called the second brother. I darst, Whitsun replied with his usual composure; jes come on over! The broth- ers consulted; then Lum was hailed again: Lum Shinault, git outen the road! The roads free, said Lum. Yo mighty brash orderin folks outen the road! Dad burn ye, be ye on his side? Looks like, replied Lum indifferently; onyhoxv, ef ye waynt a fight ye kin hey hit! They all won fight, said Whitsun. Nor did they. The third Case boy (while 122 WHITS UN HARP, REG ULA TOE. the others were bending to their oars) yelled: A man so mean s you, Whit Harp, hed or- ter be shot twixt the cross er the gallowses, an well do hit yit I And the big Ike informed Lum that he was let off on account of the women in the cabin; but not one of them lifted his gun. Safe out in the river, they threw back a shower of threats and oaths, bu~ nothing more solid. Theyre pusillanimous cusses, remarked Harp. Then he drew nearer Lum, looking actually embarrassed. I caynt mek you out rightly, nohow, Columbus Shinault, said he. Naw, said Lum scornfully, nor I caynt mek myself out. Look a yere, Whit Harp, I come enter this yere bottom ter kill you. Whitsun nodded gravely, making a little affirmative noise in his throat, exactly as he might have done to a remark about the weather. An I wud hey killed ye or ben killed up myself one, ef I hednt met up with Bud Boas. Taint no differ how he stopped me; he done hit, he sent me on his errant ter ye ter warn ye; an wats mo, so longer s he lives ye aint nuthin ter fear from me. But wen hes done gonelook out! He would have wheeled his horse, but Harp caught the rein, saying Stop I wat sorter tricks all this? Wat fer did ye stop fer Bud Boas? Did he did he skeer ye with his ghost ? Lum laughed harshly, in sheer bitterness of soul: A dozen ghosts wudnt a stopped me. I don hole by ghosts nohow. Then wy did ye go? None of us are above wishing to be justi- fied, and there is a peculiar zest in overturning our enemies~ false notions of us. Lum never would have proffered an explanation, but there may have been a grim comfort in letting Whit- sun see his real self. He replied quietly, I come ter holp Boas. Howd thet holp im ? Kase he war purportin ter warn ye his- self. He lowed ef he cud jes save some un s life a sorter swap like fer the one he taken, thet ar ghos wat harnts im mought quit. Did the ghost say so I don hole by ghosts, I tell ye. Naw, its jes a idy. Sos the ghost a idy, ter my mm. But hits plum fixed in is head jes strongs scripter. An I reckon twull be like he lows twillbeso. He lowedefhe cud save ye from bein killed up er hey me, then the ghost ud let up an he cud die in peace.~~ Toby shore. An hit war thet away? An thet thars wy ye won fight mekase the life won be saved then an the sperrit mought cum back ? Lum shrugged his shoulders: I guess. Whitsuns stolid face worked as he cried: Blame my skin ef I kin mek ye oE$ onyhow! Ye aint no sich feller like I wuz cepuntin ye ter be! The blood rushed to Lums forehead with a sudden sense of the uselessness of this late recognition, a sudden fury of pain. Ye hey foun hit out too late, Whitsun Harp, he cried; ye shamed me afore Polly Ann, an ye shamed her too, lickin her husband jes bekase ye wuz the bigges an stronges, an ye wuz too dumb ter see thet thar triflin critter, Savannah, war jes sick with a chill, an I wuz guvin on her wisky. An wuz them lies beout you an her? Ax her, said Lum, overcome by irrita- tion; I don want no mo truck ith ye, Whit Harp, ~vile Boas is live. Let go! Jes er minute mo, Lum. I aint agoin ter fight with ye ayfter this evnin. An ef I done ye wrong Ill ondo hit yit. The hand on Lums bridle dropped, and the gray leaped forward; Lums farewell words hurled behind: Ye caynt ondo hit; all ye kin do ar ter fight me, an ye size/lI Ef I mistaken him, muttered Whitsun, who hardly seemed to hear, so absorbed was he in his own train of thought, ef how cud hit a ben me bein called? Boas was waiting at the cabin. He thanked -and blessed Lum, but the poor fellows heart was too sore to be thus eased. He must go back to Polly Ann, who despised him. It never oc- curred to him to try to lift himself a little in his wifes opinion by telling the story of the after- noon; he felt too sure that Polly Ann would not believe in any real intention of his to fight Harp, and would think that he welcomed any excuse. If only the Case boys had fought, if somebodys blood, no matter whose, had been spilled! Gells is allus a cravin fer folks ter be killin each other, mused Lum. Polly Ann wud feel a heap pearter ef I hed a fust-rate title ter a ghost er mjown. But now I neverll hey no show, not the leas bit on earth! Polly Ann received him with great kind- ness, saying nothing of the spoiled dinner or the delayed supper and twice-made coffee. After supper she herself brought him the vi- olin. But he put it aside, saying: Tek hit way, I don feel like fiddlin! He had scarcely touched his supper. Ye feelin puny, Lum? said Polly Ann timidly. He only shook his head and went out, forgetting his hat. Her kindness jarred on his sick soul; this morning he had yearned for it because this morning he had a conviction that she would not despise him long or grudge him, afterward, a last caress. But now Im so low down en her mm she caynt holp pityin me, thought Lum. Degraded in his own eyes and in hers, and uncertain how long before Sa- vannahs giddy tongue might be released from WHZTSUN HARP, REGULATOR. 123 the fear that tied it and make his humiliation the latest joke for the store, Lums whole na- ture seemed to collapse. He shunned the Clo- ver Bend people; he even shunned his wife, spending days in the woods shooting, or pick- ing cotton, and taking a lunch into the field. At night, supper over, he would go out and be gone until late. Many a night did Polly Ann pretend to be sleeping when Lum stepped softly across the floor. He never had been drinking; and he did not cross the river, for Polly Ann, always watching at the window, could see that the boats were not moved. One night she followed him. All that he did was to wander restlessly among the hills. She saw him make wild gestures; once she heard a groan. Then she crept back to bed and cried, poor woman, whether for him or for herself; who knows? She began to be frightened. She saw Harp at a distance, and once he crossed the river and paid a long call on Boas; so that she did not connect any possible remorse with her hus- bands gloom. How could she imagine that he was ceaselessly and poignantly regretting his not being a murderer? The only place where Lum was anything like his old self was in Boass cabin. Boas was dying, but very peacefully. The visions which had tortured his life away were gone. He had no more dread of them. Thanks to Lum, he told his wife. He told her nothing else, but that was enough to arouse her grati- tude. She would not pain him with questions, but she thought no harm of questioning Polly Ann. Dye low Lum done seen Grundy an druv him way? she asked in tones of awe. Law me, Mis Shinault, but hemus hey grit! Grit ? poor Lum! But Polly Ann, who was superstitious, did have a vague and ap- palling theory that in some way Boas might have transferred Grundy to Lum. Yet, were she right, it was not natural for Lum to take such evident comfort in Boass society, going there every day, and taking his violin, although he never lifted the bow at home. Boas had little tosay; whathehadwasabout the time when his lost boys were children. He would lie for hours, quite patient, quite content, watching his wife at her simple tasks or hear- ing Lum play. He often smiled. It was a pa- thetic sight to see how this man, who had not known peace for so long, seemed actually to revel in mere immunity from dread. Pears like I cudnt git enough er jes restin, he would say. He suffered very little physically. It isnt so much that his lungs are gone, the doctor had said; all his organs seem used up. Its more a death from exhaustion than any- thing else. November passed. Early in December Boas died. Lum saw him only a few hours before the event. He had never alluded to the past horror, but to-day he said: Lum, I ben hay- in a curis dream. Peared like I war haulin logs alonger Grundy Wild, like we useter. An we uns war hevin sich a pleasan time. Hit war purty weather, an we uns didnt pear ter hey no bad feelins twixt us, an Grundy he war a laffin an pokin fun, an me, I war laf- fin, too, kase ye know them tricks er his n an~ quar contraptions, an nary un membered nuthin er thet ar bad time. I war a laffin w en I waked up. Lum, we uns war right good friens wunst, an hits quar but I ar a feelin them ole frienly feelins now agin. Hits like the res war jes a bad dream. I aint skeered no mo er meetin up with Grundy, Lum. Not long afterward he fell asleep, and he may have wakened with Grundy, for he did not waken in this world. There was a great gathering at the funeral. To this day the widow talks about it with doleful pride: Twar the vurry bigges an the granes buryin the Bend ever seen. A hunerd an sixty-two, big an little, looked at the copse. I ceounted. Whitsun Harp came to the funeral. It so happened that when Lum first saw him they were both standing at the grave. The open grave was between them. Polly Ann saw Lums moody countenance brightened by a fierce light. Harp did not seem to see Lum or any one; his composed and melancholy gaze went past their heads over the forlorn little field with its rail fence and high gray grass waving above the unmarked mounds. The ser- vices ended, the people slowly walked down the path which their own footsteps had made through the grass. Polly Ann kept close to Lum. He edged himself up to Whitsun. They spoke together in a low tone, but Polly Ann had the ears of an Indian; she caught two fragments of Lufrfs sentences: Nuthin izow ter hender, and Down en th bottom, by the little bayou. There were people with the Shinaults as far as the ferry, and afterward there were the widow and two cousins to escort home. One of the cousins, intent on having a comfortable gos- sip about the dead man with some one not too near him for free discussion, returned with Lum. So she gave Polly Ann no chance to see her husband alone, and was still rock- ing and talking in the black and gilt rocking- chair when he came in and took down his gun. Im goin fer a shoot, Polly Ann, said he. He had crossed the threshold, but he came back and kissed his wife on both cheeks, be- fore the cousin. The cousin giggled; but Polly Ann remembered that he had not kissed her before in three weeks. I fear that her visitor found her an ungracious hostess. The instant 124 WHLTSUN HARP, REG ULA TO]?. she was free, she ran to the shore. Lums boat was gone, but Boass little boat had been left near the ferry; in this she rowed over to Clover Bend. At first she hesitated on the other shore, but presently she ran at the top of her speed. She had heard a single shot. Thar wud er ben two, her white lips kept muttering; thar wuz ony one! She ran past the mill, past the pasture, down tuto the swamp. It was the same cypress brake through which Lum had ridden with Boas, three weeks before; but it was another scene to-day. One of the wood fires, so common in autumn, had shorn the ground of the green cane and all the undergrowth that hides the weird ugliness of the cypress roots. Now, bared of every tender disguise of vine or moss, the hideous things, in their grotesque and distorted semblance of human form, seemed demon dwarfs crouching over their fires; while the cypressknees bore an uncanny resemblance to the toes of incompletely buried giants. Out of this huddle of monstrous shapes rose the cypress-trees, unmarred by knot or branch until high, high above a riders head, some slim and erect like stately young maidens, others of enormous girth, brother giants to those that the earth refused to cover. Some were as smooth and glossy white as dead bones. The fire had eaten out their life. Charred logs were tumbled over the ground, and the cypress boughs were ashes whence rose a cloud of smoke under hurrying feet. Polly Ann ran on farther and farther into the ruined forest. She could see the shining of water. A log had fallen across the road. No, oh God! it was no log, it was a man, it was Whitsun Harp lying on his face, shot dead from behind. Another xvoman might have screamed. Polly Ann only knelt down beside the man who had loved her all his youth, and very gently turned his face to the sun. He who so seldom smiled now wore a pleasant, dreamy smile on his lips. The mur- derer had taken such sure aim that death did not even interrupt the murdered mans thought. Then, at last, Polly Ann understood her husband. This was what he was studying. Without a moan or cry her body swayed forward like a broken tree and fell beside Harps. But she did not lose consciousness; she knew the voice that called her name, and she staggered to her feet. Lum was standing in the road, his face ashen-white and his gun shaking in his hands. She ran to him with a great sob and threw herself against his breast. Run! run! she gasped, theyll cotch ye! Tek the boat; the rivers bes! Fer wy must I run? said Lum. Though he was so agitated, so excited, he seemed rather like a man overcome by some unexpected sight of horror than one who fears for himself. You began Polly Ann; she clutched the barrel of his gun. It was cold to the touch. Ye havnt fired hit off! screamed she. Naw, said Lum, I seen ye weepin over Whitsun Harp; ye low I killed him? Ye looked so skeered! I war skeered powful skeered. Kase, Polly Ann, I lef home ith my mm sot on killin thet thar dead man, but I didnt do hit. Hark ter me, afore him lyin thet away ye don blieve I cud lie. Lemme tell ye the hull truth. Then he told, with the conciseness of strong emotion, how Boas had saved him in the first place, and how, as long as Boas lived, he could not renew his attempt. But, ter- day, said he, I war free agin. I cud show ye I waramans much ez Harp. I spoken ter him at the buryin. He shuddered. I pinted this yere place. He tole me ter come ter the store fust, an then ef I wanted hed come yere. I done wen ter the store. And lie war thar. Afore em all, he stepped up an begged my pardin. Mr. Shinault knows wat fer, he says, an then he thanked me fer savin on his life he putt hit like thet an tole the hull story. An now, sezee, I dont guess ye keer fer my compny down en the bottom. Then he holes out his han, an I taken it, an he said, Ye won keep no gredge agin me no mo, will ye, you nor yo wife? an I said Naw, an he went away, an I never seen him agin tell I seen you settin by him, an him dead. Polly Ann, ye do blieve me. Polly Anti was sobbing, but she nodded. Abe Davis, he war with me, but he went on the high road, an I come down yere fer a shoot, so Id hey some squirrels to tote home. We heerd the shoot, but folks is allus shootin in the bottom. We mought er cotched of em ef wed come straight down: I dont guess theyll ever cotch em now. Thars too many ter sspicion. Lum judged rightly. Among the dozen men who had cause to hate Whitsun, Justice (a somewhat unwieldy personage in the bot- tom) never could find enough evidence against any one to take action. Whitsuns murderer was never punished, to Clover Bends know- ing; he was never even pursued. Lum knelt down as Polly Ann had done by the dead mans side; he looked up at his wife with love and pity beyond his expression. Yes, hes done gone shore, deane, he said slowly; I wisht he warnt. He war a better man nor me. Polly Ann only sobbed. Wud yewud ye like terter say good- bye ter him afore I holler on Tobe? Ill step over yander ter look fer im. WHIRSUN HARP, kEG ULA TOE. 125 if Then Polly Ann looked up. She read his thoughts. Lum, said she, come yere! He came. Ye low thet I set store by Whitsun, too gret store, morn I done by you? He war yo kin, honey, I don meanter ter trow it up agin ye ye lowed I war triflin. Lum, Lum, don say the word, cried she, do;it / I don know how ter tell ye; but twaz you allus, allus, even wen ye hednt nary thought fer me an wuz waitin on Savannah Lady. I fit agin hit, I done my bes ter brung my mm ter Whitsun, fer he he axed me an he war so good, so brave, the bes an faith- fulles but I cudnt do it, kase my mm war VOL. XXXIV. i85. so sot on you. An then we uns wuz married, an ye didnt set no gret store by me fer a right smart. An I wuz so lonesome, an paw war gone, an I grieved. An then wen ye sor- tersorter began ter hey aa differ en yo feelins I war frettin an takin on bekase ye warnt like Whitsun, an kase ye wud let im dare ye an prommus ye lickins an not tek it up. Oh Lum, I war a fool, but twar allus you. WAI/sun knows it war allus you. Yes, honey, yes, my darlin, I onnerstan, said Lum softly, gathering her into his arms with a full heart. In that supreme moment they both forgot all the world but themselves. But Whitsun, lying in the sunlight at their feet, was smiling still. Ocidve Tkczne/~ LUM KNELT DOWN AS POLLY ANN HAD DONE.

John Hay Hay, John Israel 126-129

W H EN by Jabbok the patriarch waited To learn on the morrow his doom, And his dubious spirit debated In darkness and silence and gloom, There descended a Being with whom He wrestled in agony sore, With striving of heart and of brawn, And not for an instant forbore Till the East gave a threat of the dawn; And then, as the Awful One blessed him, To his lips and his spirit there came, Compelled by the doubts that oppressed him, The cry that through questioning ages Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages, Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy Name! Most fatal, most futile of questions! Wherever the heart of man beats, In the spirits most sacred retreats, It comes with its somber suggestions, Unanswered forever and aye. The blessing may come and may stay, For the wrestlers heroic endeavor, But the question, unheeded forever, Dies out in the broadening day. In the ages before our traditions, By the altars of dark superstitions, The imperious question has come When the death-stricken victim lay sobbing At the feet of his slayer and priest, And his heart was laid smoking and throbbing To the sound of the cymbal and drum On the steps of the high Teocallis; When the delicate Greek at his feast Poured forth the red wine from his chalice With mocking and cynical prayer; ISRAEL. 128 ISRAEL. When by Nile, Egypt worshiping lay And afar, through the rosy, flushed air The Memnon called out to the day; Where the Muezzins cry floats from his spire; In the vaulted Cathedrals dim shades, Where the crushed hearts of thousands aspire Through arts highest miracles higher, This question of questions invades Each heart bowed in worship or shame; In the air where the censers are swinging A voice, going up with the singing, Cries, Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy Name! No answer came back, not a word, To the patriarch there by the ford; No answer has come through the ages To the poets, the seers, and the sages, Who have sought in the secrets of science The name and the nature of God, Whether cursing in desperate defiance Or kissing his absolute rod But the answer which was and shall be, My name! nay, what is it to thee? The search and the question are vain. By use of the strength that is in you, By wrestling of soul and of sinew The blessing of God you may gain. There are lights in the far-gleaming heaven That never will shine on our eyes, To mortals twill never be given, To range those inviolate skies. The mind whether praying or scorning That tempts those dread secrets shall fail, But strive through the night till the morning And mightily shalt thou prevail. Jo/i11 Hay. THE CAMPAIGN FOR CHATTANOOGA. ASa duty to the liv- .t1. ing and to the dead, I avail myself of the opportunity -. ~ here afibrded to perpetuate testi- mony concerning - ... the strategy and grand tactics of FUGITIVE NEGROES. that wonderful campaign of Chat tanooga in which the battle of Chickamauga was an inevitable incident. In the performance of this peculiar duty, it is a relief to know that, thanks to Congress and to Colonel R. N. Scott the publication of reports, correspond- ence, orders and dispatches relating to these events will soon be made in a forthcoming volume of the Records of Union and Con- federate Armies during the Rebellion, which will enable an interested public to verify the accuracy of what I shall state.* On October 3oth, 1862, at Bowling Green, Kentucky, 1 assumed command of the troops which had been under the able and consci- entious Major-General D. C. Buell. They consisted of the Fourteenth Army Corps and such re~nforcements as had joined it previous to the battle of Perryville, Kentucky, which drove the Confederates advancing under Bragg, back into Tennessee. There were, in all, ic divisions of infantry, about 34 batteries of artillery, and some i8 regiments of gallant but untrained cavalry. The Army of the Cumberland was molded out of these by organizing the infantry and ar- tillery into grand divisions: the right under Major-General A. McD. McCook; the center under Major-General George H. Thomas; and the left under Major-General Thomas L. Crit- tenden. The cavalry xvas under General D. S. Stanley, an experienced chief. There was a pioneer brigade, formed by details from the infantry, under the chief engineer, and inspec- tor generals and topographical staffs for corps, division, and brigade service, detailed from ofli- cers of the line. Through interchanges, the mus- kets of each brigade were reduced to a single caliber; and battle-flags were prescribed to dis- tinguish corps, divisions, and brigades on the battle-field and march. With this army, under instructions from * Colonel Robert N. Scott died on March 5th of pneumonia. He had been ill only a week. In 1878 he was assigned to the duty of compiling the records of the war, which he performed with signal ability and Major-General Halleck, General-in-Chief, I was to Go to East Tennessee, driving the rebels out of Middle Tennessee. It was November. The autumn rains were near at hand. East Tennessee was 150 miles away, over the Cumberland Mountains. It had been stripped of army supplies by the Confederates. We had not wagons enough to haul supplies to subsist our troops fifty miles from their depots, as had just been demon- strated in their pursuit of Bragg, after Perry- ville. Hence our route to East Tennessee must be by the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, or within less than fifty miles right or left of it. The shortest and best line lies through that gap in the mountains where all the drainage of East Tennessee breaks through and flows westward from Chattanooga, forty miles by river, into Middle Tennessee at Bridgeport. [See map, page 133]. In the first week of November the Army of the Cumberland, therefore, proceeded to Nashville, and as soon as it was prepared to do so, Dec. 26th, began its movement for Chattanooga, distant i~i miles. Meanwhile, the enemy under Bragg concentrated at Mur- freesboro, 32 miles from Nashville. The op- posing armies met on the bloody field of Stones River, December 3oth, and after a contest of four days, in which twenty per cent. of its brave officers and men were killed and wounded, the Army of the Cumberland took Murfreesboro. The Confederates retired to Duck River, 32 miles south, and established a formidable in- trenched camp across the roads leading south- ward at Shelbyville. Another intrenched camp was constructed by Bragg i8 miles south of Shelbyville at Tullahoma, where the McMinn- ville branch intersects the main Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad. The winter rains made the country roads impassable for large military operations. Our adversarys cavalry outnumbered ours nearly three to one. It occupied the corn regions of Duck and Elk rivers. Ours had to live in regions exhausted of supplies, to watch and guard the line of the railroad which supplied us 32 miles to Nashville, and the Louisville and Nashville Railway for i8~ miles farther northward to Louisville. We lost many of our animals for want of long forage. Mean- impartiality. His loss will be keenly felt by students of war history who, like ourselves, have had the bene- fit of his scholarly counsel and unfailing courtesy. EDITOR.

General W. S. Rosecrans Rosecrans, W. S., General The Campaign for Chattanooga 129-136

THE CAMPAIGN FOR CHATTANOOGA. ASa duty to the liv- .t1. ing and to the dead, I avail myself of the opportunity -. ~ here afibrded to perpetuate testi- mony concerning - ... the strategy and grand tactics of FUGITIVE NEGROES. that wonderful campaign of Chat tanooga in which the battle of Chickamauga was an inevitable incident. In the performance of this peculiar duty, it is a relief to know that, thanks to Congress and to Colonel R. N. Scott the publication of reports, correspond- ence, orders and dispatches relating to these events will soon be made in a forthcoming volume of the Records of Union and Con- federate Armies during the Rebellion, which will enable an interested public to verify the accuracy of what I shall state.* On October 3oth, 1862, at Bowling Green, Kentucky, 1 assumed command of the troops which had been under the able and consci- entious Major-General D. C. Buell. They consisted of the Fourteenth Army Corps and such re~nforcements as had joined it previous to the battle of Perryville, Kentucky, which drove the Confederates advancing under Bragg, back into Tennessee. There were, in all, ic divisions of infantry, about 34 batteries of artillery, and some i8 regiments of gallant but untrained cavalry. The Army of the Cumberland was molded out of these by organizing the infantry and ar- tillery into grand divisions: the right under Major-General A. McD. McCook; the center under Major-General George H. Thomas; and the left under Major-General Thomas L. Crit- tenden. The cavalry xvas under General D. S. Stanley, an experienced chief. There was a pioneer brigade, formed by details from the infantry, under the chief engineer, and inspec- tor generals and topographical staffs for corps, division, and brigade service, detailed from ofli- cers of the line. Through interchanges, the mus- kets of each brigade were reduced to a single caliber; and battle-flags were prescribed to dis- tinguish corps, divisions, and brigades on the battle-field and march. With this army, under instructions from * Colonel Robert N. Scott died on March 5th of pneumonia. He had been ill only a week. In 1878 he was assigned to the duty of compiling the records of the war, which he performed with signal ability and Major-General Halleck, General-in-Chief, I was to Go to East Tennessee, driving the rebels out of Middle Tennessee. It was November. The autumn rains were near at hand. East Tennessee was 150 miles away, over the Cumberland Mountains. It had been stripped of army supplies by the Confederates. We had not wagons enough to haul supplies to subsist our troops fifty miles from their depots, as had just been demon- strated in their pursuit of Bragg, after Perry- ville. Hence our route to East Tennessee must be by the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, or within less than fifty miles right or left of it. The shortest and best line lies through that gap in the mountains where all the drainage of East Tennessee breaks through and flows westward from Chattanooga, forty miles by river, into Middle Tennessee at Bridgeport. [See map, page 133]. In the first week of November the Army of the Cumberland, therefore, proceeded to Nashville, and as soon as it was prepared to do so, Dec. 26th, began its movement for Chattanooga, distant i~i miles. Meanwhile, the enemy under Bragg concentrated at Mur- freesboro, 32 miles from Nashville. The op- posing armies met on the bloody field of Stones River, December 3oth, and after a contest of four days, in which twenty per cent. of its brave officers and men were killed and wounded, the Army of the Cumberland took Murfreesboro. The Confederates retired to Duck River, 32 miles south, and established a formidable in- trenched camp across the roads leading south- ward at Shelbyville. Another intrenched camp was constructed by Bragg i8 miles south of Shelbyville at Tullahoma, where the McMinn- ville branch intersects the main Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad. The winter rains made the country roads impassable for large military operations. Our adversarys cavalry outnumbered ours nearly three to one. It occupied the corn regions of Duck and Elk rivers. Ours had to live in regions exhausted of supplies, to watch and guard the line of the railroad which supplied us 32 miles to Nashville, and the Louisville and Nashville Railway for i8~ miles farther northward to Louisville. We lost many of our animals for want of long forage. Mean- impartiality. His loss will be keenly felt by students of war history who, like ourselves, have had the bene- fit of his scholarly counsel and unfailing courtesy. EDITOR. 130 ]HE CAMPAIGN FOR CHA TZANOOGA. while we hardened our cavalry, drilled our infantry, fortified Nashville and Murfreesboro for secondary depots, and arranged our plans for the coming campaign upon the opening of the roads, which were expected to be good by the ist of May, 1863. General Burnside, commanding the Depart- ment of the Ohio, including Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky (with headquarters at Cincin- nati), sent his next in command, Major-Gen- eral George L. Hartsuff; to arrange for his forces to codperate with ours for the relief of East Tennessee, which, though largely Union in sentiment, was now occupied by the enemy under General Buckner. I explained to Hartsuff my plan, the details of which I gave to no other. It was briefly: Firs/. We must follow the line of the Nash- ville and Chattanooga Railway. Scco;zd. We must surprise and manceuvre Bragg out of his intrenched camps by mov- ing over routes east of him to seize the line of the Nashville and Chattanooga Railway in his rear; beat him if he fights, and follow and dam- age him as best we can, until we see him across the Tennessee. Yikird. We must deceive him as to the point of our crossing the Tennessee, and securely es- tablish ourselves on the south side. Four/k. We must then manceuvre him out of Chattanooga, get between him and that point, and fight him, if possible, on ground of our own choosing, and if not, upon such ground as we can. F~/2~k. Burnside must follow and guard the left flank of our movement, especially when we get into the mountains. His entrance into East Tennessee will lead Braggs attention to Chattanooga and northward, while we cross below that point. Six/k. Since our forces in rear of Vicksburg would be endangered by General Joseph E. Johnston, if he should have enough troops, we must not drive Bragg out of Middle Tennessee until it shall be too late for his command to rei~nforce Johnstons. Braggs army is now, apparently, holding this army in check. It is the most important service he can render to his cause. The Con- federate authorities know it. They will not order, nor will Bragg venture to send away any substantial detachments. In fact, he is now holding us here by his nose, which he has inserted between our teeth for that purpose. We shall keep our teeth closed on his nose by our attitude, until we are assured that Vicks- burg is within three weeks of its fall. General Hartsuff reported this to Burnside, and advised me of their assent to the plan and to concurrent action. The news that Vicksburg could not hold out over two or three weeks having reached us, we began our movements to dislodge Bragg from his intrenched camp on the 24th of June, 1863. It rained for seventeen consecutive days. The roads were so bad that it required four days for Crittendens corps to march seven- teen miles. Yet, on the 4th of July, we had possession of both the enemys intrenched camps, and by the 7th, Braggs army was in full retreat over the Cumberland Mountains into Sequatchie valley, whence he proceeded to Chattanooga, leaving us in full possession of Middle Tennessee and of the damaged Nashville and Chattanooga Railway, with my headquarters at Winchester, fifty miles from our starting-point, Murfreesboro. This move- ment was accomplished in fifteen days, and with a loss of only 586 killed and wounded. From Winchester by railroad to Chatta- nooga is about sixty-nine miles. By wagon roads it is much greater. To pass over this distance, greater than from the Rappahan- nock to Richmond, Virginia, with intervening obstacles far more formidable, was our great- est work. In front of us were the Cumberland Mountains. Beyond them was the broad Ten- nessee River, from 400 to 900 yards wide. On the north side of it, beyond the Cumberland Mountains, lay Sequatchie valley, 3 or 4 miles wide and 6o miles long. East of that, Waldrons Ridge, the eastern half of the Southern Appa- lachian range, cut from the Cumberlands by the Sequatchie. At the eastern base oU this ridge flows the Tennessee above Chattanooga, from 400 to 6oo yards wide. On the south of the Tennessee tower the cliffs of Sand Mountain, 6oo or 700 feet high. Beyond that broad, flat, wooded top is Trenton valley, 40 or ~o miles long, ascending southerly to the top of the plateau; and east of it the long frowning cliffs of Lookout Mountain, a thousand feet above this valley, s7tretch northward to the gap at Chattanooga with not a single road of ascent for 26 miles, and not anotheruntil Valley Head, 40 miles southward from Chattanooga. The task before us was: Firs/. To convince General Bragg, a wary and experienced officer, that we would cross the Tennessee at some point far above Chat- tanooga. This required time and serious movements. Second. Meanwhile, without attracting his attention, to repair the Nashville and Chat- tanooga Railway to Bridgeport on the Ten- nessee. Third. To subsist our troops and accumu- late twenty days rations at Stevenson, without allowing him to get the faintest intimation of our intentions and doings. Four/k. To construct a large pontoon bridge train, bring it and the pioneer brigade for- THE CAMPAIGN FOR CHATTANOOGA. 3 ward by rail to the vicinity of Stevenson, wholly concealed from the enemys knowl- edge, and have the men trained to lay and take up bridging. F~ft/z. Our movement must be delayed un- til the new corn is fit for horse-feed; because when we cross the river and go into the mount- ains, our trains must carry twenty days rations and ammunition enough for two great battles. We have not trains to carry anything beyond this, and hence feed for our animals must be obtained from the coming corn crop of the country into which we are going, or our campaign will be a failure. Six//i. When we cross the Tennessee, we must so move as to endanger Braggs com- munications by rail and oblige him, for their protection, to fall back far enough to give us time and space to concentrate between him and Chattanooga and, if possible, to choose our own battle-ground; for doubtless he will fight us with all the force he can assemble. How all this was done we have not space to tell. Nor can we relate how it came to pass that the Army of the Cumberland had to pro- ceed on its perilous mission alone, unaided, unassisted, either by our Army of the Ten- nessee, unemployed since the surrender of Vicksburg, or by the activity of the Army of the Potomac, which might have kept Lee from sending Longstreet to fight us; or by the Department of the Gulf, which, instead of threatening the enemys Gulf coast to keep troops from going to Bragg, by a useless ex- pedition to Texas, had given bonds, so to speak, not to molest them; orby Burnsides command, which was so far away to the north of us that, in the hour of need, with forty thousand men of all arms, he could do nothing to help us. I only repeat that we were ordered forward alone, regardless alike of the counsels of com- manders, the clamors of the press, the prin- ciples of military art and science, and the interests of our country. Of all this the corps commanders of the Army of the Cumberland and myself were well aware. They knew that the Secretary of War, without reason or jus- tice, was implacably hostile to me. They knew more. They knew that those great loyal gov- ernors, Curtin of Pennsylvania, Andrew of Massachusetts, and Yates of Illinois, offered seven regiments of txvo~years veterans, who were willing to reenlist on condition that they should go as mounted infantry to the Army of the Cumberland; that General Lovell H. Rousseau bore a letter to Secretary Stanton, explaining how very important would be the services of such a body of men in guarding the long and exposed line of our communications, soon to be lengthened by our advance to Chat- tanooga; that this line must be guarded; that every such mounted man in that move would give us three infantry men at the front. They knew that when the Secretary had read my let- ter, he rudely said to General Rousseau: I would rather you would come to ask the com- mand of the Army of the Cumberland, than to ask re~nforcements for General Rosecrans. He shall not have another dd man. On the 4th of August, General Halleck tel- egraphed me: Your forces must move forward without further de- lay. You will daily report the movement of each corps till you cross the Tennessee. On the 6th, after full consideration and con- sultation with my corps commanders, I re- plied: My arrangements for beginninga continuous move- ment will be completed, and the execution begun, by Monday next. . . . It is necessary to have our means of crossing the river completed and our supplies pro- vided to cross sixty miles of mountain, and sustain our- selves during the operations of crossing and fighting, before we move. To obey your order literally would be to put our troops at once into the mountains on nar- row and difficult roads destitute of pasture and forage and short of water, where they would not be able to manceuvre as exigencies may demand, and would cer- tainly cause ultimate delay and probably disaster. If, therefore, the movement which I propose cannot be regarded as obedience to your order, I respectfully re- quest a modification of it, or to be relieved from the comihand. The War Department did not think it pru- dent to relieve me, and therefore gave consent in terms sufficient to convict it of reckless ignorance, or worse. But we were soldiers. We moved to our work with every energy bent on insuring its success. On the ioth of August our move- ment began. On the ~4th all our corps were crossing the Cumberlands. It required six or seven days. The movement appeared as if directed toward Knoxville, but it was really to concentrate neal Bridgeport and Stevenson. Crittenden crossed the Cumberlands into Sequatchie valley and made a bivouac many miles long; sent Van Cleves division with our left wing cavalry to Pikeville; ordered two infantry brigades to cross Waldrons Ridge by roads some miles apart, and to bivouac in long lines on its eastern edge, in sight of observers from the opposite side of the river, who would take them for strong advances of heavy col- umns of troops of all arms. This appearance was confirmed by the boldness of our cavalry and mounted infantry, which descended into the valley of the Tennessee and drove every- thing across to the enemys side of the river. The other corps were concealed in the forests north and west of Stevenson. The pontoon bridge train came down from Nashville by rail on the 24th of August, and the pioneers took it away out of observation, 132 THE CAMPAIGN FOR CHA TTANOOGA. practiced laying and taking up pontoonbridges until the 29th, when they laid a bridge across the Tennessee at Capertons, ten miles below Bridgeport, in four and a half hours. It was 1254 feet long, and the work was done at the rate of 4.6 feet per minute. Meanwhile, to prepare for sustaining our army at Chattanooga, I contracted with great railway bridge-building firms to rebuild the railway bridge at Bridgeport, over 2700 feet long, in four weeks, and the Running Water Bridge, three spans, 171 feet each, to be done within two weeks thereafter; and ordered Cap- tain Edwards, Assistant Quartermaster, to have constructed, with all dispatch, five fiat- bottomed stern-wheel steamboats of light draft, to run on the Tennessee between Bridgeport and Chattanooga. Our first bridge was ready, August 29th, and the Twentieth Corps was ordered across it to Valley Head, the south end of Trenton valley, forty miles south of Chattanooga. Thence a road leads down the eastern slopes of Lookout, by Alpine, into Broomtown valley, whence there are roads toward the Northern Georgia railway line and to Rome. This heavy corps of all arms, so far south of Braggs position at Chattanooga, made him uneasy. But when Thomas, after crossing, moved with his corps up Trenton valley in the same direction, with all his train, Bragg became still more anxious. Then came Crittenden following Thomas with merely an unostentatious column in observa- tion on the direct road to Chattanooga. This movement portended mischief and it was strong enough to do plenty of it. As a prudent commander, Bragg could not afford to leave us forty miles south of his position, to get quietly down and concentrate between him and Atlanta. Bragg was reluctant to leave his stronghold Chattanooga, and yet he yielded to his appre- hensions. On the 8th he slowly retired south- ward, giving out rumors that he would go back to Rome or to Atlanta. On Sept. 9th Critten- dens leading division entered Chattanooga. On the afternoon of the same day our cavalry and infantry, from the north side of the river, crossed over into town. The cavalry moved out to see if the enemy had gone. He was be- yond Rossviile and behind Missionary Ridge, but not far away. To keep up Braggs appre- hensions, McCook was ordered, without exposing his command, to appear advancing. On the 12th Thomas crossed over Lookout, up Johnsons Pass and down Coopers, putting his command in snug defensive position at its foot. Crittenden had moved his whole corps into Chattanooga over the road at the north end of Lookout, but was ordered not to push out into danger. On the ioth the story of Braggs retreat to Atlanta was found to be false, and, behind our cavalry and mounted infantry, Crittendens infantry moved cau- tiously out. By the 12th, I found that the enemy was concentrating behind Pigeon Mountain near Lafayette. When Crittendens reconnaissance in force, of the 12th and ~3th, showed the rear of Braggs retiring columns near the Chicka- mauga, I instantly ordered him to move west- ward within supporting distance of Thomas as speedily and secretly as possible. At the same time orders were dispatched to McCook to join Thomas at the foot of Coopers Gap with the utmost celerity.* Our fate now depended, first upon prompt concentration, and next, on our choosing our own battle-ground, where our flanks would be protected and where we could have full use of our artillery. Everything indicated that the enemy must soon attack us. Bragg issued his order for it, dated September ~6th, 1863, in which he says to his command, You have been amply rei~nforced. Yes! The Confed- erate authorities had wisely given Bragg every man they thought it possible to spare, from Virginia, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, and Mis- sissippi. Even the prisoners paroled at Vicks- burg contributed to strengthen him. Our command received none from our au- thorities, who had abundant force at their dis- position. About the ioth of September, aroused by fear of consequences, General Halleck be- gan telegraphing orders for re~nforcements, but we were involved in the mountains and be- yond reach, and it was entirely too late for any useful results; but it was a confession that sup- port ought to have been ordered at the proper time, and might serve for ulterior operations after our fate was decided. At last, on the ~8th, McCooks corps came within reach oT the enemy, who was then mov- ing through the gaps in the Pigeon Mountain to attack us. Over the tree-tops we saw clouds of dust moving toward our left. Bragg wanted to get between us and Chattanooga. We had no time to lose. The whole Twentieth Corps came down the mountain, and Thomas, with three of his di- visions, was ordered to move north-eastward through the forests by lines of fires, until his command was placed across the Reeds Bridge road and the more westwardly roads leading to Chattanooga via Rossville. Crittenden and McCook were to follow when the enemys plan developed. Eight oclock on the morning of September ~9th found Thomas and his wearied men in For additional maps and pictures relating to the battles of Chickamanga and Chattanooga, see The CENTURY MAGAZINE for April, 1887.EDUrox. THE CAMPAIGN FOR OHA TTANOOGA. 33 position. Before 9 the fighting began. Critten den, with Palmer and Van Cleve, moved on the Lafayette road toward Thomass right. The enemy soon abandoned his attempts on our left, and concentrated toward our cen- ter. Johnsons division was ordered from i\JcCook to Thomas; Van Cleve was driven, and Daviss division gave ground. General Negley was sent to Van Cleves position at 5 ~. si., and Sheridan earlier to help Davis. The fight raged. The enemy went back and the day closed. The corps commanders came to my headquarters. They said they had fought superior numbers. They were cool, experienced commanders; they had been in many bloody battles; their opinions had great weight. I saw that the morrow was likely to be more bloody and decisive than that day. I determined the new line, so that there should be the least possible moving of the tired troops, and that it should be short enough to give us seven brigades in reserve. All but one had 1)een in action that day. Thomas must hold the left to the last extremity. If beaten, he must retire on Rossville and Chattanooga. He must send his trains there at once. He had the four divisions of his own corps (the Fourteenth), Johnsons from the Twentieth and Palmer s from the Twenty-first Corps. Granger, with three brigades of the Reserve Corps, was in rear of his left at Rossville. This was all of our whole army on the field, save ten brigades. But the defense of our left was the defense of our army and of Chattanooga. On the 20th, short- VOL. XXXIV.i9. ly after daylight, I examined Thomass whole line; and at 6 oclock he wrote that he would like to have his right division (Negleys) to place on his extreme left. I ordered General Crittenden to send General Wood to replace Negley in the line. At 9 oclock I found Wood in line of battle half a mile in rear of Negley. He said that he had understood that his order was to suy5j5ort Negley, not to relieve him, and pro- ceeded to do what should have been done at least a half hour before. Meanwhile the bat- tle had begun on Thomass left. It moved toward the right. Heavier and heavier rolled the musketry and thundered the cannon. Cap- tam Willard came from Thomas and asked for Negley. He had been waiting to be relieved, but now, at last, he went filing out of the woods by his left. Van Cleve was ordered farther to the north-east; McCook had had the most repeated and emphatic orders to keep his troops closing to the left. At ~ ~ oclock, Major Kellogg came ftom Thomas, who wished to know if he could have Brannan. I replied: Ves; tell him to dispose of Brannan, who has only one brigade in line, and to hold his position, and we will re~nforce him, if need be, with all the right; and said to Major Bond, of my staff, If Brannan goes out, Wood must fill his place. Write him that the commanding general directs him to close to the left on Reynolds and support him. Major Kellogg went to Brannan and gave him the order to move his command toward the left. 55 88 87 85 incinnati 58 Alton MAPOF 0 H ~ IkEMLLCKY AND TLV\ESSEE lOIadlsOn 0 lill~0 cJ A1ay0141 vaseebuog SCALE OF STATUTE MILES /4, 5) N Cono lana \Nea Aiha ~ft 1 / -. SolesHlIIL P5els StOen A C~~04 Leasnton ,l 4 (f) 00 enoboeo .1~ Soerenilte I. Pict Knob E~atothtoH t~l5Hllle U Scoot 0 j 5 Setonon \~ .5/ ~JaeEson1 0 ~ 1 U HILLS Mt Serno ~ ~XtlIteh001 K-~ Conomerco tao 5110 ~ SornIret Onlion I1lSS~. C. Pvolch 50151111 l~ 1011100 lOOte SledS Pa, K E. - 1~ 91111 F I) ~ Lelnoollt CoLalbos .lr~li.I ~. 1) -~ ~ Ca EsesH \Satroi Ho/Ill a HESS ~ 0QHELHHO .~ . p HO F 0100 CIte LOS lb C-oil I ~ are ~ett 10ot015 JS50055 811 ShoeS, ~~f1i~ Oe~H1 0- V 0- ~e5 H HO0fl~o~ OHO Ito -~ PSASHMISLE .. 050 ,.Ne tla, ~lH o(eota s15T E N -, .eT 51 Ia Loon 01111111 ~- I ~ E 111tonE o~-o 810 5Illnlltto o. ~. 0--~ -~ 5~. Ath L~ P~tts~0 Taltahonoa H 005 ~ - N \ 171 1-odlO aHanlIab Pa1as10~ 05-0 S H A 00 /0 c A ~ - Niomphis cori2l~1~ ~d1b. ~Sllle~ tanoo.a IIo1ts oprsn 0800 CIXICLO ~ A M 0 R ( I 000 OAF. MiS5lS~lPPl~ysemamoa L N Sllaotssslte A H 34 THE CAMPAIGN FOR CHA TTANOO GA. Brannans skirmishers being driven in at this time, he consulted Reynolds, who said Under the circumstances, stay and send General Thomas word you are being at- tacked, and ask him if under such circum- stances, you shall leave. To this message General Thomas replied: No, by no means. \Vhen an orderly handed Wood his order to close on Reynolds and support him, his skirmishers, on Opdyckes front, were being driven. Without seeking explanations from Brannan or Reynolds, and without notifying me (I was in the open field not 6oo yards from him), he drew his command out of the line. Jeff. C. I)avis, under orders to keep closed to the left, moved in to fill Woods place, and his two brigades were struck by Longstreet, who, with a column brigade front and five lines deep, assaulted that part of the line and drove it out of place. Sheri- dans three brigades were ordered to the break, hut had only force enough to break a line or two, and were obliged to withdraw. Watching the unavailing efibrt of Sheridan to stem the tide, I observed the long line of Longstreets wing coming from the south-east in line of battle, outreaching our right by at least a half mile. I ordered Davis and Sheri- dan to fall back northward and rally on the- Dry valley road at the first good point for defense, leaving most of my staff to aid in rallying these troops; and with my chief-of- staff, senior aide, and a few orderlies pro- ceeded over toward the rear of our center, directing such of Van Cleves broken rear of column as I met to join Sheridan on the Dry valley road. In view of all the interests at stake, I decided what must be done. Halting at a road coming from the west and leading eastward toward the rear of our left, I said to General Garfield and Major Bond: By the sound of the battle over to the south-east, we hold our ground. Our greatest danger is, that Longstreet will follow us up on the Dry val- ley road over yonder to the west of us. Post, with all of our commissary stores, except those of the Twenty-first Corps, is over that ridge, not more than two or three miles from the Dry valley road. If Longstreet advances and finds that out, he may capture them. This would be fatal to us. If he comes this way he will turn the rear of our left, seize the gap at Rossville, and disperse us. To provide against what may happen : Tb-st. Sheridan and Davis must have re- newed orders to resist the enemys advance on the Dry valley road; Seco;u/. Post must be ordered to push all our commissary trains into Chattanooga and securely park them there; Third. Orders must go to Mitchell to ex tend his cavalry line obliquely across that ridge, connect with the right of Sheridans posi- tion on this valley, and cover Posts trains from the enemy until they are out of danger; Four//i. Orders must go to Spearss brigade, now arrived near there, to take possession of the Rolling-mill bridge across Chattanooga Creek, put it in good order, hold it until Post arrives with his trains, then turn the bridge over to him, and march out on the Rossville road and await orders; Ff1/i. Wagner in Chattanooga must have orders to park our reserve artillery defen- sively, guard our pontoon bridge across the Tennessee, north of the town, and have his men under arms ready to move as may be required; Six//i. General Thomas must be seen as to the condition of the battle and be informed of these dispositions. (;eneral Garfield, can you not give these orders? I asked. Garfield answered: Gen- eral, there are so many of them, I fear I might make some mistake; but I can go to General Thomas for you, see how things are, tell him what you will do, and report to you. Very well. I will take Major Bond and give the orders myself. I will be in Chattanooga as soon as possible. The telegraph line reaches Ross- ville, and we have an office there. Go by Sheri- dan and Davis and tell them what I wish, then go to Thomas and telegraph me the situation. I dispatched my orders, by messenger, to Mitchell and Post, gave them in person to Spears and Wagner, and awaited Garfields re- port, which, dated 3.45 P. M. from the battle- field, reached me at 5 P.M., saying: We are intact after terrific fighting, getting short of ammunition, and the enemy is going to as- sault our lines once more. Our troops are in good spirits and fighting splendidly. I oidered Garfield by dispatch to tell Thomas to use his discretion at the close of the fight whether to stop on the ground he occupied or to retire on Rossville, and said that I would send ammunition and troops accordingly. Thomas used that discretion and retired to Rossville, where our troops halted, and, in spite of their condition, wearied with three days and a night of marching and fighting, were by i oclock in fair defensive position. I ordered up ammu- nition and rations. On the next morning, Mon- day, the 2 ist, our lines at Rossville weie recti- fied, and advantageous positions were taken to receive the enemy if he desired to attack us. After reconnoitering a few points, he found us there and desisted from further efforts. We were now concentrated between the enemy and Chattanooga, with ammunition to fight another battle. During the day I selected the defensive lines our command would occupy 35 THE CAMPAIGN FOR CHA TTANOOGA. around Chattanooga, directed the manner of retiring from Rossville and of taking positions on these lines, to which the heads of columns were guided by staff and engineer officers. The troops began quietly to withdraw at io oclock P. M., and on Tuesday morning, Sep- tember 22d, they were intrenching the lines for holding permanent possession of the objective point of our campaign. It will be remembered that we started for Chattanooga from Murfreesboro, on the 24th of June, 1863. The direct distance by rail is ~i ~ miles. To the battle-ground of Chicka- mauga is 20 miles farther, or 139 miles. We dislodged our adversary from two strongly fortified camps; crossed the Cumberlaud Mountains, the Tennessee River, Sand Mount- ains and Lookout Mountain; fought the battle of Chickamauga and on the 22d of September, just ninety-two days from starting, we held Chattanooga, for the possession of which at any time within the previous two years we would willingly have paid all that it had cost. The records will show libut without data by which might be estimated the relative strength of regiments. En.] that at the hattie of Chickamauga Bragg had 184 regiments and 20 battalions of infantry, 34 regi- inents of cavalry, 47 batteries of artillery; and that we had only 133 regiments of infantry, iS regiments of cavalry, and 3513 batteries. In a note to Halleck, dated from the Ex- ecutive Mansion, September 21st, 1863, Presi- dent Lincoln,speaking of this possession, says: If held, with Cleveland inclusive, it keeps all Ten- nessee clear of the enemy and breaks one of his most important railroad lines. To prevent these conse- quences, ~o vital to his cause that he cannot give up the effort to dislodge us from the position thus bring- ing him to us, and saving us the labor, expense, and hazard of going further to find him, and giving us the advantage of choosing our own ground and preparing it to fight him upon. The details must, of course, be left to General Rosecrans, while we furnish him the means to the utmost of our ability. . . . If he can only maintain the position, without more, the rebellion can only eke out a short and feeble existence, as an animal may sometimes with a thorn in his vitals.~~ In presence of the facts I have just stated, and in view of all their marchings, combats, and bloody battles to get possession of Chat- tanooga, can the reader be made to believe that the Army of the Cumberland and its commander were likely to abandon or fail to hold it ? * 14K S. RosecrulS. Confederate maps of the battle show the enemys line of battle on the morning of the 20th of September: Front line, 6,88o yards long; second line, 3,310 yards long. Our front line, 3,400 yards long; second line, 1,750 yards long. (Grangers three brigades, three miles away, not snclnded.)W. S. R. cHATTANOOGA FROM THE NORTH SIDE OF THE TENNESSEE LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN IN THE DISTANcE; CAMERON HILL NEAR THE RIVER. (FROM A WAR-TiME PHOTOGRAPH HX LINN.) (~N the night of September 20th, 1863, after k-/ two days of furious fighting, and after a loss of I 6,179 men, nearly one-third its strength, the Army of the Cumberland withdrew from Chickamauga to Rossville, not quite four miles in the rear, and there stood in line of battle all the next day. But an attack was not made. The enemy had dashed against the Rock of Chickamauga, and had been bro-. ken in pieces. Thvo-fifths of the men of Braggs army had been killed or wounded. Rossville was held till the night of the 2 1st, when the Army of the Cumberland withdrew to positions in and around Chattanooga. The non-com- batants of the town, in great alarm, had taken flight to the hills across the river, orhad sought in their cellars refuge from the danger of an impending battle. Every church, public build- ing, and available house had been taken for hospital purposes, for our wounded soldiers filled the town, more than nine thousand hav- ing been brought in from Chickamauga. As soon as the divisions were in the posi- tions assigned to them, the muskets were stacked and ax, pick, and spade were grasped. Day and night the work of fortification went on~ trees were felled, houses were torn down, trenches were dug, epaulements for batteries rose from the ground in a single night, and the hills within our line grew into strong breast- works and impregnable fortresses. Looking from the signal station on Lookout Mountain down into the valley two thousand feet below, one could see myriads of boys in blue, like great ants, burrowing in the ground and throw- ing up hills of dirt. As Rosecrans, with his staff, rode along the lines, his troops greeted him with cheers that proclaimed the spirit of victors. Off to the south, Braggs army could be seen, swarming through Rossville gap, and spreading over Missionary Ridge and the east side of Lookout Mountain, and after- wards approaching our front in solid lines of battle. Batteries of artillery hurried into posi- tion; staff officers galloped over the field far- ther up the valley, and, in the direction of Rossville, great clouds of dust, like the pillar of cloud by day, marked the advance of other unseen masses of troops. Braggs army was on its feet again, and an- other battle seemed imminent. Late that day General Bragg sent General Gracie to Rose- crans requesting an exchange of prisoners. In a conversation with Major Bond, aide-de-camp to General Rosecrans, General Gracie asked him what opinion prevailed among our men as to which army had the advantage in the operations that ended in the battle of Chicka- mauga and the occupation of Chattanooga, saying that this was a mooted question in Braggs camp. Major Bond replied that there had been no time in the past two years that we would n6t have given for the possession of Chattanooga all that it had cost, and he added, I believe we have got it. After a pause General Gracie remarked, Well, that As the flag of truce that came with this message approached our lines, all who saw it believed that it brought a demand from Bragg for the surrender of Chattanooga. A rumor that the demand had been made and refused quickly spread tlYrough our camp, and all the troops now eagerly waited for the opening gun of Braggs attack. But the battle was not to be. Bragg, having drawn his lines as close around Chattanooga as seemed prudent, sat down with his army, and began working with the spade not less energetically than the Army of the Cumberland. For many days, within the range of bach others artillery, the two armies dug as though each was preparing the THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA.

General J. S. Fullerton Fullerton, J. S., General The Army of the Cumberland at Chattanooga 136-150

(~N the night of September 20th, 1863, after k-/ two days of furious fighting, and after a loss of I 6,179 men, nearly one-third its strength, the Army of the Cumberland withdrew from Chickamauga to Rossville, not quite four miles in the rear, and there stood in line of battle all the next day. But an attack was not made. The enemy had dashed against the Rock of Chickamauga, and had been bro-. ken in pieces. Thvo-fifths of the men of Braggs army had been killed or wounded. Rossville was held till the night of the 2 1st, when the Army of the Cumberland withdrew to positions in and around Chattanooga. The non-com- batants of the town, in great alarm, had taken flight to the hills across the river, orhad sought in their cellars refuge from the danger of an impending battle. Every church, public build- ing, and available house had been taken for hospital purposes, for our wounded soldiers filled the town, more than nine thousand hav- ing been brought in from Chickamauga. As soon as the divisions were in the posi- tions assigned to them, the muskets were stacked and ax, pick, and spade were grasped. Day and night the work of fortification went on~ trees were felled, houses were torn down, trenches were dug, epaulements for batteries rose from the ground in a single night, and the hills within our line grew into strong breast- works and impregnable fortresses. Looking from the signal station on Lookout Mountain down into the valley two thousand feet below, one could see myriads of boys in blue, like great ants, burrowing in the ground and throw- ing up hills of dirt. As Rosecrans, with his staff, rode along the lines, his troops greeted him with cheers that proclaimed the spirit of victors. Off to the south, Braggs army could be seen, swarming through Rossville gap, and spreading over Missionary Ridge and the east side of Lookout Mountain, and after- wards approaching our front in solid lines of battle. Batteries of artillery hurried into posi- tion; staff officers galloped over the field far- ther up the valley, and, in the direction of Rossville, great clouds of dust, like the pillar of cloud by day, marked the advance of other unseen masses of troops. Braggs army was on its feet again, and an- other battle seemed imminent. Late that day General Bragg sent General Gracie to Rose- crans requesting an exchange of prisoners. In a conversation with Major Bond, aide-de-camp to General Rosecrans, General Gracie asked him what opinion prevailed among our men as to which army had the advantage in the operations that ended in the battle of Chicka- mauga and the occupation of Chattanooga, saying that this was a mooted question in Braggs camp. Major Bond replied that there had been no time in the past two years that we would n6t have given for the possession of Chattanooga all that it had cost, and he added, I believe we have got it. After a pause General Gracie remarked, Well, that As the flag of truce that came with this message approached our lines, all who saw it believed that it brought a demand from Bragg for the surrender of Chattanooga. A rumor that the demand had been made and refused quickly spread tlYrough our camp, and all the troops now eagerly waited for the opening gun of Braggs attack. But the battle was not to be. Bragg, having drawn his lines as close around Chattanooga as seemed prudent, sat down with his army, and began working with the spade not less energetically than the Army of the Cumberland. For many days, within the range of bach others artillery, the two armies dug as though each was preparing the THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. THE ARMY OF THE CUiVIBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. i~i grave of the other. After it became apparent that Bragg would not fight at Chattanooga, it was thought that he might cross the riverabove, threaten our lines of communication with the rear, and thus repeat, on the north side, the manceuvre of Rosecrans. Longstreet advised such a movement; Bragg did not approve it, preferring to adopt the plan of starving us out. On September 24th a brigade that had held the point of Lookout Mountain was withdrawn. Bragg at once took possession, and sent Long- streets corps over into Lookout valley. He also extended his pickets down the south bank of the river, nearly to Bridgeport, our base of supplies. This cut us off from the river and the roads on its north and south banks, and left us but one open road to the rear, if the sixty miles of unused way over Waklron s Ridge and through Sequatchie valley could be called a road, inasmuch as in places it was only the bed of winter torrents, or slashes on the mountain sides. Over this, for a time, we might haul supplies; but we were in a state of semi-siege. Within a few days the trees within our lines had been cut down for use in the fortifications, or for fuel, and even the arbors that had been put up to protect officers and men from the sickening heat of a September sun were sac- rificed for fuel. Coffee had to be boiled, though its drinkers broiled. There had been but little rain since early in July. The earth was parched and blistered. Leaves had dried up on the trees, and all grass had withered and turned gray. The moving of men and animals stirred up blinding clouds of dust which every breeze sent whirling through the camps. The troops were longing for rain, the chaplains were praying for it. XVith the first week in October the rains came, and it was a question whether the deep and sticky mud was not more objectionable than the dust. The hilly, barren country north of the river the only country we could reach could not furnish supplies enough for the poverty- stricken inhabitants the war had left. Our whole army was therefore obliged to depend for every ration and every pound of forage on the mules that hauled the army wagons over the sixty miles of horrible road from Bridgeport. On its line some of the hills were so steep that a heavy army wagon was almost a load going up, and, now that the rains were falling, that part of it in the little valleys had become so soft and cut up that a lightly loaded wagon would sink up to the axles. In one instance, a wagon having sunk till its bed rested on the mud, the driver did not, as usual, beat his mules and swear; he simply sat on a rock by the wayside, looked at the wretch- ed animals, and cried. VOL. XXXIV.2o. In the third week of the occupation of Chattanooga, no one, from commanding gen- eral down, any longer expected or even thought of an attack. Both armies had almost ceased their excavations. Missionary Ridge, summit, side, and base, was furrowed with rifle-pits and studded with batteries. The little valley of Chattanooga was dammed up with earth- works, and Lookout Mountain, now a mighty fortress, lifted to the low-hanging clouds its threatening head, crowned with siege guns. Since the 5th of October the guns of Mis- sionary Ridge had been daily growling and barking at our forts on the left, while great shells came tumbling down from Lookout, like meteors shooting from the sky. Our own guns savagely sent back shot for shot, sowing them thickly on the sides of mountain and ridge. The two lines of pickets were not more than three hundred yards apart; but on the picket line it was peaceful and calm, for, by common consent, there was no picket fir- ing. For it is inhuman to shoot the man into whose eyes one can look, even if he be an enemy. The pickets were there to watch, and not to kill. Quietly they sat at the little go- pher pits,chaffing and sending back and forth boisterous jokes, while perhaps shrieking mes- sengers of death, unheeded and unnoticed, fle~v over their heads. On a still night, stand- ing on the picket line, one could hear the old negro song Dixie, adopted by the Confeder- acy as their national music; while from ourline came in swelling response, Hail Columbia and The Star-Spangled Banner. With a glass Braggs headquarters on Missionary Ridge, even the movement of his officers and order- lies, could be seen; while those on the ridge or on Lookout Mountain could bring into view our whole camp. By daylight our troops could be counted, our reveille heard, our roll-call noted, our scanty meals of half rations seen the last without envy. And we were not only heard and seen, but the enemys signal flag on Lookout talked, over our heads, with the signal flag on Missionary Ridge. The fall rains were beginning, and haul- ing was becoming each day more difficult. Double teams could draw not much more than half loads. Quartermasters could not send mules to the front fast enough to take the place of those that were worked to death. Ten thou- sand dead mules walled the sides of the road from Bridgeport to Chattanooga. In Chatta- nooga the men were on less than half rations. Guards stood at the troughs of artillery horses to keep the soldiers from taking the scant sup- ply of corn allowed these starving animals. In- deed, so slight was the allowance of forage that many horses died of starvation, and most of the survivors grew too weak for use in pulling 138 THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. the lightest guns. Men followed the wagons as they came over the river, picking up the grains of corn and bits of crackers that fell to the ground. Yet there was no murmur of dis- content. Before Rosecrans had advanced from Tulla- homa, he had urged the authorities at Washing- ton to send him re~nforcements, and to cause such operations to be made in other fields as would prevent re~nforcements from being sent to Bragg. To his entreaties they turned a deaf ear. Indeed, they were then about persuaded that Bragg was depleting his army by sending rei~nforcements to General Lee in Virginia; and they compelled Rosecrans to cross the Tennessee River with an insufficient force. The battle of Chickamauga dispelled such ideas, and caused great alarm. In haste they ordered General Sherman to move at once with the Fifteenth Army Corps from the vicin- ity of Vicksburg to Chattanooga, and sent by rail the Eleventh Corps and Twelfth Corps, 13 AT T L E or GLFIATTANOO GA, NOV. ~3,Z4~Z5, 1863. REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION FROM THE MILITARY HISTORY OF ULYSSES S GRANT, MY GENERAL ADAM RADEAG. B. Y. B. APPLETON ~ CO. THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. ~ fifteen thousand men, under command of General Hooker, from the Army of the Poto-. mac. Early in October Hooker reached Nash- ville, and as his men could not be fed in Chattanooga, they were temporarily strung along the railroad from Nashville to Bridge- port. Ever since Longstreet got into Lookout valley, Rosecrans had been making prepara- tion to drive him out. A small stern-wheel steamboat was built at Bridgeport; a captured ferry-boat, reconstructed, was made an avail- able transport; and material for boats and pon- toons, or either, with stringers and flooring fo~ bridges, was prepared at Chattanooga as rap- idly as possible, at an improvised saw-mill. But the plan finally adopted was conceived and worked out by General William F. Smith, Chief Engineer of the Army of the Cumber- land. On the 20th of October, after having been fully matured, it was submitted, and was warmly approved by Thomas, who had suc- ceeded Rosecrans, and who at once gave or- ders to General Smith, General Hooker, and others to carry it into execution with all pos- sible expedition. October ~6th the Military Division of the Mississippi was created. General Grant was placed in command, with directions to pro- ceed at once to Chattanooga and take per- sonal charge of operations. While en route for that point, he telegraphed from Louis- ville, Kentucky, on the ~9th, relieving General Rosecrans and placing General Thomas in command. The same day he telegraphed to General Thomas Hold Chattanooga at all hazards. I will be there as soon as possible. Please inform me how long your present supplies will last, and the prospect of keeping them up. General Thomas responded: Two hundred and four thousand and sixty-nine rations in store; 96,000 to arrive to-morrow, and all trains were loaded which had arrived at Bridgeport up to the s6th inst., probably 300 wagons. We will hold the town till we starve. General Grant reached Chattanooga the evening of the 23d. The next day, in com- pany with Generals Thomas and Smith, he rode to Browns Ferry. There General Smiths plan was explained to him. He heartily ap- proved it, and directed that its execution be proceeded with. Everything necessary for the movement being in readiness it was com- menced with the greatest possible haste and secrecy on the night of the 26th. After mid- night, fourteen hundred picked men from Ha- zens and Turchins brigades, under command of Brigadier-General Hazen, quietly marched to the river bank at Chattanooga; the rest of the troops of these two brigades, with three batteries of artillery under Major John Men- denhall, crossed the river and marched over Moccasin Point to a place near Browns Fer- ry, where, under cover of the woods, they waited the arrival of General Hazens force. The success of this expedition depended on surprising the enemy at Browns Ferry. It was known that he had there 1000 infantry, 3 pieces of artillery, and a squadron of cavalry, while Longstreets corps was not far off At 3 oclock in the morning, 52 pontoons, filled with Hazens 1400 men, and under the direc- tion of Colonel T. R. Stanley, i8th Ohio In- fantry, noiselessly started down the river on the nine-mile course to Browns Ferry. There was a full moon, but the light was dimmed by floating clouds and by a fog rising from the water. Oars were used till the first picket fire of the enemy was approached; then the boats were steered close to the right bank, and al- lowed to float with the current. On top of Lookout a signal torch was seen flashing against the sky. Was it possible that the movement had been discovered, and that Lookout was telling Missionary Ridge? No; there were the pickets sitting around their fires on the south bank, unaware that fourteen hundred boys in blue were floating by within a stones throw. Not a gun had yet been fired, not an alarm given. The boats still hugged the right bank. Browns Ferry was reached at break of dawn. Suddenly the oars were put into use, and before the enemy could make out the sounds, the boats were rowed to the left bank. The pickets on guard greeted them with a volley of musketry, and then fell back on their reserves. The four- teen hundred men quickly and in perfect order occupied the crest of a hill, and began to throw up light breastworks. But they had not proceeded far in this work when the enemy appeared and made a fruitless effort to drive them from the hilr In the mean time, the boats were bringing over the river the rest of the two brigades that had marched to the north ferry landing. When the transfer had been accomplished, the boats were used in the con- struction of a pontoon bridge, which was fin- ished by 3 oclock in the afternoon, and over which Mendenhalls artillery crossed. Work was impeded early in the day by shots from the guns on Lookout Mountain. In accordance with the general plan, Gen- eral Hooker, at daylight on the morning ofOc- tober 2 7th, crossed the river at Bridgeport with the Eleventh and Gearys division of the Twelfth Corps, and moved along the direct road to Browns Ferry by the base of Raccoon Mountain. He brushed away the enemys pickets and light bodies of skirmishers, and moved cautiously, as he knew Longstreet was in Lookout valley, and might at any moment 140 THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. appear to oppose his advance. It was his part to open and hold the river road, to co- operate with the Chattanooga force, and to protect the pontoon bridges from attacks that would almost certainly be made by Longstreet. At 5 oclock in the afternoon, the head of his column reached a point about one mile from the ferry, up Lookout valley; and here his command went into camp, excepting Gearys division, which was left three miles in the rear, in a position covering the ferry. These move- ments were made in plain view of the enemy on Lookout Mountain, who evidently did not realize their importance or design in time to oppose them with good prospects of success. A short distance from the ferry, up the little valley of Lookout, was Longstreet, with his troops. Down below, near its mouth, his old enemy Hooker, with troops fresh from the Army of the Potomac, had just thrown down the gage of battle. From the commencement of the war these opposing forces had confront- ed each other in Virginia. Both had left their respective armies in Virginia to re~nforce armies in the West, one moving on the north- ern halg the other on the southern half of a circle over two thousand miles in circumfer- ence, and by a sort of affinity had come face to face in this far-off valley at the foot of~ Lookout Mountain. Longstreet did not hesi- tate to accept the challenge. When he dis- covered Hookers object, he did not even wait the light of day to repeat his old tactics. The night of the 27th was clear and the air crisp. The moon shone brightly from before midnight till morning. Hookers troops were sleeping soundly after their hard march of nearly twenty-five miles, when Longstreets men came crowding down the valley. An hour past midnight a terrific onslaught was made on Gearys division. It was assaulted on three sides. Artillery in the valley and on Lookout opened a severe fire. Our men, who slept in line of battle, sprang to their feet at the first shot of a sentinel. The contest lasted forthree hours, till Longstreets line was broken and his men driven from the field. It was Longstreets intention to crush Geary; then, with his whole force, to attack General How- ards Eleventh Corps, nearly three miles away. In order to hold H6ward where he was, and to prevent him from sending assistauce to Geary, he had sent a smaller column to move round his camp, and, almost in its rear, to oc- cupy a steep hill nearly two hundred feet high. General Howard ordered Colonel Orland Smith, with his brigade, to carry the hill. In gallant response a magnificent charge was made up the steep side, and the enemy was driven from the barricades on top at the point of the bayonet. Longstreet, routed at every point, retreated up the valley, leaving it as the moons pale light was fading over the hills and giving place to the coming brightness of day. Four hundred and twenty of our men, and many more of the enemy, were killed and wounded. Hooker thus gained Lookout valley; the siege of Chattanooga was raised; the cracker line was opened! Hookers troops were truly messengers of glad tidings. In their wake followed hundreds of wagons, well filled with commissary stores, while the little Bridgeport steamer, loaded down to the guards, pushed its way up the river. The credit of this result is chiefly due to General W. F. Smith, Chief Engineer of the Army of the Cumberland, who conceived the plan of operations, and under whcse directions it was mostly carried out. A failure in any part of the combined movements would have re- sulted seriously, perhaps disastrously. Fore- knowledge on the part of the enemy would have enabled him to thwart it. So secretly had material been prepared and movements made, that none of the thousands in camp at Chat- tanooa save a very few officers, were aware of anything unusual being done, till, on the 28th, they were awakened by the roar of artil- lery and the rattling roll of musketry coming over from Lookout valley. The raising of the siege of Chattanooga, by opening up the river and the road on its south hank, was determined upon by the commanding officers of the Army of the Cumberland soon after the occupation, though the plan of operations was adopted later, but before General Grant came to Chattanooga. There being no longer any need for Long- street in Lookout valley, Bragg sent him, with his corps, to Knoxville for the purpose of driving out Burnside and regaining possession of East Tennessee. The authorities at Wash- ington became greatly concerned for Burnsides safety, and iIrged Grant to send assistance. But this he could not then do. Troops could not be spared from Chattanooga, ncr could Bragg be attacked in his stronghold till the arrival of Sherman with the Fifteenth Corps. But Burn- side held out against the attacks of Longstreet, and the situation at Chattanooga remained un- changed, except that supplies were constantly coming, and the men ard the horses were get- ting in condition for active work. On November i5th, General Sherman reached Chattanooga in advance of his troops. The next day, with General Grant, General Thomas, and General Smith, he rode over the hills to a point from which he could get a good view of the north end of Missionary Ridge. This appeared to be unoccupied by the enemy, as far back as Tunnel Hill. General Grant, having here pointed out the ground, explained to General Sherman his plan of operations, THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. i~i and gave him instructions for carrying out the part assigned to him. General Grants plan, in brief; was to turn Braggs right. General Grant selected his old army the Army of the Tennessee, now under com- mand of General Sherman to open the bat- tle, to make the grand attack, and to carry Missionary Ridge as far as Tunnel Hill. The Army of the Cumberland was simply to get into position and co6perate with General Sher- man; in fact, only to protect his right while he was doing this work. General Grant well knew the men whom he had thus honored; he hal commanded them at Donelson, Pitts- burg Landing, and Vicksburg. He knew there were no better soldiers, and they came fresh from Vicksburg, bearing with them the prestige of victory. When he was explaining his plan to General Sherman, he said that the men of Thomass army had been so demoralized by the battle of Chickamauga, that he feared they could not be got out of their trenches to assume the offensive, and that the Army of the Cumberland had been so long in the trenches, that he wanted his troops to hurry up to take the offensive firs!, after which he had no doubt the Cumberland Army would fight well. The men of the Army of the Cumberland gave most hearty welcome to their brethren of the Army of the Tennessee, who had marched from the far-off Mississippi to their as ~istance; but they were rather envious of them on account of the special distinction that had been given them and the glory that awaited them. They could not help feeling disappointed at not having been called on to do what they thought should have been their peculiar work. The army so close in front was their old adversary. They had driven it from the Ohio across the States of Kentucky and Tennessee; they had grappled with it in battle at Perryville, at Stones River, and Chick- amauga. Here was a grand opportunity to fin- ish the battle of Chickamauga. Here was an opportunity for an effective, dramatic, and de- cisive conclusion. No battle-field in our war, none in the wars of history, where large armies were engaged, was so spectacular, or so well fitted for a dis- play of soldierly courage and daring as the amphitheater of Chattanooga. Late on the night of November 22d asentinel who deserted from the enemy was brought to General Sheri- dan, and informed him that Braggs baggage was being reduced, and that he was about to fall back. On account of these indications and reports, General Grant decided not to wait longer for General Shermans troops to come up, but to find out whether Bragg was in fact withdrawing, and, if so, to attack him at once. Therefore, at i i oclock on the morning of the 23d,he directed General Thomas to drive in the enemys pickets, and feel his lines for the purpose of finding out whether he still held in force. Thus General Grant was about to change his plans. He was compelled to de- part from his original purpose, and was obliged to call on troops of the Army of the Cumber- land to make the first offensive movement. General Thomas ordered General Granger, commanding the Fourth Corps, to throw one division of the Fourth Corps forward in the di- rection of Orchard Knob, and hold a second division in supporting distance, to discover the position of the enemy, if he still remained in the vicinity of his old camp. Orchard Knob is a rough, steep hill, one hundred feet high, covered with a growth of small timber, rising abruptly from the Chatta- nooga valley, and lying about half way be- tween our outerpits and the breastworks of logs and stones. At its western base, and extending for a mile beyond, both north and south of the hill, were other rifle-pits, hid in part by a heavy belt of timber that extended about a quarter of a mile from the foot of the hill into the plain. Between this belt of timber and our lines were open fields in which there was not, a tree, fence, or other obstruction, save the bed of the East Tennessee Railroad. On the plain were hundreds of little mounds, thrown up by our own and the enemys pickets, giving the appearance of an over- grown prairie-dog village. At noon General Grant, Assistant Secretary of War Dana, General Thomas, Generals Hooker, Granger, Howard, and other distin- guished officers stood on the parapet of Fort Wood, facing Orchard Knob, waiting to see this initial movement, the overture to the battle of Chattanooga. At half-past twelve, Woods division supported by Sheridan, marched out on the plain, in front of the fort. It was an inspiring sight. Flags were flying; the quick, earnest steps of thousands beat equal time. The sharp commands of hundreds of company officers, the sound of the drums, the ringing notes of the bugle, companies wheel- ing and counter-marching and regiments get- ting into line, the bright sun lighting up ten thousand polished bayonets till they glistened and flashed like a flying shower of electric sparks, all looked like preparations fora pag- eant, rather than for the bloody work of death. Groups of officers on Missionary Ridge looked down through their glasses, and the enemys pickets, but a few hundred yards away, came out of their pits and idly stood looking on, unconcernedly viewing what they supposed to be preparations for a grand review. But at half-past one oclock the advance was sounded. 142 TILE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. At once Woods division, moving with the steadiness of a machine, started forward. Not a straggler or laggard was on the field, and, what was probably hardly ever before seen, drummers were marching with their compa- nies, beating the charge. General Howard, who had just come from the East, remarked to an officer: Why, this is magnificent! Is this the way your Western troops go into action? They could not go on dress parade better. Now the enemy realized, for the first time, that it was not a review. His pickets fell back to their reserves. The reserves were quickly driven back to the main line. Firing opened from the enemys advanced rifle-pits, followed by a tremendous roll of musketry and roar of artillery. Men were seen on the ground, dot- ting the field over which the line of battle had passed. Ambulances came hurrying back with the first of the wounded. Columns of puffy smoke arose from the Orchard Knob woods. A cheer, faint to those on the parapet of Fort XVood, indicated that the boys in blue were carrying the breastworks on the Knob! A sharp, short struggle, and the hill was ours. The capture of Orchard Knob, with the ad- vancing of our lines half way to Missionary Ridge, had a most important bearing on the struggle at Chattanooga. It caused Bragg the~ same evening to withdraw Walkers division from Lookout Mountain, and transfer it to Mis- sionary Ridge, for the purpose of strengthening his center and right, thus weakening his forces on Lookout Mountain, and rendering less doubtful the result of an assault on that strong- hold,not yet contemplated. It also gave Gen- eral Thomas a much more advantageous posi- tion from which to codperate with General Sherman the next day, and one from which the movements of the enemy in the valley between the Knob and Ridge could be better observed. And it showed the commanding general that the men of the Army of the Cumberland, who, against great odds, fought and held the field at Chickamauga, had not been rusted out by nine weeks of burial in enervating earthworks. While Grangers troops were fighting at Or- chard Knob, part of General Shermans force was still at Browns Ferry. The crossing was rendered slow and difficult because the pon- toon bridge was frequently broken by logs and small rafts set afloat up stream by the enemy. In the afternoon all the divisions had crossed, except Osterhauss, when another break in the bridge occurred, and several pontoons were carried down stream. It was found that this could not be repaired before night, or in time for Osterhaus to join Sherman in his move- ment against Missionary Ridge. Osterhaus was, therefore, ordered to report with his di- vision to General Hooker, and the place of his division, temporarily separated from the Fif- teenth Corps, was filled by Daviss division of the Fourteenth Corps, Army of the Cumber- land. About 4 oclock in the afternoon of November 23d, when it became certain that Osterhaus would be attached to Hookers command, General Thomas directed Hooker to make a demonstration against Lookout Mountain the next morning, and, if the dem- onstration showed it could be carried, to pro- ceed to take it. Later in the day, orders to the same effect came to General Hooker from General Grant. The success at Orchard Knob, and the breaking of the bridge at Browns Ferry, caused this radical change to be made in Grants plans. Yet he still held to the chief feature, which was to turn Braggs right. The morning of November 24th opened with a cold, drizzling rain. Thick clouds of mist were settling on Lookout Mountain. At day- break Gearys division, and Whitakers brigade of Crufts division, marched up to Wauhatchie, the nearest point at which Lookout Creek, swelled by recent rains, could be forded, and there crossed at 8 oclock. The heavy clouds of mist reaching down the mountain side hid the movement from the enemy, who was ex- pecting and who was well prepared to resist a crossing at the Chattanooga road below. As soon as this movement was discovered, the enemy withdrew his troops from the sum- mit of the mountain, changed front, and formed a new line to meet our advance,his left resting at the palisade, and his right at the heavy works in the valley, where the road crossed the creek. Having crossed at Wau- hatchie, Whitakers brigade, being in the ad- vance, drove back the enemys pickets, and quickly ascended the mountain, till it reached the foot of the palisade. Here, firmly attach- ing its right, the brigade faced left in front, with its left Joined to Gearys division. Geary now moved along the side of the mountain, and through the valley, thus covering the crossing of the rest of Hookers command. In the mean time Groses brigade was engag- ing the enemy at the lower road crossing, and Woodss brigade of Osterhauss division was building a bridge, rather more than half a mile farther up the creek. Geary, moving down the valley, reached this point at i oclock, just after the bridge was finished, and as Osterhauss division and Groses brigade were crossing. Hookers command, now unit- ed in the enemys field, was ready to advance and sweep round the mountain. His line, hang- ing at the base of the palisades like a great pen- dulum, reached down the side of the mountain to the valley, where the force that had just crossed the creek was attached as its weight. Now, as, at the command of Hooker, it swung THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. i~j3 forward in its upward movement, the artillery of the Army of the Cumberland, on Moccasin Point, opened fire, throwing a stream of shot and shell into the enemys rifle-pits at the foot of the mountain, and into the works thickly planted on the White House plateau. At the same time the guns planted by Hooker on the ~vest side of the creek opened on the works which covered the enemys right. Then fol- lowed a gallant assault by Osterhaus and Grose. After fighting for nearly two hours, step by step up the steep mountain side, over and through deep gutters and ravines, over great rocks and fallen trees, the earthworks on the plateau were assaulted and carried, and the enemy driven out and forced to fall back. He did so slowly and reluctantly, taking ad- vantage of the rough ground to continue the fight. It was now 2 oclock. A halt all along the line was ordered by General Hooker, as the clouds had grown so thick that a further advance was impracticable, and as his ammu- nition was almost exhausted and more could not well be supplied. Ammunition wagons could not be brought up the rough mountain side. B it all of the enemys works had been taken. Haoker had carried the mountain on the east side, and had opened communication with Chattanooga. His right was at the palisades, his left in the valley near the mouth of Chattanooga Creek, and he commanded the enemys line of defeasive works in Chattanooga valley. In the morning it had not been known in Chattanooga, in Shermans army, or in Braggs camp, that a battle was to be fought. In- deed, it was not definitely known even to General Grant; for Hooker was only ordered to m~~ke a demonstration, and, if this showed a good chance for success, then to make an attack. Soon after breakfast, Shermans men at the other end of the line, intent on the north end of Missionary Ridge, and Thom- as s men in the center, fretting to he let loose from their intrenchments, were startled by the sound of artillery and musketry firing in Lookout valley. Surprise possessed the thou- sands who turned their anxious eyes toward the mountain. The hours slowly wore away; the roar of battle increased, as it came rolling around the point of the mountain, and the anxiety grew. A battle was being fought just before and above them. They could hear, hut could not see how it was going. Finally, the wind, tossing about the clouds and mist, made a rift that for a few minutes opened a view of White House plateau. The enemy was seen to be in flight over the open ground, and Hookers men were in pursuit! Then went up a mighty cheer from the thirty thousand in the valley,that was heard above the battle by their comrades on the mountain. At 2 oclock Hooker reported to General Thomas and informed him that he was out of ammunition. Thomas at once sent Carlins brigade from the valley, each soldier taking with him all of the small a~nmunition he could carry. At 5 oclock Carlin was on the moun- tain, and Hookers skirmishers were quickly supplied with the means of carrying on their work. As the sun went down, the clouds rolled away, and the night came on clear and cool. A grand sight was old Lookout that night. Not two miles apart were the parallel camp- fires of the two armies, extending from the summit of the mountain to its base, looking like great streams of burning lava, while, in between, the flashes from the muskets of the skirmishers glowed like giant fireflies. The next morning there was silence in Hookers front. Before daylight eight adven- turous, active volunteers from the 8th Ken- tucky Infantry scaled the palisades and ran up from the highest point the Stars and Stripes. The enemy had stolen away in the night. Although General Grant had twice changed his original plan, first in the movement from the center, then in the reconnaissance and re- sulting attack on Lookout Mountain, he still adhered to his purpose of turning Braggs right, and made no change in the instructions given to General Sherman, except as to the time of attack. Every necessary preparation for cross- ing Shermans troops had been made secretly, under direction of General W. F. Smith; one hundred and sixteen pontoons had been placed in North Chickamauga Creek, and in ravines near its mouth, and many wagon loads of balks (stringers) and chess (flooring) had been hid near by. An infantry and acavalrybri- gade from the Army of the Cumberland took possession of the country just north of the riv- er before this work began. Not a citizen, loyal or disloyal, nor a soldier, save those working on the bridge material, was allowed to enter or leave the territory. Before dark on the evening of November 23d, General Sherman had his troops well massed and hid behind the hills on the north side of the river oppo- site the end of Missionary Ridge. After dark General Brannan, Chief of Artillery of the Army of the Cumberland, planted fifty-six guns on the low foot hills on the north bank of the river, to cover Shermans crossing and to protect the pontoon bridge when laid. Everything now being in readiness for the movement, at midnight General Giles A. Smiths brigade entered the pontoons, floated out of North Chickamauga Creek, and was rowed to the south bank of the river. Land- ing quietly, he surprised and captured the enemys pickets, and secured a firm foothold. 144 THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. The pontoons were sent across the river, and with these and the small steamboat brought up from Chattanooga, General Morgan L. Smith and General John E. Smiths divisions were ferried over the river. As scon as these troops had been landed, work was commenced on the pontoon bridge, which was skillfully laid under the supervision of General W. F. Smith. The bridge was 1350 feet in length, and was completed by i i oclock in the morn- ing, when General Ewings division and Sher- mans artillery crossed. At i oclock, just as Hooker was rounding the front of Lookout Mountain, the roar of his battle stirring the blood of the veterans of the Army of the Ten- nessee, General Sherman gave the command, Forward! His three divisions (composing the Fifteenth Corps, under command of Gen- eral Frank P. Blair) advanced in three col- umns in echelon: on the left General Morgan L. Smith, following Chickamauga Creek, Gen- eral John E. Smith having the center, and General Ewing the right. One brigade of General Jefferson C. Daviss division of the Army of the Cumberland was left at the bridge, and the other two were held in reserve between that point and the ridge, ready to move in any direction. At 3:30 General Sher- man took the hill which was supposed to be~ the north end of the ridge. Soon afterwards one of his brigades took another hill a little in advance. These two hills were separated by a deep depression from the heavily fortified Tunnel Hill, on which Braggs right flank rested and which was Shermans objective point. General Grant thought that Sherman might take this position before Bragg could concen- trate a large force to oppose him. As it was now too late in the day to attempt an assault on Tunnel Hill, Sherman threw up strong de- fensive works, and settled down for the night. At 4 oclock he was vigorously attacked; but the enemy was handsomely repulsed, and Sherman still held the ground he had taken. None of the men of the Army of the Cum- berland, who for nine weeks were buried in the trenches at Chattanooga, can ever forget the glorious night of the 24th of November. As the sun went down, the clouds rolled up the mountain, and the mist was blown out of the valley. Night came on clear, with the stars lighting up the heavens. But there followed a sight to cheer their hearts and thrill their souls. Way off to their right, and reaching skyward, Lookout Mountain was ablaze with the fires of Hookers men, while off to their left, and reaching far above the valley, the north end of Missionary Ridge was aflame with the lights of Shermans army. The great iron crescent that had, with threatening aspect, so long hung over them, was disappearing. The only thought that dampened their enthu- siasm was that the enemy was being destroyed on the flanks, while they were tied down in the center, without a part in the victories. But late that night General Grant, thinking that General Sherman had carried Tunnel Hill, and acting in that belief, gave orders for the next days battle. General Sherman was di- rected to attack the enemy at early dawn, and Thomas to cobperate with him, either by attacking the rifle pits in front, or by mov- ing to the left, as might be determined by the result of Sherman s movement, and Hooker to hold himself in readiness to advance into Chattanooga valley, provided he could, with a small force, hold the Summertown road, the road that zig-zagged from Chattanooga valley to the summit of the mountain. Early the next morning, when General Grant learned that the ridge had not been carried as far as Tunnel Hill, and that Lookout Moun- tain had been evacuated, he suspended oper- ations which had been ordered, except in so far as General Sherman was concerned. Hooker was directed to come down from the mountain, and press forward on the road leading to Rossville; to carry the pass at that point, and then to operate on Braggs left and rear. Braggs army was now concentrated on Missionary Ridge, and in the valley at the east foot. Cheathams and Stevensons divis- ions had been withdrawn from Lookout Moun- tain the night of the 24th, and, marching all night, were seen at dawn the next morning moving along the summit of Missionary Ridge, on the way to re~nforce Braggs right. For sev- eral hours after daylight, the flowing of this steady stream of troops continued. Early in the morning of the 25th, General Grant and General Thomas established their headquarters on Orchard Knob, a point from which the best view of the movements of the whole army could be had. At sunrise General Sherman commenced his attack. The gallant General Corse moved, with his brigade, down into the ravine, and up the fortified hill held by the enemy. General Morgan L. Smith on the left, and Colonel J. M. Loomis on the right, moved along the east and west base of the ridge, all having strong reserves. Corse se- cured a high crest within three hundred feet of the enemys works. From here he made an assault, was driven back, and again returned to the assault. Severe fighting continued for over an hour, during which time Corse, though he could make no impression on the enemys works, retained the ground he had taken, de- spite a furious assault made upon him. General Smith gained the left spur of the ridge, and was abreast of the tunnel and railroad embank- ment. At ro oclock General Corse, having THE ARMY OF THE CUIJi/BERLAND AT CIT/A TTA NOOGA. 45 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. (SEE ALSO PICTURES IN THE APRIL CENTURY.) with a wave of the hand, alluded so the fine view; where- upon Major Rohert w. wooley, who had little faith in the mili- eary outlook, exclaimed to a hrother officer, hut so that all could hear: Yes, its a fine view, hut ahad prospectEUIToR. This picture shows the Union troops fighting in the woods near the cliffs of Point Lookout. Early in Octoher Jefferson Davis visited Lookout Mountain with General Bragg. As they approached the edge of the cliff, Bragg, been badly wounded, was carried off the field. About 2 oclock two reserve brigades from the right were ordered up to assist in making another assault. In passing over an open field, well up on the side of the ridge, they were attacked in the right rear by a large body of the enemy, that had formed in the railroad gorge, and whose appearance had been hid from view by thick brush and undergrowth. The sudden- ness of the attack disconcerted them, and they fell back in disorder across the open field, but VOL. XXXJV.21. halted and re-formed in the edge of the woods. After this, it appearing to be impossible for General Sherman to take the enemys works, operations ceased. General Grant being determined to turn Braggs right, and seeing that General Sher- man could make no progress, at io oclock withdrew General Howards two divisions from General Thomass left and sent them to re~n- force General Sherman. Later in the day General Bairds division was withdrawn from 146 THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. General Thomass right and was likewise sent to General Sherman. Thomass command had been heavily drawn upon. Including Daviss, four divisions of the Army of the Cumberland had been sent to Sherman, and he then had more than one-half of all the troops operating at Chattanooga. Having more than he could handle at the north end of the ridge, he sent Bairds division back to Thomas, and it went into position on the left, in the place that had been occupied by Howards command. While Sherman was engaging the enemy, Hooker was coming down from Lookout Mountain, and pushing for Rossville. He was detained three hours at Chattanooga Creek, while a bridge that the retreating enemy had burned was being rebuilt. As soon as the stringers were laid, General Osterhauss division crossed, and rapidly advanced to Rossville, where, after a severe skirmish, it captured a large quantity of stores, wagons, and ambu- lances. As soon as he had taken Rossville, Hooker moved against the south end of Mis- sionary Ridge. The ridge was quickly carried, and, sweeping northward, Hooker soon came upon Stewarts division, posted on the summit, and behind the earthworks which the Army of the Cumberland had thrown up the day after Chickamauga. Crufts division assaulted and carried the works, thus having the good~ fortune of retaking the works they themselves had constructed. It was by this time nearly sundown. Hooker reached the south end of the ridge too late in the day to relieve the press- ure on Sherman, who was at the north end six miles off. Braggs right had not been turned. Success had not followed Shermans move- ment. The battle as planned had not been won. Late on this memorable afternoon, there was an accident an accident like the charge at Balaklava; though, unlike this theme for poet- ry, it called for greater daring, and was attended by complete success, and yielded most impor- tant results, for it led to the complete shatter- ing of the enemys army, and drove him from the field. On Orchard Knob, and opposite the center of Missionary Ridge, were four divis- ions of the Army of the Cumberland. On the left was Bairds division; then Woods and Sheridans divisions occupying the lines which, two days before, they had taken in their mag- nificent advance; on the right was Johnsons division, all under the personal command of Thomas. It was past 3 oclock. General Sher- man had ceased operations. General Hookers advance had not yet been felt. The day was dying, and Bragg still held the ridge. If any movement to dislodge him was to be made that day it must be made at once. At half- past three oclock, an attack was ordered by General Grant. He had changed his plan of battle. At once orders were issued that at the firing, in rapid succession, of six guns on Orchard Knob, Thomass whole line should instantaneously move forward, Sheridans and Woods divisions in the center, Sheridan to be supported on the right by Johnson, and Wood on the left by Bairds divisions. This demon- stration was to be made to relieve the pressure on Sherman. The only order given was to move forward and take the rifle-pits at the foot of the ridge. In Sheridans division, the order was, As soon as the signal is given, the whole line will advance, and you will take what is before you. Between Orchard Knob and Missionary Ridge was a valley, partly covered with a small growth of timber. It was wooded in front of the right of Bairds and of the ~vhole of Woods division. In front of Sheridans and Johnsons it had been almost entirely cleared. At the foot of the ridge were heavy rifle-pits, which could be seen from Orchard Knob, and ex- tending in front of them for four and five hun- dred yards, the ground was covered with felled trees. There was a good plain for both direct and enfilading fire from the rifle-pits, and the approaches were commanded by the enemys artillery. At this point the ridge is five or six hundred feet high. Its side, scored with gul- lies, and showing but little timber, had a rough and bare appearance. Halfway up was another line of rifle-pits, and the summit was furrowed with additional lines and dotted over with epaulements, in which were placed fifty pieces of artillery. The art of man could not have made a stronger fortress. Directly in front of Orchard Knob, and on the summit of the ridge, was a small house, where Bragg had established his headquarters. At twenty minutes before four, the signal guns were fired. Suddenly twenty thousand men yushed~.forward, moving in line of battle by brigades, with a double line of skirmishers in front, and closely followed by the reserves in mass The big siege guns in the Chatta- nooga forts roared above the light artillery and musketry in the valley. The enemys ri- fle-pits were ablaze, and the whole ridge in our front had broken out like another Ntna. Not many minutes afterwards our men xvere seen working through the felled trees and other obstructions. Though exposed to such a terrific fire, they neither fell back nor halted. By a bold and desperate push they broke through the works in several places, and opened flank and reverse fires. The enemy was thrown into confusion, and took precipi- tate flight up the ridge. Maiiy prisoners and a large number of small arms were captured. The order of the commanding general had now been fully and most successfully carried THE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. 47 out. But it did not go far enough to satisfy these brave men, who thought the time had come to finish the battle of Chickamauga. There was a halt of but a few minutes, to take breath and to re-form lines; then, with a sud- den impulse, all started up the side of the ridge. Not a commanding officer had given the order to advance. The men who carried the muskets had taken the matter into their own hands, had moved of their own accord. Officers, catching their spirit, first followed~ then led. There was no thought of protecting flanks, though the enemys line could be seen, stretching beyond on either side; there was no thought of support, or reserves. As soon as this movement was seen from Orchard Knob, Grant quickly turned to Thomas, who stood by his side, and I heard him angrily say: Thomas, who ordered those men up the ridge? Thomas replied, in his usual slow, quiet manner: I dont know; I did not. Then addressing General Gordon Granger, he said: Did von order them up, Granger? No, said Granger; they started up without orders. When those fellows get started, all hell cant stop them. General Grant said something to the effect that somebody would suffer if it did not turn out well, and then, turning round, stoically watched the ridge. He gave no further orders. As soon as Granger had replied to Thomas, he turned to me, his chief-of-staff, and said: Ride at once to Wood and then to Sheridan, and ask them if they ordered their men up the ridge, and tell them, if they can take it, to push ahead. As I was mounting, Granger added: It is hot over there, and you may not get through. I shall send Captain Avery to Sheri- clan, and other officers after both of you. As fast as my horse could carry me, I rode first to General Wood, and delivered the message. I didnt order them up, said Wood; they started up on their own account, and they are going up, too! Tell Granger, if we are sup- ported, we will take and hold the ridge! As soon as I reached Gener~d Wood, Captain Avery got to General Sheridan, and delivered his message. I didnt order them up, said Sheridan; but we are going to take the ridge.~~ He then asked Avery for his flask and waved THE CHARGE UP MISS~~ ~ (FEoSI THE EOUGH SKETCH FOE ONE SECTION OF THE CYCLORAMA OF THE BATTLE OF MISSIONAEY EIDOR.) 148 THE ARMY OF THE GUMBERLANI) AT CHATTANOOGA. it at a group of Confederate officers, standing just in front of Braggs headquarters, with the salutation, Heres at you! At once two guns the Lady Breckinridge and the Lady Buckner in front of Braggs headquarters were fired at Sheridan and the group of offi- cers about him. One shell struck so near as to throw dirt over Sheridan and Avery. Ah! said the General, that is ungenerous; I shall take those guns for that! Before Sheridan re- ceived the message taken by Captain Avery, he had sent a staff officer to (;ranger, to in- quire whether the order given to take the ride-pits meant the rifle-pits at the base, or those on the top of the ridge ? Granger told this officer that the order given was to take those at the base. Conceiving this to be an order to fall back. the officer, on his way to Sheridan, gave it to General Wagner, com manding the Second Brigade of the division, which was then nearly half way up the ridge. Wagner ordered his brigade hack to the rifle- pits at the base, but it only remained there till Sheridan, seeing the mistake, ordered it for- Nar(1. It again advanced under a terrific fire that was raking the lower l)art of the ridge. The men, fighting and climbing up the steep hill, sought the roads, ravines, and less rugged parts. The ground was so broken that it was impossible to keep a regular line of battle. At times their movements were in shape like the flight of migratory birds,sometimes in line, sometimes in mass, mostly in V-shaped groups, with the points towards the enemy. At these points regimental flags were flying, sometimes drooping as the bearers were shot, but never reaching the ground, for other brave hands were there to seize them. Sixty flags were ad- BRIGADIER-GENERAL U. S. GRANT. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TARRE EARLY IN THR WAR. LENT BY MR. 0. HUFELANI). 1HE ARMY OF THE CUMBERLAND AT CHATTANOOGA. vancing up the hill, in the faces of its defend- ers. Bragg was hurrying large bodies of men from his right to the center. They could be seen coming along the summit of the ridge in double-quick time. Cheathams division was being withdrawn from Shermans front. Bragg and Hardee were at the center, doing their ut- termost to encourage their troops, and urging them to stand firm and drive back the advanc- ing enemy, now so near the summit indeed, so near that the guns, which could not be suf- ficiently depressed to reach them, became use- less. Artillerymen were lighting the fuses of shells, and bowling them by hundreds down the hill. The critical moment arrived when the summit was just within reach. At six dif- ferent points, and almost simultaneously, Sher- idans and Woods divisions broke over the crest, Sheridans first, near Braggs headquar- ters; and in a few minutes Sheridan was be- side the guns that had been fired at him, and claiming them as captures of his division. Bairds division took the works on Woods left almost immediately afterwards; and then Johnson came up on Sheridans right. The ene- mys guns were turned upon those who still remained in the works, and soon all were in flight down the eastern slope. Baird got on the ridge just in time to change front, and oppose a large body of the enemy moving down from Braggs right to attack our left. After a sharp engagement, that lasted till dark, he drove the enemy back beyond a high point on the north, which he at once occupied.* The sun had not yet gone down, Missionary Ridge was ours, * Governor John A. Martin, of Kansas, colonel of the 8th Kan- sas Volunteers, of willichs brigade, woods division, in a letter to General Fullerton dated November i6th, s886, describes the charge as follows: When the advance on Mission Ridge was ordered, on November a5th, niy regiment went out directly from Orchard Knob. General willich, in communicating to me the orders received, disnnccly stated that we were directed to take the line of confederate works at the foot of the hill. We reached these works without serious difficulty, the losses being very small. Shortly after, we emerged from the woods into the open field, and were charging the confederate works on the double-quick; the soldiers there threw down their arms, and, holding up their hands, in token of surrender, jumped to our side. I had ridden my horse to this line, and, on reaching it, halted my regiment behind the enemys intrenchments. Dismounting, I ran forward to the little huts that were built by the confederates, on the plateau just back of their liise, with a view of ascertaining what the situation was. I had seen, as soon as I reached the first line of works, as did every soldier in the command, that it was impossible for the troops to remain there long. The line was within easy range of the musketry on the summit of the ridge, and was raked by the artillery fire on the projecting points of the ridge on either side. Reaching the foot of the ridge east of the plateau, I found the position there fairly well protected, that is, not so easily reached, either by the musketry or artillery of the enemy,and I at once ran back to near where my regiment had been halted. Just as I got there General Willich came tip, and I said to him, We cant live here, and ought to go forward. He gave me directions to move ahead, and I at once ordered my regiment forward. By that time, or about that time, it seemed to me that there was a simultaneous advance of many of the regiments in different parts of the liise, and I got the impression that possibly orders had been communicated for an advance on the ridge, which I had not received; hcnce I hurried my regiment forward as rapidly as possible. When I reached the foot of the ridge again, with the regiment, my orderly came up with my horse, and I mounted it, as my adjutant did his. The advance to the ridge was as rapid as the nature of the ground would permit; and I think, from the position I occupied, I had a fair opportunity to see what was going on, not only immediately above me, but to the right and VOL. XXXIV. 22. and Braggs army was broken and in flight! Dead and wounded comrades lay thickly strewn on the ground; but thicker yet were the dead and wounded men in gray. Then fol- lowed the wildest confusion, as the victors gave vent to their joy. Some madly shouted; some wept from very excess of joy; some gro- tesquely danced out their delight, even our wounded forgot their pain, to join in the gen- eral hurrah. But Sheridan did not long stop to receive praise and congratulations. With two brigades he started down the Mission Mills road, and found, strongly posted on a second hill, the enemys rear. They made a stout resistance, but by a sudden flank move- ment he drove them from the heights, and captured two guns and many prisoners. The day was succeeded by a clear moonlight night. At 7 oclock General Granger sent word to General Thomas that by a bold dash at Chickamauga Crossing, he might cut off a large number of the enemy now supposed to be leaving Shermans front, and that he pro- posed to move in that direction. It was mid- night before guides could be found, and then General Sheridan again put his tired and well- worn men in motion. He reached the creek just as the rear guard of the enemy was cross- ing, and pressed it so closely that it burned the poPtoon bridge before all its troops were over. Here Sheridan captured several hundred pris- oners, a large number of quartermasters wag- ons, together with caissons, artillery, ammuni- tion, and many small arms. In this battle, Sheridans and Woods divis- left. I was impressed with the idea, I know, that a sharp rivalry had sprung up between several regiments, including my own, as to which should reach the summit first. Another idea, I remem- ber distinctly, which impressed me, was that the different regi- ments had assumed the form of a triangle or wedge the advance point in nearly every case being the regimental battle-flag. I have always believed that my own regiment made the first break in the enemys lines on the summit of Mission Ridge; but the difference between the break thus made by the 8th Kansas and the progress made by ono or two regiments of Hazens brigade on our right and the 25th Illinois of our own brigade, was ex- ceedingly brief. But that the first break in the enemys lines was made in front of our division, I have not the slighest doubt. After we passed through the confederate works, and while the men were rushing with great enthusiasm after the fleeing confederates, who were running down the hill on the other side, my attention was direct- ed to the right, wlsere, at the point of a knob, I saw other troops were still engaged in a fierce struggle svith the confederates, who were yet in force behind their works; and while thus, for a mo- ment, watching the progress of the fight to the right, a confeder- ate battery on a point to the left of our position was swung round, and poured a fire directly down our line. Immediately I ordered my bugler to sound the recall, and began forming all the troops I could gather at that point, with a view of moving to the left to clear the enemys works in that direction. I had assembled prob- ably a hsindred men, when suddenly the whole confederate line, both to doe right and left, gave way before the furious attack of our troops, and was soon in full retreat through the woods and down the roads to the rear. I have stated, hastily, some of my impressions of the battle, but the principal point which, in my judgment, should always be made prominentis the fact that Mission Ridge was fought without orders from the commander-in-chief. I remember, too, and this only con- firms what I have said, that shortly after the battle was over Gen- eral Granger rode along our lines, and said, in a joking way, to the troops, I am going to have you all court-martialed l You were or- dered to take the works at the foot of the hill, and you have taken those on top! You have disobeyed orders, all of you, and you know that you ought to be court-martialed! EniToR, 49 150 MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. ions the two center assaulting divisions took 31 pieces of artillery, several thousand small arms, and 3800 prisoners. In that one hour of assault they lost 2337 men in killed and wounded, over twenty per cent. of their whole force! On the northern end of the ridge, General Sherman lost in his two days fighting 1697 in killed and wounded. Of these, 1268 were in his own three divisions. During the night the last of Braggs army was withdrawn from Missionary Ridge, and Chattanooga from that time remained in un- disputed possession of the Union forces. I S. Fullerton. MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. Lees Invasion of Pennsylvania A Reply to General Longstreet. GENERAL LONGSTREET s article on Gettysburg in the February CENTURY is notable for its mistakes as well as for its attitude toward General Lee and others. First. The statement that General Lee passed over more deserving officers from other States in order to give the command of his corps to Virginians is an un- worthy attack upon a man who was as singularly free from such prejudices as he was from self-seeking, either during the war or after it. Lee said in a letter to President Davis, October 2d, 1862: In reference to commanders of corps with the rank of lieu- tenant-general, of which you request my opinion, I can confi- dently recommend Generals Longstreet and Jackson, in this army. My opinion of the merits of General Jackson has been greatly enhanced during this expedition. He is true, honest, and brave; has a single eye to the good of the service, and spares no exertion to accomplish his object. Next to these two officers I consider General A. P. Hill the best commander with me. He fights his troops well and takes good care of them. At present I do not think that more than two commanders of corps are nec- essary for this army. This was Lees judgment after a campaign in which both the Hills and McLaws had served, and long be- fore there was any question of making either of them a lieutenant-general. It would be about as just to ac- cuse Lee of undue partiality to Georgia in making Long- street his senior lieutenant, as it is to accuse him of par- tiality to Virginia in selecting A. P. Hill rather than D. H. Hill or McLaws for the command of his third corps. Second. In regard to the battle of Gettysburg: the first days fight was brought on unexpectedly to Lee. In the absence of Stuart he was not aware of the prox- imity of the Federal army. The first days operations were very successful. Two of the seven infantry corps of the Federal army were virtually demolished, having been defeated and driven in disorder completely from the field, leaving many killed and wounded and several thousand prisoners to the victors. Third. It was at the close of this days work that General Lee, in view of its results, and of the indica- tions it gave of the position of the Federal army, decided to follow up the fight. General Longstreet ad- vsseu a movement across Meades front to threaten his left and rear. Such a movement would have been dif- ficult in the absence of Stuart; it could not have been executed in the then position of the army with suffi- cient promptness to surprise Meade; and if success- ful it simply would have forced the Federal army back to some position nearer Baltimore and Washington where the issue of battle was still to be tried. General Longitreet begs the question when he assumes that Meade would then have been obliged to attack at a dis- advantage. General Lee decided that this plan did not promise as good results as to follow up the partial vic- tory already gained. More than one-fourth of the Fed- eral army was heaten. (Of the First and Eleventh Corps that had numbered 20,931 on June 3oth, not 5700 were in line on July 2d.) That army was not concen- trated, and hours must elapse before its full strength could be marshalled for battle. The absent portions would reach the field jaded by forced marches to meet the depressing news of the defeat of their comrades. Douht and uncertainty would prevail, increased per- haps by the fact that the present Federal commander was so new in his place. Lees troops were much bet- ter up, only Picketts division and Laws brigade be- ing out of reach. Not to press the Union army was to lose the greater part of the advantage of the first days victory. The Federals would soon recover from their depression if not pressed, and his own troops would be disappointed. Lee believed if he could at- tack early on the second day he would have but part of the Federal army to deal with, and that if he could repeat his success of the first day the gain would be great. He therefore determined upon attack. On the night of the 1st (not on the forenoon of the 2d, as Gen- eral Longstreet has it) he decided, after a conference with Ewell and his division commanders, to make the attack early next day from his right with Longstreets txvo divisions that were within reach, this attack to be supported by Hill and Ewell. (See Eweils and Earlys reports; Earlys paper in South. Hist. Papers, Vol. IV., p. 241; and Longs Memoirs of Lee.) Fourth. General Longstreet would have us infer that he was not ordered by General Lee to attack early on the second day; but that his memory is at fault on this point has been abundantly shown by Generals Fita Lee, Pen- dleton, Early, Wilcox, and many others. No testimony on this? point is more direct and conclusive than that of General A. L. Long, then military secretary to Gen- eral Lee. He says in his recently published Memoirs of R. E. Lee (page 277), that on the evening of the Ist, when General Lee had decided not to renew the attack on Cemetery Hill that day, he said (in Longs presence) to Longstreet and Hill, Gentlemen, we will attack the enemy in the morning as early as practica- ble. Long continues: In the conversation that suc- ceeded he [Lee] directed them to make the necessary preparations and be ready for prompt action the next day. Long shows plainly that General Lees design was to attack the troops in front before the whole Fed- eral army could get up, and he describes graphically the impatience Lee showed next morning, as early as 9 A. M., at Longstreets delay. General Longstreet is wrong, too, in giving the impression that his divisions were 15 or 20 miles away on the night of the 1st, for in his official report he says that McLaws division. . reached Marsh Creek, 4 miles from Gettysburg, a little after dark, and Hoods division [except Lows

Colonel W. Allan Allan, W., Colonel "Lee's Invasion of Pennsylvania," a Reply to General Longstreet 150-151

150 MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. ions the two center assaulting divisions took 31 pieces of artillery, several thousand small arms, and 3800 prisoners. In that one hour of assault they lost 2337 men in killed and wounded, over twenty per cent. of their whole force! On the northern end of the ridge, General Sherman lost in his two days fighting 1697 in killed and wounded. Of these, 1268 were in his own three divisions. During the night the last of Braggs army was withdrawn from Missionary Ridge, and Chattanooga from that time remained in un- disputed possession of the Union forces. I S. Fullerton. MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. Lees Invasion of Pennsylvania A Reply to General Longstreet. GENERAL LONGSTREET s article on Gettysburg in the February CENTURY is notable for its mistakes as well as for its attitude toward General Lee and others. First. The statement that General Lee passed over more deserving officers from other States in order to give the command of his corps to Virginians is an un- worthy attack upon a man who was as singularly free from such prejudices as he was from self-seeking, either during the war or after it. Lee said in a letter to President Davis, October 2d, 1862: In reference to commanders of corps with the rank of lieu- tenant-general, of which you request my opinion, I can confi- dently recommend Generals Longstreet and Jackson, in this army. My opinion of the merits of General Jackson has been greatly enhanced during this expedition. He is true, honest, and brave; has a single eye to the good of the service, and spares no exertion to accomplish his object. Next to these two officers I consider General A. P. Hill the best commander with me. He fights his troops well and takes good care of them. At present I do not think that more than two commanders of corps are nec- essary for this army. This was Lees judgment after a campaign in which both the Hills and McLaws had served, and long be- fore there was any question of making either of them a lieutenant-general. It would be about as just to ac- cuse Lee of undue partiality to Georgia in making Long- street his senior lieutenant, as it is to accuse him of par- tiality to Virginia in selecting A. P. Hill rather than D. H. Hill or McLaws for the command of his third corps. Second. In regard to the battle of Gettysburg: the first days fight was brought on unexpectedly to Lee. In the absence of Stuart he was not aware of the prox- imity of the Federal army. The first days operations were very successful. Two of the seven infantry corps of the Federal army were virtually demolished, having been defeated and driven in disorder completely from the field, leaving many killed and wounded and several thousand prisoners to the victors. Third. It was at the close of this days work that General Lee, in view of its results, and of the indica- tions it gave of the position of the Federal army, decided to follow up the fight. General Longstreet ad- vsseu a movement across Meades front to threaten his left and rear. Such a movement would have been dif- ficult in the absence of Stuart; it could not have been executed in the then position of the army with suffi- cient promptness to surprise Meade; and if success- ful it simply would have forced the Federal army back to some position nearer Baltimore and Washington where the issue of battle was still to be tried. General Longitreet begs the question when he assumes that Meade would then have been obliged to attack at a dis- advantage. General Lee decided that this plan did not promise as good results as to follow up the partial vic- tory already gained. More than one-fourth of the Fed- eral army was heaten. (Of the First and Eleventh Corps that had numbered 20,931 on June 3oth, not 5700 were in line on July 2d.) That army was not concen- trated, and hours must elapse before its full strength could be marshalled for battle. The absent portions would reach the field jaded by forced marches to meet the depressing news of the defeat of their comrades. Douht and uncertainty would prevail, increased per- haps by the fact that the present Federal commander was so new in his place. Lees troops were much bet- ter up, only Picketts division and Laws brigade be- ing out of reach. Not to press the Union army was to lose the greater part of the advantage of the first days victory. The Federals would soon recover from their depression if not pressed, and his own troops would be disappointed. Lee believed if he could at- tack early on the second day he would have but part of the Federal army to deal with, and that if he could repeat his success of the first day the gain would be great. He therefore determined upon attack. On the night of the 1st (not on the forenoon of the 2d, as Gen- eral Longstreet has it) he decided, after a conference with Ewell and his division commanders, to make the attack early next day from his right with Longstreets txvo divisions that were within reach, this attack to be supported by Hill and Ewell. (See Eweils and Earlys reports; Earlys paper in South. Hist. Papers, Vol. IV., p. 241; and Longs Memoirs of Lee.) Fourth. General Longstreet would have us infer that he was not ordered by General Lee to attack early on the second day; but that his memory is at fault on this point has been abundantly shown by Generals Fita Lee, Pen- dleton, Early, Wilcox, and many others. No testimony on this? point is more direct and conclusive than that of General A. L. Long, then military secretary to Gen- eral Lee. He says in his recently published Memoirs of R. E. Lee (page 277), that on the evening of the Ist, when General Lee had decided not to renew the attack on Cemetery Hill that day, he said (in Longs presence) to Longstreet and Hill, Gentlemen, we will attack the enemy in the morning as early as practica- ble. Long continues: In the conversation that suc- ceeded he [Lee] directed them to make the necessary preparations and be ready for prompt action the next day. Long shows plainly that General Lees design was to attack the troops in front before the whole Fed- eral army could get up, and he describes graphically the impatience Lee showed next morning, as early as 9 A. M., at Longstreets delay. General Longstreet is wrong, too, in giving the impression that his divisions were 15 or 20 miles away on the night of the 1st, for in his official report he says that McLaws division. . reached Marsh Creek, 4 miles from Gettysburg, a little after dark, and Hoods division [except Lows MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. brigade] got within nearly the same distance of the town about 12 oclock at night. Hood says he was with his staff in front of the heights of Gettysburg shortly after daybreak on the 2d and his troops were close behind. Kershaw (of McLaws division) says in his official report that on the 1st of July they marched to a point on the Gettysburg road some two miles from that place, going into camp at 12 P. M. General Longstreet, to explain his delay, besides the above reasons scrapes together a number of others, such as the presence of some Federal scouts and pickets xvest of the Emmettsburg road, the movement of Sickless rear-guard along that road, the presence of one of General Lees engineers (who had been sent to give information, not to command his corps). No time need be wasted on these. The fact is that General Longstreet, though knowing fully the condi- tion of things on the night of the 1st, knowing that Lee had decided to attack that part of the Federal army in his front, knowing that every hour strength- ened Meade and diminished the chances of Confederate success, and knowing that his corps was to open the bat- tle and deliver the main assault, consumed the time from daylight to nearly 4P.M., on July 2d, in moving his troops about four miles, over no serious obstacle, and in get- ting them into battle. Meantime on the Federal side Hancocks corps, which had camped three miles from Gettysburg, reached the field by 6 or 7 A. M.; Sickless two brigades that had been left at Emmettsburg came up by 9 A. M.; the rear of the Fifth Corps by midday, and the Sixth Corps, after a march of32 miles in 30 hours, by 2 ~. as. Had Longstreet attacked not later than 9 or 10 A. as., as Lee certainly expected, Sickless and Hancocks corps would have been defeated before part of the Fifth and the Sixth Corps arrived. Little Round Top (which, as it was, the Fifth Corps barely managed to seize in time) would have fallen into Confederate possession; and even if nothing more had been done this would have given the field to the Confederates, since the Federal line all the way to Cemetery Hill was untena- ble with Round Top in hostile hands. 1yF~flk That Longstreets attack when made was poor- seconded by the other corps may be true, and thus another chance of winning a complete victory on July 2d was lost, but this does not change the fact that the first and great opportunity of that day for the Confederates was lost by Longstreets delay. Sixth. Victory on the third day was for the Confed- erates a far more difficult problem than on the second, but it was still within their reach. But one need not be surprised at the failure of Picketts attack after reading in this article of the hesitation, the want of confidence and hearty codperation, with which General Longstreet directed it. Lee never intended that Pickett, Pettigrew, and Trimble should fight unsupported by the remainder of the army. He expected that with proper concert of action - . - we should ultimately succeed. (Lees report.) Longstreet was directed to use his whole corps, and when he felt embarrassed by the Federal forces on or near the Round Tops he was given a di- vision and a half from A. P. Hills corps with power to call for more. General Long says: The original intention of General Lee was that Picketts attack should be supported by the divisions of McLaws and Hood, and General Longstreet was so ordered. ( Memoirs of Lee, page 294. See also statements of Colonels Venable and Taylor, Four Years with Gen- eral Lee, page io8.) Lees efforts for a concerted attack were ineffectual. Pickett was overwhelmed not by troops in front but by those on his flanks, espe- cially by those on his right flank, where Wilcox was sent forward too late to be of use, and where he was too weak to have effected much at best. Yet Longstreet did not use any part of Hoods and McLaws divisions to support Pickett, or to make a division in his favor, or to occupy the troops on his flank which finally de- feated him. These divisions were practically idle ex- cept that one of Hoods brigades was occupied in driv- ing off the Federal cavalry which made a dash on that flank. Longstreet, in a word, sent forward one-third of his corps to the attack, but the remainder of his troops did not coi5perate. And yet he reproaches Lee for the result! McDoNooH, Mu., February ~6, 1317. J47~ Allan. Stuarts Ride around the Union Army in the Gettysburg Campaign. IT is generally agreed by Southern writers that the battle of Gettysburg was the result of an accidental collision of armies. General Lee in effect says in his report of the campaign that his failure was due to his ignorance of the movements of the enemy; and the ab- sence of a portion of the cavalry under Stuart, or rather its separation from the army, is assigned as the primary cause of its failure by General Long, the biographer of General Lee, and by General Longstreet in the Febru- ary CENTURY, 1887. Both ignore the fact that Stuart left with General Lee, under command of General Bev- erly H. Robertson, a larger body of cavalry than he took with him. General Long charges that Stuarts ex- pedition around Hooker was made either from a mis- apprehension of orders or love of the iclat of a bold raid (which, of course, implies disobedience) ; and General Longstreet, while admitting that Stuart may have acted by authority of Lee, says that it was under- taken against his own orders, which were to cross the Potomac at Shepherdstown, west of the Blue Ridge. That General Lee was greatly embarrassed by want of intelligence of the movements of the enemy was not due to the lack of cavalry; and Stuart is not responsi- ble for the inefficient manner in which he was served. When it was d& lermined that Stuart should take three brigades of cavalry to join Ewell on the Susque. hanna and leave his other two to perform outpost duty for the army in Virginia, General Lee was in the Shen- andoah Valley with the corps of Hill and Longstreet. The latter was holding the gaps and Stuart was guard- ing the approaches to them east of the Ridge. Hence Stuart came under Longstreets orders. Hookers headquarters were in Fairfax, with his army spread out like a fanhis left being at Thoroughfare Gap and his right 00 the Potomac at Leesburg. On returning from a scout, I reported to Stuart the scattered condition of Hookers corps, and he determined, with the approv- al of General Lee, to pass around, or rather through, them, as the shortest route to Ewell. There was an op- portunity besides to inflict much damage and to cut off communication between Washington and the North. I have lately discovered documents in the archives of the War Department that set at rest the question of Stuarts alleged disobedience of orders, and show that General Longstreet then approved a plan which he now 5

Colonel John S. Mosby Mosby, John S., Colonel Stuart's Ride Around the Union Army in the Gettysburg Campaign 151-153

MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. brigade] got within nearly the same distance of the town about 12 oclock at night. Hood says he was with his staff in front of the heights of Gettysburg shortly after daybreak on the 2d and his troops were close behind. Kershaw (of McLaws division) says in his official report that on the 1st of July they marched to a point on the Gettysburg road some two miles from that place, going into camp at 12 P. M. General Longstreet, to explain his delay, besides the above reasons scrapes together a number of others, such as the presence of some Federal scouts and pickets xvest of the Emmettsburg road, the movement of Sickless rear-guard along that road, the presence of one of General Lees engineers (who had been sent to give information, not to command his corps). No time need be wasted on these. The fact is that General Longstreet, though knowing fully the condi- tion of things on the night of the 1st, knowing that Lee had decided to attack that part of the Federal army in his front, knowing that every hour strength- ened Meade and diminished the chances of Confederate success, and knowing that his corps was to open the bat- tle and deliver the main assault, consumed the time from daylight to nearly 4P.M., on July 2d, in moving his troops about four miles, over no serious obstacle, and in get- ting them into battle. Meantime on the Federal side Hancocks corps, which had camped three miles from Gettysburg, reached the field by 6 or 7 A. M.; Sickless two brigades that had been left at Emmettsburg came up by 9 A. M.; the rear of the Fifth Corps by midday, and the Sixth Corps, after a march of32 miles in 30 hours, by 2 ~. as. Had Longstreet attacked not later than 9 or 10 A. as., as Lee certainly expected, Sickless and Hancocks corps would have been defeated before part of the Fifth and the Sixth Corps arrived. Little Round Top (which, as it was, the Fifth Corps barely managed to seize in time) would have fallen into Confederate possession; and even if nothing more had been done this would have given the field to the Confederates, since the Federal line all the way to Cemetery Hill was untena- ble with Round Top in hostile hands. 1yF~flk That Longstreets attack when made was poor- seconded by the other corps may be true, and thus another chance of winning a complete victory on July 2d was lost, but this does not change the fact that the first and great opportunity of that day for the Confederates was lost by Longstreets delay. Sixth. Victory on the third day was for the Confed- erates a far more difficult problem than on the second, but it was still within their reach. But one need not be surprised at the failure of Picketts attack after reading in this article of the hesitation, the want of confidence and hearty codperation, with which General Longstreet directed it. Lee never intended that Pickett, Pettigrew, and Trimble should fight unsupported by the remainder of the army. He expected that with proper concert of action - . - we should ultimately succeed. (Lees report.) Longstreet was directed to use his whole corps, and when he felt embarrassed by the Federal forces on or near the Round Tops he was given a di- vision and a half from A. P. Hills corps with power to call for more. General Long says: The original intention of General Lee was that Picketts attack should be supported by the divisions of McLaws and Hood, and General Longstreet was so ordered. ( Memoirs of Lee, page 294. See also statements of Colonels Venable and Taylor, Four Years with Gen- eral Lee, page io8.) Lees efforts for a concerted attack were ineffectual. Pickett was overwhelmed not by troops in front but by those on his flanks, espe- cially by those on his right flank, where Wilcox was sent forward too late to be of use, and where he was too weak to have effected much at best. Yet Longstreet did not use any part of Hoods and McLaws divisions to support Pickett, or to make a division in his favor, or to occupy the troops on his flank which finally de- feated him. These divisions were practically idle ex- cept that one of Hoods brigades was occupied in driv- ing off the Federal cavalry which made a dash on that flank. Longstreet, in a word, sent forward one-third of his corps to the attack, but the remainder of his troops did not coi5perate. And yet he reproaches Lee for the result! McDoNooH, Mu., February ~6, 1317. J47~ Allan. Stuarts Ride around the Union Army in the Gettysburg Campaign. IT is generally agreed by Southern writers that the battle of Gettysburg was the result of an accidental collision of armies. General Lee in effect says in his report of the campaign that his failure was due to his ignorance of the movements of the enemy; and the ab- sence of a portion of the cavalry under Stuart, or rather its separation from the army, is assigned as the primary cause of its failure by General Long, the biographer of General Lee, and by General Longstreet in the Febru- ary CENTURY, 1887. Both ignore the fact that Stuart left with General Lee, under command of General Bev- erly H. Robertson, a larger body of cavalry than he took with him. General Long charges that Stuarts ex- pedition around Hooker was made either from a mis- apprehension of orders or love of the iclat of a bold raid (which, of course, implies disobedience) ; and General Longstreet, while admitting that Stuart may have acted by authority of Lee, says that it was under- taken against his own orders, which were to cross the Potomac at Shepherdstown, west of the Blue Ridge. That General Lee was greatly embarrassed by want of intelligence of the movements of the enemy was not due to the lack of cavalry; and Stuart is not responsi- ble for the inefficient manner in which he was served. When it was d& lermined that Stuart should take three brigades of cavalry to join Ewell on the Susque. hanna and leave his other two to perform outpost duty for the army in Virginia, General Lee was in the Shen- andoah Valley with the corps of Hill and Longstreet. The latter was holding the gaps and Stuart was guard- ing the approaches to them east of the Ridge. Hence Stuart came under Longstreets orders. Hookers headquarters were in Fairfax, with his army spread out like a fanhis left being at Thoroughfare Gap and his right 00 the Potomac at Leesburg. On returning from a scout, I reported to Stuart the scattered condition of Hookers corps, and he determined, with the approv- al of General Lee, to pass around, or rather through, them, as the shortest route to Ewell. There was an op- portunity besides to inflict much damage and to cut off communication between Washington and the North. I have lately discovered documents in the archives of the War Department that set at rest the question of Stuarts alleged disobedience of orders, and show that General Longstreet then approved a plan which he now 5 152 condemns as a wild ride around the Federal army. He directed Stuart to pass around the rear of the enemy in preference to crossing west of the Ridge, in order to prevent disclosing our designs.5 Under date of June 22d, 7:30 r. as., he writes to General Lee: I have forwarded your letter to Gen- eral Stuart, with the suggestion that he pass by the en- emys rear if he thinks he may get through. Up to the morning of June 25th it was perfectly practicable for Stuart to have done so. In accordance with Lees and Longstreets instructions, Stuart with- drew from the front on the evening of the 24th to pass around Hooker, leaving Robertson ahout Middleburg with three thousand cavalry and two hatteries of artillery to ohserve the enemy. Stuarts success depended upon preserving the status quo of the Federal army until he could get through it. Hooker was on the defensive wait- ing for his adversary to move. It did not seem to occur to General Longstreet that the march of the infantry down the Shenandoah Valley would disclose all to the enemy that the cavalry would have done. It was no fault of Stuarts that he was foiled by events which he could not control. When on the morning of the 25th he reached Hookers rear, he found his whole army moving to the Potomac and all the roads occupied hy his troops. This compelled a wide ditour, and instead of crossing the river in advance of the enemy, as he expected, he was two days behind him. Thus all communication was broken with General Lee and Ewell. The march of Hills and Longstreets corps on the day before had been in full view of the signal stations on Maryland Heights and was telegraphed to Hooker, who made a corresponding movement. On the morning of June 26th the enemy disappeared from Robertsons front and crossed the Potomac. In that event his instructions from Stuart were, to watch the enemy and harass his rear to cross the Potomac and follow the army, keeping on its right and rear, and to report anything of importance to Lieutenant-Gen- eral Longstreet, with whose position you will commu- nicate by relays through Charlestown. * HEADQUARTERS, MiLawoon, June 22, 2863, 7 P.M. MAJ.- GENL J. E. B. STUART, Comdg. Cavalry. GENERAL: General Lee has inclosed to me this letter for you to be forwarded to you provided you cao he spared from my front, and provided I think that you can move across the Potomac without disclosing our plans. He speaks of you leaving via Hopeweil Gap and passing by the rear of the enemy. If you can get through by that route, I think that you will he less likely to indicate what our plans are than if you should cross by passing to our rear. I forward the let- ter of instructions with these suggestions. Please advise me of the condition of affairs before you leave and order General Hamp- ton whom I suppose you will leave here in command to report to me at Millwood either by letter or in person, as may he most agreeable to him. Most respectfully, J. LONGSTRERT, Lieutenant- General. N. B. I think that your passage of the Potomac by our rear at the present moment will in a measure disclose our plans. You had better not leave us, therefore, unless you can take the proposed route in rear of the enemy. J. LOROSTREET, Lieuten- ant-General. HEADQUARTERS, zzd June, n86~. MAJOR-GENERAL J. E. B. STUART, Commanding Cavalry. GENERAL: I have just received your note of 7:45 this moming to General Longstrcet. I judge the efforts of the enemy yesterday were to arrest our progress and ascertain our whereabouts. Perhaps he is satisfied. Do you know where he is and what he is doing? I fear he will steal a march on us and get across the Potomac before we are aware. If you find that he is moving northward, and that two brigades can guard the Blue Ridge and take care of your rear, you can move with the other three into Maryland and take position on General Ewells right, place yourself in communication wish him, guard his flank and keep him informed of the enemys movements, and collect all the supplies you can for the use of the army. One column of General Ewells army will probably move toward the Susquehanna by the Emmesssburg route, another by Chambers- burg. Accounts from him last night state that there was no en- emy west of Fredericktown. A cavalry force (about one hundred) Robertson retired to the mountain gaps and re- mained until the afternoon of the 29th, when he was re- called to the army by a courier from General Lee. At night on the 27th General Lee heard, through a scout at Chambersburg, of Hookers advance. As no informa- tion of it had come from the cavalry he had left in Hook- er s front in Virginia, he thought that Hooker was still there. He immediately issued an order for the concen- tration at Gettysburg, and sent for Robertsons coin- mand, that had been left, he says, to hold the mountain passes as long as the enemy remained south of the Poto- mac. It had staid there three days after they had gone. As Stuart had been ordered to Ewell on the Susque- hanna, it could not have been expected that he should also watch Hooker on the Potomac. Stuarts instruc- tions to divide the cavalry and take three brigades with him to Ewell, on the Susquehanna, were peremptory; he was only given discretion as to the point of crossing the Potomac. It was therefore immaterial, so far as giv- ing information to General Lee was concerned, whether he crossed east or west of the ridge. In either event they would have been separated and out of communi- cation with each other. General Lee must then have relied on Robertson or nobody to watch Hooker. Instead of keeping on the right of the army and in close contact with the enemy, as Stuart had ordered, Robertsons command marched on the left by Mar- tinsburg and did not reach the battle-field. When General Lee crossed the Potomac, he left General Robertson between him and the enemy. By July 3d he had so manmuvred that Lee was between him ,and the enemy. Stuart had ridden around General Hooker while Robertson was riding around General Lee. If, in accordance with Stuarts instructions, Rob- ertson had promptly followed on the right of the army when the enemy left, it would have been ready and concentrated for attack; a defensive battle would have been fought, and Gettysburg might have been to South- ern hearts something more than a Glorious field of grief. WAsHINGToN, Feb. 9, 2887. John S. Mosby. guarded the Monocacy Bridge, which was barricaded. XTou will, of course, take charge of Jenkinsibrigade and give him necessary instructions. All supplies taken in Maryland must be by authorized staff-officers for their respective departments, by no one else. They will be paid for or receipts for the same given so she own- ers. I will send you a general order on this subject, which I wish you to s& e is strictly complied with. I am, very respeesfully, your obedient servant, R. E. LEE, GeneraL On the following day General Lee wrote as follows: HEAD- QUARTERS, ARMY OF NORTHERN ViRGINIA, June 23d, 2163, 5 P. M. MAJOR-GENERAL J. E. B. STUART, Commanding Cavalry. GEN- ERAL: Your notes of 9 and io:~o A. M. so-day have just been re- ceived. . . . If General Hookers army remains inactive you can leave two brigades to watch him and withdraw with the three others, but should he not appear to be moving northward, I think you had better withdraw this side of she mountain to-morrow night, cross as Shepherdstown next day and move over so Fred- encktown. You will, however, be able to judge whether you can pass around their army without hindrance, doing them all the damage you can, and cross the river east of the mountains. In either case, after crossing the river, you must move on and feel the right of Ewells troops, collecting information, provisions, etc. Give instructions to the commander of she brigades left behind to watch the flank and rear of she army and (in event of the en- emy leaving their front) retire from the mountains west of the Shenandoah, leaving sufficient pickets to guard the passes, and bringing everything clean along the valley, closing upon the rear of the army. As regards the movements of the two brigades of the enemy moving toward Warrenton, the commander of she brigades so be left in the mountains must do what he can to coun- teract them; but I think she sooner you cross into Maryland. af- ter to-morrow, she better. The movements of Ewell s corps are as stated in my former letter. Hills first division will reach the Potomac so-day, and Longstreet will follow to-morrow. Be watchful and circumspect in all your movements. I am very respectfully and truly yours, R. F. LEE, General. MEMORANDA ON THE CIVIL WAR. TOPICS OF THE TIME. Executive Responsibility. I Nthis centennial year since the framing of the Fed- eral Constitution the most wonderful work, as Gladstone has styled it, ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man nothing could be more timely and fortunate than the occur- rence of incidents in the administration of the govern- ment which pointedly demonstrate the wisdom of its distribution of powers. The closing weeks of the Forty- ninth Congress were fruitful of such illustrations. Throughout its existence this body seemed strangely devoid of any sense of responsibility to the people. The Democrats controlled the popular branch, and their leaders in the House should have been prompt in responding to the wise suggestions of their President, especially in the urgent matter of reforming the tariff, and thus reducing the surplus. Democrats in each branch should have welcomed the opportunity to sig- nalize the restoration of their party to power by a revival of its traditional principles, particularly those which restrict within proper limits the prerogatives of the general government, the undue enlargement of which was becoming a source of danger. The Repub- licans, as the minority, were not expected to attempt the initiation of any policy, but they were none the less bound because they were out of power to treat upon their merits questions which might arise, and to throw their influence in favor of economy and efficiency. Each party violated its obligations to its constitu- ents. With only a very few exceptions, the Republicans in the House twice cast their votes against even the consideration of a measure aiming at tariff reform; and, despite the most binding pledge of their party plat- forms, enough Democrats joined the minority on this point to make it a majority, and thus prevent any legislation to reduce the surplus. This pledge hroken, there were found Democrats ready to violate still another by championing extravagant measures as a proper way of getting rid of the surplus. A House committee, of whose fifteen members nine were Demo- crats, reported a bill which came to be known as the Pauper Pension Bill, and which, had it become a law, must inevitably have added tens of millions of dollars to the annual expenses of the government for a generation to come. This committee even had the assurance, when its course was challenged, to attempt justification by the demagogic plea that, from the standpoint of money expediency alone, the sur- plus will be best restored to the people in the manner proposed by this bill, inasmuch as no bonded inter- est or huge monopolies can claim it as their own, and it will go among the people in small amounts and will he spent in their midst. The bill received the support of every Republican in the House and of enough Democrats to give it more than a two-thirds vote, while it passed the Senate without a division. Meanwhile Congress had committed another piece of folly. A bill appropriating ten thousand dollars of the money raised by taxation for the support of the general government to buy seeds for some farmers in Texas, who were in want through a long-continued drought, slipped through the House, and was passed by the Senate with its eyes open, eleven out of eighteen Democrats supporting it, although its grossly unconsti- tutional nature was forcibly pointed out by Mr. Haw- ley, of Connecticut, a Union soldier and a Republican, who has stoutly defended State rights more than once of late. Both these bills, bad in themselves and even worse as precedents, went to the President. Senators and representatives had thus done their part toward committing the country to one measure which would in all probability add hundreds of thousands of names to the pension roll, and to another which would help to overthrow the constitutional restrictions upon the powers of the Federal government. They had done this, too, without the slightest sense of personal re- sponsibility being manifested by the overwhelming majority of those who had voted for the bills. In his admirable exposition of the Constitution, which so wonderfully vindicates his prevision, Story points out that unity in the Executive is favorable to energy, promptitude, and responsibility. After alluding to the bad effect of dividing the power among several persons, Story enforces this feature of superior responsibility in the single Executive. EJis responsibility, he says, is more direct and efficient, as his measures cannot be disguised, or shifted upon others; and any abuse of authority can be more clearly seen, and carefully watched, than when it is shared by numbers. Else- where, in vindicating the bestowal upon the President of a qualified negative on legislation through the veto, Story remarks that the power is important, as an ad- ditional security against the enactment of rash, imma- ture, and improper laws. Storys language could not have fitted the case bet- ter if he had foreseen, half a century before, what was to happen in the year 1887. They were rash, imma- ture, and improper laws which Congress had tried to enact, passed with scarcely a pretense of discussion in either branch. The responsibility for their passage was so disguised that any senator or representative could shift upon others~ his share. But when they went to the single Executive, the situation was imme- diately revolutionized. Now there was one man whose responsibility was direct and efficient. The Pau- per Pension Bill would become the law of the land, and commit the government permanently to a radical and unjustifiable departure in legislation regarding Union soldiers, unless within ten days after he received it the President should return it to Congress with his objec- tions. The public appreciated the exigency, and the press appealed to the President for a veto. Union sol- diers of high character and standing, hostile to the bill, who would have despaired of affecting either the Sen- ate or the House, where abuse of authority was shared by numbers, wrote to the Executive with assurance that their words would be duly weighed. For days the

Executive Responsibility Topics of the Time 153-154

TOPICS OF THE TIME. Executive Responsibility. I Nthis centennial year since the framing of the Fed- eral Constitution the most wonderful work, as Gladstone has styled it, ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man nothing could be more timely and fortunate than the occur- rence of incidents in the administration of the govern- ment which pointedly demonstrate the wisdom of its distribution of powers. The closing weeks of the Forty- ninth Congress were fruitful of such illustrations. Throughout its existence this body seemed strangely devoid of any sense of responsibility to the people. The Democrats controlled the popular branch, and their leaders in the House should have been prompt in responding to the wise suggestions of their President, especially in the urgent matter of reforming the tariff, and thus reducing the surplus. Democrats in each branch should have welcomed the opportunity to sig- nalize the restoration of their party to power by a revival of its traditional principles, particularly those which restrict within proper limits the prerogatives of the general government, the undue enlargement of which was becoming a source of danger. The Repub- licans, as the minority, were not expected to attempt the initiation of any policy, but they were none the less bound because they were out of power to treat upon their merits questions which might arise, and to throw their influence in favor of economy and efficiency. Each party violated its obligations to its constitu- ents. With only a very few exceptions, the Republicans in the House twice cast their votes against even the consideration of a measure aiming at tariff reform; and, despite the most binding pledge of their party plat- forms, enough Democrats joined the minority on this point to make it a majority, and thus prevent any legislation to reduce the surplus. This pledge hroken, there were found Democrats ready to violate still another by championing extravagant measures as a proper way of getting rid of the surplus. A House committee, of whose fifteen members nine were Demo- crats, reported a bill which came to be known as the Pauper Pension Bill, and which, had it become a law, must inevitably have added tens of millions of dollars to the annual expenses of the government for a generation to come. This committee even had the assurance, when its course was challenged, to attempt justification by the demagogic plea that, from the standpoint of money expediency alone, the sur- plus will be best restored to the people in the manner proposed by this bill, inasmuch as no bonded inter- est or huge monopolies can claim it as their own, and it will go among the people in small amounts and will he spent in their midst. The bill received the support of every Republican in the House and of enough Democrats to give it more than a two-thirds vote, while it passed the Senate without a division. Meanwhile Congress had committed another piece of folly. A bill appropriating ten thousand dollars of the money raised by taxation for the support of the general government to buy seeds for some farmers in Texas, who were in want through a long-continued drought, slipped through the House, and was passed by the Senate with its eyes open, eleven out of eighteen Democrats supporting it, although its grossly unconsti- tutional nature was forcibly pointed out by Mr. Haw- ley, of Connecticut, a Union soldier and a Republican, who has stoutly defended State rights more than once of late. Both these bills, bad in themselves and even worse as precedents, went to the President. Senators and representatives had thus done their part toward committing the country to one measure which would in all probability add hundreds of thousands of names to the pension roll, and to another which would help to overthrow the constitutional restrictions upon the powers of the Federal government. They had done this, too, without the slightest sense of personal re- sponsibility being manifested by the overwhelming majority of those who had voted for the bills. In his admirable exposition of the Constitution, which so wonderfully vindicates his prevision, Story points out that unity in the Executive is favorable to energy, promptitude, and responsibility. After alluding to the bad effect of dividing the power among several persons, Story enforces this feature of superior responsibility in the single Executive. EJis responsibility, he says, is more direct and efficient, as his measures cannot be disguised, or shifted upon others; and any abuse of authority can be more clearly seen, and carefully watched, than when it is shared by numbers. Else- where, in vindicating the bestowal upon the President of a qualified negative on legislation through the veto, Story remarks that the power is important, as an ad- ditional security against the enactment of rash, imma- ture, and improper laws. Storys language could not have fitted the case bet- ter if he had foreseen, half a century before, what was to happen in the year 1887. They were rash, imma- ture, and improper laws which Congress had tried to enact, passed with scarcely a pretense of discussion in either branch. The responsibility for their passage was so disguised that any senator or representative could shift upon others~ his share. But when they went to the single Executive, the situation was imme- diately revolutionized. Now there was one man whose responsibility was direct and efficient. The Pau- per Pension Bill would become the law of the land, and commit the government permanently to a radical and unjustifiable departure in legislation regarding Union soldiers, unless within ten days after he received it the President should return it to Congress with his objec- tions. The public appreciated the exigency, and the press appealed to the President for a veto. Union sol- diers of high character and standing, hostile to the bill, who would have despaired of affecting either the Sen- ate or the House, where abuse of authority was shared by numbers, wrote to the Executive with assurance that their words would be duly weighed. For days the 54 TOPICS Of THE TIME. attention of the country was fixed upon the incumbent of the White House, and he was made to realize that, if the bill should become a law, the country would hold him alone more responsible than both branches of Congress together. Primarily, of course, it is to the Constitution, which created a single Executive and invested him with a qualified negative upon legislation, that we owe our escape from the Pauper Pension Bill folly and from the vicious Texas Seed Bill precedent, for without these provisions the measures would inevitably have become laws. But the constitutional possibility of thus defeating the schemes would have been of no avail if the man who enjoyed this power had not employed it. The President of the United States as an official possessed the prerogative of vetoing the bills, but it was Grover Cleveland the man who exercised a veto power which the President of the United States need not have em- ployed, and which many another man in the place would not have employed. In concluding his discussion of the Executive depart- ment, Story declares his conviction that it will be found impossible to withhold from this part of the Constitu- tion a tribute of profound respect, if not of the liveliest admiration, but he adds that in order to realize public expectation it is essential that the man who occupies the office be one who shall forget his own interests and remember that he represents, not a party, but the whole nation. If he had consulted his own interests in a narrow personal sense, Mr. Cleveland would have signed the pension bill. It is notorious that self-inter- est was a potent motive with the average senator and representative who supported it. The soldier vote was supposed to be behind the measure, and in all the States north of the Potomac only three congressmen out of both parties in both Houses were recorded against it. As the representative of a party solely, Mr. Cleve- land would have signed the bill. Democratic congress- men insisted that a veto would hurt the prospects of the Democracy in Indiana and other close States where it wants to gain votes. But Mr. Cleveland examined the bill with great care, and became convinced that it was a thoroughly bad measure. He perceived that the race after the pensions offered by this bill would not only stimulate weakness and pretended incapacity for labor, but put a further premium on dishonesty and mendacity. He believed that the probable increase of expense would be almost appalling. He held that the measure would have the effect of disappointing the expectation of the people, and their desire and hope for relief fi-om war taxation in time of peace. He concluded that the interests of the whole nation required him to with- hold his approvaL The Texas Seed Bill called for no such display of moral courage as the pension issue, but it offered an opportunity, no less striking, for enforcing a similar lesson, which Mr. Cleveland is to be commended for improving. The pension bill proposed to assist, through the Federal government, those old soldiers in the North who are willing to be objects of simple charity and to gain a place upon the pension roll through alleged dependence. The seed bill proposed to relieve, through the Federal government, some suffering farm- ers in a Southern State. It was more than a chance coincidence that the two bills were in the Presidents hands at the same time. They represented a long-grow- ing tendency, which was fast coming to pervade both sections of the country, and which needed to be repro- bated in a way that would impress both sections. The twin vetoes served this purpose almost ideally. Their force was strengthened by Mr. Clevelands use in the later message of a most telling phrase, one destined to a long and useful life: The lesson should be constantly enforced that, though the people support the government, the government should not support the people. Mr. Cleveland has made some unpardonable errors and committed some grievous faults since he became President, but he has gone far to atone for them by the manly way in which he met the responsibility that a demagogic Congress devolved upon him in these measures of legislation. The great danger which threatened this nation when Congress met for its last session was the drift toward paternalism, the disposi- tion to seek aid from the Federal treasury, the decay of the ancient American spirit of self-reliance. That this danger has already so largely vanished is due chiefly to Mr. Clevelands wise and courageous use of the veto power in behalf of what he so well calls the sturdiness of our national character. The Nations Recent Debt to the South. THE North fought to save the Union because it be- lieved that it would be better for all the States, South and North alike, that they should continue for all time one nation. The Union was preserved, and for years its members have again stood upon an equality in the government of the country. Southern men who vainly sought by force of arms to establish the right of se- cession have sat in Congress beside Northern men who shared in overthrowing that claim on the field of battle. They have voted together for generous pen- sions to soldiers of the Union army, and an ex-officer of the Confederate service now presides over the Ex- ecutive Department which includes the Pension Bu- reau, while the present head of that Bureau was an officer on the Union side. The vote in the House on passing the Pauper Pen- sion Bill over the veto brought into strong relief the advantage which the North already reaps from having the South back in the Union. While tlse measure was in the Presidents hands, many old Union soldiers, Republicans as well as Democrats, besought him to disapprove it. It originated with claim agents and professional pension-seekers, wrote a western Massa- chusetts veteran, and is not the cry or plea of the great body of veterans. I constantly meet with sol- diers, privates as well as officers, who repel with deep feeling the assumption that they desire more money in return for the purely patriotic service they gave the country, wrote General J. D. Cox, of Ohio, a Repub- lican ex-governor, in urging Mr. Cleveland not to approve the bill. I think the President justified in vetoing such a bill as this, said General Joshua L. Chamberlain, of Maine, another Republican ex-gover- nor, and believe he will be supported by the sentiment of the country. No candid person who watched the expression of public opinion can doubt that the Presi- dents course in this matter was approved by the sober

The Nation's Recent Debt to the South Topics of the Time 154-155

54 TOPICS Of THE TIME. attention of the country was fixed upon the incumbent of the White House, and he was made to realize that, if the bill should become a law, the country would hold him alone more responsible than both branches of Congress together. Primarily, of course, it is to the Constitution, which created a single Executive and invested him with a qualified negative upon legislation, that we owe our escape from the Pauper Pension Bill folly and from the vicious Texas Seed Bill precedent, for without these provisions the measures would inevitably have become laws. But the constitutional possibility of thus defeating the schemes would have been of no avail if the man who enjoyed this power had not employed it. The President of the United States as an official possessed the prerogative of vetoing the bills, but it was Grover Cleveland the man who exercised a veto power which the President of the United States need not have em- ployed, and which many another man in the place would not have employed. In concluding his discussion of the Executive depart- ment, Story declares his conviction that it will be found impossible to withhold from this part of the Constitu- tion a tribute of profound respect, if not of the liveliest admiration, but he adds that in order to realize public expectation it is essential that the man who occupies the office be one who shall forget his own interests and remember that he represents, not a party, but the whole nation. If he had consulted his own interests in a narrow personal sense, Mr. Cleveland would have signed the pension bill. It is notorious that self-inter- est was a potent motive with the average senator and representative who supported it. The soldier vote was supposed to be behind the measure, and in all the States north of the Potomac only three congressmen out of both parties in both Houses were recorded against it. As the representative of a party solely, Mr. Cleve- land would have signed the bill. Democratic congress- men insisted that a veto would hurt the prospects of the Democracy in Indiana and other close States where it wants to gain votes. But Mr. Cleveland examined the bill with great care, and became convinced that it was a thoroughly bad measure. He perceived that the race after the pensions offered by this bill would not only stimulate weakness and pretended incapacity for labor, but put a further premium on dishonesty and mendacity. He believed that the probable increase of expense would be almost appalling. He held that the measure would have the effect of disappointing the expectation of the people, and their desire and hope for relief fi-om war taxation in time of peace. He concluded that the interests of the whole nation required him to with- hold his approvaL The Texas Seed Bill called for no such display of moral courage as the pension issue, but it offered an opportunity, no less striking, for enforcing a similar lesson, which Mr. Cleveland is to be commended for improving. The pension bill proposed to assist, through the Federal government, those old soldiers in the North who are willing to be objects of simple charity and to gain a place upon the pension roll through alleged dependence. The seed bill proposed to relieve, through the Federal government, some suffering farm- ers in a Southern State. It was more than a chance coincidence that the two bills were in the Presidents hands at the same time. They represented a long-grow- ing tendency, which was fast coming to pervade both sections of the country, and which needed to be repro- bated in a way that would impress both sections. The twin vetoes served this purpose almost ideally. Their force was strengthened by Mr. Clevelands use in the later message of a most telling phrase, one destined to a long and useful life: The lesson should be constantly enforced that, though the people support the government, the government should not support the people. Mr. Cleveland has made some unpardonable errors and committed some grievous faults since he became President, but he has gone far to atone for them by the manly way in which he met the responsibility that a demagogic Congress devolved upon him in these measures of legislation. The great danger which threatened this nation when Congress met for its last session was the drift toward paternalism, the disposi- tion to seek aid from the Federal treasury, the decay of the ancient American spirit of self-reliance. That this danger has already so largely vanished is due chiefly to Mr. Clevelands wise and courageous use of the veto power in behalf of what he so well calls the sturdiness of our national character. The Nations Recent Debt to the South. THE North fought to save the Union because it be- lieved that it would be better for all the States, South and North alike, that they should continue for all time one nation. The Union was preserved, and for years its members have again stood upon an equality in the government of the country. Southern men who vainly sought by force of arms to establish the right of se- cession have sat in Congress beside Northern men who shared in overthrowing that claim on the field of battle. They have voted together for generous pen- sions to soldiers of the Union army, and an ex-officer of the Confederate service now presides over the Ex- ecutive Department which includes the Pension Bu- reau, while the present head of that Bureau was an officer on the Union side. The vote in the House on passing the Pauper Pen- sion Bill over the veto brought into strong relief the advantage which the North already reaps from having the South back in the Union. While tlse measure was in the Presidents hands, many old Union soldiers, Republicans as well as Democrats, besought him to disapprove it. It originated with claim agents and professional pension-seekers, wrote a western Massa- chusetts veteran, and is not the cry or plea of the great body of veterans. I constantly meet with sol- diers, privates as well as officers, who repel with deep feeling the assumption that they desire more money in return for the purely patriotic service they gave the country, wrote General J. D. Cox, of Ohio, a Repub- lican ex-governor, in urging Mr. Cleveland not to approve the bill. I think the President justified in vetoing such a bill as this, said General Joshua L. Chamberlain, of Maine, another Republican ex-gover- nor, and believe he will be supported by the sentiment of the country. No candid person who watched the expression of public opinion can doubt that the Presi- dents course in this matter was approved by the sober TOPICS OF THE TIME. 55 second thought of the North, including the great mass of self-respecting and self-reliant veterans themselves. The President was not only supported by the sen- timent of the country, as General Chamberlain pre- dicted he would be, but his veto was sustained by Congress. It was, however, only through the votes of the States lately in rebellion that the action of Con- gress was made to conform with the sentiment of the country. This is rendered plain at a glance by the fol- lowing summary of the vote on passing the bill over the veto: Yeas. Nays. From the eleven seceding States 7 75 From the rest of the country i65 54 Total vote 75 125 In other words, if the question whether the Presi- dents veto should stand had been submitted to the representatives of those States only which adhered to the Union, Mr. Cleveland would have been over- ruled, more than three to one, and a bill would have become a law which, in the opinion of such a Union soldier as General Chamberlain, offers an incentive to fraudulent claims, which degrade the deserving, and to too ready a resort to a plea of dependency, demor- alizing to manliness. That there were cast on the right side twenty-four more votes than were necessary to sustain the veto was due to the fact that the States which sought to secede frosri the Union joined in de- ciding the issue. The only cry they [the great body of veterans] have now, said the western Mas- sachusetts soldier from whose letter to the President we have quoted, is that you will spare them the honor of having served their country because they loved her, and not as mere bounty and pension seek- ers. That honor has been spared the Northern soldiers, but only through the help of Southern rep- resentatives, many of whom fought against them a quarter of a century ago. In a broad and elevated view it may well be doubted whether history has ever recorded a sweeter triumph for the victors in a righteous cause than men like Gen- eral Cox and General Chamberlain have thus lived to witness. They fought to keep the South in the Union, and they have survived to see the honor of the North- ern soldier preserved from the taint which dema- gogues and claim-agents would have cast upon it through the votes of the Southern men in Congress. Looking back over the history of the nation, we can now see that the civil war was inescapable. The view of the Constitution in which the South had been edu- cated rendered an attempt at secession inevitable, and as Webster said in his famous 7th of, March speech, peaceable secession is an utter impossibility. Or, as Lincoln put it in his second inaugural: Both par- ties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. That the time would come when the South would rejoice that the war ended as it did, and when the North would find itself indebted to the South for efficient help in secur- ing the good government of the reunited nation, was also inevitable; but it might well have been expected that it would not come till after the generation which fought the war had passed from the stage. Less than a quarter of a century, however, has sufficed. The New South frankly confesses its satisfaction with the issue of the struggle for secession; the New North has now been brought to realize its indebtedness to the South for indispensable help in maintaining good government. Such champions of the Union cause twenty-five years ago as General Bragg of Wisconsin, Colonel Morrison of Illinois, General Warner of Ohio, and Mr. Curtin, the War Governor of Pennsylvania, spoke in de- fense of the Presidents veto during the debate in the House, and at its conclusion the veto was sustained, in part through the votes given by men like them from the North, but chiefly through the votes of men who came from the States which once sought to disrupt the Union. Fair-minded Northern men thus see that they owe to the South this arrest of the pension craze and of the alarming drift toward paternalism which the Pauper Pension Bill typified. The confession of this indebtedness is the epitaph upon the grave of section- alism in American politics. The Problem of Government by Guilds. AN Open Letter, on another page, grapples with the problem of municipal reform in a courageous fash- son. It is not to be wondered at that thoughtful men, confronting the extravagances and abuses that seem to have intrenched themselves in most of our city governments, and observing that the dispersion of one swarm of the vermin that infest our city-halls and court-houses only makes room for another and hun- grier swarm, should be reaching out after some radical reforms in the methods of government. They are not at all mistaken in supposing that the case is becom- ing critical; they are justified in bestowing upon it patient and anxious thought. The typical citizen is too much inclined to exult over the material gains of a triumphant democracy, and to ignore the chronic villainy of his city government. It is a little curious that this New York merchant, pondering the question of municipal government, should have hit upon the same device as that which the great German philosopher, Hermann Lotze, has been proposing. Lotze deplores the haste and passion with which the antiquated forms of companies, guilds, and corporations were swept away in the rush of the revolutionary movements that ushered in the modern era, god declares that they ought to have been transformed, not abolished. The most es- sential fault of modern society is, he declares, its low estimation of the corporate element. Of course, he argues, we do not want to go back to corporations for the subsistence of which we can find no even plausi- ble reason, in order to accumulate privileges for which there is still less any conceivable rightful claim; but on the one hand, a living bond between those who are really connected would maintain the discipline which we so greatly need, but which yet we cannot enforce by means of general laws; on the other hand, such combinations, representing partly the most important callings (agriculture, manufactures, commerce, art, and science), partly the special local interests of different districts, would form the true unities, the representa- tives of which, by equilibration of the interests of each, would cover the wants of the whole. Can it be true that the medi~val communities held, in these ancient craft-guilds and fraternities, a form of social organization which it was unwise to destroy, and to which we would do well to return? Wise or unwise,

The Problem of Government by Guilds Topics of the Time 155-157

TOPICS OF THE TIME. 55 second thought of the North, including the great mass of self-respecting and self-reliant veterans themselves. The President was not only supported by the sen- timent of the country, as General Chamberlain pre- dicted he would be, but his veto was sustained by Congress. It was, however, only through the votes of the States lately in rebellion that the action of Con- gress was made to conform with the sentiment of the country. This is rendered plain at a glance by the fol- lowing summary of the vote on passing the bill over the veto: Yeas. Nays. From the eleven seceding States 7 75 From the rest of the country i65 54 Total vote 75 125 In other words, if the question whether the Presi- dents veto should stand had been submitted to the representatives of those States only which adhered to the Union, Mr. Cleveland would have been over- ruled, more than three to one, and a bill would have become a law which, in the opinion of such a Union soldier as General Chamberlain, offers an incentive to fraudulent claims, which degrade the deserving, and to too ready a resort to a plea of dependency, demor- alizing to manliness. That there were cast on the right side twenty-four more votes than were necessary to sustain the veto was due to the fact that the States which sought to secede frosri the Union joined in de- ciding the issue. The only cry they [the great body of veterans] have now, said the western Mas- sachusetts soldier from whose letter to the President we have quoted, is that you will spare them the honor of having served their country because they loved her, and not as mere bounty and pension seek- ers. That honor has been spared the Northern soldiers, but only through the help of Southern rep- resentatives, many of whom fought against them a quarter of a century ago. In a broad and elevated view it may well be doubted whether history has ever recorded a sweeter triumph for the victors in a righteous cause than men like Gen- eral Cox and General Chamberlain have thus lived to witness. They fought to keep the South in the Union, and they have survived to see the honor of the North- ern soldier preserved from the taint which dema- gogues and claim-agents would have cast upon it through the votes of the Southern men in Congress. Looking back over the history of the nation, we can now see that the civil war was inescapable. The view of the Constitution in which the South had been edu- cated rendered an attempt at secession inevitable, and as Webster said in his famous 7th of, March speech, peaceable secession is an utter impossibility. Or, as Lincoln put it in his second inaugural: Both par- ties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. That the time would come when the South would rejoice that the war ended as it did, and when the North would find itself indebted to the South for efficient help in secur- ing the good government of the reunited nation, was also inevitable; but it might well have been expected that it would not come till after the generation which fought the war had passed from the stage. Less than a quarter of a century, however, has sufficed. The New South frankly confesses its satisfaction with the issue of the struggle for secession; the New North has now been brought to realize its indebtedness to the South for indispensable help in maintaining good government. Such champions of the Union cause twenty-five years ago as General Bragg of Wisconsin, Colonel Morrison of Illinois, General Warner of Ohio, and Mr. Curtin, the War Governor of Pennsylvania, spoke in de- fense of the Presidents veto during the debate in the House, and at its conclusion the veto was sustained, in part through the votes given by men like them from the North, but chiefly through the votes of men who came from the States which once sought to disrupt the Union. Fair-minded Northern men thus see that they owe to the South this arrest of the pension craze and of the alarming drift toward paternalism which the Pauper Pension Bill typified. The confession of this indebtedness is the epitaph upon the grave of section- alism in American politics. The Problem of Government by Guilds. AN Open Letter, on another page, grapples with the problem of municipal reform in a courageous fash- son. It is not to be wondered at that thoughtful men, confronting the extravagances and abuses that seem to have intrenched themselves in most of our city governments, and observing that the dispersion of one swarm of the vermin that infest our city-halls and court-houses only makes room for another and hun- grier swarm, should be reaching out after some radical reforms in the methods of government. They are not at all mistaken in supposing that the case is becom- ing critical; they are justified in bestowing upon it patient and anxious thought. The typical citizen is too much inclined to exult over the material gains of a triumphant democracy, and to ignore the chronic villainy of his city government. It is a little curious that this New York merchant, pondering the question of municipal government, should have hit upon the same device as that which the great German philosopher, Hermann Lotze, has been proposing. Lotze deplores the haste and passion with which the antiquated forms of companies, guilds, and corporations were swept away in the rush of the revolutionary movements that ushered in the modern era, god declares that they ought to have been transformed, not abolished. The most es- sential fault of modern society is, he declares, its low estimation of the corporate element. Of course, he argues, we do not want to go back to corporations for the subsistence of which we can find no even plausi- ble reason, in order to accumulate privileges for which there is still less any conceivable rightful claim; but on the one hand, a living bond between those who are really connected would maintain the discipline which we so greatly need, but which yet we cannot enforce by means of general laws; on the other hand, such combinations, representing partly the most important callings (agriculture, manufactures, commerce, art, and science), partly the special local interests of different districts, would form the true unities, the representa- tives of which, by equilibration of the interests of each, would cover the wants of the whole. Can it be true that the medi~val communities held, in these ancient craft-guilds and fraternities, a form of social organization which it was unwise to destroy, and to which we would do well to return? Wise or unwise, 156 TOPICS OF THE TIME. their destruction was inevitable. Not merely for the economical reason that they obstructed the free move- ment of labor from one occupation to another, but still more for the political reason that they furnished no soil in which the sentiment of nationality could take root, they must have been abolished. The notion of a citizen of the State, of which Lotze speaks rather slightingly, but which is the one great conception of modern times, needed to be planted and nurtured in the minds of men. When the member of the guild found himself the citizen of the State, his horizon was widened, and his thoughts were enlarged. There was reason then, underneath the rashness and passion which Lotze deplores, and by which the guilds were destroyed. Reason there almost always is, even in the blind fury of the populace. Wickliffe denounced the guilds, and Bacon stigmatized them as fraternities of evil. It was the Zeit Geist who said that they must go, and they went. But it is not at all certain that they may not return. Many customs, fashions, social forms have been pushed aside by one age and taken up by another. The organization of government by guilds was ob- structive to liberty five hundred years ago, but it might be conservative of liberty to-day. At any rate the prop- osition is worth considering. Two of the reasons urged by our correspondent for this reform seem to be cogent. That it would break the connection between municipal government and na- tional politics, and that it would give all classes of the people a voice in the municipal government, seems probable. Both these results are greatly to be desired. The root of most of the evils of city government is in partisan politics and in the mischiefs which either accompany or flow therefrom. it is doubtful whether city politics will ever be permanently divorced from na- tional politics unless some such radical reorganization as is here suggested can be effected; and it is pretty certain that until municipal government can be sepa- rated from national politics, the vilest elements of our cities will generally bear rule. Doubtless under the plan proposed, the machine politicians would make strenuous attempts to capture the several guilds; nev- ertheless the desire of each guild to be represented by its ablest men, and to secure by this means the pro- tection of its own interests, would greatly interfere with the schemes of the office-seekers. The other result promised the fair representation of every class of citizens in the city government is equally desirable, and under such a plan it would prob- ably be secured. The enormous preponderance of some classes in our municipal councils is now notorious; and there are large classes, and these the most intelligent and capable of government, that are now rarely rep- resented in these councils. Any scheme which would bring them into an active participation in the manage- ment of municipal affairs deserves to be patiently studied. It is almost certain that a city council, chosen ac- cording to this plan, would be incomparably superior, intellectually and morally, to those which are usually found in our council chambers. Several practical difficulties suggest themselves. The classification of the voters might not be easily accom- plished. In the smaller cities, especially, it would not be possible to give to each separate trade its repre- sentatives, for the number of trades and professions is great, and the number of those practicing some of these trades and professions is small. It would be necessary, therefore, to combine those of several differ- ent, though related, vocations into one guild as, for example, the metal-workers might include blacksmiths, tiasmiths, boiler-makers, etc. and the guild of in- struction the clergy, the teachers, the authors, etc. The arrangement of these classes would be attended with some difficulty; nevertheless, the problem is not hopeless. The serious question is whether the representatives of these guilds would act unitedly for the public wel- fare, or whether their devotion to the interests of their several classes would not lead them to sacrifice the in- terests of society. Would the feeling that Lotze curi- ously deprecates, the sentiment of loyalty to the state or the municipality, be strong enough to hold in check the class feeling to which the system makes direct ap- peal? Could these representatives of guilds and classes agree together to promote the general good of the com- munity? The danger would he that those who now give up to party what was meant for mankind would then make the same debasing surrender to the interests of their guild. The misery of that state into which we are now fallen results from the fact that public spirit is overborne by private greed and party passion; would not the same causes continue to operate under every possible form of political organization? In a government by guilds the obvious method by which these evil tendencies could find expression would be the device that is known among the politicians as log- rolling. There might be combinations among guilds, by which some would help others and receive help in return, at the expense of the rest. It is scarcely nec- essary to say that this kind of abuse is prevalent un- der existing conditions. Everybody knows the way in which appropriations for internal improvements are secured in Congress and the way in which the tariff is adjusted. Something of the same nature often oc- curs in municipal governments. There is log-rolling in the interest of wards, as well as of States and sections. The only question is whether this organization of gov- ernment by guilds would not foster these corrupt and selfish methods. Obviously, the guilds whose num- bers would be largest and whose interests are most closely related the various guilds of wage-laborers might, by combination, control the government. It is possible that they could do as much now, if they knew their power, and there are signs of such an issue; but the adoption of the scheme which we are considering would offer new facilities for an enterprise of this na- ture. Under any form of political organization selfish men will behave selfishly; but there are some political meth- ods that offer larger opportunity and more encourage- ment than others for the exercise of the virtues of public apirit and patriotism; and the question to be determined is whether the organization by guilds would have this effect. Some of the more obvious objections have been suggested above, rather for the sake of elicit- ing discussion than with the design of pronouncing against the measure. In fact, the discussion of any branch of this subject cannot fail to do good, as it will call attention to the crying evils that exist. But there is a more immediate and practical reform now in sight, which we shall discuss in a future number. OPEN LETTERS. Food. FEW of those who toil for moderate returns will take exception to Mr. Edward Atkinsons conclusion, that half the cost of living is the price of materials for food; their grocers and butchers have long since convinced them of that. But the reader who prides himself upon somethoes heing thoughtful must be able to recall certain discouraging moments in his early housekeep. ing days, when ignorance of the laws of nutrition and the economy of foods had led him into extravagance and waste; perhaps he is quite aware that ignorance and extravagance and waste followed his purchases home to his kitchen and his table, and there became not only a drain upon his modest purse but a sapper of his health and vitality. Very probably, too, he in time ceased to grow thoughtful over the subject, and continued to walk the path his ignorance trod out. There seemed no other path. Now make our supposed buyer not a reader, and not thoughtful, and only a common laborer, his purse not merely modest, but well nigh empty, and you have come face to face with the portentous problem of the hour. Some one has, in effect, said that certain forms of religions doctrine bore thorns and hitter fruit, and not rose leaves and sweetness, for the simple reason that their founders digestive organs were impaired. We 57 may neither agree nor disagree with this, but if we were to become prophetic, and were to call it a truth of coming generations, that our civilization came to its downfall through the neglect of its wise men to teach its poor how to live, we would not be treading entirely upon air. For what can we expect in the fu- ture from the sons and daughters of men and women who starve while we in ignorance lay waste the fruits of the earth? We are glad to know of the site of ancient Troy and the presence of sodium in the stars, hut to make plenty where want now cries for bread, to teach the poor to live well on the half of what they now starve upon, to shame anarchy with universal sweet bread and strength-giving foods,we might with advantage barter many of our boasted wonders for this. No one has gone so far upon this road as Professor Atwater, of the Wesleyan University, Middletown, whose series on The Chemistry of Foods and Nutri- tionis begun in this number. He has studied food and nutrition as no other student in this country has studied it. He has had one of the rewards of patient endeavor, inasmuch as his success is beyond all ques- tion. What he has found no one can afford to ignore. His discoveries are like the discovery of a new food- producing earth, since he can teach us to double the value of this. OPEN LETTERS. City Government by Guilds. WHAT is the cause of the failure of municipal government in our larger cities? It is useless to disguise the fact that it has failed. In most of the cities government is becoming corrupt, inefficient, hurden- some to an intolerable degree. It cannot be that the majority of the people wish to have it so. Doubtless the root of the evil is the indifference and neglect of the honest citizens; yet the question arises whether the present forms of municipal organization do not discour- age and prevent the active participation of the best citi- zens, and whether other methods might not secure this desirable result. Our present methods of nonsination for office were devised when we were a rural people, and they still an- swer very well for that portion of our population. But we are rapidly changing the character of our social life, and concentrating our population in commercial and industrial centers; and these social changes make a change in our political methods indispensable. If the political unit of a democratic government must always be ~ geographical one, and if we must always vote by wards or districts for municipal officers, then the voters are almost certain to range themselves ac- cording to party lines, and national politics will cons- plicate and disturb municipal elections. Is there not a better way? XVould it not be possible to group the people of New York by occupations, and allow them then, by guilds, to elect their representa- tives to the city council? Some of our citizens have now their trades-unions. Might not the whole city be organ- ized into trades-unions, to each of which representation VOL. XXXIV. 23. in the city government should be allowed in proportion to its membership? The census enumerates the males of lawful age according to their vocation. These might be grouped into one hundred guilds, more or less, and each allowed one or two or three representatives in a city council, which council should elect a mayor with full power to appoint and remove heads of departments. This coun- cil should also make appropriations and frame city ordinances. There should be a guild hall, where all elections should he held. Each guild should have al- lotted to it one or two days in the year for its meetings and one day for its election. If the membership were so large as to cause delay at a single ballot-box, the list of members might be divided alphabetically, A to G; H to N, etc., and thus several ballot-boxes might be brought into use. The records of each guild could be kept at the guild hall. Each guild should control its own membership and canvass its own elec- tions. It seems to me that such a method of electing a city government would shut out partisanship, and give to the very lowest classes an opportunity not now en- joyed to exercise their right of suffrage intelligently. Can we expect a man who cannot read to judge wisely of the qualifications of the candidates nominated for the office of mayor? He does know his fellows, and of his companions he can select the best. Have we not expected too much of our humble voters? Could not a man see one step ahead of him who could not see from the bottom to the top of the political ladder? This method of voting would emancipate the lower classes from the domination of professional politici~tns.

John D. Cutter Cutter, John D. City Government by Guilds Open Letters 157

OPEN LETTERS. Food. FEW of those who toil for moderate returns will take exception to Mr. Edward Atkinsons conclusion, that half the cost of living is the price of materials for food; their grocers and butchers have long since convinced them of that. But the reader who prides himself upon somethoes heing thoughtful must be able to recall certain discouraging moments in his early housekeep. ing days, when ignorance of the laws of nutrition and the economy of foods had led him into extravagance and waste; perhaps he is quite aware that ignorance and extravagance and waste followed his purchases home to his kitchen and his table, and there became not only a drain upon his modest purse but a sapper of his health and vitality. Very probably, too, he in time ceased to grow thoughtful over the subject, and continued to walk the path his ignorance trod out. There seemed no other path. Now make our supposed buyer not a reader, and not thoughtful, and only a common laborer, his purse not merely modest, but well nigh empty, and you have come face to face with the portentous problem of the hour. Some one has, in effect, said that certain forms of religions doctrine bore thorns and hitter fruit, and not rose leaves and sweetness, for the simple reason that their founders digestive organs were impaired. We 57 may neither agree nor disagree with this, but if we were to become prophetic, and were to call it a truth of coming generations, that our civilization came to its downfall through the neglect of its wise men to teach its poor how to live, we would not be treading entirely upon air. For what can we expect in the fu- ture from the sons and daughters of men and women who starve while we in ignorance lay waste the fruits of the earth? We are glad to know of the site of ancient Troy and the presence of sodium in the stars, hut to make plenty where want now cries for bread, to teach the poor to live well on the half of what they now starve upon, to shame anarchy with universal sweet bread and strength-giving foods,we might with advantage barter many of our boasted wonders for this. No one has gone so far upon this road as Professor Atwater, of the Wesleyan University, Middletown, whose series on The Chemistry of Foods and Nutri- tionis begun in this number. He has studied food and nutrition as no other student in this country has studied it. He has had one of the rewards of patient endeavor, inasmuch as his success is beyond all ques- tion. What he has found no one can afford to ignore. His discoveries are like the discovery of a new food- producing earth, since he can teach us to double the value of this. OPEN LETTERS. City Government by Guilds. WHAT is the cause of the failure of municipal government in our larger cities? It is useless to disguise the fact that it has failed. In most of the cities government is becoming corrupt, inefficient, hurden- some to an intolerable degree. It cannot be that the majority of the people wish to have it so. Doubtless the root of the evil is the indifference and neglect of the honest citizens; yet the question arises whether the present forms of municipal organization do not discour- age and prevent the active participation of the best citi- zens, and whether other methods might not secure this desirable result. Our present methods of nonsination for office were devised when we were a rural people, and they still an- swer very well for that portion of our population. But we are rapidly changing the character of our social life, and concentrating our population in commercial and industrial centers; and these social changes make a change in our political methods indispensable. If the political unit of a democratic government must always be ~ geographical one, and if we must always vote by wards or districts for municipal officers, then the voters are almost certain to range themselves ac- cording to party lines, and national politics will cons- plicate and disturb municipal elections. Is there not a better way? XVould it not be possible to group the people of New York by occupations, and allow them then, by guilds, to elect their representa- tives to the city council? Some of our citizens have now their trades-unions. Might not the whole city be organ- ized into trades-unions, to each of which representation VOL. XXXIV. 23. in the city government should be allowed in proportion to its membership? The census enumerates the males of lawful age according to their vocation. These might be grouped into one hundred guilds, more or less, and each allowed one or two or three representatives in a city council, which council should elect a mayor with full power to appoint and remove heads of departments. This coun- cil should also make appropriations and frame city ordinances. There should be a guild hall, where all elections should he held. Each guild should have al- lotted to it one or two days in the year for its meetings and one day for its election. If the membership were so large as to cause delay at a single ballot-box, the list of members might be divided alphabetically, A to G; H to N, etc., and thus several ballot-boxes might be brought into use. The records of each guild could be kept at the guild hall. Each guild should control its own membership and canvass its own elec- tions. It seems to me that such a method of electing a city government would shut out partisanship, and give to the very lowest classes an opportunity not now en- joyed to exercise their right of suffrage intelligently. Can we expect a man who cannot read to judge wisely of the qualifications of the candidates nominated for the office of mayor? He does know his fellows, and of his companions he can select the best. Have we not expected too much of our humble voters? Could not a man see one step ahead of him who could not see from the bottom to the top of the political ladder? This method of voting would emancipate the lower classes from the domination of professional politici~tns.

Food Topics of the Time 157-158

OPEN LETTERS. Food. FEW of those who toil for moderate returns will take exception to Mr. Edward Atkinsons conclusion, that half the cost of living is the price of materials for food; their grocers and butchers have long since convinced them of that. But the reader who prides himself upon somethoes heing thoughtful must be able to recall certain discouraging moments in his early housekeep. ing days, when ignorance of the laws of nutrition and the economy of foods had led him into extravagance and waste; perhaps he is quite aware that ignorance and extravagance and waste followed his purchases home to his kitchen and his table, and there became not only a drain upon his modest purse but a sapper of his health and vitality. Very probably, too, he in time ceased to grow thoughtful over the subject, and continued to walk the path his ignorance trod out. There seemed no other path. Now make our supposed buyer not a reader, and not thoughtful, and only a common laborer, his purse not merely modest, but well nigh empty, and you have come face to face with the portentous problem of the hour. Some one has, in effect, said that certain forms of religions doctrine bore thorns and hitter fruit, and not rose leaves and sweetness, for the simple reason that their founders digestive organs were impaired. We 57 may neither agree nor disagree with this, but if we were to become prophetic, and were to call it a truth of coming generations, that our civilization came to its downfall through the neglect of its wise men to teach its poor how to live, we would not be treading entirely upon air. For what can we expect in the fu- ture from the sons and daughters of men and women who starve while we in ignorance lay waste the fruits of the earth? We are glad to know of the site of ancient Troy and the presence of sodium in the stars, hut to make plenty where want now cries for bread, to teach the poor to live well on the half of what they now starve upon, to shame anarchy with universal sweet bread and strength-giving foods,we might with advantage barter many of our boasted wonders for this. No one has gone so far upon this road as Professor Atwater, of the Wesleyan University, Middletown, whose series on The Chemistry of Foods and Nutri- tionis begun in this number. He has studied food and nutrition as no other student in this country has studied it. He has had one of the rewards of patient endeavor, inasmuch as his success is beyond all ques- tion. What he has found no one can afford to ignore. His discoveries are like the discovery of a new food- producing earth, since he can teach us to double the value of this. OPEN LETTERS. City Government by Guilds. WHAT is the cause of the failure of municipal government in our larger cities? It is useless to disguise the fact that it has failed. In most of the cities government is becoming corrupt, inefficient, hurden- some to an intolerable degree. It cannot be that the majority of the people wish to have it so. Doubtless the root of the evil is the indifference and neglect of the honest citizens; yet the question arises whether the present forms of municipal organization do not discour- age and prevent the active participation of the best citi- zens, and whether other methods might not secure this desirable result. Our present methods of nonsination for office were devised when we were a rural people, and they still an- swer very well for that portion of our population. But we are rapidly changing the character of our social life, and concentrating our population in commercial and industrial centers; and these social changes make a change in our political methods indispensable. If the political unit of a democratic government must always be ~ geographical one, and if we must always vote by wards or districts for municipal officers, then the voters are almost certain to range themselves ac- cording to party lines, and national politics will cons- plicate and disturb municipal elections. Is there not a better way? XVould it not be possible to group the people of New York by occupations, and allow them then, by guilds, to elect their representa- tives to the city council? Some of our citizens have now their trades-unions. Might not the whole city be organ- ized into trades-unions, to each of which representation VOL. XXXIV. 23. in the city government should be allowed in proportion to its membership? The census enumerates the males of lawful age according to their vocation. These might be grouped into one hundred guilds, more or less, and each allowed one or two or three representatives in a city council, which council should elect a mayor with full power to appoint and remove heads of departments. This coun- cil should also make appropriations and frame city ordinances. There should be a guild hall, where all elections should he held. Each guild should have al- lotted to it one or two days in the year for its meetings and one day for its election. If the membership were so large as to cause delay at a single ballot-box, the list of members might be divided alphabetically, A to G; H to N, etc., and thus several ballot-boxes might be brought into use. The records of each guild could be kept at the guild hall. Each guild should control its own membership and canvass its own elec- tions. It seems to me that such a method of electing a city government would shut out partisanship, and give to the very lowest classes an opportunity not now en- joyed to exercise their right of suffrage intelligently. Can we expect a man who cannot read to judge wisely of the qualifications of the candidates nominated for the office of mayor? He does know his fellows, and of his companions he can select the best. Have we not expected too much of our humble voters? Could not a man see one step ahead of him who could not see from the bottom to the top of the political ladder? This method of voting would emancipate the lower classes from the domination of professional politici~tns. OPEN LETTERS. The longshoremen would no longer be mere retainers of some shyster lawyer or rum-seller, but would have the privilege and the duty of selecting one or more of their own class to represent their craft and its inter- ests. The entire guild would watch the off cial course and conduct of its representatives and hold them to account. But what, in the meantime, has become of their quondam leader, the lawyer? He has retired to his own guild and dropped to the bottom, helpless and harmless. The rum-seller, too, in his own guild would have a voice in the selection of one of its members to represent its interests; but never more could that fra- ternity alone have the whole city council under its control. A mans associates, whether he is professional man, merchant, or artisan, are more likely to know what his qualifications are than are his neighbors, residing in the same ward. The voter in the city knows very few of his neighbors. Geographical divisions are, there- fore, purely artificial; it would be hetter to sweep them asvay, and substitute for them the existing lines of so- cial organization. In a word, let us take men as we find them, already harnessed in business or occupa- tion, and require them thus grouped to perform their political duties, instead of calling on them once a year on election day to break ranks, scatter, and vote as a mob. John D. Cut/er. NEW YORE, Feb. 5th, 1887. Toynbee Hall, London. AN INTEREsTINO SOCIAL EXPERIMENT. ONE of the most interesting features of London of to-day is the work of the West End among the poor of the East End, and chiefly in this the Uni- versity settlement housed at Toynbee Hall, Commer- cial Road, Whitechapel, next to that center of work- ing religion, St. Judes Church. The Rev. Samuel A. Barnett, rector of St. Judes, whose name is known to all students of charity organization, is also senior warden of Toynbee Hall, and his assistant, the Rev. T. C. Gardiner, is sub-warden. With them are fifteen or twenty men, most of them graduates of Oxford or Cambridge, some of them busy in the city, others men of leisure and wealth, all of them ghing more or less of their time to the work of making the lives of the East End poor more wholesome and beautiful than they could be without such help. The hall is named after Arnold Toynbee, one of the scholars of Balliol College, Oxford, who had inter- ested himself deeply in social questions, and tllrough whose efforts in great part the Cobperative Congress was invited to Oxford in iSSi. He was a reader in l)olitical economy in his college and its bursar or business man, so that he had both a theoretical and practical knowledge of economics, and his interest in the subject was therefore two-sided. When Henry Georges lectures attracted so much attention in Eng- land, Toynbee thought that some features or results of them should be counteracted, and he therefore ar- ranged to give two lectures at St. Andrews 1-Jail, London, in which he discussed the betterment of the condition of the working classes from his point of view. The audience, I was told, was a curiously mixed one, containing a good many from the social stratum to which Toynbee belonged, as well as the workiogmen hearers whom he particularly invited; and among the latter there was a decided undercurrent of criticism and not a little interpellation of the speaker. In the course of the lectures he had confessed that his own class was largely responsible for the discontent among the working classes, and he said frankly that the evil would not come to an end until we were will- ing to live for and if necessary to die for you. He was frail; the lectures had excited him greatly; and at the close of the last he fell back in his chair fainting. lie was taken to the house of friends in the country, and there died. His sudden end threw a halo of pathos upon his lectures and his work, and when the University men decided to start this colony in London the buildings became a memorial to him. His family is well known in London for its devotion to philan- thropic work, and several of his brothers and sisters are still active in the work to which lie gave his life. Toynbee Ilall had its actual origin in Oxford. In the spring of 1884, a few months after Toynbees death, Mr. Barnett read a paper at a small meeting in St. Johns College, in which he shadowed forth his idea of what a colony of University men might do for industrial centers such as East London. The paper, though read to a small knot of men, was published and soon won its way, and a small group of University men made an experiment in associated life at a disused publichouse, under Mr. Barnetts guidance and help, when the suc- cess of the experiment justified a permanent home. The fi-iends of Arnold Toynbee, who had been anxious to erect some memorial of his work and enthusiastic self-devotion, provided most of tlac funds for a lecture- hall, and the cost of the rest of tlae buildings was defrayed by a company formed for this purpose, which raised about ~IO,OOO on the security of the freehold land, bearing interest at 412 per cent. Toynbee Hall, while a memorial to Arnold Toynbee, is also a monument to Samuel A. l3arnett, whose ideas it emhodies. One enters from the Commercial Road through the ordinary English gateway into a sort of quadrangle, on one side of which is the residence part of Toynbee Hall, and on the otlaer a lecture-laalI wlaich is filled nearly every evening for some purpose or other with East End people. Tlais latter building is also used as a general headquarters for organized charity in the district, including, for instance, the office of the Beaumont Trust, from whicla tlac Peoples I~alace, prophesied in Kingsleys Alton Locke, and made almost real in Walter Besants All Sorts and Con- ditions of Men, is now rising into solid fact. The East London Antiquarian Society, the Adam Siaiith Club, the Toynbee Natural History Society, the Edu- cation Reform Le~ague, the Pupil Teachers Debating Society, the Toynbee Shakespeare Club, the Students Union, and still other OrgatuzatiOlas, hold their meet- ings in Toynbee Hall or in St. Judes school next door. The hall is as beautiful a club-house as one would wish at the West End itself, and certainly no more charming host could be found through Belgravia and May- fair than the junior warden. Each man has his room or suite of roonas, as he would have at college, and the charming drawing-room, with comfortable and cozy furniture aiad beautiful adornments, forms a general gathering-place for the club-men and their guests. We had afternoon tea there, in strange contrast with the surroundings of poverty and squalor in the i 58

R. R. Bowker Bowker, R. R. Toynbee Hall, London Open Letters 158-159

OPEN LETTERS. The longshoremen would no longer be mere retainers of some shyster lawyer or rum-seller, but would have the privilege and the duty of selecting one or more of their own class to represent their craft and its inter- ests. The entire guild would watch the off cial course and conduct of its representatives and hold them to account. But what, in the meantime, has become of their quondam leader, the lawyer? He has retired to his own guild and dropped to the bottom, helpless and harmless. The rum-seller, too, in his own guild would have a voice in the selection of one of its members to represent its interests; but never more could that fra- ternity alone have the whole city council under its control. A mans associates, whether he is professional man, merchant, or artisan, are more likely to know what his qualifications are than are his neighbors, residing in the same ward. The voter in the city knows very few of his neighbors. Geographical divisions are, there- fore, purely artificial; it would be hetter to sweep them asvay, and substitute for them the existing lines of so- cial organization. In a word, let us take men as we find them, already harnessed in business or occupa- tion, and require them thus grouped to perform their political duties, instead of calling on them once a year on election day to break ranks, scatter, and vote as a mob. John D. Cut/er. NEW YORE, Feb. 5th, 1887. Toynbee Hall, London. AN INTEREsTINO SOCIAL EXPERIMENT. ONE of the most interesting features of London of to-day is the work of the West End among the poor of the East End, and chiefly in this the Uni- versity settlement housed at Toynbee Hall, Commer- cial Road, Whitechapel, next to that center of work- ing religion, St. Judes Church. The Rev. Samuel A. Barnett, rector of St. Judes, whose name is known to all students of charity organization, is also senior warden of Toynbee Hall, and his assistant, the Rev. T. C. Gardiner, is sub-warden. With them are fifteen or twenty men, most of them graduates of Oxford or Cambridge, some of them busy in the city, others men of leisure and wealth, all of them ghing more or less of their time to the work of making the lives of the East End poor more wholesome and beautiful than they could be without such help. The hall is named after Arnold Toynbee, one of the scholars of Balliol College, Oxford, who had inter- ested himself deeply in social questions, and tllrough whose efforts in great part the Cobperative Congress was invited to Oxford in iSSi. He was a reader in l)olitical economy in his college and its bursar or business man, so that he had both a theoretical and practical knowledge of economics, and his interest in the subject was therefore two-sided. When Henry Georges lectures attracted so much attention in Eng- land, Toynbee thought that some features or results of them should be counteracted, and he therefore ar- ranged to give two lectures at St. Andrews 1-Jail, London, in which he discussed the betterment of the condition of the working classes from his point of view. The audience, I was told, was a curiously mixed one, containing a good many from the social stratum to which Toynbee belonged, as well as the workiogmen hearers whom he particularly invited; and among the latter there was a decided undercurrent of criticism and not a little interpellation of the speaker. In the course of the lectures he had confessed that his own class was largely responsible for the discontent among the working classes, and he said frankly that the evil would not come to an end until we were will- ing to live for and if necessary to die for you. He was frail; the lectures had excited him greatly; and at the close of the last he fell back in his chair fainting. lie was taken to the house of friends in the country, and there died. His sudden end threw a halo of pathos upon his lectures and his work, and when the University men decided to start this colony in London the buildings became a memorial to him. His family is well known in London for its devotion to philan- thropic work, and several of his brothers and sisters are still active in the work to which lie gave his life. Toynbee Ilall had its actual origin in Oxford. In the spring of 1884, a few months after Toynbees death, Mr. Barnett read a paper at a small meeting in St. Johns College, in which he shadowed forth his idea of what a colony of University men might do for industrial centers such as East London. The paper, though read to a small knot of men, was published and soon won its way, and a small group of University men made an experiment in associated life at a disused publichouse, under Mr. Barnetts guidance and help, when the suc- cess of the experiment justified a permanent home. The fi-iends of Arnold Toynbee, who had been anxious to erect some memorial of his work and enthusiastic self-devotion, provided most of tlac funds for a lecture- hall, and the cost of the rest of tlae buildings was defrayed by a company formed for this purpose, which raised about ~IO,OOO on the security of the freehold land, bearing interest at 412 per cent. Toynbee Hall, while a memorial to Arnold Toynbee, is also a monument to Samuel A. l3arnett, whose ideas it emhodies. One enters from the Commercial Road through the ordinary English gateway into a sort of quadrangle, on one side of which is the residence part of Toynbee Hall, and on the otlaer a lecture-laalI wlaich is filled nearly every evening for some purpose or other with East End people. Tlais latter building is also used as a general headquarters for organized charity in the district, including, for instance, the office of the Beaumont Trust, from whicla tlac Peoples I~alace, prophesied in Kingsleys Alton Locke, and made almost real in Walter Besants All Sorts and Con- ditions of Men, is now rising into solid fact. The East London Antiquarian Society, the Adam Siaiith Club, the Toynbee Natural History Society, the Edu- cation Reform Le~ague, the Pupil Teachers Debating Society, the Toynbee Shakespeare Club, the Students Union, and still other OrgatuzatiOlas, hold their meet- ings in Toynbee Hall or in St. Judes school next door. The hall is as beautiful a club-house as one would wish at the West End itself, and certainly no more charming host could be found through Belgravia and May- fair than the junior warden. Each man has his room or suite of roonas, as he would have at college, and the charming drawing-room, with comfortable and cozy furniture aiad beautiful adornments, forms a general gathering-place for the club-men and their guests. We had afternoon tea there, in strange contrast with the surroundings of poverty and squalor in the i 58 OPEN LETTERS. streets about, and here Mr. Gardiner told us some- thing of the practical work of the colony and its diffi- culties. Four evenings of the week are devoted, in the lecture- room opposite, to courses of lectures respectively on history, physiology, astronomy, and English Liter- ature, the fee being one shilling for each complete course. Another evening there is a concert, and always on Saturday evening a popular lecture. The sixth evening of the week is given to a social reception in the drawing-room of the club-house, where the men of Toynbee Hall are assisted by friends from the West End in receiving and entertaining the poor people of the neighborhood. The difficulties of mingling classes are, after all, much the same in England as at home. There is a good deal of human nature everywhere. 1 asked Mr. Gardiner what kind of people proved the best entertainers. He replied that those who were l)opular at the West End were popular at the East, and there was, indeed, great difficulty in getting the right sort of people, because they were so much in de- mand in their own class of society. Some practiced entertainers, as they call them, could interest easily eight or ten of the poorer people, whereas others could take care of only one or two. The chief difficulty to overcome was the narrow sphere in which the poorer Iseople did their thinking and their talking, and the whole purpose of these receptions, and of much of the other work, was to broaden the mental horizon of these people, and give them more and pleasanter things to think and talk about outside of the narrow circle of their tenement-house or neighborhood gossip. These men were hoping to accomplish much through the na- tional teachers, young men and women selected from the ranks of trades-people and the like, without muck culture themselves, but who could be made the means of spreading the wider life among their pupils when they came to teach. To this end they organized reading-parties, as was the fashion at the universities, for those who showed special interest in the weekly lectures, and one or two of their hest outdoor men were charged with forming cricket and tennis clubs and other outdoor circles, to broaden the life of their Jrot~nJs in those directions. The classes and reading-parties are organized into groups, each under the management of an Honorary (unpaid) Secretary. One group comprises one class study ing the Old Testament, another studying moral philosophy, a course of Sunday afternoon lectures on the Ethics of the Ancient and Modern World, three classes in Victorian literature (one entirely of women), one in English history, two in political economy. A second group includes reading-parties on Mazzini, Ruskin, and literature, to each of which admission is by election, and classes in French, German, and Latin. Another group covers the physical sciences and in- cludes an ambulance class. A fourth comprises sing- ing-classes, instruction and entertainment for deaf and dumb, drawing-classes, elementary evening classes for boys, lantern illustrations in geography for boys, musical drill for boys, and several classes in short- hand. A fifib provides instruction and practice in carpentering, in wood-carving and in modeling, both for hoys and men. The work of Toynhee Hall is in the right direction, and, moreover, it is justified not only by its results hut hy the enjoyment which men have in the doing of it. I could not give up this East End work, said one of them to me; I could not live my life in content away from the people I have learned to know and love here. Notes. .R. R. I3owker. LiNCOLN AND EMERSON. BEFORE our editorial in the April CENTURy on Lin- coln and Lowell was published, Mr. Lowell had added another to his sayings concerning the martyr President, iii his speech at Chicago on the evening of Washingtons Birthday, in which he referred to Lin- coln as, on the whole, the most remarkable statesman of all times. In this connection it should be noted that while Ens- erson did not write in verse of Lincoln, yet in prose he divides with Lowell the honor of early appreciation and fortunate characterization. in Miscellanies will be found an essay cotitled Anserican Civilizatioii, which, according to a note by Mr. Cabot, is part of a lecture delivered at Washington, January 31st, 1862, it is said, in the presence of President Lincoln and sonse of his Cabinet, some months before the issuing of the ~mancipation Proclamation. Mr. Lincoln may have been present, but his secretaries have no mensorandum showing the fact, and the Washington papers of the next day throxv no liglst on tlse subject: in fact, Mr. Enserson s son now believes that Lincoln was probably not present. The lecturer praised the angelic virtue of the Ad- ministration, but urged emancipation; and at the close ofthis essay, as printed, is a supplement comosending the Presideist for Isis proposal to Congress that the Govern- meist shall cobperate ~vitls any State tlsat shall enact a gradual abolishment of slavery. Next comes his ad- dress on the Emancipation Proclamation, in wlsiels the President is greatly praised for his moderation, fairness of mind, reticence, and firmness. All tlsese, Emerson says, have bespoken suds favor to the act, that, great as the popularity of the President Isas beeis, we are begin- msimsg to tlsink that we have underestimated the capacity and virtue wlsich tlse Divine Providence has made an instrument of lsenefit so vast, lie has been permitted to do more for A isserica than aisy other Anierican man, etc. After this, us the saisse volume, conses Emerson brief but memorable essay on the death of Limscoln, in wlsiels Ise says: lie is the true history of tlse Anserm- can people in his time. Step by step he walked hsefore tlsens; slow witls tlseir slowness, quickeniisg lsis march by tlseirs, the true represeistative of this continent; ais entirely public man; father of his country, the pulse of twenty millions throbbing in his Iseart, the thiouglst of their minds articulated Isy Isis tongue. Again, in tlse essay on Eloquence ( Essays and Social Aims), Enserson Israises the Gettysburg speech, and in the essay on Greatness in the same volume lse gives Lincoln as an example of tlse great style of hero wlso draws equally all classes : His Isoart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong. SINCE the publication of the reference to the death of Black Hawk given iii the Life of Lincoln, in the December CENTURY, the autlsors have learned that Black Hawk was not buried on the bamsk of the Mis- sissippi, as certain authorities Isave stated, but on the Des Moines river, and without unusual hoisors. 59

Black Hawk Open Letters 159

OPEN LETTERS. streets about, and here Mr. Gardiner told us some- thing of the practical work of the colony and its diffi- culties. Four evenings of the week are devoted, in the lecture- room opposite, to courses of lectures respectively on history, physiology, astronomy, and English Liter- ature, the fee being one shilling for each complete course. Another evening there is a concert, and always on Saturday evening a popular lecture. The sixth evening of the week is given to a social reception in the drawing-room of the club-house, where the men of Toynbee Hall are assisted by friends from the West End in receiving and entertaining the poor people of the neighborhood. The difficulties of mingling classes are, after all, much the same in England as at home. There is a good deal of human nature everywhere. 1 asked Mr. Gardiner what kind of people proved the best entertainers. He replied that those who were l)opular at the West End were popular at the East, and there was, indeed, great difficulty in getting the right sort of people, because they were so much in de- mand in their own class of society. Some practiced entertainers, as they call them, could interest easily eight or ten of the poorer people, whereas others could take care of only one or two. The chief difficulty to overcome was the narrow sphere in which the poorer Iseople did their thinking and their talking, and the whole purpose of these receptions, and of much of the other work, was to broaden the mental horizon of these people, and give them more and pleasanter things to think and talk about outside of the narrow circle of their tenement-house or neighborhood gossip. These men were hoping to accomplish much through the na- tional teachers, young men and women selected from the ranks of trades-people and the like, without muck culture themselves, but who could be made the means of spreading the wider life among their pupils when they came to teach. To this end they organized reading-parties, as was the fashion at the universities, for those who showed special interest in the weekly lectures, and one or two of their hest outdoor men were charged with forming cricket and tennis clubs and other outdoor circles, to broaden the life of their Jrot~nJs in those directions. The classes and reading-parties are organized into groups, each under the management of an Honorary (unpaid) Secretary. One group comprises one class study ing the Old Testament, another studying moral philosophy, a course of Sunday afternoon lectures on the Ethics of the Ancient and Modern World, three classes in Victorian literature (one entirely of women), one in English history, two in political economy. A second group includes reading-parties on Mazzini, Ruskin, and literature, to each of which admission is by election, and classes in French, German, and Latin. Another group covers the physical sciences and in- cludes an ambulance class. A fourth comprises sing- ing-classes, instruction and entertainment for deaf and dumb, drawing-classes, elementary evening classes for boys, lantern illustrations in geography for boys, musical drill for boys, and several classes in short- hand. A fifib provides instruction and practice in carpentering, in wood-carving and in modeling, both for hoys and men. The work of Toynhee Hall is in the right direction, and, moreover, it is justified not only by its results hut hy the enjoyment which men have in the doing of it. I could not give up this East End work, said one of them to me; I could not live my life in content away from the people I have learned to know and love here. Notes. .R. R. I3owker. LiNCOLN AND EMERSON. BEFORE our editorial in the April CENTURy on Lin- coln and Lowell was published, Mr. Lowell had added another to his sayings concerning the martyr President, iii his speech at Chicago on the evening of Washingtons Birthday, in which he referred to Lin- coln as, on the whole, the most remarkable statesman of all times. In this connection it should be noted that while Ens- erson did not write in verse of Lincoln, yet in prose he divides with Lowell the honor of early appreciation and fortunate characterization. in Miscellanies will be found an essay cotitled Anserican Civilizatioii, which, according to a note by Mr. Cabot, is part of a lecture delivered at Washington, January 31st, 1862, it is said, in the presence of President Lincoln and sonse of his Cabinet, some months before the issuing of the ~mancipation Proclamation. Mr. Lincoln may have been present, but his secretaries have no mensorandum showing the fact, and the Washington papers of the next day throxv no liglst on tlse subject: in fact, Mr. Enserson s son now believes that Lincoln was probably not present. The lecturer praised the angelic virtue of the Ad- ministration, but urged emancipation; and at the close ofthis essay, as printed, is a supplement comosending the Presideist for Isis proposal to Congress that the Govern- meist shall cobperate ~vitls any State tlsat shall enact a gradual abolishment of slavery. Next comes his ad- dress on the Emancipation Proclamation, in wlsiels the President is greatly praised for his moderation, fairness of mind, reticence, and firmness. All tlsese, Emerson says, have bespoken suds favor to the act, that, great as the popularity of the President Isas beeis, we are begin- msimsg to tlsink that we have underestimated the capacity and virtue wlsich tlse Divine Providence has made an instrument of lsenefit so vast, lie has been permitted to do more for A isserica than aisy other Anierican man, etc. After this, us the saisse volume, conses Emerson brief but memorable essay on the death of Limscoln, in wlsiels Ise says: lie is the true history of tlse Anserm- can people in his time. Step by step he walked hsefore tlsens; slow witls tlseir slowness, quickeniisg lsis march by tlseirs, the true represeistative of this continent; ais entirely public man; father of his country, the pulse of twenty millions throbbing in his Iseart, the thiouglst of their minds articulated Isy Isis tongue. Again, in tlse essay on Eloquence ( Essays and Social Aims), Enserson Israises the Gettysburg speech, and in the essay on Greatness in the same volume lse gives Lincoln as an example of tlse great style of hero wlso draws equally all classes : His Isoart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong. SINCE the publication of the reference to the death of Black Hawk given iii the Life of Lincoln, in the December CENTURY, the autlsors have learned that Black Hawk was not buried on the bamsk of the Mis- sissippi, as certain authorities Isave stated, but on the Des Moines river, and without unusual hoisors. 59

Emerson and Lincoln Open Letters 159-160

OPEN LETTERS. streets about, and here Mr. Gardiner told us some- thing of the practical work of the colony and its diffi- culties. Four evenings of the week are devoted, in the lecture- room opposite, to courses of lectures respectively on history, physiology, astronomy, and English Liter- ature, the fee being one shilling for each complete course. Another evening there is a concert, and always on Saturday evening a popular lecture. The sixth evening of the week is given to a social reception in the drawing-room of the club-house, where the men of Toynbee Hall are assisted by friends from the West End in receiving and entertaining the poor people of the neighborhood. The difficulties of mingling classes are, after all, much the same in England as at home. There is a good deal of human nature everywhere. 1 asked Mr. Gardiner what kind of people proved the best entertainers. He replied that those who were l)opular at the West End were popular at the East, and there was, indeed, great difficulty in getting the right sort of people, because they were so much in de- mand in their own class of society. Some practiced entertainers, as they call them, could interest easily eight or ten of the poorer people, whereas others could take care of only one or two. The chief difficulty to overcome was the narrow sphere in which the poorer Iseople did their thinking and their talking, and the whole purpose of these receptions, and of much of the other work, was to broaden the mental horizon of these people, and give them more and pleasanter things to think and talk about outside of the narrow circle of their tenement-house or neighborhood gossip. These men were hoping to accomplish much through the na- tional teachers, young men and women selected from the ranks of trades-people and the like, without muck culture themselves, but who could be made the means of spreading the wider life among their pupils when they came to teach. To this end they organized reading-parties, as was the fashion at the universities, for those who showed special interest in the weekly lectures, and one or two of their hest outdoor men were charged with forming cricket and tennis clubs and other outdoor circles, to broaden the life of their Jrot~nJs in those directions. The classes and reading-parties are organized into groups, each under the management of an Honorary (unpaid) Secretary. One group comprises one class study ing the Old Testament, another studying moral philosophy, a course of Sunday afternoon lectures on the Ethics of the Ancient and Modern World, three classes in Victorian literature (one entirely of women), one in English history, two in political economy. A second group includes reading-parties on Mazzini, Ruskin, and literature, to each of which admission is by election, and classes in French, German, and Latin. Another group covers the physical sciences and in- cludes an ambulance class. A fourth comprises sing- ing-classes, instruction and entertainment for deaf and dumb, drawing-classes, elementary evening classes for boys, lantern illustrations in geography for boys, musical drill for boys, and several classes in short- hand. A fifib provides instruction and practice in carpentering, in wood-carving and in modeling, both for hoys and men. The work of Toynhee Hall is in the right direction, and, moreover, it is justified not only by its results hut hy the enjoyment which men have in the doing of it. I could not give up this East End work, said one of them to me; I could not live my life in content away from the people I have learned to know and love here. Notes. .R. R. I3owker. LiNCOLN AND EMERSON. BEFORE our editorial in the April CENTURy on Lin- coln and Lowell was published, Mr. Lowell had added another to his sayings concerning the martyr President, iii his speech at Chicago on the evening of Washingtons Birthday, in which he referred to Lin- coln as, on the whole, the most remarkable statesman of all times. In this connection it should be noted that while Ens- erson did not write in verse of Lincoln, yet in prose he divides with Lowell the honor of early appreciation and fortunate characterization. in Miscellanies will be found an essay cotitled Anserican Civilizatioii, which, according to a note by Mr. Cabot, is part of a lecture delivered at Washington, January 31st, 1862, it is said, in the presence of President Lincoln and sonse of his Cabinet, some months before the issuing of the ~mancipation Proclamation. Mr. Lincoln may have been present, but his secretaries have no mensorandum showing the fact, and the Washington papers of the next day throxv no liglst on tlse subject: in fact, Mr. Enserson s son now believes that Lincoln was probably not present. The lecturer praised the angelic virtue of the Ad- ministration, but urged emancipation; and at the close ofthis essay, as printed, is a supplement comosending the Presideist for Isis proposal to Congress that the Govern- meist shall cobperate ~vitls any State tlsat shall enact a gradual abolishment of slavery. Next comes his ad- dress on the Emancipation Proclamation, in wlsiels the President is greatly praised for his moderation, fairness of mind, reticence, and firmness. All tlsese, Emerson says, have bespoken suds favor to the act, that, great as the popularity of the President Isas beeis, we are begin- msimsg to tlsink that we have underestimated the capacity and virtue wlsich tlse Divine Providence has made an instrument of lsenefit so vast, lie has been permitted to do more for A isserica than aisy other Anierican man, etc. After this, us the saisse volume, conses Emerson brief but memorable essay on the death of Limscoln, in wlsiels Ise says: lie is the true history of tlse Anserm- can people in his time. Step by step he walked hsefore tlsens; slow witls tlseir slowness, quickeniisg lsis march by tlseirs, the true represeistative of this continent; ais entirely public man; father of his country, the pulse of twenty millions throbbing in his Iseart, the thiouglst of their minds articulated Isy Isis tongue. Again, in tlse essay on Eloquence ( Essays and Social Aims), Enserson Israises the Gettysburg speech, and in the essay on Greatness in the same volume lse gives Lincoln as an example of tlse great style of hero wlso draws equally all classes : His Isoart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong. SINCE the publication of the reference to the death of Black Hawk given iii the Life of Lincoln, in the December CENTURY, the autlsors have learned that Black Hawk was not buried on the bamsk of the Mis- sissippi, as certain authorities Isave stated, but on the Des Moines river, and without unusual hoisors. 59 BRIC-A-BRAC. The Agile Sonneteer. HOW facile tis to frame the sonnet! See An apt alliteration at the start; Phrase fanciful, turned tother-end-to with art; And then a rhyme makes 1st and 4th agree. Es words enough,so this next quatrain we Will therefore rhyme to snatch. Here sometimes heart Comes in, as hot or throhbing, to impart A tang of sentiment to our idee. Then the sextette, wherein there strictly ouglst To he a kind of winding up of things; Only two rhymes (to have it nicely wrought), On which it settles, lark-like, as it sings. And so tis perfect, head and tail and wings. Lacks something? Oh, as usual, hut a thought. Anthony Jiorek cod. Wait a Bit. WHEN Johnny came a-courting, I thought him overhold, For I was hut a young thing, And he no very old. And though I liked him well enough, I sent him on his way, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny passed me in the lane, And pleaded for a kiss, And vowed hed love me evermore For granting of the bliss; Although Id liked it ower well, I ran from him away, With, Wait a hit, bide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny fell a-ranting, With, Jenny, he my wife? And vowed I never should regret, However long my life; Although I liked it hest o all, I turned from him away, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Oh, Johnny was a ninny, He took me at my word! And he was courting another, The next thing that I heard. Oh, what a ninny was Johnny, To mind me when Id say, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Ileigh-ho, Ive met my Johnny, I gin him a hlink o roy- eye, And then he fell a-raving, For want o my love hed die! I neer could he so cruel, So I set the wedding-day, With, Haste a hit, nor waste a hit, Theres danger in delay! The April-Face; or, The Stub-tailed Mule. (AN IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR.) ALL up the street at a stately pace The maiden came with her April-face, And the roses Id paid for, upon her hreast, Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While hehind her the driver upon his stool Tinkled the hell of the street-car mule. Going to walk up the street? I said; She graciously howed her heautiful head. Then Ill walk too; ts a lovely day Thus I opened the hall in my usual way. Do you see the car hehind? inquired The April-face, Im a trifle tired. I urged a walk; twas a useless suit! She gently waved her parachute; The stuh-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately how. And the hell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk. Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighhors toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side youd call the lee (With the same sweet smile shed sat on me). The day was lovely; mild the air; Tlse sky like the maidens face was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stuhhy tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired To the stroll with me; for I made her tired. And now when the maiden walks the street With anothers flowers, and a smile so sweet, I wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stuh-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself. Thomas Nelson Page. Uncle Eseks Wiadom. PROFUSENESS is not liherality, any more than nig- gardliness is economy. THERE isnt enough had luck in the world, all to- gether, to ruin one real live man. MAN is a two-legged animal, whose ruling passion is to dieker and to he an alderman. No MAN ever got rid of a lie hy telling it; it is sure to eome home, sooner or later, to hohnoh with its author. THE world owes the most of its civilization to the Bihle, and the looking-glass. HE who thinks he cant win is quite sure to be right ahout it, for he has already lost. THE man who can do four things fairly well will find four men who can do each one of the four things hetter, and thus his occupation is gone. Jennie F. 7. Dome. Uncle Esek.

Anthony Morehead Morehead, Anthony The Agile Sonneteer Bric-A-Brac 160

BRIC-A-BRAC. The Agile Sonneteer. HOW facile tis to frame the sonnet! See An apt alliteration at the start; Phrase fanciful, turned tother-end-to with art; And then a rhyme makes 1st and 4th agree. Es words enough,so this next quatrain we Will therefore rhyme to snatch. Here sometimes heart Comes in, as hot or throhbing, to impart A tang of sentiment to our idee. Then the sextette, wherein there strictly ouglst To he a kind of winding up of things; Only two rhymes (to have it nicely wrought), On which it settles, lark-like, as it sings. And so tis perfect, head and tail and wings. Lacks something? Oh, as usual, hut a thought. Anthony Jiorek cod. Wait a Bit. WHEN Johnny came a-courting, I thought him overhold, For I was hut a young thing, And he no very old. And though I liked him well enough, I sent him on his way, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny passed me in the lane, And pleaded for a kiss, And vowed hed love me evermore For granting of the bliss; Although Id liked it ower well, I ran from him away, With, Wait a hit, bide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny fell a-ranting, With, Jenny, he my wife? And vowed I never should regret, However long my life; Although I liked it hest o all, I turned from him away, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Oh, Johnny was a ninny, He took me at my word! And he was courting another, The next thing that I heard. Oh, what a ninny was Johnny, To mind me when Id say, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Ileigh-ho, Ive met my Johnny, I gin him a hlink o roy- eye, And then he fell a-raving, For want o my love hed die! I neer could he so cruel, So I set the wedding-day, With, Haste a hit, nor waste a hit, Theres danger in delay! The April-Face; or, The Stub-tailed Mule. (AN IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR.) ALL up the street at a stately pace The maiden came with her April-face, And the roses Id paid for, upon her hreast, Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While hehind her the driver upon his stool Tinkled the hell of the street-car mule. Going to walk up the street? I said; She graciously howed her heautiful head. Then Ill walk too; ts a lovely day Thus I opened the hall in my usual way. Do you see the car hehind? inquired The April-face, Im a trifle tired. I urged a walk; twas a useless suit! She gently waved her parachute; The stuh-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately how. And the hell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk. Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighhors toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side youd call the lee (With the same sweet smile shed sat on me). The day was lovely; mild the air; Tlse sky like the maidens face was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stuhhy tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired To the stroll with me; for I made her tired. And now when the maiden walks the street With anothers flowers, and a smile so sweet, I wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stuh-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself. Thomas Nelson Page. Uncle Eseks Wiadom. PROFUSENESS is not liherality, any more than nig- gardliness is economy. THERE isnt enough had luck in the world, all to- gether, to ruin one real live man. MAN is a two-legged animal, whose ruling passion is to dieker and to he an alderman. No MAN ever got rid of a lie hy telling it; it is sure to eome home, sooner or later, to hohnoh with its author. THE world owes the most of its civilization to the Bihle, and the looking-glass. HE who thinks he cant win is quite sure to be right ahout it, for he has already lost. THE man who can do four things fairly well will find four men who can do each one of the four things hetter, and thus his occupation is gone. Jennie F. 7. Dome. Uncle Esek.

Thomas Nelson Page Page, Thomas Nelson The April-Face, or the Stub-Tail Mule Bric-A-Brac 160

BRIC-A-BRAC. The Agile Sonneteer. HOW facile tis to frame the sonnet! See An apt alliteration at the start; Phrase fanciful, turned tother-end-to with art; And then a rhyme makes 1st and 4th agree. Es words enough,so this next quatrain we Will therefore rhyme to snatch. Here sometimes heart Comes in, as hot or throhbing, to impart A tang of sentiment to our idee. Then the sextette, wherein there strictly ouglst To he a kind of winding up of things; Only two rhymes (to have it nicely wrought), On which it settles, lark-like, as it sings. And so tis perfect, head and tail and wings. Lacks something? Oh, as usual, hut a thought. Anthony Jiorek cod. Wait a Bit. WHEN Johnny came a-courting, I thought him overhold, For I was hut a young thing, And he no very old. And though I liked him well enough, I sent him on his way, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny passed me in the lane, And pleaded for a kiss, And vowed hed love me evermore For granting of the bliss; Although Id liked it ower well, I ran from him away, With, Wait a hit, bide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny fell a-ranting, With, Jenny, he my wife? And vowed I never should regret, However long my life; Although I liked it hest o all, I turned from him away, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Oh, Johnny was a ninny, He took me at my word! And he was courting another, The next thing that I heard. Oh, what a ninny was Johnny, To mind me when Id say, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Ileigh-ho, Ive met my Johnny, I gin him a hlink o roy- eye, And then he fell a-raving, For want o my love hed die! I neer could he so cruel, So I set the wedding-day, With, Haste a hit, nor waste a hit, Theres danger in delay! The April-Face; or, The Stub-tailed Mule. (AN IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR.) ALL up the street at a stately pace The maiden came with her April-face, And the roses Id paid for, upon her hreast, Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While hehind her the driver upon his stool Tinkled the hell of the street-car mule. Going to walk up the street? I said; She graciously howed her heautiful head. Then Ill walk too; ts a lovely day Thus I opened the hall in my usual way. Do you see the car hehind? inquired The April-face, Im a trifle tired. I urged a walk; twas a useless suit! She gently waved her parachute; The stuh-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately how. And the hell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk. Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighhors toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side youd call the lee (With the same sweet smile shed sat on me). The day was lovely; mild the air; Tlse sky like the maidens face was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stuhhy tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired To the stroll with me; for I made her tired. And now when the maiden walks the street With anothers flowers, and a smile so sweet, I wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stuh-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself. Thomas Nelson Page. Uncle Eseks Wiadom. PROFUSENESS is not liherality, any more than nig- gardliness is economy. THERE isnt enough had luck in the world, all to- gether, to ruin one real live man. MAN is a two-legged animal, whose ruling passion is to dieker and to he an alderman. No MAN ever got rid of a lie hy telling it; it is sure to eome home, sooner or later, to hohnoh with its author. THE world owes the most of its civilization to the Bihle, and the looking-glass. HE who thinks he cant win is quite sure to be right ahout it, for he has already lost. THE man who can do four things fairly well will find four men who can do each one of the four things hetter, and thus his occupation is gone. Jennie F. 7. Dome. Uncle Esek.

Uncle Esek's Wisdom Bric-A-Brac 160

BRIC-A-BRAC. The Agile Sonneteer. HOW facile tis to frame the sonnet! See An apt alliteration at the start; Phrase fanciful, turned tother-end-to with art; And then a rhyme makes 1st and 4th agree. Es words enough,so this next quatrain we Will therefore rhyme to snatch. Here sometimes heart Comes in, as hot or throhbing, to impart A tang of sentiment to our idee. Then the sextette, wherein there strictly ouglst To he a kind of winding up of things; Only two rhymes (to have it nicely wrought), On which it settles, lark-like, as it sings. And so tis perfect, head and tail and wings. Lacks something? Oh, as usual, hut a thought. Anthony Jiorek cod. Wait a Bit. WHEN Johnny came a-courting, I thought him overhold, For I was hut a young thing, And he no very old. And though I liked him well enough, I sent him on his way, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny passed me in the lane, And pleaded for a kiss, And vowed hed love me evermore For granting of the bliss; Although Id liked it ower well, I ran from him away, With, Wait a hit, bide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny fell a-ranting, With, Jenny, he my wife? And vowed I never should regret, However long my life; Although I liked it hest o all, I turned from him away, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Oh, Johnny was a ninny, He took me at my word! And he was courting another, The next thing that I heard. Oh, what a ninny was Johnny, To mind me when Id say, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Ileigh-ho, Ive met my Johnny, I gin him a hlink o roy- eye, And then he fell a-raving, For want o my love hed die! I neer could he so cruel, So I set the wedding-day, With, Haste a hit, nor waste a hit, Theres danger in delay! The April-Face; or, The Stub-tailed Mule. (AN IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR.) ALL up the street at a stately pace The maiden came with her April-face, And the roses Id paid for, upon her hreast, Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While hehind her the driver upon his stool Tinkled the hell of the street-car mule. Going to walk up the street? I said; She graciously howed her heautiful head. Then Ill walk too; ts a lovely day Thus I opened the hall in my usual way. Do you see the car hehind? inquired The April-face, Im a trifle tired. I urged a walk; twas a useless suit! She gently waved her parachute; The stuh-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately how. And the hell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk. Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighhors toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side youd call the lee (With the same sweet smile shed sat on me). The day was lovely; mild the air; Tlse sky like the maidens face was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stuhhy tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired To the stroll with me; for I made her tired. And now when the maiden walks the street With anothers flowers, and a smile so sweet, I wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stuh-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself. Thomas Nelson Page. Uncle Eseks Wiadom. PROFUSENESS is not liherality, any more than nig- gardliness is economy. THERE isnt enough had luck in the world, all to- gether, to ruin one real live man. MAN is a two-legged animal, whose ruling passion is to dieker and to he an alderman. No MAN ever got rid of a lie hy telling it; it is sure to eome home, sooner or later, to hohnoh with its author. THE world owes the most of its civilization to the Bihle, and the looking-glass. HE who thinks he cant win is quite sure to be right ahout it, for he has already lost. THE man who can do four things fairly well will find four men who can do each one of the four things hetter, and thus his occupation is gone. Jennie F. 7. Dome. Uncle Esek.

Jennie E. T. Dowe Dowe, Jennie E. T. Wait a Bit Bric-A-Brac 160-162

BRIC-A-BRAC. The Agile Sonneteer. HOW facile tis to frame the sonnet! See An apt alliteration at the start; Phrase fanciful, turned tother-end-to with art; And then a rhyme makes 1st and 4th agree. Es words enough,so this next quatrain we Will therefore rhyme to snatch. Here sometimes heart Comes in, as hot or throhbing, to impart A tang of sentiment to our idee. Then the sextette, wherein there strictly ouglst To he a kind of winding up of things; Only two rhymes (to have it nicely wrought), On which it settles, lark-like, as it sings. And so tis perfect, head and tail and wings. Lacks something? Oh, as usual, hut a thought. Anthony Jiorek cod. Wait a Bit. WHEN Johnny came a-courting, I thought him overhold, For I was hut a young thing, And he no very old. And though I liked him well enough, I sent him on his way, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny passed me in the lane, And pleaded for a kiss, And vowed hed love me evermore For granting of the bliss; Although Id liked it ower well, I ran from him away, With, Wait a hit, bide a hit, Wait a week and a day! When Johnny fell a-ranting, With, Jenny, he my wife? And vowed I never should regret, However long my life; Although I liked it hest o all, I turned from him away, With, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Oh, Johnny was a ninny, He took me at my word! And he was courting another, The next thing that I heard. Oh, what a ninny was Johnny, To mind me when Id say, Wait a hit, hide a hit, Wait a week and a day! Ileigh-ho, Ive met my Johnny, I gin him a hlink o roy- eye, And then he fell a-raving, For want o my love hed die! I neer could he so cruel, So I set the wedding-day, With, Haste a hit, nor waste a hit, Theres danger in delay! The April-Face; or, The Stub-tailed Mule. (AN IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-CAR.) ALL up the street at a stately pace The maiden came with her April-face, And the roses Id paid for, upon her hreast, Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While hehind her the driver upon his stool Tinkled the hell of the street-car mule. Going to walk up the street? I said; She graciously howed her heautiful head. Then Ill walk too; ts a lovely day Thus I opened the hall in my usual way. Do you see the car hehind? inquired The April-face, Im a trifle tired. I urged a walk; twas a useless suit! She gently waved her parachute; The stuh-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately how. And the hell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk. Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighhors toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side youd call the lee (With the same sweet smile shed sat on me). The day was lovely; mild the air; Tlse sky like the maidens face was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stuhhy tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired To the stroll with me; for I made her tired. And now when the maiden walks the street With anothers flowers, and a smile so sweet, I wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stuh-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself. Thomas Nelson Page. Uncle Eseks Wiadom. PROFUSENESS is not liherality, any more than nig- gardliness is economy. THERE isnt enough had luck in the world, all to- gether, to ruin one real live man. MAN is a two-legged animal, whose ruling passion is to dieker and to he an alderman. No MAN ever got rid of a lie hy telling it; it is sure to eome home, sooner or later, to hohnoh with its author. THE world owes the most of its civilization to the Bihle, and the looking-glass. HE who thinks he cant win is quite sure to be right ahout it, for he has already lost. THE man who can do four things fairly well will find four men who can do each one of the four things hetter, and thus his occupation is gone. Jennie F. 7. Dome. Uncle Esek. t~4 ~~& {9{& c LEO TOLSTOI. ~Y GRiEVER, NABGRLTZ & CO., MOSCOW.

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The Century; a popular quarterly. / Volume 34, Issue 2 Century illustrated monthly magazine Century monthly magazine Century magazine Scribner's monthly Forum Forum and century The Century Company New York June 1887 0034 002
Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer van Rensselaer, Schuyler, Mrs. Peterborough Cathedral 163-175

THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. \oL. XXXIX. JUNE, 1887. pE1~EK fl~KBD~~ IN the eastern ~ partof England V the Normansbuilt three great sister 4- churches, similar in dimensionsand ,777 design. All three are now cathedral churches, Nor- wich near the coast, Ely in the center of the fenlands and Peterborough on their western skirts It has been hard to choose two of them for comment and pass by the third; and it may seem strange to pass by the one which more entirely than the others indeed, more entircly than any cathedral in the country keep~ its pristine form. Norwich keeps unaltered that Norman ground-plan which everywhere else has been conspicuously changed; keeps all the lower parts of its interior as originally built, and keeps its splendid central tower. But this very freedom from mutations has made it in one way less interesting than its rivals, and in one way less characteristic too. The variety which comes from the touch of successive genera- tions, from the contrasting beauty of succes- sive styles, seems more interesting than unity to all eves save the serious students. And it was so often wrought in the cathedrals of England that it is one of the chief character- istics which oppose them to their fellows else- where. Peterborough and Ely have diverser charms, a richer historic voice, and a more typical interest than Norwich, because their features are much more variously dated. And then, while almost every important part of Norwich will be found in prototype along our path, Peterborough has, and Ely has, a splendid feature which is all its own. Did we not see the octagon at Ely, or did we not see Peterboroughs western front, we should miss one of the loveliest, most daring, most origi- nal creations of the English builder, and one which he never even tried to match elsewhere. I. HISTORICAL claims imposed Canterbury upon us as our first cathedral; and were they consistently respected we should go next to York, or Winchester perhaps, or Durham. But the guiding-threads of interest are many and at times conflicting; and now the architec- tural strand may well be followed for a while. Peterboroughs history is devoid of wide significance. It was not a cathedral till long after its many-dated fabric was finished as we see it to-day; it stood apart from the main currents of national life; its influence, albeit great, was almost wholly local; and its annals are marked by few famous names or conspic- uous happenings. But its fabric, though built as a mere abbey-churcha mere private place of worship for Benedictine monks bears comparison with the very greatest. Its scheme gives proof of the enormous extent of monas- tic wealth and pride and power; and the very many dates which mark its execution prove Copyright, 1887, by Tux CENTURY Co. All rights reserved. No. 2. 164 PETERBOIYO UGH how long such influences were potently at work. The Abbey, at first called Medeshamstede, was founded by Peada, the first Christian king of Mercia, less than sixty years after the land- ing of St. Augustine. Its church was finished by his successor and dedicated to St. Peter. The pope granted the brotherhood extraordi- nary privileges; the king endowed it with some four hundred square miles of land; aiid for two hundred and fifty years it lived and prospered greatly. But then its buildings were utterly swept away by Danish rovers, and their eighty-four indwellers were slaughtered to a man. A full century passed ere, in 972, the mon- astery was r efounded, re~ndowed, and re- christened Peters-borough. Edgar was then king, and Dunstan primate; and the Benedic- tines, whom they so greatly favored, were naturally placed in the new establishment. This, the second church, was also troubled and laid under tribute by the Danes, though not destroyed. But the most interesting chapter in its history connects it with those later days when Danes and Englishmen joined in a last resistance to the Norman interloper and when Herewarcl ruled the Camp of Refuge in the neighboring Isle of Ely. Herewards story, made so familiar by the touch of modern romance-writers, rests but upon long subsequent an(l dui)ious traditions. Yet their very sur- vival and their richness of tletail prove __ at least that he must have been a valiant leader and one whom the popular imagi- nation held very dear. And our own mood grows so sympathetic when we read that we hardly care to ask for his- torys exact decisions. We like to believe in his midnight vigil at Peterboroughs altar; and we are probably right in believing that a little later he came with his band of outlaws monks, peasants, and soldiers, Englishmen and I)anes c and despoiled that altar and the whole church of St. Peter, carrying off its treas- ures to prevent their falling into the grasp of the advancing Norman. Their guartlians were inclined to favor English- men, not Normans; yet so high-handed an act could not fail to seem sacrilegious in their eyes, and they resisted it as best they might. Here~vard burned their homes and drove them forth, but, it seems, without needless cruelty; for when Williams fighting abbot came in his turn, he found the hospital still stand- PLAN ing ox-er the head of a single invalid old A. Portico. n. western transept. c. Nave. D D. Transept. E. choir. F. Retro-choir or New usijiding. in. Place of Mary brother. Stuarts tomb. xi. Tomb of catherine of Aragon. This Norman abbot, Thorold, chastised Peterborough as vigorously as William had expected. He ruled for twenty-eight years, a master of the goods of the abbey and a scan- dal to the church. And, being a soldier by choice and a monk for convenience and emolument, and knowing himself well hated within his own walls, he brought thither a troclI) of men-at-arms and built them a castle close by the churchs side. When this castle was destroyed is not exactly known; but its site is traced in a mound called the Tout-hill, which rises, overshadowed by great trees, to the south of the cathedral and to the eastward of the bishopsonce the abbotspalace. In 1107 Ernuiph, the prior of Canterbury, was promoted to be abbot at Peterborough. Later he was made bishop of Rochester, and in all times and places was a mighty nnd per- sistent builder. We have already seen the remnants of his work at Canterbury, and at I . * + 1* * I ~ * 4 * 4 + 1 * * I I 4 * I I, ~ I * 4 OF PFTFEBOROt OH CATHEDRAL (SCALE 100 FEET TOI INCH.) TETERBOIIO UGH. Rochester such still stand to-day. But here he speaks only through tradition; the dor- mitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house he built have utterly disappeared. II. IHE second church stood unchanged by any Norman hand until ii i6, when, like its predecessor, it was wholl}- swept away by fire. In 1117 the lreseiit structure was begun. John of Sais was abbot, but woom he had for architect we know not nor are the later cbronicles of Peterborough any- where illumined by those citations of an artists name which give Canterburys such a vix-ici charm. Under John of Sais the choir was built ~n part and it seems to have been finisbeci unrler Mar- tin of Bec; for he brought his monks into the new struct- ure with much in 1140, and 11111 Li consecration im- plies at least the choirs complete- ness. Yhe central tower was erected soon after 1155; and this in its turn implies that the transepts and a por- tion of the nave must have been standing to sul)port it. And thereafter the work seems to have gone on slowly westward. Slight differ- eaces in construction and design mark its suc- cessive stages ; but the same general scheme persists till we come almost to the western wall. It is easy- to see that more than once the original plan was altered for the increase of size and splendor. The nave hurl already been given two bay-s more than were at first in- tended before a second change of scheme added still another space, which, as it has a lateral projection beyond the main line of the aisle-walls, is called a western transept. In this the pure simple Norman style is no longer used, hut a later, lighter, richer version of round-arched design, that transitional style which served to prepare the way for pointed fashions. And when we cross the threshold an(I look at the outside of the west- ern wall, we see still another sten in develop- ment. I do not mean when we look at that huge arched portico which our illustration shows, hut at the veritable wall of the church behindl it as seen on page i68. This shows only pointed arches, though its inner face is built with round. Evidently the great change of style had come about while it was being raised; and its constructors, true to the spirit of their age, had abandoned the old manner as (In ickly as they could. For the unity of their work as a whole they did not care, only for the harmony of such portions as a single glance might cover. their idea was evidently to build some such faade as we shall see at Wells and Salisbury, with tall towers on either hand and projecting buttresses in front. But ere the task was accom- plished a new hand took control. Again the design wa~ changed. andl again for the sake of greater grandeur. One of the planned-for towers was finished no further than necessity compelled for the safety of the front; and the other, though now conspicuous with four corner pinnacles, is still much lower than it should have been. And the buttresses re WESTERN TOWERS OF THE CATHEDRAL FROM TI-JR CLOISTERS. i66 PETERBORO UGH mained unbuilt while another entire fa~ade was thrown out, with the three majestic arches, the small flanking towers, and the windowed gables that we see to-day. Many sins did it builder perpetrate in the working of his purpose. On the ground they can be very clearly under- stood, and here I may at least refer to them. For they show that the medi~val architect, even in the best of periods, was sometimes led by purely ~sthetic aims to sacrifice the stability, the ration- ality, and the truth of his constructions. And the lesson is interesting in view of Mr. Ruskins dog- ma, that such sacrifice was first commit- ted by Renaissance artists, and learned from them by modern men to our archi- tectural undoing. To begin with, this majestick front of columel work does not sustain the out- ward thrust of the nave arcade as buttresses would have done, and as to the eye it purports to do. Its vaulted roof impinges upon the west wall, of course; but its tall clustered piers stand free, and unassisted could not even bear their own weight and the weight of their arches. Vast arches such as these may seem well able to support themselves, even though they rise eighty-one feet above the ground; may look like mammoth branching trees and seem to stand as a tree stands, by natural elasticity. But in truth their stones bear downward with as great a weight as though differently ar- ranged, or, more exactly, bear outward with enormous lateral pressure. Even assisted as they are by the towers on either hand, they have not really stood, in the true meaning of the word. Only a hundred and fifty years after they were built the western wall seems to have thrown too much weight upon them, its own towers suffering from the lack of buttresses. To counteract this danger there was raised within the central arch, up to half its height, that closed porch or parvise which, though charming in itself and very scientifically used, mars the harmony of the fa~ade and spoils its grand simplicity. And to-day all the arches are con- spicuously out of the perpendicular, though the whole fabric has been braced and tied to- gether in ingenious ways; and some say that there is even a need that the entire work should be taken down for reconstruction. And had it been solidity itselg it would still not have been a rational piece of work. It not only lacks structural affinity with the church, but deliberately misrepresents it to the eye. Professing with its three arches to express the three longitudinal divisions of the nave, it leads us to believe that the aisles lie some 65 feet apart, while in fact they are separated by a space of but 46. Nor, again, are the arches, like those of Rheims or Amiens, a true devel- opment and glorification of the doors that lie within them. They are independent in station as in structure, and have absorbed all the dignity they should have shared with the portals proper. It is a screen, this front, and not a true front or even a true portico; and a screen which bears false witness to the work behind it. Moreover, its general design, con- sidered simply for itselg has been sacrificed to the preeminence of the arches. The gables II. VIEW EASTWARD THROUGH THE GATE FROM THR MAIN OGGE OF THR CATHEDRAL. PETERBORO UGH 167 are too small and delicate to match with them, and the flanking towers too insignificant. In truth, no doors, no gables, and no towers could have been built to keep them fitting company. Given arches of this size, the rest of the composition could not but be made to suffer. Yet even thus, as writes our excellent local guide,* it raises ideas which no building even of extraordinary size could adequately satisfy. Any possible interior would seem too small and low for its magnificent predict- mgs. And do not these facts prove that it is not ratio,ial~ as every architectural work should be, according to those theories and principles which it is always well to bear in mind? But he must be a pedant thrice over, who, when he stands face to face with Peterborough, can bear them in mind for its condemning. Gothic art would have been a thing far inferior to the thing it was had this been the normal way in which its great church-fronts were built, did this architects practice translate its funda- mental rules of composition and canons of construction. We are quite content that there should have been but one such architect, and that he should have built but one such fa9ade yet how glad that he did build this, abnor- mal, eccentric, even irrational though its beauty be There is absolutely nothing like it else- where; and there are few things in any place, however superior in all that goes to make ar- chitecture good as well as entrancing and im- posing, which can dare to rival it for majestic grace and almost supernatural effectiveness. Strangely enough, not only the name of its constructor but even the name of the ab- bot who employed him is unknown. Nothing identifies or dates the fabric save the voice of its own Early-English style which points to the first half of the thirteenth century. Some be- lieve that French genius must have been at work upon it; and it certainly bears more like- ness to current French than to current English products. But I cannot quite think that any Frenchman, even away from home, would ever have designed in so unscholastic, so overfree a fashion. And the sculptured details are hardly rich enough to have been born of Gallic inspi- ration. It seems to me rather the work of some exceptionally brilliant Englishman, who had seen the great portals of France and had wished to surpass them, but who ended by producing something wholly new, something superior to his models in audacity, in freshness of impulse, and in pictorial charm, but far infe- rior in good sense, in true architectural balance and harmony of design, and in decorative finish. A very great artist he must have been; but there were better architects alive in France. Had * Thomas Craddock: A General, Architectural, and Monastic History of Peterborough Cathedral. Michael Angelo done his architectural work in the thirteenth century he might well have built some such a portico as this; and yet we do not even know the name or nationality of the ambitious, unfettered, reckless, but divinely gifted man who seems to have expressed him- self once and for all at Peterborough. iv. STRANGE indeed is the contrast when we pass into the old Norman nave beneath this portico and through the transitional tran- sept, with its slender pillars, its rich capitals, its archesround,indeed, but light and grace- fulits high vaulted roof, and its wealth of zig- zag decoration. Strange, indeed, and well able to convince us that what we vaguely call me- di~val art was not one art but many arts, of the most widely divergent details, features, and proportions, aiming at the most widely different ideals, and potent to suggest the most alien emotions. Here is again beauty, truly, but neither the grace, the lightness, nor the aspiring lines which so splendidly show themselves outside; no elaboration of minor parts, as in the tran- sitional work, and very little decoration. The plainly fluted capitals and the sparse zigzags of the arch-moldings give scarce a first faint prediction of that cut work and crinkle-cran- kle which to old John Evelyn summed up the qualities of mediteval work. This work is strong to massiveness, plain almost to baldness, Titans work, immense, austere, and awful. To the men of Evelyns day, and also to the men of late mediteval days, it doubtless seemed barbaric. But it is not this, and it is not even primitive, archaic, though so tremendous, stern, and simple. It is too grand in its air for barbaric work which is never more than grandiose; too dignified; and too refined despite its lack of delicate detail. And it has the distinctly non-archaic quality of perfect self-possession, that air of repose which always marks a complete and never a tentative stage of architectural development. It shows no trace that its builders were un- certain of just what they wished to do, or, if certain, were unable to achieve it. Primitive though it may look by contrast with richer, lighter structures, it is in truth the final per- fected effort of a style which had known a growth of centuries duration. It exactly and completely expresses the aims and ideals of its own race of builders. lt is true that we may think the nave far too narrow for its length. But this is a ques- tion for mere taste to settle. If the proportions of the ground-plan are out of keeping with our ideas of perfect beauty, the fact implies no z 0 H 0 H 0 0 0 0 H 0 U 0 0 0 0 0 H 0 PETERBORO UGH. 169 such lack of skill in the management of the chosen forms and features as would a want of harmony and proportion in the construction proper. And though this construction might have been ornamented into richer charn~, its desigit, I say, could not have been improved upon unless the designers ideal had been altered too. Nor should we forget that the want of sculptured detail was once supplied by ornament in color, covering every part of the vast interior. Mere theoretic judgment tells us this, and we see it clearly proved in the western tran- sept. Here the fundamental forms are the same, but their proportions are all changed. Doubtless the result seems much more charm- ing to most modern eyes; but it should be recognized as the result of d~ffere;zt aims, and, moreover, of their incomplete attainment. Here lightness, grace, delicacy, and the expres- sion of altitude were desired, and these were things which could not be perfectly attained until the pointed arch should come and bring the chance for dominant vertical lines. So tills work may in one sense be considered primitive, archaic,for it is tentative, not final. It is, in a word, anticipatory Gothic; but the earlier work is complete and perfect Norman. Excepting only as regards the roof of the central alley. The aisles alone are vaulted; the broad middle space is covered with boards that now are slightly canted on either side, but once were flatly laid. Whether such a ceiling came by choice or by necessity, there can hardly be a modern eye to like it save for its historic interest. It still preserves its painted decoration from a very early though uncertain day, small figure-designs enframed in loz- enge-like patterns of black. When the walls were painted too, it wore, of course,a less painfully alien look than it does to-day, contrasted with the stony whiteness of everything below. But even then its woodenness must have been ap- parent, and must have seemed but a pauper finish to such gigantic strength of pier and arch and wall. And its flatness, giving too strong an emphasis to lateral dimensions, was out of harmony with all the rest. Only a huge and massive semicircular vault could have carried out the ideal the xvalls so perfectly ex- press. Yet we cannot but believe that its own builders really found it satisfactory; for there is none of that preparation for a possible later vault which we almost invariably find when a great nave on the continent chances to be ceiled flat with wood. The great half-col- umns which rise between the arches are not vaulting-shafts, but run straight up to the ceil- ing without true capitals, and were evidently built to bear its rafters only. VOL. XXXJV.2~. v. THE choir and transepts, as has been said, are earlier than the nave but essentially at one with it in their design. The transepts have a single aisle to the eastward and a painted wooden ceiling apparently even ear- lier than the naves and still undisturbed in its first flatness. The central alley of the choir was finished with a semicircular apse, but the aisles were stopped flat at the beginning of its curve. In Early-English days an independent chapel seems to have been thrown out at the end of each aisle; and in Perpendicular days the whole end was transformed, as our plan will show. Very boldly, yet beautifully, some nameless architect at the end of the fifteenth century met the need for more altar-accommodation at the east end of the church without destroying his Norman predecessors work. Across the whole width of the church he built a single great undivided one-storied apartment, rising as high as the roof of the choir-aisles. The ends of these aisles were pulled down, giving free access and an open view from either side. But the central apse was left projecting into what, after a lapse of four centuries, is still called the new building. It was partly re- modeled in detail and overlaid with Perpen- dicular ornament; but the architect had too much confidence in the fundamental success of his scheme to care to obliterate all signs of his borrowings and piecings. A Norman string-course still remains amid the late de- tails, and also many traces which the weather had made upon the wall while it was still an external wall, and even one or two of the iron fastenings which had held the shutters in the lower range of openings. Seen from the interior of the choir, this lower range of openings is found to have had its arch-heads changed into pointed shapes and filled with a rich fringe of tracery, through which the eye passes to the elaborate new building. But the two upper ranges rising above the roof of this still keep their round arches, though filled with tracery for the recep- tion of glass. This remodeling is in the Deco- rated style, and was done some hundred years before the new building was itself construct- ed. And, indeed, there is no part of the church which does not show the trace of constant, per- sistent alterations of a similar kind. Art grew too vitally and vigorously in those ages for any generation to l)e quite content with what its forefathers had bequeathed. If nothing im- portant remained to be built, there was always something which might be re-touched into har- mony with current tastes. The development of glass was perhaps the most potent factor in 170 EJITERBORO UGH. of stone. And often again we shall find similar evidence of how the English love of wood persisted even in those days when vaults had most clearly proved their greater charm and fitness. vi. the work of never-ceasing change; but the mere desire for what was thought a better beauty played, too, a considerable rdle. The new building is an extremely beau- tiful example of Perpendicular art in its con- struction and in its details as well as in the boldness, yet good sense, of its arrangement; and its lovely, daring fan-vault shows in most interesting contrast with the work of those early builders who scarce ventured upon vaults at all. But we are not yet on the true birth- ground of the Perpendicular style, and once more may pass it briefly over. The ceiling of the choir is a rich fifteenth- century vault; but, nevertheless, it is not built THE exterior of the east end is wonderfully picturesque,with its light, low, square Perpen- dicular building crowned with a rich parapet and statues, and its old Norman apse raising two ponderous roundarched tiers above. And as thence we pass along the north side through the beautifully planted church-yard, we find a succes~ sion of pictures which will hardly be surpassed elsewhere. The west front, too, rises in superb isolation above the broad green close before it; and, if we stand farther off in the market-place of the town, above a beautiful gateway built by the Normans but largely changed by laterhands. But it is only such near views as these which are really fine at Peterborough. The town lies flat and gives but a flat site to the church; and the church is itself so low, and crowned with so stunted a central tower and so insignificant a group of western turrets, that from a dis- tance it makes no very effective icture. Two years ago, when our illustrations were drawn, it had no central tower whatever. The great man who made the portico was not the only Peter- borough architect who thought more, or knew more, of effectiveness than of stability in building. The. Norman tower was raised on such inadequate supports that, at least as early as the year 1300, it cried aloud for recon- struction. So it was taken down, and the sub- structure strengthened. The great arches which opened from the nave and the choir into the crossing were rebuilt in pointed shapes; and though their mates on either side above the transepts were left intact, pointed bearing arches were built solid into the superincum- bent walls. Then a low tower was placed above them, with a wooden lantern, which was removed in the last century. TWO BAYS OF THE NAVE. PEIERBORO UGH 7 But during many recent years it had been known that the tower was again insecure. Its pillars were bent and bulging, and the arches of transepts and choir were visibly strained. To prevent such a catastrophe as befell the tower of Chichester cathedral not long ago, the whole work was again pulled down, and more completely than before. When I saw ~t in 1885 the great angle-piers with their four arches were again in place, having been rebuilt from the very rock beneath the church; the old stones, carefully kept and numbered, having been replaced with as much fidelity as entire firmness could permit. Doubtless a shrinkage of the soil, conse- (juent upon the draining of the adjacent fens, has contributed somewhat to that dislocation of the fabric which, even in the very ends of choir and transepts, is apparent to the most careless eye. But a great deal, too, must be laid to the account of their builders want of thought or lack of knowledge. It was singu- lar to hear bow superficial had been the foun- dations of so vast a work; and singular to see how poor the actual substance of its ap- parently Titanic piers. Portions of the casing of the choir-piers had been removed for need- ful patching; and could one call these great architects good builders when a pier eleven feet in diameter, and bearing such tremendous weight, was seen to have but a nine-inch-thick skin of cut and cemented stone and a loose core of what hardly deserved a better name than rubbish? One could well credit one of the architects in charge of the repairs when he said that, but for the extraordinary tough- ness of the white Barnack stone, the whole fabric must long ago have twisted, torn, and wrenched itself asunder. And not only poor, but overdaring methods of construction had contributed to the insecu- rity of the tower. At Norwich the great angle- piers are io feet in diameter and 45 feet in height, and the arches between them have a span of 23; but at Peterborough this span is 35 feet, while the piers are 52 feet high, and only 7 in diameter. vii. IT would be hard to exaggerate the wealth or the renown of this monastery during all those ages when it was popularly called the Golden Borough. The pope had decreed that any islander who might be prevented from visiting St. Peters at Rome could gain the same indulgence by visiting St. Peters here; and so great in consequence grew the sanctity of the spot that all pilgrims, even though of royal blood, put off their shoes be- neath the western gateway of the close. Many precious relics, too, the monastery owned, chief among them the famous incorruptible arm of St. Oswald, the Northumbrian king. But the castigation of Reforming years was as signal as had been the reverence of Cath- olic generations. Henry left the church in- tact, divided up its revenues with the new cathedral chapter he established, and made its time-serving abbot the first bishop of the see. But the Crornwellites all but obliterated THE CATHEDRAL FROM THE MARKET-PLACE. 172 PE1ERBOI?O UGH. the monastic buildings and all but ruined the church itself. Its splendid glass was entirely shattered, its great silver-mounted reredos was broken into fragments, and its monuments and carvings were mutilated or destroyed. The vast picture of Christ and the Apostles on the ceiling of the choir was used for target-practice, and the soldiers did their daily exercising in the nave. Even the actual fabric was attacked, and one arch of the portico pulled down. Later this arch was rebuilt with the old stones, and the whole church was repaired. But repair meant partial ruin too. The church was patched and pieced with materials taken from the domestic structures; and even the beautiful Early-English lady-chapel which projected from the northern transept was de- stroyed to the same end. Little remains within the church to give it an interest apart from its architectural interest proper. Yet one can still find two tombs that vividly bring back the past. Singularly enough they are the tombs of two famous women, both uncrowned queens alike in their misfortunes, though most unlike in all besides. Mary Stuart was beheaded at Fotheringay, eleven miles west of Peterborough, and buried be- neath the pavement of the south choir-aisle. As we stand over her empty grave she seems a more real figure than in the crowded rnau soleum at Westminster whither her son re- moved her disparted bones. The other tomb, beneath the flagging of the north choir-aisle, still holds its tenant, Catherine of Ar- agon. Thanks to the Puritan, nothing does her honor save the simplest name and date upon the stone unless, indeed, we may credit the tale which says that Henry raised the church to cathedral dignity in answer to her death-bed prayer that she might be given a monument fitting for a queen. The monastic buildings once covered a space four times as great as that which was covered by the church itself. But scanty enough are the fragments whichreport of them. A splendid Early-English gateway gives ac- cess to the bishops palace on the right hand of the western close as we approach. The dwelling itself is largely modernized, yet it is picturesque and keeps some portions of the old abbots home. Opposite, across the close, built into the modern grammar-school, is a charming apse all that remains of the Norman chapel of St. Thomas of Canterbury. South of the church the cloisters are but frag- mentary, many-dated ruins. The vast arches of the old infirmary stretch uselessly across a narrow path or are built, very usefully, into the walls of the canons modern houses. And over a wide distance other fragments may be traced, with much interest when one is on the THE CATHEDRAL IN i88~. (FROM THE SOUTH.) z 74 PETERBORO UGH spot, though not with much significance in print. The ruin has been far completer than at Canterbury; and, though charming in its way, Peterboroughs picture of united old and new is far less lovely than the mother-churchs. VIII. THE town of Peterborough, offspring and creature of the monastery, has no independ- ent civic history to tell. Nor has it any great interest for the eye, being but a commonplace little provincial center of some ten thousand inhabitants. On market-days, however, its streets are agreeably full of life and bustle; and the market-place, opposite the close and the cathedrals western front, is prettily car- peted by a hundred white and blue umbrellas. To the eastward lies the fen-country, flat and treeless still, though reclaimed into fertility from its quondam estate of bog and mist and bisecting muddy stream. Near at hand its details are unlovely; but from the top of the cathedral, the vast level space has some- thing of the seas serene nobility. To the westward of the town lies a charming, rolling, wooded country, watered by a dainty river and set thick with great estates and tiny vil- lages and very ancient rural churches. The most interesting village is Castor, RECONSTRUCTING THE TOWER. (FRoM THE CHOIR.) VHEN S/fE COMES HOME. 75 which tells its Roman origin by its mere name as well as by the relics of its camp. It is not pretty and tree-grown like most of its neigh- bors; but on the top of its low, bleak, bare hill stands one of the finest small Norman churches in all England, cruciform in plan and still keeping its central tower. This seemed to me more beautiful in design than the greater toxver at Norwich; and it is of much historic value, if we are right in believing that it was built by the same hands which constructed Peterborough, and that it shows what may well have been the pattern of Peterboroughs own tower in its earliest days. hf. G. vait Rensselaer. WHEN SHE COMES HOME. she comes home again! A thousand ways WHEN ashion, to myself the tenderness Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble yes; And touch her, as when first in the old days I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise Mine eyes, such was my faint hearts sweet distress. Then silence: And the perfume of her dress: The room will sway a little, and a haze Cloy eyesightsoulsight, evenfor a space: And tearsyes; and the ache here in the throat, To know that I so ill deserve the place Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note I stay xvith kisses, ere the tearful face Again is hidden in the old embrace. James Whi/eomb Riley. THE CATHEDRAL FROM THE BISHOPS GARDEN.

James Whitcomb Riley Riley, James Whitcomb When She Comes Home 175-176

VHEN S/fE COMES HOME. 75 which tells its Roman origin by its mere name as well as by the relics of its camp. It is not pretty and tree-grown like most of its neigh- bors; but on the top of its low, bleak, bare hill stands one of the finest small Norman churches in all England, cruciform in plan and still keeping its central tower. This seemed to me more beautiful in design than the greater toxver at Norwich; and it is of much historic value, if we are right in believing that it was built by the same hands which constructed Peterborough, and that it shows what may well have been the pattern of Peterboroughs own tower in its earliest days. hf. G. vait Rensselaer. WHEN SHE COMES HOME. she comes home again! A thousand ways WHEN ashion, to myself the tenderness Of my glad welcome: I shall tremble yes; And touch her, as when first in the old days I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise Mine eyes, such was my faint hearts sweet distress. Then silence: And the perfume of her dress: The room will sway a little, and a haze Cloy eyesightsoulsight, evenfor a space: And tearsyes; and the ache here in the throat, To know that I so ill deserve the place Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note I stay xvith kisses, ere the tearful face Again is hidden in the old embrace. James Whi/eomb Riley. THE CATHEDRAL FROM THE BISHOPS GARDEN. COLLEGE EOAT-RACtNG. HE course at New London is four miles straight away ; and ex- cept that there is a tide, which makes imnossihie any accurate comparison of the times made in different years, there is not a better course in the country, or probably in the world. The first rowing regatta that I ever witnessed was a single-scull race, at Con- cord, Mass., about a quarter of a century ago. The distance was haifa mile and return and the start was from the old red bridge. It was a hot, bright day, a Fourth of July, I think. The first to appear was Sam Hoar, in his skiff, The Pih;vl. It was a flat-bottomed craft, about ten feet long, by two feet in greatest width short outriggers, and straight ash oars. Sam was a slender, wiry boy of fifteen; as he came pulling tip to the start, with along, lithe stroke, be was greeted with applause from the crowd assembled on the bridge, the Grand Stand for the occasion, which he acknowledged with a grin. He seemed quite at ease, both with his l)oat (which I believe be had built) and with himself: and everybody wished him well, though nobody expected him to win. There were three or four other contestants, but the only other that I can remember was Wilkie James. Wilkie was the favorite against the field he was strong and robust, with superb chest and arms, and he had a new varnished keel boat, very light and graceful; he wore a crimson silk kerchief on his head, and, ex- cept for a perceptible nervousness, looked all over a winner. His stroke was different from Sams, it was short and vicious, and more rapid than the other, and I, for one, could en- tertain not the slightest douht that it would easily bear him to victory. I was glad of this, for I was very fond of Wilkie; but I was also sorry, for I had a great regard for Sam, and added to that was the sympathy which one always feels for the smaller boy in a fight. The next moment, the entire Grand Stand was delirious with excitement. Mr. Sanborn, in a stentorian voice, had given the word Go! and the boats were off. Grace Mitchell, her lovely face flushing with emotion, screamed aloud, and frantically waved both her parasol HEADQUARTERS OF COLUMBIA FRESHMEN ON THE THAMES.

Julian Hawthorne Hawthorne, Julian College Boat-Racing and the New London Regatta 176-189

COLLEGE EOAT-RACtNG. HE course at New London is four miles straight away ; and ex- cept that there is a tide, which makes imnossihie any accurate comparison of the times made in different years, there is not a better course in the country, or probably in the world. The first rowing regatta that I ever witnessed was a single-scull race, at Con- cord, Mass., about a quarter of a century ago. The distance was haifa mile and return and the start was from the old red bridge. It was a hot, bright day, a Fourth of July, I think. The first to appear was Sam Hoar, in his skiff, The Pih;vl. It was a flat-bottomed craft, about ten feet long, by two feet in greatest width short outriggers, and straight ash oars. Sam was a slender, wiry boy of fifteen; as he came pulling tip to the start, with along, lithe stroke, be was greeted with applause from the crowd assembled on the bridge, the Grand Stand for the occasion, which he acknowledged with a grin. He seemed quite at ease, both with his l)oat (which I believe be had built) and with himself: and everybody wished him well, though nobody expected him to win. There were three or four other contestants, but the only other that I can remember was Wilkie James. Wilkie was the favorite against the field he was strong and robust, with superb chest and arms, and he had a new varnished keel boat, very light and graceful; he wore a crimson silk kerchief on his head, and, ex- cept for a perceptible nervousness, looked all over a winner. His stroke was different from Sams, it was short and vicious, and more rapid than the other, and I, for one, could en- tertain not the slightest douht that it would easily bear him to victory. I was glad of this, for I was very fond of Wilkie; but I was also sorry, for I had a great regard for Sam, and added to that was the sympathy which one always feels for the smaller boy in a fight. The next moment, the entire Grand Stand was delirious with excitement. Mr. Sanborn, in a stentorian voice, had given the word Go! and the boats were off. Grace Mitchell, her lovely face flushing with emotion, screamed aloud, and frantically waved both her parasol HEADQUARTERS OF COLUMBIA FRESHMEN ON THE THAMES. COLLEGE BOAT-RACING. 77 and her handkerchief at Sam, who had caught the water first, and was doing well; Maggie Plumley, her glorious eyes fixed steadfastly upon Wilkie, uttered not a sound, but it seemed to me that her look, could Wilkie but have seen it, would have carried him to the front with the flight of a hawk. All the boys were shouting themselves hoarse. Meanwhile Wil- kie, in his eagerness to settle the matter off- hand, had missed the water with his left oar, and his right had wrenched the boat out of her course. His efforts to straighten her jerked the left oar out of the rowlock; and before he could get it in place again, Sam was unmis- takably ahead. Both of them were already some distance down the river; and the three or four other contestants, falling behind, ob- structed our view of the leaders. Several of the spectators, including Willis, the champion runner of the school, had taken their places along the bank of the stream, and were run- ning abreast with the boats, waving their arms and hats, and shouting madly, Go it, Sam! Stick to him, Wilkie! but which was in front, we of the Grand Stand could not tell. All was a wild, blind turmoil of enthusiasm, suspense, and outcry; in the midst of which I caught a glimpse of Sam pulling his long stroke with apparent ease, and of Wilkie dig- ging his oars desperately into the water, and steering somewhat wildly. Of the other boats, two had fouled each other, and a third oars- man had caught a crab and upset himself, and was swimming ruefully ashore. The flag on the distant turning-stake hung downwards heavily in the still, sunny air. Who was that who was even now turning it? He wore a white ker- chief, yes, it was Sam! and he was already stretching out for home when Wilkie came up and turned after him. Would the leader be overtaken? Most of us thought he would be: but Grace was clapping her hands and laugh- ing wildly in triumph; and Maggies cheeks were crimson, her delicate lips were pressed together, and her charming eyebrows were contracted in a frown of anxiety and disap- pointment. On came the competing boats; and now it was evident that the wearer of the crimson scarf was hopelessly behind. His great strength and his varnished boat and the fact that he was the most popular fellow in school, could not give Wilkie the race; for there was Sam, lithe and easy as ever, rowing in a dozen lengths ahead. When he passed the line, and backed round his boat so as to face the cheer- ing crowd on the bridge, he was a boy to be envied, even leaving Grace out of the question entirely. Wilkie did not finish the course; he pulled aside, and landed on the bank in a state of great dejection, for he had shared the gen- eral anticipation as to the result. This race, VOL. XXXIV.26. perhaps the most exciting to me of all that I have witnessed, proved that skill, and not superior strength, is the essential element in oarsmanship; and that the long, swinging body-stroke that Sam rowed was, easy as it looked, much more effective than the short, jerky arm-stroke adopted by Wilkie. Think- ing over the matter by the light of the practi- cal experience of later years, I have inclined to the suspicion that Sam, in addition to hay- ing some familiarity with the art of rowing, had been doing a little quiet training for the race. He certainly looked remarkably cool and comfortable at the finish, whereas Wilkie was deeply flushed. That was twenty- five years ago: it does not seem nearly so long. And yet Sam, maintaining his winning stroke through life, has reached the winning- post of the Bar, as formerly on the regatta. Wilkie, after having been wounded in the front of the gallant charge at Fort Wagner, has since gone to another world: while as for Grace and Maggie, I make no doubt that they have long been the objects of the adora- tion of loving husbands, as they were then of romantic school-boys, and have sons as tall and hardy as were the victor and the van- quished of that summer-days boat-race. But, as I sit here and remember them all, I can almost fancy that we are all young again together. Regatta-rowing is a modern luxury; it was unknown forty-five years ago, and less than a generation has passed since it attained any considerable vogue. It is the best substitute ever devised for the old Olympic and Isthmian games. Of late years, the mechanical appli- ances have been greatly and ingeniously im- proved, until one would almost think that the boats might row themselves. The crews, per- haps, have not improved quite in the same ratio; but the issues are still tried on their merits, and the boys make fast time. The simplicity, the primitive methods, and some- thing of the Spartan zeal of the old times are gone; but other good things have taken their place. It may be said now, as before, the races are rowed by gentlemen, for gentlemen (and ladies); and we may be confident that in spite of certain tendencies which will be no- ticed further on this will always continue to be the case. It is a glorious sport, beneficial alike to the outer and to the inner man; and, notwithstanding the easy witticism which is every year lavished upon it, it is fully worth the time and importance given to it by its disciples. At Harvard, in 1863, the newly entered Freshman Class heard much about the famous Caspar Crowninshield crew, which had de- feated Yale at Lake Quinsigamond, making 178 COLLEGE BOA L2~RA CING. under nineteen minutes for the three miles with a turn. And this was really good time, even compared with what is done nowadays. The turn occupied at least twenty seconds; there were only six oars in the boat; the oars were straight (instead of having spoon-shaped blades as at present), and the boats lacked much of the lightness and good modeling they have attained since. Moreover, thereis no tide on Lake Quinsigamond, whereas the tide runs from two to three miles an hour on the Thames at New London. Finally, the art of rowing was then in its infancy in this country, and the science of training was not even born. At all events, Caspar Crowninshield and his men, if not giants in reality, were so in our eyes, and apparently their victory had dis- couraged Yale, for no race between the uni- versities had taken place since that day. In 1863, however, a challenge from Yale was received, based (as we afterwards found out to our cost) upon a very reasonable hope of winning. The challenge was accepted with enthusiasm, and with a confidence at least equal to that of the challengers; for the (then) Sophomore Class of 66 thought great things of itself; and really did contain an unusual num- ber of muscular young men. There were Fred Crowninshield (brother of the heroic Caspar), Charley MacBurney, Ned Clarke, and (unless I am mistaken) Bob Peabody, all from this same redoubtable 66. Then there was Hora- tio Curtis, the Hercules of the University. I suppose no man ever was or will be so strong as we thought Curtis was. We firmly believed that he could have thrashed Moli- neaux. Now Molineaux was the college professor of athletics of that date. He was a gentleman of color, and an ex-prize- fighter; at least, he had once fought in the prize-ring, and it was understood that he had been victorious; though I am not so clear as to that matter now as I was then. He was certainly a clever boxer, and a man of most agreeable and cheerful manners; his weight was about one hundred and ninety pounds, and his biceps, besides being as hard as a hickory log, measured eighteen inches in cir- cumference. A blow from that arm might have made a hole in a steam boiler: but Molineaux was lazy, and he was fat; and one theory was, that Curtis would first wind him, by dint of superior activity, and then go in and finish him as opportunity might serve. It was a daring conception, and is mentioned here only in order to afford a measure of the popular reverence for Curtis. The autumn term was spent in exercising in the gymnasium and in trying men for the crew. Besides Curtis, there were few or no rowing men in 65, and the Freshmen, though containing some material that promised well for the future, was as yet immature; while as for the Senior Class, they had grown up dur- ing a period when athletics had fallen into dis- use. So the choice was practically confined to Horatio Curtis and to the Class of 66. Blaikie was one of the best-known athletes of those days, but he had not yet received his diploma as a bachelor of oarsmanship; he could put up the ninety-six-pound dumb- bell we used to go down to the gymna- sium to see him do it but he lacked the quickness and elasticity needed for the boat. He was a 66 man, and so was Tom Nelson, who, by natural constitution, was a rival of Curtis himself; if he were not even bet- ter than he; but he was as indolent as he was strong, and never could be induced to take regular exercise in the gymnasium or to row, if he could avoid it. Ned Fenno was strong enough, and was a zealous gym- nast, but he was not handy with his oar; and Wilkinson, in addition to being one of the wittiest and most charming fellows in the col- lege, was superbly developed, and as active as a cat; but he was not then thought to be superior to some others, though, a couple of years later, he proved himself equal to the best. The second-rate men were put together in the Class crew of 66; and the Freshmen formed a practice-crew of their own, making use of the old lapstreak which had conquered in i86o. I remember little of the constitution of this crew, except that Harry Parker pulled bow and Bill Ellis stroke, but I have not forgotten how we blistered our hands and barked our knuckles; or that we caught many crabs, and occasionally steered into the bridge, and carried off an outrigger or two. At that epoch, and for a good many years afterwards, it was the custom of American crews to disperse with coxswains, and for the boxy-oar to steer by pressing his feet against a yoke attached to wires, which extended the length of the boat, and were made fast to the rudder. There was a Yankee ingenuity and economy in this device, and with practice, the steering was remarkably accurate; but after all, it is better that some person in the boat shouldkeep a constant eye to the boats course, and that that person should have nothing to do or to think of but steer. Of course, this is still more the case with an eight-oar than with a six-oar, and when (as generally hap- pens) the coxswain weighs less than a hundred pounds, he is not worth considering. Our boat-housing arrangements were primi- tive. The boat-house was a long shed, built on tiles over the water and destitute of a floor. A narrow platform ran around the walls in- side, about half-way above the water, and the COLLEGE BOAT-RACING. 79 boat was suspended at the same level by ropes running through pulleys attached to the roof. After we had assumed the proper boating- costume, an old pair of trousers and a rag- ged undershirt, we lowered the boat into the water, and then let ourselves down into her, hand under hand, by the rope. Our re- turn was accomplished by an inversion of these proceedings. It was not always agree- able scrambling up that rope, with blistered hands, after a long row; and occasionally a feeble brother would stick half-way, and have to be dragged up by the neck and shoulders. A new boat a shell was bought for the University crew. This craft was the object of our respectful admiration. She was built of cedar, and polished, and was about fifty feet long, and she looked, with her shining spoon oars, as if she could win anything. She would have appeared very rude alongside of the ships they build nowadays, made of paper, with slid- ing seats, pivoted roxvlocks, and stretchers to fit the soles of the feet. As regards the paper, we came to that ourselves in the course of two or three years; but the sliding seats were long after our time. They were first invented, I believe, by some ingenious single-scull oars- man, whose name I have forgotten. I should like to know precisely how much difference they make in the time of a boat. Not many seconds, probably. They lengthen the stroke, of course; but, on the other hand, they make it slower. The spurting stroke in those days used to go up as high as forty-eight to the minute, and be pulled through at that. At present, forty or forty-two is the maximum; and as the strength with which the oar is dragged through the water has not increased in the same ratio as the distance through which it is dragged, the gain must be limited. Perhaps it is greater in the case of the single- scull than of the eight-oar. But there can be no doubt that the comfort of the oarsman in his seat is much augmented. We used to suf- fer a great deal in that way, and nothing in the way of cushions or paddings was a relief. Not much in the way of practice on the river was accomplished that first autumn: we set ourselves to building up our muscles in the gymnasium. This was a circular building with a conical glass roof at the eastern end of the Delta. The Delta (where the great football contest between the Sophomore and Freshman classes used to be held, and where base-ball was played) has vanished now in all but name, and, for aught I know, the old gymnasium has disappeared also. It was nothing to com- pare in point of luxury and completeness, with the elaborate structure which Mr. Augustus Hemenway has since erected; but some of us contrived to get pretty strong there. There were rings, weights, bars, clubs and dumb- bells, and there was a bowling-alley in the rear. The dressing-rooms of the four classes were at different parts of the rotunda, those of the Freshman and the Sophomores being farthest removed from each other. Twice or thrice a week, in the evening, a lot of the Freshman would assemble to be instructed by Molineaux. We stood in a circle, and our burly instructor took his place in the midst, and drilled us in calisthenics. It did not amount to much, if the truth must be told, and it was continued only during the first month or two of each year. After that, the boys were allowed to do as they pleased. But Molineaux was always ready for a chat or a laugh, and he was very popular with us all. His great forte was taking the dimensions of our chests and arms, and writing them down in a book. This ceremony was performed at least once a week for every one in the gymnasium class, and we soon knew to a fraction the girth and biceps of all the athletes in college. What an arm Bill Poor had! but was not Farnhams about as large? If Jim Hoyt and John Greenough were to fight, which would come out ahead? If Tom Ward would only consent to row, what a bow-oar he would make! Will E~1. Perkins the Fresh-Sophomore go on the crew? He measures sixteen and a half, and they say he used to row at Exeter. Such were the speculations of our tender minds in that far-off time. I dare say similar conversations take place now. What a happy time it was! how pleasant to see our muscles grow, and to feel our powers increase, and to believe that, in time, we could become the equal of any gymnast that ever lived! Rowing-weights were not invented until two years later. They were considered a grand discovery. I understand that a much more realistic contriv~ince has taken their place since, so that the chief difference betxveen row- ing with them and rowing in a boat is, that there is no chance in the former case of get- ting a ducking. Our arrangement consisted of a handle attached to a rope, which was passed over a pulley, and had a fifty-pound weight fastened at the other end. Then we sat down on a low stool, and tugged away. Perhaps we made up in diligence some part of what they lacked in mechanism. I remem- ber that Richards, in his winter training for the crew, used to pull on his weight for two solid hours at a stretch; and his back and shoulders were a spectacle for the gods. After half an hour or so, a little puddle of sweat would begin to form on the floor between each mans knees. The parallel bars was an- other favorite exercise of the rowing-men. We used to go through the various dips one i8o COLLEGE BOA TRA (ING. after another, until our pectoral muscles came to resemble those of the statues in the Vati- can at Rome; and the triceps, at the back of the arm, got so tough that we could dip fifty or sixty times in succession with ease. Altogether, by the time spring came round, we doubted whether any amount of boating would give us exertion enough to make us feel comfortable. With the spring time the training began: the walking, the running, the rowing, and above all the dieting. Rare beef and mutton, potatoes, bread, spinach, and one pint of liquid a day. A canter of three or four miles before breakfast, a longer walk and run later in the day, and at least twelve miles of hard rowing. They say now that we overdid it; but I dont know. The diet, especially the sudden and almost total deprivation of liquids, may have been a mistake; it had a tendency to make the men feverish and irritable, and to impair their appetites. Young fellows, most of them under twenty, lose weight too rapidly under such circumstances. As regards the exercise, however, I greatly question whether we ex- ceeded wise limits, or even reached them. With plenty of sleep, and plenty of food, a healthy man ought to be able to row hard six hours a day (two hours at a stretch thrice re- peated), and be all the better for it. Some- thing like that is the only sure recipe for win- ning crews. It will even counteract, so far as anything can, the evil effects of a bad stroke; because, in the first place, it will insure the men rowing together, and secondly, be- cause it will develop and toughen the requi- site muscles. This latter point is too much neglected. Those large muscles below the shoulders should be as hard as oak. I remem- ber examining Bill Simmons after the Har- vard-Oxford four-oared race in 1869. He was well set-up all over, an admirably proportioned man, but these particular muscles were phe- nomenal. And yet he was not a man of strong vitality, and he had been ill during the greater part of his English training. But it is the ten- dency now, and to some extent it was so then, to put form before everything else. You are given endless lessons how to hold your hands, how to feather your oar, how to get forward and back in exactly the same style; and meanwhile the essential matter, that the boat should be made to go fast, and to keep going fast, for four miles, is lost sight of. But if you put six or eight solid and sensible men into a boat, and let them clearly understand that their object must be to throw the weight of their bodies as much as possible into that portion of the stroke where they have the best purchase upon the oar; and if you explain to them that they must not dip their oars into the water one instant later than it can begin to do good, nor keep it in one instant after it has ceased to do good; and that the oars must remain in the air as short a time as pos- sible; if you can get them thoroughly pos- sessed of these three or four fundamental principles, and keep them up to it, then you need not bother to teach them anything else. They will learn the refinements themselves. Or if they dont it is no great matter. It is impossible for eight men to both pull and look exactly alike. Each man will have (within certain limits) his own peculiar way of getting the most work out of himself. If you force him to adopt any one elses way, that of the stroke-oar for instance, the appearance of the crew as a whole may be more harmonious, but the pace of the boat will suffer. Ore or two or three men perhaps will be doing their best; but the rest will be shirking in one way or another. This fellow with the long arms will not get forward far enough; he with the short arms will overreach himself; and so on. Let the crew take long and repeated pulls to- gether, however, and sooner or later they will instinctively and inevitably so accommodate their various styles to one another as to pro- duce the best general result, and they will ac- quire the endurance without which no style is of much avail. This truth was impressed upon me many years ago, when I saw for the first time the famous Ward crew of professionals. This was undoubtedly the best six-oared crew that ever sat in a boat. They came down to Boston to take part in the Fourth of July regatta on the Charles River or Back Bay course; and our own University crew of that year were their only noticeable competitors. We extended the courtesies of our new boat-house to them, and they staid with us about a week. Our early impressions of them were not especially favor- able. They were rather a rough-looking set; they were shabbily clad; they did their pull- ing in dirty old red and blue flannel shirts; they did not seem to take much stock in bath- ing, or even in rubbing down. The boat they brought with them was not a particularly won- derful affair. As they did not strip, we had no opportunity to critically examine their devel- opment; they appeared to be a lean and wiry lot; but their average weight was hardly equal to that of our University crew, though their average age was a good deal more. But what chiefly struck us was the circumstance that they did not seem to know how to row. Their appearance when in motion was ragged and inharmonious. Theyre not together, was our general verdict; and our own crew was so beautifully together that we had little doubt as to the issue of the race. They cant win COLLEGE BOAT-RACING. x8i with that stroke, we said. Not but what, in- dividually, they pulled well enough and hard enough; the trouble was that each man main- tained his individuality. There was vigor, but not science. Instead of fearing them, we were rather amused at them, and a little sorry for them; for were they not poor men, to whom the loss of a race meant, not loss of glory merely, but of the means of livelihood as well? Possibly some of us may have gone so far as to think that our fellows would act gracefully in letting them get ahead just at the finish, after having shown to every ones satisfaction that they could beat them if they chose. As it turned out, however, there was no ne- cessity for putting these compassionate designs into execution. Perhaps the Ward brothers rowed in bad form; but it was abundantly clear, before the race was half over, that they could have pulled four miles while we were pulling three. And the worst of it was that they could not be induced to exert them- selves; but, after an initial spurt, during which they appeared more like tigers than men, they paddled along at their ease, and passed the goal leaders by a few lengths only, instead of by two or three minutes; and it was evident, at the close, that they had not had half ex- ercise enough to give them an appetite for supper; while our men had been tugging their hearts out all along. Nor must it be forgot- ten that the University crew of that year was one of the best, if not the best, that Harvard ever sent forth; and that it beat the Yales without difficulty at Lake Quinsigamond the same summer. What was the secret of the Ward brothers victory? In the first place, they were stronger and tougher than our men, a strength which they attained by constant hard work in the boat; and secondly, they neglected the a~sthetic and graceful side of the matter, and devoted themselves exclu- sively to rowing each one with all his might. Of course their oars all entered and left the water simultaneously; of course they all ap- plied the lift at the same moment; but apart from this, the bow-oars style of getting his work in appeared quite different from that of the stroke oar; and number three was unlike both. Good rowing is like good acting; it can be attained only by constant rehearsals. Practice, practice, practice, together and con- tinually; and then you will row like one man and yet retain your separate individualities at the same time. This terrible experience with the Ward brothers was subsequent to a still more humil- iating one with Wilbur Bacons famous Yale crew. Rumors of this crew came to us betimes; marvelous tales of their strength, their methods of training, and the appalling rapidity of their stroke. One of their men was reported as hav- ing complained that water was too easy for him to row on; he wanted some more solid and resisting medium to pull his oar through. As for training, they ran five miles straight up hill before breakfast every morning, ate raw meat exclusively, and drank nothing at all; and they rowed sixty strokes to a minute. Doubtless these were exaggerations; but after all deduc- tions were made, Wilbur Bacons crew had enough left not only to beat us easily, but to make remarkably good time over the course, far better than that of any other college crew, up to that date. And they did this with one of the ugliest and most wasteful strokes I have ever seen. So bad was it, indeed, that the re- porter we sent up to New Haven to spy out the enemy, came back jubilant, and declared that there would be no race at all; such a stroke as Yales was hardly worth while rowing against. And, as a matter of fact, that years victory and the victory of the next year (with the same crew) probably did Yale more harm than the most overwhelming defeat would have done; because their stroke was really bad in principle, and being nevertheless subse- quently adopted by Yale as the correct one, led to six consecutive defeats more or less severe. The men sat huddled up, with bowed backs, and pulled entirely with their arms. Wilbur Bacons men, being of entirely excep- tional strength and thoroughly trained, won in spite of this drawback; but if they had added the strength of their bodies to that of their arms, there is no telling what they might have done. There was great talk in those days and I believe there has been ever since about the transcendent merits of the Harvard Stroke. Where did the Harvard stroke come from, and what is it? Was it the stroke rowed by Cas- par Crowninshield in the fifties? Was it the stroke of the En~lish university? Was there any secret about it, unfathomable by any but Harvard men? Taking the record of all the university races rowed since 1852, I make out that Harvard has won x ~ times, and Yale, or some other university, 13 times. This is very far from establishing the superiority of the Harvard stroke over all others. I greatly doubt whether the Harvard stroke has any distinct and real existence, and I think that the sooner that idea is adopted, the better for Harvard, and for the art of rowing in general, will it be. Back and arms straight catch at the begin- ning such are the traditions. But, beyond certain limits, no hard and fast rules can be given. Each man must be allowed to find out for himself how he can best put his whole strength into his stroke; and then the constant practice of the crew together must teach each member of i~ how to maintain his own best 182 COLLEGE BOAT-RACING. form, and yet so accommodate it to the others, that each may help all, and all each. Let the aim be, not to row the Harvard stroke, or the Yale stroke, or the Oxford or Cambridge stroke, but to make fast time, and then before long, we shall begin to have races that are races and not processions; and the winning crew will win because it contains the strong- est and best trained men, not because its stroke has this or that or the other title. A little more common sense, a little less theo- rizing, a great deal less self-conceit, those are some of the things essential to good rowing in our colleges. The better time two crews make, the more nearly alike will their style be found to be, as may be seen every year in the Ox- ford-Cambridge race; and the moral of that fact is so patent that there is no need of fur- ther expatiation upon the matter. Between 1873 and i88i, I saw most of the English university races; and the difference between the crews, so far as stroke and style xvent, was too insignificant to be taken into account. The difference between them as regards time was never more than a few seconds, and once they pulled a dead heat. As a rule the heavier crew won. The course there is a little over four miles, and the currents and eddies and the windings of the river are against good re- sults; nevertheless, the times made during the last ten years are better than the best at New London, where the conditions are the most favorable that can be conceived. The men themselves, on the other hand, appear for the most part inferior to our own in strength and muscular development. Stronger men than Wilbur Bacon, or Will Simmons, or even Pen- rose, are seldom or never seen in English university crews. New London in June and July is a lovely town; and during the Regatta week it is full of jolly bustle and brilliance. The body of the town lies a mile or two within the mouth of the river, on the western bank; though there is a straggling line of villas along the road to the Pequot House which commands a view of the Sound and of the Long Island shore. On the eastern bank, stands Groton monu- ment, a granite pillar that reminds Bostonians of their own Bunker Hill. In the broad harbor are anchored scores of yachts, as neat as a ladys dressing-case; others are tacking up and down, and tugs, steamboats, and number- less smaller crafts hasten to and fro. The huge clumsy ferry-boat that conveys the Shore Line railroad trains from one bank to another ever and anon makes its lumbering trips across the river; and sharp-nosed, dapper steam-yachts, with backward-sloping masts and funnels, slide up and down with heavy rollers diverging in their wake. Beyond the Shore Line railway, the river pursues a nearly straight course northward, with an average breadth of rather less than half a mile. The finish of the race (when rowed down stream) is at Winthrops Point, a promontory jutting out into the river just east and north of the city; the start is at Bartlett Point, four miles up. The course is marked by flags, whose positions at the mile points are determined by measurements taken on the ice during the winter: standing with a spy-glass, at either end of the course, you can see them all accurately aligned. Along the western margin of the stream runs the New London and Northern railroad, which seems to have been constructed for the especial pur- pose of affording a moving view of the race from start to finish. The only untoward place is at the two-mile flag, where the rocky prom- ontory of Mamacoke lifts itself stupidly be- tween the regatta train and the crews. As this is the point where the closest races are won and lost, we have an additional instance of the fact that nothing in this world is perfect. As the time for the race draws near, New London puts on its gaudiest attire, and rouses into a bustling and uproarious life, which must seem strange to its older inhabitants. For it is one of the oldest New England~ towns, and had already preserved the placid tenor of its existence for several years before it became a prominent depot of the whaling interest, sixty or more years ago. Then was its ample har- bor crowded not with gay and graceful craft of the New York Yacht Club, as at present, but with dingy and oily whalers, drop- ping in with the tide from a four years~ cruise around the Horn, and into the North Pacific, and with their holds overflowing with oil enough to fill all the lamps of the New World. They were passed by others, setting out on their long cruise, some never to return, but d~stined4o leave their oaken ribs, and the bones of their crews, miles deep beneath the surface of the distant sea, lower even than the great leviathan himself durst venture. Then the streets were noisy with the bustle, not of pleasure but of business; and the sun- burnt faces of the passers-by belonged not to athletic college youths, trained in slender racing-shells, but to hardy mariners, familiar with the whale-boat and the harpoon, who had confronted death and deadly peril a thousand times. And the female element of those days was represented, not by lovely girls, laughing in silk and muslin, and fluttering in the crim- son and blue ribbons of the colleges of their choice; but by lean and sober matrons, ac- customed to long months and years of loneli- ness; and some in black garments, whose loneliness would never know relief. Little thought they of railways or regattas; life for COLLEGE BOA 7-RACING. 183 them was anxious and severe; and it was joy enough if, at the end, when old age came, they could see their weather-beaten husbands be- side them, and their children round about, and know that there was money enough in the strong-box to eke out the remainder of their days. People are still alive in the old town who have seen those times; but they must often feel as if they were walking in a dream. Here are the same streets, the same harbor, the same hilly shores, many of the same houses; yet all is changed; hardly can they recognize the home of their youth. Where did these ferry-boats and huge beam-engine steamers come from? Who built those new piers and wharves? What means this rumble and shriek of trains? And during what night did these fine hotels sprout up like mushrooms, their gables waving with flags, and their lobbies thronged with clamorous guests? The noisy thoroughfare of the town is broad and brilliant; the shops which line it on either side are rainbow-hued with every sort of badge and decoration that the enthusiasm of college youth can be sup- posed to covet. Here are crimson and blue hats, jerseys, and sack-coats; dresses for Har- vard girls and dresses for Yale girls; sashes, ribbons, bonnets, banners, and rosettes; Har- vard cigars and Yale cigars; nothing, in short, that is not either Yale, or Harvard, or Columbia. And the sidewalks are crowded with old graduates and young graduates, with freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors, and even with boys who are still looking for- ward with hope and fear to their entrance examinations. If there be any one there who is not either a past, present, or prospective college man, he must wish he were, or be in- clined to pretend that he is. It is a singular spectacle, enlivening, comical, pathetic; a sort of Vanity Fair of youth and fun, with the dim past on one side and tl~ mysterious fu- ture on the other. Some of these young fellows will make longer voyages than to the antipodes, and bring home larger game than whales. Some of these pretty girls will expe- rience sadder tragedies than the drowning of a husband, a father, or a son. But now it is all Hurrah for Harvard! Hurrah for Yale! and the deuce take the hindmost! Farther up the street stand handsome villas and country residences, with stretches of green lawn in front of them, and flag-staffs on their cupolas, with flags afloat. From within comes the sound of music, singing, and laughter, and perhaps, if one listen closely, of the popping of champagne corks and the click of billiard balls. The porches and verandas are bright- ened by the fresh dresses of girls and the summer suits of fashionable young gentlemen; and here, there, and everywhere, the one topic of conversation is the race. But if you ven- ture into the side streets, you will find com- parative solitude and silence. The few people whom you meet seem scarcely alive to the importance of what is going on elsewhere. It reminds the traveled spectator of the Carnival time at Rome, when only; the Corso goes mad, and all other thoroughfares are silent and sober even beyond their usual wont. Many pretty walks lie outside the town; but the prettiest, perhaps, is along the southern bank of the river, toward Mamacoke; and the visitor to New London, with leisure on his hands, can hardly do better than to make a journey thither. Starting from the railway-station you pass out by way of Main street. Though everything is neat and well-preserved, m4ny of the houses are evidently old; their broad hip-roofs and thick bulging eaves do not belong to the archi- tecture of this century. Alternating with these are brand-new villas ofthe modern Queen Anne type, and other houses which can only be described as American, and are destitute of any describable features whatever. For the first half-mile of the way, the road passes along the side of a creek, above the sloping bank of which the rears of the houses are uplifted on stout piles, as if they had pulled their skirts up out of the mud, and revealed an array of dirty legs, of which, however, their decorous fronts betray no suspicion. The creek itself is pic- turesque with old rotten boats, lying strand- ed and half-submerged; an occasional tug lounges in to rest and smoke its pipe after its days work; and even a dainty steam-yacht will condescend to pick its way between the groups of plebeian shipping, like a fine lady poking her aristocratic nose into a tenement court. Beyond the head of the creek, and so overshadowed with the heavy foliage of trees as to be scarcely visible from the road, appears a substantial elderly mansion. It stands on a slight eminence above the road, and thick grass grows tall and untrimmed all around it. It ought to be haunted, and probably it is; but fearing a rebuff, the present writer ab- stained from seeking information on the mat- ter. The answers to such questions are as well left to the imagination. Farther along, the road passes into open country, beautifully diversi- fied with hills, wooded regions, and cultivated fields. A gradual ascent reveals a wide pros- pect, including the town behind, the river, and the high banks of the opposite shore. Nearly parallel with the road, but much nearer the water, lies the railway; and beyond it, jutting out into the stream, is Mamacoke. Striking over the fields and crossing the track, we come in front of the rocks, clothed with trees and 184 COLLEGE BOA T-RA GING. bushes, and scampered over by flocks of sheep. It is almost an island, being joined to the main land only by a narrow strip of low-lying ground. From its summit one can see up and down the whole length of the course; and a mile or so higher up stream, on the opposite bank, is the crimson-roofed cottage used as the HarVard quarters; and further still is the clus- ter of whitewashed buildings occupied by Yale. If it be late in the afternoon, you may see one or both of the crews out for practice, accom- panied each by an active little steam-launch containing the coach and four or five im- mortals who have won glory in previous boat- ing contests. In attendance, likewise, though at a more respectful distance, is the steamer Manlzanse/, which, with stalwart Captain Jim Smith at the helm, occupies its leisure time in affording interested persons opportunity to study the styles of the contestants. The crews, however, are none too anxious to be seen; they are as shy as a new boy in his first day at school. And if they are reluctant to reveal themselves prematurely to the general public, it is impos- sible to overstate the anxiety with which each shuns any risk of being spied upon by the other. They will even forego a pull rather than be seen pulling by a rival eye. What is the reason of this excessive coyness ~ Suppose Harvard did see Yale taking a prac- tice pull, or vice versa, what harm would it do? Would it paralyze the powers of the ob- served persons? Would it, when the day of the race came, prevent the better men from winning? Why are the times made in practice so carefully concealed, as if they were murder secrets? Nay, why does each crew cause it to be believed that its time is ten or twenty seconds slower than it really is? Why do they intimate that one or other of their men is suffering from severe indisposi- tion? Why do they give it out that they are dissatisfied with their boat? Why are these and a score of similar misleading statements circulated, until, by the time the two crews are side by side at the starting-point, waiting for the word, a credulous person might sup- pose that both were certain to break down before they could reach the first mile flag? What, in short, and to use plain language, is the object and are the benefits of all this lying and jockeying? Surely it cannot be possible that these young gentlemen, representatives of the best blood and culture of their country, not to mention athleticism , surely we are not to believe that they can allow themselves to be influenced by pecuniary, by mercenary, considerations? Surely they do not put forth their strength and pledge the honor of their universities, for money? Professional oarsmen, as we know, row for money: to win a race means, for them, to put so many thousand dollars into the pock- ets of themselves and of their friends. We find no fault with them for that (though we are sorry that so noble a sport should be prostituted to such uses) because it is their livelihood. We may even shrug our shoulders if it turns out to have been settled beforehand that the bet- ter crew should not win. But that our own sons, the inheritors of our names, should ap- proach even within measurable distance of such transactions would be very unwelcome news indeed. What are the facts? The facts are that the betting on these races, among the undergrad- uates themselves, and leaving outside persons out of the account, has grown to such pro- portions, and is increasing year by year at such a rate, that every man in the crews has a re- sponsibility imposed upon him which he has no right to accept, and which tends to distort his views as to xvhat the race is really being rowed for. Theoretically, he rows for the glory of Harvard or of Yale; but practically, he rows because his friends (and possibly he him- self, likewise, though I trust the rule still pre- vails that forbids any member of a crew to lay a wager of any sort) have put up all their spare cash, and a good deal of cash that is not to spare, on the result. It is for the sake of this money that they misrepresent the truth, prevaricate, invent fables, and resort to all manner of underhand and shrewd devices. If they win, no doubt it is their university and not the dollar bills that are nominally cheered; but if they lose, they have to bemoan not only the dimmed luster of Harvard or of Yale, but the empty pocket-books of those who pinned their faith to them. And money means so much to college boys on an allowance, and with their vacation in front of them, that al- though they may be very sorry in the abstract for Yale or for ~arvard, their most pressing and palpable grief is not unconnected with a much more sordid and less honorable cause. Harvard or Yale may win next year; but what is poor Jones or Smith to do, who has lost all his quarters allowance, and has not settled his hotel bill? And let it not be forgotten, furthermore, that either Harvard or Yale is bound to win every year (unless Columbia does), and that the losers will then have pre- varicated and fabled to no purpose. And fi- nally, very little is really gained by all this elaborate deception. The boy who cries wolf so often is at length not believed on any terms; and we have learned to discount these stories about the condition of the crews just as we discount them in the case of professionals. A gentleman who cheats another out of his money, or attempts to do so, by leading that COLLEGE BOA T-EA GING. other to believe what is not true, continues to bear his title only by courtesy; and he will have to give unmistakable evidences of amendment before gentlemen will again re- ceive him on equal terms. I am far indeed from saying or thinking that any university race ever has been or will be rowed otherwise than on its merits; but anything that savors however remotely of professionalism cannot be given too wide a berth. Honest men will never suspect dishonor in these young fellows; but there are rascals enough who will agree that a man who has staked all be possesses upon an event will employ any available means to protect himself against loss; and it is the duty of honorable men to avoid the ap- pearance of evil. But can betting on the university races be stopped? That is not to be expected; but it can be enormously diminished, and that by no one else than by the crews themselves. If they will dispense with all disguises and sub- terfuges, and let themselves be known for just what they are, neither more nor less, then bet- ting will lose nine-tenths of its impetus. Nor will the pleasurable elements of legitimate un- certainty as to the result ever be absent; for, however apparent it may seem that one of the crews is superior to the other, there are a dozen possibilities that this anticipation may be defeated when the race actually comes to be rowed. One man may overtrain; another may catch a crab; the stroke may turn out more effective than it looked; or the crew that had never done itself justice in practice may awaken under the spur of actual competition, and surprise its friends and strike aghast its enemies. No race is ever won until it has been VOL. XXXIV. 27. rowed. And even if the prophets prove cor- rect, defeat will be no worse, nor victory any less sweet, if it has been expected beforehand. It is a rare privilege, too, the opportunity to do ones utmost for no other reward than the parsley crown. It is a privilege which comes seldom in after life, as these young gentlemen will discover in due time. There is another word to say about profes- sional trainers. They are very honest and worthy persons, no doubt, but they have no business with a university crew; and the re- sult last year, when Yale won under the ad- ministration of Mr. Robert Cook, shows that they are by no means indispensable. But even if they were indispensable, they ought not to be employed. We are not going to becomes professional oarsmen ourselves, and we do not need to learn what they can teach us. More- over, they can teach us very little. The chief advantage that a professional oarsman pos- sesses over an amateur is, that he does nothing but row, and therefore (other things being equal) he becomes more skillful and enduring. But this endurance and skillfulness cannot be taught; it must be acquired in the same way that the professional acquired it, by doing and thinking of nothing else. 1-le can no more im- part it than he can impart the color of his hair, or the tone of his voice. And as it is al- ways true that it is not necessary for a good critic to be a good artist in that whkh he criticises, it follows that though an amateur coach may not be able to row as well as a professional, he may nevertheless be, able to give just as sound instruction, and indeed much better. For the amateur will probably be more intelligent and cultivated than the professional~ HARVARD HEADQUARTERS. i86 COLLEGE BOAT-RACING. and cultivation and intelligence are exempli- lied in nothing more than in the power they give to conceive an ideal and to explain it. But this is not all. Association with profes- sionals, even with the best of them, tends to lower the social and moral tone. He is in the position of a guide, philosopher, and friend, and the young men who submit themselves to his tutelage will be liable to adopt his views on other matters besides mere oarsmanship and diet. They are at an age when suscepti- bility to impressions is at its maximum, and experience is at its minimum, and they will easily take color from an older companion; they will not so easily rid themselves of it af- terwards. It needs no seer to tell us where a great deal of the shyness and smartness which has of late characterized the policy of the crews before a race comes from. There is a decidedly professional flavor about it. Again, as regards diet, professional advice is not to be trusted. Their knowledge of phys- iology and hygiene is purely empirical, and 15 derived, moreover, mainly from experiments on themselves. But no two men can with ad- vantage train exactly alike; especially no men under twenty, who are much more readily de- pressed and stimulated than are olderpersons. An amateur will have broader and more lib- eral views in this direction, and is also likely to be better informed as to the latest conclu- sions of science upon the points in question. But the main thing, after all, is the abstract, not the utilitarian, aspect of the matter. It is not good, it is not respectable, to stoop to conquer. Use with all your might the means and weapons proper to your station; but do not, even with the certainty of gaining an ad- vantage, condescend to receive help from any lower level. If you cannot row the race in twenty minutes without professional assistance, then be content to row it in twenty-six or even in thirty. All that is necessary is that you should do your very best. I was as patriotic, in my time, as any other Harvard man of my acquaintance, and I do not know that I have THE RACE, FROM COLLEGE BOA T-RA C/NG. 187 lost any of my old interest in the welfare and reputation of my university; and yet, so long as Harvard employs a professional coach, I shall never regret to see her lose the race. Indeed, if professional guides and methods continue to he used, the college races will soon lose all their interest for that portion of the public whose good opinion is worth having. During all this disagreeable fault-finding, we have been sitting on the summit of Main- acoke; and now there is barely time left to see the race. How shall we see it? We may either remain here, or hereabouts, or we may get ahoard the iian/uwset; or we may go to the Grand Stand, or on the Observation Train. If we are wise, we will adopt the latter course. The view from the bank or from the Grand Stand is partial only, and the more exciting the part that we see, the greater is our de- sire to see that part which is invisible to us. The 2lifa;zlia;zsct suffers under the serious draw- back of being forbidden to approach within two hundred yards of the last boat in the race; and it is impossible, from that distance, to know which crew is leading, unless the lead be a very commanding one. But the train shows us the relative position of the boats at nearly every half-mile of the course: we can see what each man is doing at each moment. and enjoy a conspicuous view of the river and everything on it. The cars are platform cars, and tiers of seats are built up on them, rising one above another, so that every one has an unobstructed outlook: only, if we can get a place on the central car, we shall be more likely than in any other to remain just oppo- site the boats during the race. The depot is overflowing with a hurrying, excited, laughing, shouting, brilliant crowd. The boys and girls are decked out in blue and crimson finery; they carry flags of silk or cot- ton, as the case may be; and the peddlers of screeching tin horns drive a roaring trade. As the cars fill up, row after row, the clamor of talk and outcry increases, and becomes a i88 COLLEGE BOAT-RACING. ceaseless refrain; and belated persons run anxiously to and fro, and make hurried and vehement appeals to the ticket collectors to be allowed to get where they do not be- long. As we sit on the front row of the central car, two young undergraduates, standing on the platform in front of us, converse eagerly over our heads with three young ladies on the row behind us: we hear all they say, but, though they evidently enjoy saying it, it amounts to just nothing at all. They wager their fellows will win; they are afraid the other fellows may win; the Yale coxswain is going to steer without his shoes; the Harvard stroke has parted his hair in the middle; if the wind doesnt change, the course will be as smooth as glass; if the tide is high enough, the eel-grass wont matter; the race is certain not to begin on time it never does; they hope our car will stop just opposite the finish; they wonder whether the winning crew will break the record. In the midst of this con- versation, the first whistle blows, and there is a general stampede of the people remaining on the platform. The trumpet merchant blows a horrid blast on his last tin horn, and a mo- ment after sells it at a sacrifice to the last enthusiast who is unprovided with one; the car moves, and a group of people in the next car give the first cheer. As the train moves out of the depot, we catch a glimpse of the long array of gay dresses and waving flags; and beyond, through a gap between two sheds, we see a brief panorama of the river, with a thousand vessels decked with streamers and crowded with spectators; and other crowds are massed along the banks, and every upright object carries a banner, except only Groton monument, which stands tall and gray and undecorated above the scene, and takes no part in the excitement and suspense. As we slowly pass the long dingy fa~ade of the fac- tory, clusters of workmen gather in the win- dows and doorways, and stare stolidly at our rainbow array. Still onward we go, until at length we leave the railway buildings and the ugly coal-dump behind us, and the broad sweep of the river breaks upon our view. There is the Grand Stand, a mass of shifting color: there is the course, defined by the throng of yachts and small boats and big steamers crowding up to its straight limits, and dispersing thence to either shore. The start is to be from this end, so here we pause. Where are the crews? They have not got into their boats yet. Yes, there comes the Harvard launch, with the men on board, and their boat towing behind. Now the launch stops, and the boat is brought alongside. We can see the crimson jerseys, as one by one their wearers step cautiously into their places, and drop their oars into the rowlocks. There, the last man is in; and off they glide to the starting-point. And Yale, where is she? Oh, they are embarking from the raft; and they too pull up to the flag, dark blue every man. Two dories are moored on a line with the post; in each sits a man whose duty it is to hold the stem of the racer in position, waiting the word. They are in position, all is ready! No: wait a moment. Off come the blue and crimson jerseys, over the wearers heads, and are tossed to their launches; and the bronzed backs and arms of all those stout young fel- lows are exposed for the last time to the sun. How the muscles swell and shift beneath the smooth skin, as the men handle their oars, and reach forward! How active and tireless they look! And how their hearts are beating, and their teeth set! Now, silence, and listen for the word. No, we could not hear it; and if we could, the boats would be off before it reached our ears. So there is nothing to do but to watch ha! they are off! Off, amidst a roar of voices, a deafening screech of steam whistles and tin horns, a thunder of guns, pistols, and cannon; off, amidst waving flags and fluttering handker- chiefs, and cheers, and laughter, and screams ~of hysteric girls, and cat-calls of frantic under- graduates. They are off; but they hear nothing and see nothing of the wild confusion and up- roar that welters around them. Each mans eyes are in the boat; each man strives to combine iron self-control with frantic exertion. Keep VICTORY. V time! pull! lift her! we are gaining! we are losing! Steady, boys! there are four miles in front of you; space enough to win and lose. The little coxswain keeps his eye on the ap- proaching flag, and the tiller-ropes are taut. Together, row! pull! pull! And behind them stream along the surging steamers, crowded with men like flies; and our train, too, moves forward, keeping pace with them as they go. One of them has forged ahead, which is it? Never mind, the others have quickened their stroke, they draw up again. There are three miles yet, well rowed! a gallant race! There is an old lady on the bench beside us, and the tears are streaming down her face, and then she laughs and waves her hand. She is the mother of one of those struggling young fellows; he is the darling of her heart, and there is no telling yet whether he will win or lose. And above, there is an elderly gentle- man with a detective camera; he too has a 189 boy in one of the crews, and he has come with the intention of photographing him in the moment of victory. But he has forgotten all about that, and is waving his camera madly in the air, under the impression, probably, that it is a flag; and he is yelling himself hoarse. Well, both crews cannot win; one must suffer defeat. And see! one of them has a long lead now, and it is increasing with every stroke. They are holding themselves well in hand. The others are doing their utmost, but they cannot close up the gap. Two miles! Three miles! What a race! The end is near; they all gather themselves up for the final effort. Break the record! ye winners! Defeat, but not disgrace, ye losers! And so, with glisten- ing bodies, and heaving lungs, and straining muscles, and bending oars, they fly past the judges boat, first one, then the other; and another years regatta is lost and won. Jullait Hawthorne. BOAT-RACING BY AMATEURS. [E evils of introducing the professional element into amateur athletics are so greatthey are so obvious to those who have dipped into matters of the kind without losing their faculty of criticism in the enthusi- asm natural to the pursuit that the first, the healthful instinct is to cry, Away with it all; give young men their heads; let them go to work without professional guidance and solve the problem as they best can by themselves! This is, however, the dictum of persons like ourselves who are no longer in the actual fight and can afford to assume an impartial and most wise attitude toward the contest, swayed as we are by considerations entirely different from those which met us when, boys in red and blue, we were of the battle. Could we, however, become young again by virtue of some witch-potion and enter col- lege once more with all the ignorance, liveli- ness, and ambition to succeed at whatever cost which we find to our surprise in the undergrad- uates of the present day, would we act so very differently after all? Would we not be charmed as of old by big, useless muscles in the men of our college class who practice daily at the dumb- bells, and prefer unwieldy giants to smaller men with muscles less startling but far greater will-power to punish themselves in a contest? And when it came to preparations for a boat- race against a college with which rivalry, if VOL. XXXJV.28. not exactly deadly, was a tradition of long standing, would it be in us to refrain from securing what advice was possiblefrom pro- fessionals who make oarsmanship their means of livelihood? Probably not. Certainly while rowing had a precarious existence at Ameri- can colleges, and there was no large body of graduate oarsmen on whom to lean for advice and from whom to beg the arduous and un- grateful services of a coach, it was only human that professionals should be paid to look after the stroke and diet of the crews. Professionals were at least kept out of the boat. There is no record like that of the Brasenose Oxford four in 1824, which contained two col- lege men, a professional, and an outsider of attainments unrecorded by the muse of history. To the impetuosity of youth rather than the professional element we may ascribe what- ever there is bad in the betting that goeson at college races in the United States. Boys will be boys is a remark which enjoys a perennial popularity in all ages and all lands. The same may be said of the spies that are sent out by two colleges to note the proficiency and faults of the rival crew: it springs from boyishness more than anything else; it is the act of half- men who a few years earlier were reading dime novels, daubing their cheeks with red clay, and lassoing their elders and betters in the sem- blance of buffalo, or shooting each other with arrows, in the semblance of red men. The precautions taken by each crew, not to allow the other side to see them at their best, may BOATRACING BY AMATEURS

Henry Eckford Eckford, Henry Boat-Racing by Amateurs 189-192

time! pull! lift her! we are gaining! we are losing! Steady, boys! there are four miles in front of you; space enough to win and lose. The little coxswain keeps his eye on the ap- proaching flag, and the tiller-ropes are taut. Together, row! pull! pull! And behind them stream along the surging steamers, crowded with men like flies; and our train, too, moves forward, keeping pace with them as they go. One of them has forged ahead, which is it? Never mind, the others have quickened their stroke, they draw up again. There are three miles yet, well rowed! a gallant race! There is an old lady on the bench beside us, and the tears are streaming down her face, and then she laughs and waves her hand. She is the mother of one of those struggling young fellows; he is the darling of her heart, and there is no telling yet whether he will win or lose. And above, there is an elderly gentle- man with a detective camera; he too has a 189 boy in one of the crews, and he has come with the intention of photographing him in the moment of victory. But he has forgotten all about that, and is waving his camera madly in the air, under the impression, probably, that it is a flag; and he is yelling himself hoarse. Well, both crews cannot win; one must suffer defeat. And see! one of them has a long lead now, and it is increasing with every stroke. They are holding themselves well in hand. The others are doing their utmost, but they cannot close up the gap. Two miles! Three miles! What a race! The end is near; they all gather themselves up for the final effort. Break the record! ye winners! Defeat, but not disgrace, ye losers! And so, with glisten- ing bodies, and heaving lungs, and straining muscles, and bending oars, they fly past the judges boat, first one, then the other; and another years regatta is lost and won. Jullait Hawthorne. BOAT-RACING BY AMATEURS. [E evils of introducing the professional element into amateur athletics are so greatthey are so obvious to those who have dipped into matters of the kind without losing their faculty of criticism in the enthusi- asm natural to the pursuit that the first, the healthful instinct is to cry, Away with it all; give young men their heads; let them go to work without professional guidance and solve the problem as they best can by themselves! This is, however, the dictum of persons like ourselves who are no longer in the actual fight and can afford to assume an impartial and most wise attitude toward the contest, swayed as we are by considerations entirely different from those which met us when, boys in red and blue, we were of the battle. Could we, however, become young again by virtue of some witch-potion and enter col- lege once more with all the ignorance, liveli- ness, and ambition to succeed at whatever cost which we find to our surprise in the undergrad- uates of the present day, would we act so very differently after all? Would we not be charmed as of old by big, useless muscles in the men of our college class who practice daily at the dumb- bells, and prefer unwieldy giants to smaller men with muscles less startling but far greater will-power to punish themselves in a contest? And when it came to preparations for a boat- race against a college with which rivalry, if VOL. XXXJV.28. not exactly deadly, was a tradition of long standing, would it be in us to refrain from securing what advice was possiblefrom pro- fessionals who make oarsmanship their means of livelihood? Probably not. Certainly while rowing had a precarious existence at Ameri- can colleges, and there was no large body of graduate oarsmen on whom to lean for advice and from whom to beg the arduous and un- grateful services of a coach, it was only human that professionals should be paid to look after the stroke and diet of the crews. Professionals were at least kept out of the boat. There is no record like that of the Brasenose Oxford four in 1824, which contained two col- lege men, a professional, and an outsider of attainments unrecorded by the muse of history. To the impetuosity of youth rather than the professional element we may ascribe what- ever there is bad in the betting that goeson at college races in the United States. Boys will be boys is a remark which enjoys a perennial popularity in all ages and all lands. The same may be said of the spies that are sent out by two colleges to note the proficiency and faults of the rival crew: it springs from boyishness more than anything else; it is the act of half- men who a few years earlier were reading dime novels, daubing their cheeks with red clay, and lassoing their elders and betters in the sem- blance of buffalo, or shooting each other with arrows, in the semblance of red men. The precautions taken by each crew, not to allow the other side to see them at their best, may BOATRACING BY AMATEURS 190 BOAT-RACING BY AMATEURS. be confidently set down to mans inborn love of outdoing his fellow by sly means as well as by the exercise of power. Every collegian is a Joey Bagstock, who hugs himself if he feels that he is devilish sly. Over here Yale College appears to have led off in 1833 with local races, and about New Haven there are legends of doughty crews who astonished the natives at fairs and Fourth of July festivities in rural communities of Con- necticut, New York, and Massachusetts before the year 1843, when Yale formed a regular boat-club. Harvard followed next year, and in August of 1852 the two colleges met in New Hampshire on the lonely waters of Win- nipiseogee. As these universities increased in size and other colleges began to take a hand in boat-racing, the professional element could not be kept out, for this reason: four years is a short period in which to form good athletes, and few men could afford to give themselves up to any kind of athletics each year of the college course. Hence it was notpossible, even if it were in all respects the better method, to put four or six men in a boat and let them row and row until they settled down to a telling stroke without good form, but effective in getting the boat through the water. The Hillsdales or Sho-Wae-Cae-Mettes, or some crew of amateurs from fresh water or the backwoods, could and did employ this very natural fashion of perfecting themselves, and sometimes with astonishing success, particu- larly when they had to compete with college crewstrained, it is true, but not always wisely trained, and in any case compelled by their studious life to sacrifice many hours which otherwise could have been employed in prac- tice. It has been found, however, that crews of this description cannot compete with col- lege men who are well trained, if the latter can have a tithe of the practice in the boat secured to the former by long residence in one locality near good rowing-grounds. Science, intelligence, and especially good form do tell in all save peculiar circumstances when rowing men are considered, just as they do when soldiers are under consideration. It is a question of drill. The species of rowing crews of which the famous Ward four is the most conspicuous example of success depend for their triumphs on a life-time spent in follow- ing the water and rowing together. Such a preparation is almost out of the question among amateurs; without it and in default of rigid coaching they can be beaten by the oarsmen of the poorest clubs, who are physically the weakest of oars. In college communities it is practically out of the question. The record of the Oxford and Cambridge contests is instructive on this point, for it shows how much can be done on very inadequate water by a thorough system of drill, which commences at the preparatory schools long be- fore college is reached and is continued with increasing care as regards form and diet. At Eton and Harrow the boat clubs struggle with each other; at Oxford and Cambridge the crews of the several colleges are in con- stant rivalry; finally, out of all these crews the flower of the rowing men is picked to form the Varsity eight. Everything in the record of university boating goes to prove that intelli- gence, science, good form, are the watch- words of success among amateurs. From an- other point the English record explains well enough how it is that American crews in Great Britain have scored few victories. Where have we in the United States amateurs or even college oarsmen who can pass through so many years of steady drill in the boat as Oxford or Cambridge men? The latter may be rowing with comrades who were fellow-oars at Eton seven years or more before. There remains nothing, then, but the best kind of drill to fashion the raw material of American college youth in the course of six months into tolerable similarity of stroke; for unless this is done, defeat is certain. The writer has more than once undergone the agony of trying to shape a crew composed of young men in various walks of life, of various stature and strength, and filled with very differ- ent kinds of conceit, into a harmonious whole which should get the boat through the water at the quickest rate possible. The conclusion he came to was that each man should be taken in hand separately and forced to learn exactly the stroke of the stroke-oar; say by exercising him along with the stroke in a pair-oar, but discarding him at once if he is found too stupid or too headstrong to conform. If the club is large enouglYto contain a choice of good ma- terial, this can be done. No combination row- ing should be allowed until it has been at- tended to. Rowing does not differ from other exercises in which united effort is absolutely necessary. Very often, indeed, it is the most experienced oar in a crew who does most to lose the race. He is wedded to his own ideas, or perhaps only to his own habits. Often he cannot learn another stroke even if he be will- ing, and his powerful efforts along lines differing slightly from those of him who sets the stroke impede the gait, imperceptibly, but very effectu- ally, and in obvious cases cause the boat to roll. This is particularly observable when it comes to race-day; for then the old Adam rises in him, evoked by the excitement of the occasion. Even when the coach allows the crew to sit in the boat, it is questionable whether at first long, wearying pulls, during which the BOAT-RACING BY AMATEURS. J91 minds of the oarsmen wander and their sev- eral faults become hardened in them, are of use. It is better to make them paddle a lit- tle way and stop them no matter how the ardent spirits among them may chafe, no matter how much cursing and grumbling is heard in the dressing-room afterwards. The great point is to teach them how to apply their strength all in the same wayat the same moment is of course. And the reason is simple. The Ward brothers bobbed every which-way, it is true, but by long practice the vicious bobbing of one was counteracted by the vicious bobbing of the other. One yawed over the side this xvay, but another yawed over the other. It is true that drill deadens the enthusiasm and makes some men spirit- less; but the coach who is worth his salt knows when to apply the stimulus of enthu- siasm, and, having first made machines of his crew, to spur them into putting their heart along the absolute lines he has obviously, however slowly, chalked out. If I am not mistaken, this is the way Mr. Robert Cook went to work. He did not neg- lect practice; but he first studied the ques- tion, went where the best stroke obtainable at that time was rowed, took of that stroke whatever he thought good, and on his return to Yale played the autocrat with the utmost success. The oarsman who would not row his stroke had to get out of the boat; and in New Haven, that nest of petty politics and secret .society nonsense, great was the to-do he raised by his arbitrary proceedings. But he beat Harvard every time, and the cackling of the old ladies with boys faces, and some- times xvith masculine gray hair, who potter about the undergraduate politics in Yale, was all drowned in the hurrahs of victory. In a less perfect way the same was true of Mr. Wilbur Bacon, the Yale stroke who achieved a series of victories at an earlier period. For his time he rowed the best stroke there was short, it is true; with the body, it is true; mostly arm-work, it is true. But then every- body used their arms too much at that period, when the slide, gradually evolving itself from a pair of well-greased breeches that rubbed up and down a long seat made so that the grain of the wood ran fore and aft, was turn- ing into a thin board running on oiled run- ners an American invention quickly taken up in England and never discarded since. If the old idea that putting college men into a boat and making them row ten miles a day without sharp coaching is no longer ten- able, still less is it possible to deny the merits of the sliding seat. Hanlan could never have made the time he has without this Yankee notion. It is now frequently balanced on glass balls that permit it to move with the least possible friction as the oarsman stretches for- ward to grasp the water. The sliding seat equalizes the men in the boat who differ one fiom the other in length of trunk and limbs, permitting a man with a short reach to slide a little further than another with long arms, so to catch the water at the same angle and pull through a stroke of the same length. Without the slide no amount of rowing to- gether would equalize the stroke: the short man would have to catch later or finish later than the long man, the result of which is of course, unsteadiness in the boat and dimi- nution of speed; for racing craft are so nar- row that the blow of the blade as it takes water and the jerk as it leaves the surface are enough to give a lurch which causes the oars on the other side to foul at some point on the recover. The sliding seat is based on the common- sense reasoning that the legs are furnished with muscles far more powerful than any other por- tion of the body. Which would you prefer to be hit with the fist of a pugilist, or the foot of a Frenchman skilled in the curious and ex- tre~nely unfashionable science of the savafe? The latter with his heels can kill a man with one blow far more certainly, far more easily, than the former with his knuckles. Those great thigh and calf muscles contain a power little suspected by the average man. Well, the sliding seat enables the sculler to apply a very large fraction of that immense power to the blades of his oars, and, using the nearly unyielding water as the points of resistance to the longer arms of his fulcrum, to shoot the narrow hull like a javelin propelled from a throwing stick. The gain in swiftness is not a gain in picturesqueness. Look at Hanlan loafing doubled up over his sculls, reaching far for- ward with his hands, and catching the water far back of his seat. Then the bow twangs. His knees xvere under his breastbone just now, and his thighs and calves (they are not particu- larly big) were almost touching each other. Down go these levers, and the boat jumps like a trout you have inadvertently jogged while trying to tickle him into your hand. Then Hanlan gathers together in the same lazy, un- picturesque way xvhat! hes done it again! You turn away and remark to yourself that if he can keep up that sort of thing for twenty minutes, nobody unprovided with these new- fangled rowing-tanks, slides, swivel oar-locks, and wind-boards can hope to stay near him in a race. Henry Eckford. THE HUNDREDTH MAN.* BY FRANK R. STOCKTON, Matilda Stull, who really was on her way to invite Miss Gay Armatt to drive with her, was very much surprised when that young lady, in company with Mr. Stratford, rapidly passed her on the road. She turned quickly, and looked back at them, saying to herself: Is it possible that I have been mistaken, and that that is the man she is engaged to? I dont understand it, for they certainly told me that the one I saw in the carriage with Mrs. J ustin is named Crisman, and that he comes up every Saturday, on account of the engagement. But that doesnt look like it, I must say! And this is Saturday afternoon too! In all matters which pertained to love, en- gagements, or marriage Miss Matilda took a deep and abiding interest, and in this affair, so immediately within her observation, her in- terest was greater than usual. The apparent complications of it which had suddenly arisen in her extremely active mind, which needed but very slight impulses to set it working in matters of this sort, pnzzled her exceedingly. She could not bring herself to give up her visit to Mrs. Justins house, where she might hope to lay hold of some clew to this mystery. It was plain that Gay could not drive xvith her, but she saw no reason why she should not re- turn Mrs. Justins call, although her mother was not with her. That lady was as likely to be indisposed one day as another, and she could not afford to let the acquaintanceship she desired depend upon Mrs. Stulls disposi- tions or indispositions. If that Mr. Crisman were coming to-day, she knew the hour when he should arrive, and determined to plan her own drive so as to reach the house when he should be there. Mr. Stratford and Gay Ar- matt would be back by that time, and when she saw them all together she could judge for herself how matters stood. Miss Stull drove about the country for some time, and when the proper hour arrived, she directed her coachman to turn the horses to- xx. Author of Rudder Grange, The Lady, or the Tiger ? The Late Mrs. Null, The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine, etc. wards the Justin house. There she found the lady of the mansion and Mr. Crisman, seated upon the broad piazza. Mrs. Justin received the young lady very cordially, and was on the point of stating that Gay had gone for a walk, but would certainly be back in a very short time, when Miss Matilda remarked that she supposed she might not see Miss Armatt as she had met her driving with Mr. Stratford, but that she had come all the same, because this was a call not only from herself but from her mother, who was extremely grieved that she was not able to make it in person. At the intelligence thus conveyed by Miss Matilda the soul of Mrs. Justin was smitten by a sudden chill, and the face of Mr. Cris- man grew stern and dark. This gentleman had been annoyed when he reached the house and found that Gay was not there to meet him, and had been talking to Mrs. Justin about the propriety of that young lady keeping her watch properly set and regulated, and carrying it with her when she went out for a walk, so that she would know when she ought to return.to the house. But now, when he learned that she had not gone for a walk at all but was out driving with Stratford, his mind was a good deal darker than his face. He said nothing, but his eyes flashed angrily on Mrs. Justin. That lady glanced at him, caught the flash, and knew instantly that he believed she had told him a falsehood. I did not know, she said, addressing Miss Stull, that Miss Armatt had gone driving. iVir. Stratford must have called for her while I was away, and they will doubtless return pres- ently. And, before I forget it, Miss Stull, did your mother engage that washerwoman I rec- ommended to her? If she does not suit, there is another one who might answer, but she lives at a greater distance. During the discussion upon washerwomen which followed, Mr. Crisman arose, went into the house, and began to stalk up and down the parlor. A good deal of conversation, mostly on domestic subjects, now took place between Mrs. Justin and her visitor, and, to the great regret of both, it was not interrupted by the arrival of Gay and Mr. Stratford. Miss Matilda stayed just as long as it was * Copyright, s886, by Frank R. Stockton. All rights reserved.

Frank R. Stockton Stockton, Frank R. The Hundredth Man 192-202

THE HUNDREDTH MAN.* BY FRANK R. STOCKTON, Matilda Stull, who really was on her way to invite Miss Gay Armatt to drive with her, was very much surprised when that young lady, in company with Mr. Stratford, rapidly passed her on the road. She turned quickly, and looked back at them, saying to herself: Is it possible that I have been mistaken, and that that is the man she is engaged to? I dont understand it, for they certainly told me that the one I saw in the carriage with Mrs. J ustin is named Crisman, and that he comes up every Saturday, on account of the engagement. But that doesnt look like it, I must say! And this is Saturday afternoon too! In all matters which pertained to love, en- gagements, or marriage Miss Matilda took a deep and abiding interest, and in this affair, so immediately within her observation, her in- terest was greater than usual. The apparent complications of it which had suddenly arisen in her extremely active mind, which needed but very slight impulses to set it working in matters of this sort, pnzzled her exceedingly. She could not bring herself to give up her visit to Mrs. Justins house, where she might hope to lay hold of some clew to this mystery. It was plain that Gay could not drive xvith her, but she saw no reason why she should not re- turn Mrs. Justins call, although her mother was not with her. That lady was as likely to be indisposed one day as another, and she could not afford to let the acquaintanceship she desired depend upon Mrs. Stulls disposi- tions or indispositions. If that Mr. Crisman were coming to-day, she knew the hour when he should arrive, and determined to plan her own drive so as to reach the house when he should be there. Mr. Stratford and Gay Ar- matt would be back by that time, and when she saw them all together she could judge for herself how matters stood. Miss Stull drove about the country for some time, and when the proper hour arrived, she directed her coachman to turn the horses to- xx. Author of Rudder Grange, The Lady, or the Tiger ? The Late Mrs. Null, The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine, etc. wards the Justin house. There she found the lady of the mansion and Mr. Crisman, seated upon the broad piazza. Mrs. Justin received the young lady very cordially, and was on the point of stating that Gay had gone for a walk, but would certainly be back in a very short time, when Miss Matilda remarked that she supposed she might not see Miss Armatt as she had met her driving with Mr. Stratford, but that she had come all the same, because this was a call not only from herself but from her mother, who was extremely grieved that she was not able to make it in person. At the intelligence thus conveyed by Miss Matilda the soul of Mrs. Justin was smitten by a sudden chill, and the face of Mr. Cris- man grew stern and dark. This gentleman had been annoyed when he reached the house and found that Gay was not there to meet him, and had been talking to Mrs. Justin about the propriety of that young lady keeping her watch properly set and regulated, and carrying it with her when she went out for a walk, so that she would know when she ought to return.to the house. But now, when he learned that she had not gone for a walk at all but was out driving with Stratford, his mind was a good deal darker than his face. He said nothing, but his eyes flashed angrily on Mrs. Justin. That lady glanced at him, caught the flash, and knew instantly that he believed she had told him a falsehood. I did not know, she said, addressing Miss Stull, that Miss Armatt had gone driving. iVir. Stratford must have called for her while I was away, and they will doubtless return pres- ently. And, before I forget it, Miss Stull, did your mother engage that washerwoman I rec- ommended to her? If she does not suit, there is another one who might answer, but she lives at a greater distance. During the discussion upon washerwomen which followed, Mr. Crisman arose, went into the house, and began to stalk up and down the parlor. A good deal of conversation, mostly on domestic subjects, now took place between Mrs. Justin and her visitor, and, to the great regret of both, it was not interrupted by the arrival of Gay and Mr. Stratford. Miss Matilda stayed just as long as it was * Copyright, s886, by Frank R. Stockton. All rights reserved. THE HUNDREDTH MAN 93 possible to extend her visit; and this extension was encouraged by her hostess, who did not at all wish to be left alone with Crisman. Gay had done a very foolish and wrong thing in going away on this Saturday afternoon with Mr. Stratford, and it was she who should make the explanations and bear the reproaches. At last Miss Stull felt bound to admit to herself that the evening was coming on rapidly, and that she could not with propriety stay any longer, and so departed, disappointed. She had seen very little of Mr. Crisman, she had not made the acquaintance of Mr. Stratford, and she had learned nothing definite in regard to the engagement. She had seen enough, how- ever, to make her believe that everything was not right, and that that young man who was walking so heavily about the parlor was very angry. This convinced her that he was really the engaged man, but she was sorry, very sorry indeed, that the couple in the buggy had not arrived before she left. The heavens were kind to Mrs. Justin. She had not returned to the house after seeing Miss Stull to her carriageand it must be ad- mitted that she did not hasten that return when Stratford and Gay drove up over the grass, coming from the back of the house. The horse had no sooner stopped than Gay inquired of Mrs. Justin if Mr. ~risman had arrived, and on being told that that gentleman had been there some time and was now in the parlor, she bade Mr. Stratford a hasty farewell, skipped out of the buggy, and hurried into the house. As she hastened past Mrs. Justin, that lady felt assured that although Gay might be very anxious to meet her lover, her con- science as well as her affection had a good deal to do with the exceeding alacrity with which she went into the house. I had no idea, said Mrs. Justin to Strat- ford, that you and Gay were going off to drive this afternoon.~~ Nor had I, he answered. I picked her up on the road. We had a most delightful drive. It may prove anything but delightful to Gay, said Mrs. Justin. Stratford smiled. I am very sorry, he said, that upon this subject you and I should so frequently differ, both in our desires and our expectations. And I am also very, very sorry, said the lady. And then Mr. Stratford drove away at sup- per time without being invited to stay to supper. This unusual omission was not due to want of hospitality or to resentment on Mrs. Justins part. That lady did not desire an awkward situation at her evening meal, and Stratford understood her feelings perfectly. That supper was indeed an awkward meal, but not as Mrs. Justin had expected it to be. She had looked forward to sitting at table with a black-browed and scowling lover upon whom the sweetness and kind attention of two ladies would make but very faint impression. Instead of that, only she and Gay had supper together; that is to say, they sat at table to- gether, but neither of them ate much. When Mr. Stratford had driven away, and Mrs. Justin had gone into the house after a stroll among the shadows on the lawn suffi- ciently prolonged to give Mr. Crisman time to get over the brunt of his indignation, she met Gay on the piazza, and immediately asked where Mr. Crisman was. I dont know, said Gay, her voice a little shaken either by emotion or shortness of breath. I havent seen him at all. Jane says he went out of the house and down the steps of the back piazza just as Mr. Stratford and I drove round to the front, and that she thought he went into the garden. I ran out there, and have been looking for him everywhere. What do you suppose has become of him? Can it be that he is angry with me, and has gone away? Mrs. Justin turned pale, and her paleness was reflected in the face of Gay. Come into th~e library, said the older lady. And they went into the darkening room and sat down together on a lounge. Now Mrs. Justin spoke to her young friend more plainly than she had ever spoken before. She opened her anxious heart to her, and with earnest affection explained to the young girl the danger she was in. Gay listened with a tear or two but with no words. When Mrs. Justin had finished, Gay asked: Do you think he will come back to-night ? I have no doubt of it said the other. He has probably gone for a long walk, which will cool off hi& anger; and when he comes back, my dear, it will be your duty to see that he has occasion to take no more such walks. Then the two went out to supper. About half-past nine that evening a boy be- longing to the tavern at Cherry Bridge came to the Justin house bringing two letters. One was for Miss Armatt, ayid one was for Mrs. Justin, and they were both written by Mr. Cris- man, who, the boy said, had taken his supper at the tavern and would stay there that night. Gay, who had been reading and waiting and listening all the evening, took her letter in her hand but did not open it. The pallor on her face when instead of her lover there came this missive was not at all of the reflected sort. I think I will go up into my room and read it, she said. And taking a lamp, she went upstairs. Mrs. Justin sent word to the boy that 94 [THE HUNDREDTH MAN. he need not wait for answers, and then she sat and looked at her letter a long time before she opened it. She was so much averse to a correspondence with Mr. Crisman that once she made up her mind to tear up his letter and refuse to take part in a very unpleasant quarrel which she had earnestly endeavored to avert. But she knew that this would not be just, and she could not but believe that if she read Mr. Crismans letter and treated him with courtesy, she might thereby be of great service to Gay. Having come to this determination, she tore open the letter and read it. At the opening words her face began to redden, and as she went on the crimson glow increased. When she finished, the color died out of her face, and she leaned back in her chair and looked out between the parted curtains of the window into the dark night with an expression of som- ber sternness which was very unusual upon Mrs. Justins lovely countenance. For a long, long time she sat thus; and it was after twelve oclock when Gay came quietly into the room. Mrs. Justin started with surprise. Why, Gay, she exclaimed, I did not expect you downstairs again! Gay made no answer, but advanced to the table with two letters in her hand, one open, and the other folded and addressed. Her hair~ was somewhat tumbled, as if her fingers had been in it; but her dress was unchanged, and she evidently had had no thought of retiring. Here is a letter, said Gay; laying the one which was folded and addressed upon the table, which I should like to have sent to Mr. Crisman as early as possible in the morn- ing. I have ended our engagement. Mrs. Justin rose to her feet, her amazed eyes fixed on Gay. My letter is not sealed, said Gay, and you can read it if you like. But I think it would be better if you read his letter first. Mrs. Justin put out her hand for the letter which Crisman had written, and took it as though it were something hot which she feared to touch. She looked at Gay, and then she looked at the letter. Then she read a line or two, and put it down. I cannot, Gay, she said; I cannot read it. It was Gay who had been hard-stricken, but her nature was young and strong. She bore her blow better than Mrs. Justin bore the one she had received. You need not read it, she said. It would only pain you. I can tell you in a few words what is in it. He upbraids me cruelly for what he calls my faithlessness, and after saying a great deal for which there is no cause whatever, he orders me to write him a letter asking his forgiveness for what I have done, and promising never to do again the things with which he has charged me. If I do not write such a letter and send it to him immediately, he declares that everything shall be at an end between us. In my answer I told him that his charges had no foundation at all, and that I would never write the letter be demanded. Did I do right? Mrs. Justins face was flushed, not only by the words which Gay had spoken to her but by a hot recollection of the letter which she herself had received, in which Mr. Crisman had indignantly charged her with treachery and falsehood, with having encouraged and assisted the attentions of Mr. Stratford during the absence of Gays rightful lover, and with having made him believe that Gay was out walking by herself when of course she knew that she was driving with that other man. Never was there a woman who attached more solemn importance to an engagement or promise than did Mrs. Justin. Never was there a woman who looked with more horror upon the breaking of a compact upon which two loving hearts had entered, and yet she stretched out her arms to Gay, and pressing the girl to her bosom, she said: You did right, exactly right! 0 XXI. WHEN Mr. Crisman, before breakfast the next morning, received Miss Armatts letter, its effect upon him was to renew the anger which a nights sleep had somewhat sobered down. When he had written to her he had formed no conjectures in regard to her recep- tion of his letter. He meant all that he had written, and his only desire and intent was that Gay should thoroughly understand what he meant. He had not cared to anticipate what she wouid do when she read it; but when he found what she had done, a most stubborn indignation took possession of him. His na- ture was one which hardened quickly beneath the sun of angry passion, and when this hap- pened, neither rain, nor kindly warmth, nor the dews of night, nor any blessed breeze, could penetrate its crust. Very well, he said, as he tore up Gays letter, she loses more than I do. And then he went to breakfast. The only resolve which Mr. Crisman now made was to the effect that every one should be made to understand that his engagement with the Armatt girl was broken off, and that he was not in the least crushed by the event. He had come prepared to spend a week at Cherry Bridge, having made arrangements by which his vacation came earlier in the season than usual. He had sent his baggage to the THE HUNDREDTH MAN. 95 tavern without saying anything to Mrs. Jus- tin about it, preferring first to inform Gay of his intended stay in the neighborhood, and thus give Mrs. Justin an opportunity of invit- ing him to spend a week at her house. If she did not do so, he would stay at the tavern. But, although he had told no one of his in- tentions, he determined to make no change in them. This was a good place to hunt and fish, and he would stay here and hunt and fish for a week. Then he would go and spend the other week of his vacation in sailing, as he had planned. He liked sailing better than anything else, but having decided to give up half his holidays to the country in which Gay was staying, he would not allow her conduct to influence his plans in any way. If, in the course of his sojourn here, Gay should come to feel that she ought to be ashamed of her- self; he would then determine what he would do. But this was to be entirely her own affair. Not one step would he take to lift her out of the pit into which she had deliberately thrown herself. If she chose to climb out and come to him but he stopped here; he would make no promises, and offer no hopes, even in his own mind. He was obstinately angry. On that Sunday afternoon Mr. Stratford walked over to the Justin house. He would have preferred not to go, but there were reasons why he thought it would be better for him to do so. Mrs. Justin had not treated him with her customary cordiality on the evening be- fore, and he did not wish to appear to resent this by omitting his usual Sunday call. He had reason to believe, if he judged from noth- ing but Mrs. Justins words, that he would not find the family atmosphere altogether bright and agreeable, but he did not feel himselfjus- tifled in staying away on that account. If he found a storm there, or the signs of one, he would know that he was the cause of it, and there was no reason why he should shrink from his share of the rains and winds. He was rounding the foot of an abrupt hill which lay on the extreme boundary of the Bullripple farm when he suddenly came upon a man who was making a shallow ex- cavation in the soil with a small pickaxe. It was such an uncommon thing to find any one in this part of the country working in the fields on Sunday, that Stratford was quite surprised at the sight. In a moment, however, he per- ceived that this was not an ordinary laborer, but an elderly man dressed in black, who was, apparently, interested in geology.. Good afternoon, said Stratford. The man turned suddenly, and his face showed plainly that, whatever he might be looking for, it was not company. Stratford could not imagine why the man should object to being seen digging for specimens of rock, fish worms, or anything else, unless it was on account of doing so on Sunday. He took no notice of the forbidding expression, and in- quired pleasantly what there was to be found on this hillside. Nothing, said the man, dropping his lit- tle pick. Theres nothing at all in land like this, either inside of it or on top of it. I live in this county, though not in this stony part, and I like to know what kind of soil we ye got in one place and another. But this land aint worth the trouble of scratching it. It does not appear to me in that light, said Stratford. The pasturage is fair, and the crops in the valley lands are very good. Oh, yes, said the man. And as he spoke he kicked some stones and loose earth into the hole he had made. Some of the land is good enough for crops, but there is nothing in it that is really worth anything. I suppose you are alluding to ores, said Stratford. From what I have observed in sections of the country where iron is found, I should think there might be ore of that kind here. Humph! said the man. You might dig here for ten years, and you wouldnt find no iroi~i except what was worn off your shovels and picks. Good-day to you. And taking up his pickaxe and a stout grape-vine cane which lay on the ground, the man walked away to- wards the village. Stratford continued on his way, but in a few moments he stopped and looked back. The man was carrying the little pickaxe un- der his coat. Stratford smiled as he went on. I cannot imagine, he said to himself; why he should have been so disturbed at my seeing him. He could not have been stealing any- thing, for there is-nothing here to steal. I am afraid that after going to church this morning he intended going fishing this afternoon. He chose a very poor place, however, in which to look for bait. Stratford was met by Mrs. Justin before he reached the house. I saw you coming over the hill, she said; I want to have a little talk with you before you go in. And then, as the two walked down to the bank of the creek, she said: Your work is accomplished. The engagement between Gay Armatt and Mr. Crisman is broken. What! exclaimed Stratford. And for a moment he felt a pang of contrition. He had greatly desired to see this engagement broken off; but it was a shock to be suddenly told that there had been a rupture, and that he had made it. But Mrs. Justins next words were positively astounding. 196 THE HUNDREDTH MAN. I would not have told you this so ab- ruptly, she said, if I had not intended to also say that I am very glad that everything is at an end between these two. You doubly amaze me! cried Stratford. Is it possible I have converted you? Not a bit of it, promptly answered Mrs. J ustin. You were wrong, wrong, absolutely wrong in what you did. You had no more right to come between those two than you had to try to come between any other man or woman, either engaged or married. It so hap- pens that you have done a good thing, but you deserve no credit for it. You did not know Mr. Crisman; you merely had a prejudice against him, and for no reason but this you endeavored to make a girl forswear herself. A strong statement, remarked Stratford. None too much se, continued the lady. I have come to believe that what you did has had a most excellent result, but, for all that, it was a very wrong thing to do; it was a crime. Now that Mr. Crisman is out of the way, everything is free and open to you, and in the course of time I suppose that you and Gay will be married. I have no doubt that you will both be very happy, and that neither of you could possibly have made a better match. But, for all that, you ought never to look back upon the part you have playe4 without sorrow and repentance. I wish to heaven, exclaimed Stratford, that the words I have spoken to you about Miss Armatt and myself could be believed! But I suppose this is too much to expect, and we need say no more about it. If you do not object, I should like to know how this thing happened, and what is the present state of affairs. As you are a party very much interested, said Mrs. Justin, of course you ought to know all about it. And then she went on to tell him what had happened. She repeated the substance, as she had heard it, of Cris- mans letter to Gay; told him what Gay had written in answer; and how she had heartily. supported the girl in her resolution. In regard to the letter which she herself had received from Crisman, and which had done more to shoxv her the true character of the man than even what he had written to Gay, she said but little. If she had told what that letter contained she would have had good reason to fear that Stratford would have thrown the young man into Cherry Creek, or that he would have been thrown into that stream him- self. I cannot be too glad, said Mrs. Justin, in conclusion, that the man, before it was too late, showed us his true character, and that he himself made it impossible for the engage- ment to continue. But I shall never cease to grieve that my friend chose to take the part that he has played in this affair. Knowing you as I do, said Stratford, I am quite sure that I like you better for that opinion. A meeting between the girl whose engage- ment of marriage had suddenly been broken off and the man who had been the cause of such fracture must naturally be an awkward one, and feeling this very strongly Stratford was not anxious for an immediate interview with Gay. If he had known what serious con- sequences had followed his mountain ride with Gay he would have postponed for a day or two his visit to this house. Thoughts of this awkwardness may have come into the mind of Mrs. Justin also, but if they did she allowed them no weight. Gay is in the house, she said, and you may as well see her at once. You know how the matter stands, and it will not be pleasant or wise for any of us to put ourselves in stiff or constrained positions. When Stratford took Gay by the hand and looked into her face he saw that she had had a hard blow, one that might have crushed her mf~, at the same time that it wounded her, it had not aroused the most emboldening sentiments of self-respect and just resentment. She was not a girl who would parade an affliction or misfortune by retiring on account of it from the society of her ordinary friends and asso- ciates. Nor was she one who would care to conceal a trouble from those who took an in- terest in her life and happiness. She was aware that Stratford knew what had happened, for she had asked Mrs. Justin to tell him, and as this was the most important event of her life, not even excepting her engagement, she could not bring herself to avoid the subject with Stratford, whom she believed to be her true friend, and whose mind she knew must be oc- cupied with it. As he probably understood that their innocent drive had brought about the catastrophe, and as she believed that no blame should attach to him, she wished him to see that she intended to visit him with no punishment, negative or positive. She did not know much and had never thought much of the way in which the world is in the habit of forming its opinions, lut her good sense and experience were quite sufficient to show her what kind of opinion might easily be formed in a case like this, where the former lover had torn himself away and where the engagement- break~r continued in favor; and she was very desirQus that that part of the world repre- sented by Stratford should not have a mms- taken opinion. You know, she said, as soon as they had THE HUNDREDTH MAN 97 taken their seats, that Mr. Crisman and I are no longer engaged? I have heard it, said Stratford. It was all very sudden and unexpected, she continued. I have been greatly dis- tressed, and Mrs. Justin also, and we are not ourselves at all. But we hope our friends will not find fault with us any more than we find fault with them. As she said this Stratford looked steadfastly at her, but made no answer. I dont care to talk about this any more than I can help, she continued, and all that we can do is to wait, and hope for the best. What is the best? asked Stratford. The best thing that could possibly happen, said Gay, is for us to find ourselves able to come together on our old ground, when every- thing can be so easily explained. Mr. Crisman knows, as every one knows, that I always have been, and am now, perfectly loyal to him. This assertion greatly surprised Stratford, and in his heart he did not believe it. I do not understand you, he said. How can you be loyal to him when you have seen fit to break your engagement to him? I dont know that I can exactly explain myself, she said, but I want to make it un- derstood that while I am not willing to be engaged to Mr. Crisman so long as he holds the position he has taken, I have never turned aside from any of my promises; and when I find him as he was a week ago he will find me exactly what I was then. Is that plain ? And she looked with anxious inquiry at Stratford. Oh, yes, quite so, he said to her. But he said to himself that Crisman could never be to her the same man that he was a week ago. He saw her object: she wished to establish the fact that there had been no unfaithfulness on her part. Here now was an opportunity to do a thing which Stratford considered righteous, honor- able, and kind. Here was a chance to tell this girl that she had done all that the world and her conscience called upon her to do; that after what had happened, the loyalty of which she spoke could be but a thing ofprinciple with- out feeling; that the reasons which prompted her to break off the engagement were just as strong reasons why she should never think of it again, and that, setting arguments and words aside, she should embrace, with all the force of her nature, this opportunity of escaping a ruined life. But he said nothing of all this. He was a brave man, and an able one, but he shrank from the task of doing what he thought to be his duty. He did not believe he could give her the counsel he wished to give, and at the same time maintain the position he wished to keep. It will be better, he thought, that she VOL. XXXIV.29. should find out these things for herself, and I am sure she will do it. And, besides, she has Mrs. Justin to back her. Under the circumstances, the hours could not be expected to pass in a cheery way; and, soon after supper, Mrs. Justin and Stratford found themselves sitting alone in a very quiet house. I cannot quite understand Miss Armatts demeanor, said he. If she is deeply grieved at the dissolution of her engagement, I should expect more evident signs of distress; and, on the other hand, if she is glad of her great de- liverance, I should think she would let that be seen. As it is, it would be very difficult to classify her apparent emotions. I believe, said Mrs. Justin, that Gay does not thoroughly understand herself. As far as I am able to judge, her mind is now occupied in assuring her that she has always stood by her promises, and that her steadfast fidelity gave her a right to break with a man who insisted that she should admit that she was not true to her given word. So long as she reasons, said Stratford, the state of the case is perfectly satisfactory. But what surprises me more than anything else is the readiness with which you accept the situation. I should have supposed that no matter how bitter the quarrel between these young people, you would have hoped to see them reconciled and the engagement re- newed. I am quite willing to admit, said she, that it is not at all like me to feel the satis- faction and thankfulness that I do feel in knowing that Gay is not to marry Mr. Crisman. But this is a very unusual case, and my con- science fully justifies me. And then, in her mind, she added: If you could have read Mr. Crismans letter to me you would not wonder at my feelings. XXII. THERE was not at this period a more ardent match-maker in the country than Mrs. People. For a long time she had been much dissatis- fied with the condition and prospects of her son John. For one thing, he was growing up to be an old bachelor, and she was opposed, on principle, to old bachelors. To be sure, it was a very fortunate thing for her that her brother Enoch belonged to this class, for otherwise it is not at all probable that she would have been at that time the mistress and director of the household; but the principle remained unchanged. Mr. People was not much more than twenty-one when he married her; and here was John, who in four short years would be thirty, still single. It was plain enough she thought that he was beginning to be a man of 198 THE HUNDREDTH AlAN importance in his business, for otherwise old Vatoldi would never have allowed him to manage his affairs all by himself during the late disturbances. His having a vacation, too, showed that things were getting to be better with him; and what was next to be expected was an increase of salary. Taking all these matters together, it was as clear as the light of day in Mrs. Peoples mind that John should lose no time in getting married. And here was Matilda Stull; and if anybody knew of a better match for John than she was, Mrs. People would like to see that girl, be she black haired or brown, a foreigner or a native- born American, produced at once. It was not only that Miss Stull was a very pretty girl, and very well dressed, and one with whom John was deeply in love, but there was an eminent propriety in marriage between the heir of her house and that of Stull, which loomed up in a gigantic form in the mind of Mrs. People. If John married Matilda, the farm on which he was born would, in the course of time, come into his possession; and this, from Mrs. Peoples point of view, was the most desirable thing that could possibly happen. She would sit, in one hand a table-knife with its blade half-ground away by repeated sharpenings, and in the other a partly peeled potato, and muse upon the happiness, the ab- solute felicity, which would be hers when the old farm should belong to John. To buy back this estate appeared to her a simple impossi- bility; to get it for nothing by means of this marriage would be a grand stroke indeed. Many were the plans she formed while the potato waited to be peeled. She would go and live with John, for it was not likely that that city girl knew anything about housekeep- ing or the management of a dairy. And yet as she, Mrs. People, could not expect to live forever, it would be necessary that her sons wife should learn how to manage his house- hold affairs. Matilda, for thus the good woman already thought of her prospective daughter- in-law, should do some things, and thus grad- ually learn the duties of her position. She could begin by washing up the tea things and feeding the chickens. In course of time she might be able to take charge of the churning, although Mrs. People very much doubted if that girl could ever produce such butter as she now set before her son. On the other hand, it would be very hard for her to leave her brother Enoch, who was getting somewhat oldish now, and must some- times feel a little stiff in his joints, although he never mentioned anything of the sort. She had lived a long time with her brother, and in some respects he had become as necessary to her as she was to him. And yet, how would it be possible for her to give up that desire of her life, to live once more in the house and on the farm to which Mr. People had taken her as a bride? These conflicting feelings troubled her greatly, and she would sometimes sit and muse upon them much longer than was condu- cive to the regularity of the dinner hour. One day, however, a consoling thought came to her. It was possible, nay it was even more, it was very probable, that Matilda had in her com- position a good deal of spice, and not only such spice as ginger, cinnamon, and cloves, but pepper, and good hot red pepper, too, if Mrs. People knew anything about the outward signs of a womans disposition. Now, this peppery disposition might make the situation of a mother-in-law in Johns home a very un- pleasant one, and it might be well, therefore, that she should remain in her present very comfortable position in her brothers house. It was truly comforting to the mind of Mrs. People to settle this vexing question by re- flecting that in all probability Matilda would be too peppery to live with; and the remainder of the potato was peeled. It was not so easy, however, for John Peo- ple himself to settle the question of Matilda Stull. He was now having opportunities for forwarding his suit which a short time before he would not have believed possible. He was living near fields through which Miss Stull walked and wandered, and where she had actually allowed him to walk and wander with her. He had nothing to do, and could walk and wander when he pleased. But the days of his vacation were rapidly passing, and he had done nothing decisive yet. At any mo- ment he might expect to hear that the altera- tions at Vatoldis had progressed so far that it was necessary for him to go to the city and take .charge~of affairs. If he could again be alone with Miss Stull, and could make up his mind to shoxv her the state of his feelings, he believed he ought to do it. In the city he had worshiped her from afar, and had never be- lieved that there was the slightest chance of possessing her; but here in the country, where people were ever so much more the equals of each other, he had worshiped her at a distance of a foot, or perhaps eighteen inches; and if a young lady was willing to walk with a young man through fields and gates so close as that, John thought that young man ought to be greatly encouraged, and might feel justified in speaking out his mind. In regard to what old Stull might say, in case of a favorable reply from the daughter, John was not over-sanguine. It was true that now, being a partner in the concern, although with a very small share of the profits, it might THE HUNDREDTH MAN 99 be possible that Mr. Stull would turn a favor- able eye upon a connection which would, in a way, make the whole business a family af- fair. But, in spite of this encouraging thought, if John had been compelled at this time to make his proposals to the father instead of the daughter, he would have calmly resigned him- self to perpetual bachelorhood. But, should he be accepted by Miss Stull, he would wait and bear to any extent. Johns mind was in this condition when, one fine morning, Miss Matilda paid a visit to the Bullripple household. To John and his mother she came like an angel with white wide- spreading wings; to old Enoch she appeared as an uppish young woman with a cattle-irn- tating parasol; and to Mr. Stratford, who regarded her from his window, she was an enigma. He knew who she was, but he could not imagine why she should come to that house and sit with John People under the great tree in the front yard. Miss Stull had really called upon Mrs. People, but that sa- gacious mother had sent John to say that she would be out in a very few minutes, and had told him that he must entertain the visitor until she came. Mrs. People was devoured by desire to know the object of Miss Stulls visit, but she restrained herself for the love of John. It was a heroic sacrifice, but she made it, and for ten minutes sifted sugar over a mass of bread dough without knowing what she did. Miss Stull was very desirous that Mrs. Peo- ple should come out; she wanted to ask her a lot of questions; but she did not betray any impatience towards John. The young man might be useful to her, particularly in the way of making her acquainted with Mr. Strat- ford, if the chance should occur. Miss Ma- tilda wished very much to know the handsome gentleman she had seen driving with Gay Ar- matt. She had not supposed when she came to this part of the country that she should find such a man as that. She was therefore very gracious to John, and asked him so many questions about the present composition of the Bullripple household that the young man was obliged to say a good deal about Strat- ford, and could not have failed to present him had he made his appearance. When she had waited just as long as she could, having, in the meantime, made her dough all cake, Mrs. People came out, and John was constrained to walk away reluctantly, to give the young lady an opportunity of stat- ing her business to his mother. He did not go very far, however, but busied himself about the wood-yard, from which point, with his face ever turned towards the object of his devo- tion, no matter how he might move and re volve, he held himself ready, the instant the conference should be over, to accompany Miss Stull to the gate and to go with her as far over our continent as she would permit. What Miss Stull came to find out was the true state of things in the Justin house. Was Miss Gay engaged to the young man who was walking about in the parlor without her, or to Mr. Stratford, whom she had seen driving with her? In what business was this Mr. Crisman, and was he related to Mrs. Justin? Was Mr. Stratford rich? Was Mrs. Justin entirely satisfied with Gays match? All these things, and a number of other points, Miss Stull had hoped to learn from Gay; but having failed to see that young lady, and not being able to wait until her call was returned, she had made a swoop upon Mrs. People. After some very thin talk about butter and eggs, Miss Stull found it easy to introduce the subject she had at heart. Mrs. People had also a subject at heart which she wished to introduce, and in order to get at it she rushed with haste and freedom into the subject pre- sented by her visitor. She told Miss Stull so much, in fact, that that young lady turned pale with surprise, and then pink with delight, at being the recipient of such startling informa- tion. Mrs. People had been at Mrs. Justins house, and as that lady was desirous that it should be generally known that Mr. Crisman was no longer engaged to Miss Armatt, she had informed Mrs. People of the fact, and that good woman had easily possessed herself of as much of the detail of the event as Mrs. Jus- tin judged proper to give her. This informa- tion, rapidly and generously garnished from the resources of her own mind, Mrs. People laid before Miss Stull. The interview was protracted so long that Johns ingenuity was greatly taxed to keep himself busy in v.iexv of the couple under the tree. When Miss Matilda rose to go, thus interrupting an abruptly introduced maternal panegyric of the manager of Vatoldis, her mind was filled with a pleasing consciousness that there was in this neighborhood a city gentleman, handsome and stylish, and not engaged to be married. What advantage to herself she expected to result from this Miss Stull might not have been able to state in clear and convincing terms. But it was a great sat- isfaction to a person of her temperament to know that the facts were as they were. John was with her before she reached the gate, and opened it for her. Then she stopped. Isnt there some way, Mr. People, she said, by which I can go home across the fields instead of walking by the side of this monotonous road? Oh, yes, said John, but there are fences 200 THE HUNDREDTH MAN in the way, and draw-bars would have to be seized a rail and jerked it from its sockets. taken down. Other people might be able to take down And isnt there anybody, she continued, bars who can take down those bars? To hear this question, and to see at the same time the meaning little smile on the face of the young lady who asked it, suffused Johns soul with more actual joy than it had ever be- fore known. Yes, indeed, there was somebody who could not only take down bars, but who would tear away walls, fill up ditches, and slay bulls, if necessary. John did not say this, but his manner indicated it. As they walked across the fields, Miss Ma- tildas spirits were very lively, and her manner was very cordial. She had no idea of alluring this happy fly into her web, but she desired to make of him a thread-carrier, so to speak,who would take out beyond her present sphere of action those finely spun inducements by which she hoped to draw to herself the larger and brighter flutterer upon whom her eyes were fixed. John now lived with Mr. Stratford, and through him her very limited circle of acquaint- ance here might be enlarged by the addition of this gentleman. She considered it her right to know every presentable man who might find himself within the limits of her social range. Miss Stull also hoped to make Mr. Stratforcf comprehend through John what an exceed- mgly desirable thing it would be to become acquainted with her. But her methods towards this end had only the effect of causing John to feel that she was a more charming, desirable, and gracious superior being than even she herself had ever supposed it possible for her to become. On his side he was emboldened to a point of courage be had not imagined he could reach. Before they had gone three-quar- ters of the distance through a clover field,John determined to make his sentiments known. He would not ask her plumply if she would marry him, as if she were a mere country girl, but he would show her his glowing soul. Had she not with the sweet words and enrapturing smiles of angels deliberately set it on fire? And was it not due to her that she should see that it had kindled? Another set of bars! exclaimed Miss Matilda, as they approached the fence. Oh, dear, Mr. People, what a deal of trouble I am putting you to Trouble! exclaimed the sturdy John. I wish I could take down every bar that you might meet with through your whole Way home, quickly interpolated Miss Matilda. That is just what I want you to do. You are so strong and seem to understand these fences so well. That is not the point, said John, as he Yes, interrupted Matilda; Mr. Stratford, for instance. He has lived so much in this country that I suppose he knows all about such things. It isnt the being able to do it, said John, looking intently into the face of the young lady, it is the wanting to do it. Miss Matilda smiled upon him. It is very good of you, she said, to be willing to do for other people what they cannot do for themselves. Now, if I were walking here alone I could never lift those heavy rails, and would have to crawl through the fence, or to climb over it as best I might. If I had my way, exclaimed John, for- getting in his excitement as he walked by Miss Matilda that it was necessary to put up the bars he had taken down, there should never be in the way of your feet a stick, a stone, a clod, a lump, not so much as a piece of gravel. Those things must be expected, said the young lady with demure triteness. Oh, no, they neednt be! cried John in quick and fervid tones. They need never be known at all, if there is one ever ready to brush and hurl them away; to make your paths as smoothas smooth as roses. Which are not smooth, said Miss Matilda, at least not when they are used to make a path of. That reminds me that at our house there are a lot of rose bushes, and some of them have flowers on yet, but mother and I both think that they are a poor kind of rose bushes, and that if we are to come up here in the summer time we might as well have some good ones planted. Do you know the names of some good roses that would grow here? Perhaps, if you dont, Mr. Stratford could tell you. City men are so apt to know the names of good kinds of things. I am a city man myself, said John in a tone somewhat different from that in which he had just spoken, and Ill get you all the roses you will ever want. I dont want you to get them, said she. I only want the names of them. And there is another thing I would like to ask you about. How do you make grass grow? Mother and I think there ought to be a great deal more of it about the house, but the farmer who lives there dont seem to understand how to plant it. With well-plied questions concerning the adornment of their country home Miss Ma- tilda engaged the attention of her companion until they had reached the last fence. Then she turned and held out her hand. THE HUNDREDTH MAN 201 Good-bye, Mr. People, she said. There are now no other obstructions between me and the house, and I will not make you go any farther. There is an obstruction, Miss Stull, said John very earnestly, an obstruction to my every joy, which Oh, yes, I know, quickly interrupted Miss Matilda; those dreadful waiters who boy- cotted your place. It must be an awful ob- struction, but it is bound to disappear in time, if you stand up boldly. Father has talked about it, and he says so. He is very fond of Vatoldis, and he says we must go there again as soon as things are all right. Good-bye, Mr. People. And, with one of her pretty smiles, she tripped away. Regarding the state of affairs from Johns point of view it was quite evident that angelic beings have their disadvantages, for their beau- tiful wings enable them to keep just out of one s reach without feeling at all compelled to flee the company of the one who wishes to reach them. On the other hand, Miss Matilda, in her character of web-maker, discovered that a fly who may be sent out to inveigle other insects is apt to become entangled in a very trouble- some and apparently hopeless manner in the subtile threads with which he has been in- trusted. This young lady, however, troubled herself very little about Johns condition. She liked to see a young man in this sort of involvement, especially when she herself had produced it, and her only regret in the present case was that the young man probably could not prove as useful as she had expected him to be. The most important object of her life at the pres- ent moment was to become acquainted with Mr. Stratford. It made her positively angry to think that she did not know him, and that she saw no way open by which she could be- come acquainted with him. She had called twice at the house where he lived, and acci- dent had not favored her.. She made a visit at Mrs. Justins at a time when he was ex- pected there, but she had not met him. She had hoped to know him through Gay Armatt, but she was now in trouble and could not be expected to do much in the way of introduc- ing gentlemen. Miss Matildas acute mind had discovered what sort of person was Mrs. People, and she was afraid to allow that good- hearted but exceedingly open-natured woman to know that she positively wished for the ac- quaintance of Mr. Stratford. Had she done this Miss Stull might have expected to be placed in a very undesirable position by the irrepressible frankness of Mrs. People. John had been her chief dependence, but she was now very much afraid that she would not be able to make use of him. He had become so addled that he could not understand any hints of her desires, and she was even afraid that if she should succeed in making him understand what she wanted the numskull would actually refuse to make her acquainted with a man who might prove to be a rival. There was nothing to be done but to de- pend upon herself; and as Miss Stull was quite used to this sort of dependence, she was not long in forming a plan. She must meet the man by accident. In a country place like this, where people wandered about as they pleased, this ought not to be a difficult matter; and as Mr. Stratford had probably by this time heard of her, and as he knew of course that she had heard of him, they would not meet as positive strangers, and a chance encounter might be worked up to advantage. Miss Matilda was rather fond of sketching, and although she had but small ability as an artist, she was extremely clever in a general way, and could so arrange her slight artistic gifts that they made a very good show. The weather being now quite suitable for outdoor sketching, Miss Stull arrayed herself in a most becoming and appropriate costume, and with a sketch-book and little camp-stool under one arm, and a large umbrella with a long, pointed handle over her right shoulder, repaired to a pleasant spot at the foot of the hills, where some very goodviewscould be had, and close bywhich she had sometimes observed, from a distance, that a sportsman occasionally passed on his way to the trout streams on the higher grounds. The sketcher did not immediately select a spot at which to begin her work. She rambled about a good deal, and looked about a good deal, in order to see what suitable thing there was in view which might be drawn. At last she decided upon a distant view which includ- ed a path that led through the Bullripple farm towards the village. Miss Matilda was a lucky young woman, especially when she put her own shoulder to her wheel of fortune, and she had scarcely sketched in the outlines of some rocks and gentle eminences when she saw coming to- wards her, among these outlines, a gentleman with a fishing-rod upon his shoulder. For some minutes she kept her eyes fixed upon her paper, and then, giving a little shrug to her shoulders and looking up at the sunlit sky, she put down her book and picked up the umbrella, which lay, closed, on the ground by her side. The pointed end of the long handle she now endeavored to thrust into the ground, but she found this a difficult per- formance. In one place the soil seemed very hard, in another there was long, tangled grass, 202 THE NAME OF WASHINGTON and, after a jab or two, she decided that she would not like to sit there. After some delib- eration, with her back to the object she in- tended to draw, she selected another spot, but here she found a large stone just under the surface of the ground. Having quarried on this for some moments, she stopped and be- gan fanning herself with her handkerchief. Such exertion was certainly very unusual with her, and she stood, panting a little. The man must now be very near. In less than a minute she heard a step, and a gentlemans voice said to her: Allow me, miss, to plant your umbrella for you. She turned quickly and saw, not Mr. Strat ford, but Mr. Crisman. She knew him the moment she saw him, and was now truly sur- prised, for she had supposed that when he had ended his engagement he had also ended his visit to these parts. But her soul did not shrink with disappointment. This was a very handsome young fellow, and she would be delighted to know the ex-lover of Gay Armatt, about whom she had had so much curiosity and so much doubt. With an ingenuous smile she accepted his offer, and the strong arm of Mr. Crisman soon fixed the handle of the umbrella in the ground as firmly as if it had been the mast of a boat. Frank R. Stockton. THE NAME OF WASHINGTON. [Read before the Sons of the Revolution, New York, February 22, 1887.] ONS of the youth and the truth of the nation, S Ye that are met to remember the man Whose valor gave birth to a peoples salvation, Honor him now; set his name in the van. A nobleness to try for, A name to live and die for The name of Washington! Calmly his face shall look down through the ages Sweet yet severe with a spirit of warning; Charged with the wisdom of saints and of sages; Quick with the light of a life-giving morning. A majesty to try for, A name to live and die for The name of Washington! Though faction may rack us, or party divide us, And bitterness break the gold links of our story, Our father and leader .is ever beside us. Live and forgive! But forget not the glory Of him whose height we try for; A name to live and die for The name of Washington! Still in his eyes shall be mirrored our fleeting Days, with the image of days long ended; Still shall those eyes give, immortally, greeting Unto the souls from his spirit descended. His grandeur we will try for; His name well live and die for The name of Washington! George Parsons Latkrop.

George Parsons Lathrop Lathrop, George Parsons The Name of Washington 202-203

202 THE NAME OF WASHINGTON and, after a jab or two, she decided that she would not like to sit there. After some delib- eration, with her back to the object she in- tended to draw, she selected another spot, but here she found a large stone just under the surface of the ground. Having quarried on this for some moments, she stopped and be- gan fanning herself with her handkerchief. Such exertion was certainly very unusual with her, and she stood, panting a little. The man must now be very near. In less than a minute she heard a step, and a gentlemans voice said to her: Allow me, miss, to plant your umbrella for you. She turned quickly and saw, not Mr. Strat ford, but Mr. Crisman. She knew him the moment she saw him, and was now truly sur- prised, for she had supposed that when he had ended his engagement he had also ended his visit to these parts. But her soul did not shrink with disappointment. This was a very handsome young fellow, and she would be delighted to know the ex-lover of Gay Armatt, about whom she had had so much curiosity and so much doubt. With an ingenuous smile she accepted his offer, and the strong arm of Mr. Crisman soon fixed the handle of the umbrella in the ground as firmly as if it had been the mast of a boat. Frank R. Stockton. THE NAME OF WASHINGTON. [Read before the Sons of the Revolution, New York, February 22, 1887.] ONS of the youth and the truth of the nation, S Ye that are met to remember the man Whose valor gave birth to a peoples salvation, Honor him now; set his name in the van. A nobleness to try for, A name to live and die for The name of Washington! Calmly his face shall look down through the ages Sweet yet severe with a spirit of warning; Charged with the wisdom of saints and of sages; Quick with the light of a life-giving morning. A majesty to try for, A name to live and die for The name of Washington! Though faction may rack us, or party divide us, And bitterness break the gold links of our story, Our father and leader .is ever beside us. Live and forgive! But forget not the glory Of him whose height we try for; A name to live and die for The name of Washington! Still in his eyes shall be mirrored our fleeting Days, with the image of days long ended; Still shall those eyes give, immortally, greeting Unto the souls from his spirit descended. His grandeur we will try for; His name well live and die for The name of Washington! George Parsons Latkrop. [BEGUN ZN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.] ABRAHAM LINCOLN: A HJSTORY.* BY JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY, PRIVATE SECRETARIES TO THE PRESIDENT. THE ATTACK ON SUMNER, AND THE DRED SCOTT CASE. CONGRESSIONAL RUFFIANISM. official reports show that the proceedings of the American Congress, while in the main conducted with becoming propriety and decorum, have occasion- ally been dishonored by angry personal altercations and scenes of ruffianly violence. These dis- orders increased as the great political strug- gle over the slavery question grew in intensity, and they reached their culmination in a series of startling incidents. Charles Sumner, one of the Senators from the State of Massachusetts, had become con- spicuous, in the prevailing political agitation, for his aggressive and radical antislavery speeches in the Senate and elsewhere. The slavery issue had brought him into politics; he had been elected to the United States Sen- ate by the coalition of a small number of Free-soilers with the Democrats in the Massa- chusetts legislature. This question, therefore, became the dominant principle and the key- note of his public career. He was a man of profound culture, of considerable erudition in the law, of high literary ability, and he had a~ttained an enviable social eminence. Though of large physical frame and strength, the combative quality was almost totally lacking in his organization, a lack, however, which was fully compensated by a moral fearless- ness that led him to give free utterance to his convictions. In this spirit he joined unreservedly in the exciting Senate debates, provoked by the rival applications from Kansas for her admission as a State. On the i9th and 20th of May, 1856, he delivered an elaborate speech in the Sen- ate, occupying two days. It was one of his greatest efforts, and had been prepared with his usual industry. In character it was a philippic rather than an argument, strong, direct, and aggressive, in which classical il- lustration and acrimonious accusation were blended with great effect. It described what he called the crime against Kansas; and the excuses for the crime he denominated the apology tyrannical, the apology imbecile, the apology absurd, and the apology infamous. Tyranny, imbecility, absurdity, and infamy, he continued, all unite to dance, like the weird sisters, about this crime. In the course of this speech he alluded, among others, to Senator Butler of South Carolina, and in reply to some severe strictures by that Senator dur- ing preceding debates indulged in caustic per- sonal criticism upon his course and utterance, as well as upon the State of South Carolina, which he represented. With regret, said Sumner, I come again upon the Senator from South Carolina [Mr. Butler], who, omnipresent in this debate, overflowed with rage at the simple suggestion that Kansas had applied for ad- mission as a State; and with incoherent phrases dis- charged the loose expectoration of his speech, now upon her representative and then upon her people. There was no extravagance of the ancient parliament- ar~ debate which he did not repeat; nor was there any possible deviation from truth which he did not make, with so much of passion, I am glad to add, as to save him from the suspicion of intentional aberra- tion. But the Senator touches nothing which lse does not disfigure with error, sometimes of principle, sometimes of fact. He shows an incapacity of accu- racy, whether in stating the Constitution or in stating the law, whether in details of statistics or the diver- sions of scholarship. He cannot open his mouth but out there flies a blunder. Butler was not present in the Senate on either day: what he might have said or done, had he been there, can only be conjectured. The immediate~ replies from Douglas and. others were very bitter. Among pro-slavery members of both Houses there was an under-current of revengeful murmurs. It is possible that this hostile manifestation may have decided a young member of the House, Preston S. Brooks, a nephew of Senator But- ler, to undertake retaliation by violence. Ac- qualnting Edmundson, another member, with his design, he waited on two different occa- sions at the western entrance to the Capitol grounds to encounter Mr. Sumner, but with- out meeting him. On the 2 2d of May, two days afterthe speech, Brooks entered the Senate Chamber on the same errand. The session had been short, and after adjournment Sumner remained at his desk, engaged in writing. The sessions were at that time held in the old Senate Chamber, Copyright by J. G. Nicolay and John Hay, 18867. All rights reserved.

J. J. Nicolay Nicolay, J. J. John Hay Hay, John Abraham Lincoln: A History. The Attack on Sumner and the Dred Scott Case 203-220

[BEGUN ZN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.] ABRAHAM LINCOLN: A HJSTORY.* BY JOHN G. NICOLAY AND JOHN HAY, PRIVATE SECRETARIES TO THE PRESIDENT. THE ATTACK ON SUMNER, AND THE DRED SCOTT CASE. CONGRESSIONAL RUFFIANISM. official reports show that the proceedings of the American Congress, while in the main conducted with becoming propriety and decorum, have occasion- ally been dishonored by angry personal altercations and scenes of ruffianly violence. These dis- orders increased as the great political strug- gle over the slavery question grew in intensity, and they reached their culmination in a series of startling incidents. Charles Sumner, one of the Senators from the State of Massachusetts, had become con- spicuous, in the prevailing political agitation, for his aggressive and radical antislavery speeches in the Senate and elsewhere. The slavery issue had brought him into politics; he had been elected to the United States Sen- ate by the coalition of a small number of Free-soilers with the Democrats in the Massa- chusetts legislature. This question, therefore, became the dominant principle and the key- note of his public career. He was a man of profound culture, of considerable erudition in the law, of high literary ability, and he had a~ttained an enviable social eminence. Though of large physical frame and strength, the combative quality was almost totally lacking in his organization, a lack, however, which was fully compensated by a moral fearless- ness that led him to give free utterance to his convictions. In this spirit he joined unreservedly in the exciting Senate debates, provoked by the rival applications from Kansas for her admission as a State. On the i9th and 20th of May, 1856, he delivered an elaborate speech in the Sen- ate, occupying two days. It was one of his greatest efforts, and had been prepared with his usual industry. In character it was a philippic rather than an argument, strong, direct, and aggressive, in which classical il- lustration and acrimonious accusation were blended with great effect. It described what he called the crime against Kansas; and the excuses for the crime he denominated the apology tyrannical, the apology imbecile, the apology absurd, and the apology infamous. Tyranny, imbecility, absurdity, and infamy, he continued, all unite to dance, like the weird sisters, about this crime. In the course of this speech he alluded, among others, to Senator Butler of South Carolina, and in reply to some severe strictures by that Senator dur- ing preceding debates indulged in caustic per- sonal criticism upon his course and utterance, as well as upon the State of South Carolina, which he represented. With regret, said Sumner, I come again upon the Senator from South Carolina [Mr. Butler], who, omnipresent in this debate, overflowed with rage at the simple suggestion that Kansas had applied for ad- mission as a State; and with incoherent phrases dis- charged the loose expectoration of his speech, now upon her representative and then upon her people. There was no extravagance of the ancient parliament- ar~ debate which he did not repeat; nor was there any possible deviation from truth which he did not make, with so much of passion, I am glad to add, as to save him from the suspicion of intentional aberra- tion. But the Senator touches nothing which lse does not disfigure with error, sometimes of principle, sometimes of fact. He shows an incapacity of accu- racy, whether in stating the Constitution or in stating the law, whether in details of statistics or the diver- sions of scholarship. He cannot open his mouth but out there flies a blunder. Butler was not present in the Senate on either day: what he might have said or done, had he been there, can only be conjectured. The immediate~ replies from Douglas and. others were very bitter. Among pro-slavery members of both Houses there was an under-current of revengeful murmurs. It is possible that this hostile manifestation may have decided a young member of the House, Preston S. Brooks, a nephew of Senator But- ler, to unde