VOL. LIV. THE CENTURY MAGAZINE MAY, 1897. A SUBURBAN COUNTRY PLACE. WITH PICTURES BY HARRY FENN. No. 1. THERE have been times when the word ((suburban)) rang pleasantly in the ears of the citizen of New York. Such must have been the times, long ago, when Greenwich village and Chelsea village were the summer resorts of local magnates, and when Harlem village (legend affirms it) was a health-resort so placidly umbrageous, Dutch, and small that people who could not sleep in town were sent out there, assured of a week of unbroken slumber. And such, again, were the nearer times when all the isle was still suburban north of Washington Square, covered with farms, and dotted with country mansions that were often set in forest-like domains, and often fronted on the East or the North or the Harlem River. Claremont, at the end of Riverside Drive, near the tomb of General Grant, suggests in a rather humble way what these mansions were, and in a very magnificent way what their outlooks were. Others linger, dese- crated, here and there, closely pressed by new-laid brick and stone. And away up at the extreme tip of Manhattan there are still a few quiet, shady places which may call them- selves suburban in the old and honorable sense. But everywhere else around the out- skirts of Manhattan the term has gained an unattractive, hybrid meaning. To speak it with pleasure, New-Yorkers must apply it to those remoter regions which can be reached only by a railway journey of considerable length. And then it is incorrectly applied, for a real suburban place is rural in aspect, but urban in convenience private, green, and peaceful in itself, yet close in touch with the true self of the town. Our other great Eastern cities tell almost the same suburban story as New York. Only Boston has fared better. Here, too, in some directions, the old suburban villages have been cut into parsimonious villa lots or sol- idly built over. But in other directions they survive, and retain to a great degree their genuinely rural look. They are threatened by the town, but not yet overborne. And thus they have historic interest as well as in- trinsic charm. They tell of fast-vanishing conditions which can never be revived, be- cause suburban life, to be at its best, needs for its center a city of the first importance and yet of modest size, with neither railways nor trolleys to carry its crowds and its hasti- ness far afield. II. THE most beautiful suburban country place that I know lies near Boston. One view of it was shown the readers of THE CENTURY some time ago in an article describing the work of its owner, Professor Charles Sprague Sargent, in creating the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University.1 It lies only four 1 ((A Tree Museum,)) by M. C. Robbins: TIlE CENTURY, April, 1893. Copyright, 1897, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved. miles from the center of Boston, in the town of Brookline, on the edge of the town of Ja- maica Plain, and comprises one hundred and fifty acres of rolling ground. Jamaica Plain is now legally a part of the Greater Boston, but it keeps its suburban aspect; and Brookline, a much larger place, preserves this aspect and its independence too. Fifty years ago Andrew Downing, the first American landscape-gardener, wrote: The whole of this neighborhood of Brookline is a kind of landscape garden, and there is nothing in America of this sort so inexpressibly charm- ing as the lanes which lead from one cottage or villa to anoth~r. No animals are allowed to run 4 AMONG THE RHODODENDRONS. A SUBURBAN COUNTRY PLACE. 5 at large, and the open gates, with tempting vistas where its boundaries lie, or can cross the and glimpses under the pendent boughs, give it foliage of the middle distances to dwell upon quite an Arcadian air of rural freedom and enjoy- anything except far-off hills and spires; and ment. These lanes are clothed with a profusion of trees and wild shrubbery, often almost to the even in winter there is scarcely any visible carriage-tracks, and curve and wind about in a proof that it forms part of a large town close manner quite bewildering to the stranger who at- to a very large city. Everywhere it affords tempts to thread them alone; and there are more hints here for the lover of the picturesque in lanes than we ever saw assembled together in so small a compass. Brookline has now some eighteen thousand inhabitants, and of course it does not look just as it did in Downings time; but with regard to its southern portions Downings words are still surprisingly true. The picture that it leaves upon the strangers mind is a far-spreading, varied picture of broad and well-built winding roads, and narrower, wilder lanes, all canopied by goodly trees, and of pleasant, unobtrusive houses, large and small, encircled by grounds that are sometimes very small but often almost park-like in extent, with trees to rival those by the roadside, smooth turf, luxuriant shrubs, and prolific flowers. And the most careless eye perceives that if such a town had been built on a level, it could never have been Brookline. Brook- lines site was naturally picturesquerichly wooded, everywhere rolling, in some parts really hilly, and often boldly broken by huge gray ledges of rock. Thus every place has personality, and plays its part in a pano- rama of perpetually changing charm. But the most beautiful and most interesting of all is Mr. Sargents. It is larger than any other, it is very diversified in surface, and it has been treated with exceptional artistic skill. ((Holm Lea)) is not an old place in the sense that, as we see it, so our great-grand- fathers saw it in their day; but it is old in the sense that for generations it has been a suburban home under conditions similar to AZALEA5 IN THE TENT. those which prevail to-day. Several subur- ban places have been united to make this a sense of unthreatened peace, of intimacy large onealtered, remodeled, virtually re- with unthreatened nature, which could not created; but the traditions of the spot have be more complete if woods and fields alone not been broken or its spirit changed. encircled it; and this fact amply justifies that The State-house stands only four miles lack of extended outlooks which, of course, away, and in less than half an hour one may would be an unpardonable fault if its sur- drive into the heart of the city along the beau- roundings were really fields and woods. tiful new parkway, seven miles in length, which runs from Boston through Brookline _ to Franklin Park in Jamaica Plain. Yet the conformation of the ground, assisted by its MR. SARGENTS house has been altered and skilful planting, makes this place of one hun- enlarged more than once during the last dred and fifty acres appear much larger. twenty-five years; but its oldest, central por- When the trees are in leaf no eye can discern tion has a special interest for students of. 6 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. the history of American horticulture, because it was once the home of Thomas Lee. Down- ing, in his ((Landscape Gardening,s says in regard to the cottage of Thomas Lee: Enthusiastically fond of botany, and of garden- ing in all its departments, Mr. Lee has here formed a residence of as much variety and interest as we ever saw in so moderate a compassabout twenty acres. It is, indeed, not only a most instructive place to the amateur of landscape-gardening, but to the naturalist and lover of plants. Every shrub seems placed precisely in the soil and aspect it likes best, and native and foreign rhododendrons, kalmias, and other rare shrubs are seen here in the finest condition. There is a great deal of variety in the surface here, and while the lawn-front of the house has a polished and graceful air, one or two portions are quite picturesque. This is what I meant when I said that the traditions of llolm Lea have remained un- broken and its spirit unchanged. The place created by an amateur horticulturist, who was locally famous and useful in his time, has not been surrendered to the Philistines. It has passed into the keeping of a man of similar taste and of much profounder know- ledge and wider fame. The old Lee house is the nucleus of the present house, and the old Lee place, when joined to one that had long been owned by Mr. Sargents father, became the nucleus, the artistic center, of the do- main which has since been extended much more widely. The house as it now stands is unpreten- tious, and can be classed with no recognized ((style)) except the native rural American. Yet it is not by any means an ugly house. Its frank simplicity is a great merit; all its features evidently serve the ends of comfort and convenience; and, moreover, it looks at home on the spot where it stands. This, in the country, is the main thing,the fitness of the house to its environment, and there- fore general outlines are more important than any features or details. From every point of view this house looks well, because it com- poses well with its surroundings, and stands solidly and comfortably upon the ground, as though it had been built because just here nature had specially prepared for a house of just this kind. But of course nature had done nothing of the sort, nor did accident evolve the harmony which now exists. The propor- tions of the house have been considered with reference to its station and its backgrounds, the near plantations have been adjusted to THE OPEN TERRACE. A SUBURBAN COUNTRY PLACE. its presence, and its walls have been artis- tically united with the soil by suitable ter- races and by fringing lines and masses of shrubs. As it is with the house, so it is with every part and corner of the place. None of its features is the result of accident. Each, in one sense or another, is the result of art. And this is the reason why I have wished to speak about it. As far as they go, Mr. Fenns drawings describe it better than any word~ and if the whole of its interest lay in its obvious appeal to the eye, more drawings and no text would be the better commentary. But just as truly as any landscapes ever painted upon canvas, these living ones, wrought upon the surface of the ground, are the outcome of mans imagination and sense of beauty, of his judgment and executive skill. If we do not realize this fact, we cannot rightly value their loveliness or their apparent natural- ness; above all, we cannot appreciate the most remarkable merit of the placethe way in which many landscape pictures, differ- ing widely in their character, have been com- bined with breadth, repose, and unity of general effect. Holm Lea justifies a written commentary because it is an admirable ob- ject-lesson in regard to the aims,the methods, and the possible results of landscape-garden- ing art. Iv. THE work of the painter, the sculptor, or the architect is throughout a work of creation. His brute materials are supplied to him, but the thing which he makes with them is in all its parts his own. On the other hand, the landscape-gardener is not wholly a creator. The thing which he produces was in some degree begun by nature. His task is to originate in one spot, but to preserve in an- other, to suppress here, and to alter there. Yet rearrangement and elimination are ar- tistic processes as truly as invention itself, and in each and every case the resultthe finished work of art as a wholeis novel, is artificial, is a created thing. Thus the artist in gardening stands, as an artist, with the painter, the architect, and the sculptor, just as the poet who turns a true tale into a work of art ranks as high as the poet who invents his theme. But every one does not remember these facts. The triumph of landscape-gar THE OPEN TERRACE. 8 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. deningof the naturalistic as distinguished from the formal branch of gardening art is to create results which look as though, with very little assistance, nature might have produced them in some particularly gentle and human mood. And therefore nature usually gets the credit for almost the whole of the landscape-gardeners work, just as she does for almost the whole of the story-tellers when his tale is known to be ((founded upon fact.)) If the next stranger who visits Holm Lea could be told in detail how the place has been made,patiently and artfully, year after year and day after day, acre by acre and foot by foot, always with the intrinsic charm of every smallest feature, yet always with the broad effect of the whole, steadily kept in mind, he would probably be much amazed. But if he chanced to know something of nature and something of art, he would not be amazed at all. He would be aware that nature had simply covered these slopes and levels with the wild beauty of unbroken for- ests. He would understand that the changes wrought by centuries of human possession could not result in civilized beauty without the exercise of artistic intelligence. He would tell you that in every branch of art intelligence means imagination, knowledge, and patiencethe imagination which fore- sees desirable results with clearness, the knowledge which knows how to produce them, and the patience which shuns no difficulties, is eager to remedy all mistakes, and thinks nothing really good if it possibly can be bettered. And he would add that the landscape-gardener stands especially in need of all these qualities because his materials are not inert. Natures materials must be handled with reference to her own intentions and her own methods; and as they keep on growing and keep on dying, the task of creation and tbe task of elimination are never at an end. The most perfect pictures must perpetually be retouched, and some- times a new ideal must be substituted for one which can no longer be completely realized. V. PROFESSOR SARGENTS house is intended for winter and for summer habitation. The long brick piazza (shown in perspective on this page as you would see it if you were sitting beside the young lady portrayed on page 7) is covered only by a canvas awning. When this is removed in cold weather the drawing-room windows receive the afternoon sun, while in warm weather the light that filters through it shows at their best the or- namenting ranges of potted plants, brought from the greenhouse in their blossoming sea- son to be replaced by others as their beauty wanes. But that part of the piazza where the damsel sits is solidly roofed for greater cool- ness in summer, and in winter is inclosed as a conservatory; and beyond it spreads an open brick terrace, delightful, above all, on moon-lit summer nights, when the planta ENGRAVED BY S. G. PUTNAM. THE TERRACE. A SUBURBAN COUNTRY PLACE. 9 tions around the lawn, silhouetted against the somber blue, show that their sky-line has been as carefully considered as the masses of light and shadow and the contrasts of color they reveal in the daytime. I should like to describe the splendid dis- play of hothouse azaleas which in June fills the tent that occupies the inner corner of this terrace; but our concern ~ust now is wi h landscape-gardening, not with displays of movable plants for a temporary decorative purpose. And something quite as splendid can be found if we cross the lawn and, down by the borders of the pond, look at the hardy rhododendrons which two of our pictures show. There are fine rhododendron plantations in other parts of Brookline, but none of t em is half as beautiful as this one at Holm Lea. Here the results which nature produces when she is doing her very best with these plants have been most perfectly reproduced and most sympathetically improved upon by the hands of science and of art. Loven of mois ure, the rhododendrons flourish here like the bay-trees of the Bible. All, those of defective form or with blossoms of unpleas- ing olor have been weeded out, so that no discordant note mars their blaze of purple, crimson, and white. Inharmonious plants of ot er 3orts are not allowed in their vicinity; and the mirror which lies beneath them doubles their number while it softens and relieves their vivid contrast with the back- o~round of emerald turf, Now compare the drawing on page 10 with the one on page 11, They give us the same outlook, with only a slight difference in the points of view, bu they suggest entirely different pictures. One shows an early week in June, and one an early week in May; and thus retracing the days of a single month, ~xe almost seem to have gone to the edge of another pond. In June we s arcely notice the lands ape, except as a happy background for the rhododendrons; but in May these play the subordinate r6le. Their dark evergreen fo- liage, supported by the still darker green of the group of pines on the knoll, serves a a foil to the bright tones of the grass and of the low plants by the waters brink, and to the varied tender tints of the budding trees; and the center of interest is now the big magnolia, with its burden o pale pinkish flowers, which in June makes a quiet, dark spot at the foot of the tall hickory. Thus you will find it everywhere at Holm Lea. Each locality changes its character with the changing seasons, yet is always a natural- VOL. LIV.2. seeming picture, ar istically complete in color and in form; and each feature has its time of special importance, yet at all other times helps the effect of its neighbors, and there- fore is never intrusive or even unimport ut. For instance, the Japanese apple-tree shown on page 13 outshines all its neighbors when is in bloom~a hill of a myriad delicate blossoms, rosy pink at first, and, as the days go by, changing to snoxviest white. It is then the most beautiful object within the borders of the place, or, I verily believe, within the borders of Massachusetts, But it is also a y 10 TilE CENTURY MAGAZINE. charming ob ~ect during its longer weeks of simple green, and in size and shape suits its environment and enhances the charm of all ad~acent things. There are many other specimen plants of striking kinds at Holm Lea, and some of them are rarities which delight the soul of the botanist or the horticulturist. But there is none which an artist cannot also admire. The place for mere curiosities is in scien- tific collections. In these artistic landscapes everything must have personal beauty, and must stand where it increases general beauty~ You would weep if I could tell you of all the pitiless executio s which have occurred at Holm Le ince I first saw the place ten years ago. For even the executioner almost vept over them sometimes, and you cannot realize, as he did at the moment, or as we who are familiar with the place do now, how excellent his reasons for hem were. The ax is never carele sly lifted t Holm Lea. Months, or even years, of patient preliminary thought control its work. But when the greatest good of the greatest number clearly calls for elimination, neither value, age, nor intrinsic beauty can save the life of a flower or shrub or tree. From time to time the various ornamental plantations have been thinned at the sacrifice of many fine individual plants that were over- crowding others which could less well be spared. And many beautif I sing1e trees, old and young, have been removed, because they reduced the apparent size of the lawns or injured that aspect of breadth and repose which only unbroken stretches of turf can bestow, or because they shut out desirable pro~pect , or interfered with the develop- ment of still finer specimens, or in color, form, or texture failed to harmonize with their immediate neighbors, or marred the general effect of some particular landscape picture. Now and again the ghosts of these NORTH END OF THE POND IN JUNE. ENGRAVED NY C. CCHWARZBL5DE~ trees haunt the memory of those who knew and admired them; yet we cannot wish them alive again, for their death conduced to beauty of life in everything which remains. VI. Now let us look at the pond again, for we have seen only one of its corners. Turning this rhododendron corner, we pass (as in the picture on page 9) through a grove of great hickories and oaks to a spot where an enormous white willow widely overhangs the water. Its mass of silvery-gray foliage effec- tually separates the rhododendrons behind us from an equally vivid array of hardy Ghent azaleas which are massed along the shore that lies in front of us. Often we see these two kinds of plants closely combined and blossoming together. But not at Holm Lea: its owner knows too well that a rhododendron gamut of purples and crimsons cannot har- monize with such scarlets and yellows as the Ghent azaleas bear. Look now at the picture on page 12. The whole shore of the pond is fringed with ornamental water-plants, which seem as spontaneous as the marsh-marigolds in a country brook; and certainly the edge of this meadowwhite and yellow with butter- cups and daisies, exquisitely contrasting with the richer splendor of the rhododendrons on the opposite shoredoes not look as though the hand of man had touched it. Yet no part of these banks is natural, for the pond itself is not natural. Its basin was excavated some twenty years ago, and the water was supplied by damming a little brook. Every foot of the shore has been artificially out- lined and adorned. But artifice here meant true art, and therefore nature has gladly ac- quiesced in it, sympathetically carrying out 11 NORTH END OF THE POND IN MAY. those completing details to which, in this branch of art, she must always attend. You may have seen natural ponds as beau- tiful as this one, but their character is not the same and would not be appropriate here. Here the eye demands a kind of beautywhich, while it looks spontaneous, is really civilized, refined, and delicately finished, or, as the writ- ers of Downings time would have said, is polished.s No spot where nature does the planting is likely to remain equally effective through all the seasons of the year. No natural pond could be as variously adorned as this one, for its flowering plants have been brought from many parts of the world, and some of them owe their charm to long years of horticultural care, And every natural pond is more or less marred by the scars and defects wrought by death and decay. Look again at the drawing on this page. The tupelo-tree, which spreads its horizontal arms above the group of rhododendrons in 12 the center, is just the right tree for just this spot, and in autumn its crimson foliage strikes as fine a dominating note of color as do the rhododendron flowers in June. Elimi- nate the drooping branches of the elm toward the right, and the composition is ruined. Re- peat them on the other side, and it would not be a composition at all. And here, as every- where at Holm Lea, all such facts are proofs of that true kind of creative work which, with a wise understanding of natures possi- bilities, knows what to originate, what to alter, and what to destroy. VII, THESE words also define the kind of work which is needed to adjust a bit of wild land- scape to surroundings and accompaniments of a more (polished)) sort. Downing found some parts of the Lee place distinctly picturesque, and thus they ENGRAVED BY A. E ANDERSON. SOUTH END OF THE POND. A SUBURBAN COUNTRY PLACE. 13 still remain. Picturesqueness always implies of the place. Or else he would have thought a certain degree of wildness, and there are them too sacred to be touched, and allowed parts of llolm Lea which, in fact, look en- them to grow into impenetrable thickets. He tirely wild. Mr. Feun had the most important would not have known how to unite them of them at his back and on his left when he harmoniously with the softer landscapes, and was making the picture of the little valley therefore they would really have been out (on page 15) upon which the entrance front of keeping. But the artist has made them of the house looks out. Here, lifted high beautiful and accessible without destroying above the level of the valley and the pond, one iota of their natural air. Dead or dying lies an extensive stretch of wild woodland, or painfully imperfect trees and branches interspersed with glades and rocky ledges have been removed in due degree, which, of really romantic in their charm. The abori- course, does not mean in the same degree ginal forestcut down, who knows when desirable elsewhere. Young trees and shrubs or how?has been spontaneously replaced similar in kind to the indigenous growths by fine second growths of oak and pine have been planted where bare spots threat- and beech, and those varied flowery under- ened. The ax has occasionally been used growths for which New England woods are where destructive overcrowding appeared. famous; and here and there rise single And where the wood meets the turf of the pines of much greater stature, relics of the valley, isolated trees, projecting shrubs, and aboriginal forestspared, who knows by fringing wild flowers make so gradual a tran- whom or why? sition that even the clipped grass wins a One may wander long amid these woods spontaneous air. and think as little of landscape-gardening as The pictures on pages 14 and 16 show, of Bostons near-by streets; yet they are what from just beyond their boundaries, those they are because the hand of art has tended remoter portions of the place which are not them. The Philistine would have cut them devoted to purely ornamental ends. They pre- down and civilized their site, in the belief sent still another type of landscape beauty. that they were out of keeping with the rest These effects are pastoral, not gardenesque ENGRAVED BY C. SCHWARZBURGER. A JAPANESE APPLE-TREE. 14 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. or picturesquely wild. But these, too, have been consciously secured, carefully studied, and artistically developed. VIII. IT would be difficult to decide which are the most beautiful of the many and varied land- scape pictures that have been made at Holm Lea. The seemingly wild, the rich and pol- ished gardenesque, and the simply pastoral pictures all seem, in their turn, the most beautiful that could be made. This is partly because they have all been so skilfully united that as we pass from one type to another, the one seems naturally to blend into the other; and it is partly because, at the same time, they have been so skil- fully separated and inframed in foliage that a point of view which shows the perfection of one type isolates it from all objects that could impair its peculiar charm. Moreover, each type of picture has been developed where that type was most clearly demanded by the position of the house and the natural character of the ground; and within itself each and every picture has been kept free from inharmonious details. I do not merely mean that Holm Lea shows none of those glaring mistakes which are apt to reveal themselveswhen much ambition and much labor have been spent upon a country place conspicuous artificial features intro- duced into would-be naturalistic scenes, or would-be picturesque, crudely naturalistic features introduced into soft and polished scenes. I mean that a feeling for the virtues of concord and unity has directed the choice and the placing of even the smallest plant. Of course no garden plants deface with in- appropriate bits of beauty the glades or the edges of the wild woodlands. Not every plant which grows here is self-sown, but all of them might have originated in the company of those which really sprang up of themselves. And when I wrote that even in the gar- denesque landscapes, where greater latitude of choice is permissible, each plant must be beautiful and must help general beauty of effect, I implied that none exist which are palpably dissimilar in aspect to the indige- nous vegetation. Some are exotics from far climes, and some the gardeners hand has im- proved beyond mother natures recognition. But they are all hardy in this climate, grow- ing all the year round where we find them in summer; and they all accord in general char- acter with the character of New Englands THE MEADOW. native dress. Palms and bamboos, cacti and aloes, and scores of other attractive plants of unmistakably foreign aspect, are culti- vated at Holm Lea; but they are kept in the greenhouses or used for the decoration of the house and its piazzas. They are not set about the grounds in summer, pretending to grow where they stand, and marring with their tropic air the effect of the products of the temperate zone. Need I now assert that, as all the outdoor pictures at Holm Lea are naturalistic pic- tures of one kind or another, they include no formal flower-beds? There is only one such flower-bed on the whole place. You may see it in the angle formed by the piazza walls near the steps in the picture on page 6. Here architectural formality justifies a brilliant bit of floral formality which would be as distressingly discordant upon the bosom of the peaceful lawns, or by the graceful borders of the pond, as in the heart of the wild-wood itself. Nevertheless, HoIm Lea is more richly adorned with flowers than any other country place I know. Its blossoming trees and, above all, its blossoming shrubs, growing freely and luxuriantly, make it a glorious place of color all through the spring and early summer months, sweeping the ground with their pink and red, their white and yellow and lilac robes, now standing proudly alone, now massed in huge bouquets of blossom and now sprinkled through the borders of the larger plantations, In the spring narcissi by the thousand, wild hyacinths, trilliums, fritil- lanes, forget-me-nots, and their like, bloom in the grass wherever it is not kept closely shorn, and around the borders of the pond and along the edges of the shrubberies; and they need none of the costly care which plants that are ((bedded out)) require, but after their first establishment appear afresh as spring follows spring, with their scattered sparkles or their almost solid sheets of bloom, In their wake come the children of the summer and the fall, enchanting every day, but most splendid in the day of the rhododendrons and the Ghent azaleas, When the flowers are perishing more color follows, forth e larger plantations have been arranged with an eye to autumnal harmony and bril- liance as well as to spring brilliance and summer harmonies of varied green; and also 15 LOOKING DOWN THK VALLEY. ENGRAVED BY J. W. EVANS. 16 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. with an eye to that winter beauty which may be won by a judicious use of plants with evergreen folia~,e, bright-hued branchiets, or persistent decorative fruit. Then there are the many kinds of garden flowers which cannot be required as de- tails in landscape pictures, and which ruin these pictures if intruded among them in our and to understand how it ought to be applied in this case or in that. But discouraging signs of blindness, apathy, or misconception meet us at every step, and where we might least expect to find them. Our costliest, most ambitious, and most polished country places are often less artistic than our smallest and humblest; and the architect whose own work customary semi-formal ways. These are also grown, and lavishly, at Holm Lea; and its gardener, Mr. Zander, has made himself a notable name by his great success with them. But they are grown by themselves, near the greenhouses in one corner of the place, where they can be tended with the greatest ease, where their several beauties can be well appreciated when the visitor seeks them out, and where they interfere with the effect o no naturalistic scene. is most intimately connected with the gar- deners very seldom comprehends his aims, appreciates his difficulties, or rightly values his results. Our architects have, indeed, begun to per- ceive the need for gardening art as an ac- cessory to their own, but hardly as yet its intrinsic dignity, its lawful freedom, its right to stand by itself on an equal height with the other great arts of design, and to aim at ideals and work with methods peculiar to it- self. Very often they quote as defining and IX. concluding the whole matter a bit of Parisian SOMETIMES we fancy that, in this America, studio parlance: ((Gardening is the sauce of we have learned to appreciate gardening art architecture.)) Truly; but in the same ense ENGRAVED BY C. W. CHADWICK UNDER TEE ELM. A SUBURBAN COUNTRY PLACE. that apples are the sauce for roast goose. Apples have other uses than this, and garden- ing has other r6les to play than as a docile adjunct to the lines of a building. There are many cases, as in public parks, where garden- ing must furnish the solid food for the eye, while architecture can but garnish it and flavor it a little. And there are many other cases where those formal gardening schemes which architects most easily understand are distinctly inappropriate, where naturalistic methods of treatment must be chosen, and where, in consequence, architecture must consent to play the subordinate part. Holm Lea, of course, is an instance of this kind. Only a very dull eye could look upon the grounds of Holm Lea as mere accessories to its buildings, or could think that this is what they should have been made. Virtually they exist because the buildings exist because people wished to make their home upon this spot, and therefore wished to civilize and adornit. But artistically it is the other way about. The treatment of the grounds has been inspired by their natural character (by their formation and their native vegeta- tion), and the buildings have been adjusted to it. And only in this way could a place of so much beauty have been created upon a site of this kind, amid American suburban conditions, and with due reference to Ameri- can habits of life. Now, in conclusion, I may write down two important truths which, taken together, constitute the very important truth that I wished to enforce when I began this little commentary. The first of them is this: All the science, all the patience in the world, will profit a landscape-gardener little if his sense of beauty has not been developed by the persistent observation and study of beauty both in nature and in art. An artist in gardening is not born ready made, or fostered by scientific acquirements, any more than an artist with paint or chisel. On the other hand, and this is the second truth, all the artistic instinct, all the artistic training in the world, will not make a man a good landscape-gardener unless he has much scientific acquaintance and much practical experience with plants. As regards both general scheme and com- pleting details, Mr. Sargent has created his own place. But this is not to say that any 17 owner of a country place, or any botanist, or any artist, is able to make as fine a one. It required, so to say, a union of these three personalities. The charm of the artistically composed landscapes at Holm Lea is greatly enhanced by the variety of the trees and shrubs and flowers which compose them; and quite as remarkable, and even more help- ful to beauty, is the flourishing condition of every plant and the rapid development of every young planta development which seems almost magical to one who knows how hard the average planter must struggle with his nurslings, and how often he must con- fess defeat in the end. Thus wide botanical and horticultural knowledge are revealed by the artistic plantations of Holm Lea no less than by the scientific ones of the Arnold Arboretum. Mr. Sargents public affiliations have been with men of science, but in early life he had a wise artistic counselor in his uncle, Henry Winthrop Sargent, who created one of the most charming places on the Hudson River, and transmitted to his nephew the inspiring influence of Andrew Downing. And the impulse thus received has been sedulously fostered by a love for art of every kind, and by a wide acquaintance, in many parts of the world, with natures fairest pro- ducts and with the gardening achievements of our own and antecedent times. If Mr. Penn had made a hundred drawings at Holm Lea, each might have been used as a text to enforce this fundamental truth: Landscape-gardening is a genuine art, an in- dependent art, a very difficult art, and one which demands much knowledge of other than artistic kinds. No superficial amateur, and no professional man of one-sided train- ing, can create a really fine country place of a highly civilized and polished sort, perfectly adapted to the needs and tastes of its own- ers, entirely appropriate to its situation, com- pletely realizing the natural possibilities of its site, displaying the full resources of modern horticulture, delighting the eye with pictures of the most diverse kinds, and sat- isfying it by their combination into a har- monious whole. The genesis of a country place like Holm Lea requires the mind of a scientific botanist, the hand of a practised horticulturist, the heart of a lover of na- ture, the eye of a trained artistand, be- sides all these, the beautiful patience of Job. M. G. Van Rensselaer. VOL. LIV.34. (BEGUN IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.) HUGH WYNINE, FREE QUAKER: SOMETIME BREVET LIEUTENANT-COLONEL ON THE STAFF OF HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON. BY DR. S. WEIR MITCHELL, Author of ((Far in the Forest,~ ((Roland Blake,)) etc. WITH PICTURES BY HOWARD PYLE. XVII. ON this night of the 2d of October, Jack told me we should move next morning or the day after. He had seen General Wayne on an errand for our colonel. e A strong talker, the general; but as ready to fight as to talk.e In fact, ammunition was issued, and before dawn on the 4th the myriad noises of an army break- ing camp aroused me. It was a gray morning overhead, and cool. When we fell into line to march, Jack called me out of the ranks. ((There will be a fight, Hugh. Mr. Howe has sent troops into Jersey, and weakened his hold on the village, or so it is thought. In fact, you know that, for it was you that fetched the news. IfI should get killed you will tell. your auntnot to forget me and Darthea too. And my fathermy father, HughI have written to him and to Miss Wynnein case of accident.)) The day before a fight Jack was always going to be killed. I do not think I ever thought I should be hit. I had, later in the war, a constant impression that, if I were, it would be in the stomach, and this idea I much disliked. I fell to thinking of Darthea and Jack, wondering a little, until the drum and fife struck up, and at the word we stepped out. I have no intention to describe more of the fight at Germantown than I saw, and that was but little. It seemed to me confusion worse confounded, and I did not wonder that Gray- don had once written me from the North that we were in a ((scuffle for liberty.)) The old village was then a long, broken line of small, gray stone houses, set in gardens on each side of the highway, with here and there a larger mansion, like the Chew house, Clieve- den, and that of the Wisters. The ascent from the city is gradual. At Mount Airy it is more abrupt, and yet more steep at Chestnut Hill,where my aunts house, on the right, looks down on broken forests, through which the center marched by the Perkiomen road. As to the fight on our right wing, I knew nothing of that for many a day. As we tramped on our march of at least a dozen miles, the fog which the east wind brought us grew thicker, but there was less dust. About dusk of morning we came out of the woods, and moved up the ascent of Chestnut Hill, where I wondered to find no defences. There were scarce any houses hereabouts, and between the hill and the descent to Mount Airy our own regiment diverged to the left, off the road. There were hardly any fences to trouble us, and where the lines were broken by gardens or hedges, we went by and remade the line, which was extended more to left as we moved away from the highway. At last we were halted. I was thinking of the glad days I had spent hereabouts when we heard to right~ the rattle of muskets. McLane had driven in the advanced picket of the enemy. Then the right of our own force fell on some British light infantry, and, swinging the left on the right as a pivot, our own flanking regiment faced their guns, so that we were in part back on the main road. The sun came out for a little, but the fog thickened, and it was lost. I saw Jack look at me, and noticed how flushed he was, and that his face was twitch- ing. So heavy was the fog that, as we saw the guns, we were almost on them. To see fifty feet ahead was impossible. I saw two red flashes as the muskets rang out. There were wild cries, quick orders: ((Fire! fire!)) And with a great shout we ran forward, I hearing Jack cry, ((The bayonet! the bayo- net!)) I saw in the smoke and fog men fall to right and left, and in a moment was after Jack, who stood between the guns, fencing with two big grenadiers. I clubbed one of them with my butt, and Jack disposed of the second. Meanwhile the Buglish line had broken, and men who had fallen hurt or were stand.- ing were crying for quarter. I saw none given. It was horrible. Our men were pay- ing a sad debt, contracted on the 20th of September, when Gray surprised Wayne at 18

(BEGUN IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.) HUGH WYNINE, FREE QUAKER: SOMETIME BREVET LIEUTENANT-COLONEL ON THE STAFF OF HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON. BY DR. S. WEIR MITCHELL, Author of ((Far in the Forest,~ ((Roland Blake,)) etc. WITH PICTURES BY HOWARD PYLE. XVII. ON this night of the 2d of October, Jack told me we should move next morning or the day after. He had seen General Wayne on an errand for our colonel. e A strong talker, the general; but as ready to fight as to talk.e In fact, ammunition was issued, and before dawn on the 4th the myriad noises of an army break- ing camp aroused me. It was a gray morning overhead, and cool. When we fell into line to march, Jack called me out of the ranks. ((There will be a fight, Hugh. Mr. Howe has sent troops into Jersey, and weakened his hold on the village, or so it is thought. In fact, you know that, for it was you that fetched the news. IfI should get killed you will tell. your auntnot to forget me and Darthea too. And my fathermy father, HughI have written to him and to Miss Wynnein case of accident.)) The day before a fight Jack was always going to be killed. I do not think I ever thought I should be hit. I had, later in the war, a constant impression that, if I were, it would be in the stomach, and this idea I much disliked. I fell to thinking of Darthea and Jack, wondering a little, until the drum and fife struck up, and at the word we stepped out. I have no intention to describe more of the fight at Germantown than I saw, and that was but little. It seemed to me confusion worse confounded, and I did not wonder that Gray- don had once written me from the North that we were in a ((scuffle for liberty.)) The old village was then a long, broken line of small, gray stone houses, set in gardens on each side of the highway, with here and there a larger mansion, like the Chew house, Clieve- den, and that of the Wisters. The ascent from the city is gradual. At Mount Airy it is more abrupt, and yet more steep at Chestnut Hill,where my aunts house, on the right, looks down on broken forests, through which the center marched by the Perkiomen road. As to the fight on our right wing, I knew nothing of that for many a day. As we tramped on our march of at least a dozen miles, the fog which the east wind brought us grew thicker, but there was less dust. About dusk of morning we came out of the woods, and moved up the ascent of Chestnut Hill, where I wondered to find no defences. There were scarce any houses hereabouts, and between the hill and the descent to Mount Airy our own regiment diverged to the left, off the road. There were hardly any fences to trouble us, and where the lines were broken by gardens or hedges, we went by and remade the line, which was extended more to left as we moved away from the highway. At last we were halted. I was thinking of the glad days I had spent hereabouts when we heard to right~ the rattle of muskets. McLane had driven in the advanced picket of the enemy. Then the right of our own force fell on some British light infantry, and, swinging the left on the right as a pivot, our own flanking regiment faced their guns, so that we were in part back on the main road. The sun came out for a little, but the fog thickened, and it was lost. I saw Jack look at me, and noticed how flushed he was, and that his face was twitch- ing. So heavy was the fog that, as we saw the guns, we were almost on them. To see fifty feet ahead was impossible. I saw two red flashes as the muskets rang out. There were wild cries, quick orders: ((Fire! fire!)) And with a great shout we ran forward, I hearing Jack cry, ((The bayonet! the bayo- net!)) I saw in the smoke and fog men fall to right and left, and in a moment was after Jack, who stood between the guns, fencing with two big grenadiers. I clubbed one of them with my butt, and Jack disposed of the second. Meanwhile the Buglish line had broken, and men who had fallen hurt or were stand.- ing were crying for quarter. I saw none given. It was horrible. Our men were pay- ing a sad debt, contracted on the 20th of September, when Gray surprised Wayne at 18 HUGH WYNNE. 19 Paoli, and there were no wounded left and few prisoners. It was a frightful scene, and when the officers succeeded to stop the slaughter, the account had been mercilessly settled, and there was scarce a living enemy in sight. Hastily reforming, we went on again, more to left of the main road, through tents, scattered baggage, dying horses, and misty red splotches where the scarlet uniforms lay thick on the wet grass. As we pushed on, the fog broke a little, and a confused mass of redcoats was seen, some running, and some following tumultuously their colonel, Musgrave, into the solid stone house of Clieveden, while the larger number fled down the road and over the fields. Meanwhile Sullivans people came up. Two cannon set across the roadthey were but four-poundersopened with small effect on the stone house. The fire from the windows was fierce and fatal. Men dropped here and there, until Jack called to us to lie down. We were at this time behind the mansion. As we lay, I saw Jack walking to and fro, and at last cooll~r lighting a pipe. Our company lay to the left a little, and away from the rest of the regiment. I called to Jack: ((Let us rush it, Jack, and batter down the back door.)) Jack, as I rose, called out to me, with a fierce oath, to keep still and obey orders. I dropped, and as I did so saw an officer with a white flag shot down as he went forward to ask a surrender. Then we were ordered to march, leaving a regiment to continue the siege; a half-hour had been lost. We went at a run quite two miles down the slope, now on, now off the main street, with red gleams now and then seen through this strangeness of fog. The British were flying, broken and scattered, over the fields. I heard ((Halt!)) as we swung parallel with the road at the market-place, where the Grenadiers made a gallant stand, as was known by the more orderly platoon firing. Then we too broke out in great blaze, and after, what with fog and smoke, a fight in a cellar were as good. The next minute our people came down the highway, and, between the two fires, the English again gave way. I heard, ((Forward! We have em!)) Some near me hesitated, and I saw Jack run by me crying, ((The bayonet, men! After me!)) I saw no more of Jack for many a day. We were in the wide market- placea mob of furious men, blind with fog and smoke, stabbing, clubbing, striking, as chance served. My great personal strength helped me well. Twice I cleared a space, until my musket broke. I fell twice, once with a hard crack on the head from the butt of a musket. As some English went over me, I stabbed at them madly, and got a bayonet thrust in my left arm. Jwasupinamoment~ and for a little while, quite unarmed, was in the middle of a confused mass of men raging and swearing like maniacs. Suddenly there was no one to be seen near me; the noise of muskets, the roar of cannonry, red flashes in the fog in frontthat was all, as I stood panting and dazed. Next I heard wild cries back of me, and the crash of musketry. Stephenss division, coming up behind us, began to fire, mistaking us, in the infernal darkness, for an enemy. Our people broke under it, and, passing me, ran, beaten; for the panic spread in the very moment of victory. I turned, not understanding, stumbled over a dead man, and suddenly felt as if a stone had struck my left leg above the knee. I fell instantly, and for a timeI do not know how longlost consciousness. It could have been but a few moments. When I came to myself, I got up, confused and giddy, and began to walk, but with pain- ful difficulty, stumbling over dead or wounded men. Our people were gone, and I saw no one for a little, till I heard the quick tramp of feet and saw through the fog the red line of a marching regiment almost upon me. I made an effort to fall to one side of the street, but dropped again, and once more knew nothing. I think they went over me. When evening came, I found myself lying with others on the sidewalk in front of the Wister house. How I was taken thither I know as little as any. I was stiff, sore, and bloody, but soon able to look about me. I found a bandage around my leg, and felt in no great pain unless I tried to move. Men in red coats came and went, but none heeded my cry for water, until an old servant-woman, who during the fight had refused to leave the house, brought me a drink. I knew her well. I tried to tell her who I was, but my parched tongue failed me, and a rough corporal bade her begone. My watch, a good silver one, was stolen, but my money-belt was safe. Beside me were many other wounded, one man hideous with his jaw broken; he seemed to me dying. By and by soldiers fetched others. Then a detachment of Virginians went past, in their fringed skin shirts, pris- oners, black with smoke, dirty and sullen. Surgeons aids came and went in and out, and 20 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. soon the sidewalk was crowded with the wounded. At last they carried a dying gen- eral into the house. I asked his name, but no one answered me. It was the brigadier Agnew, now lying at rest in the lower burial- ground by Fishers Lane. An officer came and counted us like sheep. About nine a row of carts stopped,coun- try waggons seized for the purpose,and, with small tenderness, we were told to get in, or at need lifted in. I was put, with eight others, in a great Conestoga wain without a cover. Soon a detachment of horse arrived, and thus guarded, we were carted away like logs. The road was never good, but now it was full of holes and cut up by the wheels of artillery. I shall never forget the misery of that ride. I set my teeth and resolved to utter no groan. Before us and behind us were many loads of wounded men, chiefly such as seemed fit to travel. There were nine of us. One was dead before we reached town. As we jolted on, and the great wain rocked, ,I heard the crack of the drivers whips, and far and near, in the darkness or near beside me, curses, prayers, mad screams of pain, or men imploring water. When near to Nicetown came on a cold, heavy rain, which chilled us to shivering. I let my handkerchief get soaked, and sucked it. Then I wet it againthe rain a torrent and gave it into the hand of him who was next me. He could not use his arm, nor could I turn to aid him, nor did he answer me. At times we waited on the way, so that it was one in the morning when we found our- selves in Chestnut street in front of the State House. It was still dismally raining. We were told to get out, and with help I did so, a line of soldiers standing on each side, but no one else near, and it was too dark to see if any whom I knew were to be seen. When they pulled out the man next to me, his head fell, and it was clear that he was dead. He was laid on the sidewalk, and we were helped or made to crawl up-stairs to the long room in the second story. Here some surgeons mates came and saw to us quite patiently. Soldiers fetched bread and water. I asked a pleasant kind of youth, a surgeons aid, to let my aunt know of my condition. He said he would, and, without the least doubt that he would keep his word, I managed to get into a position of partial ease, and, sure of early relief, lay await- ing the sleep which came at last when I was weary with listening to the groans of less patient men. The young surgeon never troubled himself with the delivery of my message. May the Lord reward him! Xv. THE mad screams of a man in an agony of pain awoke me on this Sunday, October 5, at daybreak. The room was a sorry sight. Some had died in the night, and were soon carried out for burial. I lay still, in no great pain, and reflected on the swift succession of events of the past week. I had had bad luck, but soon, of course, my aunt or father would know of my misfortune. As I waited for what might come, I tried to recall the events of the battle. I found it almost impossible to gather them into consecutive clearness, and often since I have wondered to hear men pro- fess to deliver a lucid history of what went on in some desperate struggle of war. I do not believe it to be possible. Being always of a sanguine turn of mind, I waited to see what next would happen. About five, after some scant diet, we were told to get up and go down-stairs. It was still dark because of the continuous rain and overcast skies. I refused to walk, and was lifted by two men and put in a waggon. A few early idlers were about the door to see us come out. I looked eagerly for a face I knew, but saw none. Our ride was short. We went down Sixth street, and drew up at the Walnut-street front of the prison, called, while the British held the town, the Provost. It was unfinished, a part being temporarily roofed over with boards. At the back was a large yard with high walls. Some, but not all, of the windows in the upper story had transverse slats to keep those within from seeing out. On the Sixth-street side were none of these guards, and here the windows overlooked the potters field, which now we call Washington Square. As I managed, with some rough help, to get up the steps, a few early-risen people paused to look on. Others came from the tumbledown houses on the north side of Walnut street, but again I was unfortunate, and saw none I knew. My heart fell within me as I looked up at the gray stone walls and grated windows. The door soon closed behind a hundred of us, not a few being of the less severely wounded. Often in passing I had thought, with a boys horror, of this gloomy place, and tried to imagine how I shouki feel in such a cage. I was to learn full well. With fifteen others I was shut up in a room about twenty-two feet square, on the HUGH WYNNE. 21 Sixth-street side and in the second story. I was, but for a Virginia captain, the only wounded man among these, the rest being stout country fellows, ruddy and strong, ex- cept one lean little man, a clerk, as I learned later, and of the commissary department. As I had again refused to walk up-stairs, I was carried, and not rudely laid down by two soldiers in a corner of the bare room, now to be for many a day our prison. The rest sat down here and there in dull silence, now and then looking at the door as if there hope was to be expected to enter. I called the Virginia captain, after an hour had gone by, and asked him to lift and ease my hurt leg. He was quick to help, and tender. In a few minutes we came to know each other, and thus be- gan a friendly relation which has endured to this present time. For a day or two soldiers were employed as turnkeys, but then a lot of rough fellows took their places, and we began to feel the change. I may say the like of our diet. For a week it was better than our pot-luck in camp. We had rye bread, coffee without sugar, and florribly tough beef; but within two weeks the diet fell to bread and water, with now and then salt or fresh beef, and potatoes or beans, but neither rum nor coffee. A surgeon dressed my wounds for a month, and then I saw him no more. He was a surly fellow, and would do for me nothing else, and was usually half intoxicated. The arm was soon well, but the leg wound got full of mag- gots when it was no longer cared for, and only when, in January, I pulled out a bit of bone did it heal. Once a day, sometimes in the morning, more often in the afternoon, we were let out in the yard for an hour, watched by sentries, and these also we heard outside under our windows. Observing how quickly the big country louts lost flesh and colour, I set myself to seeing howl could keep my health. I talked with my unlucky fellow-prisoners, ate the food even when it was as vile as it soon became, and when in the yard walked up and down making acquaintances as soon as I was able, while most of the rest sat about moping. I felt sure that before long some one would hear of me and bring relief. None came. The scoundrel in charge was a Captain Cunningham. He had risen from the ranks a great, florid, burly, drunken brute, not less than sixty years old. This fellow no doubt sold our rations, for in December we once passed three days on rye bread and water, and of the former not much; one day we had no food. He kicked and beat his victims at times when drunk, and when I proposed to him to make ten pounds by letting my aunt know where I was, he struck me with a heavy iron key he carried, and cut open my head, as a great scar testifies to this day. In late December the cold became intense, and we were given a blanket apiece to cover us as we lay on the straw. We suffered the more from weather because it chanced that, in October, the frigate Augusta blew up in the harbour, and broke half the panes of glass. In December the snow came in on us, and was at times thick on the floor. Once or twice a week we had a little fire-wood, and contrived then to cook the beans, which were rarely brought us more than half boiled. We did our best, the captain and I, to en- courage our more unhappy companions, who, I think, felt more than we the horrors of this prisoned life. We told stories, got up games, and I induced the men to go a-fishing, as we called it; that is, to let down their ragged hats through the broken window-panes by cords torn from the edges of our blankets. Now and then the poor folks near by filled these nets with stale bread or potatoes; but one day, after long ill luck, a hat was of a sudden felt to be heavy, and was declared a mighty catch, and hauled up with care. When it was found to be full of stones, a strange misery appeared on the faces of these eager, half-starved wretches. The little clerk said, ((We asked bread, and they gave us a stone,~ and of a sudden broke out into hideous exuberance of blasphemy, like one in a minute distraught. It was believed Cunning- ham had been he who was guilty of this cruel jest; but as to this I have no assurance. Our efforts to cultivate patience, and even gay endurance, by degrees gave way, as we be- came feeble in body, and the men too hungry to be comforted by a joke. At last the men ceased to laugh or smile, or even talk, and sat in corners close to one another for the saving of body warmth, silent and inert. A stout butcher, of the Maryland line, went mad, and swore roundly that he was George the king. It was hard, indeed, to resist the sense of despair which seemed at last to pos- sess all alike; for to starvation and cold were added such filth and vileness as men of decent habits felt more than those ac- customed to be careless as to cleanliness. The Virginian, one Richard Delaney, soon got over a slight hurt he had, and but for him I should not be alive to-day. The place swarmed with rats, and he and I set to work capturing them, filling their holes as they 22 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. came out at evening, and chasing them until we caught them. They kept well in the in- tense cold, and when we were given fire-wood we cooked and ate them greedily. Meanwhile death was busy among the starving hundreds thus huddled together. We saw every day hasty burials in the potters field. I wrote twice, with charred wood, on the half of a handkerchief, and threw it out of the window, but no good came of this; I suppose the sentries were too vigilant. A turnkey took one of my guineas, prom- ising to let my aunt hear of me. I saw him no more. As to Cunningham, he was either too drunk to care, or expected to make more out of our rations than by a bribe, and prob- ably did not credit the wild promises of a ragged prisoner. At all events, no good came of our many efforts and devices, which were more numerous than I have patience to re- late. From the beginning my mind was full of schemes for escaping, and these I confided to Delaney. They served, at least, to keep hope fat, as he said. Early in December I began to have dysen- tery, and could eat no more, or rarely; but for Delaney I should have died. He told me, about this time, that the men meant to kill Cunningham and make a mad effort to over- come the guard and escape. It seemed to me the wildest folly, but they were grown quite desperate and resolute for somethingall but the butcher, who sang obscene songs or doleful hymns, and sat dejected in a corner. The day after I saw the little commissary clerk talking in the yard to Cunningham, and that evening this rascal appeared with two soldiers and carried off four of the dozen left in our room; for within a week several had died of the typhus, which now raged among us. The next morning the clerk was found dead, strangled in the night, as I believe, but by whom we never knew. I got over the dysentery more speedily than was common, but it was quickly followed by a burning fever. For how long I know not I lay on the floor in the straw, miserably roll- ing from side to side. The last impression I recall was of my swearing wildly at Delaney because he would insist on putting under me his own blanket. Then I lost consciousness of my pain and unrest, and knew no more for many days. I came to a knowledge of myself to find Delaney again caring for me, and was of a sudden aware how delicious was the milk he was pouring down my throat. What else Delaney did for me I know not, except that he found and cared for my money, and bribed the turnkey with part of it to bring me milk daily for some two weeks. But that we had hid the guineas for a while in the ashes of the fireplace, I should have lost this chance and have died; for one day Cunningham made us all strip, and searched us thoroughly. About the end of January, Delaney, seeing me bettered and able to sit up a little, told me this strange story. While I was ill and unconscious, an officer had come to inspect the prison. Cunningham was very obsequious to this gentleman, and on Delaneys seizing the chance to complain, said it was a pack of lies, and how could he help the dysentery and typhus? All jails had them, even in England, which was too true. ((I went on,)) said Delaney, ((to say that it was an outrage to confine officers and men together, and that Mr. Wynne and myself should be put on parole. The inspector seemed startled at this, and said, (Who?) I had no mind to let a lie stand in your way, and I repeated, (CaptainWynne,) pointing to you, who were raving and wild enough. He came over and stood just here, looking down on you for so long that I thought he must be sorry for us. Then he said, in a queer way, and very deliberately: (Will he get well? He ought to be better looked aft~r. Cunning- ham said it was useless, because the surgeon had said you would be over yonder [point- ing to the potters field] in a day or two.)) Which, in fact, was his cheerful prediction. It was safe to say it of any who fell ill in the jail. ((This officer appeared puzzled or unde- cided. He went out and came back alone, and leaned over you, asking me to pull the blanket from your face. I did so, as he seemed afraid to touch it. As for you, my dear Wynne, you were saying, (Dorothea,) over and over; but who is Dorothea the Lord knows, or you. The officer at last, after standing awhile, said it was a pity, but it was of no use; you would die. As for me, I told him that we were officers starving, and were entitled to better treatment. He said he would see to it; and that is all. He went away, and we are still here; but if ever)) I broke in on Delaneys threat with, ((Who was the man?)) ((Cunningham consigned me to a more comfortable climate than this when I asked him, and the turnkey did not know.)) ((What did he look like?)) said I. ((He was tall, very dark, and had a scar over the left eye.)) ((Indeed? Did he have a way of standing with half-shut eyes, and his mouth a little open?)) HUGH WYNNE. 23 ((Certainly. Why, Wynne, you must know the man.)) I doI do. He is my cousin.~ I congratulate you.~ And so saying, he went away to the door to receive our rations, of which now every one except ourselves stole whatever he could lay hands on. It did seem to me, as I lay still, in much distress of body, and thought over that which I now heard for the first time, that no man could be so cruel as Arthur had shown himself. Time had gone by, and he had done nothing. If, as appeared likely, he was sure I was almost in the act of death, it seemed yet worse; for how could I, a dying man, hurt any one? If for any cause he feared me, here was an end of it. It seemed to me both stupid and villainous. He had warned me that I had everything to dread from his enmity if I per- sisted in writing to Darthea. Assuredly he had been as good as his word. He was un- willing to risk any worldly advantages by giv- ing me a gentlemans satisfaction, and could coldly let me die far from the love of those dear to me in not much better state than a pig perishing in a sty. Nay; the pig were better off, having known no better things. I thought much as I lay there, having been near to death, and therefore seriously in- clined, how impossible it must ever be for me to hate a man enough to do as Arthur had done. As the days went on, the hope which each week brought but hatched a new de- spair; and still I mended day by day, and for this there was a singular cause. I kept think- ing of the hour when my cousin and I should meet; and as I fed this animal appetite I won fresh desire to live, the motive serving as a means toward health of body. As to what had caused Arthur to lift no finger of help, I tried to think no more. If it were because of Darthea, why should he so fear me? I wished he had more reason. He must have learned later that I was still alive, and that I was, when he saw me, in no state to recognise him. It looked worse and worse as I thought about it, until at last Delaney, hearing me talk of nothing else, told me I would go mad like the butcher if I let myself dwell longer upon it. Thus wisely counselled, I set it aside. It was now the beginning of February; I was greatly improved, and fast gaining strength, but had lost, as I guessed, nearly three stone. There were but six of us left, the butcher dying last on his rotten straw in awful anguish of terror and despair. Delaney and I consoled each other all this dreary win- ter, and we did all men could do for the more unfortunate ones, whose sicknesses and deaths made this hell of distress almost un- bearable. The diet was at times better, and then again, as a drunkards caprice willed, there might be no food for a day. If we were our- selves wretched and starved, we were at least a source of comfort and food to those minor beings to whom we furnished both board and bed. I do not mean to tell over the often-heard story of a prisonwhat we did to while away the hours; how we taxed our memories until the reading, long forgotten, came back in morsels, and could be put together for new pleasure of it. There was one little man who had been a broken-down clergyman, and had entered the army. His chief trouble was that he could get no rum, and of this he talked whenever we would listen. He had, like several sots I have known, a remarkable memory, and was thus a great resource to us, as he could re- peat whole plays, and a wonderful amount of the Bible. As it was hard to arouse him, and get him to use his power to recall what he had read, in an evil hour we bribed him with some choice bits of our noble diet. After this the price would rise at times, and he be- came greedy. His mind gave way by degrees, but he still kept his memory, being also more and more eager to be paid for his power to interest or amuse us. When at last he grew melancholy and sleepless, and walked about all night, it was a real addition to our many evils. He de- clared that he must soon die, and I heard him one night earnestly beseeching God, in language of great force and eloquence, to forgive him. In the morning he was dead, having strangled himself resolutely with a strip of blanket and a broken rung of a stool, with which he had twisted the cord. It must have taken such obstinate courage as no one could have believed him to possess. He had no capacity to attach men, and I do not think we grieved for him as much as for the loss of what was truly a library, and not to be re- placed. On the 3d of February I awakened with a fresh and happy thought in my mind. My good friend the late lamented Dr. Franklin used to say that in sleep the mind creates thoughts for the day to hatch. I am rather of opinion that sleep so feeds and rests the brain that when first we awaken our power to think is at its best. At all events, on that day I suddenly saw a way to let the sweet outside world know I was alive. 24 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. At first I used to think of a chaplain as a resource, but I never saw one. The surgeon came no more when I grew better. Being now able to move about a little, I had noticed in the yard at times, but only of late, a fat Romanist priest, who was allowed to bring soup or other diet to certain prisoners. I soon learned that, because Cunningham was of the Church of Rome, those who were of his own faith were favoured. Indeed, now and then a part of my lessening guineas obtained from these men a share of the supplies which the priest, and, I may add, certain gray-clad sis- ters, also brought; but this was rare. That day in the yard I drew near to the priest, but saw Cunningham looking on, and so I waited with the patience of a prisoned man. It was quite two weeks before my chance came. The yard, being small, was lit- erally full of half-clad, whole-starved men, who shivered and huddled together where the sunlight fell. Many reeled with weakness; most were thin past belief, their drawn skin the colour of a decayed lemon. From this sad crowd cayne a strange odour, like to cheese, and yet not like that. Even to remember it is most horrible. Passing near to a stout old Sister of Charity, I said quietly: ((I have friends who would help me. For Gods love, see Miss Wynne in Arch street, across from the Meeting.)) ((I will do your errand,)) she said. ((Others have said so, sister, and have lied to me.)) ((I will do it,~ she said. ((And if she is away?)) I thought of my father. He seemed my natural resource, but my cousin would be there. A final hope there was. I was foolish enough to say, ~If she is not in town, then Miss Darthea Peniston, near by. If you fail me, I shall curse you while I live.)) ((I will not fail you. Why should you poor prisoners be so ill used? Trust me.~ I turned away satisfied, remembering that when I left Darthea was about to return, if she came to know, that would be enough. I had faith in her friendship and in her; and, if ever I saw her again, should I tell her what now I knew of Arthur Wynne? I learned many lessons in this awful place, and among them caution. I would wait and see. Both Delaney and I strongly desired an ex- change, and not merely a parole. We ima- gined exchanges to be frequent. My own dilemma, Delaney pointed out, was that I was not in the aTmy, although I had been of it. And so we speculated of things not yet come about, and what we would do when they did come. The next day went by, and the morning after, it being now February 19, we were all in the yard. A turnkey came and bade me follow him. I went, as you may imagine, with an eager heart, on the way, as I hoped,. out of this death in life. As I questioned the man, he said there was an order for a lady to see me. Now at this time my hair was a foot long, and no way to shear it. We had taken the blankets of the dead, and made us coats by tearing holes through which to thrust our arms. Then, as we lacked for buttons, or string for points, we could do no more than wrap these strange gowns about us so as to cover our rags. My costume troubled me little. I went to the foul-smelling room, now empty, and waited until the man came back. As he opened the door, I saw the good Sister of Charity in the hall, and thenwho but Dar- thea? She was in a long cloak and great muff, and held in her hand a winter mask. Seeing me in this blue blanket, all unshorn, and with what beard I had covering my face, when all men but Hessians shaved clean, I wonder not, I say, that, seeing this gaunt scarecrow, she fell back, saying there waa some mistake. I cried out, ((Darthea! Darthea! Do not leave me. It is I! It is I, Hugh Wynne.~ ((My God!)) she cried, it is Hugh! It is it is!)) At this she caught my lean, yellow hand, and went on to say: ((Why were we never told? Your Aunt Wynne is away~ Since we thought you dead, she has ordered mourning, and is gone to her farm, and leavea the servants to feed those quartered on her. But you are not dead, thank God! thank God I was but a day come from New York, and was at home when the dear old sister came and told me. I made her sit down while I called my aunt. Then Arthur came, and I told him. He w& ts greatly shocked to hear it. He reminded me that some while before he had told me that he had seen a man who looked like you in the jail, and was about to die; and now could itcould it have been you? He is for duty at the forts to-day, but to-morrow he will get you a parole. He sup- posed a day made no matter; at all events, he must delay that long. I neVer saw him so troubled.)) ((Well he might be,)) thought I. I merely said, ~Indeed?~ But I must have looked my doubt, for she added quickly: ((Who could know you, Mr. Wynne?)) I stood all this while clutching at my blanket to cover my filth and rags, and she, HUGH WYNNE. 25 young and tender, now all tears, now flash- ing a smile in between, like the pretty light- ning of this storm of gentle pity. ((And what fetched you here to this awful place?)) I said. ((God knows how welcome you are, but)) ((Oh,)) she cried, ((when Arthur went, I said I would wait, but I could not. My aunt was in a rage, bTut I would go with the dear sister; and then I found Sir William, and Mr. Montresor was there; and you will be helped, and an end put to this wickedness. But the parole Arthur will ask forthat is better.)) ((Darthea,)) I said hoarsely, my voice break- ing, ((I have been here since early in October. I have been starved, frozen, maltreated a hun- dred ways, but I can never take a parole. My friend Delaney and I are agreed on this. As to exchanges, I have no rank, and I may be a year inactive. I will take my chance here.)) I think death had been preferable to a parole obtained for me by Arthur Wynne. No; I was not made of my father-rock to do this and then to want to kill the man. I could not do that. I put it on the parole. Delaney and I had agreed,and on this I stood firm. She implored me to change my mind. ((How obstinate you are!)) she cried. ((Do you never change? Oh, you are dreadfully changed! Do not die; you must not.)) She was strange in her excitement. As for me, I thought to ask to have De- laney in, and to bid him tell that vile and wicked story; but it seemed no place nor time to hurt her who had so helped me, daring to do what few young women had ever dared even to think of. As I hesitated, I was struck with a thought which was like a physical pain. It put myself and the other wretched business quite out of my head. ~Oh, Darthea!)) I cried, ~~you should never have come here. Go at once. Do not stay a minute. This is a house poisoned. Seven died of fever in this room. Write me what else is to say, but go; and let me have some plain clothes from home, and linen and a razor and scissors, and, above all,)) and I smiled, ((soap. But go! go! Why were you let to come?)) ((I will go when I have done. Why did I come? Because I am your friend, and this is the way I read friendship. Oh, I shall hear of it too. But let him take care; I would do it again. And as to the parole, he shall get it for you to-morrow, if you like it or not. I will write to you, and the rest you shall have; and now good-by. I am to be at home for Mr. Montresor in a half-hour. This is but a bit of payment for the ugly little girl, who is very honest, sir, I do assure you.~ ((Do go,)) I cried. ((And oh, Darthea, if this is your friendship, what would be your love!)) ((Fie! fie! Hush!)) she said, and was gone. In two hours came a note, and I learned, for I had asked to hear of the war, that Washington was not dead. We had been told that he was. I heard, too, of Burgoynes sur- render, news now near to five months old, of Count Donops defeat and death, of the fall of our forts on the Delaware, of Lord Corn- wallis gone to England, of failures to effect exchanges. Then she went on to write: ((Your father was, strange to say, roused out of a sort of lethargy by the news of your death. Jack managed to get a letter to your aunt to say you were missing, and Arthur had search made for you; but many nameless ones were buried in haste, and he could not find your name on the lists of prisoners.)) None had been made to my knowledge. ((We all thought you dead. Your aunt is in mourn- ing, but only of late, thinking it could not be that you were lost to her. It is well, as you do not like your cousin, that you should know how kind he has been, and what a comfort to your father. Indeed,and now it will amuse you, he told Arthur, you being dead, he had still a son, and would consider Arthur as his heir. All this ought to make you think better of Arthur, whom, I do believe, you have no reason to dislike. I beg of you to think other- wise of him; my friends must be his. And have I not proved I am a friend? I fear I can- not at once get news of you to Mistress Wynne, who has gone to live at the Hill Farm.)) And so, with other kind words, she ended, and I, putting the note in a safe place, sat on my straw, and laughed to think of Arthurs filial care and present disappoint- ment. In a few hours came the turnkey, quite captured by Darthea, and no doubt the richer for a good fee. He fetched a portmantle just come, and an order to put me in a room alone. I left Delaney with sorrow, but hoped for some way to help him. In an hour I was clean for the first time in five months, neatly shaven, my hair somehow cut, and I in sweet linen and a good, plain gray suit, and a beaver to match. Then I sat down to think, the mere hope of escape making me weak, and what came of it you shall hear. The next day I was ordered forth with a few others, and, luckily, late in the afternoon. I covered my fine clothes with the blanket, and went out. In the yard, just before our time was up, I saw the sister, to my delight, and perceived too, with joy, that the prison- 26 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. ers did not recognise me, decently shaven as I was. Only one thing held me back or made me doubt that I was now close to liberty: I was so feeble that at times I staggered in walking. I knew, however, that when my new clothes became familiar in the jail my chance of escape would be over. I must take the present opportunity, and trust to luck. My scheme I had clearly thought out. I meant, when in the yard, to drop the blanket cover, and coolly follow the sister, trusting to my being taken, in my new garments, for a visitor. It was simple, and like enough to succeed if my strength held out. It was now dusk, and a dark, overclouded day. A bell was rung, this being the signal for the gang of prisoners to go to their rooms. Falling back a little, I cast aside the blanket, and then following the rest,was at once in the hall, dimly lighted with lanterns. It was some eighty feet long. Here I kept behind the group, and went boldly after the stout sister. No one seemed disposed to suspect the well- dressed gentleman in gray. I went by the turnkey, keeping my face the other way. I was now some fifteen feet from the great barred outer door. The two sentries stepped back to let the sister go by. Meanwhile, the gate-keeper, with his back to me, was busy with his keys. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. A greater lantern hung over it. I was aghast to see the wretch Cunning- ham just about to enter. He was sure to de- tect me. I hesitated, but the lookout into space and liberty was enough for me. The beast fell back to let the sister pass out. I dashed by the guards, upset the good woman, and, just outside of the doorway, struck Cun- ningham in the facea blow that had in it all the gathered hate of five months of brutal treatment. He fell back, stumbling on the broad upper step. I caught him a second full in the neck, as I followed. With an oath, he rolled back down the high steps, as I, leaping over him, ran across Walnut street. One of the outside guards fired wildly, but might as well have killed some passer-by as me. Opposite were the low houses afterward removed to enlarge Independence Square. I darted through the open door of a cobblers shop, and out at the back into a small yard, and over palings into the open space. It was quite dark, as the day was overcast. I ran behind the houses to Fifth street. Here I jumped down the raised bank and turned northward. Beside me was a mechanic going home with his lantern, which, by military law, all had to carry after fall of night. He looked at me as if in doubt, and I took my chance, saying: ((Take no notice. I am a prisoner run away from the jail.)) ~I m your man,)) he said. ((Take the lantern, and walk with me. I hear those devils.)) And indeed there was a great noise on Walnut street and in the square. Men were dimly seen running to and fro, and seizing any who had no lanterns. We went on to Chestnut street, and down to Second. I asked him here to go to Dock Creek with me. At my own home I offered him my last guinea, but he said no. I then told him my name, and desired he would some day, in better times, seek me out. And so the honest fellow left me. Many a year after he did come to me in debt and trouble, and, you may be sure, was set at ease for the rest of his life. Looking up, I saw light in the window, and within I could see Arthur and three other officers. The liquors and decanters were on a table, with bread and cheese, plain to be seen by hungry eyes. My fathers bulky form was in his big Penn arm-chair, his head fallen forward. He was sound asleep. Colonel Tarle- ton had his feet on a low stool my mother used for her basket of sewing-material and the stockings she was so constantly darning. Harcourt and Colonel OHara were matching pennies, and my cousin was standing by the fire, speaking now and then, a glass in his hand. The dog asleep in the stable was no more considered than was my poor father by these insolent guests. An almost overmastering rage possessed me as I gazed through the panes; for no one had closed the shutters as was usually done at nightfall. I was hungry, cold, and weak, and these! I turned away, and went down the bank of Dock Creek to the boat-house. It was locked, and this made it likely my boat had escaped the strict search made by the British. No one being in sight, I went around the house to the stable at the farther end of the garden. As I came near I smelt the smoke of our old Toms pipe, and then seeing him, I called softly, ((Tom! Tom!)) He jumped up, crying, ((Save us, Master Hugh!)) and started to run. In a moment I had him by the arm, and quickly made him understand that I was alive, and needed food and help. As soon as he was recovered from his fright, he fetched me milk, bread, and a bottle of Hollands. After a greedy meal, he carried to the boat, at my order, .the rest of the pint of spirits, oars, paddle, and boat- key. On the way it occurred to me to ask for HUGH WYNNE. 27 Lucy. She had been seized by the Hessian Von Heiser, and was in my aunts stable. I had not asked about the mare without a purpose; I was in a state of intense mental clearness, with all my wits in order. In the few minutes that followed I told Tom not to let any one know of my coming, and then, pushing off, I dropped quietly down the creek. It was cold and very dark, and there was some ice afloat in small masses, amidst which my boat, turning with no guidance, moved on the full of the ebb tide toward the great river. For about two hundred yards I drifted, lying flat on my back. At the outlet of the creek was a sudden turn where the current almost fetched me ashore on the south bank. There from the slip nearly overhead, as the boat whirled around, I heard a sentinel call out, ((Stop there, or I fire!)) I remained motion- less, feeling sure that he would not risk an alarm by reason of a skiff gone adrift. As he called again the boat slewed around, and shot, stern first, far .out into the great flood of the Delaware. Never had it seemed to me a dearer friehd. I was free. Cautiously us- ing the paddle without rising, I was soon in mid-river. Then I sat up, and, taking a great drink of the gin, I rowed up-stream in the darkness, finding less ice than I had thought probable. My plan now was to pull up to Burlington or Bristol; but I soon found the ice in greater masses, and I began to be puzzled. I turned toward Jei~ey, and hither and thither, and in a few minutes came upon fields of moving ice. It was clear that I must land in the city, and take my chance of getting past the line of sentries. I pulled cautiously in at Arch street, and saw a sloop lying at a slip. Lying down, I used the paddle until at her side. Hearing no sound, I climbed up over her low rail, and made fast the boat. I could see that no one was on deck. A lighted lantern hung from a rope near the bow. I took it down, and boldly stepped on the slip. A sentry, see- ing me come, said, ((A cold night, captain.)) ((Very,)) I rejoined, and went on up the slope. Chance had favoured me. In a few minutes I saw my aunts house, shut up, but with a light over the transom of the hall door. I passed on, went up to Third street, around to the back of the premises, and over the palings into the long garden behind the dwelling. As I stood reflecting I heard Lucy neigh, and no voice of friend could have been sweeter. I smiled to think that I was a man in the posi- tion of a thief, but with a right to take what- soever I might need. I began to suspect, too, that no one was in the house. Moving toward it with care, I found all the back doors open, or at least not fastened. A fire burned on the kitchen hearth, and, first making sure of the absence of the servants, I shot the bolt of the hall door, fastened the pin-bolts of the windows which looked on the front street, and went back to the kitchen with one overruling desire to be well warmed. I had been cold for four months. Making a roaring fire, I roasted myself for half an hour, turning like a duck on a spit. Heat and good bread and coffee I craved most. I found here enough of all, but no liquors; the gin I had finished, a good pint, and never felt it. Still feeling my weakness, and aware that I needed all my strength, I stayed yet a minute, deep in thought, and reluctant to leave the comfort of the hearth. At last I took a lantern and went up-stairs. The china gods and beasts were all put away, the silver tankards and plate removed, the rugs gone. My good Whig aunt had done her best to make her despotic boarders no more comfortable than she could help. All was neglect, dust, and dirt; pipes and empty bottles lay about, and a smell of stale tobacco smoke was in the air. Poor Aunt Gainor! Up-stairs the general had moved into the room sacred to her spinster slumbers. The servants had taken holiday, it seemed, and the officers appeared to have been indiffer- ent, or absent all day; for this room was in a vile condition, with even the bed not yet made up, and the curtains torn. In this and the front chamber, used commonly as my aunts own sitting-room, was a strange litter of maps, papers, and equipments, two swords, a brace of inlaid pistols, brass-plated, two Hessian hats, the trappings of a Brunswick chasseur, and a long military cloak with a gold-braided regimental number under a large crown on each shoulder. A sense of amusement stole over me, although I was so tired I could have fallen with fatigue. I was feeling my weakness, and suffering from what even to a man in health would have been great exertion. A full flask of rum lay on the table; I put it in my pocket, leaving the silver cover. Next I put on the long cloak, a tall Anhalter helmet, and a straight, gold-mounted sword. The pistols I took also, loading and priming them, and leaving only the box where they had lain. It was now almost ten, and I could not hope to be long left in easy possession. Then I turned to the table. Much of the confused mass of papers was in German. I put in my pocket a beautifully drawn map of our own lines at Valley Forge. It may now be in Mr. 28 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Alexander Hamiltons house, as I gave it to that gentleman. A small pipeI think the Germans call meerschaumI could not despise, nor a great bundle of tobacco, which I thrust into the in- side pouch of the cloak. Last I saw a sealed letter to Lieutenant- Colonel Ernst Ludwig Wilhelm von Specht, also one to Colonel Montresor. These were much to my purpose. Finally, as I heard the great clock on the stairway strike ten, I scribbled on a sheet of paper under Von Knyphausens arms, ((Captain Allan McLane presents his compliments to General von Knyphausen, and hopes he will do Captain McLane the honour to return his visit. February 20, 1778, 10 P. M.)) I laughed as I went down-stairs, in that mood of merriment which was my one sign of excitement at the near approach of peril. A pause at the grateful fire, and a moment later I was saddling Lucy, looking well to girth and bit, and last buckling on the spurs of a Hessian officer. In a few minutes I was trotting up Fifth street. P knew only that the two extended lines had been drawn in close to the city, after the sharp lesson at Germantown; but I did not know how complete were the forts and abatis erossing from the Delaware to the Schuyl- kill, to the north of Callowhill street. I meant to pass the lines somewhere, trusting to the legs of Lucy, who well understood the change of riders, and seemed in excellent condition. I turned off into the fields to the westward at Vine street, riding carefully; and soon, as I moved to north, saw that fences, fruit-trees, and the scattered remnant of the wood were gone. Stumbling through mud and over stumps, I began to see before me one of Montresors blockhouses, and presently, for now the night was far too clear, the forms of sentries on top. Dismounting, I moved aside a hundred yards, so that I passed un- seen between two of these forts. But a good piece to the north of them I came on a strong stockade, and saw beyond it a hazy mass of what I took to be a monstef tangle of dead trees, well fitted to delay a storming-party. Then I remembered my ride with Montresor. I was caught. I stood still in the night, won- dering what to do; behind me the hum and glow of the city, before me freedom and darkness. A man thinks quickly in an hour like that. I mounted, feeling the lift of my weak body an exertion, and rode back into Vine, and so to Front street. A hundred yards before me was a great camp-fire, to left of where the road to Germantown diverges. I saw figures about it passing to and fro. I felt for my pistols in the holsters of the saddle, and cocked the one on my right, loosened the long, straight Hessian blade, and took the two letters in my bridle-hand. As I rode up I saw, for the fire was brightly blazing, that there were tents, pickets to left and right, men afoot, and horses not saddled. A sergeant came out into the road. ((Halt!)) he cried. In broken English I said I had a letter for Colonel Montresor, to be given in the morning when he would be out to inspect the lines, and one for Lieutenant-Colonel von Specht. The man took the letters. I meant to turn back, wheel, and go by at speed; but by evil luck a wind from the north blew open my cloak, and in the brilliant firelight he saw my gray clothes. ((Holloa!)) he cried. ((What S the word? You are not in uniform. Get off!)) So saying, he caught the rein he had dropped, a man or two running toward us as he spoke. If I could, I would have spared the man: but it was his life or mine; I knew that. I fired square at his chest, the mare reared, the man fell with a cry. I let Lucy have both spurs. She leaped as a deer leaps, catching a fellOw in the chest with her shoulder, and was off like a crazy thing. I looked ahead; the way was clear. A glance back showed me the road full of men. I heard shouts, orders, shot after shot. I was soon far beyond dan- ger, and going at racing speed through the night; but I had scared up a pleasant hor- nets nest. The last picket was a quarter of a mile ahead, perhaps. I pulled up, and with difficulty made the mare walk. There were fires on both sides, and a lot of alert soldiers out in the road. I turned off into the fields behind a farm-house, glad of the absence of fences. The next moment I felt the mare gather herself with the half-pause every horseman knows so well. She had taken a ditch, and prettily too. Keeping off the highway, but in line with it, I went on slowly, leaning over in the saddle. After a mile, and much stumbling about, I ceased to hear noises back of me, and turned, approaching the road I had left. No one was in sight. Why I was not followed by the horse I know not. I wrapped my cloak about me, and rode on up the deserted highway. I was free, and on neutral ground. All I had to fear was an encounter with one of the foraging parties which kept the coun- try around in constant terror. I met no one. The sole unpleasant thought which haunted HUGH WYNNE. 29 my cold nightride was the face of the poor devil I had shot. I put it aside. Prison life had at least taught me the habit of dismiss- ing the torment of vain reflection on an irreparable past. I went by the old burying-ground of Ger- mantown, and the rare houses, going slowly on account of the road, which was full of deep holes, and so through the market-place where we made our last charge. At last I breasted the slippery rise of Chestnut Hill, and throwing my cloak over the mare, that I had taught to stand, went up to the door of my Aunt Gainors house. I knocked long before I was heard. A win- dow was opened above me, and a voice I loved called out to know what I wanted. I replied, It is I, Hugh. Be quick!)) A moment later I was in her dear old arms, the servants were called up, and my faithful Lucy was cared for. Then I fell on a settle, at the limit of my strength. I was put to bed, and glad I was to stay there for two days, and not even talk. Indeed, what with good diet and milk and spirits and clean sheets, I slept as I had not d~ne for many a night. As soon as I was up and fit to converse, I was made to tell my story over and over. Meanwhile my aunt was desperately afraid lest we should be visited, as was not rare, by foragers or Tory partisans. I must go, and at once. Even war was to be preferred to this anxiety. But before I went she must tell me what she thought of this strange business of my cousin. I had been wise not to tell Dar- thea. A rascal like Arthur would trip himself up soon or late. Then she fell to thinking, and, bidding me cease for a little, sat with her head in her large hands, having her elbows on the table. ((Hugh,)) she said at last, ((he must have more, cause to be jealous than we know. He has still more now. Is it only the woman? Can it be anything about the estate in Wales? It must be; you remember how he lied to us about it; but what is it% ((He thinks I regret the loss of Wyncote, and that I would like to have it. I am afraid I found it pleasant to say so, seeing that it annoyed him.)) ((I wish he may have some such cause to hate you, and no other. But why? Your grandfather made a legal conveyance of an unentailed property, got some ready money, how much I never knew,and came away. How can you interfere with Arthur? The Wynnes, I have heard, have Welsh memories for an insult. You struck him once.)) ((The blow!)) and I smiled. ((Yes; the woman! Pray God it be that. The estate he is welcome to it. I hardly think a Welsh home would bribe me to leave my own coun- try. But I do not see, aunt, why you so often talk as if Wyncote were ours, and stolen from us. I do not want it, and why should I?~ ((Is not that unreasonable, Hugh?)) she returned, with more quietness in the way of reply than was usual when she was arguing. ((You are young now. The anger between England and ourselves makes all things in Great Britain seem hateful to you, to me, to all honest colonials; but this will not last. Peace will come one day or another, and when it does, to be Wynne of Wyncote)) ((Good gracious, Aunt Gainor! let us set this aside. Arthur Wynnes lies have stirred us all to think there must be some reason for such a keen desire to mislead me, you, and my fatherabove all, my father. But it is my fathers business, not mine; nor, if I may be excused, is it yours.)) ((That is true, or would be if your father were well or interested. He is neither neither; and there is something in the mat- ter. I shall ask my brother.)) ((You have done that before.)) 4 have, but I got nothing. Now he is in such a state that he may be more free of speech. I think he could be got to tell me what neither he nor my own father liked to speak of.)) Upon this, I told my aunt that I did trust she would not take advantage of my fathers weak mind to get that which, when of whole- some wits, he had seen fit to conceal. I did not like it. ((Nonsense!)) she cried, ~~nonsense! If you could have the old home)) ((But how can I? It is like promising fairy gold, and I dont want it. I should like to go there once and see it and my cousins, and come home to this country.)) I was, in fact, weary of the thing, and my aunt would have talked it over all day. She could not see why I was so set in my mind. She kept urging that something would turn up about it, and we should have to act; then I would change my mind. I hardly knew why that which once had been a delightful and mysterious bait now lured me not at all. What with the great war, and my own matur- ity, and Darthea, Wyncote had shrunken out of the world of my desires. It was too dreamy a bribe for one of my turn of mind. I would have given half Wales for an hour alone with Arthur Wynne. Then through my meditations I heard, ( Well, mark my word, Master Absolute; 30 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. there is some flaw in their title, andand soon or late)) ((Oh, please, aunt)) ((Well, do not make up your mind. I am afraid of you when you make up your mind. You are~as set in your ways as your father. Do you remember what Nicholas Waln said of him: (When John Wynne puts down his foot, thou hast got to dig it up to move him)?)) She was right; nor did I defend myself. I laughed, but was sad too, thinking of my poor old father, whom I could not see, and of how far he was now from being what his friend had described. I said as much. My aunt replied, ((Yes, it is too true; but I think he is less unhappy, and so thinks Dr. Rush.)) After this our talk drifted away, and my aunt would once more hear of my note in McLanes name left for the Hessian general. (I hope yet to ask him of it,)) she cried, ((and that dear Mr. AndreI can see his face. It is the French blood makes him so gentle. Catch him for me in the war. I should like to have him on parole for a six-month.)) And at this she laughed, and heartily, as she did most things. When this talk occurred we were in a great front room in the second story. There was a deep bow-window to westward, and here my aunt liked to be at set of sun, and to look over what seemed to be a boundless forest; for the many scattered farms were hid away in their woodland shelters, so that from this vantage of height it looked as though the country beyond might be one great solitude. Nearer were well-tilled farms, on which the snow still lay in melting drifts. As we sat, I was smoking the first tobacco I had had since I left the jail. This habit I learned hng before, and after once falling a captive to that consoler and counsellor, the pipe, I never gave it up. It is like others of the good gifts of God: when abused it loses its use, which seems a silly phrase, but does really mean more than it says. Jack hath somewhere writ that words have souls, and are always more than they look or say. I could wish mine to be so taken. And as to tobacco and good rum, Jack saidbut I for- get what it wassomething neat and pretty and honest, that took a good grip of you. The tricks an old fellows memory plays him are queer enough. I often recall the time and place of something clever a friend hath said long ago, but when I try to get it back, I have but a sense of its pleasantness, as of a flavour left in the mouth, while all the wise words of his saying are quite forgot. 1~r. Rush thinks that we are often happy or morose without apparent cause, when the mind is but recall- ing the influence of some former joy or grief, but not that which created either. The great doctor had many hard sayings, and this was one. As I sat reflecting, I felt a sudden con- sciousness of the pleasure my tobacco gave, and then of how delightful it was to be, as it were, growing younger day by day, and of how, with return of strength, came a certain keenness of the senses as to odours, and as to what I ate or drank. It seemed to me a kind of reward for suffering endured with patience. My Aunt Gainor sat watching me with the pleasure good women have over one too weak to resist being coddled. When I had come to this happy condition of wanting a pipe, as I had jolted out of my pouch the tobacco I stole, she went off and brought the good weed out of the barn, where she had saved her last crop under what scant hay the Hes- sian foragers left her. I must smoke in her own library, a thing unheard of before; she loved to smell a good tobacco. ((Oh, Aunt Gainor!)) ((But Jack!)) she said. She did not like to see Jack with a pipe. He looked too like a nice girl, with his fair skin and his yellow hair. I smoked on in mighty peace of mind, and soon she began again, being rarely long silent, ~I hope you and your cousin will never meet, Hugh.)) The suddenness of this overcame me, and I felt myself flush. ((Ah!)) she said, ~I knew it. There is little love lost between you.)) ((There are things a man cannot forgive.)) ((Then may the good God keep you apart, my son.)) ((I trust not,)) said I. I can forgive an insult, even if I am Welsh and a Wynne; but oh, Aunt Gainor, those added weeks of mis- ery, foulness, filth, and pain I owe to this man! I will kill him as I would kill any other vermin.)) Then I was ashamed, for to say such things before women was not my way. I could kill him myself,)) said my aunt, savagely. ((And now do have some more of this nice, good gruel,)) which set me to laughing. ((Let him go,)) said I, ((and the gruel too.)) ((And that is what you must do, sir. You must go. I am all day in terror.)) And still I stayed on, pretty easy in mind; for my aunt had set a fellow on watch at HUGH WYNNE. 31 Mount Airy, to let us know if any parties ap- peared, and we kept Lucy saddled. I sorely needed this rest and to be fed; for I was a mere shadow of my big self when I alighted at her door on that memorable 20th of February. The day before I left this delightful haven between jail and camp, came one of my aunts women slaves with a letter she had brought from the city, and this was what it said: ((DEAR MIsTREss WYNNE: At last I am honoured with the permission to write and tell you that Mr. Hugh Wynne is alive. It was cruel that the general would not earlier grant me so small a favour as to pass an open letter; but Arthur found much difficulty, by reason, I fear, of your well-known opinions. He was on the way to the jail when he heard of Mr. Hugh Wynnes having escaped, after dread- fully injuring the poor man who took such good care of him all winter. How it came that he lay five months in this vile abode neither Arthur nor I can imagine, nor yet how he got out of the town. ((Arthur tells me that insolent rebel Allan McLane broke into your house and stole the beautiful sword the Elector of Hesse gave to General von Knyphausen, and what more he took the Lord knows. Also he left an impu- dent letter. The general will hang him when- ever he catches him; but there is a proverb: perhaps it is sometimes the fish that is the better fisherman. el have a queer suspicion as to this mat- ter, and as to the mare Lucy being stolen. I am so glad it is I that have the joy to tell you of Mr. Hugh Wynnes safety; and until he returns my visit, and forever after, I am, madam, ((Your devoted, humble servant, ((To Madtm Wynne, ((DARTHEA. ((At the Hill Farm, ((Chestnut Hill.)) My aunt said it was sweet and thoughtful of Darthea, and we had a fine laugh over the burglary of that bad man McLane. The woman went back with two notes stitched into the lining of her gown; one was from my aunt, and one I wrote; and to this day Dar- thea alone knows what it said. God bless her! It was March 20 of 78 before I felt myself fully able to set out for camp. I had run no great risk. The country had been ravaged till it was hard to find a pig or a cow. Farmers were on small rations, and the foragers had quit looking for what did not exist. One dull morning I had the mare saddled, and got ready to leave. It was of a Friday I went away; my aunt as unwilling to have me set out as she had been eager to have me go the day before. My Quaker train- ing left me clear of all such nonsense, and, kissing the dear lady, I left her in tears by the roadside. XIX. IT is a good eighteen-mile ride to Valley Forge over the crooked Perkiomen road, which was none the better for the breaking up of the frost. I rode along with a light heart, but I was watchful, being so used to disastrous adventures. Happily, I met with no difficulties. A few miles from the bridge General Wash- ington had built, I fell in with a party of horse. The officer in command seemed at first suspi- cious, but at last sent me on with two troopers. On the last Sunday of the month Friends were persistently in the habit of flocking into the city to General Meeting. They were not un- welcome, for they were apt to carry news of us, and neither we nor the enemy regarded them as neutrals. Our commander-in-chief, in an order of this day, declared ((that the plans settled at these meetings are of the most pernicious tendency,)) and on this ac- count directed General Lacy ((that the par- ties of light horse be so disposed as to fall in with these people.)) It was one of these parties of horse I had encountered. The officer sent me on with a guard~, and thus, in the company of two troopers, I rode through a fairly wooded country to the much-worn road leading down to the river. Here my guards left me with the picket at the bridge. It was a half-hour before the officer here stationed was satisfied, and meanwhile I stared across the Schuylkill at the precipitous bluffs, and wondered where lay the army which had passed the winter back of them. A few men along the far shore, and on the hill beyond a little redoubt, were all the signs of life or of war and its precautions. The bridge, over which pres- ently I rode, was of army waggons weighted with stone, and on top rails with rude scant- ling. On the high posts driven into the river- bed for stay of the bridge were burned the names of the favourite generals. Once over, I walked Lucy up a cleft in the shore cliff, and came out on the huts of General Var- nums brigade. The little world of an army came in view. I was on the first rise from the stream, a mile and a half to the south of the Valley Creek. To westward the land fell THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. 32 a little, and then rose to the higher slope of Mount Hope. To north the land again dropped, and rose beyond to the deep gulch of the Valley Creek. On its farther side the fires of a picket on Mount Misery were seen. Everywhere were regular rows of log huts, and on the first decline of every hill slope in- trenchments, ditches, redoubts, and artillery. Far beyond, this group of hills fell gradually to the rolling plain. A mile away were the long outlying lines of Wayne, and the good fellows with whom I had charged at Germantown. Everywhere the forests were gone. In- numerable camp-fires and a city of log huts told for what uses they had fallen. On the uplands about me ragged men were drilling; far away I heard the cavalry bugles. A cer- tain sense of elation and gaiety came over me. It lasted no long time, as I rode Lucy over the limestone hillocks and down to the lesser valley, which far away fell into the greater vale of Chester. The worst of the winters trials were over, and yet I was horror-struck at the misery and rags of these poor fellows. No wonder men dest~rted, and officers were resigning in scores, desperate under the appeals of help- less wife and family in far-away homes. It was no better on the upland beyond. Every- where were rude huts in rows, woeful-looking men at drill, dejected sentries, gaunt, hun- gry, ill clothed, with here and there a better- dressed officer to make the rest look all the worse. I thought of the grenadier British troops, fat and strong, in the city I had fled from, and marvelled to think of what kept them from sweeping this squalid mob away, as a housewife switches out the summer flies. Full of thought, I rode a mile through the melting drifts of snow, and came on Waynes brigade, which held the lines looking in this direction. I was long about it; but at last a man pointed out a hut, and I went in. Holloa, Jack!~ I cried. (Hugh! Hugh! Where on earth are you from?)) And he flushed as he used to do, and gave me a great bear-hug, saying, And you are not dead! not dead! Thank God! thank God!)) Thus again we met, to my unspeakable joy. He was about as lean as I had been, but on the whole, thanks to his florid skin, looked well, or better than the best of that half-fed army. How we talked, how we poured out our news that cold March afternoon, I shall not take space to tell; nor his great wonder at seeing me after all had believed me dead. After supper came a half-dozen officers, and I heard all the camp gossip, and was made heartily welcome. Everything was on the mend, they said. Steuben was drilling the men; Greene was the new and efficient quartermaster-general. Supplies were pour- ing in. Mrs. Washington and Lady Stirling had come. The French were sure to make a treaty with us. As to food, there had been bad days; and I learned then, for the first time, of the full horrors of the winter camp at the forge in the valley. There was still enough wretchedness to show how far worse must have been the pitiable condition of the army during that winter of 7778. I passed the next day at rest with Jack. I had had enough of the volunteer business, and deter- mined, to Jacks regret, to take service with the horse. I was still unfit to march, and it seemed to me wise for this reason to stick to Lucys good legs, at least until my own were in better order. I think Jack felt that he was under some necessity to take care of me, or from that affection he has ever shown desired to keep me near him. He only hoped I would not in- cline to join McLanes troop, and when I asked why, declaring that to be my utmost desire, he said it was a service of needless peril. Upon this I laughed so that the hut shook, and poor Jack became quite disconcerted, and fell to making a variety of excuses. It is of this he says: ((Hugh is come from death, and there is more to live for. For me, that am often un- ready and weak, there is again his ever just helpfulness. He is but a shadow of himself, and I cannot wonder that he is so bitter against the enemy, or that he desires, less on account of his bodily feebleness than from a wish to revenge his cruel treatment, to serve with the horse. They are never more quiet than gadflies. It is dangerous duty, and should it cost this dear life, how shall I ever face Mistress Wynne?)) I myself had but one thought in my own mind this Sunday in March, as I rode through the east wind. It is my way, and always was, to have but a single idea in mind, and to go straight to my object the nearest way. He~ was right in his belief that it was my burn- ing wish to pay the debts of my poor abused body. I knew not when we should move, and the dislike of tiresome drills under Steuben, with a restless, perhaps a wholesome, instinct to lead a more active life, conspired to make my hatred seem reasonable. I could see, as I rode along through the cantonment and the long lines of huts, how IN THE PRISON. (SEE PAGE 22.) VOL. LIV.=5. 34 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. well chosen was the valley camp. The Schuyl- have only one suit, and the rest are hardly kill, flowing from the Blue Hills, turned here better off.~ to eastward, the current was deep, the banks I drew back and waited. In a few minutes were high and precipitous. To the west, in the general came out, and mounting, sat still a deep gorge, the Valley Creek protected the until all of the staff were in the saddle. camp. Running down from Mount Joy, a He had changed greatly from the fresh, broad ~spur turned northward to the Schuyl- clear-skinned country gentleman I saw first kill. Between this ridge and the river lay an in Philadelphia. His face was more grave, his angular table-land, falling to the valley be- very ruddy skin less clear and more bronzed. yond. Along this ridge, and high on Mount I observed that his eyes were deep set, light Joy, were the intrenchments laid out by Du blue in colour, and of unusual size; his nose Portail, and within them were the camps of was rather heavy and large; the mouth reso- rare tents and the rows of wooden huts. lute and firm, with full lips. His general ex- Riding north amid the stumps and the pression was sedate and tranquil. In full, lessening drifts of snow, past the dark huts, neat buff and blue, his hair powdered, the and the files of ragged men in line for morn- queue carefully tied, he sat very erect in the ing service, I came down to the angle between saddle, and looked to be a good horseman. the Valley Creek and the Schuylkill. The river This is all I remember at that time of this was full, and ran a gray-brown flood. Where high-minded gentleman. I heard much of the trampled slope rose from the creek I came him then and later; and as what I heard or upon a small but solid house, built of gray saw varies a good deal from the idea now and ruddy sandstones, a quaint, shell-curved held of him, I shall not refrain from saying penthouse above the open doorway. Here how he seemed to us, who saw him in camp were horses held by orderlies, the blue and and field, or in the hour of rare leisure. But white of French uniforms, buff-and-blue offi- I shall do better, perhaps, just now to let my cers, an& the guard of fifty light horse on a friend say what he seemed to be to his more side road in the saddle, facing the house. I observant and reflective mind. It was writ knew I had found the headquarters. Looking long after. about, I saw, to my joy, Mr. Hamilton talking ((Abler pens than mine,)) says Jack, ((have with some of our allies. I rode up, and as put on record the sorrowful glory of that they turned, I said, ~I am Mr. Hugh Wynne, dreadful camp-ground by Valley Forge. It is Captain Hamilton.)) strongly charactered in those beseeching ((Good heavens, sir! You are not dead then, letters and despatches of the almost heart- after all!)) broken man who poured out his grief in ((No,)) I said, laughing; I am alive, thank language which even to-day no man can read you. I have been in prison for months, and unmoved. To us he showed only a gravely I am come now to ask for that commission tranquil face, which had in it something in the light horse about which I must beg you which reassured those starving and naked to remind his Excellency.)) ones. Most wonderful is it, as I read what ((No wonder,~ said he, I did not recognise he wrote to inefficient, blundering men, to you. We are now going to morning service, see how calmly he states our pitiful case, I will see to it at once. We thought you how entirely he controls a nature violent and dead. Indeed, his Excellency wrote to Mis- passionate beyond that of most men. He was tress Wynne of you. The general has full scarcely in the saddle as commander before powers at last, and you are sure of your the body which set him there was filled with commission. Now I must leave you.)) dissatisfaction. A few more needed words were said, and 4 think it well that we know so little of I drew aside to see the staff ride away. In a what went on within the walls of Congress. few minutes the young aide came back. The silence of history has been friendly to ((You may join McLane at once. You will many reputations. There need be no silence have an acting commission until a more as to this man, nor any concealment, and formal one reaches you. I suppose you have there has been much. I would have men see no news?)) him as we saw him in his anger, when no ((None,)) I said, ((except of how a British language was too strong; in his hour of jail looks.)) serene kindliness, when Hamilton, the aide ((His Excellency desires your company at of twenty, was ~my boy ; in this starving dinner to-day at six.)) camp, with naked men shivering all night in I said I had no uniform. their blankets by the fires, when (he pitied ((Look at mine,)) he cried, laughing. 4 those miseries he could neither relieve nor BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. 35 prevent.) Am I displeased to think that al- might have been, and yet have had his hours though he laughed rarely he liked Colonel of ungoverned rage, or of other forms of Scammels strong stories, and would be human weakness. Like a friend of mine, amused by a song such as no woman should he was not given to speech concerning his hear? creed.)) ((This serene, inflexible, decisive man, bid- My Jack was right. Our generals worst ing his hour, could be then the venturesome foes were men who loved their country, but soldier, willing to put every fortune on a who knew not to comprehend this man. I chance, risking himself with a courage that well remember how I used to stop at the alarmed men for his life. Does any but a fool camp-fires and hear the men talk of him. think that he could have been all these things Here was no lack of sturdy sense. The notion and not have had in him the wild blood of of Adams and Rush of appointing new major- passion? He had a love for fine clothes and generals every year much amused them, and show. He was, I fear, at times extravagant, the sharp logic of cold and empty bellies did and, as I have heard, could not pay his doc- not move them from the belief that their tors bill, and would postpone that, and send chief ~was the right man. How was it they him a horse and a little money to educate could judge so well and these others so ill? his godson, the good doctors son. As to some He had no tricks of the demagogue. He of his letters, they contained jests not gross, coveted no popularity. He knew not to seek but not quite fit for grave seigniors not favour by going freely among the men. The virginibus puerisque. There is one to Lafay- democratic feeling in our army was intense, ette I have been shown by the marquis. It and yet this reserved aristocrat had to the is most amusing, butoh, fie! Was he re- end the love and confidence of every soldier ligious? I do not know. Men say so. He in the ranks. (To be continued.) S. Weir Mitchell. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. T~E Dolomites constitute the best-known nd in many ways the most interesting mountain region of Austrian and Italian Tyrol. They occupy comparatively little of its area. They are not all dolomitic; that is, they have a greatly varying proportion of the carbonate of lime and magnesia in their com position. For instance, one of the most conspicuous of them all, Monte Tofana, at Cortina, is dolomitic only at its top. The name has come to be applied popularly more to the form than to the sub- stance; and some of the more purely limestone peaks of the region have taken on, under the peculiar geolo- gical influence that gave these mountains their char- acteristic form, much the same shape as those of dolomitic constitution. They are jagged, sharp, bare crests, much more broken in outline than is usual, and much more subject to deterioration under the action of rain and frost. Dr. Alexander Robertson1 has given a very good account of the peculiarity of the pure dolomitic mountains. He says: ((The mountains look as if powdered with some substance less hard and cold than freshly fallen snow. It is as 1 ((Through the Dolomites from Venice to Tohlach.s London, George Allen, 1896.

BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. 35 prevent.) Am I displeased to think that al- might have been, and yet have had his hours though he laughed rarely he liked Colonel of ungoverned rage, or of other forms of Scammels strong stories, and would be human weakness. Like a friend of mine, amused by a song such as no woman should he was not given to speech concerning his hear? creed.)) ((This serene, inflexible, decisive man, bid- My Jack was right. Our generals worst ing his hour, could be then the venturesome foes were men who loved their country, but soldier, willing to put every fortune on a who knew not to comprehend this man. I chance, risking himself with a courage that well remember how I used to stop at the alarmed men for his life. Does any but a fool camp-fires and hear the men talk of him. think that he could have been all these things Here was no lack of sturdy sense. The notion and not have had in him the wild blood of of Adams and Rush of appointing new major- passion? He had a love for fine clothes and generals every year much amused them, and show. He was, I fear, at times extravagant, the sharp logic of cold and empty bellies did and, as I have heard, could not pay his doc- not move them from the belief that their tors bill, and would postpone that, and send chief ~was the right man. How was it they him a horse and a little money to educate could judge so well and these others so ill? his godson, the good doctors son. As to some He had no tricks of the demagogue. He of his letters, they contained jests not gross, coveted no popularity. He knew not to seek but not quite fit for grave seigniors not favour by going freely among the men. The virginibus puerisque. There is one to Lafay- democratic feeling in our army was intense, ette I have been shown by the marquis. It and yet this reserved aristocrat had to the is most amusing, butoh, fie! Was he re- end the love and confidence of every soldier ligious? I do not know. Men say so. He in the ranks. (To be continued.) S. Weir Mitchell. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. T~E Dolomites constitute the best-known nd in many ways the most interesting mountain region of Austrian and Italian Tyrol. They occupy comparatively little of its area. They are not all dolomitic; that is, they have a greatly varying proportion of the carbonate of lime and magnesia in their com position. For instance, one of the most conspicuous of them all, Monte Tofana, at Cortina, is dolomitic only at its top. The name has come to be applied popularly more to the form than to the sub- stance; and some of the more purely limestone peaks of the region have taken on, under the peculiar geolo- gical influence that gave these mountains their char- acteristic form, much the same shape as those of dolomitic constitution. They are jagged, sharp, bare crests, much more broken in outline than is usual, and much more subject to deterioration under the action of rain and frost. Dr. Alexander Robertson1 has given a very good account of the peculiarity of the pure dolomitic mountains. He says: ((The mountains look as if powdered with some substance less hard and cold than freshly fallen snow. It is as 1 ((Through the Dolomites from Venice to Tohlach.s London, George Allen, 1896. 36 TilE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Croda Marcora, and Monte Cristallo, are crossed by it. The other great Dolomites, including the Schiern, the Lang Kofel, the Rothe Wand, the Drei Zinnen, Croda Rossa, Monte Tofana, and Sorapiss, are in Austria. Cristallo, Mar- molada (11,082), Sorapiss, and Tofana pass the 11,000-foot line. Antelao, Ci- vetta, the Drei Zinnen, Croda Marcora, Marmarole, the Croda Rossa, Cimon della Pala, and the Lang Kofel, are more than 10,000 feet high. These cold facts are given as a concession to those who are content only when they know just how big or how little anything is, and who measure the interest of a mountain by its altitude. Those who know the Dolo- mites in their various moods, know that their majesty is not to be measured by in- struments of precision; they are weird and elusive, never twice alike; sometimes of towering height, sometimes fv much smaller than their measured stature; some- / I times warm and as mellow as if a soft lichen overspread them. If I said the down on a peach, sometimes as colorless that they are (lathered) over I should best and cold as steel everything by turns, and describe their appearance and at the same nothing long,)) but always interesting and time state a literal fact. These magnesian nearly always lovely, always grand, and often limestone rocks decompose under the infin- deeply impressive, as when they stand out ence of rain and atmosphere, and so their from the somber, fir-clad twilight valley like surface becomes (lathered.) A bit of dolomite beautiful specter mountains of another world, feels soft in the hand, like a piece of soap. their walls, sides, and crests bathed in a glow Hence, also, their instability. No one looking that comes from lingering rosy clouds. at them can think of the (everlasting hills.) Pelmo, ((the throne of Cadore,~ is lower The wonder is not that they are continually than some of its neighbors; but as seen from falling, but that they hold up so well. Many a commanding position it is greater than any of them are shattered and are full of gaping of them. The Cinque Torre, opposite Cortina, rents and clefts.)) a row of druidical menhirs, are under 8000 The more important of these mountains lie feet, and they are overshadowed by Tofana, south of the Pusterthal, east of the Brenner to which they sometimes seem like foot-hill railway, north of San Martino di Castrozzo, crags, though at times they are more than and west of Auronzo. In other words, they gigantic. These variations of apparent size include Marmarole at the east and the and importance are equaled by the variations Schlern at the west, the peaks of San Mar- of color and perspective. Sometimes, on tino at the south, and those near Toblach at very dark days, the Ampezzothal seems to be the north. They are within a parallelogram shut in between two great vertical walls of about forty miles long from east to west and fiat, serrated rock. Under the full light of about thirty miles broad from north to south. the sun, and in a clear atmosphere, every The boundary line between Austria and Italy detail of their formation is defined. The gives about one third of this field to the lat- mountain-tops seem very near, and they all ter, including the Marmarole range, Antelao, seem low, giving an undue majesty to the Pelmo, Civetta, and the Cimon della Pala. high woods of the Crepa and Faloria. In the The Palo di San Martino, the Marmolada, softer air of a hazy summer day the peaks. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. 37 recede and reach up into the heavens, and Toblach, where it leaves the railway, to Vit- the rosy, yellowish, soft tints of the rocks torio, seventy-five miles away, where it joins are emphasized in complement of the mellow the rail for Venice. We used to run out over grays and in contrast with the alternating, it for pure bicyclings sake. But while the shadow-like browns and blacks. In some wheel is a capital vehicle for going through lights the Croda Rossa shows great patches the Dolomites, it is not of much use among of warm chocolate-brown; in others it justi- them; neither are Spdnner, either em- or fies Gilbert and Churchills suggestion that it zwei-. Even the foot-hills have a habit of looks as though ((stained with the blood of a getting out of the valleys on a grade that mighty sacrifice.)) The Drei Zinnen are spirits is not favorable for any vehicle. One day of light or spirits of darkness, according to ((Mawk-nix)) and I ran down the road on the the conditions under which they are seen. double wheel at a tearing pace. When we So on throughout the whole gamut of were some miles out we heard a ((click, click, color and impression. All things that we click,)) which became slower and slower as we see, we see by the light that they reflect, slackened speed. One of the front wheels and the Dolomite mountains are veritable had picked up a Fliigelnagela short, broad- kaleidoscopes in their habit of never twice winged spike, such as is used to reinforce the reflecting the same combinations of light, edge of the sole of a mountaineers shoe. It The light that falls upon them, and the light held fast and it was set in air-tight. Had we they send back to us, are subject to such bound it to its place with a tape, all would constant and such marvelous variKions that have been well; but we had no tape, and we they are a never-ending source of interest trusted to its holding of itself till we should and often of wonder. get home. Our trust was short-lived: the Cortina has its regular votaries, who go to constant clicking against the fork finally it year after year, and who find it to grow pulled it out, and there we were. Even L more charming as it becomes more familiar, did not say ((Mawk-nix.)) We had gone so far always excepting those rare seasons when and over such a variety of roads without ac- cloud and rain make it more than exasperat- cident, that we had forgotten the tendency ing. CorPna above all, and Landro, Schluder- of pneumatic tires to lose their pneumatic bach, and Pieve di Cadore in a subordinate way and for a shorter time, are the best centers for excursions among the Dolomites of the Ampez- zothal. St. Ulrich, in the Gr6d- nerthal, is the best starting- point for the Lang Kofel, the Schlern, and the minor peaks about the Seiser Alp, and for the remarkable little Col di Rodella, from which nearly the whole Dolomite field can be surveyed. The Gr6dnerthal has, too, human and other in- terests of its own, which make it the continued summer-re- sort of travelers from far and wide. After all, wherever we may locate, a good pair of legs are almost as useful as a good pair of eyes; but, fortunately, even those who lead sedentary lives soon / find themselves stimulated by the interest ; of the region and by its high atmosphere to feats of pedestrianism which they would not have believed themselves capable of performing with such ease and pleasure. / The great Ampezzo highway is probably the best road in the world all the way from 38 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. quality. This was our first puncture, and the repair-kit was at the Aquila Nera. The patience with which I sat in the shade of a milk-house and whittled down plugs, one after another, until I found a tough piece of fir that would stand whittling until it was fin- ished, is, I am sure, to be credited to my needy account. We finally succeeded in getting its head through the puncture and holding it close up to the rubber. Then we pumped a hard pressure against it, cutting off its pro- jecting stem, and set out on the return road. Mechanically considered, it was a good job, and I was proud of it; but air will escape through a wonderfully small hole, and every few minutes the tire would spread out at its tread, and had to be pumped up again. When I expressed my regret that L- had to do so much work over it, he said ((Mawk-nix)) as usual and as a matter of course, but he said it with less glee than he generally manifested. Byriding as fast as we could go,we succeeded in reaching Cortina before the pump was worn out. I did not embark again ((without biscuit.~ The kit was always at handand nevermore needed. Pieve di Cadore is twenty miles from Cor- tina, and it is only a mile from Tai, on the main road. This mile is a steep uphill, but as far as the foot of the hill we could fairly sail, for the difference of elevation is 1200 feet. We set out early and in sunshine. All went smoothly as far as the outpost station of the Italian custom-house, the seat of a party of smuggler-hunters who scour the woods. The formalities required here in lieu of paying duties, as we were returning be- fore night, were prolonged till a light rain came on. We took shelter, and conversed with the officials in a curious French, until the shower had passed, when we went on to the main station at San Vito, where there were more formalities, and where an Italian ((lead)) was put on each wheel. Then. we were fairly launched on our way, with occa- sional changes from sun- shine to cloud; but no sooner were we fairly out of reach of the vil- lage than it began to drizzle, and the clouds came down, first on Pelmo and then over Antelao. The drizzle kept on until we came near Venas, fifteen miles from home. This village seemed a mere agglomeration of poor Italian houses, promising little hospital- ity, so we sheltered ourselves under the roof of a small roadside chapel, only to see it rain harder and harder. Driven from this, we went on to the village, which developed more importance th~in we had suspected, and where we found an albergo of good size and with a very amiable hostess. She brought dry cloth- ing for the partner, and we others stripped off our wet coats. We turned the fire corner of the kitchen into the drying-room of gar- ments of various kinds and both sexes. It was a good corner for this use, and a cozy corner for ourselves. It was a projection from the room proper, some eight feet square, with a raised square stone hearth having benches all about three of its sides, where we sat. A large hood and chimney of wood above it carried off much of the smoke, leaving little more than the comforting odor of burning twigs to reach us. It still rained harder and harder, and our expedition be- came more and more compromised. It was consoling to know that we could have dinner and wine, and we shuddered as we thought of the cold, starving chapel where we might still have been confined. In due time we were fed and dried, and the weather broke with some promise of a clear afternoon; but it was all up with our wheeling. We had no time to lose, and it was now or never for Cadore. There was one Einspiinner in the village, with a lame horse, and a very small boy to drive it. Leaving all of our Italian speech with our good ((Mawk-nix,)) who stayed DRAWN BY HARRY FERN. PIEVE DI CADORE, COL CASTELLO. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. 39 behind, we drove more or less gaily to Tai and to Pieve. The weather had become good, the views were grand, and the memories of a visit in 1878 enabled me to know what I needed to see in this most interesting little town, the interest of which for the distant world lies in the fact that it was Titians birthplace and his summer home for much of his life, to which he tried, at the age of ninety-nine, to escape from the plague which was devas- tating Venice. Turned back by the guards who were protecting the adjoining provinces, he fell a victim to the pest, and is supposed to have been buried in the common trench he whose dream it had been to lay his bones in his beloved Pieve. His memory is cherished there still; the house of his birth has the in- scription: ((Cadore segna agli ospiti questa casa dove naque e crebbe Tiziano!)) (((Cadore indicates to its guests this house where Titian was born and reared! ~); and there has re- cently been erected in its piazza a fine bronze statue to his memory. I am tempted to go to the guide-books to eke out this account of our short visit; but I will be honest for the nonce, and refer myread- ers to the original authorities, con- fessing that I was just then more in- tent on getting back through the Austrian custom- house before dark than in doing the churches, man- sions, and museum of Pieve, to which I shall give myself the satisfaction of returning more at leisure. We engaged a two-horse car- riage to take us from Tai to Cor- tina. At Venas we loaded ((Mawk- nixss wheel on the front seat, took the four- wheeler in tow, put the partner comfortably into the carriage, and set out for home. We used the tow-line as far as the steeper grades continued; but for the last three miles we cut loose, took the van, and rode into Cortina in fine style. We had the delight of glorious views of the mountains all the way from Pieve; and we were, on the whole, well con- tent with the outcome of our trip. WHEN our time came for leaving Cortina we departed in state. All Aquila Nera turned out to see us off, and passing people halted. Our tow-line was neatly coiled to the main brace, and only our baggage was in the landau. We were disposed to sink our igno- miny until we should be well past the turn of the road and out of sight. The road be- gins, and continues, with a very decided up- grade; but we faced it resolutely. ((Mawk-nix)) rode his own wheel, and the partner and I were both in our seats. Those who cheered us off and exclaimed, ((How delightful!)) may have imagined that we made our whole trip in this correct order. The fact is that even a good wheelman who rides from Cortina to Ospitaleseven miles, with a thousand feet risemust have his knees in very good order, or he must favor them by frequent walking. We two were not good wheelmen, and one of us was not so good as the other. The half- mile to the turn that hid us from view was quite enough for us. Here the partner resigned, ((Mawk- nixs~ wheel was loaded on to the carriage, and he and I were towed to the crest, and made our run thence to Toblach on the coupled bicycles. Schlu- derbach and Lan- dro and the road near them were alive with Tourts- ten, who stood in mute amazement or called ((Al Heil!s as we flew past them. With an easy descent on the Ampezzo roadway, we gave them no time to study the construction of the quad- ricycle, and we probably left them food for speculation for the rest of the day. The driver of our carriage had been in the United States for three or four years. He TITIANS HOUSE, PIEVE DI cADOTIE. DRAWN BY MALCOLM FRASER THE ENTURY MAGAZINE. 40 was vastly taken with the machine, and espe- cially with the smooth working of the ((health- pull,)) which he watched as it stretched and closed up in response to changes of grade or of speed or of surreptitious back-pedaling. He was glad to talk of his American expe- riences, which had led him to this opinion: ((Merican people got no sense: work hard, make a lot of money, drink whisky, fighten, strikes, lose it allgot no ense,~ He had worked for good wages, and had twice ac- cumulated a good sum,once as much as five hundred dollars,and had then seen it all swept away by strikes ordered by walking delegates, and whole communities reduced to the verge of starvation. His verdict was: ~Merican workiugmen is fools,) When he had again accumulated a little money, he came back to Cortina with five hundred zrulden, got married, and bought a carriage and a par of horses, wit~ w 1ich he earns a living income by carrying summer tourists over the road between Cortina and Toblach or Belluno, and by hauling wood in winter. He has no thought of going again to a coun- try vhose people ((got no sense.) He was most impressed with the stupidity of boxing. He saw the fight in New Orlean between Corbett and S~ ilivan, which was to him the most conclusive evidence of our lack of sense. Wrestling he thought a manly exercise, and he was fond of it and an adept at it; but hammering with the fists was ((fool work,)) After our midday meal at Toblach we went down the Pusterthal to l3runeck, and the next day to Miihlbach, which we found in a turmoil of expectation over the mountain manceuvers of a corps of the Austrian army, which was to arrive on the following day. We met several regiments as we passed through Frauzensfeste, and a fine body of well-offi ~ered men they were. At Miihlbach, which tempts to a second visit, we walked up a beautiful mountain path to a fine waterfall high in the hills. It was Sunday evening, and our way led past a curious ((Garden of Gethsemane,~ which was obviously a favorite object of local pilgrim- age. It is built on a high terrace, sloping steeply toward the road, and inclosed in a picket fence. The Christ kneels under a sort of pagoda, the angel is exposed to the weather, and the three neglectful apostles are asleep under a tin roof, A sign-board has this legend: ~ nnWni c~tin me, Zt ~fftu of o s tin neW e nf~e~ v~, ~aee mode veitet bejee ~ei~, (Oh! thou beloved wanderer, Stand still and wait a little here, And look upon my bloody sweat, Then forth upon thy travels set,) DRAWN .. EVENIN PRAYER IN A TYROLEAN ASTHAUS. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITE8. 41 Beyond this there is avery old chapel covered with curious frescos, contain- ing various objects of veneration, and evidently the source of much absolution. In the evening we heard a monot- onous chant near the hotel, and were told that it came from a gathering of the field-hands of the neighborhood, who met every evening in a large hall and intoned their prayers under the lead of the head workman. The stream that tears down through the village to which it gives its name furnishes power for many industries. The rate of wages is low, of course; but the people are well housed and evi- dently well fed and happy. They would be in some ways the better for less bigotry and more light; but that they would be better for more ((whisky, fighten, and strikes)) is not likely. Perhaps there is no better index to the good or bad condition of the work- ing-people of a countrythan is afforded by the number of beggars one meets on the roads. The poles set up at the border of Austria, with their spiral stripes of yellow and black, do not mark the line between it and Italy much more clearly than does the advent of the beggar the moment the line is crossed. In Austrian Tyrol there are virtually no beggars. On the Italian side, even well-dressed people in the fields will leave their work to beg coppers from the passing traveler. One day, in the upper Innthal, a couple of bright-looking, rosy-faced children ran after us, asking for kreutzers. ((Mawk-nix)) upbraided them for such a shameful act, and they slunk away. He spoke of this with much indignation to a neigh- bor, who said their whole fam- ily were away in the fields at work, or they would not have dared to beg, and that he would see that they were well spanked when their mother came home at night. Nuns and a few favored cripples some- times ask alms at the doors of the churches in the larger towns, and the ((poor-box)) is always found inside; but the peasantry and the churches take care of their own poor, so that the vice of beggary is unknown among them. In VOL. LIV.6. Italy, on the other hand, it is obvious that special conditions of deformity are artifi- cially produced. Both legs broken and badly reset in childhood constitute a good source of income for life; and anything that appeals to sympathy is made the occasion for cul- tivating a very mistaken and mischievous charity. All the world has heard of, and much of the world has visited, the patriotic passion- play at Oberammergan; but few know the degree to which the dramatic faculty is de- veloped among the Tyrolese. At Brixlegg, in the lower Inn- thal, I saw, some years ago, a very impressive passion- play performed by the people of the village, which was said to be much what the Ober- ammergau play was before Bayard Taylor made it known to the world and started it on its course of financial prosper- ity. This year we made a fine run to Brixlegg, to see, in the same barn-like playhouse, a performance of ~Speck- bacher,)) representing inci- dents of Hofers patriotic campaigns against the Ba- varians and the French. The title rOle was taken by a young man who looks much like Defreggers portrait of PEASANT HOUSE IN BRIXLEGG. DRAWN BY MALCOLM FRADER, A GIRL OF TYROL. 42 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. the hero. He was a stick, and the Hofer was rather ponderous; but the minor parts were capitally given, and the young wo- man who played the peasant heroine gave great pathos and interest to the play. In Pradl, an outlying ward of Jnnsbruck, there is a noted peasant theater where local plays, with a high development of the patriotic ele- ment, delight the popular audience on Sun- day afternoons, and give much satisfaction to the visitors who attend them during the summer. One of the most successful of the dramas was written by the wife of a shoe- maker in Pradl, who plays the leading part with great acceptance. In Meran, in the autumn months, in a fine open-air theater, the play of ((Andreas Hofer)) is said to be unusually fine. Hofer was a native of the Passeierthal, which debouches at Meran. The costumes of his time still prevail there, and its traditions still live, so that this play is said to be marked with great historic accuracy of setting. The route from Jnnsbruck to Brixlegg thirty milesbegins with six miles of the worst road in Tyrol. It has been torn up by heavy trucking, and the Radfahrer Verband has not thus far been able to get it mended. Beyond Hall, how- ever, this condi- tion gives way to something very near perfection. The grades are good, with a con- siderable general descent, the vil- lages and towns are fine, as be- comes the centers of such a rich dis- trict, and the beauty and inter- est of the scenery are well-nigh un- equaled. Near Brixlegg the road passes Schloss Matzen, the prop- ertyof Mr. Baillie- Grohman, whose ((Tyrol and the Tyrolese,~ and other works re- lating to these and other moun- tains, have made his name familiar to English and American readers. The road is said to be equally good and attractive all the way to the foot of the Bavarian highlands. The road south from the Brenner pass, which the weather allowed us to ride over only as far as Frauzensfeste, is somewhat steeper in places; but it is even finer in scenery, and has more traces of its old his- toric importance. Here were the great battle- fields of the early wars for the possession of these mountains, and in modern time of the struggle under Hofer. One of its towns is unique. Stertzing lies near the mouth of the Pflertscherthal, down which the glaciers of the Stubai group cast their white light; and all its surroundings are of the grander sort. It is a little town with a thrifty air. Though of minor importance, it is a jewel-casket of medieval treasures in civic and domestic ar- chitecture. It had its highest importance in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The flow of tourist travel passes it without heed- ing it. We halted for luncheon at a very simple little wayside Gasthaus at Freienfeld, beyond the Stertzinger Moos, the long stretch of fiat meadows south of the town, which was a bloody battle-ground in the struggle of 1809. THE TOWN HALL OF hALL. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. 43 WE found that the bicycle-fever had reached even to our landlord, who was experimenting with an iron-rimmed wheel over which the saddle was supported by a pair of elliptic springs. L tried it, and said it went very well, though not so soft as the ftpneu.s I lifted it, and did not care to go farther. I told him it was too heavy. He said, Mawk- nix; muss sfiirker sein~ (((That s nothing; you must be stronger))). Probably the extra weight of this wheel would not be considered in fixing the load that a Tyrolese peasant would carry over the hills from the fields, and need not be regarded as an obstruction to sport. The wheels here are all much heavier than ours, and much stronger. They can be sent uphill by the tougher thews that grow in this land, and for safety in going downhill they have very effective brakes. The best brake has two pieces of rubber, about two and a half inches long and three quarters of an inch square, which are held flat against the two quarters of the tire. It holds very firmly, and its friction does not come on the part that is subject to the greatest wear. It is used, not with a steady pressure, but with successive light squeezes. When one becomes accustomed to it, it gives excellent control to any degree desiredeven to holding the machine stock-still under any load and on any grade. Even the usual fiat brake has a rubber face which holds better and lasts longer than metal. My American brakes were ((not in it)) on these hills, as compared with those of the local wheels I rode. The use of the brake is exacted by law in all towns, and it is almost universal on countryroads; so is the furnishing of the wheel with a bell, but the better riders in Innsbruck do not use this in the city streets. They say they can make their way safely at a mod- erate speed, if the people keep on their way, while if they are disturbed and made nervous by a bicycle bell, they are liable to make some unexpected movement that may lead to a collision. I remember a case of mutual dodging at a street crossing in New York, between my- self and a lady whom my bell had startled, which came near being annoy- DRAWN BY HARRY FERN. ing. Perhaps the custom in Paris of hanging a little sleigh-bell loosely from the handle-bar is safer. It jingles all the time, somewhat to the annoyance of the rider; but it has a faint horse-car suggestion that keeps the public on the lookout. No- where in Europe did I see the brutal quad- rupedal ((scorching)) that is such a nuisance and such a danger with us. Another device I found to e in very gen- eral use in Tyrol. This is a snap-clip for hold- ing the front wheel in line with the machine, so that it may be stood against a tree or any other support without falling. It is useful in pushing uphill with the hand on the saddle. The direction is changed by lifting the hind wheel to right or left. The clip is set or re- leased in a moment. As we left our lunching-place we found the young towheads of the farm standing in mute and respectful wonderment about our wheels. We gave them a bit of a ride, two at a time, and left them enriched vith the memory of a sensation they had never before known, and will never repeatand will never forget. Our long and beautiful road went winding on down the valley toward a finely situated castle which, as the guide-books say, has been ((restored, enlarged, and beautified)) by some newly rich new possessor. Let us hope that his kind may hold their hand from further meddling with historic old ruins, here or elsewhere. Its view up the valley could not be spoiled by any mans money, and we turned out of the road to look at it. Alas! as we crossed a somewhat slimy gutter my SCHLOSS MATZEN, NEAR BRIXLEGG. 44 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. ~ hind wheel gave way Ii under the lateral pres- sure of its burden, and sprang out of its plane. Herewas a catastrophe indeed. L had gone on out of sight and hear- ing, and I was thrown on my own resources. For the first time I found the wisdom of the recommendation to wheelmen that they should themselves take their wheels apart and put them together again, so as to become familiar with their con- struction. After a dis- cussion with the part- ner as to whose fault / it was, I tried to take 9 the wheel out, intend- SMITH tunately, I did not ing to dissect it and build it up anew. For- DRAWN BY W. B. T get AN ORIEL WINDOW IN far before STERTZING. very L came flying back to see what had become of us. He saw the trouble at once, and said, ~Mawk-nix.~ He turned the machine on its side, jumped on the warped member, and sprung it back into place as good as new; and that wheel never showed the least effect of what we had feared would prove a fatal injury. It was a source of great regret that the low-hanging clouds com- pelled us to pass by the gate of the Gr6dnerthal at Waidbruck. St. Ulrich, the Lang Kofel, the Seiser Alp, and the Col di Rodella all lay that way; but under such skies as this veryexceptional seasonbrought they had all to be given up. The recollection of former visits, and the hope of visits yet to come, must suffice us. From Botzen we had oc- casional glimpses of the great Dolo- mites which overlook it, but never such a clear view as is needed to get the full value of the sights for which one climbs up the steep valley of Gr6den. Fortunately, such wea- ther is rare on this slope of the Alps, which has an almost Italian tendency to clear skies. I have never before found it under persistent clouds in August and September. Merah is not in the Dolomite region, but as approached from the east it seems a very near neighbor to it. It is on the road from Landeck to Botzen, and that route is enriched with a glorious view of the Ortler and of the long stretch of snow-mountains of which it is the king. It is, however, more easily visited from the Brenner by the railway. Perhaps this is a case where one should not stand on the order of his going, but should go at once by the way nearest to his hand. I had not seen Meran before for nearly twenty years, and I found it much improved. Happily, this improvement has in no wise spoiled it, and its new railroad from Botzen is a convenience for those who do not use the wheel. The old highroad is still very good. Meran is more distinctly an old town and a new one than any other I know. Juxtaposition has not led to intermixing. Passing through the old arched gateway under the tower against which the Erzherzog Johann Hotel is built, we enter at once into a town of the middle ages, with a grand old church, and with a long street both sides of which are furnished with the arcades of centuries ago, where the traffic of the region is carried on by a people who have not felt to the usual degree the effect of modern civilization. The old cos BRAWN BY HARRY FENN. THE GATE OF THE CLOCK-TOWER, STERTZING. BICYCLING THROUGH THE DOLOMITES. 45 tume is still considerably worn, and one meets many men with broad green silk sus- penders, almost like vests, wide embroi- dered belts, jackets with scarlet lappets, and broad plush hats set back on the head, and having a curious peaked crown surrounded with several rows of colored cord. The goods offered for sale in the shops are mainly such as one finds in the small villages; they are sold for the same small prices, and they are carried away in the same primitive parcels. Early in the evening all is quiet and dark- ness, and the whole town seems to be asleep by nine oclock. Hidden away in a little square in the back part of the town there stands a building of great interest. It is called the Alte Landes- fiirstliche Burg. It was built by Archduke Sigmund I during the lifetime of his first wife, Eleanora, daughter of King James of ~cotland, between 1446 and 1480. It was oc- cupied by the emperors Maximilian I and Ferdinand I, and was visited by members of the imperial family, who resorted to Meran as a Kurortf or it was even then famed for its salubrity and its good physiciansuntil about the middle of the seventeenth century. After that it fell into disuse, and stood neg- lected until, in 1845, Archduke John of Aus- tria suggested and stimulated its restoration. This was finally finished in 1889. It is very completely reconstructed, and furnished ac- cording to the records of its time, which include several inventories of its contents. It is not a mu- seum of antiqui- ties, only a small, princely house for use on occasions by the imperial family of Austria according to the habits of life of fourhundredyears ago. It is not enough to say that it is well worthy of a visit: it is unique, instructive, and most interesting. Old Meran is now inclosed in a framework of modern health-re- sort building and adornment, as this is inclosed in the beauty and gran- deur of the noble mountains of the Etschthal. A more charming winter residence could hardly be imagined. Much of its success as a resort is due to the wise efforts of Dr. Tappeiner, who has been its chief physician ~for more than fifty years. His jubilee was made the occasion for undertak- ing the construction of the Tappeinerweg, a rarely fine walk built up the Passeierbach, DRAWN BY OTTO H. BACHER. THE ALTE LANDESFUESTLIUHE BURG IN MERAN. Ii DRAWN BY MALCOLM FRASER. GUARD OF THE VINEYARD, MERAN. and thence over terraces against the side of the steep wine-bearing hill back of the town, reaching a height from which a marvelous view is seen, and descending to a street that leads to the old arcades. At the summit stands a portrait-sculpture of the good phy- sician to whom Meran owes so much, and to whom those who resort to its ((climate cure)) should be grateful. This is said to be a hot place in summer, but I have twice had the good fortune to find it cool in August. It must be delightful always. I should advise a wheelman landing at Genoa, as I did, to follow my route as far as Nauders and Rescben-Scheideck, and then, if the Ortler range is not clouded, to go down the Vintschgau as far as Meran. The valley descends rapidly, and it is only as it drops into the plain extending not far above the town that the heat becomes excessive. It is a beautiful road all the way. I should return over the first thirty miles, with a rise of nearly 3000 feet, by the Landeck diligence; but one who scorns such help will not find the grade impracticable. The road is good, of course. The thirty-mile station is Neu Spondenig, where the road forks to the Stelvio pass; but that s another story. One should not be tempted to go by rail from Meran to Innsbruck, for the road from Nauders via Landeck must on no account be missed. Botzen had better be allowed to 46 wait for a visit from the north over the Brenner, in connection with the Dolomite region, near the edge of which it lies. This paper i~ devoted mainly to an account of what a bicyclist may see and do; but a wise manor womanwill leave the wheel at times and take to the hills. One of my memorable walks will illustrate this, and hundreds equally interesting may be found. I had passed the night at Welschnofen (3900 feet), which is approached from Botzen through the Eggenthal, and which lies di- rectly west of the Rothe Wand, a superb wall of reddish dolomite over 9000 feet high, forming the end of the Rosengarten range. Starting at daybreak with a good guide, I ascended the Puckelinthal, passed the Karrer See, where there is a fine hotel, and went up through the woods to the Caressa pass (5740 feet). Here we rested at a charm- ing chalet the Gast-room of which had been decorated from time to time by wandering artists. Here my plans changed themselves. I had intended to return through Vigo and Campidello to St. Ulrich, but the glory of the wonderful peaks of San Martino rose before me; I had never seen them before, and I could not turn my back on them. After dining at Vigo (4465 feet), I drove to Moena, three miles down the Fassathal, and walked thence over the Lusia pass (6670 feet) to Panneveggio (5025 feet), where I was glad at nightfall LERMOOS, OPPOSITE THE SONNENSPITZE. THE PILGRIMS. 47 to find a very comfortable hotel. The next morning I walked over the highroad to the Rolle pass (6415 feet), and thence to the spur of a neighboring crest (7462 feet) which overlooked the glacier under the high peak of Cimon della Pala (10,561 feet), ((the Mat- terhorn of the Dolomites.~ The position was too near for an appreciation of the majesty of this marvelous peak, but not too near for a study of its remarkable formation. It is of a creamy color, with a tendency to gray. I made an interesting circuit of the high and fertile adjoining Alps, took my noon meal at Panneveggio, and pretty nearly ex- hausted my remaining strength in walking down the Val Travignolo to Predazzo. Seen from this valley, at a distance of ten miles, the Cimon della Pala and its neighbor the Palo di San Martino, glowing with the golden light of the setting sun, were more impres- sive than any sight I everbeheld, save only the Lang Kofel near St. Ulrich as it stood under the sunset glow, high against the dark sky above the black firs of the Gr6dnerthal. The appei~ded profile of my two days walk will illustrate more clearly a feature of excursions in the Tyrol which is quite dif- ferent from wheeling through its valleys different, but not more charming. M~d~y. T~.44y. 4 j: ~ J ~4OOO S~.1, ~fM1I~. 46 44 44 Nor are these valleys and mountains the Tyrols only attractions. It is covered with the glamour of history and tradition, reaching back to very remote times; from the begin- ning it has been the battle-ground and the refuge of the hordes by whom Italy was suc- cessively settled, conquered, reconquered, and lost again and again; and its hills are rich with the record of the warlike peoples who have occupied it in turn. Since the Napoleonic days, when Andreas Hofer and his lieutenants, Speckbacher and the Capu- chin monk Haspinger, with their sturdy band of mountaineers, and the famed Maidl von Spinges, held it for the Austrian crown, it has been at peace, and even these later strug- gles now live only in history. But the spirit of patriotism is still strong. Let us trust that it may remain a spirit only, and that these smiling and happy valleys may not again feel the scourge of war. Geo. E. Waring, Jr. THE PILGRIMS. WTHITHER, pilgrims, whither bound, VVPassing slowly with no sound?)) One by one they journey by, Gliding, gliding silently; Slowly, slowly, dim and gray, Hold they on their ghostly way. ((Hither, children, making May Of the solemn autumn day, Who were they but now went by While the dead weeds gave a sigh? Who the pilgrims, dim and gray, Stopped and looked upon your play?)) ((We have wandered many hours Here where some one hides the flowers; We heard laughter in the grass, But we saw no pilgrim pass.~ Whispers one,pale-cheeked is she, ((Shapes went by; they beckoned me.~ John Vance Cheney.

THE PILGRIMS. 47 to find a very comfortable hotel. The next morning I walked over the highroad to the Rolle pass (6415 feet), and thence to the spur of a neighboring crest (7462 feet) which overlooked the glacier under the high peak of Cimon della Pala (10,561 feet), ((the Mat- terhorn of the Dolomites.~ The position was too near for an appreciation of the majesty of this marvelous peak, but not too near for a study of its remarkable formation. It is of a creamy color, with a tendency to gray. I made an interesting circuit of the high and fertile adjoining Alps, took my noon meal at Panneveggio, and pretty nearly ex- hausted my remaining strength in walking down the Val Travignolo to Predazzo. Seen from this valley, at a distance of ten miles, the Cimon della Pala and its neighbor the Palo di San Martino, glowing with the golden light of the setting sun, were more impres- sive than any sight I everbeheld, save only the Lang Kofel near St. Ulrich as it stood under the sunset glow, high against the dark sky above the black firs of the Gr6dnerthal. The appei~ded profile of my two days walk will illustrate more clearly a feature of excursions in the Tyrol which is quite dif- ferent from wheeling through its valleys different, but not more charming. M~d~y. T~.44y. 4 j: ~ J ~4OOO S~.1, ~fM1I~. 46 44 44 Nor are these valleys and mountains the Tyrols only attractions. It is covered with the glamour of history and tradition, reaching back to very remote times; from the begin- ning it has been the battle-ground and the refuge of the hordes by whom Italy was suc- cessively settled, conquered, reconquered, and lost again and again; and its hills are rich with the record of the warlike peoples who have occupied it in turn. Since the Napoleonic days, when Andreas Hofer and his lieutenants, Speckbacher and the Capu- chin monk Haspinger, with their sturdy band of mountaineers, and the famed Maidl von Spinges, held it for the Austrian crown, it has been at peace, and even these later strug- gles now live only in history. But the spirit of patriotism is still strong. Let us trust that it may remain a spirit only, and that these smiling and happy valleys may not again feel the scourge of war. Geo. E. Waring, Jr. THE PILGRIMS. WTHITHER, pilgrims, whither bound, VVPassing slowly with no sound?)) One by one they journey by, Gliding, gliding silently; Slowly, slowly, dim and gray, Hold they on their ghostly way. ((Hither, children, making May Of the solemn autumn day, Who were they but now went by While the dead weeds gave a sigh? Who the pilgrims, dim and gray, Stopped and looked upon your play?)) ((We have wandered many hours Here where some one hides the flowers; We heard laughter in the grass, But we saw no pilgrim pass.~ Whispers one,pale-cheeked is she, ((Shapes went by; they beckoned me.~ John Vance Cheney. ((ANTI-BABEL;)) OR, PROFESSOR SANDFOGS UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE. B V THE AUTHOR OF ((WRITING TO ROSINA,)) ((A LITTLE DINNER,)) ((THE BATTLE OF BUNKERLOG,)) ETC. WITH PICTURES HY JAY HAMBIDGE. THE grand fountains at the Exposition would every now and then give the ter- race a veritable drenching. Two persons hurrying away from this unwelcome shower of spray almost ran into each other. ((Why, Uncle Pausanias!)) exclaimed one of them, a young woman in a sober brown traveling-skirt and shirt-waist. ((Why, this is very nice! I was reading about you only this morning, and I wondered if I should meet you.s Reading about me?)) returned the other, an elderly man with an abstracted air. ((Yes; in the paperabout your new lan- guage, the great discovery they say you are perfecting. I cut out the slip to send home.)) She handed it to him. He took it, his abstracted air began to disappear, and he read aloud as follows: Among notable arrivals in town is Professor Pausanias Sandfog of Mc- Corkleville University. The professor comes to the Exposition to utilize, in connection with his remarkable language experiments, the repre- sentatives from the many foreign nations who now gather here from all quarters of the earth. We believe we are correct in stating that Pro- fessor Sandfogs great plan for a uni- versal language is just on the point of completion. Thus the Worlds Columbian Exposition, which has already been an influence of such incalculable value in every other department of human affairs, will also, fittingly, be the means of introducing to man- kind a uniform method of speech. Some idea of the importance of Professor Sandfogs most ori- ginal discovery is had in remembering that the famous Leibnitz estimated that a universal lan- guage would be equivalent to adding a third to the duration of human life. ((That is correct,)) said the reader, handing back the item. eHow the newspapers do get hold of things!)) ((A universal languagehow grand! how lovely! I shall be so proud of it. To think that a member of our own family should first invent such a remarkable idea!)) ((Do not fall into an error: mine is not the 48 first attempt of the sort; it is simply the best. Philosophic minds for two hundred years past, including Leibnitz himself, have tried it. Yes; I have succeeded where others failed. I may say without vanity that I have settled one of the greatest problems of humanity. I do not wish to be egotisti- cal, but McCorkleville University will reap no ordinary credit from this; and I suppose I shall rank, in time, as one of the chief bene- factors and most famous celebrities of the race. I have got hold of one of those ideas that thrill, electrify, and strike with amaze- ment.)) He now began with a voluminous handker- chief to mop the drops of fountain spray from a rather rusty-looking high hat. ((Your aunt ((A UNIVERSAL LANGUAGEHOW GRAND!))

((ANTI-BABEL;)) OR, PROFESSOR SANDFOGS UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE. B V THE AUTHOR OF ((WRITING TO ROSINA,)) ((A LITTLE DINNER,)) ((THE BATTLE OF BUNKERLOG,)) ETC. WITH PICTURES HY JAY HAMBIDGE. THE grand fountains at the Exposition would every now and then give the ter- race a veritable drenching. Two persons hurrying away from this unwelcome shower of spray almost ran into each other. ((Why, Uncle Pausanias!)) exclaimed one of them, a young woman in a sober brown traveling-skirt and shirt-waist. ((Why, this is very nice! I was reading about you only this morning, and I wondered if I should meet you.s Reading about me?)) returned the other, an elderly man with an abstracted air. ((Yes; in the paperabout your new lan- guage, the great discovery they say you are perfecting. I cut out the slip to send home.)) She handed it to him. He took it, his abstracted air began to disappear, and he read aloud as follows: Among notable arrivals in town is Professor Pausanias Sandfog of Mc- Corkleville University. The professor comes to the Exposition to utilize, in connection with his remarkable language experiments, the repre- sentatives from the many foreign nations who now gather here from all quarters of the earth. We believe we are correct in stating that Pro- fessor Sandfogs great plan for a uni- versal language is just on the point of completion. Thus the Worlds Columbian Exposition, which has already been an influence of such incalculable value in every other department of human affairs, will also, fittingly, be the means of introducing to man- kind a uniform method of speech. Some idea of the importance of Professor Sandfogs most ori- ginal discovery is had in remembering that the famous Leibnitz estimated that a universal lan- guage would be equivalent to adding a third to the duration of human life. ((That is correct,)) said the reader, handing back the item. eHow the newspapers do get hold of things!)) ((A universal languagehow grand! how lovely! I shall be so proud of it. To think that a member of our own family should first invent such a remarkable idea!)) ((Do not fall into an error: mine is not the 48 first attempt of the sort; it is simply the best. Philosophic minds for two hundred years past, including Leibnitz himself, have tried it. Yes; I have succeeded where others failed. I may say without vanity that I have settled one of the greatest problems of humanity. I do not wish to be egotisti- cal, but McCorkleville University will reap no ordinary credit from this; and I suppose I shall rank, in time, as one of the chief bene- factors and most famous celebrities of the race. I have got hold of one of those ideas that thrill, electrify, and strike with amaze- ment.)) He now began with a voluminous handker- chief to mop the drops of fountain spray from a rather rusty-looking high hat. ((Your aunt ((A UNIVERSAL LANGUAGEHOW GRAND!)) ((ANTI-BABEL.)) 49 is riding round somewhere in a wheel-chair,~ said he she s generally wheeling round somewhere. She d like to see you.)) ((I really ought not to delay any longer just now. I am here with somebody. I have charge of a young friend, a daughter of one of our school trustees. She has had consid- erable trouble lately, and needs to be amused. In fact, it s a broken engagement.)) ((So you could nt help me out in this mat- ter, Mary? I was going to propose to you to give me an hour or two a day. You under- stand stenography, and I need some one on whose discretion I can rely to assist me for a short time.)) ((If Leontine would let me, I should like nothing better. There she is over there just nowthe one in the blue yachting-suit. She stopped to talk to some friends.)) ((Ah, yes; I see, she is quite young.)) ((And prettydont you think so? even with her sad look. But do tell me about the universal language; I am just dying to hear.)) I call it (Anti-Babel,))) said he, and then paused with p ride to observe the effect. (( ( AntiBar el.~ His niece Miss Mary Shaft, for so she called herself, paused also, in reflection. Then she clapped her gloved hands. ((What an excellent name!)) she said. ((It shows so clearly the great range and scope of the enterprise. Yes; the more I think of it the better I like it.)) ((It is rather good. My system is to undo the confusion of tongues that took place at the tower of Babel, in the land of Shinara confusion wrought by some mistake, I am persuaded, which the exegetists will yet ex- plain to us.)) Is it anything like Volaplik? I recollect now that I once looked over a primer of that universal language, and I found it dread- ful.)) Volapiikwas self-condemned by its harsh- ness, responded Professor Sandfog, severely. ((The coming language must be melodious. Nor must it have a bias from the German or any other nationality. English, for instance, is spoken by a hundred and twenty million people or so. Some folks, therefore, have proposed that English should be modified and used as a universal speech. Others have proposed the Chinese or the Malay, both of which also have a very wide dissemination.)) ((Oh, if it could only be English!)) sighed Mary. ((Such ideas are all stuff and nonsense.)) He looked at her in some surprise. ((Local pride and jealousy will always prevent any consummation of that kind. Every man thinks VOL. LJV.7. his own language is better than every other mans, and he is not going to give it up in favor of anybody elses. No merely national language, therefore, will ever prevail over the others.~ ((No, of course not; no, indeed.)) ((What might we suppose to be the next alternative? The introduction of a purely artificial speech. But that will meet with even less favor still. Men will never accept a merelymechanical invention,made of whole cloth; they will have nothing to do with a purely artificial product, without history, der- ivations, or any roots of its own. What, then, will they accept, Uncle Pau- sanias? I thoughtIit seems a very puz- zling problem.)) ((Accept? Why, (Anti-Babel,) of course. The beauty of my system is that it avoids all the national differences and jealousies; or rather, it wins over to itself the very senti- ment on which they are based, and makes that a part of its strength.)) ((Do you think a specimen of your lan- guage would be too difficult for me to under- stand?)) appealed his niece, ingratiatingly. ((Difficult? Nonsense! Like all great in- ventions, it is extremely simple. That is why I am forced to have such absolute confidence in it.)) I am so glad it is not too hard. That would make people slow in learning it.)) ((Hard? It is simplicity itself. I cannot give you any actual example of the words as yet, but I 11 explain it to you. See here; it is like this: I assemble in a hall persons representing the different languages of the world. I give them a certain word, let us say (bread.) At a signal they are all to speak that word together, but each in his own tongue. I take down the resultant, and that is the word in the new universal language.)) ((Ohoh, yes ~ but somewhat hesitat- ingly, for Mary Shaft was a person of no great range of imagination. I should say that that was very good.)) She did not yet see whither all this would lead. ((Very good? Why, it s immense; it s stupendous, hitherto unheard of. Are you quite sure you understand it?~ ((Let me see if I do. You get the crowd of foreigners together. They all shout the same word in chorus, the Frenchman giving it in French, the Russian in Russian, the Turk in Turkish, and so forth, and you collect the resulting sound)) ((Yes in a phonograph.)) ((It will be like composite photographs only of words. The various sounds overlap, 50 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. just as the pictures do, and you will get but a single impression.)) ((Not a bad comparison. I see you catch the idea.)) ((But the objection to composite photo- graphs is a blurred look, a lack of sharpness.)) ((That will not be considered an objection in words. See the mellifluous softness that Anti-Babel must have; it will be smoother than Italian; I expect it to be a great favor- ite with musicians. On the other hand, since it will contain all the consonants, all the mas- culine elements in language, also, it cannot be lacking in strength.)) ~I must say it s a wonderful idea, Uncle Pausanias; I m getting very enthusiastic about it. And it s so in keeping with this marvelous Exposition!)) ((You can understand that words composed in that way would be full of life and vitality, and no mere bloodless product. Each would contain the sap and essence of all its pre- decessors. And there is no reason for rivalry or jealousy, you see, for no nation is excluded; each on~ has its full part in the result. ~I should think you would need some quieter place for your studies, uncle. This bustling Chicago must be rather confusing,)) said Mary. ((Do not lose sight of the chief considera- tion that brings me here. McCorkleville was very well while I was preparing the prelimi- naries, but here alone I could find the aggre- gation of strange peoples who furnish the material for my researches. An international exposition is the one place where such an ex- periment as mine can be successfully made. Mere traveling in foreign countries would not do; for, passing from one to another, you would not have the different kinds of people all together, as is necessary. I wanted very much to go to the last Paris Exposition, in 89; but Mrs. Sandfog and the childrenwell, I was not able to accomplish it.)) ((You are just too mean!)) said his niece, reprovingly. ((When I was at McCorkleville last you never said a thing to me about it.)) ((It is just as well that I did not go to Paris in 89; for, not knowing French or other modern languages, the difficulties of putting the matter through in such unfamiliar sur- roundings would have been too great.)) ((No modern languages? But I should think a person would have to be posted in all conceivable languages to make a success of such a scheme.)) ((No, no; not necessarily,)) he replied, un- ruffled. 4 have always been occupied with mathematical matters, and have not had the time for that. The important thing is the shaping plan, the directing mind. Remark that mere attention to detail often detracts from success in the main issue.)) ((Ohoh, yes,)) she commented, with but the vaguest idea of what he meant. While they were talking, some groups or single figures of strangely dressed foreigners would wander by, temporarily strayed from that singular storehouse of nations, the Mid- way Plaisance. Once there passed, together, a trio of Annamites, a couple of Druse women of Mount Lebanon, mysteriously veiled, and a Mexican in short jacket and sombrero, or- nate with silver buttons and braid. ((You see the kind of material I have to choose frorn,~ the professor said compla- cently. 4 have a skilful agent collecting for me the examples of the various nations that I need. He does it even better than I could myself. I have an appointment with him here about this time, to hear a report as to some types that are still missing, and also as to a proper hall for our meetings.)) ((But can you expect to find here examples of all the nations in the world? And if you do not have them all, how can the results you obtain be correct?)) ((Such fullness is not necessary for the present. I hold that substantial correctness can be secured by getting delegates from all the principal districts of Europe, Asia, Africa, North and South America, and Oceanica, tak- ing care that no important spot is omitted. Then, the Indo-European race may be some- what disproportionately represented as to numbers. It is the one to which the most civilized nations, both of ancient and modern times, have belonged, and consequently the one that has had the chief influence upon the destinies of mankind. Fortunately, delegates from that stock are the easiest of all to ob- tain. Some day, great capitalists and gov- ernments will take this matter up, liberal appropriations will be made, and a vast hall built, which should have a funnel-shaped end or roof, where the sounds can be properly collected. Then the finer shadings, ending in entire perfection, will at length be reached.)) ((The immensity of the idea almost takes my breath away.)) The young woman who had been spoken of as ((Leontine,)) a Miss Leontine Himmel, now came back and joined them. She car- ried a catalogue in her hand, the jacket of her yachting-suit over her arm, and she raised her large, fine eyes to the professors face for a moment with a sad, pensive air. 4 will let you know as soon as the time ((ANTI-BABEL.)) 51 of our meetings is settled, and I trust your engagements will not conflict with your tak- ing part in some of them,)) said Professor Sandfog, at parting. But now Mrs. Sandfog rolled up in her wheel-chair, and detained them further. At least, she detained her niece further. Being an irrepressible and gossipy sort of person, she got out of her all about the broken en- gagement of Leontine, who meanwhile leaned pensively over the balustrade, and looked at the Turner and Claude Lorrain Grecian pal- ace effects around the grand basin. Mary Shaft said that Leontine Himmel of Brooklyn, while a member of a sketching class in Brittany, had allowed her- self to become engaged to a young scapegrace named Elliot Shorter, and her family had come over from America and broken off the imprudent match. ((One of the things learned about him,)) said she, ~~was tifat he had di- vided up his property into three parts, and spent one each year, having got it into his head somehow that he had but three years to live. At the end of the time he was as well as ever, but penniless and without any way of mak- ing a living.)) ((Leontine did quite right to drop him,)) de- clared the aunt. ((Oh, it was not on that account,)) protested Miss Shaft, loyal to her charge. ((She is a very sweet, conscientious, accom- plished girl, and, in spite of this, a very in- telligent one too.)) Professor Sandfog, left to himself anew, was presently joined by his agent or chief assistant. This was a young man who called himself James K. Murkle. He was of rather gentlemanly appearance, though shabbily dressed, and he accosted his patron with an easy, confident air. ((Seen the notice in the morning paper, professor?)) ((Yes; my niece called my attention to it a short time ago. I might have missed it otherwise.~ ((I got that put in. I ran across a reporter who was looking for items, and I filled him up to the eyebrows with this discovery of yours. If you say so, I can manage to make things hum in the press, so that when you get back to McCorkleville the folks will come out to meet you with two or three brass bands and a display of fireworks.)) ((We had better wait a little for results. I do not find that necessary just at present.)) ((Just as you say, professor.)) ((And now, what have you to report in the matter of a hall?)) ((Only this: that there does not seem to be a foot of space for us either within the Exposition grounds or, near by, without. They cant take us in at the quarters of the Paris- ian Glass Works, the Ice Railway, or the Diving-bell Exhibit, and the vacant sculpture studio I was hop- ing to get was snapped up so quick that I see I never had even a ghost of a chance for it.)) ((Then it seems we shall have to go well down town, to some such place as the Music Hall.)) ((Corner of Randolph and State? No; that s too far away for the folks to go. And we could nt have it even if it was nt; it is occupied by the Keeley Convention.~ ((Keely the inventor of the motor? Has he?~ ((No; he would nt want to hold a convention all by himself. It s the other kind, the (gold cure,) the er)) And he crooked his elbow expressively upward, with the thumb pointing toward his mouth. ((But we must have some place,~ ex- claimed the professor, desperately. ((The partitions are very thin in my hotel, and Mrs. Sandfog Nevertheless we cant hold our sessions in language construction out of doors.)) 4 was going on to say that we could have the Beauty Show hall if we could use it very early in the morning.)) ((The Beauty Show hall? Ah, yes; I recol- lect the placeon the Midway Plaisance. I think they call it the International Dress and Costume Company.)) ((The same. Big, fine building; appropriate place, too; flags of all nations flying all over ((JAMES K. MURKLE.)) 52 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. it, so the parties we bring in there will feel quite at home.)) ((The work is of a kind to ennoble any place in which it might be held,)) said the professor, after some little hesitation. ((And thethe present occupants?)) ((As we ye got to start in as early as eight oclock in the morning, or not at all, they will be sleeping off their victories of the day be- fore, and getting ready to paralyze the public again. They wont be there. The Swiss girl, though, I d like to have her come; she s a first-class good-looker, a real beauty, and no mistake.)) ((We cannot accept anybody on that basis,)) rejoined his employer, coldly. ((Well, good looks ought not to be any- thing against em if they ye got all the rest. (Frida) speaks the dialect of the Engadine; I ye heard that lingo myself, and know it s genuine. They say it s a kind of broken- down Latin. Take (Marie,) again, for an ex- ample, that I ye engaged from the French bakery. I consider her one of the best dele- gates we~ re going to have, and yet she s a regular peach. Those two will brighten up the whole place like Blazing Sun stove-polish.)) ((You may be right; but, as far as possible, I think it would be wise to make our selec- tions from the masculine rather than the feminine gender.)) ((The masculine gender is going to pre- ponderate at least eighty per cent., professor; dont be uneasy about that. My latest is the big halberdier who keeps guard in front of the Old Vienna caf6. I ye engaged him to come, with his halberd and all, to add to the tone of the thing. He is to represent High German. Low German will be represented by a Mecklenburger from a North Side brewery. I have one Dutchman from Holland, and an- other from Surinam to give the colonial ac- cent too.)) The professor nodded his head approvingly. ((Say, my Fiji is a corker; I ye got a couple of daisy Italians; and my Eskimo is way out of sightI got him out of the Eskimo village, down there by the South Park station. Theres more than fifty of them there, with their dogs, sledges, canoes, spears, and seal blub- ber complete. You ought to stop in and take a look at em, if you have nt done so already.)) ((And a Patagonianwhat have you to re- port on that score? You have not forgotten that a Patagonian is absolutely necessary to the rounding out of my program?)) ((Patagonians are scarce, and will probably come high. I have not got one yet: but dont be afraid; Im bound to get you one, if hus- tling can do it.)) ((Should we not do well to enlist some members from the Parliament of Religions? I should like to have the advice of some of those Brahmans, pundits, Greek archbishops, and Japanese high priests, in their several languages. They are men of education, and we could rely upon what they said. I have been thinking that I could make their ac- quaintance and attend to that matter myself, leaving the others to you.~ ((Are you sure they would nt steal your invention?)) suggested Mr. Murkle, craftily. ((At any rate, they d be sure to be uppish, and would want big pay. I doubt, too, if they d give the pronunciation as clear and natural as the other kind. No; I can get you all the Japanese and Hindus and Africans you want at from twenty-five to fifty cents an hour, and they 11 do the business up as it ought to be done.)) ((Dont forget that if there is tQ be a lack of proportion anywhere, it should consist in getting more people from the center of Asia than elsewhere Assyrians, Persians, Arme- nians, and the like. As that was the par- ent spot of the human race, and where the tower of Babel was built, the dialects around there are probably nearer to the original speech of man than any others.)) ((Yes; they have the Parisian accent, as it were, of the primeval lingo.)) ((How do the persons you engage like it, as far as they have got?)) ((Oh, they like it immensely; I hold partial rehearsals with em, and they think it s great.)) ((Yes; they naturally would,)) assented the professor, complacently. ((That is because there is no favoritism anywhere about it. When so many different sounds come in con- flict something has to give way; but they have the judgment to see that it will be (the sur- vival of the fittest ) in the truest sense of the term.)) I will report to you to-night at the Hima- laya Hotel, and if everything is all right, why cant we begin the day after to-morrow, at latest?)) ((The sooner the better.)) Mr. James Murkle then turned briskly northward, along the shores of the lagoon, and, traversing the subway that passed under Stony Island Avenue, entered the Midway Plaisance. That famous strip of ground, devoted to the lighter distractions of the Exposition as contrasted with its more serious business, has been faintly imitated ((ANTI-BABEL.)) 53 since by every popular bathing-beach and almost every county fair in the country, so that many there are who know what it was like, though they never set eyes upon the place itself. It was a great area of flimsy mosques, pagodas, medieval castles, and vil- lages, all promising pleasure according to their hopes of gain, and keeping good their promises only up to the point where a long- suffering public would have stood no further imposition. The din of sounding brass and tinkling cymbals arose confusedly from it; banners and pennants kindled all the air with the flicker of bright colors, and the bazaars and their motley attendants repeated the same gay junketing of bright colors be- low. Mr. Murkle first accosted a fat, ill-shaved Turk in front of a combination of mosque, theater, and caf6 that was called Constanti- nople street. ((Eh, Kibob, how goes it?~ said he, mis- naming him from the alleged kabab, or Turkish sausage, which, with nougat and beverages, he sold over his counter. ((Your old sausage here is nothing but common Frankfurter at twice the price.)) At the same time he threw down a dime and helped himself to one of them. The vender stolidly pocketed the dime and made no reply. ((And your (Turkish drinks) are the wash- ings of some old lemonade-tub.)) But again he threw down a nickel, and took up a glass of the pinkish liquid that stood ready at his hand, though he did not drink it. The gazelle eyes in the fat face of the Turk looked at him impassively. ((You ye decided to come to my language- meeting, have nt you, Kibob?)) he now de- manded. 4 see bout dat,)) was the evasive reply. Well, I ye got to have it settled. Is Johnny Hamed around?)) A younger man, who proved to be the Hamed in question, opened the curtains at the back and stepped forth. When the former question was put to him also, he replied: ((Boss say he dont let me get off.s ((Did you say that, Kibob?)) The master of the shop nodded to indicate that he did. Murkle held extended argument with him, but when he left it was by no means certain that either of these desired recruits was gained. He met with much better success among some Hindu jugglers in a tent not far dis- tant. Two slim young Hindus in white cot- ton, with white teeth and shining eyes, Sarabiji Das and Sinda Ram he called them; fell in with his plan in the main, though they said they could not join in a rehearsal. ((You be on hand at eight in the morning, the day after to-morrow, if you dont get word to the contrary,)) he admonished them. ((Remember that we 11 call for some word in your language, like (bread,) for instance, and you want to shout it out for all you re worth.)) ((We got no (bread) in Hindu language only some kind cake or cracker-like,)) put in Sinda Ram, conscientiously. ((Well, sing out that, then; it does nt make any difference what it is; only dont be back- ward about it.)) He addressed himself next to a dark maid of Tunis, who was holding forth without, to draw an audience into the Tunisian palace, where various dances were to be seen. ((Some parties wanted me to see you about joining a language-company we re getting up, Lola,)) he began. ((My name to me not Lola,)) she interrupted. ((What is itB ((Jenny.)) ((Well, Jenny. It s only for a little of your extra time. All you d have to do would be to talk some of your confounded gibberish when wanted. Thirty-five cents the first hour, and twenty-five-)) ((Shut up, you man! Get out!)) responded the maid, skeptical of his words through much experience of scoffers; and she en- forced her refusal by throwing at him a bit of orange she found conveniently at hand. 4 think I catch your meaning,)) .said he, dodging. He would have argued the case fur- ther; but now the proprietor of the place came forth to see what was interrupting the eloquence of his show-woman, and in a surly way ordered him off the premises. All at- tempts to negotiate with either were useless. His fortune in these attempts to find linguistic recruits was various. He came forth from the Hawaiian theater humming cheerfully: She loves me, and I 11 be true To the girl in the yellow holaku. From which it could be inferred that things had gone well with him there. On the other hand, he was squarely bluffed at the Javanese village; the results were rather adverse than otherwise among the Malays, the New-Zea- landers, and the Dyaks of Borneo, though to many of these camps it was his second or third visit. He succeeded, it is true, at the Japanese bazaar and with the Hungarian orchestra, but again failed miserably at the 54 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Chinese village and the Dahomey village, and even made no great headway at the Mexican cafb. The cry of Hot! hot! hot! all hot, now!)) rose loudly upon the air, as it was wont to do at intervals. Started by the dealers in Frankfurter sausage, it would be caught up naively by foreign venders of other wares, even to ice-cream and cold beverages. It swelled like a general roar in a menagerie, ran from where the Wild West Show, with its broncos and cowboys, formed one limit of the place, past that horn of dominion, the Ferris Wheel carrying people round in buck- ets, to where the Wild East Show, with its lions and Bedouin, closed it in on the other. Professor Sandfogs chief assistant had just come out of the Mexican cafb with a very discouraged look, when he was con- fronted by a short, slim young man, wear- ing conspicuously on his breast two blue- satin badges with gold fringe. The newcomer halted before Murkle, and knocked his own hat forward by a deft tap from behind with one hand, while with the other he felt for- ward and upward gropingly in the air. Next he shaded his eyes with one hand and looked out from beneath this shade with a long, level gaze such as sailors employ at sea. Then at length, dashing aside further prelude, he cried with jovial heartiness: ((Well, by all that s hokey! if it is nt old)) ((Yes, MurkleJames K. Murkle,~ said the other, calmly. ((Jagstone, how are you?)) ((Murkie be hanged! Did nt we go to Ilowleys Institute together? Since when)) ((Sh-sh! It s my stage name.)) ((You driving stage for some one?)) asked his friend, facetiously. ((I might as well be; I have done pretty much everything else but that in the last few months.)) It turned out that the two had not met for many years. They explained to each other how life had treated them in the meantime. It had not been fortunately in either case. I went into a brokers office in Wall street,)) said the lively Mr. Jagstone; ((but look at the Vanderbilts and Goulds and that sort of fellows, and then look at me! After that I tried wholesale dr)i-goods. I was with Bedtick, Denim & Scrim till lately, ought oughty-four Broadway, New York. Not a partner, you know, onlyerahemin the packing-box department. Now I in here as delegate to the Keeley Gold Cure Conven- tion.)) ((Oh, that s what all those dizzy badges are about, is it? I thought you were a member of the Exposition board of directors at least.)) ((It s a disease; that s the way you want to look at it; science recognizes it as a disease. You cant help having some com~ plaints, can you? That s the reason I dont mind parading in public. We re here with our brass bands and our State flags, and we re going to have a (Keeley day) at the fair. I should nt wonder if I could get you in as an honorary member, if you like.)) Murkle now related various of his attempts to improve his fortunes at the Exposition. He had briefly tried being agent for the Cyclone Wash-tub and the Salvation Lightning-rod; then he had been a ((ticket-scalper)); next an attendant at the Californian ostrich-farm; later he had originated and launched the idea of Murkles Big Bowl House, where very large bowls of coffee were given for a nickel. ((My grandest scheme of all, though,) he concluded, ((was turning a new block of houses into the Superlative Hotel by running a big sign all the way along the top. We had cot-beds in the cellar, in the attic, on all the stairways, and in the back yard; home comforts; a dollar a day and upwards. But I did nt have capital enough to carry it through.)) A MEETING ON THE MIDWAY PLAISANCE. ~ANTJ-BABEL.~ 55 ((Yes, I recognize it, especially the (up- wards ~ I ye been up with em myself. But what I dont understand about all this is how you got down on your luck in this way. I always supposed you were a good deal of a capitalist, and only a little whlle ago I used to read in the fashionable papers what a wide swath you were cutting in Europe.)) ((A confounded medical student told me if I did nt change my habits I probably would nt live more than three years. I did nt feel like changing my habits, so I divided what I had into three, and spent it as I went along. About the end of the time I saw how I was coming out, but it was too late to stop then. And then there was a girl in the case, and so on. I was going to com- mit suicide, but I could nt think just which way to do it, so I came to Chicago.)) ((And what kind of a job are you in now?)) asked Jagstone, with friendly interest. ((I ye taken a contract to supply an old party with an assorted collection of Dagos for some kind of a language scheme. He is a professor in some one-horse college. I no- ticed him m~oning around the Midway. He could nt make any more headway with those folks than a chicken, and I offered myself to him as an interpreter.)) ((It ought to be easy enough to get em; I should say you had a soft snap on that, if it pays you.~ ((Not so easy as you might think; it s more like pulling teeth.)) ((How is that?)) ((Most of the time they dont understand a blessed thing I say. Then, in case they do, their managers wont let them out of the shows, to come; or if they do have a day or half a day off, it is nt the same day, so that we cant get them all at the same time. Say, you dont happen to know of a good, steady- going Patagonian, do you? One who has got over the first levity of youth, and would pre- fer a light job, a few hours a week, to high wages?)) ((Lucky chaps, these outlandish Dagos, eh? to get a living just by looking like that and wearing that sort of clothes,)) remarked Jagstone, ((when we have to hustle so to make anything. There s a nice hellion now)) as some poor native of southern India shuffled by in a white cotton jacket and pet- ticoat, and his hair put up with a comb like a womans. ((In knocking round the world so much, I suppose you ye picked up their lingos, so you can talk with a good many of em, anyway?)) Murkle winked shrewdly, and responded: ~I dont know any lingo but my own, and not much of that. I might count, though, a lit- tle art students slang I picked up once, at Mother Mirabelles in Brittany.)) Mr. Jagstones manner now changed; he took on a stiff and formal air. ((There are two thousand languages,)) said he. ((There is one to about every three or five millions of people in Europe, one to every two or three millions in Asia, one to every few hundred thousand in Africa, and one to every seventy or eighty thousand among the American Indians.~ ((What are you giving us?)) asked Murkle, in surprise. ((The present Afghans are the lost tribes of Israel. The Tahitians have seven different ways of expressing (smoke ~ ((And I have only one; but take a cigar, all the same. What are you driving at?)) ((The Javans have seven different ways of saying (hog,) ten for (elephant,) and twenty for (breadfruit ))) ((I 11 say all those first seven to you at once if you dont cut this and tell me what s the matter with you.~ ((The matter is that, as you admitted you were no linguist, I thought I d give you a specimen of my acquirements in that line.)) ((Your acquirements! In the old times you never knew enough to go in when it rained, and I dont believe you ye learned it since. I say, Jagstone, where did you get those points you mention?)) Well, then, out of some newspaper scraps in my pocket-book. Did it ever occur to you what a lot of education there is in a well- assorted lot of newspaper items? You went to college and did nt need it, but I had to quit school early, and have to make up for lost time. Every now and then I cut out an item that suits my taste, especially in facts and figures, and salt it down. The only drawback is that they get worn out pretty fast, and then where are your facts and fig- ures?)) ((Lend me those items on language, will you, Jagstone? I may be able to work them in, some way.)) I ye got a better one yet; it tells how to say (I love) in forty-seven different lan- guages,)) added Jagstone, feeling for his pocket-book to produce it. ((Oh, I must have that one, sure.)) While they were arguing the point, a man of rough appearance accosted them and said: ((Which of you is the one that s hiring par- ties for some kind of a talking-match or language-show? I d like to get a job.)) 56 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. ((What nation do you belong to?)) Murkie inquired. ((I m a Swizz,~ the man made answer, so energetically that it was like the sound of a buzz-saw or the sluing of a sled on the snow. ((What part of Switzerland are you from?)) ((My grandmother was a Swizz, full- blooded; that was the way of it.~ Murkles eye rested upon him in a contem- plative way. ((Ever been anywhere near Patagonia?)) he asked. ((I ye worked mostly in the logging-camps up Stevens Point way, and I ye sailed con- siderable in the lake marine.)) Jagstone slapped himself vigorously on the thigh when the Swizz~ had gone. ((I ye got an idea for you,~ said he; ((that chap put it in my head.)) ((What is it?~ ((Come down to camp to-night, and let us boys fit you out with any more foreigners you want.)) ((What camp are you talking about? I thought ~you said you were with the Keeley delegates at the Hotel Mecca?)) ((No; I ye joined some of the boys from the store, down at the Parthenon-Colosseum Camp, on Garfield Boulevard. It s lively and cheap, and I thought being about with the clerks might kind of help me in getting back into the store againsee? They re taking a fortnights vacation here.)) ((How do you get down to your confounded old camp?)) ((Take the Elevated or three street-car lines; it s only a few blocks from the (Great Educator,) by four different entrances. I 11 expect you at seven sharp. There are some college base-ball players and a banjo club stopping there, too; and if you dont get down early they 11 be off for the evening.)) While they discussed the matter further, Murkle proposed that they should go over together to the Ceylon pavilion, in the main precinct of the Exposition. ((Ive got a little personal matter of my own to attend to there,)) said he. I m trying to sell em a disused road-roller for a steam Juggernaut; they ought to be up to date in those matters.)) Jagstone touched his own head with a fore- finger significantly, saying: ((Large brain, great mind; you 11 succeed yet.)) As they passed near the Art Building, Murkle started at a glimpse of a feminine figure just disappearing in the portal. ((Looks like a girl I used to be engaged to,)) said he. ~I suppose you ye been engaged to a good many girls in your time?)) ((Yes, quite a number; there s generally some one filling that position.)) The same evening James Murkle appeared by seven oclock before the group of canvas abodes constituting the ((Parthenon-Colos- seum Boarding CampFire-, moth-, and rust-proof,)) as its large sign further stated. Not long after the flaps of the principal tent had closed behind him sounds of revelry rose from within. Impromptu properties were got out and tossed about. One speaker took the floor, and strenuously called attention to the fact that a costumer on Clark street had a large stock which at that season of the year might be hired for almost nothing. II. Two days after the conversation last men- tioned, Beauty Show Hall, at an early hour in the morning, was a scene of unusual anima- tion. While the rest of the Midway Plaisance was still making its toilet, there entered the hall in question little groups in gabardines and togas, burnooses, tunics, and kilts, in sombreros, turbans, and crowns of feathers. The beauty from the Engadine, whom Mur- kle had insisted on retaining, threw off a mackintosh that covered a becoming peas- ant costume. Yet, even with the advantage of a white waist, silver-embroidered stomacher, and bare arms, she did not greatly surpass Marie from the French bakery, who, in the dress of ordinary civilization, was as trim and fresh as a bird. Professor Sandfog came up from his room, No. 2125 of the Himalaya Hotel, a mile distant, accompanied by his niece Mary Shaft, who, with the consent of Leontine Himmel, was to lend her coiipera- tion for a few of the opening meetings. At the upper end of the room were ar- ranged a large table with a phonograph upon it, a small table with writing-materials, a blackboard, and on the wall a diagram, or symbolical picture, which the professor had drawn with his own hand. Mr. Murkle began to arrange the gathering, of motley dress and complexion, into a group, as prearranged by Professor Sandfog. It was to be crescent- shaped, the delegates from the outlying boundaries of the world forming the ends, those from the rest of the universe the in- terior, which would gradually thicken toward the center. el want the Kamchatkan here on the right,)) said the professor, helping to put that oily little man, in furs, with fish-spear in hand, in proper position, ((and the Patagonian at the left. Next the Kamchatkan you must put, as they would come in logical order, the Laplander and the Eskimo; and next the Patagonian the natives of the Cape of Good Hope and southern Australia.)) T ~e professor was especially pleased with the Patagonian, since it had seemed doubt- ful up to the last moment whe her any one from that remote region could be had. He was a large, raw-boned, copper-colored man, roughly tattooed, and his dress consisted of a kilt of fox-skins, a ragged poncho, or blanket, and a belt containing tobacco-pipe, knives, and some curious arrangements which Murkle explained to be slings for hunting the ostrich. He conformed very closely to the accounts in the encyclopedias, which shows the accuracy of our works of education. The professor smiled at him and patted him on the back in a friendly way, and he responded with impressive salaams. ((His name is Or-kee-kee, or Chonek,~ Mur- kie explained in answer to his employers inquiries. ((He-er ahemhe had a brother herding cattle in the Argentine Republic, and, quite unexpectedly, theyerat the VOL. LIV.8. last moment concluded to come up to the Ex- position to ride as gauchos in one of the wild West shows.)) ((He s from Terra del Few-ee-go, the Land of Fire, down by those straits where so many vessels are wrecked, and he s a chief in his own country,)) here put in ano- ther voice, which was strangely like Mr. Jag- stones. Murkle administered to this speaker a kick surreptitious but forcible. ((Well, I wanted to get it all in,)) expostu- lated the latter, but not audibly. ((What s the use of going down for information to the Newberry Library if you dont make use of it?~ ((Who is this man?)) demanded the profes- sor, turning suddenly upon him, surprised at the contrast between his appearancefor he was coffee-colored and attired in turban and a owered dressing-gownand the facility with which he spoke the vernacular. ((He s a Persian, a fire-worshiper. He s been on a reservationI mean he s been to an English school; that s the reason he ((ONE SPEAKER TOOK THE FLOOR.)) 58 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. speaks English so well. His name is Zory-as- ((And yet I took especial painsbut let ter.)) that pass. But is not that a rather unpatriotic Murkle consulted his list, and brought up view to take of it?~ one odd individual after another to take his ((Patriotism has nothing to do with science, place in the crescent. As he did so he would and especially not with an experiment of this name him or half present him to the pro- kind, which is for the benefit of all mankind.)) fessor. ((A Scotch bagpiper,)) continued Murkle; ((~ ((A Bulgarian who speaks the Church cottager from Lady Aberdeens (Irish village); Slavic, the sacred language of the Greek a Welshman from Festiniog; a Chinese laun- Church. A Russiana Polea Kalmuck dryman, a Japanese student (educated in Tartar a modern Greek.)) this country, (extra intelligent ~); my friend The professor himself brought with him Kibob and another Turkish merchant, Hamed a contribution from his own hotel, a Danish by name; a Tahitian; a Siamese; two Moorish chambermaid, just imported for the needs of sheiks, Sidi Brahim and Ben Sadoun; and the great caravansary, and innocent of the an example of the Atlantean Africans, or, first syllable of English. She, with a Nor- in simpler words, I suppose, just sea-shore wegian sailor and a Swedish darkies.~ hand from the lumber-yards, Something set the profes- represented the Scandina- sor off in a disquisition upon vian element. the difference between the The halberdier, with his Japanese and the Chinese, halberd, was there from ((Old and the popular errors on the Vienna)); and almost equally subject. Jagstone affected medieval and striking was a to swoon upon a friends Swiss guard, whose business shoulder in consequence of it was to add to the illusion of the many long words used, as the large model of St. Peters ((agglutinative structure,)) at Rome. For Italy came also ((aggregated as opposed to men from the fictitious ((Blue integrated language,)) and Grotto)) of Capri and the the like; but he briskly re- ((Venetian Glass Works)); for covered from the fictitious Spain, some one from the re- swoon, declared that the pro- produced Convent of La R~- fessor had many first-class bida (Columbuss convent); ideas not found in his (Jag- and for England, a waiter stones) collection of news- from the Great White Horse paper scraps, and edged Inn, for the English accent around behind him, as he to be represented must be as went, to gather up as many racy as possible of the soil. of them as possible. He saw Canada, too, was not over- Murkle give friendly pats in looked. As to the United THE BEAUTY FROM THE ENGADINE. passing to Marie and Frida, States, Mr. Murkle undertook and he slyly managed to to look after that country himself, aided by a call the attention of each to it in the case Columbian guard who had strayed into the of the other, so that the relation of these hall out of curiosity and was allowed to re- two fair maids presently was one of jealous main. The aboriginal languages of the two displeasure and hostility. American continents were to be exempli- ((Let me call especial attention, professor,)) fled by an alleged Comanche, an Algonkin, a said Murkle, ((to the completeness with which Choctaw, a Chinook, a Micmac, and a Zufli, IThave covered the central part of Asia, the or cliff-dweller, a Mexican AEtec and an ground that you wanted particularly attended Otomi, a Tepehuan of Yucatan, a Carib, and to. Zoryaster, you get together, up here at a Guarany of Paraguay. the front, all the Zends, Parsees, Tibetans, eI find an over-richness of representation Afghans, Armenians, Sanskritters, and folks here,)) said the professor. ((These Indian lan- of that stripe. He has general charge of the guages are undergoing change and subdivi- group,)) he whispered to Sandfog. sion without end, and are afflicted with a ((Zoroaster)) did as directed, and Murkle dreadful pleonasm and polysyllabism. They claimed to have a Buddhist from Ceylon, a are really of less importance than any Brahman from the north of India, a bonze others.)) from Tibet, a Beluchee, a Kurd, a dealer in ((ANTI-BABEL.)) 59 praying-carpets from Turkestan, and an Armenianfrom the State street Turkish bath. ((That is to say, he was from Mount Ararat originally,)) he hastened to add. He has often seen the site where the ark landed after her forty days cruise, and states that no trace of damages to fences or other prop- erty from that landing is now to be seen.)) ((Butbut)) the professor began to pro- test against so gross a misconception. But he let himself be overborne by Murkle, who went on, indicating another couple: ((I have every reason to believe that this pair, Mirza Ferouk and Bulbul Effendi, are directly from the land of Shinar.~ ((Yes; a boot-blacking establishment on Clark street,)) remarked the Patagonian, con- fidentially, to a small circle about him. ((You have done wellalmost better than I could have expected,)) exclaimed Professor Sandfog, all a-flutter with content at so good a showing, and with happiness that the reali- zation of his great scheme had actually be- gun. ((How strange to think that we have before us thq inhabitants of the historic prov- inces of Bactriana and Sogdiana, dwellers by the Zagros range, ti ~ ancient (gateway of nations.))) ((An Ashantee, a Raratongan, an Arawak, a Tschuwassian,~ pursued Murkle, still pre- senting his various types. ((Tchew!)) sneezed Jagstone, in a sup- pressed way, as a part of his humor. And now Murkle, having perhaps run through his list of appellations or forgotten part of it, went on very rapidly: ((A Syenite, a Dolomite, a Trilobite, a Dynamite)) ((No, no,)) interrupted the professor, aston- ished; ((that cannot be; you are all wrong there. A (trilobite) is a kind of fossil; (syenite) is a rock; so is)) ((Well, what bigger fossils could there be than most of these parties?)) rejoined the assistant, essaying a facetious defense. But Professor Sandfog did not understand facetiousness. Insisting on setting right this confusion, some more probable names were recovered; but where they were missing entirely the individual was classified, like strange goods in the custom-house, after that which he most resembled. When the professor went back to his table he explained to Mary Shaft: ((Mr. Murkle is a young man of great energy and usefulness to our enterprise, but his scholarship is very inaccurate.)) The world was now well belted round with representatives; they were arranged in their crescent-shaped order, and all was ready to begin. Professor Sandfog tapped upon his table. ((Will the meeting please come to order?)) said he. His niece placed herself at the small table beside him. Her business was to take down the new sounds by stenography, for compari- son with those which should be obtained by the phonograph. ((The meeting will please come to order,)) repeated the professor. He took a long pointer, and explained his diagram on the wall, a naive performance, for the professor was but a prentice hand at drawing, and next made a little opening speech. Along the top was the quotation from Genesis xi. 1: ((And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech.)) The diagram consisted chiefly of two large triangles, the apexes outward. At the apex of one was seen the Tower of Babel, and the people were fleeing from it in wild confusion along the divergent sides. At the apex of the other was the Chicago Exposition of 1893, toward which the people, in motley array, were converg- ing with every appearance of delight. Such words as ((segregation,)) ((fugacity,)) ((multi- formity)) were sprinkled in large letters over the first triangle, and ((aggregation,)) ((sta- bility,)) ((unity)) over the second, and the whole was signed boldly ((Pausanias Sand- fog.)) ((You see almost at a glance,)) he said, ((the range and beneficence of the enterprise. Order is to be brought out of the chaos which has endured all these centuries since Babel. I am glad to see you all here, and want every one to have an intelligent comprehension of what is to be done, so that I may count upon your hearty co~iperation in the work. The universal language we are about to make, though new, will yet in reality be as old as the hills, andereach of you should real- ize that he has a proud and essential part in it. Bear in mind that this invention is going to be of greater importance to mankind than that of the railway or the telegraph.They understand all that, do they not, Mr. Murkle?~ ((They do,)) replied Murkle, confidently. ((PEar! ear!)) shouted the delegate fromthe Great White Horse Inn; ((Hip, hip, hooray!)) the ~Swizz~ ~Hoop-ld! oh~b) French Marie; while Prida added an Alpine yodel, and else- where there was more than a suspicion of a college yell, Brek-ke co-ax co-ax,)) etc. It was apparent that the professor had found favor. About half of the hour had already gone. He handed a small loaf of bread to Mr. 60 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Murkie, and the latter took his position in the own language. The hall of the Beauty Show center of the crescent, facing the polyglot vibrated throughout its length and breadth. assemblage. Miss Shaft raised her pen ex- When the reverberation had died away, Pro- pectantly. fessor Sandfog looked at Mary Shaft with a ((We will commence with the word (bread,))) face of beaming exaltation and triumph, and said the professor. ((What more appropriate also of inquiry. as a starting-point for a new language than I did not get a single syllable of it,)) she the word which represents that which is the responded, with a worried air. staff of life among all men and all peoples? Turning then to his phonograph, he found Psammetichus, an Egyptian king, if you rec- that he had forgotten to press the vibrat- ollect, caused two children to be brought ing plaque against the cylinder, so that it up together in a tower, __________________________________ had taken no record. without communication This oversight being re- with any one else, in paired, he said: order to see what they ((Let us have it over would say when they again. And in general, first began to speak. for greater accuracy, in The first word they ut- these early stages it will tered was bekos, mean- be well to repeat the ing (bread) in that lan- words somewhat often.s guage, from which some Again, with waving inferred that it was arms and passes, Murkie the primitive speech of gave the signal, and the man.)) shout broke forth with ((The doorkeepers pro- a hearty good will, the bably talked a steady explosion of sound be- stream, and the children ing even louder than caught on; that s the before. way it was,)) said Murkle, ((Br-r-od!)) was the skeptically. cry of the German hal- It may be; but Iwas Wrdier of Old Vienna. going on to say that one ((Brod!)) that of the of my ideas was to have Danish chambermaid. such a gathering from ~Kr-r-obs!s that of all nations as we have the grave Bedouin, child assembled here to-day, of the desert. live together, say, at the Nkanakb vocifer- same boarding-house, ated the Armenian of and then see what lan- Ararat. guage they would strike ((Amlok!)) the Turk- out in common. That ((THE PROFESSOR WAS ESPECIALLY PLEASED ish merchants Kibob would have been an- WITH THE PATAGONIAN.)) and Hamed; for Kibob, other way of working toward the desired re- on the whole, had concluded that they would sult.s Miss Shaft could not forbear uneasily come. consulting her watch. ((But, as I was saying, ~Panh the Spaniard. Mr. Murkle, will you now give the order to ~Pane!s the Italians. begin?)) ~Pain!s the sprightly French soubrette. Mr. Murkle held the bread aloft so that all ~Pannada!s the Engadine girl. could see it distinctly, and then began to ~Khleb!s the Russian. beat time in a very energetic, florid way. The Berenab the Hawaiian dancer Fetola. bread, which he still held, danced with his She gave it in the same shrill and crooning waving arm as if on the crest of a breaker. tone in which she was wont to sing the ~Mau- Arms upward, arms outward, arms cross- u-lu-ul-us at the South Sea village. ing, arms outward (weaving spells like a The young jugglers Sinda Ram and Sara- musician), arms up, arms DOWNthat was biji, having no word for bread in the Hindu the signal, and the roar broke out, ((Bread!)) speech, threw in, as per agreement, Chain !s Murkle roaring with the rest. the one that meant ((biscuit.)) In accordance with directions given, all The Japanese student piped up, Sho-ko- were supposed to shout ((bread,)) each in his mo-tan!)) ((ANTI-BABEL.)) 61 ((Pek-wej-igan.~)) the Cris of Saskatchewan. ((Guaddaga!)) the Indian of Yucatan. ((Tiaxcalli !~ the Mexican Aztec. And in like manner, each after his kind, whether from their own knowledge or from hastily prepared lists, shouted the foreigners all along the line. Again the professor consulted Miss Shaft. What did you get this time?)) ((It sounded to me something like br-r-an- kak,~ said she. He reversed his phonograph and brought forth the facts it had registered. For the first instant there seemed in that phonograph a conflict of all the elements, as if it would burst asunder. The consonants and vowels, all possible gutturals, dentals, and labials, were compressed into that brief space, and one might fancy that they were belaboring and throttling one another in deadly strife. It was the linguistic conflict of all the ages repeated in an instant of time. Something had to yield, and it did; whatever it was can- not be known, but there issued forth with some distinctness, though surrounded by siz- zlings and sputterings, the resultant branka. ((Hurrah! victory! victory!)) cried Profes- sor Sandfog, quite beside himself with delight. ((Do you see what a remarkable correspon- dence? The sound has impressed the phono- graph and the ear of an acute observer in substantially the same way. The test is per- fect. Brankawhat a word!)) And he joyfully directed branka to be entered for ((bread,)) as the first word of Anti-Babel, the coming universal language. The next word taken up was ((milk.)) Mr. Murkle displayed to the audience a vial filled with milk, and after sufficient time for in- spection, ((Are you ready?)) he vociferated. ((Onetwothreemilk!)) ~Milch ) now bellowed the German hal- berdier. Mj~lk!~ the Swede. Leche!~ the Spaniard. ~Lapte!~ the Rumanian. ((Mook!)) the Eskimo. ((Chichi !~ the Japanese. ~Dou-ghi~nb) the Kamchatkan. Okinb the Algonkin. ((Py-huk-cht.~)) the Choctaw. ((ZuI!)) the Turk. ~Habfb) the Arab. ((Chir!)) the Persian. ((Na bbd!~ the Otomi from the Mexican mountains. ((Bagne!)) the Celt from the Irish village. ((Nai !~ the Turkoman who dealt in pray- ing-carpets. Poi !~ a formidable Afghan. This time, as the uproar subsided, Jagstone was seen to feel of his bones as if to assure himself that they were safe. ((Are we all here?)) breathed the Patagonian, in the same vein. And yet this tall and raw-boned person was really a member of a foot-ball team, and must have felt much at home even in scenes of far greater confusion. ((What do you make it?~ demanded the professor, eagerly. ((I make it mootch-nay, as near as I can get to it,)) Miss Shaft replied. He turned round his phonograph, and they listened. Again the word came forth, accompanied as by the mutterings of a subsiding storm. The machine gave, with a pinched and metallic tone, something like mynch-n~f ~Mynch-nif it is!)) cried the professor, in high glee. ((What force! what music!)) And this term for ((milk)) was entered as the second word in the vocabulary of Anti-Babel. ((We next take up, by way of variation, (the ~ said he; ((the orb of day, known to every human being. Our program will con- sist at first of the things met with in the commonest daily experience. (The sun are you ready?)) A large placard with a picture of the sun was held up to view. ((Are you ready?)) re- peated Murkle to his audience in the cres- cent. ((Let her go, then; altogether, now sun!)) The resultant was pronounced to be sniz- nn-ge-ou; the Finnish awringo, the Japanese nizi-rin, and the Proven~al soleou had appa- rently entered into it, to the exclusion of most of the others. ((The moon)) was about to be called next, when a disturbance was noted on the floor. The Chinese laundryman had taken his hat, in dudgeon, and was going away. The profes- sor hurried down from his post in person to allay the trouble. ((We cannot possibly spare such an important element,)) said he. ((He is at present our only representative of the speech of uncounted millions of men, and we cannot do without him.)) ((Somebody pulled his cue,)) said Murkle. I guess it was that Bulgarian there, or the Malabar man, either one. You dont want to be too funny in these language-studies, you chaps. But he s allee litee now, are nt you, John? Dont pay any attention to em. Catchee twenty-five centee more; if goee way now, no catchee nothing, see?)) And in a mollifying way he pushed him back into the ranks. 62 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Zwoot !~ exclaimed the alleged Bulgarian, as if in offense. ((Harmony, gentlemen! None but the kind- est feelings are becoming to this scientific labor,)) appealed the professor. Then in an instant he was off at a new tangent. Address- ing the native of Malabar, ((I want you to come to the blackboard and write me a speci- men of the beautiful Malabaric character,)) said he. The man managed to kick Murkle in the shins in the confusion, and to appeal to him .sotto voce: ((What am I to do now?)) ((He says that it is not written any longer, except by theerthevulgar and unedu- cated class of people,)) suggested Murkle, quickly. ((Oh, there is some mistake about that; you cannot have understood him.)) And he conveyed the man along with him. The victim took a piece of chalk, closed his eyes desperately, and was just about to in- scribe some marks, no matter what, at ran- dom, when he was saved by the casual interpositkn of Mary Shaft. She called at- tention to the fact that time was passing, and asked if it would not be well to postpone all such matters till a later date. The profes- sor was not really averse to being brought up with a round turn in his wandering tendency, and he accepted the suggestion. The words ((moon)) and ((star)) were given in good style. Then said Murkle: ((Our delegates can give the expression (I love ) in forty-seven languages. I have drilled them myself, at our rehearsals, and I should take pride in showing how well they can do it.)) ((He s a cool hand,)) muttered Mr. Jag- stone, slapping himself on the thigh in sur- prise. The Professor gladly consented. There- upon the large chorus called 4 love)) in its various forms, the Greek rendering it as ((agapo,)) the German as ic/i liebe,~ the Frenchman as ((jaime,)) the Russian as loubliou,~ the Swede as ((jag elskar,~ the Cambodian as khuh6m sreland,~ and so on down the list. There was even the Volapiik (lofob,)) and the Japanese gave it as ewata- lcusi wa suki masu.)) The result was adjudged to be yig srubs, the numerous extra and overlapping syllables of the Japanese being ruled out as clearly be- side the purpose. Amid the reverberation of this particular expression two female figures whom we have already seen entered the hall. These were Mrs. Sandfog and Leontine Himmel. They had met at the door. The former had come to make a new demand upon her husbands purse, the latter to join her chaperon. The visitors were so startled by the noise that it is probable they did not see very dis- tinctly what was before them till they had reached the upper end of the room. Leon- tine, at least, paid no particular attention to anything till her eyes fell upon the profes- sors curious diagram on the wall. This called forth from her the remark aside to Mary: ((Ive always wondered why it would nt have been better to let them go on with their tower, if they were so simple. It could not have been quarter as high as the mod- ern (sky-scrapers,) and nobody accuses them of being too near heaven.)) The last of her remarks was drowned in a new roar giving the affirmative word ((yes,)) followed again by the negative ((no,)) and this, in short order, by the words for ((sword)) and ((spear.)) The Yawb and ~Neinh of the stout halberdier were something prodigious; and when it came to the weapons, his halberd was seen waving above the swaying throng with an unheard-of enthusiasm. In all the ((Swizz)) came in as a heavy second, and the bass notes of the Patagonian as a good third, but many or most of the others seemed al- most obliterated. ((No, no; stop!)) exclaimed the professor; ((this will not do. A greater uniformity of tone must be secured. I fear that some are led by the promptings of a patriotic pride to try and secure an unfair advantage to their own form of speech. The feeling is a credit- able one under ordinary circumstances; but here, where science secures the rights of all in the exact and natural proportion, there is no need of it, and I trust that such mis- guided attempts will cease.)) ((Let yourselves down a few pegs, boys,)) commanded Murkle, backing up this request. ((You, there, especially, Mr. Chonek, Mr. Hal- berdier Schtiirmer, and Mr. Swizz-ama-jig- saw, we re talking to you. Nobody is allowed to make any more nqise than anybody else. You want to strike an even gait, under- stand?)) Some familiar tone in the voice of this master of ceremonies caused Leontine Him- mel to prick up her ears. His back was al- ways turned to the party, in pursuance of his duties to the crescent, and he wore burnoose and fez; but her languishing dark eyes began to follow him about, and even grew jealous of his manner toward Frida and Marie. ((Water)) was distilled from Professor Sandfogs wondrous alembic as ak-oz-amtch; ((ANTI-BABEL.)) 63 ((sword)) as mtspay; ~~rose~~ as grosla; ((tooth)) as dremtko; and cows as vakuzt. 4 dont know as I should really like, in the long run, words with so many consonants in them all in a bunch. Do you not think some- thing could be done about that?)) suggested Mary Shaft, very mildly. ((Not at all, not at all,)) rejoined the pro- fessor, enraptured with his work. ((They are full of melody: ak-oz-amtch, mtspaywhat a charm! Is there not, when you come to think about it, a strange familiarity about them? Does it not seem to you as if you had always heard them?)) The colors, ordinary ar- ticles of dress, and the or- dinary animals, were next to be dealt with. Most un- expectedly the professor caught up a large placard representing the horse, a placard of the kind used by school children,and thrust it into the hands of Miss Leontine. ((Here, you hold this, if you will,)) said he. ((Every- body is at work, and you will assist us a great deal by leaving Mr. Murkle free to attend to securing good order and precision of time.)) There was, indeed, need of some one who should at- tend to the matter of order; for as the end of the hour approached, a spirit of un- rest was growing, which extended even to those del- egates who were real for- eigners and not merely im- itations. But a keener ear than before was now listening to their speech, and a keener eye observing their appearance. There were many discrepancies in dress which it would hardly require a trained ethnologist to detect. The headpiece worn by Zoroaster was very like a base-ball players mask, and his dressing- gown had never come from the land where the bulbul sings to the rose. Why should a Kal- muck Tartar include in his attire padded foot- ball trousers and an Oxford mortar-board? And while a representative of the Provenal districts would have worn a short cloak and slashed doublet a few hundred years ago, he certainly would not do it now; nor would his mandolin be apt to have a large ((Y)) upon it, usually standing for the glee-club of a well- known university. James Murkie turned about to see who it was that had been charged with a portion of his labors. His eyes met hers, and he all but dropped to the floor in his sudden confusion. But beThre Leontine, even more astonished than he, could throw down the placard, as her impulse was, to let her recognition of him be known, he gave a stentorian command for the next word, ((horse.)) ((Cheval Is Gaballo!s Gal!s ((Pferd!)) ((H~st!)) ((Aspo!)) ((Hip- pos !s sKoma!s they roared in deafening tones. And it added to her peculiar state of mind that she thought she heard, with the rest, ((Three beers!)) from the ((Swizz,)) and ((Hot, hot, hot! all hot!)) from the Patagonian. The very moment that this was over, for he was go- ing rapidly now, Professor Sandfog made her hold up a globe. She stood rais- ing it aloft in both hands, a fair young Atlas, with a look of uneasiness, alarm, and protest on her face, while the combined cry of Wereld!s Mundo!s ((Lume!)) sAleu!s ((Svet!)) and the rest, resounded about her. Then she ran to Miss Shaft, and, flushed with excitement, said: ((Mary, some of these per- sons are not what they pre- tend to be. I am sure that many of them are not for- eigners at all. The conduc- tor, that young man in Moorish dresswell, he ishe is not)) A new roar, but this time a continuous one, drowned her explanations. Counting had begun. The professor had written on the blackboard the numerals from one up to ten, and all were reciting them in unison. ((Kahi, lua, kola, ha, lima, ono, kika, walu, urni,)) went the Hawaiian maid. ((0-urn, beni, temro, jethro,s the Persians. ((Jik, y, ~arn, 5i,5 the Chinaman. sAsa, duwa, tija, dmpat,)) the Malay. But this exercise offered also an unpre- cedented opportunity for running in a far- rago of nonsense, all of which was bound up with the rest in the phonograph and in Miss ((A FAIR YOUNG ATLAS.)) (((I LOVE) IN FORTY-SEVEN LANGUAGES.)) Shafts stenographic notes. Each one who had forgotten his word might easily replace it with anything he pleased. One of the students bethought him to give the declension of an Anglo-Saxon noun. Another simply read off a list of the delegates to the Congress of Reli- gions. The alleged Guarany Indian con- jugated the present of his verb ((to be)) as follows: Tini, ereini, oini, oroini, mcmi, peini.)) And this put it in the head of one of the clerks to recite the childrens counting-out words, pure and simple, ((Een-y, meefl-y, meifl-y, mo.)) And furthermore, the Fijian, carried away by the pleasant excitement, struck a mighty blow upon his tom-tom, and the native of Java upon his jambang, while the Hungarian musician clashed his cymbals. At the same time, too, a sailor cried, as if pulling upon the yards, ((Heigh-ho, haul away! RenRo, 64 boys, Renzo!)) the students delivered their college yell, and the Pat- agonian and a little knot of comrades, hop- ping the while gaily, first on one foot, then on the other, poured out a number of ex- pressions in French art-student jargon. BIRDS AND BARDS. 65 These latter, above all, Leontine recog- nized. She would endure no more, but flew to the professor in person. ((I want to warn you; I must put you on your guard,)) she began breathlessly. ((There are some mistakes here; you are being mis- led.)) But his mind was all wrapped up in his work, and he received her iPformation in a dazed way. ((Yes; of course some few mistakes will occur,)) he rejoined patronizingly. ((That is unavoidable. In the word (bread,) for in- stance, I am aware that several may have given me their general word for (food.) Still, we may rely, I think, upon a substantial accuracy.)) She saw that further parley with him was idle, and running impulsively down the hall, confronted Murkle. He shrank into himself, and endeavored to pull the Turkish fez yet lower upon his forehead; but the fez does not lend itself well to the disguise of the human features. Mrs. Sandfog took advantage of this brief intermission to make her application to her husband for money. ((Five minutes for refreshments!)) ex- claimed Jagstone; and, to a neighbor, ((May I offer you a piece of brankak and a glass of mootch-nif?)) Mary Shaft, having at length realized who the young man was, had misgivings as to her duty toward Leontines father. But she would have had none could she have heard the fashion of Leontines interview with her former lover. The meeting had completely disillusioned her and cured her of any lingering repining over the broken engagement. ((Elliot Shorter,)) she began severely, ((how can you do such things?)) Yes; well, let s hear your opinion of it in full,)) he returned sullenly, yet affecting bravado. At the same time, however, he edged away, so that the exposure should not be heard by others; and in this she was well satisfied to follow him. I did not realize that you were the very head and front of it till I heard the French blague you picked up at Mother Mirabelles and were forever quoting to us. (0h6 la renti~re) and the restI should know that anywhere. Then I saw it was you that had filled them up with all that ridiculous non- sense, to take in the poor innocent professor.)) ((Honest, Leontine, the other fellows put in about half of it. They spent a day at one of the libraries copying the stuff out of lan- guage-books.)) ((Of course I shall at once tell the profes- sor of the trick that has been played upon him.)) ((If I were you I would nt; he wont thank you for it. He is looking for glory, for him- self and his McCorkleville University, and it won~t please him to learn he has nt got it. Better let him down easy, at any rate. I 11 resign, and we can tell him that the Dagos bosses needed their services and would nt let them come back.)) There was a trace of reason in this, and it slightly mollified her severe expression. With consummate assurance, he seized upon it as a sign that she was completely relenting. ((Now that we meet again in this lucky way,)) he proposed, ((what do you say to call- ing our engagement on again? I understand that you never really wanted to break it off; it was all your familys doing.)) The hopeless scapegrace stood revealed. Leontine thanked Heaven for it. Her expres- sion grew positively stony. ((Nobody else would have done half as well by the professor as I did. A lot of those na- tives were real. I could have run in twice as many of the make-believe kind on him if I d wanted to, could nt I?~ ((That chapter is closed,)) she said icily. The jovial part of the chorus, seeing their leader so long in conference with the pretty girl, thought it appropriate again to shout 4 love)) in forty-seven languages. And the interview was concluded under the stentorian howl of: ((Yig srubsb William Henry Bishop. BIRDS AND BARDS. SINGS in the light the lark; The nightingale in the dark: But the poet sings through dark and light His heart the echo of day and night. Henry Austin. VOL. LIV.9.

BIRDS AND BARDS. 65 These latter, above all, Leontine recog- nized. She would endure no more, but flew to the professor in person. ((I want to warn you; I must put you on your guard,)) she began breathlessly. ((There are some mistakes here; you are being mis- led.)) But his mind was all wrapped up in his work, and he received her iPformation in a dazed way. ((Yes; of course some few mistakes will occur,)) he rejoined patronizingly. ((That is unavoidable. In the word (bread,) for in- stance, I am aware that several may have given me their general word for (food.) Still, we may rely, I think, upon a substantial accuracy.)) She saw that further parley with him was idle, and running impulsively down the hall, confronted Murkle. He shrank into himself, and endeavored to pull the Turkish fez yet lower upon his forehead; but the fez does not lend itself well to the disguise of the human features. Mrs. Sandfog took advantage of this brief intermission to make her application to her husband for money. ((Five minutes for refreshments!)) ex- claimed Jagstone; and, to a neighbor, ((May I offer you a piece of brankak and a glass of mootch-nif?)) Mary Shaft, having at length realized who the young man was, had misgivings as to her duty toward Leontines father. But she would have had none could she have heard the fashion of Leontines interview with her former lover. The meeting had completely disillusioned her and cured her of any lingering repining over the broken engagement. ((Elliot Shorter,)) she began severely, ((how can you do such things?)) Yes; well, let s hear your opinion of it in full,)) he returned sullenly, yet affecting bravado. At the same time, however, he edged away, so that the exposure should not be heard by others; and in this she was well satisfied to follow him. I did not realize that you were the very head and front of it till I heard the French blague you picked up at Mother Mirabelles and were forever quoting to us. (0h6 la renti~re) and the restI should know that anywhere. Then I saw it was you that had filled them up with all that ridiculous non- sense, to take in the poor innocent professor.)) ((Honest, Leontine, the other fellows put in about half of it. They spent a day at one of the libraries copying the stuff out of lan- guage-books.)) ((Of course I shall at once tell the profes- sor of the trick that has been played upon him.)) ((If I were you I would nt; he wont thank you for it. He is looking for glory, for him- self and his McCorkleville University, and it won~t please him to learn he has nt got it. Better let him down easy, at any rate. I 11 resign, and we can tell him that the Dagos bosses needed their services and would nt let them come back.)) There was a trace of reason in this, and it slightly mollified her severe expression. With consummate assurance, he seized upon it as a sign that she was completely relenting. ((Now that we meet again in this lucky way,)) he proposed, ((what do you say to call- ing our engagement on again? I understand that you never really wanted to break it off; it was all your familys doing.)) The hopeless scapegrace stood revealed. Leontine thanked Heaven for it. Her expres- sion grew positively stony. ((Nobody else would have done half as well by the professor as I did. A lot of those na- tives were real. I could have run in twice as many of the make-believe kind on him if I d wanted to, could nt I?~ ((That chapter is closed,)) she said icily. The jovial part of the chorus, seeing their leader so long in conference with the pretty girl, thought it appropriate again to shout 4 love)) in forty-seven languages. And the interview was concluded under the stentorian howl of: ((Yig srubsb William Henry Bishop. BIRDS AND BARDS. SINGS in the light the lark; The nightingale in the dark: But the poet sings through dark and light His heart the echo of day and night. Henry Austin. VOL. LIV.9. AN OVERHAND KNOT. SCIENTIFIC KITE -FLYING. WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE BLUE HILL EXPERIMENTS. THE BEST KNOT. MOST persons, when asked for their mental picture of the wind, describe it as a hori- zontal stratum of air practically uniform in velocity. In reality neither of these charac- teristics is a part of the description of the wind. Investigations into the internal move- ments of the air currents, made by Profes- sor S. P. Langley in America and by others abroad, have shown conclusively that the wind is made up of innumerable commingling and conflicting currents, much like the mul- titude of scarcely perceptible wavelets which unite to make up a huge billow. These com- ponent currents move in various directions, vertically as well as horizontally, and with velocitie~ quite their own. The constant va- riation in velocities may be detected by any one who will watch a cup-anemometer whirl- ing in a gale of wind. A little patience will soon detect the cups at a full stop for an ap- preciable period, while the gale whistles by. Meteorological instruments have detected distinct upward and downward movements in ordinary winds, and some of those who are in- vestigating bird flight and the vast subject of a~ronautics are convinced that the soaring power of a bird is due to its instinctive recog- nition of these upward currents, and to its ability instantly to make use of them in order to secure or retain altitude. Much in the same way as billows move in one general direction, a given wind usually follows a uni- form course; but if it meets a terrestrial obstruction, it is at once retarded at some points, and a mingling of forces results. A hill obstructs the wind much as a dam re- tards water. The current in the stream is more rapid on the surface than at the point of contact with the dam. In the same way, the alemometer on a mountain-top may in- dicate a certain velocity, while the clouds above, moving in the same wind, will be ob- served to be moving much faster. Considering the eagerness with which scientists are pursuing the fleeting testi- mony of natures atmospheric vagaries, and the fact that this field of study lies directly over our heads, almost within reach, it is a matter of surprise for most readers to be told 66 that until kites were resorted to there was no adequate means for getting records of the conditions even a few hundred feet above any chosen locality, whereas at the present time records above one and a half miles are fre- quent. If we take our instruments to the mountain-peak, we find there disturbing con- ditions due to the fact that we are still on the earth. If we ascend in a balloon, we are borne along with the wind, and while facts are obtained at different heights, they are from points far apart horizontally. The cap- tive balloon has thus far afforded the only means for local use, but it is obvious that the expense of maintaining such a service is be- yond average resources, to say nothing of the element of personal danger, and the impor- tant fact that captive balloons cannot be used if there is much wind, nor ascend very high under the most favorable conditions. To be deprived of studying the air because moderate wind-velocities forbid would be to lose the privilege & f analyzing conditions which may be most desired. In order that weather predictions may be made with greater certainty, it is necessary that the atmospheric conditions above may be frequently investigated, perhaps several times a day, and the results compared. if this be done in concert at several points far apart, the results will of course be of greater value, and the coming changes over a larger territory can be far more accurately pre- dicted. So it comes about that the toy which has amused the Chinese and the Coreans through countless dynasties (for the origin is in tra- dition), and which the Japanese adopted just as they did Chinese art, has come to be a scien- tific instrument of unique value. Kite-flying is generally associated with a fair wind in anopen field in the summer; but as meteorologists use kites, a snow-storm, a freezing temperature, or a gale of thirty to forty miles an hour, does not deter the work in the least. It has again happened that amateurs have pointed the way for scientists. In the face of scientific deduc- tions from known facts, it has been demon- strated that light kites can be~ constructed

AN OVERHAND KNOT. SCIENTIFIC KITE -FLYING. WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE BLUE HILL EXPERIMENTS. THE BEST KNOT. MOST persons, when asked for their mental picture of the wind, describe it as a hori- zontal stratum of air practically uniform in velocity. In reality neither of these charac- teristics is a part of the description of the wind. Investigations into the internal move- ments of the air currents, made by Profes- sor S. P. Langley in America and by others abroad, have shown conclusively that the wind is made up of innumerable commingling and conflicting currents, much like the mul- titude of scarcely perceptible wavelets which unite to make up a huge billow. These com- ponent currents move in various directions, vertically as well as horizontally, and with velocitie~ quite their own. The constant va- riation in velocities may be detected by any one who will watch a cup-anemometer whirl- ing in a gale of wind. A little patience will soon detect the cups at a full stop for an ap- preciable period, while the gale whistles by. Meteorological instruments have detected distinct upward and downward movements in ordinary winds, and some of those who are in- vestigating bird flight and the vast subject of a~ronautics are convinced that the soaring power of a bird is due to its instinctive recog- nition of these upward currents, and to its ability instantly to make use of them in order to secure or retain altitude. Much in the same way as billows move in one general direction, a given wind usually follows a uni- form course; but if it meets a terrestrial obstruction, it is at once retarded at some points, and a mingling of forces results. A hill obstructs the wind much as a dam re- tards water. The current in the stream is more rapid on the surface than at the point of contact with the dam. In the same way, the alemometer on a mountain-top may in- dicate a certain velocity, while the clouds above, moving in the same wind, will be ob- served to be moving much faster. Considering the eagerness with which scientists are pursuing the fleeting testi- mony of natures atmospheric vagaries, and the fact that this field of study lies directly over our heads, almost within reach, it is a matter of surprise for most readers to be told 66 that until kites were resorted to there was no adequate means for getting records of the conditions even a few hundred feet above any chosen locality, whereas at the present time records above one and a half miles are fre- quent. If we take our instruments to the mountain-peak, we find there disturbing con- ditions due to the fact that we are still on the earth. If we ascend in a balloon, we are borne along with the wind, and while facts are obtained at different heights, they are from points far apart horizontally. The cap- tive balloon has thus far afforded the only means for local use, but it is obvious that the expense of maintaining such a service is be- yond average resources, to say nothing of the element of personal danger, and the impor- tant fact that captive balloons cannot be used if there is much wind, nor ascend very high under the most favorable conditions. To be deprived of studying the air because moderate wind-velocities forbid would be to lose the privilege & f analyzing conditions which may be most desired. In order that weather predictions may be made with greater certainty, it is necessary that the atmospheric conditions above may be frequently investigated, perhaps several times a day, and the results compared. if this be done in concert at several points far apart, the results will of course be of greater value, and the coming changes over a larger territory can be far more accurately pre- dicted. So it comes about that the toy which has amused the Chinese and the Coreans through countless dynasties (for the origin is in tra- dition), and which the Japanese adopted just as they did Chinese art, has come to be a scien- tific instrument of unique value. Kite-flying is generally associated with a fair wind in anopen field in the summer; but as meteorologists use kites, a snow-storm, a freezing temperature, or a gale of thirty to forty miles an hour, does not deter the work in the least. It has again happened that amateurs have pointed the way for scientists. In the face of scientific deduc- tions from known facts, it has been demon- strated that light kites can be~ constructed SCIENTIFIC KITE-FLYING. 67 that will resist the pressure of great wind- velocities and at the same time lift consider- able weights. In this practical demonstra- tion amateurs have been foremost. The best knowledge on the subject a few years ago, when kites were first taken up seriously, was so deficient as to be virtually useless. Many of the materials used in kite construction had not been tested at all, and others had never been tried under con- ditions similar to those in which the strain was to occur. No one knew the breaking-point of dif- ferent kinds of string, or what kind was on the whole best when compared weight for weight or by diameters. The manufacturers had never had occasion to make such tests. The safety of the whole apparatus in use depends upon the original strength of the string or wire used, and upon the knots in making connections. The literature of kites gave no information as to the best methods of tying a string on itself, or on a foreign object like a kite- stick. It is clear that tying two ends of a broken string cannot restore it to its former strength, since the parts in the knot cut on each other. It was essential to find the most efficient knot, and till this was done no high altitudes with kites were possible, and tan- dem flying was hazardous to the apparatus. The breaking-point of the woods commonly used, straight-grained spruce or white pine,and the force of the wind per square foot on a fiat surface at right angles to the wind, were of course well known; but these and all other facts accessible two years ago pointed to the conclusion that kites would probably never be sent up more than 3000 to 4000 feet, and that no kite could be made strong enough in proportion to its weight to fly in winds varying from ten to forty miles an hour. The absence of data much needed in order to proceed on scientific lines in de- vising kite forms was due to the fact that the kite had always been considered a toy, and but for the development of tailless kites it would doubtless still be so regarded. The moment the weigbt and resistance of the tail may be safely discarded, the kite is able to lift so much more, and self-recording in- struments may be attached; but any kite that can lift only itself is obviously useless in meteorology. Almost every man remembers kite-flying as one of the delights of his youth; but few, if any, have until very recently expe- rienced the unique sensation of flying a kite up into the clouds. It is thrilling, indeed, to watch a kite disappear in the mist, to remain there sometimes half an hour; and still more so, in fly- ing several kites on one string, to see some above and others below the cloud, perhaps facing in various directions as the wind currents in different strata vary. Very frequently, in trying for high altitudes, the largest kites used are lost to sight in the clear sky, and to avoid this the leaders are usually painted black. The motives which have actuated those who have studied kites from the amateur point of view have differed largely. Mr. Lawrence Hargrave of New South Wales, who invented the cellular or ((box)) kites, was in search of soaring-machines, and per- haps leaned toward a~ronautics. It is inter- esting to note that the Japanese prototype of the box kite is made of but one cell flown on edge, as shown above. Mr. Hargrave tried some single-celled forms flown with fiat sur- faces toward the wind. Mr. W. A. Eddy, to whose enthusiasm we owe the resurrection and adoption of the Malay kite, and who has most generously aided others, including the writer, was in search of means to lift his leading kite high into the air, and - his experiments have been to some - extent meteorological. iVIany others in this country, and a few in England, have given serious attention to kites ~~f;7 ~ on account of their interest in one of these two subjects. Nearly every- thing has been done by rule of thumb. ((Try it and see,s has been the re- echoed advice of those who were sup- A NINE-FOOT MALAY KITE WITH HEEL, AND A HARGEAVE KITE. DRAWN BY WILL H. DRAKE. A JAPANESE PROTOTYPE OF THE TWO-CELLED HARGEAVE. 68 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. posed to know. Science had recorded the fact that the pressure upon any rigid plane inclined toward the wind was greater at the top and diminished toward the bottom, because the top meets the wind first and AN AMERICAN MALAY KITE. A JAPANESE MALAY KITE. starts the flow of air downward; but no cal- culations had been made public on the ac- tion of the wind on a flexible curved surface like a Malay kite, so that the resultant of the forces was not known. During the summer of 1896 the Weather Bureau at Washington, D. C., gave special attention to kite trials, and the results have been reported in full in the ((Weather Bureau Review)) by C. F. Marvin, professor of mete- orology. To these exhaustive analyses of the forces acting upon all sorts of kites, upon the string at various points, and upon the reel at the ground, the future experimenters will refer with confidence as a guide to their ulti- mate goal, the kite of greatest efficiency, and as a measure of success at any moment. Nothing seems to have been omitted in these analyses. It appears that the rule of thumb found the most efficient kite form some time ago, and none of the elaborate variations since constructed under the wing of science have been an improvement, which science no comes forward to sub- stantiate with elaborate and indisputable formuke. The two forms in use, the Malay and the Hargrave or cel- lular, arewidelydifferent. Both are tailless, and while the lat- ter is by far the more efficient, the former, on account of its extreme lightness per unit of area, Till doubtless be used for a long time to come in tandem flights in conjunction with the cellular. The construction of the Malay is best seen in the rear view given on this page. It is found as frequently in the kite literature of Japan as any other type. The only change from the Japanese form is in shortening the dis- tance from the top to the cross-stick. Ex- cept for this improvement, the kite is iden- tical with the one which the Japanese, Chinese, and Malays have always flown. This kite owes its buoyancy to the fact that the sections below the cross-stick are so pro- portioned as to balance under wind pressure those above, provided the bridle is tied on correctly; while the planes on each side of the upright stick, containing the same total surface, must balance each other, unless the cross-stick bends unevenly, in which case the kite is driven over to the weak side and may refuse to fly. It is found that unless the lower planes are made somewhat loosely, so as to bag in the wind, the kite will not remain in equilibrium without a tail. On the other hand, there is a serious loss of buoyancy and ((lift)) if the cover is too loose. Formerly these kites were covered with strong paper; but light cloth, like nainsook, is now most frequently used, and with great advantage in durability. The loop or bridle to which the flying-string is tied is generally fastened to the kite at two points only, and this permits the planes on each side of the upright stick to move laterally with freedom; but the writer has obtained much better results with the same kite by fastening additional hangers at each end of the bow. The point on the bridle at which the flying-string is tied determines the kites angle of incidence. If the angle is too great,that is, if the point is too low on the bridle,the kite will not rise; if too small, it will dive, for if inclined too nearly paral- lel with the ground the wind does not strike the surface with sufficient force to establish equilibrium. The Malay form has been vastly improved and carried to its greatest efficiency by Mr. DRAWN BY GEORGE WRIGHT TEE OBSERVATORY AT BLUE HILL, MILTON, MASSACHUSETTS. SCIENTIFIC KITE-FLYING. 69 Fergusson and Mr. Clayton, the observers at Blue Hill Observatory, Milton, near Boston, Massachusetts, who, assisted by Mr. Sweet- land, have been giving a large portion of their time to ascensions with kites during the last two years. To them belongs the credit not only of having carried their meteorograph quite half a mile higher than any one else by means of kites, but the honor of being the first to collect a mass of data from repeated ascents above a mile. The storms of winter have been no obstacle, and the rain-clouds of summer have been compelled to submit their records. Previous to 1894 occasional attempts had been made to attain great elevations, but the limit reached was only about 1500 feet. During August, 1895, trials with Malay kites were repeatedly made at Blue Hill, and the best altitude was about 1900 feet. This at- tempt was so much more successful than any previous one that it was considered at the moment satisfactory; but calm discussion of the facts was both discouraging and inspiring. Nine Malays, made by Mr. W. A. Eddy, who was present to instruct, were used. Three were nine feet tall, three six feet, one seven feet, and two five feet. The total area of flying-surface was, therefore, about two hundred and twenty square feet. The wind increased gradually from fifteen up to thirty miles per hour, during which the paper covers of some of the kites were blown to pieces. The greatest pull on the string at any one time was one hundred and fifteen pounds, and the best angle obtained by the leading kite 31g. Considering the force of the wind and the lifting-area exposed, the result was puny; but encouragement came from the fact that this attempt disclosed the great weakness of Malay kitesnamely, flexibility. The theory had been that the bending back of the cross- stick would expose less surface to the wind, and so allow the gusts to pass by, making the kite virtually a self-regulator. This theory is correct as far as it goes, but the degree of flexibility cannot be regulated. When it is considered that the pressure of the wind blowing fifteen miles an hour is quite nine times as much as that of a wind of five miles an hour, the futility of depending on flexibil- ity alone is at once plain. In practice it was found that as the wind increased these kites lost buoyancy and were finally driven to the ground, or were rendered incapable of lifting anything whatever. The force at Blue Hill has so far improved the Malay that within a year, and from the same spot as before, three of these kites, aided by one Hargrave, have lifted the meteor- ograph, weighing three pounds, 7500 feet above the reel. The most imporf ant improve- ment was the substitution of piano-wire for cord. Wire is twice as strong as cord of the same weight, and only one sixth the diam- eter. Two thousand feet of the cord formerly used presented to the wind a surface of about sixty square feet. This made the main line FIVE HARGRAVE KITES LIFTING A BASKET CONTAINING A MAN. DRAWN DR WILL H. DRAKE. THE LATEST FORM OF CELLULAR KITE INVENTED BY MR. CLAYTON. 70 TilE CENTURY MAGAZINE. FORMS TRIED BY THE WEATHER BUREAU AT WASH INGTON. NONE OF THEM IS EFFICIENT. sag so badly that very high altitudes were im- possible. If additional kites are needed to lift the cord, they increase the pull until fre- quently the breaking-point is reached. On one occasion when the kites broke loose the in- struments were found three miles away. They travelled this distance in falling fifteen hun- dred feet. The pull of a large kite flying in a gale of forty miles an hour is from five to eight pounds per square foot of kite surface. Some of the Blue Hill kites have forty feet of sur- face, and when three are on the same main line the task of holding the ((team)) is no light one. A black kite in a driving snow- storm is a picturesque spectacle; and as it fades from sight there is something uncanny about the violent, jerky pulls on the cord, which appears to lead off into nowhere. The kites are often covered with frost when they return from the clouds in winter. Ordinar- ily a cold day would not be chosen by the amateur for kite-flying; but the scientist wants facts, and under all conditions. The ~ 49 ____________ - Blue Hill force sent up their kites on Feb- ruary 17, 1895, during the lowest tempera- ture on record for twelve years. Where warmer waves are found above, it indicates that within six or eight hours the influence of these waves will be felt below. As the kites ascend the wind-velocity increases and usually bears off to the right, showing a uni- form curve in the direction of the wind. This does not always occur, but more frequently in south and westerly winds than in others. At Blue Hill the sea breeze is from the east, and it has been found, by sending kites up until they meet another current and face about, that these sea breezes are seldom more than twelve hundred feet thick. Clouds from which rain is falling, or about to fall, are often less than one thousand feet up. The cumuli which boil up rapidly on a sum- mer day are not so easily reached. The for- mation of one of these clouds may often be seen. It resembles a puff of steam shot into the blue ether, and this puff instantly begins FORMS TRIED BY THE WEATHER BUREAU AT WASH INGTON. NO. 3 IS THE MOST EFFICIENT. SCIENTIFIC KITE-FLYING. 71 to grow and boil like its kind. Several times at Blue Hill the kites have been caught under a newly born cumulus, and carried speedily up to a great height, showing that there is a strong upward current under the cloud. These currents seem to exist under all cumuli, but are particularly noticeable under the spot where a cloud has just formed. The night offers the best conditions for kite ascensions, for the upper current flows with the steadi- ness of a mighty river. It is possible that a lantern on the leader could be seen with a night-glass; but even if the apparatus be en- tirely out of sight the elevation may be cal- culated. Professor Marvin of the Weather Bureau has published a formula by which this may be done when the length of wire out, the tension, and the inclination at the reel are known. What is wanted in a scientific kite is the maximum of lift and the minimum of drift. By ((lift)) is meant the force directed upward vertically (the vertical component), and by ((drift)) the force which tends to send the kite to leeward (horizontal component). Of the three fotces acting on the kite so as to produce lift and drift, gravity alone is con- stant. The pull on the string and the pres- sure of the wind on the kite surface, the other two forces, are variable; and as the former is the result of the latter, it is not properly a force in itself. Therefore, it fol- lows that wind pressure is the only force which differs from time to time as conditions change. The problem in kite-flying, there- fore, is so to construct the support- ing plane or planes, and so to ar- range the point of tying on the string, as to enable the kite to ad- just itself quickly to changes, how- ever violent, in the direction as well as in the force of the wind. In winds of twenty miles an hour gusts of from thirty to thirty-five miles frequently occur. On the water squalls are avoided by taking in sail; but even if a kite could be furled when aloft, it would be necessary to accomplish this at a moments notice, since gusts ap- proaching upon kites far up in the air are invisible from beloxv. The apparatus would therefore have to be automatic, and may yet be invented. It is seen that the wings of a bird when soaring bend upward slightly, forming a di- hedral angle; and until Mr. Hargrave pub- lished the proportions and drawings of his cellular kites, with which, using several tan- dem, he lifted himself about fifteen feet (and could of course have exceeded this), it was always thought that no kite could fly without a tail unless its two lateral surfaces were made so as to form such an angle, or to be capable of making one when met by the wind. This is true of single-plane kites, but multiplane forms introduce new possibilities. Any kite becomes efficient in proportion as flexibility in the surface can be avoided with- out disturbing the equilibrium. The cellular construction permits bracing of parts so as to present to the wind reasonably rigid planes. The truss structure of the cells enables the inventor to use very light wood and fine wire, and the tension on the cloth covering is never on the bias, so that all stretching is uniform. Moreover, the force of the wind seems to stiffen the whole structure and to compel all the parts to work together. A still further advantage is obtained by curving the sup- porting surfaces fore and aft, so that the wind strikes a slightly convex plane, just as in the case of a birds wings. Actual tests made by tying weights on cellular kites show that those with planes curved in this way are much the better lifters, and for the same reason they fly in much lighter winds. Even the simplest cellular kites lift much more than Malays of the same area; and as the pleasure in flying kites, as well as the scien- tific profit, depends considerably on the pull and lift, they are far the best for ordinary use. At first sight it is not easy to understand why these forms fly at all, for they violate all past ideas of kites. The explanation is, however, simple. The side planes act as fins to keep the kite in the wind. The rear cell acts as a rudder, and actually lifts about one third as much as the front cell when both are of the same area. This depends, however, on the distance between the front and rear cells, which must be great enough to allow the wind to escape freely, after it has deflected from the front cell, without interfering with the current acting on the rear cell. It was found in yachting that cutting the old-fash Two FORMS USED AT THE WEATHER BUREAU AT WASHINGTON. BOTH WERE FAIRLY EFFICIENT. 72 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. therefore pull in one direc- tion. Malays cannot be so ~ joined, but are put on in loops, and are often pulling at a dis- advantage. The possible use of kites in time of war, either for photo- graphing the surrounding country at night, for signal- ing by kites illuminated by electricity, or for lifting ob- servers into the air, is at- tracting the attention of in- ventors. For photographing the cellular is by far the better, because the camera may be attached to the kite- frame instead of being hung below. It is much steadier than the Malay under any conditions, and its position may be changed through a considerable arc by hauling taut on either of the two light strings which may be tied for the purpose to the lower front corners; while the angle of incidence, or ln- clination to the horizon, may be altered very much, for a few moments at a time, by pulling on both light strings at the same time. This regulates the field of the camera fairly well. As for raising men into Nthe air, no one who has ever felt the lifting- force of a cellular kite containing twenty-five square feet, in a wind of twenty-five miles an hour, can have any doubt of it. The small model is already at hand, and it only remains to plan a kite large enough for the purpose. Naturally the details of construction would have to be entirely changed, because of the well-known law that the weight of solids varies as the cube of the dimensions, while the strength varies as the square. The observation kite shown in the illus- tration on page 74 has several new features, otie of the most important being the extended side planes which, while adding much to the lifting-power, prevent the kite from tipping sidewise, and convert it into a parachute the moment it breaks loose or is cut adrift. The observer in the basket has complete con- trol of further ascent or descent without the assistance of those on the ground; for, by pulling on the supporting guy which leads forward, the observers weight is Urought forward, and causes the kite to assume a more horizontal position. It therefore spills THI~ ((LADDER KITE)) INVENTED BY ME. OCTAVE CEANUTE. The wings are fastened to a central frame made like a pair of ((lazy-tongs)) so as to produce various transformations and changes in the position and angle of incidence of the wings. This kite flies very steadily, pulls very hard when arranged as shown in this illustration, and very little (while sustaining the same weighti when a~justed so as to resemble a step-ladder. It is the prototype of a gliding-machine recently constructed by Mr. Clianute. ioned big jib up into two or three small ones resulted in more power, because the wind was enabled to escape out of the way after it had done its work, and to permit a fresh cur- rent to impinge. The same law holds good in cellular kites, with the additional factor that equilibrium depends on it. The Weather Bureau at Washington tried a large number of different arrangements of cells, varying in number and shape; but it was found at last that the two-celled rectangular kite, such as is shown in the accompanying illustrations, was the most efficient. It is also the easiest to make and the most dura- ble. No diamond-shaped kite can be made without cutting the cloth or paper on the bias. This means that the edges will stretch and the proportions alter. A Malaywhich flew with perfect success in a heavy wind to-day may fail utterly to-morrow, unless thoroughly overhauled to remedy some imperceptible cbange in dimensions. The cellular kite, on the other hand, needs very little attention, and can be depended on to fly day after day. A tandem team of these kites may be safely counted upon to reach a higher elevation than any other combination, for the reason that they can be connected back to back and V V SCIENTIFIC KITE-FLYING. the supporting wind and sinks slowly. If the observer wishes to mount higher lie pulls his basket toward the rear cell, hereby increasing the angle of the kite and affording the wind opportunity to lift it, The step from the cellular kite to a soaring apparatus is not along one. What- ever the form of the perfect soaring- machine, whenever invented, it cannot help being a good kite also, and there- fore could be anchored in the wind as yachts are in the stream. The superim- posed planes can be tested accurately in kites, and all the important actions of the forces studied, from the ground. There will always be a large factor of errors, however, in experiments less than 400 or 500 feet from the ground, due to the irregularity of currents which have been disturbed by hills or small trees; and this should be remembered in kite experiments. It is not at all uncommon to pay out line in order to get above the region of gusts from deflected currents. DRAWN DY HENRY SANDRAM. FLYIN A MALAY KITE IN A SNOW-STORM. VOL. LIV.1O. If, therefore, a kite acts badly when 100 or 200 feet up, it may be due to the wind, and not to any fault of its own. Sometimes the whirling gusts are powerful enough, even in gentle breezes, to turn large kites completely over and instantly restore them to their equilibrium. These gusts are, of course, invisible, and their existence near the earth in moderate breezes, under which conditions men must practise soaring, and under which the testing of a~roplanes is most convenient, becomes an element of great danger in the one case and ex- asperation in the other. It is trying, in- deed, to spend several days in making a kite, and then to have a gust wreck it instantly, throwing all ones knowledge under suspicion because the real cause of the disaster cannot be known. Much remains to be done before the ideal kite is found, and in searching for it the newly interested experimenter is quite as likely to be the discoverer as any one; for the best-known dimensions of various forms are given to the world, as well as tables of resistance, and the weight per square foot of different materials, 78 74 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. OBSERVATION KITE DESIGNED BY J. B. MILLET. In this kite tlie central vertical plane acts at once as a keel and as a backbone. h~ order to make the efficiency of tlie rear a~iroplanes equal to the front ones, they are made nearly twice as large. The tendency of the kite is to assume a horizontal posi- tion, since the hridle-cord or wire TillS loose throngli a block where the flying-rope is attached. Therefore, so long as the observer in the basket can at will place his weight as nearly under the rear or front cells as he chooses, he can control the ascent or descent of the kite. For, if he allows the basket to swing forward, the kite assumes a horizontal position and sinks to the gronnd; if he pulls the basket aft, the kite must rise. The inclined planes not only add much to the lifting-power, but convert the kite into a perfect parachute in case it breaks away or is cut adrift. This has been demonstrated by experiment with heavy weights. and the best meth- ods of handling kites in various winds. Well-re- corded failures are often of more value than marked successes. It is necessary to know bytrialunderwhat wind pressure a given form will collapse, and at what point; and manyvariations in dimensions must be tried before we are sure of the best. It is clear thatthe kitewhich takes the best an- glethat is, flies nearest the zenith gives the most promise, provided it maintains its position as the wind increases. A kite which lifts ten pounds and flies at an angle of 20~ is of no use in meteorology, for it could never obtain a high ele- vation or assist other kites to do so. The angular elevation of an unweighted kite ought to be from 50~ to 60~ under the best condi- tions, and will fre- quently run up to 700 or 80~ for a short time. The relation that the weight of the kite bears to the force of the wind will indicate what may be expected of the kite without trial. If the pressure of the wind is only two or three times the weight of the kite, only a low DRAWN BY HENRY SANDRAM. SCIENTIFIC KITE-FLYING. 75 ((LADDER KITE)) INVENTED SY J, 5, MILLET, The a~ropla es are all curve fore a aft and in the ii- lustra ion are inclined at an angle of about ten degrees. In other words, the front e es are lifte so as to eateh the md better. This angle may e changed at will. The a~roplanes are placed so that each one gets the full and unbroken force of the wind. The spaces between the ai~roplanes have been calculated with reference to the wi th and thickness of the adropl nes so as to allow plenty of rooni for the wind to escape freely after it has done its work, angle is possible, For high elevations the wind must be strong enough to produce a pressure from five to seven times the weight of the kite. The highes ascent ever made with kites occurred on October 8, 1896, when the Blue Hill meteorograph was sent up to a height of 8740 feet above the hill, or 9375 feet above sea-level. Nine kites (seven Malays and two Hargraves), having a total area of nearly one hundred and seventy square feet, were used to lift the instrument and I three miles of piano-wire to which the kites were attached. About twelve hours were spent in making the ascent and descent, although between 11 A, M. and 1 p, M. the wire was wound in until the meteorograph was at a height of 600 feet, in order to remove a defective kite (a Malay), From this point the ascent was completed in less than ten hours, The rise in humidity at 2 P. M. shows when the instrument entered the cloud, and its emergence is also indicated by the fall in humidity between 3 and 4 P. M, When the kites were drawn in, the instrument again entered a cloud (about 5:30 P. M.), and for the next hour and a half the whole apparatus remained stationary. The marked fall in humidity at 7 P. M. shows clearly when the weather cleared. When the meteorograph was at its highest point the recorded tempera- ture was 20.20 F., at which time the tempera- ture at the observatory was 46.20 F. The pull on the wire varied from thirty to one hundred pounds, and for several hours, when the kites were at the highest elevation, the pull was from sixty to one hundred pounds. The windlass used was wound in by hand, and the entire work was done by Messrs. Clayton, Fergusson, and Sweetland. Not the least difficult portion of the work is winding in the wire, Two miles seem a long distance when there is a pull of fifty pounds. Then the kites have to be taken off the main line as they come in, and landed safely. This takes both strength and skill, During the ascent one observer is detailed to take the angle of the leading kite (near which the me eorograph is fastened) at regular intervals, at the same time recording in the field-book the time, the DRAWN DR WILL H, DRAKE. DRAWN DR NENRR DANDRAM. TRIPLE-CELLED KITE ARRANGED WITH DIFFERENT COLORED ELECTRIC LIGHTS IN RACE CELL, They are connected with the ground through the flying- wire, and any one of them may be illumined at will, thus ena ling si als to be exchanged at night. De~ signed by J, B, Millet, THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. number of feet out, and the number, size, and kind of kttes on the line. Whenever a kite is added to the ((team,)) the size, kind, and distance from the one ahead is carefully noted, as well as the minute when the added kite started. The total pull on the wire must be watched, and special care used to avoid electric shocks, for very frequently it is necessary to ground the wire. After the kites are 3000 feet up, sparks appear even in clear weather, and are particularly trouble- some in snow-storms. From the records of ascents the following facts appear: As a rule, the temperature of the air falls as the recording instrument as- cends. Warm and cold waves are felt in the upper air many hours earlier than at a sta- tion on the ground beneath, which gives us a basis for prediction. If a recording instru- ment is sent up before the warm wave is felt on the ground, it enters the warm wave at some point above, when the temperature suddenly rises a few degrees, and then falls slowly with farther ascent. These changes are illustrated in the diagram above by the line marked A. In this diagram the lines running vertically upward from the figures at the bottom show the temperatures, and the fig- ures at the left show the height in feet. The condition shown by the curve A is a very cbm- mon one in the atmosphere, and whenever found indicates warmer weather soon. The fall of temperature illustrated by the line C in the diagram precedes and con- tinues during cold waves. In this case the instrument records a very rapid fall of temperature as it ascends. After the cold wave passes over and a southeast storm be- gins to set in, the change of temperature with height shown by the curve B is found. In this case the temperature rises rapidly as the instrument ascends, until at a height of from 1000 to 2000 feet it becomes stationary, and then, with farther ascent of the instrument, begins to fall. But in such cases it may be warmer at the height of a mile than at the earths surface. The part of the curve where the temperature is stationary is generally found cloudy, and in some cases the cloud extends entirely to the earths surface as a dense fog. After a warm wave has set in, and in ordinary fair weather, the fall of tempera- ture during the day is in a straight line like that shown by C, but is very much slower, the average fall being 40 in a thousand feet in ordinary weather. At night the change of temperature with height resembles very much that of the curve B, being coldest in the lowest places, as in valleys or hollows, and warmest at a height of a few hundred feet above the ground. A greater difference of weather conditions is usually found at the height of a mile ver- tically above a station than is found within a horizontal distance of five hundred or one thousand miles on the earths surface. At the height of a mile in the free air there are vir- tually no daily DRAWN BY WILL 4. DRAKE METHOD OF ATTACHING METEOROGRAPH. DIAGRAM OF PLOTTED CURVES. SCIENTIFIC KITE-FLYING. 77 DRAWN BY WILL H. DRAKE. TRIPLE-PLANE CELLULAR KITE INVENTED BY C. F. LAMSON. changes of temperature. The kite ob~erva- tions indicate that the average temperature of the night is less than a degree colder than the day temperature. Virtually the only changes which occur at this height are those due to the passage of warm and cold waves. The daily changes of humidity are, however, very marked. The days are very damp, the air being frequently saturated with moisture, while the nights during fair weather are very dry, so that the air rivals in dryness that at the ground over the driest desert. This daily change of humidity is the reverse of that found at the ground, where the days are dry and the nights damp. At the height of a mile the wind-velocity averages four times as great as that 4~ound at the ground, and gales of one hundred miles an hour are not uncommon. (Clouds have been observed moving at the rate of one hundred and seventy-four miles an hour.) The air is not infrequently serenely clear, while the earth below is enveloped in clouds. The facts already collected by the obser- vations with kites at Blue Hill will serve to modify some of the opinions now expressed in text-books, and it is hoped will aid in solv- ing some of the difficulties in the way of more accurate weather forecasting. The succes- sive chiefs of the Weather Bureau have each expressed the opinion that observations in the upper air are the main reliance of more accurate weather forecasting in the future. The lifting of recording instruments to great elevations by means of kites at the Blue Hill Observatory has shown for the first time that frequent observations at altitudes ex- ceeding a mile, and probably exceeding two miles, are possible. The highest ascent was ~ but little short of two miles, and with im- proved appliances there is little doubt that ascents to this altitude will be frequent. Greater heights are entirely possible if mechanical skill becomes interested enough to work out the desiderata now formulated by science. It is no longer sufficient to make and wreck kites in order to learn what to avoid. Only those imperfections which are most prominent can be discovered in this way. Analysis of the forces acting on the kite, and of the kites movements, will lead to a development along the lines of scientific accuracy. Without such assistance the mi- nute details will elude the inventor, and we are even now at a point where no details can be ignored. A sunken yacht may serve again as a model, but a distorted or broken kite may not, unless the cause of the wreck is understood. Fragile as the best kites are, they are seldom broken by the wind alone. They should not be expected to withstand violent contact with the earth or trees, but should be built to resist wind pressure only. The air above us is as yet unconquered, although much of the mystery which sur- rounds its unseen motions has been dispelled. The resistless and merciless force of its cur- rents in violent action constantly reminds man of the utter uselessness of undertaking its entire subjection; and it is because that fact is recognized that one finds peculiar and almost vindictive pleasure in occasionally winning a victory in the combat between scientific ingenuity and the invisible forces which tantalize and defy us. J. B. Millet. / EXPERIMENTS WITH KITES. INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF THE WRITERS ASCENT FROM GOVERNORS ISLAND, NEW YORK HARBOR. is not my intention to discuss the mathe- matical principles of the kite, or to enter into an investigation of the forces acting upon it; for, however interesting it might be to the student of the subject, it would DRAWN BY G. WRIGHT. be decidedly uninter- A 12-FOOT EDDY KITE esting to the average (MODIFIED MALAY). reader. My object is simply a description of a few of the many experiments that I have undertaken in the neighborhood of New York. The invention of the kite is usually attrib- uted to the Chinese. The first man on actual record as having used the kite is Archytas (about 400 B. C.). For what purpose he em- ployed it I have been unable to ascertain, but it is not probable that he accomplished any- thing of scientific importance; and it was not until 1749, when Dr. Alexander Wilson and Mr. Thomas Melville, in Scotland, used it for taking the temperature of the upper air, that the kite showed possibilities of becoming a useful and scientific apparatus. Franklins well-known experiment of obtaining atmo- spheric electricity by means of a kite again drew attention to it. It is, however, within the last decade that the kite has gained nearly all of its importance; and this is due to its development by men who have studied it, and the forces acting upon it, in a scien- tific way. Among others may be named Mar- vin, Langley, Hargrave, and Eddy; by their labors a hitherto useless toy has become an important scientific apparatus. The limits of this article forbid even a hasty reference to the experiments con- ducted under the direction of these men, or to the wonderful results accomplished in a~3rial photography by Eddy, and in meteoro- logical observations by the Weather Bureau. My own experiments began in September, 1896, when, having become interested in the subject, I took it up principally for the amusement that it afforded, without feeling 78 at all sure that it was of any value, and with- out knowing that it was then receiving much attention. Since then I have devoted much study and labor to kites, and have experi- mented with them with a view to determin- ing their value for various purposes, two of which are the subject of this article. The first kite that I built was a five-foot kite of the Hargrave cellular type modified by Lieutenant J. K. Cree, Fifth United States Artillery. This kite, which was built ex- ceedingly light and was covered with Ma- nila wrapping-paper, was excellent in light breezes; but one day, in a moderate wind, it suddenly collapsed. In the meantime I had read all the kite literature that I could find, and had obtained descriptions of the Har- grave kite and the Eddy Malay kite, one of each of which I built; and though I have since experimented with a number of other forms, I have found none equal to these. DRAWN BY R. WRIGHT. FRAMEWORK OF TEE LARGEST CELLULAR KITE (LIEU- TENANT WISES MODIFIED HARGEAVE KITE).

EXPERIMENTS WITH KITES. INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF THE WRITERS ASCENT FROM GOVERNORS ISLAND, NEW YORK HARBOR. is not my intention to discuss the mathe- matical principles of the kite, or to enter into an investigation of the forces acting upon it; for, however interesting it might be to the student of the subject, it would DRAWN BY G. WRIGHT. be decidedly uninter- A 12-FOOT EDDY KITE esting to the average (MODIFIED MALAY). reader. My object is simply a description of a few of the many experiments that I have undertaken in the neighborhood of New York. The invention of the kite is usually attrib- uted to the Chinese. The first man on actual record as having used the kite is Archytas (about 400 B. C.). For what purpose he em- ployed it I have been unable to ascertain, but it is not probable that he accomplished any- thing of scientific importance; and it was not until 1749, when Dr. Alexander Wilson and Mr. Thomas Melville, in Scotland, used it for taking the temperature of the upper air, that the kite showed possibilities of becoming a useful and scientific apparatus. Franklins well-known experiment of obtaining atmo- spheric electricity by means of a kite again drew attention to it. It is, however, within the last decade that the kite has gained nearly all of its importance; and this is due to its development by men who have studied it, and the forces acting upon it, in a scien- tific way. Among others may be named Mar- vin, Langley, Hargrave, and Eddy; by their labors a hitherto useless toy has become an important scientific apparatus. The limits of this article forbid even a hasty reference to the experiments con- ducted under the direction of these men, or to the wonderful results accomplished in a~3rial photography by Eddy, and in meteoro- logical observations by the Weather Bureau. My own experiments began in September, 1896, when, having become interested in the subject, I took it up principally for the amusement that it afforded, without feeling 78 at all sure that it was of any value, and with- out knowing that it was then receiving much attention. Since then I have devoted much study and labor to kites, and have experi- mented with them with a view to determin- ing their value for various purposes, two of which are the subject of this article. The first kite that I built was a five-foot kite of the Hargrave cellular type modified by Lieutenant J. K. Cree, Fifth United States Artillery. This kite, which was built ex- ceedingly light and was covered with Ma- nila wrapping-paper, was excellent in light breezes; but one day, in a moderate wind, it suddenly collapsed. In the meantime I had read all the kite literature that I could find, and had obtained descriptions of the Har- grave kite and the Eddy Malay kite, one of each of which I built; and though I have since experimented with a number of other forms, I have found none equal to these. DRAWN BY R. WRIGHT. FRAMEWORK OF TEE LARGEST CELLULAR KITE (LIEU- TENANT WISES MODIFIED HARGEAVE KITE). EXPERIMENTS WITH KITES. 79 The Hargrave kite, invented by Mr. Law- rence Hargrave of New South Wales, is cellular in form, consisting of two rectan- gular boxes, with their ends open, placed a short distance apart on a central spine. This spine is formed of two longitudinal pieces, extending the length of the kite, trussed to- gether so as to form a stiff vertical frame. Hinged diagonal struts are so arranged that they may be braced out, thus holding in place the short rods that form the corners of the cell, or may be folded in, thus allowing the kite to be collapsed into a package of the size of the length of the kite by its depth. This kite is wonderful for its lifting-power and its stability. The Eddy kite, invented by Mr. W. A. Eddy of New York, is more simple in its construc- tion. Its frame consists of a vertical midrib, and a cross-piece of equal length with, or even a little longer than, the upright. The cross- piece, which is bent into a bow the depth of which is about ten per cent. of its length, crosses the upright at a distance of eigh- teen per cent. of the length of the up- right from its top. The edges are tightly stretched with wire. The covering is cut slightly wider than the frame at the top, and the DRAWN BY G. WRiGH INTERNATIONAL SIGNAL~CODE. 80 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. fullness is gathered in a box-plait in the mid- dle. Mr. Eddy has had for his object the de- velopment of a kite that would fly at a high angle, and that would require only a low wind- velocity to raise it, and for these purposes the Eddy kite is unexcelled. It lacks the lift- ing-power of the cellular kite, and I have therefore used it principally when the wind was not strong enough to sustain the cellular kite, but when by a tandem of large Eddy kites I could obtain sufficient lifting-power. For a while my Hargrave kite flew well, but one day, in a high wind, it suffered the fate of my first kite. I was too well pleased with this form to abandon it, so I decided to build one that would not collapse. Retaining the llargrave proportions, which, after ex- periments with others, proved to be the best, DRAWN BY G. WRIGHT. A CHEMICAL-LI HT SIGNAL. I modified simply the structure. It will be remembered that in the Hargrave kite the corners of the cells were short rods. The result was that, even when the fore and aft cells were connected by wires, there was al- ways some independent movement of the cellsa twisting of the central trusswhich greatly impaired the strength and efficiency of the kite. Again, there being no connec- tion between the ends of the struts, a sudden strainwas liable to break them.1 To overcome these weaknesses, portability had to be sac- rificed to some extent. The trusses were made complete by ties, the corner pieces were extended the entire length of the kite, and the whole structure was strongly braced with wire. To prevent fluttering of the sails, leeches were formed by sewing in their edges a strong cord boiled in paraffin. This construc- tion slightly increased the weight of the kite, but not enough to offset the advantages of increased strength and rigidity. In smaller kites the struts were replaced by diagonal ties of wire. The first kite built of this form was 5 feet 7 inches high, covered with cambric, and had a lifting-surface of 34.8 square feet. At 9 I. M. on the day that it was completed it was sent aloft in a twenty- mile breeze, bearing a two- pound stable-lantern, the weight of which had appa- rently no effect upon the action of the kite. It was evident that if lanterns of different colors were sent up, so arranged that their relative positions could be changed,the army signal-code could be used. Accordingly a very simple apparatus was devised. A bamboo rod five feet long was hung in a horizontal position below the kite. From the middle of this rod, and about ten feet below it, was suspended a white railroad-lantern. 1 In Mr. Hargraves more re- cent construction this fault has heen overcome. EXPERIMENTS WITH KITES. 81 At each end of the rod was a pulley, and over these passed an endless cord which hung to the ground. To each side of this cord, twenty feet below the rod, was attached a lantern, one red, the other green. This appara- tus was then sent aloft in a twelve-mile breeze by a tandem of two cellular kites. When it had reached an altitude of about five hundred feet, a man on the ground beneath the kites, grasp- ing the halyard, could make the following combinations, reading from top to bottom: (1) white, red, green; (2) red, white, green; (3) white, green, red; (4) green, white, red. These were suffi- cient to enable us to use the regular signal-code, and a mes- sage was sent and read. On the following day the same experi- mentwas repeated, using signal- flags instead of lanterns. It was, of course, a simple matter to use a code of set signals, such as the interna- tional code; for in that case the only apparatus necessary was a pulley, over which passed a hal- yard. The flags, being tied to the halyard in their proper order, were quickly run up to the pulley; and while they were aloft the next set was tied to the other side of the halyard, and rose as the first set was lowered. This method made it possible to use powerful chemi- cal lights instead of lanterns. A long bamboo rod with holes in it being lashed to the halyard, sticks of combustible substances that burned with greatbrilliancy and gave different-colored lights were stuck in the holes in the proper order. The fuses being lighted, the rod was run up to the pulley, where the lights burned for five minutes with sufficient brilliancy to be seen at a distance of about fifteen miles. While these devices for night signaling were successfully operated, yet there are cer- tain objections to them. A better device by far would be a powerful incandescent electric light of about fifty-candle power. Such a light could be seen for about twelve miles. The cur- VOL. LIV.11. rent could be sent over the small wire cable with which the kite is flown, the core and sur- face of which should be separated by insula- tion, the current going up the inside of the cable and down the outside. A key similar to the telegraph-key would enable the operator to flash his messages as with a heliograph, arid all heavy apparatus and cumbersome trailing DISPLAYING THE AMERICAN FLAG. lines would be avoided. A sample which I have of such a cable fulfils all the require- ments of strength and lightness, and I hope some day in the near future to operate suc- cessfully an electric light on a kite. One of the most powerful tandems of Eddy kites that I have ever flown was composed of eleven kites varying in size from 5~ feet to 12 feet high, and aggregating 329 square feet of surface. On this tandem a United States flag measuring 20 feet by 86 feet was raised. The top of the staff was tied to the main cord below the sixth kite, and a back guy to the foot of the staff held it in a ver- tical position. The flag was brailed to the staff by a cord, the end of which was retained as the flag rose. When at an altitude of five hundred feet a quick pull withdrew the cord from the flag, the cord fell to the ground, and the stars and stripes burst forth and stood spread in the breeze as though alone in the sky. Having been successful in sending aloft such considerable weights, I determined to try to raise even greater ones, and, if possi- ble, to lift a man by kites. Before this was done it was necessary to determine what was the best form of tandem and to what point the weight could be most advantageously at- tached. The wonderful lifting-power of the cellular kites made it evident that they should be used, and the rectangular cell was unquestionably the best form. Accordingly, four small kites of this form were carefully built for the experiments. I now had a most valuable assistant in Corporal Lewis, and after a number of experiments we decided that a tandem of cellular kites, each tied to the back of the one below it and rather close together, gave the best results; for though a single kite of the same area of lifting-sur- face apparently had a slightly greater lifting- power, yet the tandem gave greater stability. To determine the proper position for the 54 0 ~i ~s~s ~ H ft. in. It. in. ft. in. inches. inches snche~ 110 111 16 ~xl 3x l lx 264 210 lxi 3x3 1x2 132 15 IxI ix 3 26 4 210 lxi 3x lxi 365 310 ~ 11x11 ~ 19 26 111 ~ 5x ~ ix 7 10 8 +x+ 8x ~ X16 10 1 8 1 1 lx~ 4x ~ lb~ 16 2611 13 lx~ 4x ~ 16x16 29111 12 lx~ 4x ~ 16x16 4 lbs. sz. 4 16 8 48 17 30 8 8 12 lol 12 Covering. 5$ Is t sq. ft. 34.8 Cambric. 90 Muslin. 22.6 Cambric. 90 Muslin. 160 Muslin. 40 Cambric. - 5 Silk. 10 Silk. 8.5 Silk. 9 Silk. SOWN By 5. WRIGHT. LAUNCHING A LARGE KITE. Kite. A B C D E ,2F G II I J 0 H ft. in. 57 9 46 9 12 6 2 34 29 37 S H ft. in. 4 10 9 46 9 12 6 2 34 29 37 to ft. iii. 4 10 9 46 9 12 6 2 34 26 37 82 EXPERIMENTS WITH KITES. 83 attachment of the weight was by no means an easy task, for the uncertain action of the wind rendered it almost speculative. We finally concluded, however, that the best place to attach the weight was to the main line, close up against the lower kite. An excellent carpenter was put to work, and I soon had, besides twenty-two Eddy kites and a number of kites of various forms, the cellu- lar kites, some completed and others well under way, given in the table on page 82. When B was completed it was taken out for trial; and though it flew well, there was great difficulty in launching and landing it. This difficulty was overcome by tying to its back a smaller kite; but no windlass that I had was strong enough to withstand the pull of this powerful kite. The post quartermaster kindly lent me a massive iron derrick wind- lass with a diminishing gear, and with this one man could easily handle the kite. We now began experiments for lifting a man. A dummy weighing thirty pounds was made, and being seated in a rope chair, was sent aloft beneath a tandem composed of B and C, retained by a -Ai-inch Manila rope. The wind was blowing seventeen miles an hour, and the two kites, aggregating 112 square feet of lifting-surface, had little difficulty in rising with their burden. Indeed, the angle of flight was not much diminished, being nearly 400. Had the dummy been a live man, he would surely have died of seasick- ness, for the loose-jointed way in which he performed as the kites first rose, at times ((THIS EXCURSION IS POSTPONED.)) 84 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. swinging entirely over the main rope, was almost appal- ling even to those who knew him to be simply an old uni- form stuffed. This ai3ronaut rose to an altitude of five hundred feet, and was then wound in and landed safely. Having demonstratedthat if a man was to go up on the kites, they should first be allowed to rise far enough to become steady, this martyr, like Columbus, was cast into a cellar, and has never made another voyage. Experimentingwith large kites is not with- out its humorous phases, and a day or two after the experiment with the dummy an in- cident occurred which, though ridiculous, well nigh resulted seriously. The same kites that bore the dummy aloft had been sent up about two hundred feet, when the two men who were assisting me went for another kite, leaving me alone at the windlass. Noticing that the rope was in danger of being cut by the cogs, I put on the brake, and pass- ing around to the front, bore down on the rope, which did not appear to be under great strain. In order to readjust the rope on the drum it was ne- cessary to relieve the / tension. Near the windlass a piece of rope had been spliced to the main line as a leader for the cord of another kite. This I wrapped around my waist and tied with a bow; then, drawing my knife, I cut the main line from the windlass. ~ I was not long in discovering my mis- ~ take, for as the rope parted the knife flew from my hand, I was jerked over on myback, and started for a sleigh-ride across the grass at a rapid pace. In my efforts to untie the bow, I pulled the wrong end and made a hard knot. Finally I managed to get to my feet; but this was little better, and in spite of my efforts I was rapidly ap proaching the sea-wall. Where it would all have ended I am unable to say; but I am inclined to believe that I should have needed no ferry ticket to Staten Island had not a friendly lamp-post happened to be directly in the line of travel. I approached it with outstretched arms, clasp- ed it in a fond embrace, and there I hung until assistance arrived. With great difficulty three men led back this run- away team and harnessed it again to the windlass. Since then I have not been ((so at- tached)) to large kites. Having success- fully lifted the dummy, my next attempt was to lift a man. I had now two nine-foot kites, B and D. On an afternoon when the ane- mometer show- ed a wind-velocity of twenty-two miles an hour, B, D, and C, ag- gregating a lifting- surface of 202 square feet, which a hasty calculation showed to be sufficient, were taken out. The wind- lass having been peg- ged to the ground, ~300 feet of -is-inch Manila rope, capable of bear- ing a strain of 1250 pounds, was run out. THE FIRST KITE ASCENT. EXPERIMENT8 WITH KITE8. 85 and stretched to leeward, and to it D was made damaged kites were the price paid for their fast. Sixty feet of -is-inch rope, capable of detection. bearing a strain of 750 pounds, was tied to For the next two months I was engaged in the back of D and stretched in prolongation experiments of another kind, which are not of the other rope, and to its end B was made within the limits of this article; and it was fast. A man was stationed by each kite to not until E, probably the largest kite of this hold it fiat upon the ground. A pulley was type ever built, was completed that I again lashed to the main line close up to D, and attempted an ascent. In the meantime the over it passed a long rope to one end of broken kites had been repaired, and strong which a boatswains chair was attached, my ash spines had been substituted in the idea being to allow the kites to rise unham- large kites. On January 22, at 4 P. M., the pered at first, and when they became steady anemometer registered a wind-velocity of to hoist myself to them, then to cleat the fifteen miles an hour, which was more than halyard to the chair and allow the kites to sufficient to lift a man with the kites now rise. C, having been launched, was tied to at my disposal. All my experiments had the back of B. Taking my seat in the chair, shown that the best tandem for lifting I gave the signal. The man at B raised its weight was one in which the kites were tied front edge, and it bounded into the air, fol- one to another; but as I had more power lowed by D, and the halyard spun over the than I needed, I decided to send up two tan- pulley. Anticipating a jerk on the main line, dems, and to unite them, since this greatly I had stationed six men to hold it in front facilitated their management. The windlass, of the windlass in order to lessen the jar wound with 500 feet of i-inch rope, was upon the kites. I had underestimated, how- placed in position and lashed to a tree. C was ever, the tremendous power of the tandem; launched and tied to the back of B, and the for as it rose the men were dragged forward, two ki es were allowed to rise to the end of and the rope tightened upon the windlass 150 feet of -i~-inch rope, which was then with a jerk that tore the whole central truss made fast to a tree. One hundred feet of the from the lower kite. The two upper kites, large rope was now run from the windlass steadied by the weight of the helpless lower and made fast to B, to the back of which F, one, floated away. As they passed over the having been launched, was tied. Six men fort they were caught by some soldiers, and took hold of the rope fifty feet from B, the the tandem was saved, though the kites were man stationed by the kite raised its front broken against the neighboring walls in edge, and it rose gracefully from the ground. lowering them. So ended this experiment, The strain was given gradually to the wind- and the work of weeks had been torn to lass, and then the first tandem was brought pieces in a few moments. up and tied to the main line. At the point An experiment is a failure when noth- of junction the same apparatus used in the ing is accomplished by it; therefore this one last experiment was made fast, and the kites was not a failure, for by it were detected were allowed to rise until the pulley was errors to be avoided in the future, and the about thirty feet from the ground, when, DRAWN BY 0. WRIGHT. A RUNAWAY. 86 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. taking my seat in the chair, I was hoisted to the pulley. The line sagged badly, so that I was at a height of only about twenty feet. In a few minutes the breeze died out considerably, and I was lowered to the ground, where I waited for the wind to freshen. After a short wait the wind rose to seven- teen miles an hour, and when I was hoisted to the pulley there was not a great sag in the line. Grasping the halyard, I made it fast to the chair, and gave the signal to the men at the windlass. As the rope ran out the kites bore me up until I was as high as the neighboring houses, when I signaled to stop the windlass. A measurement of the trailing rope showed a height of forty-two feet from the ground to the chair. The sen- sation was not at all unpleasanta gentle swaying and lifting not unlike the motion of a swing. I was tempted to go higher, for there would have been no difficulty; but I was not provided with a parachute, and I did not wish to run any unnecessary risk. After remaining aloft a short while and ob- serving the action of the kites, I signaled to wind in, and when near the ground I was lowered by the pulley, with the satisfaction of knowing that this experiment at least had been a success, and that it was the first kite ascension in the United States. In this ascent the lifting-area was: sq. ft. C 22.6 F 40.0 B 90.0 E 160.0 Total 312.6 The weight lifted: lbs. Four kites 59 Ropes 20 Chair and man 150 Total 229 The tension on the cord varied from 300 to 500 pounds. The angle from the windlass to the seat was 320. I am not altogether satisfied with the ex- periment, and I now see how many improve- ments may be made; but as a result of it I believe a kite can be built that will safely carry a man. It is nonsense to suppose that the kite can ever replace the captive balloon, for in its very nature it is dependent upon the wind. On the other hand, a kite of the proper form, with a frame of steel tubesfor these offer great advantages of strength and light- nessand covered with strong cloth, can be safely used in a wind that would render an ascent by a captive balloon most hazar- dous, if not impossible. Such a kite can be made portable, its cost is relatively small, the expense of an ascent is nothing, and I think it highly probable that it might be a valuable accessory to the balloon service. Again, there are instances where the bal- loon cannot be used on account of its size, such, for instance, as on a small war-ship. A tandem of ten folding cellular kites, each of about thirty square feet lifting-surface, could be stored in a small space, and could be sent up with a man, even in a calm, by the wind pressure due to the speed of the ship, afford- ing the man an opportunity of observing everything within the range of a telescope. To signaling with kites the same objection holds truethe wind is too uncertain to be relied upon. But occasions might arise when large flags or bright lights high in the air would prove valuable. On the whole, the kite, though not a new invention, is new in its development. It has proved itself most efficient for some purposes, and doubtless the scientific study which it is now receiving will soon render this old toy an apparatus useful for many purposes of peace and of war. Hugh D. Wise, U.S.A. PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES. INCLUDING ACCOUNTS OF THE FIRST PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES AND OF THE FIRST TELEPHONING AND TELEGRAPHING THROUGH A LINE HELD BY KITES. ON May 30, 1895, at Bayonne, New Jersey, I obtained my first photograph by means of a camera suspended from a kite-line. This was undoubtedly the first a~rial kite photo- graph of any kind taken in the Western Hemi- sphere. My instantaneous camera worked too readily, however, making the first exposure too near the ground, although I sent the camera up several hundred feet, supposing the exposure had not been made. I first used a dropping lead weight with a fall of about six inches to operate the shutter, the detach-

86 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. taking my seat in the chair, I was hoisted to the pulley. The line sagged badly, so that I was at a height of only about twenty feet. In a few minutes the breeze died out considerably, and I was lowered to the ground, where I waited for the wind to freshen. After a short wait the wind rose to seven- teen miles an hour, and when I was hoisted to the pulley there was not a great sag in the line. Grasping the halyard, I made it fast to the chair, and gave the signal to the men at the windlass. As the rope ran out the kites bore me up until I was as high as the neighboring houses, when I signaled to stop the windlass. A measurement of the trailing rope showed a height of forty-two feet from the ground to the chair. The sen- sation was not at all unpleasanta gentle swaying and lifting not unlike the motion of a swing. I was tempted to go higher, for there would have been no difficulty; but I was not provided with a parachute, and I did not wish to run any unnecessary risk. After remaining aloft a short while and ob- serving the action of the kites, I signaled to wind in, and when near the ground I was lowered by the pulley, with the satisfaction of knowing that this experiment at least had been a success, and that it was the first kite ascension in the United States. In this ascent the lifting-area was: sq. ft. C 22.6 F 40.0 B 90.0 E 160.0 Total 312.6 The weight lifted: lbs. Four kites 59 Ropes 20 Chair and man 150 Total 229 The tension on the cord varied from 300 to 500 pounds. The angle from the windlass to the seat was 320. I am not altogether satisfied with the ex- periment, and I now see how many improve- ments may be made; but as a result of it I believe a kite can be built that will safely carry a man. It is nonsense to suppose that the kite can ever replace the captive balloon, for in its very nature it is dependent upon the wind. On the other hand, a kite of the proper form, with a frame of steel tubesfor these offer great advantages of strength and light- nessand covered with strong cloth, can be safely used in a wind that would render an ascent by a captive balloon most hazar- dous, if not impossible. Such a kite can be made portable, its cost is relatively small, the expense of an ascent is nothing, and I think it highly probable that it might be a valuable accessory to the balloon service. Again, there are instances where the bal- loon cannot be used on account of its size, such, for instance, as on a small war-ship. A tandem of ten folding cellular kites, each of about thirty square feet lifting-surface, could be stored in a small space, and could be sent up with a man, even in a calm, by the wind pressure due to the speed of the ship, afford- ing the man an opportunity of observing everything within the range of a telescope. To signaling with kites the same objection holds truethe wind is too uncertain to be relied upon. But occasions might arise when large flags or bright lights high in the air would prove valuable. On the whole, the kite, though not a new invention, is new in its development. It has proved itself most efficient for some purposes, and doubtless the scientific study which it is now receiving will soon render this old toy an apparatus useful for many purposes of peace and of war. Hugh D. Wise, U.S.A. PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES. INCLUDING ACCOUNTS OF THE FIRST PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES AND OF THE FIRST TELEPHONING AND TELEGRAPHING THROUGH A LINE HELD BY KITES. ON May 30, 1895, at Bayonne, New Jersey, I obtained my first photograph by means of a camera suspended from a kite-line. This was undoubtedly the first a~rial kite photo- graph of any kind taken in the Western Hemi- sphere. My instantaneous camera worked too readily, however, making the first exposure too near the ground, although I sent the camera up several hundred feet, supposing the exposure had not been made. I first used a dropping lead weight with a fall of about six inches to operate the shutter, the detach- PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES. ment resulting when I pulled a special string running up from the earth; but I found that the fall of the weight detracted from the clearness of the picture by jarring the camera, and that the camera shutter would now and then be forced open, causing over- exposure and the destruction of the picture. I soon substituted an arrangement whereby the shutter could be snapped by means of a gradually increasing pull, which lessened the number of accidents and at the same time steadied the camera. My first bracing appa- ratus, or fastening to the upward-slanting kite-string, included a projecting spar which clearly indicated from below the direction in which the camera was pointing. I was forced to give this up, however, because the spar became unexpectedlypart of the photograph. I finally used a triangular kite-stick frame guyed into my main kite-line in such a man- ner that a relatively horizontal view was taken. When the camera would rise no higher I would pull the special thread-like string leading up from the earth, snapping the shutter, and at the same time dropping a metal ball, which remained hanging by a TEL GRAPHING WITH THE AID OF KITES. string six feet long. The gleam of the polished metal as the ball changed position, and its fall, could be seen at a great distance, al- though the signal-ball was onlytwo inches in diameter. I have since discontinued this signal, as I found that the time was too valuable to waste in adjusting it, the dangers of a declining wind, of a break in the main line owing to a gust, of distortion of the bracing frame, with other perils, making it imper- ative that I should send up and draw in the camera as rapidly as possible. The chief danger in mid- air kite photography is that the strong pull of forty or ~ / fifty pounds used to lift the camera may break the line. This strain may be more than tripled any moment by a gust. In such an accident the cam- era does not fall directly, but swings downward with a pen- dulum-like motion, because it remains attached either to 87 88 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. the line leading to the reel or to that leading to the kites. While I was photographing from mid-air the great sound- money parade of October ~31, 1896, with a camera suspended above Broadway, New York, the main kite cable was broken in a peculiar way. Three kites built for light winds were at a great height when they were borne down by a gust, the main kite-line becoming entangled in the high iron framework of an unfinished structure on the east side of Broadway, the kites having been sent up from the roof at the corner of Broadway and Duane street. The main cable was snapped by an attempt to drag in the entangled line, the three kites and one flag disappearing to the east- ward. Theywere never recovered. Meantime, the camera fell with a swinging motion to the top of the next building, far below the level of the fourteen-story building from which I had sent out the line of kites. I was obliged to crawl across the wire netting in an interior court before I recovered the camera and replaced it in the line. I then DIIAWN BY G. WRIGHT. EDDYS AERIAL CAMERA. PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES. 89 continued my mid-air photographing until nearly 5 P. M. The perils threatening a camera in mid-air are many, and increase rapidly with altitude. In August, 1896, a careless knot, tied by a well-meaning spectator when I was not look- ing, caused the descent of my camera into a tree-top on Boston Common. The camera and runaway kites were rescued with great difficulty, in the presence of a large crowd, in Beacon street. The films were not injured by the fall, and were afterward successfully developed. I think that glass plates would have been broken. At Bayonne my camera has been lodged in telegraph wires, dragged through tree-tops, and bumped into the ground. The most usual accident is the chance catching of the shut- ter-string in weeds, prematurely spri the shutter. nging The danger of falling from ones point of vantage is one to be borne in mind con- stantly by kite-fliers in cities. Of the six high buildings from which I have sent out my kites, all but two had parapets or walls protecting 7learly all the edges of their roofs. Two of the buildings had low boun- dary walls, but were otherwise safe. The most dangerous roof I ever encountered was in Jersey City, where I flew kites in the dark- ness, and sent out colored clear-glass lanterns above the North River, during the great naval parade on the evening of October 24, 1896. This roof was not steep, but it had no pro- tecting railing near its edge. Fortunately, the vague outlines of the chimneys gave me an indication of the outline of the roof. In two instances I have been obliged to run apro- tecting cable eight or ten feet within the roof boundary. While handling single kites in light winds I am often compelled to back to- ward the parapet while looking up at the kite to be sure that it still continues to rise. When removing the adjustable spools of cable from the reel I usually hold the kite strain of forty or fifty pounds temporarily by hand until another full spool is placed in the reel, which ordinarily I lash to a flag-pole or other projection. Should the line break, and this at times happens, I should be pre- cipitated over the inside guard-line, and not over the edge of the roof. In case the kites are sent out before an inside guard-line is in position, I usually make fast to any railing, and then pay out around a flag-pole while fac- ing the sheer descent to the street below. Then if there should be a break in the line I would fall toward the center of the roof, and not over a low parapet or cornice into mid-air. VOL. LIV.12. From long practice at Bayonne, where the kites are sent out from vacant lots, and where I have had some severe falls over stones and other obstacles, I now keep up a double watch upon the declining kites and upon the nature of the ground over which I am backing, as well as upon the positions of telegraph wires, tree-tops, roofs, and chimneys. A stumble or fall when the kites are exerting a strain of fifty pounds, with the line cut to insert the camera, may cause the escape of the line and the recession of the kites to a great dis- tance. Twice mine have escaped from Bergen Point and crossed the Kill van Kull diago- nally to Staten Island, about two miles away. When sending up my line on high build- ings I have many reserve kites; and unless the camera also escapes, I let the runaway kites go, and send up a new set of about the same weight and adapted to the same wind-velocity. They are all tailless, and need that append- age only when they are badly made. Very light winds call for kites having thin paper and thin sticks, while powerful winds call for cloth and heavy bracing at the center of the kite. The fragile light-wind kites are con- stantly being destroyed by sudden increases of wind-velocity, while the strong-wind cloth kites usually last for years. The rush of light into a camera high in the air is apt to cause over-exposure; and when a very high altitude is attained above a smoky city, the buildings photographed are not so clear as those taken when the camera is nearer the roofs. In some instances the foreground will be perfectly clear, while the distance seems to suffer from a slight waver of the camera. Sometimes the ground ap- pears to be whirling, giving only fragmen- tary glimpses of objects, while in extreme cases there is nothing but a rotary streak. Occasional map-like vertical views are desir- able, yet it is usually better to get a per- spective horizontal view, which is more interesting. The mid-air camera, even with an ordinary lens, makes buildings and scenes look not so far away as they are. In a photo- graph taken with the camera above the City Hall, New York, the heights of Brooklyn look very near. The effect is like a mirage, a distant landscape, ordinarily invisible, seem- ing to rise into the sky. Some pictures have been taken diagonally, as if the square film were purposely held in a position resembling the shape of a diamond, while others appear to be tipped slightly, and some are perfectly square and regular, as if taken by hand from a tripod. In winter the difficulty in handling heavy 90 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. strains is greatly increased. There is danger of slipping in the snow when the line is cut to insert the camera. The pull as the camera is about to start upward is always very strong, as we have seen; and should the person tem- porarily holding the line lose his footing, the whole line would escape. I have not yet sent out kites from a snow-covered roof in a great city, all my kite photographs in winter having been taken at Bayonne; but I believe that excellent and very novel photographs can be taken of the citys whitened roofs, with glimpses of snow-laden trees in the parks. In light winds, when the kites sink downward, much of the line would be on the roof and be damaged by melting snow, be- cause moisture deteriorates the twine very fast. No appreciable damage will be caused if the temperature is below the freezing- point, because the snow will then be fairly dry. In open ground the line does not be- come seriously wet unless trodden into the snow during a thaw. While photograph- ing with the camera sustained by kites on Christmas day, 1896, with deep snow on the ground, two or three kites were left on the surface of the snow during most of the day without damage. They were dis- carded as not having the right weight to fit the wind, which was deceptive in that it was strong aloft and light at the earth. I did not find this out until the topmost kite had risen to an altitude of about a thousand feet. At times when snow was falling I have had my kites in the air, but theywere generally borne down by the accumulation of snow on their upper surfaces, which gathered faster than I could shake it off by vibrating the line. In time such snow usually wets the kite-cable. During my first experiment with a kite in the rain, I soon found that even a paper- muslin kite became very heavy from the soaking that it got, and that a wind of twenty miles an hour was hardly strong enough to sustain the kite, which attained a height of 568 feet, and remained in the air about two hours. The line became so heavy with rain that the kite would not rise very high. With a very strong wind and a powerful kite flown from wire, I believe that high altitudes can be maintained for hours in the rain. During a downpour in winter the reel can be easily pinned to the earth with iron pins, except toward spring, when much ham- mering is required to force the pins into the frozen ground. A complete view of the horizon can be taken at one ascent by arranging eight or more cameras in mid-air, back to back, on a circular platform, and snapping them simul- taneously. I have completed designs for this apparatus, and I see no more difficulty in tak- ing eight photographs than in taking one, if lighter-weight cameras of aluminium are used. That part of the horizon from which the sun shines would fog the film unless the cameras facing in the general direction of the sun were provided with colored shading- glasses to exclude excess of light. By such an octagon camera arrangement a man-of- war beyond the horizon, within a distance of twenty miles, could be found. In fact a group of cameras can be prevented from twisting, and a chart on the deck would give the number of the camera containing the negative of the distant man-of-war. At a height of nine hundred feet the horizon at sea is visible forty miles away. The hull of a vessel would be seen at a much greater dis- tance than on land when photographed from aloft; because the dark landscape affords less contrast of light and shade, except in winter when snow covers the ground. Such a mid- air camera has some of the characteristics of the search-light, in that it discloses ob- jects otherwise invisible. Before the camera is sent into the air one should take into consideration the direction in which the kites are flying, the direction of the sun, the direction of the building or scene to be photographed, and the freedom from cloud shadows. The camera can be made to point anywhere. It is aimed at the object to be photographed before it is sent up, allowance being made for its probable position when in the air as related to the steepness and direction of the kite-line. It is often directed at right angles to the point toward which the kites are flying. In this way I am able to include a particular building in the view, with only a slight margin of uncer- tainty. The camera is often suspended be- hind the kite-line, and photographs it. It is difficult to place the camera above a street like Broadway, New York, because the dis- tance to the camera cannot well be judged by the eye, and there is usually no time for measuring the cable paid out. The camera often points in such a way that 1 am included in the view while pulling the camera string. Street views from high buildings ought to be taken at noon, before the declining sun has cast the surface of the street into deep shadow. The camera in the air always looks farther away than it is; and in my anxious effort to get a view of the great sound-money parade in Broadway I overshot the mark sev- eral times. PHOTOGRAPHING FROM KITES. 91 The mid-air kite camera would be useful in time of war. The gas is forced out of a captive balloon in a high wind, taking away its ascending force at a time when a kite will do the work. Kites cost far less than balloons, and it is a fact that they can be flown during nearly every rainless day in the week, and even in the rain if the wind is strong. An enemys encampment beyond high hills could readily be photographed and the negative developed in fifteen minutes. A print by electric light can be made in two hours, and by sunlight in less than five minutes, after the development of the nega- tive. In the autumn of 1895, in c& iiperation with Mr. J. Woodbridge Davis, I used my kites to float messenger buoys across the Kill van Kull. Mr. Daviss well-known live-saving kites, hav- ing been built for storm-winds of the open sea, were, as a rule, too heavy for coast use, and so he decided to use my tandem kite apparatus, because my kites, if rightly made, fly steadily in winds of from four to fifty miles an hour. The messenger buoys, both with and without keels, were towed by the kites rapidly to Staten Island, demonstrating the value of the Davis buoys for carrying messages ashore from ships. The keel-buoys floated at nearly right angles to the pull, thus maintaining the kites in the air even in light winds. On the night of December 5, 1896, at Bayonne, probably the first kite telegraph and telephone messages were sent over a mid-air wire. Dr. William H. Mitchell, the electrician of the experiment, and Mr. Henry L. Allen were associated with me in ac- complishing this difficult feat. The three kites, two seven feet and one six feet in length, were sent up at 4:30 P. M., held by a cord reel pinned to the ground with iron pins. The altitude attained was about one thousand feet. The kites were left in the air until 7 i. M., with the usual safety-lantern signal attached to the line, to notify me of the descent of any of the kites in the darkness. The thin electric wire, to the end of which a plummet lantern was fastened, was paid out through a pulley held high in the air by the kite-cable. The kites and wire were thus paid out and away until the plummet lantern carried down the wire beyond trees, tele- graph wires, and houses, enabling us to at- tach telephones at each end of the wire. The voice of Dr. Mitchell came to me over the wire, and was heard in the telephone with great clearness; and conversation was con- tinued until nearly midnight, when the kites and wire were all drawn in. No battery was used in telephoning, the weak currents from the magnets in each telephone operating the line, with the probable assistance of earth and atmospheric currents, as shown by the clearness with which sounds and distant voices were heard. The apparatus could un- doubtedly be used to drop a telephone wire over the heads of a besieging army in the darkness; but owing to differences in the direction of the wind, it would be necessary to communicate from the circumference of a circle. The changes of wind in a week would enable a party within a fort to drop a wire at a given point outside. Indeed, this could be done at once if the wind hap- pened to be in the right direction. A white disk, which would be visible only to those looking for it as it approached the earth, could be sent aloft at night in place of the plummet lantern. The wire would drop its telephone to those expecting it in the be- sieged fortress. In 1892 my first electric spark was drawn from a copper wire festooned to the kite- line and connected with a tinfoil-coated rectangular collector suspended aloft on the kite-cable. The power of the spark was greatly increased by means of a coil passed around soft iron. Archibald of England, who was the first to use steel wire for kite-line in 1884, complained of unpleasant shocks of electricity. During more than four years I have experimented almost incessantly with electricity drawn from kite-wires, and I find that the sparks cause an unpleasant sting. At Blue Hill Observatory, near Milton, Massa- chusetts, where I introduced my kites in 1894 with the courteous permission of Messrs. A. L. Rotch, H. H. Clayton, and S. P. Fergusson, owing to the dryness of the rock at the sum- mit of the hill, the observers at times grounded the electricity by connecting their kite-wire with another running down the hill. The impact of sparks from my kite-wire produces slight mechanical motion. This force, which interferes with those who use wires for kite-flying, will in time operate deli- cate appliances, enabling the mid-air photog- rapher to change his films or glass plates and operate the shutter of his camera with- out hauling it down to the earth until the end of the experiment. William A. Eddy. TENNESSEE AND ITS CENTENNIAL. C RADDOCKS mountaineers have made Tennessee famous, without giving more than a very limited idea of its people. Mr. Cables ((John March, Southerner,)) while not directed particularly to Tennessee, describes another and more general aspect with mar- velous fidelity. But Mr. Pages ((In Ole Vir- giniaB might have been written in the hearts blood of Tennesseeans, just as it was written in the hearts blood of Virginians, for it truthfully portrays the Tennesseeans ideal, toward which the early settlers strained in- vincible energies, for which the passing generation fought with incomparable gal-i lantry, and of which their successors dream and sing and make orations and write in the newspapers and magazines. To commemorate their achievements in the pursuit of this ideal during the hundred years of Statehood just completed by Tennessee, the citizens have prepared at Nashville a Centennial Exposi- tion, which will be open to the public from May till November of this year. The occasion is excellent for the study of that personal self-consciousness which belongs to a com- munity as well as to individuals, and is the essence ~f patriotism. Nature has liberally endowed Tennessee with riches and variety. It is isothermal with Spain, Italy, Greece, and Japan, yet its wind-swept plateaus have the summers of Norway, and a few of its mountain-peaks 92 reach near to the line of perpetual snow. Four times it is measured from side to side by navigable waterstwelve hundred miles in all; their countless tributaries afford ex- cellent water-power, and are well stocked with fish; while Reelfoot Lake, covering half a county, is the sportsmans paradisea midway station for all the migratory birds. Between the gaunt metamorphic crags of the Unaka Mountains on the east, and the broad alluvial plains of the Mississippi River on the west, twenty-seven geological forma- tions have been recognized, belonging to each of the seven geological ages. Their dynamic history has divided the State into three re- gions of nearly equal size and striking diver- sity, which have been further distinguished by social developments and legislative en- actment. East Tennessee is the wreckage of a vast convulsion wherein everything was mixed, from Cambrian to Carboniferous. Its surface is crossed and scored by precipitous ridges, sheltering fertile valleys and confining im- petuous streams which are eager to be in harness to the saw-mill and the ore-crusher. Middle Tennessee is a land of broad meadows and peacefully rounded hills, scoured into submissive contour by the glaciers, and of late so thoroughly subject to the arts of agriculture that it is called by its inhabi- tants a garden. More than half of it is a DRAWN BY GEORGE BLADEN FOR. THE ART BUILDING OF THE TENNESSEE CENTENNIAL EXPOSITION. A MODEL OF THE PARTHENON, ACTUAL SIZE.

TENNESSEE AND ITS CENTENNIAL. C RADDOCKS mountaineers have made Tennessee famous, without giving more than a very limited idea of its people. Mr. Cables ((John March, Southerner,)) while not directed particularly to Tennessee, describes another and more general aspect with mar- velous fidelity. But Mr. Pages ((In Ole Vir- giniaB might have been written in the hearts blood of Tennesseeans, just as it was written in the hearts blood of Virginians, for it truthfully portrays the Tennesseeans ideal, toward which the early settlers strained in- vincible energies, for which the passing generation fought with incomparable gal-i lantry, and of which their successors dream and sing and make orations and write in the newspapers and magazines. To commemorate their achievements in the pursuit of this ideal during the hundred years of Statehood just completed by Tennessee, the citizens have prepared at Nashville a Centennial Exposi- tion, which will be open to the public from May till November of this year. The occasion is excellent for the study of that personal self-consciousness which belongs to a com- munity as well as to individuals, and is the essence ~f patriotism. Nature has liberally endowed Tennessee with riches and variety. It is isothermal with Spain, Italy, Greece, and Japan, yet its wind-swept plateaus have the summers of Norway, and a few of its mountain-peaks 92 reach near to the line of perpetual snow. Four times it is measured from side to side by navigable waterstwelve hundred miles in all; their countless tributaries afford ex- cellent water-power, and are well stocked with fish; while Reelfoot Lake, covering half a county, is the sportsmans paradisea midway station for all the migratory birds. Between the gaunt metamorphic crags of the Unaka Mountains on the east, and the broad alluvial plains of the Mississippi River on the west, twenty-seven geological forma- tions have been recognized, belonging to each of the seven geological ages. Their dynamic history has divided the State into three re- gions of nearly equal size and striking diver- sity, which have been further distinguished by social developments and legislative en- actment. East Tennessee is the wreckage of a vast convulsion wherein everything was mixed, from Cambrian to Carboniferous. Its surface is crossed and scored by precipitous ridges, sheltering fertile valleys and confining im- petuous streams which are eager to be in harness to the saw-mill and the ore-crusher. Middle Tennessee is a land of broad meadows and peacefully rounded hills, scoured into submissive contour by the glaciers, and of late so thoroughly subject to the arts of agriculture that it is called by its inhabi- tants a garden. More than half of it is a DRAWN BY GEORGE BLADEN FOR. THE ART BUILDING OF THE TENNESSEE CENTENNIAL EXPOSITION. A MODEL OF THE PARTHENON, ACTUAL SIZE. TENNESSEE AND ITS CENTENNIAL. 93 low basin, greater in area than, and identical in character with, the famous blue-grass region of Kentucky. West Tennessee has the level surface of modern sedimentary deposits. For the most part, its soil is a mellow loam, work- ing kindly and washing easily; but in the Mississippi bottoms the black earth produces each year two crops of the most exhausting character, the forests are dense, the streams are sluggish, and while the cranberries are being gathered in the Unakas, here figs are ripening. Sixty per cent. of the State is forest land, the tulip-tree, misnamed the poplar, being the most abundant of the highly prized woods; oak comes next, and the Central Basin has the largest red-cedar forests in America. Excepting the tropical fruits of Florida and California, every crop grown in the United States flourishes in Tennessee. In the last Federal census the highest averages, both as regards quantity per acre and excel- lence of quality, were awarded to various sections of the State for its great staples, corn, wheat, cotton, and tobacco. Tennessee wheat sells ak a premium, and the tobacco of west Tennessee has drawn to the center of that district a permanent colony of European buyers. The light, aromatic leaves produced in the northeastern corner of the State are prized as ingredients for smoking-mixtures. But new conceptions of agricultural economy are becoming prevalent, and next to these staples, strawberries and tomatoes constitute the largest farm exports. Blue grass, native to the soil, is gradually predominating in a State where every square foot of open land is covered with grass of some kind. Watered by plentiful springs and rills, this territory, where cattle need to be housed only two months in the year, affords ideal conditions for the cultivation of live stock; and although over three millions of acres of good pasturage in the State are un- fenced and scarcely utilized, Tennessee is famous for the extent and perfection of its stock-farms. One establishment alone, for breeding race-horses, is valued at two and a half millions of dollars, its oldest stallion at a quarter of a million, and at its annual sales yearlings average two thousand dollars a head. Running, trotting, and pacing thor- oughbreds lead the industry; yet the number of registeredkine in the State is exception- ally large, and Tennessee wool took the gold medal over all competitors at the Worlds Fair, London, in 1851. Nevertheless, it appears that the chief wealth of the State lies beneath the surface. Coal, iron, marble, copper, zinc, lead, phos- phates, petroleum, cement, lithographic stone, gold in moderately paying quantities, dolomites for the manufacture of steel, barytes for paint, kaolin clay for pottery, granite, and roofing-slates, are now being mined, and the full resources of the region are still undiscovered. Twenty-two counties are comprised in the coal-fields; beneath them lie forty-two billions of tons of coal, enough to supply the State, at its present rate of con- sumption, for the next twentythousand years. The quality varies from soft bituminous to cannel and anthracite. Connected with this deposit are petroleum reservoirs which re- peated borings during the last thirty years have demonstrated to be of great capacity; their development is at present exciting lively interest. Since each division of the State contains hills and mountains of iron ore, limonite, hematite, brown and red, and even magnetite in considerable amounts,the supply is practically inexhaustible. Coal or charcoal, iron ore, and the limestone used as a reagent in the blast-furnaces, are usually found within a stones throw of one another. This so greatly lessens the cost of smelting that Tennessee pig-iron competes advanta- geously with the product of States nearer market. In east and middle Tennessee are found two hundred varieties of marble, from jet- black to Parian white. The brown marble which takes its name from the State is familiar throughout the world, owing to its superior decorative value. It is the only domestic stone admitted to the highest place of honorthe superb rotundaof the Congressional Library at Washington, in harmonious contrast with the marble im- ported from Italy and Egypt. The railroads in Tennessee are ballasted with this beauti- ful stone, and it is used in the construction of the humblest dwellings. The phosphate deposits, which have been only recently prospected, are estimated by the State geologist to be worth one hundred and twenty-three million dollars net profit. Copper ore of excellent grade is found and mined in a region of forty square miles. Six counties have prolific veins of lead and zinc. The inhabitants of this bountiful domain number close upon two million. Only eigh- teen per cent. live in the fifty-three towns and villages, of which only four contain over thirty thousand souls. Nashville, the capital, numbers, with its immediate suburbs, one hundred and fifty thousand. The proportion of negroes to whites in the State is less than 94 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. thirty per cent., and is steadily diminishing. The foreign-born population is only one and a half per cent. of the whole. Nevertheless foreign capital is a large sharer in the agricultural, live-stock, min- ing, and manufacturing industries, which, with the usual large show of aggressive en- terprise, are at the same time accomplishing much solid growth. Three thousand miles of railway are operated; the coal and coke trade employs six thousand persons; there are twenty-six iron furnaces, feeding several foundries and rolling-mills; twenty-five large quarries prepare marble for shipment; and ten smelters are supplied by the copper-, lead-, and zinc-mines. Cotton-, woolen-, and fiouring-mills thrive; leather and tobacco engage a number of large factories; and lumber, handled from the trees to agri- cultural implements and finished hard wood, supports one of the chief industries. As a lumber-market the State is prominent in America and Europe; its interests are thor- oughly organized and ably represented by a prosperous journal. Although two million dollars are annually expended upon public schools, education is one of the most fruit- ful sources of revenue: nearly one thousand private schools, including six universities, enroll a yearly population of forty-four thou- sand, largely from other States. Book-print- ing and kindred crafts are extensively prac- tised, especially as connected with religious organizations. Self-sufficiency, therefore, is frequently claimed for Tennessee. Survivors of the old South are at times fond of talking about a condition of siege in which the State, cut off from every succor of the external world, could rejoice and prosper indefinitely, pro- ducing within its own borders all of the necessities and most of the luxuries of modern civilization. It is remarkable to find how far this trait of self-sufficiencyborrowed doubtless, to a considerable degree, from their environ- mentgoes to explain the social character- istics of Tennesseeans. Obstinate faith in native endowments, a mettle and zest for any enterprise in the face of whatever odds, and a grip on destiny which never loosens this side of death or victorythese qualities have shaped the history of the State, and constitute the most brilliant virtues of its public men. The first settlers (1754) were the first Anglo-Americans to build homes south of Pennsylvania, west of the Alle- ghanies. Twice these emigrants from Vir- ginia and North Carolina were repulsed and butchered by the Indians, whom, on their third expedition, they compelled to sue for peace. During the Revolution, not only the men, including the parsons, but even the women and children, rushed to the aid of the colonies. One of the women, who at the cost of her life ministered to the Americans in hospitals and on the battle-field, was the mo- ther of General Andrew Jackson; one of the six leaders who routed the British at Kings Mountain was Colonel John Sevier, first gov- ernor of the State. Thirty years after their earliest settlement the pioneers, impatient of dependence upon North Carolina, declared themselves to constitute the State of Frank- lin; and although this government endured for only three years, the spirit of which it was an expression obtained from Congress, within the decade, territorial privileges which, on June 1, 1796, were perfected by the formal admission into the Union of the State of Ten- nessee. Religion promptly followed the trails of the pioneers, carried from settlement to settle- ment by menwho declared themselvestobethe firebrands of God. Many of them were crude woodsmen converted suddenly from despe- rados to missionaries. Under their preach- ing the virile frontiersmen were infected with a frenzy of religious excitement, which in the years 18013 became one of the most notable revivals in American history, and firmly established in Tennessee three great Protestant denominationsMethodist, Bap- tist, and Presbyterian. Even here the trait of self-reliance manifested itself: a remon- strance from certain clergymen against the ministry of uneducated persons led to the foundation, in 1810, of the Cumberland Pres- byterian Church, which ordained the de- spised preachers and cherished them to such good purpose that it is now one of the most prosperous denominations in the Southern and Western States, a leader in educational as well as religious activities. In many respects General Andrew Jackson is the central figure and chief representative of Tennessee life during the early years. He was born shortly after the first settlement of the territory; at thirteen he was a Revolu- tionary soldier, at fourteen a British prisoner, at fifteen an orphan and destitute, at nineteen a licensed lawyer, at twenty-one attorney- general of the district afterward comprised in Tennessee. His fearless and indefatigable journeys through the primeval forest which separated the sparse settlements of the pioneers, exposed to perils of ferocious beasts and hostile savages; his horse-racing, TENNESSEE AND ITS CENTENNIAL. 95 foot-racing, and cock-fights; his eager ac- quisition of the choicest farm and timber lands, were typical of his sturdy generation. Together, Jackson and his fellows drafted the State constitution; side by side they fought in national House and Senate for frugal- ity at home and inflexibility abroad; on the supreme judicial bench of the State they were the forerunners of later Tennesseeans who performed honorable service on the supreme judicial bench of the nation; they were rivals in agriculture and merchandise, or on the race-course and the dueling-ground; and per- haps Jacksons only distinction in these lines was the multiplicity of his pursuits. But in his great campaigns alsothe return from Natchez, where he won the name ((Hickory)); the four battles in which he exterminated the Creeks and broke forever the power of the red man iii North America; the rash invasion of Spanish dominions in Florida, to begin the work of repelling the British, which he glori- ously consummated at New Orleans in 1815; finally, the Seminole war, with its swift suc- cess. and grave international menaces result- ing from his peremptory disregard of habeas corpusin these campaigns, which distin- guished him as the military leader of the nation, faithful Tennesseeans under his guid- ance fought and suffered, and despised every obstacle, earning for their home the proud title of ((the Volunteer State.)) Sam Houston, governor and senator from Tennessee, the avenger of the Alamo and Goliad, the creator of Texas and the father of the red man, emu- lated General Jackson in his contempt of greater forces than his own, and was re- warded with equally marvelous victories. To complete the parallel, two other Tennes- seeans have followed President Jackson to the White House; and although Mr. Polk was of far gentler temperament, to his vigorous administration is due, from beginning to end, the Mexican war, in which Tennesseeans figured eminently; while Andrew Johnson, the intrepid war governor of Tennessee, out- Hickoried ((Old Hickory)) as President, by his domineering impatience of constitutional limitations and official dignities. It was in the nature of things that Ten- nessee should be among the last to join the Confederate States; but the first general secession convention was held in Nashville (in 1850), and Tennessee troops were the first to answer the call to arms after the attack upon Sumter. During the war one hundred and three thousand Tennesseeans fought for the Confederacy, constituting one sixth of the entire insurgent force, and exceeding the whole number under arms at the surrender. Of these Tennesseeans, two, Forrest and Stewart, were lieutenant-generals, seven were major-generals, and thirty-two were brigadier-generals. Meanwhile several gal- lant Tennessee regiments entered the Union army. Within the confines of the State one hundred and thirty-seven battles were fought, including Fort Donelson, Fort Henry, Shiloh, Stones River, Cumberland Gap, Lookout Mountain, Missionary Ridge, Knoxville, and Franklin, which were among the bloodiest and most decisive of the war. Next to Vir- ginia, no State suffered so much from the ravages of the conflict, and in next to none has the havoc been more energetically re- paired. To this the present Centennial and Inter- national Exposition bears eloquent witness. Vermont and Kentucky entered the Union in 1791, but allowed their hundredth anniver- saries to slip by without celebration; Ten- nessee has set the example for younger States, and upon a scale that will hardly be surpassed. Not only has the Worlds Fair at Chicago been fearlessly imitated, but it is safe to affirm that in certain respects it has been rivaled; at Nashville, as at Chicago, every endeavor has conspired to the one effect of harmonious beauty, and the enter- prise of the Tennesseeans has been wonder- fully assisted by the munificence of nature and the abundance of time allowed for prep- aration. Thus a second example is given of the new love for architecture in America, which finds characteristic expression on a scale of magnificence beyond the dreams of an Oriental despot, yet in structures so ephemeral that their use is overpassed in less than a year. Literally a city has been built, with sewerage, water, and electric sub- ways, with an elaborate system of public il- lumination, with graded streets and asphalt walks, with navigable waters spanned by costly bridges,one of these a reproduc- tion of the Venetian Rialto, with countless devices for comfort and refreshment, and, finally, with public buildings of every de- scription, which in extent and elegance tran- scend the permanent adornments of a mod- ern metropolis. When the affair was at first proposed, appli- cations were made to the State and national governments for aid or co6peration. Upon the failure of these attempts, and in spite of the grievous business depression which prevailed, there ensued a generous rivalry of private contributions, which thoroughly demonstrated the patriotic character of the 96 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. enterprise. The plans called for an outlay of two million dollars, which were secured by various devices, a notable measure coming from shareholders at five dollars each. The children of the State gathered enough to erect a spacious building, and purchased for it a belfry of silver chimes. All responsibil- ity for the Womans Building was assumed by the women, who earned a considerable amount by conducting a special edition of the States leading newspaper. The depart- ments of general administration were under- taken without salary by professional and business men; artists, architects, and con- tractors volunteered many services free of charge; implements and materials were given; and in many instances even the la- borers remitted a large proportion of their wages to the common fund. The effect of this was particularly noticeable in one con- tract, estimated at four hundred thousand dollars, which was completed for just one half that sum. It follows that all interests and classes are pledged to the success of the Exposition; original and eager thought has bees concentrated upon it from every point of view, and the outcome is thoroughly representative of the entire State. That some of the features are quaintly provincial is a natural consequence; but by far the most impressive fact is the univer- sality of the Exposition, based perhaps as much upon the self-complacency as upon the self-sufficiency of Tennessee. If the idea of even a national fair, which obtained previous to 1893, had been the limit of the present en- terprise, almost the whole might have been sheltered in the great Commerce Building of the Tennessee Centennial: but there have been erected fourteen buildings correspond- ing in size and beauty with the one devoted to commerce, and a score of smaller edifices have been constructed by other States, or counties, cities, churches, and private cor- porations. A separate village, to be known as ((Vanity Fair,~ comprises the same motley assortment of diversions which became fa- mous as the ((Midway Plaisance~ at Chicago. In addition, stables, a cattle-ring, and a pavil- ion, an athletic field and an amphitheater, and the quarters and parade-ground for a con- tinuous military encampment, occupy sepa- rate locations adjacent to the Exposition. In his ((Shadow of a Dream,)) Mr. Howells credits those who live remote from the great centers of artistic and literary activity with the liveliest critical faculties and the most thorough reverence for masterpieces. Art culture has long received loyal support in Tennessee, and the Centennial gives to it the place of honor, making the Parthenon the central figure about which all the other buildings are grouped. This is a studiously classical reproduction of that glory of Greek architecture. Before it stands the colossal Athene of the Acropolis; but within the cella the plan of the temple is modified to af- ford admirable hanging-space for paintings, under the supervision of a numerous com- mittee of American artists, with Mr. E. H. Blashfield at the head. Cash prizes, as well as medals of honor, will be awarded. The Centennial advertises the first general collec- tion of art pottery in one department, and the first dedication of special days to art con- ventions during the summer program. Of paramount significance is a noble struc- ture fronting the Parthenon, devoted to the first exhibition by the negro race in America, contributed by organizations created for the purpose in the principal cities of the Union. Herein are displayed the records of a cen- turys progress from barbarism to civilization, a presentation doubtless without parallel in the history of mankind. Since we like to believe that Southern womanhood has been little involved in the coming of the new woman, it is pleasant to find that Tennessee women of the old school have outstripped all the other departments of the Centennial in designing, completing, and paying for the Womans Building, which is a Greek idealization of the typical South- ern mansion, as exemplified in the Hermit- age,)) the residence of General Andrew Jack- son. The Childrens Building, set on the edge of a deer-park, contains exhibits collected by United States consuls in every part of the world. Daily exercises will be conducted by children from the schools of the State. The pride of Tennessee in its past sug- gested a History Building, which, although it came somewhat as an afterthought, is in admirable accord with the original plans, which it perfects and dignifies. It reproduces a third memorable feature of the Acropolis the Erechtheum. This temple was more intimately associated with the cultus of Athene and the fortunes of Athens than the Parthenon; but since its construction suffered more vicissitudes and its present ruin is more complete, the architects at Nashville have contented themselves with fidelity to the spirit of the original rather than strict ad- herence to archaeology. Two of the four porches have been preserved in dimensions and details; rooms have been substituted for the other two, so that the interior consists DAYS TO COME. 97 of five compartments, devoted respectively to history and antiquities, the Confederate Veterans, the Grand Army of the Republic, the Colonial Dames and the Daughters of the Revolution, and miscellanies. Between ten and eleven millions live within a nights ride of Nashville. Over eighty conventions, chiefly representative of their common concerns, but several also of national importance, will meet during the six months of the Centennial. For them and for various festal occasions an auditorium has been provided, a majestic specimen of colo- nial architecture, with a seating capacity of six thousand. It was not until the Exposition neared its completion that assurance was obtained of a Federal appropriation, of which thirty thou- sand dollars is to be expended upon a United States Building, and one hundred thousand dollars upon government exhibits. On the other hand, Congress early released from duty all foreign exhibits intended for the Centennial, and the State Department invited every city and commonwealth on the globe to participat~. These interests were further promoted by the same staff of special agents who represented the Worlds Fair abroad. Consequently the fifty thousand square feet of space allotted to foreign exhibits were occupied three months in advance of the opening, and several countries erected spe- cial buildings. The most commodious and imposing edifices are those appropriated to industries and natu- ral resourcescommerce, machinery, trans- portation, minerals and forestry, and agricul- ture. Their utilitarian character has been entirely superseded by the diligent adapta- tion of them to the purposes of architectural display. Greek models, suggested by the im- mediate presence of the Parthenon, were con- firmed by a tradition in favor of Greek archi- tecture which has always prevailed in the Southern States. Present variations from the classic are in keeping with this tradition; and since all the exteriors are white, the entire effect is eminently chaste and reposeful. Built by local artists in accordance with local tastes, this White City is essentially a home production. A generous half of its charm is due to the pure skies, the encircling hills, the luxuriant blue grass, the maples and oaks, and thousands of roses, which associate with the art work of man the bewitchments of nature, and are modestly claimed by Tennesseeans to surpass sky and water, trees and flowers, wherever else they may be found. Marks White Handly. DAYS TO COME. A LONG, grim corridor; a sullen bar ight athwart the pavement, where no fleet Pale sunshine spreads for dark her winding-sheet. A light not born of noon or placid star Glows lurid through the gloom, while from afar Beats marching of innumerable feet. Is this the place where tragic armies meet? The throb of terror that presages war? I strain to see; then softly on my sight There falls the vision: manifold they come White, listless Day chained to her brother Night; Their hands are shackled and their lips are dumb, And as they meet the air where each one dies They turn and smile at me with weary eyes. Helen Hay. VOL. LIV.13.

DAYS TO COME. 97 of five compartments, devoted respectively to history and antiquities, the Confederate Veterans, the Grand Army of the Republic, the Colonial Dames and the Daughters of the Revolution, and miscellanies. Between ten and eleven millions live within a nights ride of Nashville. Over eighty conventions, chiefly representative of their common concerns, but several also of national importance, will meet during the six months of the Centennial. For them and for various festal occasions an auditorium has been provided, a majestic specimen of colo- nial architecture, with a seating capacity of six thousand. It was not until the Exposition neared its completion that assurance was obtained of a Federal appropriation, of which thirty thou- sand dollars is to be expended upon a United States Building, and one hundred thousand dollars upon government exhibits. On the other hand, Congress early released from duty all foreign exhibits intended for the Centennial, and the State Department invited every city and commonwealth on the globe to participat~. These interests were further promoted by the same staff of special agents who represented the Worlds Fair abroad. Consequently the fifty thousand square feet of space allotted to foreign exhibits were occupied three months in advance of the opening, and several countries erected spe- cial buildings. The most commodious and imposing edifices are those appropriated to industries and natu- ral resourcescommerce, machinery, trans- portation, minerals and forestry, and agricul- ture. Their utilitarian character has been entirely superseded by the diligent adapta- tion of them to the purposes of architectural display. Greek models, suggested by the im- mediate presence of the Parthenon, were con- firmed by a tradition in favor of Greek archi- tecture which has always prevailed in the Southern States. Present variations from the classic are in keeping with this tradition; and since all the exteriors are white, the entire effect is eminently chaste and reposeful. Built by local artists in accordance with local tastes, this White City is essentially a home production. A generous half of its charm is due to the pure skies, the encircling hills, the luxuriant blue grass, the maples and oaks, and thousands of roses, which associate with the art work of man the bewitchments of nature, and are modestly claimed by Tennesseeans to surpass sky and water, trees and flowers, wherever else they may be found. Marks White Handly. DAYS TO COME. A LONG, grim corridor; a sullen bar ight athwart the pavement, where no fleet Pale sunshine spreads for dark her winding-sheet. A light not born of noon or placid star Glows lurid through the gloom, while from afar Beats marching of innumerable feet. Is this the place where tragic armies meet? The throb of terror that presages war? I strain to see; then softly on my sight There falls the vision: manifold they come White, listless Day chained to her brother Night; Their hands are shackled and their lips are dumb, And as they meet the air where each one dies They turn and smile at me with weary eyes. Helen Hay. VOL. LIV.13. CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. BY GENERAL HORACE PORTER. SIEGE OP PETERSBURG AND RAIDS ON WASHINGTON. A DISAPPOINTED BAND-MASTER. FORKS had been thrown across the neck of land upon which City Point is located. This intrenched line ran from a point on the James to a point on the Appomattox River. A small garrison had been detailed for its defense, and the commanding officer, wish- ing to do something that would afford the general-in-chief special delight, arranged to send the band over to the headquarters camp to play for him while he was dining. The garjrison commander was in blissful ignorance of the fact that to the general the appreciation of music was a lacking sense and the musician s score a sealed book. About the third evening after the band had begun its performances, the general, while sitting at the mess-table, remarked: I ye noticed that that band always begins its noise just about the time I am sitting down to dinner and want to talk.)) I offered to go nd make an effort to suppress it, and see whether it would obey an order to ((cease firing,)) and my services were promptly accepted. The men were gorgeously uniformed, and the band seemed to embrace every sort of brass instrument ever invented, from a diminutive cornet-a-pistons to a gigantic double-bass ho.rn. The performer who played the latter instrument was encaged within its ample twists, and looked like a man standing inside the coils of a whisky-still. The broad-belted band-master was puffing with all the vigor of a quack-medicine advertisement, his eyes were riveted upon the music, and it was not an easy task to attract his attention. Like a sperm-whale, he had come up to blow, and was not going to be put down till he had finished; but finally he was made to under- stand that, like the hand-organ man, he was desired to move on. With a look of disin- heritance on his countenance, he at last marched off his band to its camp. On my re- turn the general said: 4 fear that band- masters feelings have been hurt, but I did nt want him to be wasting his time upon a per- 95 son who has no ear for music.)) A staff-offi- cer remarked: ((Well, general, you were at least much more considerate than Commo- dore , who, the day he came to take com- mand of his vessel, and was seated at dinner in the cabin, heard music on deck, and im- mediately sent for the executive officer, and said to him: (Have the instruments and men of that band thrown overboard at once! ))) HUNTERS RAID. HUNTERS bold march and destruction of mili- tary stores had caused so much alarm that Lee, as has been said before, was compelled to send Breckinridges force and Earlys corps to the valley of Virginia. Hunter con- tinued to drive back the troops he encoun- tered till he reached Lynchburg. There he found that the strength of the works and the combined forces brought against him would prevent the further success of his raid. On June 18 he decided to exercise the discretion which had been left to him in such a con- tingency and retire toward his base. The re- sult of the campaign, besides compelling Lee to detach troops from his own army, was the burning of Confederate cloth-mills, gun- stock and harness factories, and foundries engaged in the manufacture of ammuni- tion, the destruction of about fifty miles of railroad, and the capture of three thou- sand muskets, twenty pieces of artillery, and a quantity of ammunition. The stringent orders given by Grant to Sigel, and by him turned over to Hunter, who had succeeded him, were prepared with a view to preventing all wanton destruction. They were in part as follows: ((Indiscriminate marauding should be avoided. Nothing should be taken not absolutely necessary for the troops, except when captured from an armed enemy. Im- pressments should be made under orders from the commanding officer and by a disbursing officer. Receipts should be given for all prop- erty taken, so that the loyal may collect pay and the property be accounted for.)) Not- withstanding these orders, there were some houses burned and damage done to individual property during this raid.

CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. BY GENERAL HORACE PORTER. SIEGE OP PETERSBURG AND RAIDS ON WASHINGTON. A DISAPPOINTED BAND-MASTER. FORKS had been thrown across the neck of land upon which City Point is located. This intrenched line ran from a point on the James to a point on the Appomattox River. A small garrison had been detailed for its defense, and the commanding officer, wish- ing to do something that would afford the general-in-chief special delight, arranged to send the band over to the headquarters camp to play for him while he was dining. The garjrison commander was in blissful ignorance of the fact that to the general the appreciation of music was a lacking sense and the musician s score a sealed book. About the third evening after the band had begun its performances, the general, while sitting at the mess-table, remarked: I ye noticed that that band always begins its noise just about the time I am sitting down to dinner and want to talk.)) I offered to go nd make an effort to suppress it, and see whether it would obey an order to ((cease firing,)) and my services were promptly accepted. The men were gorgeously uniformed, and the band seemed to embrace every sort of brass instrument ever invented, from a diminutive cornet-a-pistons to a gigantic double-bass ho.rn. The performer who played the latter instrument was encaged within its ample twists, and looked like a man standing inside the coils of a whisky-still. The broad-belted band-master was puffing with all the vigor of a quack-medicine advertisement, his eyes were riveted upon the music, and it was not an easy task to attract his attention. Like a sperm-whale, he had come up to blow, and was not going to be put down till he had finished; but finally he was made to under- stand that, like the hand-organ man, he was desired to move on. With a look of disin- heritance on his countenance, he at last marched off his band to its camp. On my re- turn the general said: 4 fear that band- masters feelings have been hurt, but I did nt want him to be wasting his time upon a per- 95 son who has no ear for music.)) A staff-offi- cer remarked: ((Well, general, you were at least much more considerate than Commo- dore , who, the day he came to take com- mand of his vessel, and was seated at dinner in the cabin, heard music on deck, and im- mediately sent for the executive officer, and said to him: (Have the instruments and men of that band thrown overboard at once! ))) HUNTERS RAID. HUNTERS bold march and destruction of mili- tary stores had caused so much alarm that Lee, as has been said before, was compelled to send Breckinridges force and Earlys corps to the valley of Virginia. Hunter con- tinued to drive back the troops he encoun- tered till he reached Lynchburg. There he found that the strength of the works and the combined forces brought against him would prevent the further success of his raid. On June 18 he decided to exercise the discretion which had been left to him in such a con- tingency and retire toward his base. The re- sult of the campaign, besides compelling Lee to detach troops from his own army, was the burning of Confederate cloth-mills, gun- stock and harness factories, and foundries engaged in the manufacture of ammuni- tion, the destruction of about fifty miles of railroad, and the capture of three thou- sand muskets, twenty pieces of artillery, and a quantity of ammunition. The stringent orders given by Grant to Sigel, and by him turned over to Hunter, who had succeeded him, were prepared with a view to preventing all wanton destruction. They were in part as follows: ((Indiscriminate marauding should be avoided. Nothing should be taken not absolutely necessary for the troops, except when captured from an armed enemy. Im- pressments should be made under orders from the commanding officer and by a disbursing officer. Receipts should be given for all prop- erty taken, so that the loyal may collect pay and the property be accounted for.)) Not- withstanding these orders, there were some houses burned and damage done to individual property during this raid. CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. 99 EARLYS RAID ON WASHINGTON. Washington. He had been planning some important offensive operations in front of HUNTER having been compelled to fall back Richmond, but he now decided to post- into West Virginia, the roads to Washington pone these and turn his chief attention to were left uncovered, and the enemy now ad- Early. vanced into Maryland. Sigels small force The Nineteenth Corps, which had been retreated precipitately across the Potomac, ordered from New Orleans by sea, and whic~h followed by the enemy. It had been impossi- was now arriving at Fort Monroe, and the ble for General Grant to obtain any reliable remainder of Wrights Sixth Corps from in news for a number of days in regard to these front of Petersburg, were instructed to movements, and it was not until the 4th of proceed at once to Washington. Instead of July that he received definite information, sympathizing with the alarming messages We did not find many leisure moments from the capital and the many rash sug- to indulge in patriotic demonstrations at gestions made from there, the general tele- headquarters on Independence day, for the graphed on July 9: Forces enough to de- directions for executing the plans for check- feat all that Early has with him should get mating the enemy in his present movement in his rear, south of him, and follow him fully occupied every one on duty. Grant up sharply, leaving him to go north, defend- telegraphed to Halleck to concentrate all ing depots, towns, etc., with small garrisons the troops about Washington, Baltimore, and the militia. If the President thinks it Cumberland, and Harpers Ferry, bring up advisable that I should go to Washington in Hunters troops, and put Early to flight. person, I can start in an hour after receiving While Grant was thinking only of punish- notice.)) The President answered, saying that ing Early, there was great consternation in he thought it would be well for the general Washington~ and the minds of the officials to come to Washington, but making it only there seemed to be occupied solely with as a suggestion. General Grant replied to measures for defending the capital. Hun- this: I think, on reflection, it would have ters troops had fallen back to Charleston, a bad effect for me to leave here, and, with West Virginia, and a drought had left so Ord at Baltimore, and Hunter and Wright little water in the Ohio River that the ascent with the forces following the enemy up, of the vessels on which his troops had em- could do no good. I have great faith that barked was greatly delayed. the enemy will never be able to get back with All eyes were, as usual, turned upon Grant much of his force.~ The general said, in con- to protect the capital and drive back the ve~sation with his staff on the 10th: ((One invading force. On July 5, seeing, as he reason why I do not wish to go to Washing- thought, another opportunity for cutting off ton to take personal direction of the move- and destroying the troops that Lee had ment against Early is that this is probably detached from his command, Grant ordered just what Lee wants me to do, in order one division of Wrights corps and some dis- that he may transfer the seat of war to mounted cavalry to Washington by steamers. Maryland, or feel assured that there will be Under subsequent orders the infantry divi- no offensive operations against Petersburg sion (Ricketts) proceeded via Baltimore to during my absence and detach some of his reinforce General Lew Wallace, at the Mon- forces and send them against Sherman. ocacy. General Grant had been very much Sherman is at a long distance from his base dissatisfied with all of Sigels movements, of supplies, and I want to be able to have and now that the situation was becoming him feel that I shall take no step that will somewhat serious, he determined to make an afford an opportunity of detaching troops effort to have him removed from his command. from here to operate against him.)) On the 7th he sent Halleck a despatch, say- General Lew Wallace, in command of what ing: 4 think it advisable to relieve him was called the Middle Department, made a gal- [Sigel] from all duty, at least until present lant stand at the Monocacy, and effected a de- troubles are over.~ Sigel was immediately lay in the enemys movements toward Wash- removed, and General Howe put in command ington; but his small force was of course of his forces until Hunters arrival. By means defeated. Early now moved directly on Wash- of the telegraphic communications which he ington, and on July11 advanced upon the outer constantly received Grant was able to time line of fortifications; but, to the surprise of pretty well the movements of the enemy, his troops, they saw the well-known banners and to make preparations for meeting him of the Sixth Corps, and found that Washing- before he could attempt the capture of ton, instead of being weakly defended, was 100 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. now guarded by veterans of the Army of the Potomac. Early discovered that he had been outmanceuvered, and on the night of the 12th began a retreat. Grant had now but one anxiety, which was to have an efficient head selected for the command of the troops that he was collecting to operate against Early. He sent a despatch to Halleck, saying: ((Give orders assigning Major-General Wright to supreme command of all troops moving out against the enemy, regardless of the rank of other commanders. He should get out- side the trenches with all the force he possi- bly can, and should push Early to the last moment, supplying himself from the coun- try.)) The next day (July 13) Wright moved forward with his command, following up Early. There had been several days of serious perplexity and annoyance at headquarters. The commanders had to be changed, and the best results possible obtained with the mate- rial at hand. Twice the wires of the telegraph line were broken, and important messages be- tween W~ishington and City Point had to be sent a great part of the way by steamboat. It was rumored at one time that Hills corps had been detached from Lees front, and there was some anxiety to know whether it had been sent to Early or to Johnston, who was opposing Sherman; but the rumor was soon found to be groundless. Grants orders now were to press the enemy in Maryland with all vigor, to make a bold campaign against him, and destroy him if possible be- fore he could return to Lee. Early, however, had gained a days start9 and although a num- ber of his wagons and animals and some prisoners had been captured, no material damage was inflicted upon him. On July 20 he reached Snickers Ferry, and the chase was abandoned. Early continued his march to Strasburg, where he arrived July 22. GRANT AS A WRITER. THE general had occupied himself continu- ally during this anxious and exciting period in giving specific instructions by wire and messengers to meet the constantly changing conditions which were taking place from day to day and from hour to hour in the theater of military operations; and no despatches were ever of greater importance than those which were sent from headquarters at this time. His powers of concentration of thought were often shown by the circumstances un- der which he wrote. Nothing that went on around him, upon the field or in his quarters, could distract his attention or interrupt him. Sometimes, when his tent was filled with officers talking and laughing at the top of their voices, he would turn to his table and write the most important communications. There would then be an immediate ((Hush!)) and abundant excuses offered by the com- pany; but he always insisted upon the con- versation going on, and after a while his officers came to understand his wishes in this respect, to learn that noise was apparently a stimulus rather than a check to his flow of ideas, and to realize that nothing short of a general attack along the whole line could divert his thoughts from the subject upon which his mind was concentrated. In writing his style was vigorous and terse, with little of ornament; its most conspicuous character- istic was perspicuity. General Meades chief of staff once said: ~There is one striking feature about Grants orders: no matter how hurriedly he may write them on the field, no one ever has the slightest doubt as to their meaning, or ever has to read them over a second time to understand them.)) The gen- eral used Anglo-Saxon words much more fre- quently than those derived from the Greek and Latin tongues. He had studied French at West Point, and picked up some know- ledge of Spanish during the Mexican war; but he could not hold a conversation in either language, and rarely employed a foreign word in any of his writings. His adjectives were few and well chosen. No document which ever came from his hands was in the least degree pretentious. He never laid claim to any knowledge he did not possess, and seemed to feel, with Addison, that ((pedantry in learning is like hypocrisy in religiona form of knowledge without the power of it.~ He rarely indulged in metaphor, but when he did employ a figure of speech it was always expressive and graphic, as when he spoke of the commander at Bermuda Hundred being ((in a bottle strongly corked,)) or referred to our armies at one time moving ((like horses in a balky team, no two ever pulling to- gether.)) His style inclined to the epigram- matic without his being aware of it. There was scarcely a document written by him from which brief sentences could not be selected fit to be set in mottos or placed upon transparencies. As examples may be mentioned: I propose to move immediately upon your works)); 4 shall take no backward steps)); the famous 4 propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer,)) and, later in his career, ((Let us have peace ~ ((The best means of securing the repeal of an obnox bus law is its vigorous enforcement)); ~I shall have no policy to enforce against the will of the people ~ ;and ((Let no guilty man escape.)) He wrote with the first pen he happened to pick up, and never stopped to consider whether it was sharp-pointed or blunt- nibbed, good or bad. He was by no means as particular in this regard as General Zachary Taylor, of whom an old army rumor said that the only signature he ever made which was entirely satisfactory to him was written with the butt-end of a ramrod dipped in tar. Gen- eral Grants desk was always in a delirious state of confusion; pigeonholes were treated with a sublime disregard, and he left his letters piled up in apparently inextricable heaps; but, strange to say, he carried in his mind such a distinct recollection of local literary geography as applied to his writing- table that he could go to it and even in the dark lay his hand upon almost any paper he wanted. His military training had educated him to treat purely official documents with respect, and these were always handed over to Colonel Bowers, the adjutant-general, to be properly filed; but as to his private let- ters, he made his coat pockets a general de- pository for his correspondence until they could hold no more, and then he discharged their contents upon his desk in a chaotic mass. The military secretaries made heroic struggles to bring about some order in this department, and generally saw that copies were kept of all letters of importance which the chief wrote. Whatever came from his pen was grammatically correct, well punctu- ated, and seldom showed an error in spell- ing. In the field he never had a diction- ary in his possession, and when in doubt about the orthography of a word, he was never known to write it first on a separate slip of paper to see how it looked. He spelled with heroic audacity, and ((chanced it~ on the correctness. While in rare instances he made a mistake in doubling the consonants where unnecessary, or in writing a single consonant where two are required, he really spelled with great accuracy. His pronuncia- tion was seldom, if ever, at fault, though in two words he had a peculiar way of pro- nouncing the letter d: he always pronounced corduroy ((corjuroy,)) and immediately ((im- mejetly.~ GRANT DEVOTES ATTENTION TO SHERMAN. WHILE planning means for the defeat of Early, General Grant was still giving con- stant attention to the movements of Sher- man. That officer had been repulsed in making his attack on Kenesaw Mountain, but by a successful flank movement had turned the enemys very strong position, and compelled him to fall back over the Chat- tahoochee River on July 4. On the 17th Sher- man crossed that river and drove the enemy into his defenses about Atlanta. It now looked as if Sherman would be forced to a siege of that place; and as he was many hun- dreds of miles from his base, and there was only a single line of railroad to supply him, it was more than ever important that no troops should be allowed to leave Virginia to be thrown against his lines. Grant was frequently in consultation with 101 SCALE OF MILES MAP OF THE PETERSBURG CAMPAIGN. 102 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Meade in regard to preventing the enemy from withdrawing troops from Petersburg. The Southern papers received through the lines gave very conflicting accounts of the operations on Shermans front, and indicated that there was a great demand for the rein- forcement of Johnston, and expressed the be- lief that there would be vigorous movements made to break Shermans communications. In a despatch to Halleck Grant said: If he [Sherman] can supply himself with ordnance and quartermasters stores, and partially with subsistence, he will find no difficulty in stay- ing until a permanent line can be opened with the south coast.)) The general directed a large quantity of the stores at Nashville to be transferred to Chattanooga. There was an- other contingency which he mentioned, and which he had to devise steps to guard against a determination on the part of the en- emy to withdraw the troops in front of Sher- man and move them quickly by rail to Peters- burg, and in the meantime march Earlys corps back to Lee and make a combined attack ujion the Army of the Potomac. This, Grant believed, would be done only in some extreme emergency, and in case the enemy felt convinced that Sherman was so far from his base of supplies that he could not move much farther into the interior. One means which the general-in-chief had in contempla- tion at this time for preventing troops from being sent from Virginia was to start Sheri- dan on a raid to cut the railroads southwest of Richmond. Important news reached headquarters on July 17 to the effect that General Joe John- ston had been relieved from duty, and Gen- eral Hood put in command of the army opposed to Sherman. General Grant said when he received this information: I know very well the chief characteristics of Hood. He is a bold, dashing soldier, and has many qualities of successful leadership, but he is an indiscreet commander, and lacks cool judgment. We may look out now for rash and ill-advised attacks on his part. I am very glad, from our standpoint, that this change has been made. Hood will prove no match for Sherman.)) He waited with some curiosity to know just what policy Hood would adopt. As was anticipated, he came out of his lines and made an attack on July 20, but was re- pulsed with great loss. He made another offensive movement on the 22d, and fought the celebrated battle of Atlanta, but was again driven back. On the 28th he made an- other bold dash against Sherman, but in this also he was completely defeated, and fell back within the defenses at Atlanta. In the battle of the 22d General McPherson was killed. When this news reached General Grant he was visibly affected, and dwelt upon it in his conversations for the next two or three days. McPherson,~ he said, ~~was one of. my earliest staff-officers, and seemed almost like one of my own family. At Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga he per- formed splendid service. I predicted from the start that he would make one of the most brilliant officers in the service. I was very reluctant to have him leave my staff, for I disliked to lose his services there, but I felt that it was only fair to him to put him in command of troops where he would be in the line of more rapid promotion. I was very glad to have him at the head of my old Army of the Tennessee. His death will be a terri- ble loss to Sherman, for I know that he will feel it as keenly as I. McPherson was beloved by everybody in the service, both by those above him and by those below him.)) GRANTS TREATMENT OF HIS GENERALS. IN the midsummer of 1864 General Grant had an increasing weight of responsibility thrown upon him every day. While he was requiring his commanders to sleep with one foot out of bed and with one eye open, lest Lee might make some unexpected movement which would require a prompt change in the gen- eral plan of operations, he had to devise new methods almost daily to check raids in differ- ent parts of the country, protect the capital, save the North from invasion, and lay vig- orous siege to Petersburg, which had been rendered as nearly impregnable by the enemy as the art of the military engineer was capa- ble of making it. He was constantly em- barrassed, too, by some of his subordinates. General W. F. Smith was engaged in quarrels with his superior officers as well as with his associates. An acrimonious personal warfare was progressing between Butler and him, and his bitter criticisms of Meade had aroused the resentment of that officer, which added a new phase to the general quarrel. Grant finally made up his mind that he would either have to relieve General Smith or several prominent commanders, and the result was that Smith was given a leave of absence, and was never recalled. General Grant felt that in the true interests of the service this had become absolutely necessary in order to re- store harmony and co~5peration. As a commander General Butler had not been General Grants choice. The general- CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. 103 in-chief, when he assumed command of the armies, found Butler in charge of the De- partment of Virginia and North Carolina, and utilized him to the best advantage possi- ble. He had always found him subordinate, prompt to obey orders, possessed of great mental activity, and clear in his conception of the instructions given him. He was a good administrative officer, though often given to severe and unusual methods in enforcing dis- cipline and in dealing with the dissatisfied element of the population living within his department; yet he did not possess the ele- ments necessary to make an efficient officer in the field. As he was inexperienced in fight- ing battles, Grant felt reluctant to give him charge of any important military movement. One embarrassment was that he was the senior officer in rank in Virginia, and if Gen- eral Grant should be called away temporarily, Butler would be in supreme command of the operations against Petersburg. The general struggled along under this embarrassment by keeping matters under his own direction when But1er~s forces were employed in actual battle, and by sending an experienced corps commander to handle the troops in the im- mediate presence of the enemy. General Meades irritability of temper, and over-sensitiveness to implied censure or criti- cism on the part of the newspapers, led him at one time to tender his resignation as com- mander of the Army of the Potomac. Gen- eral Grant talked to him very kindly on the subject, soothed his feelings, and induced him to reconsider his intention. The general- in-chief did not mention the matter publicly, and was very glad that hasty action had been prevented. If Meade had resigned at this time, Hancock would have succeeded him, and Ingalls, who had shown such signal executive ability., might possibly have been given an im- portant command. Ingalls and I expressed a desire repeatedly to serve in command of troops, as such service gave promise of more rapid promotion and was more in accordance with our tastes; but the general always in- sisted upon retaining us on his staff.1 General Meade was a most accomplished officer. He had been thoroughly educated in his profession, and had a complete knowledge of both the science and the art of war in all its branches. He was well read, possessed of a vast amount of interesting information, 1 A reference to this subject occurs in ((Around the World with General Grant,)) by the Hon. John Russell Young, who accompanied him upon his tour. The lan- guage used by General Grant in one of his interviews With Mr. Young is reported as follows: Ingalls in com had cultivated his mind as a linguist, and spoke French with fluency. When foreign officers visited the front they were invariably charmed by their interviews with the com- mander of the Army of the Potomac. He was a disciplinarian to the point of severity, was entirely subordinate to his superiors, and no one was more prompt than he to obey orders to the letter. In his intercourse with his officers the bluntness of the soldier was al- ways conspicuous, and he never took pains to smooth any ones ruffled feelings. There was an officer serving in the Army of the Potomac who had formerly been a sur- geon. One day he appeared at Meades head- quarters in a high state of indignation, and said: ft General, as I was riding over here some of the men in the adjoining camps shouted after me and called me (Old Pills,) and I would like to have it stopped.)) Meade just at that moment was not in the best pos- sible frame of mind to be approached with such a complaint. He seized hold of the eye- glasses, conspicuously large in size, which he always wore, clapped them astride of his nose with both hands, glared through them at the officer, and exclaimed: ((Well, what of that? How can I prevent it? Why, I hear that, when I rode out the other day, some of the men called me a (dd old goggle-eyed snapping-turtle,) and I cant even stop that!)) The officer had to content himself with this explosive expression of a sympathetic fellow- feeling, and to take his chances thereafter as to obnoxious epithets. In view of the want of harmony which often prevailed, the service would have suf- fered severely if an officer of a different character had been in supreme command; but Grant was so complacent in his manner, so even in temper, and so just in his method of dealing with the conflicting interests and annoying questions which arose, that what- ever his subordinates may have thought of one another, to him they were at all times well disposed and perfectly loyal. GRANTS EQUANIMITY. THROUGHOUT this memorable year, the most important as well as the most harassing of his entire military career, General Grant never in any instance failed to manifest those traits which were the true elements of mand of troops would, in my opinion, have become a great and famous general. . . . Horace Porter was lost in the staff. Like Ingalls, he was too useful to be spared. But as a commander of troops Porter would have risen, in my opinion, to a high command.)) EDITOR. 104 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. his greatness. He was always calm amidst excitement, and patient under trials. He looked neither to the past with regret nor to the future with apprehension. When he could not control he endured, and in every great crisis he could ((convince when others could not advise.)) His calmness of demeanor and unruffled temper were often a marvel even to those most familiar with him. In the midst of the most exciting scenes he rarely raised his voice above its ordinary pitch or manifested the least irritability. Whether en- countered at noonday or awakened from sleep at midnight, his manner was always the same; whether receiving the report of an army com- mander or of a private soldier serving as a courier or a scout, he listenedwith equal defer- ence and gave it the same strict attention. He could not only discipline others, but he could discipline himself. If he had lived in ancient days he might, in his wrath, have broken the twelve tables of stone: he never would have broken the laws which were written on them. The only manifestation of anger he had in- dulged in during the campaign was upon the occasion, hereinbefore mentioned, when he found a teamster beating his horses near the Totopotomoy. He never criticized an of- ficer harshly in the presence of others. If fault had to be found with him, it was never made an occasion to humiliate him or wound his feelings. The only pointed reprimand he ever administered was in the instance men- tioned in the battle of the Wilderness, when an officer left his troops and came to him to magnify the dangers which were to be feared from Lees methods of warfare. The fact that he never ((nagged)) his officers, but treated them all with consideration, led them to com- municate with him freely and intimately; and he thus gained much information which otherwise he might not have received. To have a well-disciplined command he did not deem it necessary to have an unhappy army. His ideas of discipline did not accord with those of the Russian officer who, one night in the Moscow campaign, reprimanded a soldier for putting a ball of snow under his head for a pillow, for the reason that indul- gence in such uncalled-for luxuries would de- stroy the high character of the army. GRANT AS A THINKER. IT was an interesting study in human nature to watch the generals actions in camp. He would sit for hours in front of his tent, or just inside of it looking out, smoking a cigar very slowly, seldom with a paper or a map in his hands, and looking like the laziest man in camp. But at such periods his mind was working more actively than that of any one in the army. He talked less and thought more than any one in the service. He studiously avoided performing any duty which some one else could do as well or better than he, and in this respect demonstrated his rare powers of administration and executive methods. He was one of the few men holding high position who did not waste valuable hours by giving his personal attention to petty details. He never consumed his time in reading over court-martial proceedings, or figuring up the items of supplies on hand, or writing un- necessary letters or communications. He held subordinates to a strict accountability in the performance of such duties, and kept his own time for thought. It was this quiet but intense thinking, and the well-matured ideas which resulted from it, that led to the prompt and vigorous action which was con- stantly witnessed during this year, so preg- nant with events. He changed his habits somewhat at this period about going to bed early, and began to sit up later; and as he preferred to have some one keep him company and discuss matters with him of an evening, one of the staff-officers always made it a point not to retire until the chief was ready for bed. Many a night now became a sort of ((watch-night)) with us; but the conversations held upon these occasions were of such intense interest that they amply compensated for the loss of sleep they caused, even after a hard days ride at the front. The general, however, did not al- ways curtail the eight hours of rest which his system seemed to require; for he often pieced out the time by lying in bed later in the morn- ing when there was no stirring movement afoot. WHY GRANT NEVER SWORE. WHILE sitting with him at the camp-fire late one night, after every one else had gone to bed, I said to him: ((General, it seems singu- lar that you have gone through all the rough and tumble of army service and frontier life, and have never been provoked into swearing. I have never heard you utter an oath or use an imprecation.)) ((Well, somehow or other, I never learned to swear,)) he replied. ((When a boy I seemed to have an aversion to it, and when I became a man I saw the folly of it. I have always noticed, too, that swearing helps to rouse a mans anger; and when a man flies into a passion his adversary who keeps cool always gets the better of him. In CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. 105 fact, I could never see the use of swearing. I think it is the case with many people who swear excessively that it is a mere habit, and that they do not mean to be profane; but, to say the least, it is a great waste of time.)) His example in this respect was once quoted in my hearing by a member of the Chris- tian Commission to a teamster in the Army of the Potomac, in the hope of lessening the volume of rare oaths with which he was italicizing his language, and upon which he seemed to be placing his main reliance in moving his mule-team out of a mud- hole. The only reply evoked from him was: ((Then thar s one thing sartin: the old man never druv mules.)) MEADE AND WARREN. ON July 22 General Grant called upon the aides to go with him to Meades headquarters. Soon after our arrival there, Meade mounted his horse and rode out with us to visit War- ren. The meeting between Meade and Warren was not very cordial, in consequence of a rather acrimonious discussion and correspon- dence which had just taken place between them; but they were both such good soldiers that they did not make any display of their personal feelings while engaged in their official duties. A Pittsburg newspaper had stated that Meade had preferred charges against Warren for disobedience and tardy execution of orders. Warren at once wrote to Meade, asking him what truth there was in it, and if the rumor was correct that he had told General Grant that he had threat- ened him (Warren) with a court martial if he did not resign. Meade replied, denying the statement of the newspaper, but said he had been offended by the temper and ill feel- ing that Warren had manifested against him recently in the presence of subordinates, and the want of harmony and cobperation which he had exhibited, and that he had spoken to Grant about this, and had gone so far as to write a letter to him asking that Warren might be relieved; but that, in the hope that disagreements might not occur in future, and in order to avoid doing him so serious an in- jury, he had withheld the letter. A thorough examination of Warrens front and other parts of the line was made. Sharp firing occurred in front of Burnside, which was thought to indicate something of impor- tance; but it was only a random fusillade on the part of the troops, kept up between the parts of the lines which were quite close together. VOL. LIV.14. SEWARD VISITS GRANT. SATURDAY, July 23, William H. Seward, the Secretary of State, came down from Wash- ington to visit General Grant and see the armies. He arrived at seven oclock in the morning on the steamer City of Hudson, and came at once to General Grants quarters. The general had seen but little of the distin- guished Secretary of State previous to this time, and was very glad to welcome him to City Point, and make his more intimate ac- quaintance. He presented the officers of the staff who were in camp at the time, and in- vited them to take seats under the tent-fly in front of his quarters, where he and the Secretary were sitting. Mr. Seward was pro- fuse in his expressions of congratulation at the progress which had been made by the Union armies in the East, and their successes generally throughout the country. We soon began to realize that he fully merited his reputation as a talker. He spoke very freely in reference to the progress of the war, and more particularly about our foreign relations. He had conducted our many delicate negotia- tions with foreign nations with such consum- mate ability that every one was anxious to draw him out in regard to them. The first topic of conversation which came up was the unfriendliness of our relations with England the first year of the war, and especially how near we came to an open break with that power in regard to the Trent affair,)) in which Commodore Wilkes, commanding the U. S. S. San Jacinto, had taken Slidell and Mason, the Confederate emissaries, from the English vessel Trent, upon which they were passengers. Mr. Seward said: ((The report first received from the British government gave a most exaggerated account of the severity of the measures which had been employed; but I found from Commodore Wilkess advices that the vessel had not been endangered by the shots fired across her bows, as charged; that he had simply sent a lieutenant and a boats crew to the British vessel; that none of the crew even went aboard; that the lieu- tenant used only such a show of force as was necessary to convince the (contraband) pas- sengers he wanted that they would have to go with him aboard the San Jacinto. The books on international law were silent on the subject as to exactly how an act such as this should be treated; and as our relations abroad were becoming very threatening, we decided, after a serious discussion, that whatever was to be done should be done promptly, and that, under all the circumstances, it would be wise 106 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. and prudent to release the prisoners captured, rather than contend for a principle which might not have been sound, and run the risk of becoming involved in a war with Great Britain at that critical period. The great desire of the Davis government was to have this incident embroil us in such a war, and we were not anxious to please it in that respect. Our decision in the matter was the severest blow the Confederacy received in re- gard to its hope of ( assistance from abroad.))) This naturally led to the mention of a more recent event upon the seasthe destruction of the Alabama by the Kearsarge. General Grant had rejoiced greatly at this triumph of our sister service the navy, and admired immensely the boldness and pluck exhibited by Winslow, the commander of the Kearsarge, in forcing the fight with the Confederate cruiser. The general was naturally de- lighted, for it showed that Winslow was a man after his own heart, who acted upon the commendable military maxim, ((When in doubt, fight.)) Mr. Seward was asked whether he had in contemplation any steps to take Englan& to task for the action of the British yacht Deerhound for picking up and carrying off our prisoners. He said: I have communi- cated with our minister at London, directing him to lay before the British government our grievance in this matter. I feel pretty well convinced that the captain of the Deerhound had arranged with Semmes, the captain of the Alabama, previous to i~he fight, to trans- fer to the yacht certain moneys and valuables which Semmes had aboard, so as to carry them to England for him, and to occupy a position during the figbt near enough to render assis- tance under certain contingencies. It was reported that Captain Winslow asked the captain of the Deerhound to rescue the crew of the Alabama, who were drowning when that vessel was sinking; but that did not seem to be necessary, as Winslow was able with his boats to rescue all the men. It ap- pears that many of Semmess guns were manned by British gunners, and the wounded who were picked up were carried to England and cared for in a British naval hospital. The circumstance is a most aggravating one, and we have given Great Britain to understand that such acts will not be tolerated in future by this nation.)) General Grant then brought up the sub- ject of the empire in Mexico, which was sup- ported by Louis Napoleon. The generals services in the Mexican war had made him thoroughly well acquainted with Mexico, and he not only had deep sympathy for her people in their present struggle, but was a stanch supporter of the Monroe doctrine generally, and was opposed on principle to any European monarchy forcing its insti- tutions upon an American republic. Mr. Sew- ard expressed himself at great length upon this subject, saying among other things: ((I have had a very exhaustive correspondence on this subject with Louis Napoleon~s min- istry. He has tried by every form of argu- ment to justify his acts; but I have insisted from the start that when an American state has established republican institutions, no foreign power has the right to use force in at- tempting to subvert the government formed by its people and set up a monarchy in its place. When an American republic becomes a monarchy by the voluntary act of its people, the matter is no affair of ours, as the people are always the rightful source of authority; but in the present instance a European em- peror has stepped in to deprive the Mexicans of the right of republican freedom. I have been insisting very forcibly that Louis Napo- leon must withdraw his army from Mexico. Why, rumors have reached us from time to time that his forces were to advance across the Rio Grande, by an understanding with the Davis government, and take possession of the State of Texas. We shall never feel easy until those troops are withdrawn.)) General Grant said: ((While we dont want another war on our hands before we finish the present one, yet I feel that the re~3stab- lishment of republican government in Mexico would really be a part of our present strug- gle. As soon as the war of secession ends, and I think it is coming to a close pretty rapidly, we will have a veteran army in the West ready to make a demonstration upon the Rio Grande with a view to enforcing respect for our opinions concerning the Monroe dcctrine. I regard this expedition to Mexico not as a movement of the French people, bi$ as one of the ambitious schemes of Louis Napoleon, which shows that he has as little respect for the French peoples opin- ions as for our own. The French people are our old allies; it is natural that we should have a great regard for them, and there is a very close bond of sympathy between the two countries; but Louis Napoleon does not rep- resent the people of France. I hope that his power may some day cease, and that France may become a republic, and I do not think that day is far distant.)) Mr. Seward re- marked, ((Yes; we want to get Napoleon out of Mexico, but we dont want any war over it; we have certainly had enough of war.)) CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. 107 One of the party remarked to Mr. Seward that he always seemed to have an abiding faith in the triumph of the Union cause. The Secretary replied: ((Yes; though we have passed through many gloomy periods since the breaking out of the war, I have always felt confident that the integrity of the Union would be preserved. It is a part of my phi- losophy to believe that the American republic has now, and will have for many years to come, enough virtue in its people to insure the safety of the state. Sometimes there does not seem to be any virtue to spare, but there s always enough.)) After some further conversation, Mr. Sew- ard, by invitation of General Grant, visited some of the nearest camps; and in the after- noon General Butler accompanied the Secre- tary on his steamer on a trip up the James River as far as it was safe to go. Mr. Sew- ard was urged to prolong his visit, but as he had an engagement to be in Norfolk in the evening, he felt compelled to start for that place in the afternoon, as soon as his steamer returned from the excursion up the James. PREPARING THE PETERSBURG MINE. AT this time the general-in-chief was devot- ing much of his attention to the planning of an important movement in connection with the explosion of the famous Petersburg mine, which had now been completed. The opera- tions attending it were novel and interesting, though the result was the greatest disaster which occurred during the siege of Peters- burg. After the assaults on the 17th and 18th of June, Burnsides corps established a line of earthworks within one hundred yards of those of the enemy. In rear of his advanced position was a deep hollow. In front the ground rose gradually until it reached an elevation on which the Confeder- ate line was established. Colone Pleasants, commanding the 48th Pennsylvania regiment, composed largely of miners, conceived the idea of starting a gallery from a point in the hollow which was concealed from the enemys view, pushing it forward to a position under his earthworks, and there preparing a mine large enough to blow up the parapets and make a sufficiently wide opening for assault- ing columns to rush through. Before the end of June he communicated the project to Burn- side, who talked the matter over with General Meade. It was then submitted to General Grant for his action. This point of the line was in some respects unfavorable for an as- sault; but it was not thought well to check the zeal of the officer who had proposed the scheme, and so an authorization was given for the undertaking to continue. There was a main gallery, 511 feet long and 4~ feet square, and two lateral galleries. The ternii- nus was under the enemys parapet, and at a depth of about 23 feet below the surface of the ground. These preparations were com- pleted July 23, and the mine was soon af- ter charged with eight thousand pounds of powder, and made ready for use. A move- ment preliminary to its explosion was begun on July 26, that required the exercise of much ingenuity and good generalship, and which the general-in-chief had planned with great care. It involved making a feint against Richmond, which should be con- ducted with such a show of serious intention that it would induce Lee to throw a large portion of his command to the north side of the James; and leave the works at Petersburg so depleted that the movement on Burnsides front would have in its favor many chances of success. Hancocks corps drew out from its position on the afternoon of the 26th, and made a rapid night march to Deep Bottom on the north side of the James, and was fol- lowed by Sheridan with the cavalry. This entire force was placed under Hancocks command. On the morning of the 27th it advanced and captured a battery of rifled guns. I had been sent to Hancock that morning, and foiifnd him with his troops, lying upon the grass with some of his staff during a lull in the firing. I threw myself on the ground beside him while we conversed in regard to the situation, and informed him that General Grant would be with him some hours later. Suddenly firing broke out again in front, and we all sprang to our feet to mount our horses. Hancock wore a thin blue- flannel blouse, and as I rose up one of my spurs caught in the sleeve, and ripped it open from wrist to elbow. I felt not a little chagrined to find that I was the means of sending this usually well-dressed corps com- mander into battle with his sleeve slit open and dangling in the air, and made profuse apologies. There was not much time for words, but Hancock treated the matter so good-naturedly in what he said in reply that he at once put my mind at ease. General Grant rode out on the field in the afternoon, arriving there at half-past three oclock, for the purpose of determining upon the spot what the possibilities were on that side of the river before giving directions for carrying out the rest of his plans. Lee was 108 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. now rushing troops to the north side of the James to reinforce the defenses of Richmond. The next morning (July 28) Sheridan, while moving around the enemys left, was vigor- ously assaulted. by a large body of infantry, and driven back a short distance; but he promptly dismounted his men, made a deter- mined counter-attack, and drove the enemy back in confusion, capturing two hundred and fifty prisoners and two stands of colors. This engagement was called the battle of Darbytown. Now that Grant had satisfied himself that more than half of Lees com- mand had been sent to the north side of the James, he made preparations to throw Han- cocks corps again in front of Petersburg, and carry out his intended assault upon that front. It was decided that the attack should be made at daylight on the morning of the 30th. In the meantime, in order to keep up the deception and detain the enemy on the north side of the river, many clever ruses were resorted to, in which the gen- eral-in-chiefs ingenuity and rare powers of invention~were displayed to the greatest ad- vantage. Meade and Ord were directed to cease all artillery firing on the lines in front of Petersburg, and to conceal their guns, with a view to convincing the enemy that the troops were moving away from that posi- tion. Hancock withdrew one of his divisions quietly on the night of the 28th, and moved it back, while he remained with his two other divisions north of the James until the night of the 29th, so as still to keep up the feint. On the 28th Sheridan had the pontoon- bridge covered with moss, grass, and earth to prevent the tramping of horses from being heard, and quietly moved a division of his cavalry to the south side of the James. He then dismounted his men, , concealed his horses, and marched back by daylight, so that the enemy would suppose that infantry was still moving to the north side. A train of empty wagons was also crossed to that side in sight of the enemy. Steamboats and tugs were sent up the river at night to the pontoon-bridges, and ordered to show their lights and blow their whistles for the purpose of making the enemy believe that we were transferring troops to the north side. These manceuvers were so successful that they de- tained the enemy north of the James all day on the 29th. Immediately after dark that evening the whole of Hancocks corps with- drew stealthily from Deep Bottom, followed by the cavalry. On the morning of the 30th Lee was holding five eighths of his army on the north side of the James, in the belief that Grant was massing the bulk of his troops near Deep Bottom, while he had in reality concentrated his forces in the rear of Burn- side at a point fifteen miles distant, ready to break through the defenses at Petersburg. EXPLODING THE MINE. ON the afternoon of July 29 the general-in- chief proceeded with his staff to Burnsides front, and bivouacked near the center of his line, to give final instructions, and to be upon the spot when the assault should be made. Burnside had been carefully instructed to prepare his parapets and abatis in advance for the passage of his assaulting columns, so that when daylight came the troops would have no obstacles in their way in moving to the attack rapidly and with a strong forma- tion. Ord had been moved to a position in Burnsides rear. Burnside had proposed to put Ferreros colored troops in advance, but Meade objected to this, as they did not have the experience of the white troops; and in this decision he was sustained by Grant, and white troops were assigned to make the as- sault. Burnside, of course, was allowed to choose the division commander who was to lead the attack; but instead of selecting the best officer for the purpose, he allowed the division commanders to draw straws for the choice, and the lot fell, unfortunately, upon Ledlie, who was by far the least fitted for such an undertaking. Meade had joined Grant at his bivouac ~iear Burnsides head- quarters, and every one was up long before daylight, aiding in communicating final in- structions and awaiting the firing of the mine. Now came the hour for the explosion half-past three oclock. The general-in-chief was standing, surrounded by his officers, look- ing intently in the direction of the mine; orderlies were holding the saddled horses near by; not a word was spoken, and the silence of death prevailed. Some minutes elapsed, and our watches were anxiously con- sulted. It was found to be ten minutes past the time, and yet no sound from the mine. Ten minutes more, and still no explosion. More precious minutes elapsed, and it be- came painfully evident that some neglect or accident had occurred. Daylight was now breaking, and the formation of the troops for the assault would certainlybe observed by the enemy. Officers had been sent to find out the cause of the delay, and soon there came the information that the match had been CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. 109 applied at the hour designated, but that the fuse had evidently failed at some point along the gallery. Another quarter of an hour passed, and now the minutes seemed like ages; the suspense was agonizing; the whole movement depended upon that little spark which was to fire the mine, and it had gone out. The general-in-chief stood with his right hand placed against a tree; his lips were com- pressed and his features wore an expression of profound anxiety, but he uttered few words. There was little to do but to wait. Now word came that the men of the 48th Pennsylvania were not going .to permit a failure. Not knowing whether the fuse had gone out or was only ((holding fire,)) a search through the long gallery meant the proba- bility of death to those who undertook it; but Lieutenant Jacob Douty and Sergeant Henry Reese, of the 48th Pennsylvania, under- took to penetrate the long passageway and discover the cause of the failure. They found that the fire had been interrupted at a point at which two sections of the fuse had been defectively spliced. They promptly renewed the splice, an~l as soon as they emerged from the gallery the match was again applied. It was now twenty minutes to five, over an hour past the appointed time. The general had been looking at his watch, and had just re- turned it to his pocket when suddenly there was a shock like that of an earthquake, ac- companied by a dull, muffled roar; then there rose two hundred feet in the air great volumes of earth in the shape of a mighty inverted cone, with forked tongues of flame darting through it like lightning playing through the clouds. The mass seemed to be suspended for an instant in the heavens; then there descended great blocks of clay, rock, sand, timber, guns, carriages, and men whose bodies exhibited every form of mutilation. It appeared as if part of the debris was go- ing to fall upon the front line of our troops, and this created some confusion and a delay of ten minutes in forming them for the charge. The crater made by the explosion was 30 feet deep, 60 feet wide, and 170 feet long. One hundred and ten cannon and fifty mortars opened fire from our lines. Soon fatal errors in carrying out the orders became painfully apparent. The abatis had not been removed in the night, and no adequate prepa- rations had been made at the parapets for the troops to march over them; the d~bouch6s were narrow, and the men had to work their way out slowly. When they reached the crater they found that its sides were so steep that it was almost impossible to climb out after once getting in. Ledlie remained under cover in the rear; the advance was without superior officers, and the troops became con- fused. Some stopped to assist the Confeder- ates who were struggling out of the debris, in which many of them were buried up to their necks. The crater was soon filled with our disorgan- ized men, who were mixed up with the dead and dying of the enemy, and tumbling aim- lessly about, or attempting to scramble up the other side. The shouting, screaming, and cheering, mingled with the roar of the artil- lery and the explosion of shells, created a perfect pandemonium, and the crater had become a caldron of hell. GRANTS ADVENTURE BETWEEN THE LINES. WHEN it was found that the troops were ac- complishing so little, and that matters were so badly handled, General Grant quickly mounted his horse, and calling to me, said, ((Come with me.~ I was soon in the saddle, and, followed by a single orderly, we moved forWard through some intervening woods, to make our way as far as we could on horse- back to the front of the attack. It was now a little after half-past five. We soon came to a brigade lying upon its arms. The gen- eral said to an officer near by, who proved to be General Henry G. Thomas, a brigade com- mander, ((Who commands this brigade?)) ~I do,)) he replied, springing up from th~ ground suddenly, and manifesting no little surprise to find that the voice of the person addressing him was that of the general-in- chief. ((Well,)) remarked the general, ((why are you not moving in?)) The officer replied, ((My orders are to follow that brigade,)) point- ing to the one in front of him. Then, after a pause, he added, ((Will you give me the order to go in now?)) ((No,)) said General Grant, not wishing to interfere with the in- structions of the division commander, ~~you may keep the orders you have,)) and moved on to the front. A Pennsylvania regiment was now met with knapsacks piled on the ground, and about to move to the attack. The com- manding officer made a salute, and the gen- eral returned it by lifting his hat. The men now recognized him, and it was all the commander of the regiment could do to keep them from breaking out into a cheer, although all noise had been forbidden. The officer said to me some years after: ((If the general had given me only a slight nod of the head that morning I should have been delighted; but when I saw him, at such a try- 110 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. ing moment, look at me and politely take off his hat, it brought the tears to my eyes and sent a big lump into my throat.)) The enemy had now rallied his men upon the line in the rear of the crater, and there was fieavy fighting going on between them and our advanced troops. After proceeding a short distance I said: ((General, you can- not go much farther on horseback, and I do not think you ought to expose yourself in this way. I hope you will dismount, as you will then be less of a target for the enemys fire.)) Without saying a word, he threw him- self from his horse and handed the reins to the orderly, who was then directed to take our animals back to the edge of the woods, while we proceeded to the front on foot. The general had by this time taken in the situa- tion pretty fully, and his object was to find the corps commander, to have him try to bring some order out of the chaos which existed. Upon inquiry it was ascertained that Burnside was on our left and some dis- tance farther in advance. General Grant now began to edge his way vigorously to the front through the lines of the assaulting columns as they poured out of the rifle-pits and crawled over the obstructions. It was one of the warmest days of the entire summer, and even at this early hour of the morning the heat was suffocating. The general wore his blue blouse and a pair of blue trousers in fact, the uniform of a private soldier, ex- cept the shoulder-straps. None of the men seemed to recognize him, and they were no respecters of persons as they shoved and crowded to the front. They little thought that the plainly dressed man who was elbow- ing his way past them so energetically, and whose face was covered with dust and streaked with perspiration, was the chief who had led them successfully from the l,~Tilderness to Petersburg. Some officers were now seen standing in a field-work to the left, about three hundred yards distant, and Burnside was supposed to be one of the number. To reach them by passing inside of our main line of works would have been a slow process, as the ground was covered with ob- stacles and crowded with troops; so, to save valuable time, the general climbed nimbly over the parapet, landed in front of our earth- works, and resolved to take the chances of the enemys fire. Shots were now flying thick and fast, and what with the fire of the enemy and the heat of the midsummer Southern sun, there was an equatorial warmth about the undertaking. The very recollection of it, over thirty years after, starts the perspira tion. Scarcely a word was spoken in passing over the distance crossed. Sometimes the gait was a fast walk, sometimes a dog-trot. As the shots shrieked through the air, and plowed the ground, I held my breath in ap- prehension for the generals safety. Burn- side was in the earthwork for which we were heading, and was not a little astonished to see the general approach on foot from such a di- rection, climb over the parapet and make his way to where the corps commander was sta- tioned. Grant said, speaking rapidly: ((The entire opportunity has been lost. There is now no chance of success. These troops must be immediately withdrawn. It is slaughter to leave them here.)) Burnside was still hoping that something could be accomplished; but the disobedience of orders and the general bungling had been so great that Grant was convinced that the only thing to do now to stop the loss of life was to abandon the move- ment which a few hours before had promised every success. The general then made his way on foot, with no little difficulty, to where our horses had been left, mounted, and re- turned to where we had parted from Meade. FAILURE OF THE ASSAULT AT THE MINE. INSTRUCTIONS were reiterated to Burnside to withdraw the troops; but he came to Meade in person and insisted that his men could not be drawn out of the crater with safety; that the enemys guns now bore upon the only line of retreat; and that there must be a passage- way dug to protect them in crossing certain dangerous points. Both of these officers lost their tempers that morning, although Burn- side was usually the personification of ami- ability, and the scene between them was decidedly peppery, and went far toward con- firming ones belief in the wealth and flexi- bility of the English language as a medium of personal dispute. Meade had sent Buruside a note saying: ((Do you mean to say your officers and men will not obey your orders to advance? If not, what is the obstacle? I wish to know the truth.)) Burnside replied: ((I have never, in any report, said anything different from what I conceived to be the truth. Were it not insubordinate, I would say that the latter remark of your note was unofficerlike and ungentlemanly.)) It was quite evident that the conference was not go- ing to resolve itself into a ~~peace congress.)) However, both officers were manly enough afterward to express regret for what they had written and said under the excitement of the occasion. Although Ledlie had proved a fail- CAMPAIGNING WITH GRANT. 111 ure, other division commanders made gallant efforts to redeem the fortunes of the day, but their men became disorganized, and huddled together inextricably in the crater. When the confusion was at its worst Burnside threw in his division of colored troops, who rushed gallantly into the crater, but only added greater disorder to the men already crowded together there. As a colored regi- ment was moving to the front in the midst of this scene of slaughter, a white sergeant, who was being carried to the rear with his leg shot off, cried out: ((Now go in with a will, boys. There s enough of you to eat em all up.~ A colored sergeant replied: ((Dat may be all so, boss; but de fac is, we hab nt got jis de bes kind ob an appetite for em dis mornin.)) The enemy soon brought to bear upon the crater a mortar fire, which did serious exe- cution. There were many instances of superb courage, but the most heroic bravery could not make amends for the utter inefficiency with which the troops had been handled by some of their officers. It was two oclock be- fore all the ~urvivors could be withdrawn. The total losses amounted to about thirty- eight hundred, nearly fourteen hundred of whom were prisoners. Thus ended an operation conceived with rare ingenuity, prepared with unusual fore- thought, and executed up to the moment of the final assault with consummate skill, and which yet resulted in absolute failure from sheer incapacity on the part of subordinates. Burnside had given written orders which were excellent in themselves, but he failed entirely to enforce them. When the general-in-chief and staff rode back to Petersburg that day, the trip was anything but cheerful. For some time but little was said by him, owing to his aversion to indulging in adverse criticisms of individuals, which could not mend matters. He did not dwell long upon the subject in his conversation, simplyremarking: ((Such an op- portunity for carrying a fortified line I have never seen, and never expect to see again. If I had been a division commander or a corps commander, I would ~have been at the front giving personal directions on the spot. I be- lieve that the men would have performed every duty required of them if they had been properly led and skilfully handled.~ He had no unkind words for Burnside, but he felt that this disaster had greatly impaired that of- ficers usefulness. Two weeks afterward Burnside was granted a leave of absence, and did not serve again in the field. General Parke, one of his division commanders, and an officer of eminent ability, was placed in command of the Ninth Corps. Grant and Rurnside, however, did not break their am- icable relations on account of this official action, and their personal friendship con- tinued as long as they both lived. A surgeon told us a story, one of the many echoes of the mine affair, about a prisoner who had been dug out of the crater and car- ried to one of our field-hospitals. Although his eyes were bunged and his face covered with bruises, he was in an astonishingly amiable frame of mind, and looked like a pugilistic hero of the prize-ring coming up smiling in the twenty-seventh round. He said: I 11 jest bet you that after this I 11 be the most unpopular man in my regiment. You see, I appeared to get started a little earlier than the other boys that had taken passage with me aboard that volcano; and as I was comm down I met the rest of em a-goin up, and they looked as if they had kind o soured on me, and yelled after me, (Straggler!))) A NEW COMMAND FOR SHERIDAN. GENERAL GRANT ordered the cavalry and a corps of infantry to start south at daylight the next morning, before the enemy could recross the James River, with instructions to destroy fifteen or twenty miles of the Weldon Railroad. That night, however, information of the crossing of the Potomac by Earlys troops compelled the general to change his plans and send Sheridan to Washington with two divisions of his cavalry. Early, finding that pursuit had been aban- doned, and that the Union forces had returned to Washington, put his army in motion and started to return to Maryland. His ad- vance reached Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, on July 30; and finding no troops to oppose them, burned the defenseless town, and left three thousand women, children, and un- armed men homeless. A week afterward this force, while retreating, was overtaken by Averell, and completely routed. General Grant now expressed himself as determined not only to prevent these incur- sions into Maryland, but to move a competent force down the valley of Virginia, and hold permanently that great granary, upon which Lee was drawing so largely for his supplies. The most important thing was to find a com- mander equal to such an undertaking. No one had commended himself more thoroughly to the general-in-chief for such a mission than Sheridan, and he telegraphed Halleck to put 112 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Sheridan in command of all the troops in the field, and to give him instructions to pursue the enemy to the death. Sheridan reached Washington. on August 3. Halleck tele- graphed expressing some other views in re- gard to the disposition to be made of Sheridan, but they did not prevail. On the evening of the 3d the President sent to General Grant the following remarkable telegram, which is so characteristic that it is given in full: ((I have seen your despatch in which you say: (I want Sheridan put in command of all the troops in the field, with instructions to put himself south of the enemy and follow him to the death; wherever the enemy goes, let our troops go also.) This, I think, is exactly right as to how our forces should move; but please look over the despatches you may have received from here even since you made that order, and discover, if you can, that there is any idea in the head of any one here of (putting our army south of the enemy,) or of (following him to the death) in any direc- tion. I repeat to you, it will neither be done nor atte~inpted unless you watch it every day and hour, and force it. ((A. LINCOLN, President.~ It will be seen from this that the President was undoubtedly possessed of more courage than any of his advisers at Washington, and that he did not call for assistance to protect the capital, but for troops and a competent leader to go after Early and defeat him. It is the language of a man who wanted an officer of Grants aggressiveness to force the fighting and send the troops after the enemy, even if the capital had to be left temporarily without defense. General Grant received the Presidents despatch at noon of August 4, and he left City Point that night for Hunters head- quarters at Monocacy Station in Maryland, reaching there the next evening, August 5. He ordered all the troops in the vicinity to move that night to the valley of Virginia. The general had now a delicate duty to per- form. He had decided to put General Sheri- dan in command of the active forces in the field; but he was junior in rank to General Hunter, and in order to spare the feelings of Hunter, and not subject him to the mortifica- tion of being relieved from duty, the general- in-chief suggested that he remain in com- mand of the military department, and that Sheridan be given supreme control of the troops in the field. Hunter removed all em- barrassment by saying that, under the cir- cumstances, he deemed it better for the service that he should be relieved entirely from duty. This unselfish offer was accepted, and Sheridan was telegraphed to come at once from Washington to Monocacy by a special train. Grant met him at the station, and explained to him what was ex- pected of him. His present army consisted of nearly thirty thousand men, including eight thousand cavalry. Earlys army was about equal in numbers. Grant said to Sheri- dan in his instructions: ((Do not hesitate to give commands to officers in whom you have confidence, without regard to claims of others on account of rank. What we want is prompt and active movements after the enemy in ac- cordance with the instructions you already have. I feel every confidence that you will do the best, and will leave you as far as pos- sible to act on your own judgment, and not embarrass you with orders and instructions.)) This despatch was eminently characteristic of Grant; it affords a key to his method of dealing with his subordinates, and explains one of the chief reasons why his commanders were so loyal to him. They felt that they would be left to the exercise of an intelligent judgment; that if they did their best, even if they did not succeed, they would never be made scapegoats; and if they gained vic- tories they would be given the sole credit for whatever they accomplished. As soon as Sheridan moved south the en- emy was compelled to concentrate in front of him, and the effect was what Grant had predictedthe termination of incursions into Maryland. The general returned to City Point on August 8. Rawlins had broken down in health from the labors and exposures of the campaign, and had been given a leave of absence on August 1, in the hope that he might soon recuperate and return to duty; but he was not able to join headquarters for two months. Already the seeds of consumption had been sown, from which he died while Secretary of War, five years afterward. He was greatly missed by every one at headquarters, and his chief expressed no little anxiety about his illness, although no one then thought that it was the beginning of a fatal disease. AN INFERNAL MACHINE EXPLODED NEAR HEADQUARTERS. AN event occurred in the forenoon of August 9 which looked for an instant as if the gen- eral-in-chief had returned to headquarters only to meet his death. He was sitting in front of his tent, surrounded by several staff-officers. General Sharpe, the assistant GENERAL GRANT HASTENING TO ORDER THE RECALL OF THE ASSAULTING COLUMN. (SEE PAGE 110.) VOL. LIV.15. 114 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. provost-marshal-general, had been telling him that he had a conviction that there were spies in the camp at City Point, and had pro- posed a plan for detecting and capturing them. He had just left the general when, at twenty minutes to twelve, a terrific explosion shook the earth, accompanied by a sound which vividly recalled the Petersburg mine, still fresh in the memory of every one pres- ent. Then there rained down upon the party a terrific shower of shells, bullets, boards, and fragments of timber. The general was sur- rounded by splinters and various kinds of am- munition, but fortunately was not touched by any of the missiles. Babcock of the staff was slightly wounded in the right hand by a bullet, one mounted orderly and several horses were instantly killed, and three order- lies were wounded. In a moment all was con- sternation. On rushing to the edge of the bluff, we found that the cause of the explo- sion was the blowing up of a boat loaded with ordnance stores which lay at the wharf at the foot of the hill. Much damage was done to the wharf, the boat was entirely destroyed, all the laborers employed on it were killed, and a number of men and horses near the landing were fatally injured. The total casualties were forty-three killed and forty wounded. The general was the only one of the party who remained unmoved; he did not even leave his seat to run to the bluff with the others to see what had happened. Five minutes afterward he went to his writ- ing-table and sent a telegram to Washing- ton, notifying Halleck of the occurrence. No one could surmise the cause of the explosion, and the general appointed me president of a board of officers to investigate the matter. We spent several days in taking the testi- mony of all the people who were in sight of the occurrence, and used every possible means to probe the matter; but as all the men aboard the boat had been killed, we could obtain no satisfactory evidence. It was attributed by most of those present to the careless handling of the ammunition by the laborers who were engaged in unloading it; but there was a suspicion in the minds of many of us that it was the work of some emissaries of the enemy sent into the lines. Seven years after the war, when I was serving with President Grant as secretary, a Virginian called to see me at the White House, to complain that the commissioner of patents was not treating him fairly in the matter of some patents he was en- deavoring to procure. In the course of the conversation, in order to impress me with his skill as an inventor, he communicated the fact that he had once devised an infernal machine which had been used with some suc- cess during the war; and went on to say that it consisted of a small box filled with explo- sives, with a clockwork attachment which could be set so as to cause an explosion at any given time; that, to prove the effec- tiveness of it, he had passed into the Union lines in company with a companion, both dressed as laborers, and succeeded in reach- ing City Point, knowing this to be the base of supplies. By mingling with the laborers who were engaged in unloading the ordnance stores, he and his companion succeeded in getting aboard the boat, placing their in- fernal machine among the ammunition, and setting the clockwork so that the explosion would occur in half an hour. This enabled them to get to a sufficient distance from the place not to be suspected. I told him that his efforts, from his standpoint, had been eminently successful. At last, after many years, the mystery of the explosion was revealed. This occurrence set the staff to thinking of the various forms of danger to which the gen- eral-in-chief was exposed, and how easily he might be assassinated; and we resolved that in addition to the ordinary guard mounted at the headquarters camp, we would quietly ar- range a detail of ((watchers)) from the mem- bers of the staff, so that one officer would go on duty every night and keep a personal look- out in the vicinity of the generals tent. This was faithfully carried out. It had to be done secretly, for if he had known of it he would without doubt have broken it up and insisted upon the staff-officers going to bed after their hard days work instead of keepingthese vigils throughout the long, dreary nights of the fol- lowing winter. The general never knew of this action until his second term of the Presidency, when he made the discovery through an ac- cidental reference to it in his presence by a visitorwho had heard of it. He then expressed himself as feeling very much touched by the service which had been performed with aview to his personal protection. (To be continuOd.) Horace Porter. z z ~ z ~ zo ~- ~ z ~ z ~ L~i ~ ~ 0 ~ 0 ~i[arZwn UROUGH all the wind-blown aisles of May Faint bells of perfume swing and fall. Within this apple-petaled wall (A gray east flecked with rosy day) The pink Laburnum lays her cheek In married, matchless, lovely bliss, Against her golden mate, to seek His airy kiss. Tulips, in faded splendor drest, Brood oer their beds, a slumbrous gloom; Dame Peony, red and ripe with bloom, Swells the silk housing of her breast; The Lilac, drunk to ecstasy, Breaks her full flagons on the air, ~ \\\r And drenches home the reeling bee Who found her fair. o cowl~d legion of the Cross, What solemn pleasantry is thine, Vowing to seek the life divine Through abnegation and through loss! Men but make monuments of sin Who walk the earths ambitious round; Thou hast the richer realm within This garden ground. No womans voice hath sweeter note Than chanting of this plum~d choir; No jewel ever wore the fire Hung on the dewdrops quivering throat. A ruddier pomp and pageantry Than worlds delight oerfleets thy sod; And choosing this, thou hast in fee The peace of God. Alice Brown.

~i[arZwn UROUGH all the wind-blown aisles of May Faint bells of perfume swing and fall. Within this apple-petaled wall (A gray east flecked with rosy day) The pink Laburnum lays her cheek In married, matchless, lovely bliss, Against her golden mate, to seek His airy kiss. Tulips, in faded splendor drest, Brood oer their beds, a slumbrous gloom; Dame Peony, red and ripe with bloom, Swells the silk housing of her breast; The Lilac, drunk to ecstasy, Breaks her full flagons on the air, ~ \\\r And drenches home the reeling bee Who found her fair. o cowl~d legion of the Cross, What solemn pleasantry is thine, Vowing to seek the life divine Through abnegation and through loss! Men but make monuments of sin Who walk the earths ambitious round; Thou hast the richer realm within This garden ground. No womans voice hath sweeter note Than chanting of this plum~d choir; No jewel ever wore the fire Hung on the dewdrops quivering throat. A ruddier pomp and pageantry Than worlds delight oerfleets thy sod; And choosing this, thou hast in fee The peace of God. Alice Brown. THE DAYS OF JEANNE DARC. BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD, Author of ((The Romance of Dollard,e The White Islander,e etc. WITH PICTURES BY BOUTET DR MONVEL III. TROUGH Jacquemine gave Mengette trou- ble, the burden of her life was Choux. Since the death of her father, Auguste Pon- linet, and her mother, Marguerite Vallas, she had lived in her house with this relative, whose exact kinship could hardly be traced, yet who was handed down as a charge. Choux was a humpbacked creature, so old that age had given him up and deliv- ered him again to the lithe activities of youth. He seemed made of steel springs. His joints and muscles did not sag when he walked. The skin was so tightly stretched aeross the bones of his large features that it scarcely wrinkled, but, deepening its brown, became like mummy husk, with points of fire surviving in the lively eyes. What few shreds of hair he had clung in forgotten strands to the skull; but these were seldom seen, for Choux wore always a red woolen cap tied under the chin like a womans. This was as much a part of him as 118 the red sash girdling his clothes around the middle. He wore it indoors and out, to mass and to bed. When Mengette saw that the cap would have to be renewed, she made another, and standing behind the bench while he ate, put it over the one he wore. Choux let the strings hang down unheeded until he was alone. Whatever became of the first cap, whether he secretly burned it or buried it in the earth, it was never seen again. One pair of clean strings soon appeared under his chin, and Mengette drew a breath of relief. But it was not so easy to get his garments from his body. Chouxs instinct was that an animals covering ought to shed naturally. He exhaled a hyena-like odor, and when on a February day he sat by the chimney, Men- gette was thankful for its wide throat. Domremy was not too sensitive to smells. Chickens and geese lived in the streets, and manure-heaps ripened beside the front doors. But public comfort sometimes demanded that Choux should change his clothes; and the JEANNE LEAVING VAUCOULEURS.

THE DAYS OF JEANNE DARC. BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD, Author of ((The Romance of Dollard,e The White Islander,e etc. WITH PICTURES BY BOUTET DR MONVEL III. TROUGH Jacquemine gave Mengette trou- ble, the burden of her life was Choux. Since the death of her father, Auguste Pon- linet, and her mother, Marguerite Vallas, she had lived in her house with this relative, whose exact kinship could hardly be traced, yet who was handed down as a charge. Choux was a humpbacked creature, so old that age had given him up and deliv- ered him again to the lithe activities of youth. He seemed made of steel springs. His joints and muscles did not sag when he walked. The skin was so tightly stretched aeross the bones of his large features that it scarcely wrinkled, but, deepening its brown, became like mummy husk, with points of fire surviving in the lively eyes. What few shreds of hair he had clung in forgotten strands to the skull; but these were seldom seen, for Choux wore always a red woolen cap tied under the chin like a womans. This was as much a part of him as 118 the red sash girdling his clothes around the middle. He wore it indoors and out, to mass and to bed. When Mengette saw that the cap would have to be renewed, she made another, and standing behind the bench while he ate, put it over the one he wore. Choux let the strings hang down unheeded until he was alone. Whatever became of the first cap, whether he secretly burned it or buried it in the earth, it was never seen again. One pair of clean strings soon appeared under his chin, and Mengette drew a breath of relief. But it was not so easy to get his garments from his body. Chouxs instinct was that an animals covering ought to shed naturally. He exhaled a hyena-like odor, and when on a February day he sat by the chimney, Men- gette was thankful for its wide throat. Domremy was not too sensitive to smells. Chickens and geese lived in the streets, and manure-heaps ripened beside the front doors. But public comfort sometimes demanded that Choux should change his clothes; and the JEANNE LEAVING VAUCOULEURS. THE DAYS OF JEANNE DARC. 119 cur6, Father Fronte, was then obliged to la- bor with him. In his heart Choux despised the offices of the church, but he stood in terror of having its final protection denied him. When exhortations and threats had availed, Mengette flew to the river with his cast-off things. She had once anchored them and let them freeze, and as often as she could afford it she gave him an entire new outfit. Choux had nothing except a high regard for himself, and he had not labored in her lifetime. He often sat bragging by the hour in the Widow Davides wine-shop. The Widow Davide, when a customer grew noisy, would take him by the ear and lead him to the door, and it was his part to grin and submit. Choux, for more reasons than his tongue, was oftener led out than any other man; yet he never suffered it without indignation and astonishment. He danced before the wine-shop to show his contempt for the Widow Davide, and made a tube of his fists, trumpeting through it. His hump, as he tilted and turned, gave him the high-shouldered appearance of a hyena. He sang derisively about the wine she sold. It was not fit for dogsdogs would die of it, in fact. He could marry the Widow Davide if he wished, but who would marry a woman that sold such bad wine? ((Myself,)) proclaimed Choux, slapping his breast, I was brought up on the best. Noth- ing is too good for me. When I was of an age to marry, all the maids of my village wanted me for a husband. I picked the handsomest and richest, and when I was married my wife did nothing but wait on me. She sold the last goose of her flock to provide me for travel. I have seen the world in my lifetime. I have been eastward as far as Nancy, and westward as far as Bar-le-Duc; and if my wife had lived to work for me I might have gone farther.)) ((He never was married in his life,)) the listeners told one another, laughing. ((The Champenois are great boasters,)) was one of the proverbs of Lorraine. Choux came out of Champagne. He trumpeted through his hands, and danced again, making a clatter on the hard road with his wooden shoes. I can whip any man in the wine-shop. And this will be the case with me until I am ten years older. Come out, Widow Davide, and take me again by the ear. Have a care; it will not be the Burgundi- ans who next time set fire to your house; the people of Domremy are fond of me. I do not lift a hand for myself. Everything is done for me. I am the flower of the Meuse valley.)) Through all his dancing and boasting the uncanny creature carried the natural grace and airiness of the Latin. An Anglo-Saxon boor, half tipsy before a wine-shop, would have broken the door or the head of its keeper. Chouxs many words were to him what action is to the more forceful race. As he capered in the green winter twilight Mengette appeared at his elbow, to drive him to shelter as she had already driven her geese. He knew she had plenty of fagots in, and the soup steaming before the fire. He enjoyed the life he lived, and the homely night sound of dogs barking in Greux. ((Regard me now, Widow Davide. My sup- per is ready, with meat in the pot. Why do I ever come to your wine-shop to be poisoned? It is because Ipityyou. Jam not above showing sympathy to a poor woman without a man.)) ((Go home, Choux,~ said Mengette, pushing him. ((The Widow Davide may declare your sympathy costs her more than I can pay with my spinning. There is no meat in the pot. They laugh at you, but messire the cur6 will not laugh if he sees you dancing longer here.)) He was harder to chase into the house than an obdurate gander, and no spoon could fill Chouxs mouth too full for talk. Mengette was glad when he turned into his lair for the night. He slept in a room which could be entered only from the garden; and though there was a chimney in it, he would not build himself a fire or permit one to be lighted on his hearth. He liked darkness, and had none of the craving of age for heat. But Mengette was glad of her own fagots when she hooked the doors and opened her bed for the night. The light seemed a pro- tection from the voice which talked with Choux in darkness, often alternating its high boyish note with Chouxs deliberate croak half the night. Formerly when any neighbor came in after nightfall Choux kept silent; but since this unseen person, whom he called Valentin, had begun to visit him, he was so insolently noisy that Mengette dared not forecast what suspicions of sorcery he might bring upon himself. She felt the shame of an accomplice in trying to endure this invisible creature, who doubtless ought to be pro- claimed and put out of the house; but Men- gette shrunk from meddling in any way with the unusual. She wanted the natural things of life to surround and protect her from visions and voices. A hand was on the door, and she unfastened it to admit Isabel Rom6e and Jacquemine. The strong features of Jeannes mother were thinned as by long illness. She did not cast her eye around with the usual oversight of Mengettes housekeeping. The pots were in a neat row, and the hearth was scoured white, and Jacquemine felt satisfaction in sitting down before blazing fagots in this house where he was to be master. All three were silent, speechless trouble driving Choux and his voice out of Mengettes mind. Isabel put both hands over her face and leaned forward sobbing. ((Pierrelo has come back from Vaucouleurs alone.)) ((I know it, godmother. I saw him between Domremy and Greux when I was driving in the geese.)) ((My child has gone into France! I shall never see her again.)) She will come home sometime, godmo- ther.)) ((No, she will come home no more. I was sure of that from the first; but when I saw him riding by himself, it seemed that I had never known it. Did Pierre tell you he brought a letter from her?)) ((He showed me a folded paper.)) ((Her father sits by the ~hearth, and will not turn his head. The letter has been in his hand since the cur6 read it to us. She had it written by a clerk at Vaucouleurs, and put 120 her own cross-mark on it, asking for- giveness. My Jehannette is a good child. I am myself to blame for urg- ing her to marriage. In Vaucouleurs they have a reverence for her. Pierre says she rode out in mans clothes, and all the people wept. He would have gone on her track,but Durand Laxart did us this grace: he made Pierre come home. Jacques told you the Duke of Lorraine sent from Nancy for Jehan- nette to pray for his recovery.)) ((She is a good pucelle, godmother. When she told me the saints spoke to her,d could not help believing it.)) Isabel shook her head. The vigor- ous woman, who had little bent toward the superstition of her time, still denied Jeannes visions. Saints certainly existed in a far-off place called heaven, but it was not likely they troubled themselves about anything in this world. Isabel considered them vaguely be- nevolent, but much taken up with tuning harps and singing. More than all, she felt it impossible that such holy beings should stoop to members of her own family. In other ages and countries heaven had communicated with blessed martyrs: but St. Michael had never shown himself in her garden behind the church; the child had dreamed it. She wiped her face, raising it to meet what was yet in store for her. ((And now we must lose Pierrelo. In the spring, when the hermit friar sets out for Tours, the cur6 will ask him to take Pierrelo to Jehannette. The lad can hardly wait our consent.)) Jacquemine sat with his knees braced to- gether and both hands resting on them. He now spoke out with virtuous determination: ((Myself, I will never forsake my father and mother to go to the wars, even with their consent.)) ((You!)) flashed Isabel, unreasonably re ON THE ROAD TO cHINON. 0 121 THE DAYS OF JEANNE DARC. senting on him the pain inflicted by those she loved better. ((Yes; Jacquernine will stay at home and be a daughter to us.~ Jacquemine burned scarlet, the blood sub- merging his freckles and mounting into his sandy hair. Mengette resolved that when he became her husband she would never make his eyes fill so piteously. She said to him, ((Sit closer to the fire, Jacquemine,~ and he did so, feeling that his part was taken and comfort offered him. She understood a home-keeping nature. Mengette would not have left Domremy for the crown of France. She loved to do the tbings she was accus- tomed to do, and sometimes thought of Chouxs death almost with grief because, though it would permit her marriage, it must change her employment. The longer she was betrothed to Jacquemine the more satisfac- tion she took in the arrangement, though there was little chance for courtship, Isabel being watchful, and Mengette having that discretion which is given to some girls in- stead of mothers. Isabel scarcely noticed them. She stared into space, wondering at the nature that had outgrown her guidance. It had been her de- light to train Jeanne, the child was so docile and so responsive to good. Jeannes eyes would fill with tears at sight of any suffer- ing. No wonder the troubles in France had swept her away. ((But where is she now?)) exclaimed Isabel. ~My child is somewhere out in the night, with only men around her!)) The room again re- sounded with unrestrained mourning. ((No one would hurt Jehannette,~ declared Mengette. ((It is true the men were all put under oath by the Captain of Vaucouleurs to con- duct her in safety, and Pierrelo says they are very trusty men, and Bertrand de Poulengy is of the party. But my heart has begun to misgive me about Bertrand de Poulengy. One is afraid of everything when ones child is no longer under the roof. What is that?)) de- manded Isabel, with sudden attention. ((I hear a stranger in Chouxs room.)) Mengette swallowed her voice, and knew that her heart was beating audibly. A rapid, boyish treble rose higher and higher in Chouxs chamber, and ended in shrill laugh- ter. Jacquemine drew closer to the hearth, fading to ghastliness in the increased light, and seeking Mengettes eye for companion- ship. He had heard Choux boast in the wine- shop of this nightly visitor, and had laughed at it; for then it was broad daylight, and no- body believed a word Choux said. VOL. LIV.16. Isabel turned to her goddaughter, who knew that the moment for telling the truth had come. ((What stranger is staying in your house?)) ((It is no person at all, godmother. It is nothing but a voice. Choux says it comes and talks to him every night, and he calls it Valentin.~ Chouxs croak and Valentins high note jangled rapidly together, stopping on Isabels lips the accusation of trickery. Her face be- came stupid with astonishment, the blank- ness changing to a look of humiliation. ((How long has he had this voice?)) ((Not very long, godmother. Only a few months.~ ((Why have you not told me?)) Mengette picked at her petticoat, and an- swered, I did not like to.)) ((These things put me out of patience,)) said Isabel, fiercely. 4 wonder what is abroad in the world, that even old Choux hath taken to him a familiar spirit? Run home, Jacquemine, if you have so much fear. As for me, voices and visions have broken my heart. They can no longer fright me.~ ((I was but thinking that the cur6 should come with a censer,~ Jacquemine answered, shrinking against the chimney. ((The cur6 should come with a stout club. Did Jehannette ever hear this voice of Chouxs?)) ((No; I am certain she never did. I alone have heard it, for they were not so bold with their talking before Jehannette went away.)) The contrasted laughter of cackling age and shrill youth filled the next chamber. Jac- quemine repeatedly crossed himself against that unrestrained second presence, which grew more tangible to the imagination than Chouxs head in its red cap. Isabel lost no time, but thumped on the partition with her knuckles. It was a stone wall, but an open cupboard was let into it, making a good conductor of sound. ((Choux, stop that noise!)) There was silence. Then the young voice in mimicry repeated Isabels command like an echo. ((Mengette shall not stay in the house with you, and no one in this village will feed you, if this sorcery be not stopped. If you must play your tricks with Satan, go out in the fields, where Christian folks cannot hear. I am going to sleep here with Mengette, and I will have you up before messire the cure if that limb of the fiend makes any more disturbance to-night.)) There was a flurry of whispering, and when 122 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. 0 it ceased Choux lifted his husky voice to defy a woman he dreaded, but who stood at the other side of a wall. ((Limb of the fiend be named thyself, Isabel Rom6e. Valentin, whom thou hast frighted off, is as honest a creature as any saint that ever went walking in thy own garden. It would have been better to lis- ten to news from thy maid, who never stood in such peril as she stands in this night.~ ((Such mock messengers bring no word for me. And now, mind what I tell thee: whether thou hast a familiar or art practising trickery, there shall be n~ more of it in this house.~ Isabel listened austerely; but when she turned from silencing Choux her face had many more haggard lines, which were not the marks of fear. He had cunningly reminded her that Jeanne was sleeping in the open fields. The mothers thoughts tried to bridge darkness, roaming indefinitely southwest- ward, and having no means to come at the actual spot near the river Aube. B~ bridle-paths and across country the riders from Vaucouleurs had achieved more than nine leagues the first day, and the same dis- tance the second. The first night they were - received at the Abbey of St. Urbain, in what is now the department of Haute-Maine, but the next night brought them to more dan- gerous ground. They descended into a valley near the little town of Bar-sur-Aube, and, ~avoiding it, forded the river some distance north of the walls. The place they selected for their camp was a cove between two shoulders of the winding hills. Some leafless trees sheltered it. Already there were moni- tions of spring in the air, and a faint green light, like the tender apple-green of the Meuse, swam in motes between ones eyes and gray slopes, until the world was blurred by night. Houses on the walls began to shine like candles. Jeannes party lighted no fire, but ate cold bread and meat, and drank their wine, she sitting a little apart from the men, and the servants taking their portion to themselves. The dauphins messenger was a lean, light man in the saddle, running over with jokes and songs, which he could hardly suppress in the presence of the maid he was conduct- ing; but he was the first one to wrap himself well in his cloak and lie down for the night. It had been agreed that the maid was to be guarded between Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy. These were Baudricourts orders when camp was made under the open sky. So she lay down betwixt knight and squire, with her peasant dress under her head for a pillow; and the old soldier was soon asleep. But the young one lay awake, with his face away from the cloaked maid whom he had so desired for his wife. She slept with regular, low breathing, as unconscious of his presence as when he rode behind her all day. She had no armor. It was not necessary for him to serve her as squire; but he could watch unceasingly her gay eagerness to get forward, her steadiness in fording deep water, the curve of her back where waist met hips, and even the blush of tan beginning to tint ears and cheeks under her soldiers cap. He lay near enough to put his hand upon her, yet he had never in his life felt so remote from Jeanne dArc. Tears swelled his eyeballs and choked his throat. The boy ground his teeth with an oath between them, changing his oath to a prayer, the anguish and unendurable contra- dictions of life filling him full to the lips. In starting to the wars he had counted on a sub- lime self that had been wearied out of his body, a high, priestly fellow with no personal needs whatever; and here he was the same Bertrand de Poulengy, heartsore, and full of fierce youth and desire. But while he lay with his back toward Jeanne, and his fists clenched, feeling like a dog, a faithful, wor- shiping dog, yet one that was never to be re- warded by a pat, some of the peace which enveloped her came over him. His blood ceased its rapid beating, and external things seemed to approach in a new way to divert and comfort him. He folded his arms and turned his face toward the sky. Humid night air, chill earth, and vapor-strewn stars be- came forces for him to resist hardily, with patience, as a man, and with a kind of tough- ening of the spirit. There was not one bitter or unsound spot in the boy. ((By the time down has grown stiff on my lip,)) thought Bertrand, ((and I have seen something of battle, I shall bear this without making a fool of myself.)) Couvre-feu had already rung in Bar-sur- Aube; the lights were out; no noises came from the town. The full river whispered. Without knowing it, the voices of the two sullen soldiers and Richard the archer, who had ridden with the messenger from Chinon, encroached more and more upon the silence. Bertrand knew they were sullen. He had seen them scowl when they rubbed down the horses, and wink derisively at one another when the maid went into a thicket with her rosary in her hand. One underthought of his wakefulness was to watch these men. The archer had been left on guard, to be followed by his companions in turn; but all three THE DAYS OF JEANNE DARC. 123 heads were yet clustered together, as they had sat at their bread and meat, with a bottle going round from mouth to mouth. Peril enough attended this journey to Chinon without seeking any in the camp. Peril in the camp, however, will soon come seeking him who lets it be. Bertrand rested on his elbow and listened. He would have crept toward the men, but the letter of his oath bound him to his place by Jeannes side during a night in the fields. Three dim shapes against the dark- ness of the hills, Richard the archer and the two soldiers pushed their voices farther and farther into the cove. The humid air carried cautious sounds in full volume to the listener. ((If the lot fell to me I would do it,~ spoke the archer. ((We have had enough of this witch-work. Let us be rid of her.)) ((Since it comes to sleeping on the ground,)) said one soldier. Bertrands weapons, which hung from his belt when it was clasped, now lay within a fold of his cloak. He took the small ax and held it ready. A murmur of urging and fragments of words reached his ears. He caught, without distinctly hearing, the mens determination to throw the maid into the Aube, and then desert with the horses; and reaching cau- tiously over Jeanne, he prodded De Metz with the ax-handle. De Metz slept on like an honest man. Bertrand thought this move- ment of his was seen by the soldier on whom the lot had evidently fallen; for the man paused in stealthy approach, and slunk back to his fellows, being met by a low growl like reviling. Richard the archer, standing a foot above his companions, next stepped forward, and Bertrand held the ax ready to split his head as he stooped. But two lance-lengths beyond the reach of the guardians arm he seemed to find a barrier that he could not pass, and col- lapsing backward as if he had already received a blow, scrambled on hands and knees toward his mates, who uttered a sound of panic. Bertrands blood was all alive, forgetting depression and the chill of the earth. Jealous of his right to protect the maid, he said to himself, 4 will not wake De Metz.~ His own part of secrecy and silence amused him, and he tingled with laughter at the futile attempts. ((The poor fools really have no harm in them; they are only discontented; and when they have done easing full minds on one an- other they will go about their business.)) Yet he determined to see that they went about their business, and clasping on his weapons, he stood up to follow them. A swift smiting of light on the eyeballs, like that which flashes within the lid when sight struggles in pitch darkness, showed him the archer and both soldiers crouching a few feet away. ((What are you doing there?)) he de- manded; but they did not hear him. They did not look at him. A thinning of the dim- ness around, like the shadowed edge of light, revealed their staring eyes and the separate hairs bristling on their unshaven jaws. Jeanne had risen to her knees betwixt De Metz and Bertrand, her muffled figure bent forward, the fixed curve of her body, the very threads of her cloak, whitened strangely in the night. No visible hovering presence poured glory on her, yet she shone. Her squire, still holding the ax, crossed his hands on his bosom, feeling drenched by some divine power. Long after Jeanne lay down from her half- conscious prayer, breathing like a healthy child, and long after archer and soldiers, separating in silence, had taken to watch or to hiding, Bertrand stood with his hands crossed on his breast. He knew that he should never speak of this night except lightly, but he wondered what terror there could be for ignorant men in that instants glow which - had rested on the maid. Iv. CHINON CASTLE stood among clouds above the compact walled town of Chinon, huge and white, buttressed along the cliffs, showing all its towers and battlements, from the horologe portal to an ancient Roman round fortress at its extremity, as the riders from Vaucouleurs approached it at sunset. The valley of the river Vienne, like so many of the valleys of France, stretched from the foot of sheer heights to far blue alluvial hills. Touraine was a rich country even then, when large tracts of the realm lay waste and unproduc- tive year after year. The forward spring made a blur like green light over massed dis- tances, showing, as no single tree by the river could do, revival of life in buds. Some fishermen were in a boat, poling over the rocky bottom of the Vienne. Its dark- green water in shady places took the color of ale. As the party from Vaucouleurs crossed the bridge, the town gates were opened, and the dauphins messenger came out to meet them. ((You have nade good speed to-day with- out me,)) he si id, wheeling his horse to enter beside De Metz, who led the company; ((but it is a plain journey from Ste. Katherine de 124 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. Fierbois to Chinon. How many masses did the maid hear yesterday while she rested in the church of St. Katherine?)) 1 ((Only three,)) answered De Metz. His smile was indulgent, but the courtiers was mock- ing. ((And every man of us, constrained to rub his knees so long on that stone floor, was fain to envy you riding forward at ease, with a letter to the dauphin, and the end of the journey in sight.)) The horses neighed when the gates closed after them, scenting shelter and provender. Nimble-footed, they picked their waythrough lanes of overhanging houses crowded to the hill beneath the castle buttresses, remember- ing no more their twelve days beating across varying soils of France. By way of Auxerre, Gien, Salbris, Ramorantin, Selles, St. Aignan, Loches, and the parish church of Ste. Kathe- rine de Fierbois, they had brought their rid- ers without mishap to Chinon. The horse which Durand Laxart had provided for Jeanne stepped soberly behind De Metzs; her squire reined his, more spirited, a pace behind. Two pr three church towers seemed to hold the light of the March sunset which ascending little streets so readily lost. ((Deputies from Orl6ans are now at the castle,)) said the dauphins messenger; ((they have come to hasten this business about the maid.)) ((I call that good news,)) answered the knight. ((And since the expense of this ex- pedition has rested on me, and the three troublesome knaves behind our backs are cer- tain to demand their pay at once, the dauphin will doubtless soon put my mind at rest about the scores.)) ((Oh, doubtless; or Messire Alan Chartier will make you a song which will give your mind great ease. We will all share our tran- quillity with you; but if you expect to find any money at Chinon you will be disappointed. Jacques C~ur of Bourges is the only man in this poor kingdom that hath any gold; and sage as that generous goldsmith is, he will be stripped before this business with England be finished. I myself am used to eating sheeps legs at Chinon, where the king hath not even a comfit-box to pass to the ladies. But if I told other good fellows at court that you came with a full pouch, you would not have pieces enough to divide among the borrowers.)) ((In that case the dauphin might as well stand indebted to me. In truth, this is the first time I have taken thought about my money, for the maid was welcome for her 1 St. Catherines name is thus spelled in all records concerning this parish church. own sake, and I must abide by the good or bad that comes of this venture. But I hope we shall have leave to go to Orl6ans soon.)) 4 think myself it promises well that the envoys from Orl6ans are here. But a king is not the only person that governs a realm, Messire de Metz.s A few dogs barked at the cavalcade, but the quiet villagers paid little attention to it. There was much coming and going betwixt court and distressed kingdom. A man blind in his left eye and lame in his right foot was dipping a two-handled jug in the public foun- tain, and singing. The sweet, tremulous tenor spread through the valley, and followed Jeanne as she ascended to the castle, like music sent to encourage her. The Dauphins messenger made his party dismount at the inn, where the horses were to be left, and where even the big cook, white as flour from head to foot, came out to help hold bridles; and he then took the most direct path, which was a paved gutter between walls scarcely two arms lengths apart. A door stood open at one side, show- ing a dark interior, lighted only by a red hearth with a childs head against the shine, and Bertrand was startled to see that these continuous walls were house-fronts. Voices of women were heard talking within the stone. A thread of water moved down the depressed center of the way. Winding, this path led up to a broad track which turned upon itself and faced the castle. Chinon had been a favorite seat of English kings before it passed into the hands of the French. A huge gray ruin, the ancient Abbey of St. George extended along the height like a detached outwork of the castle. Its thick walls had been burrowed into by poor wretches who stood gaunt-faced at their doors, and looked at the arriving maid. Liv- ing so near the royal gates, they had heard of her, and they witnessed the insolence of a drunken soldier who came down the slope and boldly stumbled against her. Bertrand de Poulengy struck him out of the way. ((Jarnedieu!)) the soldier snarled, using the common oath of his class. ((Dost thou jarnedieu,s said Jeanne, pite- ously, turning to follow him with her eyes ((thou who art so near death?)) The warder lowered a long drawbridge across the moat, and the clock struck high above their heads as they passed through the tower of the horologe. From this portal a sunken road guarded by masonry ascended to a wide garden. The glow of sunset lingered on winding paths, and masses of trees, and THE DAYS OF JEANNE DARC. 125 banks where roses would be rankly abundant in their season. Though birches, oaks, and shrubs were yet leafless, they almost hid the royal chateau, to which it seemed a far cry from the gate. Nothing was spoken until the party came to this pile, buttressed along the cliff, and looking with large stone-cased win- dows over valley and height. This is the middle chateau, where the king rests,)) said the royal messenger; and Jeanne would have turned aside to the great entrance. ((You are not to be lodged here,)) he told her; ~~you go yonder to the tower of Coudray, beyond the inner moat.)) They passed the long palace side, seeing no face look down in welcome, and crossed the bridge over the inner moat. Instead of water a fleece of springing grass covered the depths of this wide and sheltered moat. A curtain of stone connected a high tower on the moat bank with another battlemented tower built into the buttressed cliff wall. There was an archway in the curtain at the end of the bridge, through which they passed to the tower of Coudray on the right hand. It rose between twotwings of masonry. The farther one was~ expanded to a chapel, but the nearer one seemed merely a sheltered entrance to a stone staircase built up to the first floor of the tower. Joints of creepers clung about its corners and massed over its sashless win- dow. Wherever a rock had crumbled, little tufts of green were coming generously out to meet the Touraine sun. ((Ascend here, pucelle,~ said the dauphins messenger; ((and wait until I see the king. Women will be sent to attend you. Here is better footing than on the inner stairs.)) ((But when shall I see the dauphin?)) in- quired Jeanne. Her guide made a gesture which counseled patience. ((It hath struck seven of the clock,)) ven- tured Bertrand. ((Perhaps his Majesty is now at supper.)) ((The king dines at seven in Chinon,~ said the messenger; ((and I have never seen him so bent on affairs of state that he abated his natural habits.)) ((Messire Colet,~ said Jeanne, using her guides name with a power of entreaty which pierced a courtiers indifference, ((go you at once to the dauphin, and tell him I am here and must see him.)) ((It shall be done, pucelle; but you your- self need food; and rest also you need after ten days in the saddle, and no repose and comfort except what you could take upon your knees on the stones of Ste. Katherine de Fierbois.~ Jeanne turned laughing from her ascent of the stairs, and clapped her guide on the back with a sudden palm. ((I wish I had ten thousand such men as these, all armed and equipped, and ready to march this minute. We would make short work of the English in France.)) The astonished messenger saw her shut the door of the tower before he turned to De Metz and the squire. ((Hath she not a strange effect on a man? You would say she is a child driven by some power toward bloody war; yet when you see her riding at speed, with her throat swelled out and her shoulders back, or when she rouses you with a stroke like that, you want to unsheathe a sword and shout.~ He led Jeannes escort around to the front of the tower, where a door let them into a dark circular inclosure. ((I call this a beastly place,)) growled the archer. ~In Vaucouleurs we had better stables for cattle.)) ((This dungeon is only the guard-room of the tower,)) said the messenger; ((but over yonder, beyond St. Martins Chapel, we have some deep underground cells, with irons in the wails, for such fellows as you, my good bow- man. If you bring a proud stomach to Chinon, you will be let down out of daylight, as many a better man hath been before your time.)) ((A soldier needs nothing but a bench and the earthen floor,)) said De Metz; ((but I would be glad to know that the maid hath better accommodations above.)) ((She has two commodious chambers, one over the other, for herself and the ladies who will be sent to bear her pompany. And now, messire knight, set your guard, and I will show you and the squire where you are to lodge.)) ((Let me stay with the guard until com- pany is sent to the pucelle,~ requested Ber- trand; and his forwardness was not rebuked. He sat down near the door, Richard the archer being left as sentinel at the foot of the inner stairs. Richard could see nothing but cross-tracery of distant boughs or chapel walls through the door, while his watcher could also see the Roman tower, and much nearer something like a colossal chimney-top standing half the length of a man above ground. While Bertrand sat there some serving-men descended into it by means of a ladder, and he learned afterward that it was an entrance to the subterranean storehouses of the castle. Ten days resentment broke silence with the archer. I need no spy over me, messire 126 THE CENTURY MAGAZINE. innkeeper. I stood at guard before thou wert born.)) ((Age never improves a knave,)) retorted Bertrand. ((Stand back, there! I would as lief stick thee in the ribs as not. I have scarce been able to keep my hands off thee and thy two fellows since the night by Bar- sur-Aube.)) Though far from claiming social equality with a squire, the bowman resented being ranked with servant-soldiers who had not yet risen to be men-at-arms. In every body of troops the archers were most numerous. A lifetime of practice went to the making of their skill, while any varlet could soon learn the trade of man-at-arms. Richard coarsely sneered and put his knuckles on his hips at mention of his two fellows, but his face changed at mention of the night by Bar-sur- Aube. ((Come,)) said Bertrand, ((tell me what you saw, and I will never mention the matter to the dauphin. The pucelle is now safe in Chinon, but he might clap you in irons for conspiring to drown her, if he knew it. I will pledge ~?ou also the silence of Messire de Metz, though we are both resolved you go no farther in our company. What made you three knaves pick up your heels every time you approached her?)) ((I do not know, messire.)) Richards eyes were uneasy and his figure was dejected. ((Did you see any apparition?)) 4 will tell thee, Messire de Poulengy, I am g