THE GALAXY. VOL. XXIILJANUARY, 1877.No. 1. ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 7pllE political differences which I have generated parties in this country date back to an early period. They existed under the old confeder- ation, were perceptible in the form- ation of the Constitution and estab- lishment of a more perfect union. Differences on fundamental principles of government led to the organization of parties which, under various names, after the adoption of the Federal Con- stitution, divided the people and in- fluenced and often controlled national and State elections. Neither of the parties, however, has always strictly adhered or been true to its professed principles. Each has, under the pres- sure of circumstances and to secure temporary ascendancy in the Federal or State governments, departed from the landmarks and traditions which gave it its distinctive character. The Cen- tra2i8ts, a name which more signi- ficantly than any other expresses the character, principles, and tendency of those who favor centralization of power in a supreme head that shall ex- ercise paternal control over States and people, have under various names con- stituted one party. On the other hand, the Stati8t8, under different names, have from the first been jealous of central supremacy. They believe in local self- government, support the States in all their reserved and ungranted rights, insist on a strict construction of the Constitution and the limitation of Federal authority to the powers specifi- cally delegated in that instrument. The broad and deep line of demarc- ation between these parties has not always been acknowledged. Inno- vation and change have sometimes modified and disturbed this line; but after a period the distinctive boundary has reappeared and antagonized the people. During the administration of Mr. Monroe, known as the era of good feeling, national party lines were almost totally obliterated, and local and personal controversies took their place. National questions were revived, however, and contested with extreme violence during several suc- ceeding administrations. Thfrty years later, when the issues of bank, tariff, internal improvements, and an inde- pendent treasury were disposed of, there was as complete a break up of parties as in the days of Monroe. It was not, however, in an era of good feeling that this later dislocation of parties took place; but an attempt was made in 1850 by leading politicians belonging to different organizations to unite the people by a compromise or an arrangement as unnatural as it was insincereparty lines if not obliterated were, as the authors intended, in a measure broken down. This compro- mise, as it was called, was a sacrifice of honest principles, and instead of allay- ing disputes, was followed by a terrific storm of contention and violence tran Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by SHELDON & CO., in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington 1 6 ADM~N1STRATJON OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [J~u~nv, scending anything the country had ever experienced, and ended in a civil war. The time has not yet arrived for a calm and dispassionate review of the acts and actors of that period and the events of the immediately succeeding years; hut the incidents that took place and the experience so dearly purchased should not be perverted, misunder- stood, or wholly forgotten. The compromises of 1850, instead of adjusting differences and making the people of one mind on political ques- tions, actually caused in their practical results the alienation of life-long party friends, led to new associations among old opponents, and created organiza- tions that partook more of a sectional character than of honest constitutional differences on fundamental questions relative to the powers and authority of the Government, such as had previous- ly divided the people. The facility with which old political opponents came together in the compromise mea- sures of 1850, and abandoned principles and doctrines for which they had bat- tled through their whole lives, begot popular distrust. Confidence in the sincerity of the men who so readily made sacrifices of principles was for- feited or. greatly impaired. The Whig party dwindled under it, and as an ~organization shortly went out of ex- istence. A large portion of its mem- bers, disgusted with what they con- sidered the insincerity if not faithless- ness of their leaders, yet unwilling to attach themselves to the Democratic party, which had coalesced in the move- ment, gathered together in a secret or- ganization, styling themselves Know Nothings. Democrats in some quar- ~ters., scarcely less dissatisfied with the compromises, joined the Know Nothing order, and in one or two annual elec- tions this strange combination, without avowed principles or purpose, save that of the defeat and overthrow of poli- ticians, who were once their trusted favoritea, was successful. In this de- moralized condition of affairs, the Democrats by the accession of Whigs in the Southern states obtained posses- sion of the Government and main- tamed their ascendancy through the Pierce administration; and, in a con- test quite as much sectional as polit- ical, elected Buchanan in 1856. But these were the expiring days of the old Democratic organization, which, under the amalgamating process of the compromise measures, became shattered and mixed, especially in the Southern States, with former Whigs, and was to a great extent thereafter sectionalized. The different opposing political elements united against it and organized and established the Re- publican party, which triumphed in the election of Lincoln in 1860. The ad- ministration which followed and was inaugurated in 1861 differed in essen- tial particulars from either of the pre- ceding political organizations. Men of opposing principlesCentralists, who like Hamilton and patriots of that class were for a strong imp~ria1 na- tional government, with supervising and controlling authority over the States, on one hand, and Statists on the other, who, like Jefferson, adhered to State individuality and favored a league or federation of States, a national re- public of limited and clearly defined powers, with a strict observance of all the reserved right of the local com- monwealthswere brought together in the elections of 1860. It has been represented and recorded as grave history that the Republican party was an abolition party. Such was not the fact, although the small and utterly powerless faction which, under the lead of William Lloyd Garrison and others, had for years made aggressive war on slavery, was one of the elements which united with Whigs and Dem- ocrats in the election of Mr. Lincoln. Nor was that result a Whig triumph, though a large portion of the Whigs in the free States, after the compromises of 1850, from natural antagonism to the Democrats, entered into the Repub- lican organization. While it is true that a large majority of the Whigs of the North relinquished their old organ- ization and became Republicans, it is 1877.] ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 7 no less true that throughout the slave States, and in many of the free States, the members of the Whig party to a considerable extent supported Bell or Breckenridge. But Democrats dissat- isfied with the measures of the Pierce and Buchanan administrations, in much larger numbers than is generally conceded, took early and efficient part in the Republican organizationssome on account of the repeal of the Mis- souri compromise, but a much larger number in consequence of the efforts of the central Government at Washing- ton, by what was considered by them an abuse of civil trust, and by military interference, to overpower the settlers in Kansas, denying them the right of self-government, and an attempt arbi- trarily and surreptitiously to impose upon the inhabitants against their will a fraudulent Constitution. It was this large contribution of free-thinking and independent Democrats, who had the courage to throw off party allegiance and discipline in behalf of the prin- ciples of free government on which our republican system is founded, the right of the people to self-government, and, consequently, the right to form and establish their own constitution without dictation or interference from the central government so long as they violated no provision of the organic law, that gave tone, form, and ascend- ancy to the Republican party in every free State. Persistent efforts have been made to establish as historical truths the rep- resentations that the civil war had its origin in a scheme or purpose to abol- ish slavery in the States where it ex- isted, and that the election of Abraham Lincoln was an abolition triumpha premeditated, aggressive, sectional war upon the South; whereas the reverse is the factthe Republican party in its inception was a strictly constitutional party, that defended the rights of the people, the rights of the States, and the rights of the Federal Government, which were assailed by a sectional com- bination that was not satisfied with the Constitution as it was, but proposed to exact new guarantees from the na- tion for the protection of what they called Southern rights rights un- known to the Constitution. The mis- representations that the Republicans were aggressive and aimed to change the organic law have not been without their influence, temporarily at least, in prejudicing and warping the public mind. It is true that the slavery ques- tion was most injudiciously and un- wisely brought into the party contro- versies of the country; but it was done by the slaveholders or their political representatives in Congress after the failure of the nullifiers to obtain as- cendancy in the Government on the subject of free trade and resistance to the revenue laws. John C. Calhoun, a man of un- doubted talents, but of nuappeasable ambition, had at an early period of his life, while Secretary of War, and still a young man, aspired to the office of President. By his ability and patri- otic course during the war of 1812, and subsequently by a brilliant career as a member of Mr. Monroes Cabinet, he had acquired fame and a certain degree of popularity which favored his pretensions, particularly with young men and army officers. Schemes and projects of national aggrandizement by internal improvements, protection to home industries, large military ex- penditures, and measures of a central- izing tendency which were popular in that era of no parties, gave him & 9ctt as Secretary of War. Flattered by his attentions and by his shining qualities, military men became his enthusiastic supporters, and received encourage- ment from him in return. It was the first attempt to elect so young a man to be Chief Magistrate, and was more per- sonal than political in its character. In the memorable contest for the sue- cessorship to President Monroe, Mr. Calhoun at one time seemed to be a formidable candidate; but his pop- ularity being personal was evanescent, and failed to enlist the considerate and reflecting. Even his military hopes were soon eclipsed by General Jack- 8 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JANUARY, son, whose bold achievements and suc- cesses in the Indian and British wars captivated the popular mind. Jack- son had also, as a representative and Senator in Congress, Judge of the Supreme Court of Tennessee, and Gov- ernor of Florida, great civil experience. Mr. Calhoun was, however, in the polit- ical struggle that took place in 1824, elected to the second office of the re- public, while in the strife, confusion, and break up of parties no one of the competing candidates for President re- ceived a majority of the electoral votes. He and his supporters submitted to, it may be said acquiesced in, the result then and also in 1828, when General Jackson was elected President and Mr. Calhoun was reillected to the office of Vice-President. This acquiescence, however, was reluctant; but with an ex- pectation that he would in 1833, at the close of General Jacksons term, be the successor of the distinguished military chieftain. But the arrangements of calculat- ing politicians often end in disap- pointments. Such was the misfor- tune of Mr. Calhoun. His ambitious and apparently well contrived plans had most of them an abortive and hap- less termination. Observation and ex- perience convinced him, after leaving Mr. Monroes Cabinet, that the ed- ucated and reflective Statists or State rights men of the country, and espe- cially of the South, would never sanc- tion or be reconciled to the exercise of power by the Federal Govern- ment to protect the manufacturing in- terests of New England, or to construct roads and canals in the West, at the ex- pense of the National Treasury. These were, however, favorite measures of a class of politicians of the period who had special interests to subserve, and who carried with them the consolida- tionists, or advocates of a strong and magnificent central government. The tariff, internal improvements, and kin- dred subjects became classified and known in the party politics of that day as the American system a system of high taxes and large expenditures by the Federal Governmentwithout specific constitutional authority for either. Parties were arrayed on op- posite sides of this system, which, be- sides the political principles involved, soon partook of a sectional character. High and oppressive duties on importa- tions, it was claimed, were imposed to foster certain industries in the North to the injury of the South. Henry Clay, a politician and states- man of wonderful magnetic power, was the eloquent champion of the Amer- ican system, and enlisted in his favor the large manufacturing interest in the North and the friends of internal im- provement in the West. These mea- sures were made national issues, and Mr. Clay, Speaker of the House of Representatives, appropriated them to his personal advancemeut, and was their recognized leading advocate. Mr. Calhoun could not be second 4o his Western rival, but abandoned the policy of protection, internal improve- ments, and great national undertak- ings, and allied himself to the coin- mercial and plantation interests, which opposed the system, expecting to iden- tify himself with and to receive the support of the Statists. But the strict constructionists of Virginia, Georgia, and other States of the old Jefferson school distrusted him and withheld their confidence and support. South Qarolina, erratic, brilliant, and impulsive, had never fully harmonized with the politicians of Virginia in their political doctrines, but had been in- clined to ridicule the rigid and non- progressive principles of her states- men, who, always cautious, were now slow to receive into fellowship and to commit themselves to the new con- vert who sought their support. They slighted him, and rejected his nullifi- cation remedies. Instead of following the Palmetto State in her fanatical party schemes on the alleged issue of free trade, and supporting her fa- vorite son in his theories, they sus- tained General Jackson, whose Union sentiments they approved, and who, to the disgust of Calhoun, became a 9 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN.. candidate for rdilection in 1832 and received the votes of almost the whole South. In this crisis, when the heated par- tisans of South Carolina in their zeal for free trade and State rights had made a step in advance of the more staid and reflecting Statists, and undertook to abrogate and nullify the laws of the Federal. Government legal- ly enacted, they found themselves un- supported and in difficulty, and natu- rally turned to their acknowledged leader for guidance. To contest the Federal Government, and pioneer the way for his associates to resist and overthrow the Administration, Mr. Cal- houn resigned the office of Vice-Presi- dent and accepted that of Senator, where his active mind, fertile in re- sources, could, and as he and they be- lieved would extricate them. There was, however, at the head of the Gov- ernment in that day a stern, patriotic, and uncompromising Chief Magistrate, who would listen to no mere temporiz- ingexpedients when the stability of the Union was involved, and who, while recognizing and maintaining the rights of the States, never forgot the rights that belonged to the Federal Govern- mont. In his extremity, when con- fronting this inflexible President, Mr. Calhoun hastened to make friends with his old opponents, Clay, Webster, and the protectionists, the advocates of the American system, the authors and champions of the very policy which had been made the pretext or justification for nullification and re- sistance to Federal law and the Fede- ral authority. This coalition of hos- tile factions combined in a scheme, or compromise, where each sacrificed principles to oppose the administration of Jackson. It was an insincere and unrighteous coalition which soon fell asunder. In the mean time, while nullifi- cation was hopelessly prostrate, and before the coalition was complete, the prolific mind of the aspiring Carolin- ian devised a new plan and a new system of tactics which it was expected would sectionalize and unite the South. This new device was a defence of slav- erya subject in which the entire South was interestedagainst the impudent demands of the abolitionists. Not un- til the nullifiers were defeated, and had failed to draw the South into their nullification plan, was slavery agita- tion introduced into Congress and made a section~al party question with aggressive demands for national pro- tection. The abolitionists were few in numbers, and of little account in American politics. Some benevolent Quakers and uneasy fanatics, who neither comprehended the structure of our Federal system nor cared for the Constitution, had annually for forty years petitioned Congress to give free- dom to the slaves. But the statesmen of neither party listened to these un- constitutional appeals until the defeat- ed nullifiers professed great apprehen- sion in regard to them, and introduced the subject as a disturbance, and made it a sensational sectional issue in Con- gress and the elections. From the first agitation of the sub- ject as a party question, slavery in all its phases was made sectional and ag- gressive by the South. Beginning with a denial of the right to petition for the abolition of slavery, and with demands for new and more exacting national laws for the arrest and rendi- tion of fugitives, the new sectional party test was followed by other mea- sures; such as the unconditional ad- mission of Texas, the extension of slavery into all the free territory ac- quired from Mexico, the repeal of the Missouri compromise, a denial to the people of Kansas of the right to frame their own constitution, and other in- cidental and irritating questions that were not legitimately within the scope of Federal authority. Fierce conten- tions prevailed for years, sometimes more violent than at others. In 1850 a budget of compromises, which has already been alluded to, involving a surrender of principles and an enactment of laws that were unwarranted by thG Constitution, and 1877.1 10 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JA~nITARY, offensive in other respects, had been patched up by old Congressional party leaders, ostensibly to reconcile con- ilicting views and interests, but which were superficial remedies for a cancer- ous disease, and intended more to glorify the authors than to promote the countrys welfare. Both of the great parties were committed by the managers to these compromises, but the effect upon each was different. The Whigs, tired of constant defeat, hoped for a change by the compro- raises that would give them recogni- tion and power; but instead of these they found themselves dwarfed and weakened, while the Democrats, who yielded sound principles to conciliate their Southern allies, were for a time numerically strengthened in that sec- tion by accessions from the Whigs. Old party lines became broken, and in the Presidential contest of 1852 the Democratic candidate, General Pierce, a young and showy, but not profound man, was elected by an overwhelming majority over the veteran General Scott, who was the candidate of the Whigs. From this date the Whig or- ganization dwindled and had but a fragmentary existence. Thencefor- ward, until the overthrow of the Dem- ocratic party, the Government at Washington tended to centralization. Fidelity to party, and adherence to organization, with little regard for principle, were its political tests in the free States. Sectional sentiments to sustain Southern aggressions, under the name of Southern rights, were inculcated, violent language, and acts that were scarcely less so, prevailed through the South and found apolo- gists and defenders at the North. Presidents Pierce and Buchanan, liter- ally northern men with southern principles, were submissive to these sectional aggressions, acquiesced in the repeal of the Missouri compromise, the extension and nationalizing of Blavery, hitherto a State institution and also to the schemes to prevent the establishment of a free constitution by the people of Kansas. The mass of voters opposed to the policy of these administrations, and who coastituted the Republican party, were not entire- ly in accord on fundamental principles and views of government, but had been brought into united action from the course of events which followed the Mexican war, the acquisition of territory, and the unfortunate coinpro- mises of 1850. The sectional strife, for the alleged reason of Lincolns election and Republican success, which eventuated in hostilities in 1861, and the tremendous conflict that succeed- ed and shook the foundation of the Government during the ensuing four years, threatening the national exist ence, absorbed all minor questions of a purely political party character, and made the Cabinet of Mr. Lincoln, though its members entertained or- ganic differences, a unit. Therc were occasions when the antecedent opin- ions and convictions of the members elicited discussion in regard to the powers, limitations, and attributes of government; but in the midst of war disagreeing political opinions as well as the laws themselves were silenced. Each and all felt the necessity of har- monious and efficient action to pre- serve the Union. This was especially th~ c~se dur- ing the first two years of the war of secession. Not only the Presi- dents constitutional advisers, but the Republican members of Congress, embracing many captious, factious,and theoretical controversialists, acted in harmony and concert. Murmurs were hcard among its friends, and dissatis- faction felt that the AdministratiQn was not sufficiently energetic or arbi- trary, and because it did not immedi- ately suppress the rebellion. A long period of peace which the country had enjoyed rendered the malcontents in- capable of judging of the necessities of preparation for war. On to Rich- mond became the cry of the impa- tient and restless before the armies mustered into service were organized. The violent and impassioned appeals of excited and mischievous speakers 11 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. and writers created discontent and clamor that could not always be ap- peased or successfully resisted. Not content with honest if not always in- telligent criticism of the Government, some editors, papers, writers, and speakers, at an early period and in- deed throughout the war, condemned the policy pursued, assumed to direct the management of affairs, and ad- vanced crude and absurd notions of the manner in which the Government should be administered and military operations conducted. For a period after the rout at Bull Run, which seemed a rebuke to these inconsiderate partisans, there was a temporary lull of complaints and apparent acquies- cence by Republicans in the measures of administration. Military differences and army jea- lousies existed from the beginning, which were aggravated and stimulated by partisan friends and opponents of the rival officers, and by dissent from the policy pursued in the conduct of military affairs to which many took exception. General Scott was the military ora- cle of the Administration in the first days of the war. His ability and great experience entitled him to regard and deference on all questions relating to military operations. No one ap- preciated his qualities more than the President, unless it was General Scott himself, who with great self-esteem was nevertheless not unconscious that his age and infirmities had impaired his physical energies, and in some re- spects unfitted him to be the active military commander. It was his mis- fortune that he prided himself more if possible on his civil and political knowledge and his administrative ability than on his military skill and capacity. As a politician his opinions were often chimerical, unstable, and of little moment; but his military knowledge and experience were valu- able. With headquarters at Washing- ton, and for thirty years consulted and trusted by successive administrations of different parties in important emer gencies, internal and external, and at one time the selected candidate of one of the great political parties for Presi- dent, he had reason to feel that he was an important personage in the repub- lic; also that he was competent, and that it was a duty for him to partici- pate in political matters, and to advise in civil affairs when there were threat- ened dangers. But while he was sa- gacious to detect the premonitory symptoms of disturbance, and always ready to obey and execute military orders, he was in political and civil matters often weak, irresolute, and in- firm of purpose. He had in the au- tumn of 1860 warned President Bu- chanan of danger to be apprehended from the secession movement, and wisely suggested measures to prcserve peace; but he soon distrusted and abandoned his own suggestions. With- out much knowledge of Mr. Lincoln, and believing erroneously, as did many others, that Mr. Seward was to be the controlling mind in the new adminis- tration, he early put himself in com- munication with that gentleman. The two agreed upon the policy of surren- dering or yielding to the States in se- cession the fortresses within their respective limits. It has been said, and circumstances indicate that thcre was also an understanding by Mr. Seward with certain secession leaders, that the forts, particularly Sumter, if not attacked, should not be reinforced. Of the plans of Mr. Seward and General Scott, and the understanding which either of them bad with the secession- ists, President Lincoln was not in- formed; but, while he had a sense of duty and a policy of his own, he at- tentively and quietly listened to each and to all others entitled to give their opinions. The reports of Major Anderson and the defence of Sumter being military operations, the President, pursuant to Mr. Sewards advice, referred to Gene- ral Scott, and it was supposed by those gentlemen that the President acqui- esced in their conclusions. Nor were they alone in that supposition, for the 1877.] 12 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JANUARy, President, while cautiously feeling his way, sounding the minds of others, and gathering information from every quarter, wisely kept his own counsel and delayed announcing his determi- nation until the last moment. He was accused of being culpably slow, when he was wisely deliberate. When his decision to reinforce Sum- ter was finally made known, the Sec- retary of State and the General-in- Chief were surprised, embarrassed, and greatly disappointed; for it was an ut- ter negation and defeat of the policy which they had prescribed. The Gen- eral, like a good soldier, quietly and submissively acquiesced; but Mr. Sew- ard, a man of expedients and some conceit, was unwilling and unprepared to surrender the first place in the Ad- ministration, and virtually publish the fact by an Executive mandate which upset his promised and preferred ar- rangements. It was then that he be- came aware of two things: first, that neither himself nor General Scott, nor both combined, were infallible with the Administration; and second, that the President, with all his suavity and genial nature, had a mind of his own, and the resolution and self-reliance to form, and the firmness and indepen- dence to execute a purpose. They had each overestimated the influence of the other with the President, and un- derestimated his capacity, will, and self-reliance. When the Secretary be- came convinced that he could not alter the Presidents determination, he con- formed to circumstances, immediately changed his tactics, and after notify- ing the authorities at Charleston that the garrison in Sumter was to be sup- plied, he took prompt but secret mea- sures to defeat the expedition by de- taching the flagship, and sending her, with the supplies and reinforcements that had been prepared and intended for Sumter, to Fort Pickens. In doing this he consulted neither the War nor Navy Departments, to which the ser- vice belonged; but discarding both, and also the General-in-Chief, his pre- ceding special confidant, and with whom he had until then acted in con- cert, he took to his counsel younger military officers, secretly advised with them and withdrew them from their legitimate and assigned duties. The discourtesy and the irregularity of the proceeding, when it became known, shocked General Scott. His pride was touched. He felt the slight, but he was too good an officer, too subordi- nate, and too well disciplined, to com- plain. The secret military expedition undertaken by the Secretary of State without the knowledge of the proper departments and of himself, was so ir- regular, such evidence of improper ad- ministration, that he became alarmed. He felt keenly the course of Mr. Sew- ard in not consulting him, and in sub- stituting one of his staff as military adviser for the Secretary of State; but he was more concerned for the Gov- ernment and country. A native of Yirginia, and imbued with the political doctrines there prev- alent, but unflinching in patriotism and devotion to the Union and the flag, General Scott hesitated how to actobjected to the hostile invasion of any State by the national troops, but advised that the rebellious section should be blockaded by sea and land. He thought that surrounded by the army and navy the insurgents would be cut off from the outer world, and when exhausted from non-intercourse and the entire prostration of trade and commerce they would return to duty; the anaconda principle~ of exhaust- ing them he believed would be effect- ual without invading the territory of States. When the mayor of Baltimore and a committee of secessionists waited upon the President on the 20th of April to protest against the passage of troops through that city to the national capital, he, in deference to the local government, advised the President to yield to the metropolitan demand, and himself drew up an Executive order to that effect. The seizure of Harpers Ferry and Norfolk and the threatened attack upon Washington greatly dis- turbed him, but not so much as the 1877.] ADMIMSTRATJON OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 13 wild cry of the ardent and impulsive which soon followed of on to Rich- mond with an undisciplined army. Sensible of his inability to take the field, he acquiesced in the selection if he did not propose after the disaster at Bull Run, that General McClellan should be called to Washington to organize the broken and demoralized Army of the Potomac. A thorough re- organization was promptly and effect- ually accomplished by that officer. In a few days order, precision, and dis- cipline prevailedthe troops were massed and a large army was encamped in and about the national capital. But it was soon evident to the members of the Administration that there was not perfect accord between the two Gen- erals. The cause and extent of dis- agreement were not immediately un- derstood. At a Cabinet meeting which took place in September at the headquarters of the General-in-Chief by reason of his physical infirmities, a brief discussion occurred which developed coolness if not dissatisfaction. An inquiry was made by the President as to the exact number of troops then in and about Washington. General McClellan did not immediately respondsaid he had brought no reports or papers with him. General Scott said he had not himself recently received any reports. Secre- tary Seward took from his pocket some memoranda, stating the number that had been mustered in a few days pre- vious, and then went on to mention ad- ditional regiments which had arrived several successive days since, making an aggregate, I think, of about ninety- three thousand men. The General im- mediately became grave. When the subject matter for which the Cabinet and war officers had been convened was disposed of, some of the gentlemen left, and General McClellan was about retiring, when General Scott requested him to remain, and he also desired the President and the rest of us to listen to some inquiries and re- marks which he wished to make. He was very deliberate, but evidently very much aggrieved. Addressing General McClellan, he said: You are perhaps aware, General McClellan, that you were brought to these headquarters by my advice and by my orders after consulting with the President. I know you to be intelli- gent and to be possessed of some ex- cellent military qualities; and after our late disaster it appeared to me that you were a proper person to organize and take active command of this army. I brought you here for that purpose. Many things have been, as I expected they would be, well done; but in some respects I have been disappointed. You do not seem to be aware of your true position; and it was for this rea- son I desired that the President and these gentlemen should hear what I have to say. You are here upon my staff to obey my orders, and should daiLy report to me. This you have failed to do, and you appear to labor under the mistake of supposing that you and not I are General-in-Chief and in command of the armies. I more than you am responsible for military operations; but since you came here I have been in no condition to give directions or to advise the President because my chief of staff has neglected to make reports to me. I cannot an- swer simple inquiries which the Pres- ident or any member of the Cabinet makes as to the number of troops here; they must go to the State depart- ment and not come to military head- quarters for that information. Mr. Seward here interposed to say that the statement he had made was from facts which he had himself col- lected from day to day as the troops arrived. Do I understand, asked General Scott, that the regiments re- port as they come here to the Honor- able Secretary of State? No, no, said Mr. Cameron, who wished to arrest or soften a painful in- terview. General McClellan is not to blame; it is Sewards work. He is con- stantly meddling with what is none of his business, and (alluding to the Pickens expedition) makes mischief in 14 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JANUAnY, the war and navy departments by his interference. There was in the manner more than in the words a playful sarcasm which Seward felt and the President evi- dently enjoyed. General McClellan stood by the open door with one hand raised and holding it, a good deal embarrassed. He said he had intended no discourtesy to General Scott, but he had been so incessantly occupied in organizing and placing the army, re- ceiving and mustering in the recruits as they arrived, and attending to what was absolutely indispensable, that it might seem he omitted some matters of duty, but he should extremely re- gret if it was supposed he had been guilty of any disrespect. You are too intelligent and too good a disciplinarian not tc know your duties and the proprieties of military intercourse, said General Scott; but seem to have misapprehended your right position. I, you must m~der- stand, am General-in-Chief. You are my chief of staff. When I brought you here you had my confidence and friendship. I do not say that you have yet entirely lost my confidence. Good day, General McClellan. A few weeks later General Scott was on his own application placed upon the retired list, and General McClellan became his successor. Disaffection on the part of any of the officers, if any existed, did not immediately show it- self; the army and people witnessed with pride the prompt and wonderful reorganization that had taken place, and for a time exulted in the promised efficiency and capabilities of the young Napoleon. But the autumn passed away in grand reviews and showy parades, where the young Gen- eral appeared with a numerous staff composed of wealthy young gentlemen, inexperienced, untrained, and unac- quainted with military duty, who as well as foreign princes had volunteered their services. Parades and reviews were not useless, and the committal of wealthy and influential citizens who were placed upon his staff had its ad- vantages; but as time wore on and no blow was struck or any decisive move- ment attempted, complaints became numerous and envy and jealousy found opportunity to be heard. The expectation that the rebellion would be suppressed in ninety days, and that an undisciplined force of seventy-five thousand men or even five times that number would march to Richmond, clear the banks of the Mississippi, capture New Orleans, and overwhelm the whole South, had given way to more reasonable and rational views before Congress convened at the regular session in December. Still the slow progress that was made by the Union armies, and the immense war ex- penditures, to which our country was then unaccustomed, caused uneasiness with the people, and furnished food and excitement for the factions in Con- gress. The anti-slavery feeling was increas- ing, but efforts to effect emancipation were not controlling sentiments of the Administration or of a majority of Con- gress at the commencement or dur- ing the first year of Mr. Lincolns term, although such are the representations of party writers, and to some extent of the historians of the period. Nor did the Administration, as is often asserted and by many believed, commence hQs- tilities and make aggressive war on the slave States or their institutions; but when war began and a national garri- son in a national fortress was attacked, it did not fail to put forth its power and energies to suppress the rebellion and maintain the integrity of the Union. Military delays and tardy movements were nevertheless charged to the imbecility of the Government. It is not to be denied that a portion of the most active supporters of the Pres- ident in and out of Congress and in the armies had in view ulterior purposes than that of suppressing the insurrec- tion. Some were determined to avail themselves of the opportunity to abol- ish slavery, others to extinguish the claim of reserved sovereignty to the States, and a portion were favorable to 1877.] ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 15 both of these extremes and to the con- solidation of power in the central Gov- ernment; but a larger number than either and perhaps more than all com- 1)ined were for maintaining the Consti- tution and Union unimpaired. The President, while opposed to all innovating schemes, had the happy fac- ulty of so far harmonizing and recon- ciling his differing friends as to keep them united in resisting the secession movement. Abraham Lincoln was in many re- spects a remarkable man, never while living fully understood or appreciated. An uncultured child of the frontiers, with no educational advantages, iso- lated in youth in his wilderness home, with few associates and without family traditions, he knew not his own lineage and connections. Nor was this singu- lar in the then condition of unsettled frontier life. His grandfather, with Daniel Boone, left the settled part of Virginia, crossed the Alleghany moun- tains, penetrated the dark and bloody ground, and took up his resi- dence in the wilds of Kentucky near the close of the Revolutionary war. There was little intercourse with each other in the new and scattered settle- ments destitute of roads and with no mail facilities for communication with relatives, friends, and the civilized world east of the mountains. Abra- ham Lincoln, the grandfather of the President, was a nephew of Daniel Boone, and partook of the spirit of his brave and subsequently famous relative. But his residence in hi~ se- cluded home was brief. He was killed by the Indians when his son Thomas, the father of President Lincoln, was only six years old. Four years later the fatherless boy lost his mother. Left an orphan, this neglected child, without kith or kindred for whom he cared or who cared for him, led a care- less, thriftless life, became a wandering pioneer, emigrated from Kentucky when the President was but seven years old, took up his residence for several years in the remote solitudes of Indiana, and drifted at a later day to Illinois. This vagrant life, by a shiftless father, and without a mother or female relative to keep alive and impress upon him the pedigree and traditions of his family, left the President without definite knowledge of his origin and that of his fathers. The deprivation he keenly felt. I heard him say on more than one occasion that when he laid down his official life he would endeavor to trace out his genealogy and family history. He had a vague impression that his family had emigrated from England to Pennsylvania and thence to Virginia; but, as he remarked in my presence to Mr. Ashmun of Massachusetts, and afterward to Governor Andrew, there was not, he thought, any immediate conneetion with the families of the same name in Massachusetts, though there was reason to suppose they had a common ancestry. Having entered upon this subject, and already said more than was antici- pated at the commencment, the oppor- tunity is fitting to introduce extracts from a statement made by himself and to accompany it with other facts which have come into my possession sinee his deathfacts of which he had no knowledge. In a brief autobiographical sketch of his life, written by himself, he says: Iwas born February 12, 1809, in Hardin county, Kentucky. My parents were both born in Virginia, of undistinguished familiessecond families per- haps I should say. My mother, who died in my tenth year, was of a family of the name of Ranks, some of whom now reside in Adams and others in Macon county, Illinois. My paternal grand- father, Abraham Lincoln, emigrated from Rock- ingham county, Vfrgiuia, to Kentucky, about 1781 or 2, where, a year ortwo later, he was killed by Indians, not in battle, but by stealth, when he was laboring to open a farm in the forest. His ancestors, who were Quakers, went to Virginia from Berks county, Pennsylvania. An effort to Identify them with the New England family of the same name ended in nothing more definite than a similarity of Christian names in both families, such as Enoch, Levi, Mcrdecai, Solomon, Abraham, and the like. My father, at the death of his father, was but six years of age; and he grew up literally without education. He removed from Kentucky to what is now Spencer county, Indiana, in my eighth year. We reached our new home about the time the State caine into the Union. It was a wild re~on, with many bears and other wild animals still in the woodi. There I grew up. ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JAIIUAR; There were some schools, so called; but no quali- fication was ever required of a teacher, beyond reading, writing, and ciphering to the rule of three. If a straggler, supposed to understand Latin, happened to sojourn in the neighborhood, he was looked upon as a wizard. There was absolutely nothing to excite ambition for edtca- tion. Of course when I came of age I did not know much. Still, somehow, I could read, write, and cipher, to the rule of three; but that was all. I have not been to school since. The little advance I now have upon this store of edncation I have picked up from time to time un- der the pressure of necessity. I was raised to farm work, which I continued till I was twenty-two. At twenty-one I came toll- linois. and passed the first year in Macon county. Then I got to New Salem, at that time in Sanga- mon, now in Menard county, where I remained a year as a sort of clerk in a store. In addition to the foregoing I may add that among my acquaintance in central Pennsylvania were several sis- ters whose maiden name was Winters. Two of these sisters were wives of Judges of the Supreme Court of Penn- sylvania. Another sister was the wife of William Potter, a member of Con- gress of some note from that State and son of General Potter of the Revolu- tion. These sisters were the great aunts of President Lincoln, and I sub- join an obituary notice of the younger sister, Mrs. Potter, who died in 1875, at the advanced age of eighty-four. There are some incidents not immedi- ately connected with the subject that might be omitted, but I think it best to present the obituary in full: Died, in Bellefonte, at the residence of Edward C. Humes, on Sunday morning, the 30th or May A. D. 1875, Mrs. Lucy Potter, relict of Hon. Wil- liam W. Potter, deceased, aged eighty-four years, nine months, and two days. Mrs. Potter was a member of a large and rather remarkable family; her father having been born in l~n, married in 1747, died in 1794; children to the number of nineteen being born to him, the eldest in 1748, the youngest in 1790their birth extending over a period of forty-two years. Wil- liam Winters, the father of the deceased, came from Berks county to Northumberland, now Ly- coming county, in the year 1778, having purchased the farm lately known as the Judge Grier farm, near what was called Newberry, but now within the corporate limits of the city of Williamsport. Mr. Winters was twice married. His first wife was Ann Boone, a sister of colonel Daniel Boone, famous in the early annals of Kentucky. His marriage took place in the year 1747 in the then province of Virginia. By this union there were Issue eleven children, four males and seven fe- males. His eldest daughter, Hannah, married in Rockingham county, Virginia, Abraham Lincoln, the grandfather of President Lincoln. Shortly before his death, Lincoln, who was killed by the Indians, visited his father-in-law at what is now Williamsport, and John Winters, his brother-in- law, returned with him to Kentucky, whither Mr. Lincoln had removed after his marriage; John being deputed to look after some lands tak- en by colonel Daniel Boone and his father. They travelled on foot from the farm, by a route leading by where Bellefonte now is, the In- dian path leading from Bald Eagle to Franks- town. John Winters visited his sister, Mrs. Potter, in 1843, and wanderin~, to the hill upon which the Academy is situated, a messenger was sent for him, his friends thinking he had lost himself; but he was only looking for the path he and Lin- coln had trod sixty years before, and pointed out with his finger the course from Spring creek, along Buffalo run, to where it crosses the Long Limestone Valley, as the route they had trav- elled. Upon the death of Mr. Winterss first wife, in 1771, he again, in 1774, married. His second wife was Ellen Campbell, who bore him eight children, three males and five females, of which latter the subject of this notice was the youngest. The father of Mrs. Potter died in 1794, and in 1795 Mrs. Ellen Winters, his widow, was licensed by the courts of Lycomiug county to keep a house of entertainment where Williamsport now iswhere she lived and reared her own chil- dren as well as several of her step children. Here all her daughters married, Mary becoming the wife of Charles Huston, who for a number of years adorned the bench of the Supreme Court of this State; Ellen, the wife of Thomas Buruside, who was a member of Congress, Judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and finally a Justice of the Supreme Court; Sarah, the wife of Benjamin Harris, whose daughter, Miss Ellen Harris, resides on Spring street in this borough; Elizabeth, the wife of Thomas Alexander, a carpenter and build- er, who erected one of the first dwellings in Wil- liamsport, at the corner of what are now Pine and Third streets in that city, and many of whose de- scendants are still living in Lycomliag county; Lucy, the wife of William W. Pot#er, a leading politician in this county, who died on the 15th day of October, 1838, while a member of our ne- tional Congress. Mrs. Potter continued with her mothers fami. ly in Lycoming county, frequently visiting her two sisters, Mrs. Huston and Mrs. Buruside, who resided in Bellefonte, where, in 1815, she was united in marriage, by Rev. James Liun, with William W. Potter, a young and rising law- yer, and son of General James Potter, one of the early settlers of the county. Here, with her hus- band until his death, and then, upon the marri- age of her niece, Miss Lucy Alexander, with Mr. Edward C. Humes, she made her home, living continuously In this town since her marriage, and having survived her husband for the long period of thirty-seven years, being that length of time a widow. The biographers of President Lin- coln have none of them given these facts because they did not know them, nor was the President himself aware of them. Of their authenticity so far 16 1877.] ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 17 as the relationship of Mr. Lincoln with the family of Winters is con- cerned, Ihave no doubt. His ancestry in this country, paternal and mater- nalLincoln, Boone, and Wintersis to be traced to the county of Berks, Pennsylvania. A roving child of the forest, where there were not even village schools, Abraham Lincoln had little early cul- ture, but his vigorous native intellect sought information wherever it could be obtained with limited means and opportunities, and overcame almost in- superal)le obstacles. His quick per- ception and powers of observation and reflection, and his retentfve memory were remarkable; his judgment was good, his mental grasp and compre- hension equal to any emergency, his intentions were always honest, and his skill and tact, with a determination to always maintain the right, begot confidence and made him successful and great. Party opponents imputed his success under difficulties that seemed insurmountable to craft and cunning; but while not deficient in shrewdness, his success was the result not of deceptive measures or wily in- trigue, but of wisdom and fidelity with an intuitive sagacity that seldom erred as to measures to be adopted, or the course to be pursued. It may be said of him, that he possessed inhe- rently a master mind, and was innate- ly a leader of men. He listened, as I have often remarked, patiently to the advice and opinions of others, though he might differ from them; treated unintentional errors with lenity, was forbearing, and kind to mistaken sub- ordinates, but ever true to his own convictions. He gathered information and knowledge whenever and wher- ever he had opportunity, but quietly put aside assumption and intrusive at- tempt to unduly influence and control him. Like all his Cabinet, with the excep- tion of Mr. Blair, who had been edu- cated at West Point, he was without military pretension when he entered upon his executive duties and encoun tered at the very threshold a civil war which had been long maturing, was deeply seated, and in its progress was almost unprecedented in magnitude. Neither he nor any of his advisers had personal, official, practical experience in administering the civil service of the Federal Government. The com- mencement of hostilities, before they had time to become familiar with their duties,imposed upon each and all labors and cares beyond those of any of their predecessors. To these were added the conduct of military opera- tions as novel as they were responsi- ble. Unprepared as the country was for the sudden and formidable insur- rection, the Administration was not less so, yet it was compelled at once to meet it, make preparations, call out immense armies, and select officers to organize and command them. These commanders were most of them educated military officers, but possessed of limited experience. Their lives had been passed on a peace estab- lishment, and they were consequently without practical knowledge. Many of these, as well as such officers as were selected from civil life, seemed bewildered by their sudden prefer- ment, and appeared to labor under the impression that they were clothed not only with military but civil authority. Some in the higher grades imagined that in addition to leading armies and fighting battles, they had plenary power to administer the Government and prescribe the policy to be pursued in their respective departments. Much difficulty and no small embarrassment was caused by their mistaken assump- tions and acts, in the early part of the war. J. C. Fremont, the western explor- er, a political candidate for the Presi- dency in 1856, and made a major general by President Lincoln at the beginning of the rebellion in 1801, was assigned to the command of the western department. He evidently considered himself clothed with pro- consular powers; that he was a repre- sentative of the Government in a civil 18 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JANUARY, capacity as well as military command- er, and soon after establishing his headquarters at St. Louis assumed au- thority over the slavery question which the President could neither recognize nor permit. General Hunter, at Port Royal, and General Phelps, in the Gulf, each laboring under the same error, took upon themselves to issue extraordinary manifestoes that conflict- ed with the Constitution and laws, on the subject of slavery, which the President was compelled to disavow. The subject, if to be acted upon, was administrative and belonged to the Government and civil authoritiesnot to military commanders. But there was a feeling in Congress and the country which sympathized with the radical generals in these anti-slavery decrees, rather than with the law, and the Executive in maintaining it. The Secretary of War, under whom these generals acted, not inattentive to cur- rent opinion, also took an extraordinary position, and in his annual report enun- ciated a policy in regard to the slavery question, without the assent of the President and without even consulting him. Mr. Lincoln promptly directed the assuming portion of the report, which had already been printed, to be cancelled; but the proceeding embar- rassed the Administration and contri- buted to the retirement of Mr. Cmeron from the Cabinet. These differences in the army, in the Administration, and among the Republicans in Congress, extended to the people. A radical faction opposed to the legal, cautious, and considerate policy of the Presi- dent began to crystallize and assume shape and form, which, while it did not openly oppose the President, sowed the seeds of discontent against his policy and the general manage- ment of public affairs. The military operations of the pe- riod are not here detailed or alluded to, except incidentally when narrating the action of the Administration in di- recting army movements and shaping the policy of the Government. Near- ly one-third of the States were, during the Presidency of Mr. Lincoln, unrep- resented in the national councils, and in open rebellion. A belt of border States, extending from the Delaware to the Rocky mountains, which, though represented in Congress, had a divid- ed population, was distrustful of the President. Yielding the Administra- tion a qualified support, and opposed to the Government in almost all its mea- sures, was an old organized and disci- plined party in all the free States, which seemed to consider its obliga- tions to party paramount to duty to the country. This last, if it did not boldly participate with the rebels, was an auxiliary, and as a party, hostile to the Administration, and opposed to near- ly every measure for suppressing the insurrection. There were among the friends of the Administration, and especially during its last two years, radical differences, which in the first stages of the war were undeveloped. The mild and per- suasive temper of the President his generous and tolerant disposition, and his kind and moderate forbearance toward the rebels, whom he invited and would persuade to return to their allegiance and their duty, did not cor- respond with the schemes and designs of the extreme and violent leaders of the Republican party. They had other objects than reconstruction to attain, were implacable and revengeful, and some with ulterior radical views thought the opportunity favorable to effect a change of administration. These had for years fomented divis- ion, encouraged strife, and were as ul- tra and as unreasonable in their de- mands and exactions as the secession- ists. Some had welcomed war with grim satisfaction, and were for pros- ecuting it unrelentingly with fire and sword to the annihilation of the rights, and the absolute subversion of the Southern States and subjection of the Southern people. There was in their ranks unreasoning fanaticism, and fe- rocity that partook of barbarism, with a mixture of political intrigue fatal to our Federal system. These men, dis 1877.] ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 19 satisfied with President Lincoln, ac- cused him of temporizing, of imbecil- ity, and of sympathy with the rebels because he would not confiscate their wholc property, and hang or punish them as pirates or traitors. These rad- ical Republicans, as they were proud to call themselves, occupied, like all ex- treme men in high party and revolu- tionary times, the front rank of their party, and, though really a minority, gave tone and character to the Repub- lican organization. Fired with aven~- ing zeal, and often successful in their extreme views, though to some extent checked and modified by the Pres- ident, they were presuming, and fiat- tercd themselves they could, if unsuc- cessful with Mr. Lincoln, effect a change in the administration of the Government in 1864 by electing a President who would conform to their ultra demands. Secret meetings and whispered consultations were held for that purpose, and for a time aspiring and calculating politicians gave them encouragement; but it soon became evident that the conservative senti- ment of the Republicans and the coun- try was with Mr. Lincoln, and that the confidence of the people in his patriot- ism and integrity was such as could not be shaken. Nevertheless, a small band of the radicals held out and would not assent to his benignant policy. These malcontents undertook to create a distinct political organization which, brought emancipation, but emancipa- tion did not dissolve the Union, con- solidate the Government, or clothe it with absolute power; nor did it impair the authority and rights which the States had reserved. Emancipation was a necessary, not a revolutionary measure, forced upon the Administra- tion by the secessionists themselves, who insisted that slavery which was local and sectiQnal should be made na- tional. The war was, in fact, defensive on the part of the Government against a sec- tional insurrection which had seized the fortresses and public property of the nation; a war for the maintenance of the Union, not for its dissolution; a war for the preservation of individual, State, and Federal rights; good admin- istration would permit neither to be sacrificed nor one to encroach on the other. The necessary exercise of ex- traordinary war powers to suppress the Rebellion had given encouragement and strength to the centralists who ad- vocated the consolidation and concen- tration of authority in the general Government in peace as well as war, and national supervision over the States and people. Neither the radical en- thusiasts nor the designing centralists admitted or subscribed to the doctrine that political power emanated from the people; but it was the theory of both that the authority exercised by the States was by grant derived from the if possessed of power, would make a parental or general Government. It more fierce and unrelenting war on the was their theory that the Government rebels, break down their local insti- tutions, overturn their State govern- ments, subjugate th~ whites, elevate the blacks, and give not only freedom to the slaves, but by national decree over- ride the States, and give suffrage to the whole colored race. These extreme and rancorous notions found no favor with Mr. Lincoln, who, Though nom- inally a Whig in the past, had respect for the Constitution, loved the Federal Union, and had a sacred regard for the rights of the States, which the Whigs as a party did not entertain. War two years after secession commenced created the States, not that the States and people created the Government. Some of them had acquiesced in cer- tain principles which were embodied in the fundamental law called the Con- stitution; but the Constitution was in their view the child of necessity, a mere crude attempt of the theorists of 1776, who made successful resistance against British authority, to limit the power of the new central Government which was substituted for that of the crown. For a period after the Rev- olution it was admitted that feeble limitations on central authority had ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JANu~aiy, been observed, though it was main- tained that those limitations had been obstructions to our advancing pros- perity, the cause of continual contro- versy, and had gradually from time to time been dispensed with, broken down, or made to yield to our growing necessities. The civil war had made innovationsa sweep, in fact, of many constitutional barriersand radical consolidationists like Thaddeus Ste- vens and Henry Winter Davis felt that the opportunity to fortify central au- thority and establish its supremacy should be improved. These were the ideas and principles of leading consolidationists and radi- cals in Congress who were politicians of ability, had studied the science of gov- eminent, and were from conviction op- ponents of reserved rights and State sovereignty and of a mere confedera- tion or Federal Union, based on the po- litical equality and reserved sovereignty of the States, but insisted that the cen- tral Government should penetrate fur- ther and act directly on the people. Few of these had given much study or thought to fundamental principles, the character and structure of our Fedcral system, or the Constitution itself. Most of them, under the pressure of schemers and enthusiasts, were willing to assume and ready to exercise any power deem- ed expedient, regardless of the organ- ic law. Almost unrestrained legisla- tion to carry on the war induced a spirit of indifference to constitutional re- straint, and brought about an assump- tion by some, a belief by others, that Congress was omnipotent; that it was the embodiment of the national will, and that the other departments of the Government as well as the States were subordinate and subject to central Con- gressional control. Absolute power, the centralists assumed and their fa- natical associates seemed to suppose, was vested in the legislative body of the country, and its decrees, arbitrary and despotic, often originating in and car- ried first by a small vote in party cau- cus, were in all cases claimed to be de- cisive, and to be obeyed by the Execu tive, the judiciary, and the people, re- gardless of the Constitution. Parlia- mentary discussions were not permit- ted, or of little avail. The acts of caucus were despotic,mandatory, and decisive. The several propositions and plans of President Lincoln to re~stablish the Union, and induce the seceding States to resume their places and be repre- sented in Congress, were received with disfavor by the radical leaders, who, without open assault, set in motion an undercurrent against nearly every Ex- ecutive proposition as the weak and impotent offspring of a well meaning and well intentioned, but not very com- petent and intelligent mind. It was the difference between President Lin- coln and the radical leaders in Congress on the question of reconciliation, the restoration of the States, and the reis- tablishment of the Union on the origi- nal constitutional basis, which more than even his genial and tolerant feel- ings toward the rebels led to political intrigue among Republican members of Congress for the nomination of new candidates, and opposition to Mr. Lin- colns reelection in 1864. At one pe- riod this intrigue seemed formidable, and some professed friends lent it their countenance, if they did not actually participate in it, who ultimately disa- vowed any connection with the pro- ceeding. Singular ideas were entertained and began to be developed in propositions of an extraordinary character, relative to the powers and the construction of the Government, which were presented to Congress, even in the first year of the war. Theoretical schemes from culti- vated intellects, as well as crude no- tions from less intellectual but extreme men, found expression in resolutions and plans, many of which were absurd and most of them impracticable and illegal. Foiemost and prominent among them were a series of studied and elaborate resolutions prepared by Charles Sumner, and submitted to the Senate on the 11th of February, 1862. Although presented at that early day, they were the germ of the reconstruc 1877.1 tioa policy adopted at a later period. In this plan or project for the treat- meat of the insurrectionary States and th~ people who resided in them, the Massachusetts Senator manifested lit- tle regard for the fundamental law or for State or individual rights. The high position which this Senator held in the Republican party and in Congress and the country, his cultured mind and scholarly attain- ments, his ardent if not always discreet zeal and efforts to free the slaves and endow the whole colored race, wheth- er capable or otherwise, with all the rights and privileges, socially and po- litically, of the educated and refined white population whom they had pre- viously served, his readiness and avow- ed intention to overthrow the local State governments and the social sys- tem where slavery existed, to subjugate the whites and elevate the blacks, will justify a special notice; for it was one of the first, if not the very first of the radical schemes officially presented to change the character of the Govern- ment and the previously existing dis- tinctions between the races. His the- ory or plan may be taken as the pio- neer of the many wild and visionary projects of the central and abolition force, that took shape and form not only during the war, but after hostili- ties ceased and the rebels were sub- dued. Mr. Sumner introduced his scheme with a preamble which declared, among other things, that the exten- sive territory of the South had been usurped by pretended governments and organizations; that the Consti- tution, which is the supreme law of the land, cannot be displaced in its rightful operation within this territo- ry, but must ever continue the sit- preme law thereof, notwithstanding the doings of any pretended govern- ments acting singly or in confederation in order to put an end to its suprem- acy. Therefore: Resotvecf, 1st. That any vote of secession, or other act by which any State may undertake to put an end to the supremacy of the Constitution 2 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 21 within its territory, is inoperative and void against the Constitution, and when sustained by force It becomes a practical abdication by the State of all rights under the Constitution, while the treason which it involves still further works an instant forfeiture of all those functions and powers essential to the continued existence of the State as a body politic, so that from that time forward the territory Is under the exclu- sive jurisdiction of Congress other territory, and the State, being, according to ~nage of the law, feio de ce, ceases to exist. 2d. That any combination of men assuming to act in the place of such State, attempting to en- snare or coetce the inhabitants thereof Into a con- federation hostile to the Union, is rebellious, treasonable, and destitute of all moral authority; and that such combination Is a usurpation inca- pable of any constitutional existence and utterly lawless, so that everything dependent upon it is without constitutional or legal support. 3d. That the termination of a State under the Constibntion necessarily causes the termination of those peculiar local institutions which, having no origin In the Constitution, or in those natural rights which exist Independent of the constitu- tion, are upheld by the sole and exclusive author- ity of the State. Congress will assume complete juris- diction of such vacated territory where such un- constitutional and Illegal things have been at- tempted, and will proceed to establish therein in- publican forms of government under the Consti- tution. It is not shown how a usurpation or illegal act by conspirators in any State or States could justify or make legal a usurpation by the general Govern- ment, as this scheme evidently was, nor by what authority Congress could de- clare that the illegal, inoperative, and void acts of usurpers who might have temporary possession of or be a ma- jority in a State, could constitute a practical abdication by the State it- self of all rights under the Consti- tution, regardless of the rights of a legal, loyal minority, guilty of no usur- pation or attempted secessionthe innocent victims of a conspiracy; nor where Congress or the Federal Government obtained authority to pronounce an instant forfeiture of all those functions and powers es- sential to the continued existence of a State as a body politic, so that from that time forward the territory falls under the exclusive jurisdiction of Congress as other territory, and the state, being, according to the language of the law, feb de ec, ceases to exist. The administration of Mr. Buchanan 22 ADMINISTRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. [JANUARY, had laid down as a rule of government that a State could not be coerced. The whole country not in rebellion had de- clared there should be no secession, di- vision, or destruction of the Federal Union, but here was the most conspicu- ous leader of the Republican party in the Senate proposing a scheme to pun- ish a State, to annihilate and destroy its government, to territorialize it, to ex- clude or expel it from the Union, to make no discrimination in its exclu- sions and denunciations between the loyal and disloyal inhabitants, but to punish alike, without trial or convic- tion, the just and the unjust. There were, though he was unwilling to admit it, and was perhaps unaware of it, vin- dictive feelings, venom, and revenge in his resolutions and in his whole treat- ment of the States and the white people of the South. From the time that he had been stricken down by the blud- geon of Brooks in the Senate, Mr. Sum- ner waged unrelenting war on the whites in the Southern States, and seem- ed to suppose it was his special mission he certainly made it the great object of his lifeto elevate the negro race to give them at least equal rights and privileges with the educated and refined classand did not conceal his inten- tion and expectation to bring them in as auxiliaries to the Republican party, and thereby give it permanent ascend- ancy. All this was done in the name of ~humanity, and with apparent self-con- -winced sincerity. He was unwilling to acknowledge that he was governed or influenced by personal resentments in his revolutionary plans to degrade the intelligent white and exalt the ig- norant black population by tearing down the constitutional edifice. In fre- ~quent interviews which I held with him then and at later periods, when he found it impossible to hold his positions under the Constitution, he claimed that he occupied higher ground, and that his authority for these violent measures was the Declaration of Inde- pendence, which declared all men were born equal, etc. Mr. Sumner was an idealistneither a constitutionalist nor a practical statesman. He could pull down, but he could not construct could declare what he considered hu- mane, right, and proper, and act upon it regardless of constitutional compro- mises or conventional regulations which were the framework of the Gov- ernment. No man connected with the Administration, or in either branch of Congress, was more thoroughly ac- quainted with our treaties, so familiar with the traditions of the Government, or better informed on international law than Charles Sumner; but on al- most all other Governmental questions he was impulsive and unreliable, and when his feelings were enlisted, imperi- ous, dogmatical, and often unjust. Why innocent persons who were loy- al to the Government and the Union should be disfranchised and proscrib- ed because their neighbors and fellow citizens had engaged in a conspiracy, he could not explain or defend. By what authority whole communities and States should be deprived of the local governments which their fathers had framed, under which they were born, and with the provisions and traditions of which they were familiar, was never told. His propositions found no favor with the Administration, nor were they sup- ported at the beginning by any consid- erable number even of the extremists in Congress. It required much training by the centralizing leaders for years and all the tyranny of caucus machinery after the death of Mr. Lincola to carry them into effect by a series of recon- struction measures that were revolu- tionary in their character, and ~-Thich to a certain extent unsettlei the p in- ciples on which the Government was founded. But the counsel and example of the distinguished Senator from Massachu- setts were not without their influence. Resolutions by radical Republicans and counter resolutions, chiefly by Demo- crats, relative to the powers and limi- tations of the Federal Government and the status of States, followed in quick succession. On the 11th of June, the 23 1877.] LUCILLES LETTER. subject having been agitated and dis- cussed for four months, Mr. Dixon, a Republican Senator from Connecticut, whose views coincided ia the main with those of Mr. Lincoln and the Adminis- tration, submitted, after consultation and advisement, the following: Resolved, That all acts or ordinances of seces- sion, alleged to have been adopted by any legisla- ture or convention of the people of any State, are as to the Federal Union absolutely null and void; and that while such acts may and do subject the individual actors therein to forfeitures and penal- ties, they do not, in any degree, affect the rela- tions of the State wherein they purport to have been adopted to the Government of the United States, but are as to such Government acts of re- bellion, insurrection, and hostility on the part of the individuals engaged therein, or giving assent thereto; and that such States are, notwithstand- ing such acts or ordinances, members of the Fed- eral Union, and as such are subject to all the ob- ligations and duties imposed upon them by the constitution of the United States; and the loyal citizens of such States are entitled to all the rights and privileges thereby guaranteed or con- ferred. The resolution of Dixon traversed the policy of Sumner and was the Ex- ecutive view of the questions that were agitated in Congress as to the effect of the rebellion and the condition of the States in insurrection. The Adminis- tration did not admit that rebellion dissolved the Union or destroyed its federative character; nor did it adopt or assent to the novel theory that the States and the whole people residing in them had forfeited all sovereignty and all reserved State and individual rights, because a portion of the inhab- itants had rebelled; nor did it admit that the usurpation of a portion of any community could bring condemnation and punishment on all. The usurpa- tions and acts of the rebels were considered not legal acts, but nulli- ties. GIDEOI~ WELLES. LUCILLES LETTER. 0UT of the dreary distance and the dark I stretch forth praying palmsyet not to pray; Hands fold themselves for heaven, while mine, alas Are sunderedheld your way. Brief moments have been ours, yet bright as brief; Oh! how I live them over, one by one, Now that the endless days, bereft of you, Creep slowly, sadiy on. Garnered in memory, those bewildering hours, A golden harvest of enchantment yield; Here, like a pale, reluctant Ruth, I glean A cold and barren field Barren without a shelter: and the hedge Is made of thorns and brambles. If I faln Would lean beyond the barrier, do you see The wounding and the stain? Did God make us to mock us, on the earth? Why did he fuse our spirits by His word, Then set Ills awful Angel in our path, His Angel with the sword? Why, when I contrite kneel confessing all, And seek with tears the way to be forgiven Why do your pleading eyes look sadly down Between my face and heaven? Why does my blood thrill at your fancied touch Stop and leap up at your ideal caress? Ah, God! to feel that dear warm mouth on mine In lingering tenderness! To lie at perfect peace upon your heart, Your arms close folded round me firm and fast, My cheek to yoursoh~ vision dear as vain! That would be home at last. Leon, you are my curse, my blessing too, My hell, my heaven, my storm that wrecks to save: Life daunts me, and the shadows lengthen out Beyond the grave. Miacr L. RaTTER.

23 1877.] LUCILLES LETTER. subject having been agitated and dis- cussed for four months, Mr. Dixon, a Republican Senator from Connecticut, whose views coincided ia the main with those of Mr. Lincoln and the Adminis- tration, submitted, after consultation and advisement, the following: Resolved, That all acts or ordinances of seces- sion, alleged to have been adopted by any legisla- ture or convention of the people of any State, are as to the Federal Union absolutely null and void; and that while such acts may and do subject the individual actors therein to forfeitures and penal- ties, they do not, in any degree, affect the rela- tions of the State wherein they purport to have been adopted to the Government of the United States, but are as to such Government acts of re- bellion, insurrection, and hostility on the part of the individuals engaged therein, or giving assent thereto; and that such States are, notwithstand- ing such acts or ordinances, members of the Fed- eral Union, and as such are subject to all the ob- ligations and duties imposed upon them by the constitution of the United States; and the loyal citizens of such States are entitled to all the rights and privileges thereby guaranteed or con- ferred. The resolution of Dixon traversed the policy of Sumner and was the Ex- ecutive view of the questions that were agitated in Congress as to the effect of the rebellion and the condition of the States in insurrection. The Adminis- tration did not admit that rebellion dissolved the Union or destroyed its federative character; nor did it adopt or assent to the novel theory that the States and the whole people residing in them had forfeited all sovereignty and all reserved State and individual rights, because a portion of the inhab- itants had rebelled; nor did it admit that the usurpation of a portion of any community could bring condemnation and punishment on all. The usurpa- tions and acts of the rebels were considered not legal acts, but nulli- ties. GIDEOI~ WELLES. LUCILLES LETTER. 0UT of the dreary distance and the dark I stretch forth praying palmsyet not to pray; Hands fold themselves for heaven, while mine, alas Are sunderedheld your way. Brief moments have been ours, yet bright as brief; Oh! how I live them over, one by one, Now that the endless days, bereft of you, Creep slowly, sadiy on. Garnered in memory, those bewildering hours, A golden harvest of enchantment yield; Here, like a pale, reluctant Ruth, I glean A cold and barren field Barren without a shelter: and the hedge Is made of thorns and brambles. If I faln Would lean beyond the barrier, do you see The wounding and the stain? Did God make us to mock us, on the earth? Why did he fuse our spirits by His word, Then set Ills awful Angel in our path, His Angel with the sword? Why, when I contrite kneel confessing all, And seek with tears the way to be forgiven Why do your pleading eyes look sadly down Between my face and heaven? Why does my blood thrill at your fancied touch Stop and leap up at your ideal caress? Ah, God! to feel that dear warm mouth on mine In lingering tenderness! To lie at perfect peace upon your heart, Your arms close folded round me firm and fast, My cheek to yoursoh~ vision dear as vain! That would be home at last. Leon, you are my curse, my blessing too, My hell, my heaven, my storm that wrecks to save: Life daunts me, and the shadows lengthen out Beyond the grave. Miacr L. RaTTER. SOME OLD ALMANACKS. Do you know, gentle reader, what an interesting, valuable, and useful book an Almanack once was? You are gorged with books, and newspapers lie about thick as leaves in Vallambrosa. Do you ever buy an Almanac for five cents? I trow not. Therefore you do not know how much careful calculation, skill, and knowledge are to be had for that small piece of money. Therefore you cannot sit down in the evening and pore over its mystic signs. Indeed, I fear you do not know what a zodiac is, or what the meaning of Cancer the Crab and Gemini the Twins may be. It is more than likely you will reply, Oh, yes; if the Crab had a Cancer, he would cry Gemini to the Twins and iu that light and flip- pant way you will try to hide your brutal ignorance, if a male, your shab low understanding, if a female. Now I have just had a sort of musty satisfaction in looking over some old Almanacs, which dated as far back as 1727. They seem to have been the property of somebody whose letters were W. S. His almanacs were so prized that he had interleaved them, and then he recorded his profound observa- tions. He thus had learned, what I fear you have not, that the moon had many mysterious influences besides making the tides rise and fall, if it does. It seems, if we can believe A Native of New England, who made B. Greenes Almanack for 1731, that the Moon has dominion over mans body, and that when she gets into Cancer the Crab you must expect every sort of bedevilment in your breast and stomach. When she gets into Gemini, the same in your arms and shoulders. When she is in Scor- pio your bowels and belly are in danger, and so on all through your body; so that we might well enough wish the moon were wholly abolished; for the little wishy-washy light she gives to lovers and thieves is not at all a balance for such fearful threatenings. Who was the Native of New Eng- land is a secret, and well it is, for in 1727 he graced his title-page with this poem: Manthat Noble creature, Scanted of time, and stinted by Weak Nature, That in foretimes saw jubilees of years, As by ourAncient History appears; Nay, whichis more, even Silly Women then, Livd longer time thsn our grave Graybsard Men. Graced, did I say? May we no~ put a dis before it? Silly Women ! Noble Creature ! Did the Native mean that woman then was silly and man then noble? Well for him is it that our Mrs. Ward Howes and Mrs. Lillie Blake~ cannot make rhymes upon his name; well for him that he went his way holding his mantle before his face. But he himself did not hold himself lightly. He knew all about Apogd and Perigd (we now spell them Apogde and Perigt~e). But does the Radical Club itself know anything at all about Apogee and Perig~e? He knew when some flue moderate weather would come, when winds enough for several would blow, when bad weather for hoop petticoats would be; and that was on the 29th and 30th of January, 1727. Fearful weather, we may believe; but he, the Native, knew. But alas for us! On the 2d, he puts it down as sloppy and raw cold. Now it so chances that W. S. has kept his MS. notes against this day, and he has it Very fine and plea- sant, and the next day, Dry and dusty. Lamentable indeed for the Na- tive I But he is not to be shaken for all that; he prognosticates through all the year just as if all was to come exactly right. One would like to know what W. S. thought of his prognosticator, and if he kept on studying and believ- ing just the same as if all had come right. I do not doubt he did.

SOME OLD ALMANACKS. Do you know, gentle reader, what an interesting, valuable, and useful book an Almanack once was? You are gorged with books, and newspapers lie about thick as leaves in Vallambrosa. Do you ever buy an Almanac for five cents? I trow not. Therefore you do not know how much careful calculation, skill, and knowledge are to be had for that small piece of money. Therefore you cannot sit down in the evening and pore over its mystic signs. Indeed, I fear you do not know what a zodiac is, or what the meaning of Cancer the Crab and Gemini the Twins may be. It is more than likely you will reply, Oh, yes; if the Crab had a Cancer, he would cry Gemini to the Twins and iu that light and flip- pant way you will try to hide your brutal ignorance, if a male, your shab low understanding, if a female. Now I have just had a sort of musty satisfaction in looking over some old Almanacs, which dated as far back as 1727. They seem to have been the property of somebody whose letters were W. S. His almanacs were so prized that he had interleaved them, and then he recorded his profound observa- tions. He thus had learned, what I fear you have not, that the moon had many mysterious influences besides making the tides rise and fall, if it does. It seems, if we can believe A Native of New England, who made B. Greenes Almanack for 1731, that the Moon has dominion over mans body, and that when she gets into Cancer the Crab you must expect every sort of bedevilment in your breast and stomach. When she gets into Gemini, the same in your arms and shoulders. When she is in Scor- pio your bowels and belly are in danger, and so on all through your body; so that we might well enough wish the moon were wholly abolished; for the little wishy-washy light she gives to lovers and thieves is not at all a balance for such fearful threatenings. Who was the Native of New Eng- land is a secret, and well it is, for in 1727 he graced his title-page with this poem: Manthat Noble creature, Scanted of time, and stinted by Weak Nature, That in foretimes saw jubilees of years, As by ourAncient History appears; Nay, whichis more, even Silly Women then, Livd longer time thsn our grave Graybsard Men. Graced, did I say? May we no~ put a dis before it? Silly Women ! Noble Creature ! Did the Native mean that woman then was silly and man then noble? Well for him is it that our Mrs. Ward Howes and Mrs. Lillie Blake~ cannot make rhymes upon his name; well for him that he went his way holding his mantle before his face. But he himself did not hold himself lightly. He knew all about Apogd and Perigd (we now spell them Apogde and Perigt~e). But does the Radical Club itself know anything at all about Apogee and Perig~e? He knew when some flue moderate weather would come, when winds enough for several would blow, when bad weather for hoop petticoats would be; and that was on the 29th and 30th of January, 1727. Fearful weather, we may believe; but he, the Native, knew. But alas for us! On the 2d, he puts it down as sloppy and raw cold. Now it so chances that W. S. has kept his MS. notes against this day, and he has it Very fine and plea- sant, and the next day, Dry and dusty. Lamentable indeed for the Na- tive I But he is not to be shaken for all that; he prognosticates through all the year just as if all was to come exactly right. One would like to know what W. S. thought of his prognosticator, and if he kept on studying and believ- ing just the same as if all had come right. I do not doubt he did. 187~.] SOME OLD ALMANACKS. 25 And now we come to some positive statements about Eclipses, and learn what we may depend on in that quarter. The Native goes on to say, As to the effects, they chiefly affect those Men that live by their Inge- nuity; I mean Painters, Poets, Mer- curialists, & c. What is a mercurial- ist? Does he mean the worship- pers of Mercury, thieves, and that sort? But and mark the cau- tious tone here but whether it for- bodes good or ill to them I shall not now determine; only advise them to prepare for the worst 1 Pretty good advice in all times of eclipse; and in these days even when there is no eclipse. Mark his modesty: I do not pretend to Infallibility in my Conjec- tures, yet (as I said last year) they many times come out too True to make a jest of. Then he goes on: I have read of a story which Thaurus is said to re- late of Andreas Vesabus, a great Astrol- oger who lived in the reign of Henry the VIIL; to wit, that he told Afaxcimil- ian the Day and Hour of his Death, who, giving credit thereto, ordered a great feast to be made, inviting his Friends, sat and Eat [ate?] with them; and af- terwards, having distributcd his Trea- sures among them, took leave of them and Dyed at the time predicted. Most kind of this Maximilian, for it must have secured a good patronage to the astrologers. Yet it does not from hence fol- low that a certain rule may be laid down a very fine astrologer, you perceive, may fail whereby ex- actly to discover the Divine appoint- ments. But there are many concur- ring Causes of Mundane Accidents of which Humanity must be con- tent to remain Ignorant, and (as a wise Author affirms) No Index can be found or formed whereby to give us any certain Diary or Destiny saving that of our dear-bought Experience. But how can we learn about our own dying by experiencewhich is what we die to know about? He contin- ues: And here I cannot but take notice of our Negro-mancers, who, under pretence of knowledge in the Motions of the Heavens, take upon them to Fore tell the Appoint- ments of Fate with respect to particu- lar Persons, and thereby betray the Ignorant part of the World Inevitably into the Worship of the Devil. But if the Wholesome Laws of the Prov- ince were duly executed on such Negro- maneers, I could venture to Fore tell what would soon be their Fortune You may Read it at large in this Prov- ince, New Law Book, page 117. Marblehead, Sept. 28, 1726. N. Bowen. Ah, friend Bowen was too alarming- ly near the Salem witch times when Minister Parris and Judge Hawthorne had come so nigh putting the Devil to rout by hanging an old woman or two and squeezing poor Giles Cory to death. He knew what the Law could do to those wicked negro-mancers if they went about predicting things in a wicked way. And what a bore it might become to have a negro-mancer foretelling in a rash and niiscellaneous way ones death and bringing it to pass too some fine and inconvenient day! Who would not hang a negro-mancer like that? But suppose they should go on and squeeze the life out of such mild ne- gromancers as N. Bowen, Esq., too. What then? In 1729 we get an Almanac made by a student with a nameNathaniel Ames, junior, student in Physiek and Astronomy. He does not apply his in- tellect to such great speculations as Bowen grappled with, but runs easi- ly into poetry of the true Homeric stamp. Listen: January The Earth Is white like NzPruuEs foamy face, When his proud Waves the hardy Rocks embrace. February Boreass chilly breath attacks our Nature, And turns the Presbyterian to a Quaker. What wicked waggery is here hid- den, who can tell? One thing is sure, that Februarys ought to be abolished by the General Court if such is true; for a Quaker then was an abominable thing. 26 SOME OLD ALMANACKS. [JANUARY, March Phcebus and Mars conjoined do both agree, This month shall Warm (nay, more than usual) be. We pray that our Almanac makers will conjoin Plicebus and Mars in all our Marches hereafter, so that we too may Warm (more than usual) be. How melodious that line I April gives a sweet strain, possibly premature The Birds, like Orphans, now all things invite To come and have Melodious, sweet delight. Like Orphans! Why? Should Or- pheu8 come in there, or are orphans children of Orpheus? We are per- plexed. The words sound alike. 3fay like a Virgin quickly yields her charms, To the Embrace of Winters Icy Arms. It is not easy to see how that can be. Does he mean that winter had come back and given May a late frost? And then Virgins do not, so far as I know, yield to the Embrace of Win- ters Icy Arms. Do they? I ask per- sons of experience. June comes upon us heavily SoLs scorching Ray puts Blood in Fermentation, And is stark raught to acts of Procreation. That has a terrible sound. What does hc mean? July The Moon (this Month), that pale-faced Queen of Night, Will be disrobed of all her borrowed light. No month for lovers madness, this. Not a lover can steal forth by the light of the moon, or do any foolish thing this mouth, thanks be to God I August The Earth and Sky Resound with Thunder Loud, And Oblique streams flash from the dusky cloud. That first line demands many capi- tal letters, and what a fine word Ob- lique is in the second. September says The burthened earth abounds with various fruit, Which doth the Epicureans Palate Suit. It is to be hoped thesa wicked Epi- cureans got no more than their share, and that church members were not converted to the heathen philosophy by such baits. October The Tyrant Mars old Saturn now opposes, Which stirs up Feuds and may make bloody Noses. October then was the fighters month. This begins nobly, but ends waggishly. November Now what remains to Comfort up our Lives, But Cordial Liquor and kind, loving Wives? Comfort up, that is good. But the Cordial Liquor is doubtful; and then are there no girls in the sweet bloom of maidenhood left to Comfort up our lives? Sad indeed I December closes up The Chrystal streams, congealed to Icy Glass, Become fit roads for Travellers to pass. Excellent for the travellers. But now in the column of Muta- tions of Weather, we find this: Christmas is nigh; The bare name of it to Rich or Poor will be no profit. We are startled. Does he mean to Speak ill of Christmasto stab it We look again. Noit is that Christ- mas without roast Turkeys and Mince pies will be very bad. The bare name that is what he will none of. But on the contrary the real thing he will have, with Roasts and bakes, andpos- siblyCordial Liquor to Comfort up the day. What a goodword that Comfort up is. We thank Nathan- iel for it. Now in the volume for 1730 are other interesting items, and the seer and poet seems to be our old friend, Nathan Bowen. He inclines some- what to poetry also, for he thus sings: Saturn in Thirty Years his Ring Compleats, Which Swiftest Jupiter in Twelve repeats; Mars Three and Twenty Months revolving spends, The Earth in Twelve her Annual Journey Ends., Venus thy Race in twice Four Months is run, For his Mercurius Three demands. The Moon her Revolution finishes in One. If all at Once are Movd, and by one Spring, Why so Unequal in their Annual Ring ? Here again the sensitive soul, anx- iously poadering, asks, Are students of astronomy prone to infidelity, and does this last question mean to convey the faintest shadow of a doubt? If not, why that Why? We gladly pass on to another topic, hoping that Nathan was not damned for skepticism. 1877.] SOME OLD ALMANACKS. 27 N. B.The paper Mill mentioned in last years almanack (at Milton) has begun to go. Any person that will bring Rags to D. Henchman & T. Han- cock, shall have from 2d. to 6d. a pound according to their goodness. Begun to go. I like that word. Commenced operations, started in business: how new and poor those great three-syllabled words seem I Begun to go that is good. In 1731 he tells us: Ready money is now the best of Wares. Some gain & some loose. Dear, dear, how bad! Almost, not quite so miserable as to-dayall lose now. Then he informs us officially what salutes are to be fired at Castle Wil- liam, as follows: March 1 Queens Be.rthday 21 guns. May 29 Restoration of K. Ch. II. 17 June 11 K. George H. ac- cession 21 Oct. 11 K. G. H. corona- tion 33 Oct. 30 K. 0. II. Berth- day 27 Nov. 5 Powder Plot 17 Jan. 19 Prince of W. Berthday 21 In 1732 the Native of New Eng- land (if it be Nathan Bowen of Mar- l)lchead) takes hold again and breaks into song: Indulge, and to thy Genius freely give; For not to live at Ease is not to live. Death stalks behind thee, and each flying Hour Does some loose Remnant of thy Life devour. Live while thou livest, for Death shall make us all A Name of Nothing, but an Old Wifes Tale. Speak: wilt thou AvoBIcE or PLEASURE chuse To be thy Lord? Take One & One RefusePer- 55U8. We begin to fear indeed that Na- than is little better than one of those wicked Epicureans himself. Avarice or Pleasure. Take one? Must we in- deed? Pleasure? It looks as if Na- than was a very naughty man. Things have evidently not gone quite smoothly with N. Bowen this last year, for, in his Kind Reader of 1733, he says: Having last year finished Twelve of my Annual Papers [he means Almanacks], I proposed to lay down my pen and leave the Drudg- ery of Calculation to those who have more leisure and a Clearer Brain than I can pretend to. Indeed, the Contempt with which a writer of Almanacks is looked on and the Danger he is in of being accounted a Conjurer a negro- mancer should seem sufficient to deter a man from publishing anything of this kind. But when I consider that all this is the effect of Ignorance, and, therefore, not worth my Notice or Re- sentment, and that the most judicious and learned part of the World have always highly valued and esteemed such Undertakings as what are not only great and noble in themselves; but as they are of absolute necessity in the Business and Affairs of Life, I am induced to appear again in the World, and hope this will meet with the same kind acceptance with my former. With me he meets with the same kind acceptance, for I believe in the Nobility of the Almanac; and it is cer- tain that every man should believe in the Nobility of his work whatever it isthen he is sure of one ardent Ad- mirer. It is sad to think that some carping critic had been riling the sweet soul of Nathan in the year 1732. It is all over now. Let us hope he is not damned for his Epicureanism, but is reaping his crop of praise in a better climate than Marblehead. He gives us more poetry in 1733, and a clear account of why Leap years are nec- essary, which I do not repeat here, the popular belief being that they were invented in order that maidens might if they wished make love to swains, which belief I would do nothing to shake. In the next year we have quite a learned discourse about the Julian eEra, Epochs, Olympiads, etc., from which I can only venture to take the following concise and valuable and ac- curate statement of this astronomer: JEsUS CHRIST the SAVIoUR of the World was Incarnate in the 4,713 year of the Julian Period; the 3,949 of the Creation, the 4th of the 194th Olym 28 SOME OLD ALMANACKS. [JANUARY, piad, and the 753 Currant Year of the Roman Foundation. Persons having any doubts as to the time of our blessed Saviours appear- ance had better cut this out tnd keep it carefully for future reference and for the confusion of skepticks. Let us not leave these interesting vestiges of an earlier creation without a few words as toW. S. He, aslhave said, was the purchaser and owner of these sacred books. His almanacs were carefully interleaved and evidently were intended to be not only a record of the wisdom of the Students in Physick and Astronomy, but also of events in the lives of devout owners. We find W. S. begins with fervor and fidelity to record daily interesting facts such as, in February: Fine, somewhat cold. Very pleasant. A storm of snow. More snow, but clears away windy. A very fine day. Idem, but windy. Aha! here, then, we have a man who knew Latin in the Year of our Lord 1727. Idem that is such a good word that he uses it often, and it has a good sound, too. Through January, February, March he attends daily to this high duty, and tells us how it was: A bright morning, but a dull day. Windy. Cool. On the 27th, Much rain, a violent storm, snowd up. In April things change. His in- terest flags. He does not write down his record every day. Has W. S. grown lazy? Is it too warm for as- siduous tasks, or has a new element come into his life? Let us see. He begins April: 1. A clearer day. 2. Set my clock forward 20 m. 3. Lethfield arrived from Lon- don. The clockthat, I believe, was the great event, and that it came from Lon- don. What may it have been~? Clearly one of those tall, stately pieces with the moon and the sun showing their faces on the silver dial, the fine mahogany case worthy to uphold all. Where is that clock now? Who can tell? From this time forth this was the object of interest, for in nearly all the months we have this record, Set my clock. He grows terribly indifferent to the weather. A clock then was a wonder- ful thing, and it is a wonderful thing now. Think of it. How these little wheels and springs are so contrived that they tick the seconds and the minutes and the hours day and night, so that Father Time might himself set his watch by some of them. But then it was a rarer and a more interesting thing than now. We can easily fancy the neighbors gathering to see the fine clock standing in its place in the hall, telling its monotonous tale all the nights and days. But another interesting record now comes in. This, too, is an eventin May: 17. I bottled cyder. And then in October again: 20. Cyder come. Cyder is not a thing to be despised even by a man who knows Latin. But is not cyder an important thing to everybody? They had neither tea nor coffee then, and man likes to drink. We may know, too, that in those days every good woman made a few bottles of currant wine, made also her rose cakes to sweeten her drawers, gathered and dried lavender to make lavender-water, also sage and hoarhound, good for sickness. Alas! that people might be sick even in those Good old Times, we know, and we find that in January, 1727, W. S. puts down carefully this: A Recipe for ye cure of Sciatica painsviz.: Take 2 ounces of flowered brim- stone, four ounces of Molasses. Mix ym together, and take a spoonfull morning and evening, and if yt do not effect a cure, take another spoon- full at noon also. You continue un- til you get well, orsomething ! Why endure sciatica pains after this? We make no charge for this valuable knowledge. 1877.] TO WALT WHITMAN. 29 But in June we find it put down: Mr. Davenport Chosen Tutor And confirmed by ye overseers. Here we have a clue to the Latin. And in August is another entry: Governor Burnett, upon an invi- tation, came to visit ye Coil: besides ye Civil Officers in Cambridge wth some others, together with ye Masters of Art in College, were invited to dine ~th him. There was an Ora- tion in ye hall by Sir Clark, some of ye neighboring Clergie were present, & about sixty persons in all had a handsome dinner in ye Library. Here wa~ an event to be recorded. But was W. S. present? We remain in the dark. Entries now become more and more uncommon. We learn little more of the clock or of the cyder; and we are at a loss to explain the reason why. But lo! we have it! In November there is but one entry, on the 21. 1wa8 married. There is the gospel, without note or comment. To whom? We ask in vain. I was married, and that is all. But is not that enough? No more records about clocks and cyder I What need of those things? Very few entries are made in this year, and these are records of the thermometer. Evidently a new one had come from London. But in October is a short and significant record: 19. Bille was born at 5 a clock morning. It was inevitablecause and effect a striking examplemost philosophic! Had he black eyes or blue? Was he like his father or his mother? Was he little or big? Did he weigh eight pounds or ten? Did he live to be a man? None of these things are recorded, and we shall never know. After this supreme event few entries appear in the diary through the years. Life has become engrossing, impor- tant. Let us hope it was sufficing and not full of failure and trouble; let us enjoy the pleasure of believing so, as we well may. The clock, the cyder, the thermometer, the little Bille: what more important matters had he or have we to record? We part with the three, the four faint shadows, Na- thaniel, Nathan, W. S., and little Bille, with a mild regret, hoping we may meet them, and especially little Bille, on the other side. Till then farewell. CHARLES WYLLYS ELLIOTT. TO WALT WHITMAN. o TITAN soul, ascend your starry steep On golden stair to gods and storIed men! Ascend! nor care where thy traducers creep. For what may well be said of prophets when A world thats wicked comes to call them good? Ascend and sing! As kings of thonght who stood On stormy heights and held far lights to men, Stand thou and shout above the tumbled roar, Lest brave ships drive and break against the shore. What though thy sounding song be roughly set? Parnassus self Is rough! Give thou the thonght, The golden ore, the gems that few forget; In time the tinsel jewel will be wrought. Stand thou alone and fixed as destiny; An imaged god that lifts above all hate, Stand thou serene and satisfied with fate. Stand thou as stands that lightning-riven tree That lords the cloven clouds of gray Yosemite. Yea, lone, sad soul, thy heights must be thy home. Thou sweetest loVer! love shall climb to thee, Like Incense curling some cathedral dome From many distant vales. Yet thou shalt be, o grand, sweet singer, to the end alone. But murmur not. The moon, the mighty spheres, Spin on alone through all the soundless years; Alone man comes on earth; he lives alone; Alone he turns to front the dark Unknown. Then range thine upper world, nor stoop to wars. Walk thou the heights as walked the old Greeks when They talked to austere gods, nor turned to men. Teach thou the order of the singing stars. Behold, in mad disorder these are set, And yet they sing in ceaseless harmonies. They spill as iewels spilt through space. They fret The souls of men who measure melodies As they would measure slimy deeps of seas. Take comfort, 0 uncommon soul. Yet pray Lest ye grow proud In such exalted worth. Let no man reckon he excels. I say The laws of compensation compass earth, And no man gains without some equal loss: Each ladder round of fame becomes a rod, And he who lives must die upon a cross. The stars are far, but flowers bless the sod, And he who has the least of man has most of God. JoAqurn MILLER.

1877.] TO WALT WHITMAN. 29 But in June we find it put down: Mr. Davenport Chosen Tutor And confirmed by ye overseers. Here we have a clue to the Latin. And in August is another entry: Governor Burnett, upon an invi- tation, came to visit ye Coil: besides ye Civil Officers in Cambridge wth some others, together with ye Masters of Art in College, were invited to dine ~th him. There was an Ora- tion in ye hall by Sir Clark, some of ye neighboring Clergie were present, & about sixty persons in all had a handsome dinner in ye Library. Here wa~ an event to be recorded. But was W. S. present? We remain in the dark. Entries now become more and more uncommon. We learn little more of the clock or of the cyder; and we are at a loss to explain the reason why. But lo! we have it! In November there is but one entry, on the 21. 1wa8 married. There is the gospel, without note or comment. To whom? We ask in vain. I was married, and that is all. But is not that enough? No more records about clocks and cyder I What need of those things? Very few entries are made in this year, and these are records of the thermometer. Evidently a new one had come from London. But in October is a short and significant record: 19. Bille was born at 5 a clock morning. It was inevitablecause and effect a striking examplemost philosophic! Had he black eyes or blue? Was he like his father or his mother? Was he little or big? Did he weigh eight pounds or ten? Did he live to be a man? None of these things are recorded, and we shall never know. After this supreme event few entries appear in the diary through the years. Life has become engrossing, impor- tant. Let us hope it was sufficing and not full of failure and trouble; let us enjoy the pleasure of believing so, as we well may. The clock, the cyder, the thermometer, the little Bille: what more important matters had he or have we to record? We part with the three, the four faint shadows, Na- thaniel, Nathan, W. S., and little Bille, with a mild regret, hoping we may meet them, and especially little Bille, on the other side. Till then farewell. CHARLES WYLLYS ELLIOTT. TO WALT WHITMAN. o TITAN soul, ascend your starry steep On golden stair to gods and storIed men! Ascend! nor care where thy traducers creep. For what may well be said of prophets when A world thats wicked comes to call them good? Ascend and sing! As kings of thonght who stood On stormy heights and held far lights to men, Stand thou and shout above the tumbled roar, Lest brave ships drive and break against the shore. What though thy sounding song be roughly set? Parnassus self Is rough! Give thou the thonght, The golden ore, the gems that few forget; In time the tinsel jewel will be wrought. Stand thou alone and fixed as destiny; An imaged god that lifts above all hate, Stand thou serene and satisfied with fate. Stand thou as stands that lightning-riven tree That lords the cloven clouds of gray Yosemite. Yea, lone, sad soul, thy heights must be thy home. Thou sweetest loVer! love shall climb to thee, Like Incense curling some cathedral dome From many distant vales. Yet thou shalt be, o grand, sweet singer, to the end alone. But murmur not. The moon, the mighty spheres, Spin on alone through all the soundless years; Alone man comes on earth; he lives alone; Alone he turns to front the dark Unknown. Then range thine upper world, nor stoop to wars. Walk thou the heights as walked the old Greeks when They talked to austere gods, nor turned to men. Teach thou the order of the singing stars. Behold, in mad disorder these are set, And yet they sing in ceaseless harmonies. They spill as iewels spilt through space. They fret The souls of men who measure melodies As they would measure slimy deeps of seas. Take comfort, 0 uncommon soul. Yet pray Lest ye grow proud In such exalted worth. Let no man reckon he excels. I say The laws of compensation compass earth, And no man gains without some equal loss: Each ladder round of fame becomes a rod, And he who lives must die upon a cross. The stars are far, but flowers bless the sod, And he who has the least of man has most of God. JoAqurn MILLER. MADCAP VIOLET. By WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER XLIV. JOY AND FEAR. WAS this man mad, that he, an invalid, propped up in his chair, and scarcely able to move a wine-glass out of his way, should play pranks with the whole created order of things, tossing about solar systems as if they were no more than jugglers balls, and making universal systems of philosophy jump through hoops as if he were a lion tamer in a den? These poor women did not know where to catch him. Violet used to say that he was like a prism, taking the ordinary daylight of life and splitting it up into a thousand gay and glancing colors. That was all very well as a spectacular exhibition; but how when he was apparently instructing them in some serious matter? Was it fair to these tender creatures who had so lov- ingly nursed him, that he should as- sume the airs of a teacher, and gravely lead out his trusting disciples into the desert places of the earth, when his only object was to get them into a bog and then suddenly reveal himself as a will-o-the-wisp, laughing at them with a fiendish joy? What, for example, was all this non- sense about the land questionabout the impossibility of settling it in Eng- land so long as the superstitious re- gard for land existed in the English mind? They were quite ready to be- lieve him. They deprecated that su- perstition most sincerely. They could not understand why a moneyed Eng- lishmans first impulse was to go and buy land; they could give no reason for the delusion existing in the bosom of every Englishman that he, if no one else, could make money out of the oc- cupation of a farm that had ruined a dozen men in succession. All this was very well; but what were they to make of his sudden turning round and defending that superstition as the most beautiful sentiment in human nature? It was, according to him, the sublim- est manifestation of filial lovethe instinct of affection for the great moth- er of us all. And then the flowers became our small sisters and brothers; and the dumb look of appeal in a horses eye, and the singing of a thr~ish at the break of daythese. were but portions of the inarticulate language now no longer known to us. What was any human being to make of this rambling nonsense? It all came of th~ dress coat, and of his childish vanity in his white wrist- l)ands. It was the first occasion on which he had ceremoniously dressed for dinner; and Violet had come over; and he was as proud of his high and stiff collar, and of his white necktie, as if they had been the ribbon and star of a royal order. And then they were all going off the next morningMiss North includedto a strange little place on the other side of the Isle of Wight; and he had gone clean daft with the delight of expectation. There was nothing sacred from his mischiev- ous fancy. He would have made fun of a bishop. In fact he did; for, hap. pening to talk of inarticulate language, he described having seen the other day, in Buckingham Palace road, a bishop who was looking at some china in a shop window; and he went on to declare how a young person driving a perambulator, and too earnestly occu- pied with a sentry on the other side of the road, incontinently drove that per- ambulator right on to the carefully swathed toes of the bishop; and then he devoted himself to analyzing the awful language which he ~aw on the afflicted mans face. But, uncle, said Amy Warrener,

MADCAP VIOLET. By WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER XLIV. JOY AND FEAR. WAS this man mad, that he, an invalid, propped up in his chair, and scarcely able to move a wine-glass out of his way, should play pranks with the whole created order of things, tossing about solar systems as if they were no more than jugglers balls, and making universal systems of philosophy jump through hoops as if he were a lion tamer in a den? These poor women did not know where to catch him. Violet used to say that he was like a prism, taking the ordinary daylight of life and splitting it up into a thousand gay and glancing colors. That was all very well as a spectacular exhibition; but how when he was apparently instructing them in some serious matter? Was it fair to these tender creatures who had so lov- ingly nursed him, that he should as- sume the airs of a teacher, and gravely lead out his trusting disciples into the desert places of the earth, when his only object was to get them into a bog and then suddenly reveal himself as a will-o-the-wisp, laughing at them with a fiendish joy? What, for example, was all this non- sense about the land questionabout the impossibility of settling it in Eng- land so long as the superstitious re- gard for land existed in the English mind? They were quite ready to be- lieve him. They deprecated that su- perstition most sincerely. They could not understand why a moneyed Eng- lishmans first impulse was to go and buy land; they could give no reason for the delusion existing in the bosom of every Englishman that he, if no one else, could make money out of the oc- cupation of a farm that had ruined a dozen men in succession. All this was very well; but what were they to make of his sudden turning round and defending that superstition as the most beautiful sentiment in human nature? It was, according to him, the sublim- est manifestation of filial lovethe instinct of affection for the great moth- er of us all. And then the flowers became our small sisters and brothers; and the dumb look of appeal in a horses eye, and the singing of a thr~ish at the break of daythese. were but portions of the inarticulate language now no longer known to us. What was any human being to make of this rambling nonsense? It all came of th~ dress coat, and of his childish vanity in his white wrist- l)ands. It was the first occasion on which he had ceremoniously dressed for dinner; and Violet had come over; and he was as proud of his high and stiff collar, and of his white necktie, as if they had been the ribbon and star of a royal order. And then they were all going off the next morningMiss North includedto a strange little place on the other side of the Isle of Wight; and he had gone clean daft with the delight of expectation. There was nothing sacred from his mischiev- ous fancy. He would have made fun of a bishop. In fact he did; for, hap. pening to talk of inarticulate language, he described having seen the other day, in Buckingham Palace road, a bishop who was looking at some china in a shop window; and he went on to declare how a young person driving a perambulator, and too earnestly occu- pied with a sentry on the other side of the road, incontinently drove that per- ambulator right on to the carefully swathed toes of the bishop; and then he devoted himself to analyzing the awful language which he ~aw on the afflicted mans face. But, uncle, said Amy Warrener, 1877.] MADCAP VIOLET. with the delightful freshness of fifteen, how could you see anybody in Buck- ingham Palace road the other day, when you havent been out of the house for months? How? said he, not a whit abash- ed. How could I see him? I dont know, but I tell you I did see him. With my eyes, of course. He lost his temper, however, after all. To-morrow, he was saying, I bid good-by to my doctor. I bear him no malice; may he long be spared from having to meet in the next world the people he sent there before him I But look here, Violetto-morrow even- ing we shall be freeand we shall celebrate our freedom, and our first glimpse of a seashore, in Scotch whiskeyin hot Scotch whiskeyin Scotch whiskey with the boilingest of boiling water, just caught at the proper point of cooling. You dont know that point; I will teach you; it is perfection. Dont you know that we have just caught the cooling point of the earthjust that point in its transition from being a molten mass to its becoming a chilled and played out stone that admits of our living But, uncle, said Amy, I thought the earth used to be far colder than it is now. Remember the glacial pe- riod, added this profound student of physics. This was too much. Dear, dear me! he exclaimed. Am I to be brought up at every sec- ond by a pert 8choolgirl when I am expounding the mysteries of life? What have your twopenny-halfpenny science primers to do with the grand secret of toddy? I tell you we must catch it at the cooling point; and then, Violetfor you are a respectful and attentive studentif the evening is fine, and the air warm, and the win- dows open and looking out to the south do you think the doctor could object to that one first, faint trial of a cigarette, just to make us think we are up again in the August nightsoff Isle Ornsaywith Aleck up at the bow singing that hideous and melancholy song of his, and the Sea Pyot slowly creeping along by the black islands? She did not answer at all; but for a brief moment her lip trembled. Amid all this merriment she had sat with a troubled face, and with a sore and heavy heart. She had seen in it but a pathetic bravado. He would drink Scotch whiskeyhe would once more light a cigarettemerely to assure her that he was getting thoroughly well again; his laughter, his jokes, his wild sallies were all meant, and she knew it, to give her strength of heart and cheerfulness. She sat and listened, with her eyes cast down. When she heard him talk lightly and playfully of all that he meant to do, her heart throbbed, and she dared not lift her eyes to his face, lest they should sud- denly reveal to him that awful conflict within of wild, and piteous, and ago- nizing doubt. Then that reference to their wander- ings in the northern seashe did not know how she trembled as he spoke. She could never even think of that strange time she had spent up there, and of the terrible things that had come of it, without a shudder. If she could have cut it out of her life and memory altogether, that would have been well; but how could she forget the agony of that awful farewell; the sense of utter loneliness with which she saw the shores recede; the conviction then borne in upon herand never wholly eradicated from her mind that some mysterious doom had over- taken her, froni which there was no escape. The influence of that time, and of the time that succeeded it, still dwelt upon her, and overshadowed her with its gloom. She had almost lost the instinct of hope. She never doubted, when they carried young Dowse into that silent room, but that he would die: was it not her province to bring misery to all who were asso- ciated with her? And she had got so reconciled to this notion that she did not argue the matter with herself; she had, for example, no sense of bitter- [JANUAi~Y, 32 MADCAP VIOLET. ness in contrasting this apparent destiny of hers with the most deeply-rooted feeling in her heart; namely, a perfectly honest readiness to give up her own life if only that could secure the happiness of those she loved. She did not even feel injured because this was impossible. Things were so; and she accepted them. But sometimes, in the darkness of her room, in the silence of the night- time, when her heart seemed to be lit- erally breaking with its conflict of anxious love and returning despair, some wild notion of propitiation doubtless derived from ancient legends would flash across her mind; and she would cry in her agony, If one must be taken, let it be me I The world cares for him. What am I I If she could only go out into the open place of the city, and bare her bosom to the knife of the priest, and call on the people to see how she had saved the life of her belovedsurely that would be to die happy. What she had done, now that she came to look back over it, seemed but too poor an expres~ sion of her great love and admiration. What mattered it that a girl should. give up her friends and her home? Her lifeher very lifethat was what she desired, when these wild fancies possessed her, to surrender freely, if only she could know that she was res- cuing him from the awful portals that her despairing dread saw open before him, and was giving him backas she bade him a last farewellto health, and joy, and the comfort of many friends. With other wrestlings in spirit, far more eager and real than these mere fancies derived from myths, it is not within the province of the present writer to deal; they are not for the house-tops or the market-places. But it may be said that in all directions the gloomy influences of that past time pursued her; wherever she went she was haunted by a morbid fear that all her resolute will could not shake off. Where, for example, could she go for sweeter consolation, for more cheering solace than to the simple and reassur- ing services of the church? But be- fore she entered, eager to hear words of hope and strengthening, there was the graveyard to pass through, with the misery of generations recorded on its melancholy stones. CHAPTER XLV. OH, GENTLE WIND THAT BLOWETH sOUTH BUT if this girl, partly through her great yearning love, and partly through the overshadowing of her past suffer- ings, was haunted by a mysterious dread, that was not the prevailing feeling within this small household which was now pulling itself together for a flight to the south. Even she caught something of the brisk and cheerful spirit awakened by all the bustle of departure; and when her fa- ther, who had come to London Bridge station to see the whole of them off, noticed the businesslike fashion in which she ordered everybody about, so that the invalid should have his smallest comforts attended to, he could not help saying, with a laugh Well, Violet, this is better than starting for America all by yourself, isnt it? But I dont think you would have been much put out by that either. A smart young man came up, and was for entering the carriage. I beg your pardon, said she, re- spectfully but firmly. This carriage is reserved. The young man looked at both win- dows. I dont see that it is, he retorted coolly. He took hold of the handle of the door, when she immediately rose and stood before him, an awful politeness and decorum on her face, but the fire of Erfinhilde the warrior maiden in her eyes. You will please call the guard be- fore coming in here. The carriage is reserved. 1877.] MADCAP VIOLET. 83 At this moment her father came for- wardnot a little inclined to laugh. I beg your pardon, sir, but the carriage is really reserved. There was a written paper put upit has fallen down, I supposethere it is.,, So the smart young man went away; but was it fair, after this notable vic- tory, that they should all begin to make fun of her fierce and majestic bearing, and that the very person for whose sake she had confronted the enemy should begin to make ridicu- lous rhymes about her, such as these: Then out spake Violet Northimus Of Euston Square was she Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And guard the door with thee I Violet Northimus did not reply. She wore the modesty of a victor. She was ready at any moment to meet six hundred such as he; and she was not to be put out, after the discomfiture of her enemy, by a joke. Then they slowly rolled and grated out of the station, and by-and-by the swinging pace increased, and they were out in the clearer light and the fresher air, with a windy April sky showing flashes of blue from time to time. They went down through a succession of thoroughly English look- ing landscapesquiet valleys with red-tiled cottages in them, bare heights green with the young corn, long stretches of brown and almost leafless woods, with the rough banks outside all starred with the pale, clear prim- rose. There was one in that carriage who had had no lack of flowers that springflowers brought by many a kindly hand to brighten the look of the sick room; but surely it was some- thing more wonderful to see the flow- ers themselves, growing here in this actual and outside world which had been to him for many a weary week but a dimly imagined dreamland. There were primroses under the hedges, primroses along the high banks, prim- roses shining pale and clear within the leafless woods, among the russet leaves of the previous autumn. And then the life and motion of the sky, the southwesterly winds, the black and lowering clouds suddenly followed by a wild and dazzling gleam of sunlight, the grays and purples flying on and leaving behind them a welcome ex- panse of shining April blue. The day was certainly squally enough, and might turn to showers; but the gusts of wind that blew through the carriage were singularly sweet and mild; and again and again Mr. Drummond, who had been raised by all this new life and light into the very highest spirits, declared with much solemnity that he could already detect the smell of the salt sea air. They had their quarrels of course. It pleased a certain young lady to treat the south coast of England with much supercilious contempt. You would have imagined from her talk that there was something criminal in ones living even within twenty miles of the bleak downs, the shabby precipices, and the muddy sea which, according to her, were the only recognizable features of our southern shores. She would not admit indeed that there was any sea at all there; there was only churned chalk. Was it fair to say, even under the exasperation of continual goading, that the Isle of Wight was only a trumpery toy shop; that its scenery was fitly adorned with bazaars for the sale of sham jewelry; that its amuse- ments were on a par with those of Rosherville gardens; that its rocks were made of mud and its sea of pow- dered lime? By heavens, exclaimed her an- tagonist, I will stand this no longer. I will call upon Neptune to raise such a storm in the Solent as shall convince you that there is quite enough sea sur- rounding that pearl of islands, that paradise, that worlds wonder we are going to visit. Yes, I have no doubt, said she with sweet sarcasm, that if you stir- red the Solent with a teaspoon, you would frighten the yachtsmen there out of their wits. Oh, Violet, cried another young lady, you know you were dreadfully 34 MADCAP VIOLET. [JAIiUAIIY, frightened that night in Tobermory bay, when the equinoctial gales caught us, and the men were tramping over- head all night long. I should be more frightened down here, was the retort, because if we were driven ashore I should be choked first and drowned afterward. Fancy going out of the world with a taste of chalk in your mouth. Well, at this moment the fierce dis- cussion was stopped by the arrival of the train at Portsmouth; but here a very singular incident occurred. Vio- let was the first to step out onto the platform. You have a tramway car that goes down to the pier, have you not I she asked of the guard. Aint going to-day, miss, was the answer. Boats cant come in to Southseathe sea is very high. Youll have to go to Portsea, miss. Now, what was this mans amaze- ment on seeing this young lady sud- denly burst out laughing as she turned and looked into the carriage. Did you hear that I she cried. The Solent is raging! They cant come near Southsea! Dont you think, Mrs. Warrener, that it will be very dangerous to go to Portsea? Ill tell you what it is, said Mrs. Warrener with a malicious smile, if a certain young lady I know were to be ill in crossing, she would be a good deal more civil to her native country when she reached the other side. But in good truth, when they got down to Portsea there was a pretty stiff breeze blowing; and the walk out on the long pier was not a little trying to ~~ invalid who had but lately re- covered the use of his limbs. The small steamer, too, was tossing about considerably at her moorings; and Vi- olet pretended to be greatly alarmed because she did not see half-a-dozen lifeboats on board. Then the word was given; the cables thrown off; and presently the tiny steamer was running out to the windy and gray-green sea, the waves of which not unfrequently sent a shower of spray across her decks. The small party of voyagers crouched behind the funnel, and were well out of the waters way. Look there now, cried Mr. Drum- mond, suddenly pointing to a large bird that was flying by, high up in the air, about a quarter of a mile off do you see that? Do you know what that is? That is a Wild goose, a gray lag, that has been driven in by bad weather; now can you say we have no waves, and winds, and sea in the south? Miss Violet was not daunted. Perhaps it is a goose, she said coolly. I never saw but one flying you remember you shot it. What farm-yard has this one left? Oh, for shame, Violet, Mrs. War- rener called out, to rake up old sto- ries I She was punished for it. The in- sulted sportsma~n was casting about for the cruelest retort he could think of, when, asit happened, Miss Violet be- thought her of looking round the cor- ner of the boiler to see whether they were getting near Ryde; and at the same moment it also happened that a heavy wave, striking the bows of the steamer, sent a heap of water whirling down between the paddle-box and the funnel, which caught the young lady on the face with a crack like a whip. As to the shout of laughter which then greeted her, that small party of folks had heard nothing like it for many a day. There was salt water dripping from her hair; salt water in her eyes; salt water running down her tingling and laughing cheeks; and she richly deserved to be asked, as she was im- mediately asked, whether the Solent was compounded of water and marl or water and chalk, and which brand she preferred. Was it the balmy southern air that tempered the vehemence of these wan- derers as they made their way across the island, and getting into a carriage at Ventnor, proceeded to drive along the Undereliff? There was a great quiet prevailing along these southern shores. They drove by underneath 1877.] MADCAP VIOLET~ the tall and crumbling precipices, with wood pigeons suddenly shooting out from the clefts, and jackdaws wheel- ing about far up in the blue. They passed by sheltered woods, bestarred with anemones and primroses, and showing here and there the purple of the as yet half-opened hyacinth; they passed by lush meadows, all ablaze with the golden yellow of the celan- dine and the purple of the ground ivy; they passed by the broken, picturesque banks where the tender blue of the speedwell was visible from time to time, with the white glimmer of the starwort. And then all this time they had on their left a gleaming and wind- driven sea, full of motion, and light, and color, and showing the hurrying shadows of the flying clouds. At last far away, secluded and quiet, they came to a quaint little inn, placed high over the sea, and surrounded by sheltering woods and hedges. The sun lay warm on the smooth green lawn in front, where the daisies grew. There were dark shadowsalmost black shadowsalong the encircling hedge and under the cedars; but these only showed the more brilliantly the silver lighting of the restless, whirl- ing, wind-swept sea beyond. It was a picturesque little house, with its long veranda half-smothered in ivy and rose bushes now in bud; with its tangled garden about, green with young haw- thorn and sweetened by the perfume of the lilacs; with its patches of uncut grass, where the yellow cowslips droop- ed. There was an air of dreamy re- pose about the place; even that whirl- ing and silvery gray sea produced no sound; here the winds were etilk3d, and the black shadows of the trees on that smooth green lawn only moved with the imperceptible moving of the sun. Violet went up stairs and into her room alone; she threw open the small casements, and stood there looking out with a somewhat vague and dis- tant look. There was no mischief now in those dark and tender eyes; there was rather an anxious and wistful ques tioning. And her heart seemed to go out from her to implore these gentle winds, and the soft colors of the sea, and the dreamy stillness of the woods, that now they should, if ever that was possible to them, bring all their sweet and curative influences to bear on him who had come among them. Now, if ever! Surely the favorable skies would heed, and the secret healing of the woods would hear, and the boun- tiful life-giving sea winds would be- stir to her prayer! Surely it was not too late I CHAPTER XLVI. HOPES WINGS. THE long journey had taxed his re- turning strength to the utmost, and for the remainder of that day he look- ed worn and fatigued; but on the next morning he was in the best of spirits, and nothing would do but that they should at once set out on their explo- rations. Why not rest here? said Violet. They were sitting in the shade of their morning room, the French win- dows wide open, the pillars and roof of the veranda outside framing in a picture of glowing sunlight and green vegetation, with glimpses of the sil- very, white sea beyond. Why not rest here? she said; what is the use of driving about to see bare downs, and little holes in the mud that they call chasms, and waterfalls that are turned on from the kitchen of the hotel above? That is what they consider scenery in the Isle of Wight; and then, before you an see it, you must buy a glascs broo2h or a chin~ doll. The fact is, he did not himself par- ticularly care about these excursions, but he was afraid of the place becom- ing tiresome and monotonous to one whom he would insist on regarding as a visitor. She on the other hand af- fected a profound contempt for the sufficiently pleasant places about the Isle of Wight for the very purpose of inducing him to rest in the still secla A Oi) MADCAP VIOLET. [JANUARY, sion of this retreat they had chosen. But here was the carriage at the door. Violet, said Amy Warrener, as they were leisurely driving alotig the quiet ways, under the crumbling gray cliffs, where the jackdaws were flying, where shall we go for a climb? Dont you think we might come upon another Mount Glorioso? No, said the girl rather absently; I dont think we shall see another Mount Glorioso soon again. Not this autumn? cried Mr. Drummond cheerfully; not this summer ?for why should we wait for the autumn I Violet, I have the most serious projects with regard to the whole of ns. It is high time that I set about recognizing the ends of exist- ence; that is to say, before I die I must have a house in Bayswnter and two thousand a year. All nice novels end that way. Now, in order that we shall all reach this earthly paradise, what is to be done? I have two pro- jects. A publisherthe first wise man of his raceI will write an epitaph for him quite different from my universal epitaphthis shrewd and crafty per- son, determined to rescue at least one mute, inglorious Milton from neglect, has written to me. There I He has read my article on The Astronomical Theory with regard to the Early Reli- gions; he has perceived the profound wisdom, the research, the illuminating genius of that workby the way, I dont think I ever fully explained to you my notions on that subject? Oh, no, please dont, said Violet meekly. What does the publisher say? Do you see the mean, practical, commercial spirit of these women? he said, apparently addressing himself. It is only the money they think of. They dont want to be instructed I I know the article well enough, said Violet blushing hotly. I read it II saw it advertised, and bought the review, when I hadnt much money to spend on such things. Did you, Violet? said he, forget- ting for a moment his nonsense. Then he continued: The publisher thinks that with some padding of a general and attractive nature, the subject might be made into a book. Why, therefore, should not our fortune be made at once~ and the gates of Bays- water thrown open to the Peril I do believe I could make an interesting book. I will throw in a lot of Irish anecdotes. I wonder if I could have it illustrated with pictures of Charles I. in Prison, the Dying Infant, The Sailors Adieu, and some such popular things I I think, said Violet humbly, we might go on to the other project. Ah, said he thoughtfully, that requires time and silence first. I must have the inspiration of the mountains before I can resolve it. Do you know ~what it is I Not yet. It is the utilizing of a great natu- ral force. That is what all science is trying to do now; and here is one of the mightiest forces in nature of which nothing is made, unless it be that a few barges get floated up and down our rivers. Do you see? The great mass of tidal force, absolutely irresist- ible in its strength, punctual as the clock itself, always to be calculated onwhy should this great natural en- gine remain unused ? But then, Uflcl~~~~ said a certain young lady, if you made the tide drive machinery at one time of the day, you would have to turn the house round to let it drive it again as it was going 1)ack. Child, child I said the inventor peevishly, why do you tack on these petty details to my grand conception? It is the idea I want to sell; other peo- ple can use it. Now, will the govern- ment grant me a patent? Certainly, said Violet. What royalty on all work executed by utilizing the tidal currents? A million per cent. How much will that bring in? Three millions a minute I Ah, said he, sinking back with a sigh, we have then reached the goal 1877.] MADCAP VIOLET. 37 at last. Bayswater, we approach you. Shall the brougham be bottle-green or coffee-colored ? A brougham! cried Violet; no a barge of white and gold, with crimson satin sails, and oars of bronze, towed by a company of snow-white swans Or mergansers And floating through the canals of claret which we shall set flowing in the streets. Then the Lord Mayor and the corporation will come to meet you, and you will get the freedom of the city presented in a gold snuff-box. As for Buckiugham Palacewell, a bar- onetcy would be a nice thing. A baronetcy! Three millions a year and only a baronet! By the monuments of Westminster Abbey, I will become a duke and an archbishop rolled into one, and have the right of sending fifteen people a day to be be- headed at the tower. Oh, not that, uncle ! And why not ? Because there wouldnt be any publishers at the end of the year. And here we are at Black Gang Chine I Violet would not go down. She positively refused to go down. She called the place Black Gang Sham, and hoped they were pouring enough wa- ter down the kitchen pipe of the hotel to make a foaming cataract. But she begged Mrs. Warrener and Amy, who had not seen the place, to go down, while she remained in the carriage with Mr. Drummond. So these two disappeared into the bazaar. You are not really going to Scot- land, are you? she said simply, her head cast down. I have been thinking of it, he answered. Why not? The air here is very sweet and soft, she said in a hesitating way. Of course, I know, the climate on the west coast of Scotland is very mild, and you would get the mountain air as well as the sea air. But dont you think the storms, the gales that blow in the spring 3 Oh, said he cheerfully, I shall never be pulled together till I get up to the northI know that. I may have to remain here till I get stronger, but by-and-by I hope we shall all go up to Scotland together, and that long before the shooting begins. II am afraid, said she, that I shall not be of the party. You? Not you ?he cried. You are not going to leave us, Violet, just after we have found you? He took her hand, but she still averted her eyes. I half promised, she said, to spend some time with Mr. and Mrs. Dowse. They are very lonely. They think they have a claim on me, and they have been very kind. You are not going to Mr. and Mrs. Dowse, Violet, said he promptly. I pity the poor people, but we have a prior claim on you, and we mean to in- sist on it. What, just after all this grief of separation, you would go away from us again? No, no! I tell you, Violet, we shall never find you your real self until you have been braced up by the sea breezes. I mean the real sea breezes. You want a scamper among the heatherI can see that; for I have been watching you of la~e, and you are not up to the right mark. The sooner we all go the better. Do you understand that? He had been talking lightly and cheerfully, not caring who overheard. She, on the other hand, was anxious and embarrassed, not daring to utter what was on her mind. At last she said: Will you get down for a minute or two, and walk along the road? It is very sheltered here, and the sun is warm. He did so, and she took his arm, and they walked away apart in the sunlight and silence. When they had gone some distance she stopped and said in a low and earnest voice: Dont you know why I cannot go to the Highlands with you? It would kill me. How could I go back to all those places? MADCAP VIOLET. IA.) [JAnUARY, I understand that well enough, Violet, said he gently, but dont you think you ought to go for the very purpose of conquering that feeling? There is nothing in that part of the country to inspire you with dread. You would see it all again in its accustomed light. She shook her head. Very well, then, said he, for he was determined not to let these gloomy impressions of the girl overcome him. If not there, somewhere else. We are not tied to Castle Bandbox. There is plenty of space about the West Highlands or about the Central High. lands, for the matter of that. Shall we try to get some lodging in an inn or farmhouse about the Moor of Ran- noch? Or will you try the islands Jura, or Islay, or Mull I She did not answer. She seemed to be in a dream. Shall I tell you, Violet, he con- tinued, gravely and gently, why I want you to come with us? I am anx- ious that you and I should be together as longas long as that is possible. One never knows what may happen, and latelywell, we need not speak of it; but I dont wish us to be parted, Violet. ~he burst into a violent fit of crying and sobbing. She had been struggling bravely to repress this gathering emo- tion; but his direct reference to the very thought that was overshadowing her mind was too much for her. And along with this wild grief came as keen remorse, for was this the conduct re- quired of an attendant upon an invalid? You must forgive me, she sobbed. - I dont know what it isI have been very nervous of lateandand There is nothing to cry about, Violet, said he gently. What is to be, is to be. You have not lost your old courage! Only let us be together while we can. Oh, my love, my love ! she sud- denly cried, taking his hand in both of hers, and looking up to him with her piteous, tear-dimmed eyes; we will always be together! What is it that you say ?what is it that you mean? Not that you are going away without me? I have courage for anything but that. It does not matter what comes, only that I must go with youwe two to- gether 1 Hush, hush, Violet, said he sooth- ingly, for he saw that the girl was really beside herself with grief and apprehension. Come, this is not like the brave Violet of old. I thought there was nothing in all the world you were afraid to face. Look up, now. She released his hand, and a strange expression came over her face. That wild outburst had been an involuntary confession; now a great fear and shame filled her heart that she should have been betrayed into it, and in a despairing, pathetic fashion she tried to explain away her words. We shall be together, shall we not ? she said, with an affected cheer- fulness, though she was still crying gently. It does not matter what part & f the Highlands you go toI will go with you. I must write and ex- plain to Mrs. Dowse. It would be a pity that we should separate so soon, after that long time, would it not? And then the brisk air of the hills, and of the yachting, will be better for you than the hot summer here, wont it ? And I am sure you will get very well there; that is just the place for you to get strong; and when the time for the shooting comes, we shall all go out, as we used to do, to see you missing every bird that gets up. She tried to smile, but did not suc- ceed very well. And really it does not matter to me so very much what part we go to, for, as you say, one ought to conquer these feelings, and if you prefer Castle Bandbox, I will go there toothat is, I shall be very proud to go if I am not in the way. And you know I am the only one who can make cartridges for you. I dont think I shall trouble the cartridges very much, said he, glad to think she was becoming more cheer- ful. 1877.] MADCAP VIOLET. 39 Indeed, she continued, I dont know what would have become of your gun if I had not looked after it, for you only half cleaned it, and old Peter would not touch it, and the way the sea air rusted the barrels was quite remarkable. Will you have No. 3 or No. 4 shot this year for the sea birds? Well, he answered gravely, you see we shall have no yacht this year, and probably no chances of wild duck at all; and it would scarcely be worth while to make cartridges merely to fire away at these harmless and use- less sea pyots and things of that sort. Oh, but my papa could easily get us a yacht, she said promptly; he would be delightedI know he would be delighted. And I have been told you can get a small yacht for about 40 a mouth, crew and everything in- cluded, and what is that? Indeed, I think it is quite necessary you should have a yacht. Forty pounds, said he. I think we could manage that. But then we should deduct something from the wages of the crew on the strength of our taking our own cook with us. Do you remember that cook? She had a wonderful trick of making apricot jam puddings; how the dickens she man- aged to get so much jam crammed in I never could make out. She was just about as good at that as at mak- ing cartridges. Did you ever hear of that cook? By this time they had walked gent- ly back to the carriage, and now Mrs. Warrener and her daughter made their appearance. The elder woman noticed something strange about Violets ex- pression, but she did not speak of it, for surely the girl was happy enough? She was, indeed, quite merry. She told Mrs. Warrener she was ready to go with them to the Highlands whenever they chose. She proposed that this time they should go up the Caledonian canal, and go down by Loch Maree, and then go out and visit the western isles. She said the sooner they went the better; they would get all the beautiful summer of the north; it was only the autumn tourists who com- plained of the rain of the Highlands. But we had little rain last au- tumn, said Mrs. Warrener. Oh, very little indeed, said Vio- let, quite brightly; we had charming weather all through. I never enjoyed myself anywhere so much. I think the sooner your brother gets up to the Highlands, the better it will do him a world of good. CHAPTER XLVII. DU 5CHMERZENSREICHE! So the long, silent, sunlit days passed, and it seemed to the three pa- tient watchers that the object of their care was slowly recovering health and strength. But if they were all willing and eager to wait on him, it was Vio- let who was his constant companion and friend, his devoted attendant, his humble scholar. Sometimes when Mrs. Warreners heart grew sore with- in her to think of the wrong that had been wrought in the past, the tender little woman tried to solace herself somewhat by regarding these two as they now sat togetherhe the whim- sical, affectionate master, she the meek pupil and disciple, forgetting all the proud dignity of her maidenhood, her fire, and audacity, and independence, in the humility and self-surrender of her love. Surely, she thought, this time was making up for much of the past. And if all went well now, what had they to look forward to but a still closer companionship in which the proud, and loyal, and fearless girl would become the tender and obedient wife? There was no jealousy in the nature of this woman. She would have laughed with joy if she could have heard their marriage bells. And Violet, too, when the sun lay warm on the daisies and cowslips, when the sweet winds blew the scent of the lilacs about, and when her master and teacher grew strong enough to walk with her along the quiet woodland wayshow could she fail to pick up 4 MADCAP VIOLET. some measure of cheerfulness and hope ? It almost; seemed as if she had dropped into a new world; and it was a beautiful world, full of tenderness, and laughter, and sunshine. Hence- forth there was to be no more George Miller to bother her; he had gone clean out of existence as far as she was concerned; there was no more skir- mishing with Lady North; even the poor Dowses, with their piteous lone- liness and solemn house, were almost forgotten. Here was her whole world. And when she noticed the increasing distances that he walked, and the brighter look of his face, and the growing courage and carelessness of his habitsthen indeed the world be- came a beautiful world to her, and she was almost inclined to fall in love with those whirling and gleaming southern seas. It was in the black night-time, when all the household but herself were asleep, that she paid the penalty of these transient joys. Haunted by the one terrible fear, she could gain no rest; it was in vain that she tried to reason with herself; her imagination was like some hideous fiend continually whis- pering to her ear. Then she had no friend with whom to share those terri- ble doubts; she dared not mention them to any human soul. Why should she disturb the gentle confidence of his sis- ter and her daughter? She could not make them miserable merely to lift from her own mind a portion of its anxiety. She could only lie awake, night after night, and rack her brain with a thousand gloomy forebodings. She recalled certain phrases he had used in moments of pathetic confidence. She recalled the quick look of pain with which he sometimes paused in the middle of his speech, the almost invol- untary raising the hand to the region of the heart, the passing pallor of the face. Had they seen none of those things? Had they no wild, despairing thoughts about him? Was it possible they could go peacefully to sleep with this dread thing hanging over them, with a chance of awaking to a day of bitter anguish and wild, heart-broken farewell? This cruel anxiety, kept all to herself, was killing the girl. She grew restless and feverish; sometimes she sat up half the night at the window listening to the moaning of the dark sea outside; she became languid dur- ing the day, pale, and distraite. But it was not to last long. One evening these two were togeth- er in the small parlor, he lying down, she sitting near him with a book in her hand. The French windows were open; they could hear Mrs. Warrener and her daughter talking in the gar- den. And, strangely enough, the sick mans thoughts were once more turned to the far Highlands, and to their life among the hills, and the pleasant mer- ry-making on board the Sea Pyot. The air of this place does not agree with you at all, Violet, ho was saying. You are not looking nearly so well as you did when we caine down. You are the only one who has not bene- fited by the change. Now that wont do; we cannot have a succession of in- validsa Greek frieze of patients, all carrying phials of medicine. We must get off to the Highlands at once. What do you saya fortnight hence? She knelt down beside him, and took his hand, and said in a low voice Do not be angry with meit is very unreasonable, I knowbut I have a strange dread of the Highlands. I have dreamed so often lately of beingup thereand of being swept away on a dark seain the middle of the night. She shuddered. He put his hand gently on her head. There is no wonder you should dream of that, he said with a smile. That is only part of the story which you made us all believe. But we have got a brighter finish for it now. You have not been overwhelmed in that dark flood yet He paused. Violet I My love he suddenly cried. He let go her hand, and made a wild grasp at his left breast; his face grew white with pain. What made her in- 40 [JANUARY, MADCAP VIOLET. stinctively throw her arms round him, with terror in her eyes? Violet I What is this? Kiss me! It was but one second after that that a piercing shriek rang through the place. The girl had sprung up like a deer shot through the heart; her eyes dilated, her face wild and pale. Mrs. Warrener came running in; but paused, and almost retreated in fear from the awful spectacle before her; for the girl still held the dead mans hand, and she was laughing merrily. The dark sea she had dreaded had overtaken her at last. But one more scenemonths after- ward. It is the breakfast room in Lady Norths house in Euston Square; and Anatolia is sitting there alone. The door opens, and a tall young girl, dressed in a white morning costume, comes silently in; there is a strange and piteous look of trouble in her dark eyes. Anatolia goes over to her7 and takes her hand very tenderly, and leads her to the easy-chair she had her- self just quitted. There is not any letter yet ? she asks, having looked all round the ta- ble with a sad and wearied air. No, dear, not yet, says Anatolia, who, unlovely though she may be, has a sympathetic heart; and her lip trem- bles as she speaks. You must be pa- tient, Violet. It is another morning gone, and there is no letter, and I cannot under- stand it, says the girl, apparently to herself, and then she begins to cry si- lently, while her half-sister goes to her, and puts her arm around her neck, and tries to soothe her. Lady North comes into the room. Some changes have happened with~ in these few months; it is Mother and My child now between the en- emies of yore. And as she bids Violet good morning, and gently kisses her, the girl renews her complaint. Mother, why do they keep back his Letter? I know he must have writ- ten to me long ago; and I cannot go to him until I get the letter! and he will wonder why I am not coming. Morning after morning I listen for the postmanI can hear him in the street from house to houseand they all get their letters, but I dont get this one that is worth all the world to me. And I never neglected anything that he said; and I was always very obedient to him; and he will wonder now that I dont go to him, and perhaps he will think that I am among my other friends now and have forgotten No, he will not think that. I have not forgotten. My child, you must not vex your- self, says Lady North with all the tenderness of which she is capable and Anatolia is bitterly crying all the while. It will be all right. And you must not look sad to-day; for you know Mrs. Warrener and your friend Amy are coming to see you. She does not seem to pay much heed. Shall we go for the flowers to- day? she asks, with her dark wet eyes raised for the first time. My darling, this is not the day we go for the flowers; that is to-morrow. And what is the use of it ? she says, letting her head sink sadly again. Every time I go over to Nunhead I listen all by myselfand I know he is not there at all. The flowers look pretty, because his name is over them. But he is not there at allhe is far awayand he was to send me a mes- sageand every day I wait for itand they keep the letter back. Mother, are all my dresses ready ? Yes, Violet. You are quite sure 1 They are all ready, Violet. Dont trouble about that. It is the white satin one he will like the best; and he will be pleased that I am not in black like the others. Mother, Mrs. Warrenerand Amy surely cannot mean to come to the wedding in black. Surely not, Violet. But come, dear, to your breakfast. She took her place quite calmly and humbly; but her mind was still wan- dering toward that picture. I hope they will strew the church- 1877.1 41 42 JULIET ON THE BALCONY. [JANUARY. yard with flowers as we pass through itnot for me, but for him; for he will be pleased with that; and there is more than all that is in the Prayer-book that I will promise to be to him, when we two are kneeling together. You are quite sure everything is ready? Everything, my darling. And you think the message from him will come soon now I I think it will come soon now, Violet, was the answer, given with trembling lips. Tun E~in. And now to youyou whose names are written in these blurred pages, some portion of whose lives I have tried to trace with a wandering and uncer tam penI stretch out a hand of fare- well. Yet not quite of farewell, per- haps: for amid all the shapes and phan- toms of this world of mystery, where the shadows we meet can tell us neith- er whence they came nor whither they go, surely you have for me a no less substantial existence that may have its chances in the time to come. To me you are more real than most I know: what wonder then if I were to meet you on the threshold of the great unknown, you all shining with a new light on your face? Trembling, I stretch out my hands to you, for your silence is awful, and there is sadness in your eyes; but the day may come when you will speak, and I shall hearand un- derstand. JULIET ON THE BALCONY. () LIPS that are so lonely For want of his caress; o heart that art too faithful To ever love him less; o eyes that find no sweetness For hunger of his face; o hands that long to feel him, Always, in every place I My spirit leans and listens, But only hears his name, And thought to thought leaps onward As flame leaps unto flame; And all kin to each other As any brood of flowers, Or these sweet winds of night, love, That fan the fainting hours I My spirit leans and listens, My heart stands up and cries, And only one sweet vision Comes ever to my eyes. So near and yet so far, love, So dear, yet out of reach, So like some distant star, love, Unnamed in human speech I My spirit leans and listens, My heart goes out to him9 Through all the long night wateh~ Until the dawning dim; My spirit leans and listens, What if, across the night, His strong heart send a message To flood me with delight? HowAnD GLYNDoN.

42 JULIET ON THE BALCONY. [JANUARY. yard with flowers as we pass through itnot for me, but for him; for he will be pleased with that; and there is more than all that is in the Prayer-book that I will promise to be to him, when we two are kneeling together. You are quite sure everything is ready? Everything, my darling. And you think the message from him will come soon now I I think it will come soon now, Violet, was the answer, given with trembling lips. Tun E~in. And now to youyou whose names are written in these blurred pages, some portion of whose lives I have tried to trace with a wandering and uncer tam penI stretch out a hand of fare- well. Yet not quite of farewell, per- haps: for amid all the shapes and phan- toms of this world of mystery, where the shadows we meet can tell us neith- er whence they came nor whither they go, surely you have for me a no less substantial existence that may have its chances in the time to come. To me you are more real than most I know: what wonder then if I were to meet you on the threshold of the great unknown, you all shining with a new light on your face? Trembling, I stretch out my hands to you, for your silence is awful, and there is sadness in your eyes; but the day may come when you will speak, and I shall hearand un- derstand. JULIET ON THE BALCONY. () LIPS that are so lonely For want of his caress; o heart that art too faithful To ever love him less; o eyes that find no sweetness For hunger of his face; o hands that long to feel him, Always, in every place I My spirit leans and listens, But only hears his name, And thought to thought leaps onward As flame leaps unto flame; And all kin to each other As any brood of flowers, Or these sweet winds of night, love, That fan the fainting hours I My spirit leans and listens, My heart stands up and cries, And only one sweet vision Comes ever to my eyes. So near and yet so far, love, So dear, yet out of reach, So like some distant star, love, Unnamed in human speech I My spirit leans and listens, My heart goes out to him9 Through all the long night wateh~ Until the dawning dim; My spirit leans and listens, What if, across the night, His strong heart send a message To flood me with delight? HowAnD GLYNDoN. OUR RURAL DIVINITY. I WONDER that Wilson Flagg did not include the cow among his Picturesque Animals, for that is where she belongs. She has not the classic beauty of the horse, but in pic- ture-making qualities she is far ahead of him. 11cr shaggy, loose-jointed body, her irregular, sketchy outlines, like those of the landscapethe hol- lows and ridges, the slopes and prom- inencesher tossing horns, her bushy tail, her swinging gait, her tranquil, ruminating habitsall tend to make her an object upon which the artist eye loves to dwell. The artists are for ever putting her into pictures too. In rural landscape scenes she is an im- portant feature. Behold her grazing in the pastures and on the hill sides, or along banks of streams, or rumi- nating under wide-spreading trees, or standing belly deep in the creek or pond, or lying upon the smooth places in the quiet summer afternoon, the days grazing done, and waiting to be summoned home to be milked; and again in the twilight lying upon the level summit of the hill, or where the sward is thickest and softest; or in winter a herd of them filing along to- ward the spring to drink, or being foddered from the stack in the field upon the new snowsurely the cow is a picturesque animal, and all her goings and comings are pleasant to behold. I looked into Hamertons clever book on the domestic animals, also expecting to find my divinity duly cele- brated, but he passes her by and con- templates the bovine qualities only as they appear in the ox and the bull. Neither have the poets made much of the cow, but have rather dwelt upon the steer~ or the ox yoked to the plough. I recall this touch from Em- erson: The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far heard, lows not thine ear to charm. But the ear is charmed nevertheless, especially if it be not too near, and the air be still and dense, or hollow, as the farmer says. And again, if it be spring time and she task that pow- erful bellows of hers to its utmost ca- pacity, how round the sound is, and how far it goes over the hills. The cow has at least four tones or lows. First, there is her alarmed or distressed low, when deprived of her calf, or separated from her matesher low of affection. Then there is her call of hunger, a petition for food, sometimes full of impatience, or her answer to the farmers call, full of eagerness. Then there is that peculiar frenzied bawl she utters on smelling blood, which causes every member of the herd to lift its head and hasten to the spotthe native cry of the clan. When she is gored or in great danger she bawls also, but that is different. And lastly, there is the long, sonorous volley she lets off on the hills or in the yard, or along the highway, and which seems to be expressive of a kind of unrest and vague longingthe long- ing of the imprisoned lo for her lost identity. She sends her voice forth so that every god on Mount Olympus can hear her plaint. She makes this sound in the morning, especially in the spring, as she goes forth to graze. One of our rural poets, Myron Ben- ton, whose verse often has the flavor of sweet cream, has written some lines called Rumination, in which the cow is the principal figure, and with which I am permitted to adorn my theme. The poet first gives his atten- tion to a little brook that breaks its shallow gossip at his feet and drowns the orioles voice: But moveth not that wise and ancient cow, Who chews her juicy cud so languid now Beneath her favorite elm, whose drooping bough Lulls all but inward vision, fast asleep: But still, her tireless tall a pendulum sweep

OUR RURAL DIVINITY. I WONDER that Wilson Flagg did not include the cow among his Picturesque Animals, for that is where she belongs. She has not the classic beauty of the horse, but in pic- ture-making qualities she is far ahead of him. 11cr shaggy, loose-jointed body, her irregular, sketchy outlines, like those of the landscapethe hol- lows and ridges, the slopes and prom- inencesher tossing horns, her bushy tail, her swinging gait, her tranquil, ruminating habitsall tend to make her an object upon which the artist eye loves to dwell. The artists are for ever putting her into pictures too. In rural landscape scenes she is an im- portant feature. Behold her grazing in the pastures and on the hill sides, or along banks of streams, or rumi- nating under wide-spreading trees, or standing belly deep in the creek or pond, or lying upon the smooth places in the quiet summer afternoon, the days grazing done, and waiting to be summoned home to be milked; and again in the twilight lying upon the level summit of the hill, or where the sward is thickest and softest; or in winter a herd of them filing along to- ward the spring to drink, or being foddered from the stack in the field upon the new snowsurely the cow is a picturesque animal, and all her goings and comings are pleasant to behold. I looked into Hamertons clever book on the domestic animals, also expecting to find my divinity duly cele- brated, but he passes her by and con- templates the bovine qualities only as they appear in the ox and the bull. Neither have the poets made much of the cow, but have rather dwelt upon the steer~ or the ox yoked to the plough. I recall this touch from Em- erson: The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far heard, lows not thine ear to charm. But the ear is charmed nevertheless, especially if it be not too near, and the air be still and dense, or hollow, as the farmer says. And again, if it be spring time and she task that pow- erful bellows of hers to its utmost ca- pacity, how round the sound is, and how far it goes over the hills. The cow has at least four tones or lows. First, there is her alarmed or distressed low, when deprived of her calf, or separated from her matesher low of affection. Then there is her call of hunger, a petition for food, sometimes full of impatience, or her answer to the farmers call, full of eagerness. Then there is that peculiar frenzied bawl she utters on smelling blood, which causes every member of the herd to lift its head and hasten to the spotthe native cry of the clan. When she is gored or in great danger she bawls also, but that is different. And lastly, there is the long, sonorous volley she lets off on the hills or in the yard, or along the highway, and which seems to be expressive of a kind of unrest and vague longingthe long- ing of the imprisoned lo for her lost identity. She sends her voice forth so that every god on Mount Olympus can hear her plaint. She makes this sound in the morning, especially in the spring, as she goes forth to graze. One of our rural poets, Myron Ben- ton, whose verse often has the flavor of sweet cream, has written some lines called Rumination, in which the cow is the principal figure, and with which I am permitted to adorn my theme. The poet first gives his atten- tion to a little brook that breaks its shallow gossip at his feet and drowns the orioles voice: But moveth not that wise and ancient cow, Who chews her juicy cud so languid now Beneath her favorite elm, whose drooping bough Lulls all but inward vision, fast asleep: But still, her tireless tall a pendulum sweep 9 OUR RURAL DIVINITY. Of this great, wondrous world she has seen more Than you, my little brook, and cropped its store Of succulent grass on many a mead and jawn; And strayed to distant uplands in the dawn. And she has had some dark experience Of graceless mans ingratitude; and hence Her ways have not been ways of pleasantness, Nor all her paths of peace. But her distress And grief she has lived past; your giddy round Disturbs her not, for she is learned profound In deep brahminical philosophy. She chews the cud of sweetest revery Above your worldly prattle, brooklet merry, Oblivious of all things sublunary. Mysterious clockwork guides, and some hid all mounted; but the cow would tame pulley and humanize them. When the In- Her drowsy cud, each moment, raises duly. dians will cultivate the cow, I shall think their civilization fairly begun. Recently, when the horses were sick with the epizo~5tic, and the oxen came to the city and helped to do their work, what an Arcadian air again filled the streets. But the dear old oxenhow awkward and distressed they looked! Juno wept in the face of every one of them. rpl~e horse is a true citizen, and is entirely at home in the paved streets; but the oxwhat a complete embodiment of all rustic and rural things! Slow, deliberate, thick-skinned, powerful, hulky, ru- minating, fragrant-breathed, when he came to town the spirit and sugges- tion of all Georgics and Bucolics came with him. Oh, citizen, was it only a plodding, unsightly brute that went by? Was there no chord in your bo- som, long silent, that sweetly vibrated at the sight of that patient, Herculean couple? Did you smell no hay oy cropped herbage, see no summer pas. tures with circles of cool shade, hear no voice of herds among the hills? They were very likely the only horses your grandfather ever had. Not much trouble to harness and unharness them. Not much vanity on the road in those days. They did all the work on the early pioneer farm. They were the gods whose rude strength first broke the soil. They could live where the moose and the deer could. If there was no clover or timothy to be had, then the twigs of the basswood and birch would do. Before there were yet fields given up to grass, they found ample pasturage in the woods. Their wide-spreading horns gleamed in the duskiness, and their paths and the paths of the cows became the fu- ture roads and highways, or even the streets of great cities. All the descendants of Odin show a bovine trace, and cherish and cultivate the cow. What were those old Vi- kings but thick-hided bulls that de- lighted in nothing so much as goring each other? And has not the charge The cow figures in Grecian mythol- ogy, and in the Oriental literature is treated as a sacred animal. The clouds are cows and the rain milk. I remember what Herodotus says of the Egyptians worship of heifers and steers; and in the traditions of the Celtic nations the cow is regarded as a divinity. In Norse mythology the milk of the cow Andhumbla afforded nourishment to the Frost giants, and it was she that licked into being and into shape a god, the father of Odin. If anything could lick a god into shape, certainly the cow could do it. You may see her perform this office for young Taurus any spring. She licks him out of the fogs and bewilderments and uncertainties in which lie finds himself on first landing upon these ~hores, and up on to his feet in an in- crcdibly short time. Indeed, that potent tongue of hers can almost make the dead alive any day, and the crea- tive lick of the old Scandinavian mother cow is only a large-lettered rendering of the commonest facts. The horse belongs to the fiery god Mars. He favors war, and is one of its oldest, most available, and most formidable engines. The steed is clothed with thunder, and smells the battle from afar; but the cattle upon a thousand hills denote that peace and plenty bear sway in the land. The neighing of the horse is a call to bat- tle; but the lowing of old Brockleface in the valley brings the golden age again. The savage tribes are never without the horse; the Scythians are 44 [JANUARY, 4 OUR RURAL DIVINITY. of beefiness been brought much nearer home to us than that? But about all the northern races there is something that is kindred to cattle in the best sensesomething in their art and lit- erature that is essentially pastoral, sweet-breathed, continent, dispassion- ate, ruminating, wide- eyed, soft-voiced a charm of kine, the virtue of brutes. The cow belongs more especially to the northern peoples, to the region of the good, green grass. She is the true grn~ing animal. That broad, smooth, always dewy nose of hers is just the suggestion of green sward. She ca- resses the grass; she sweeps off the ends of the leaves; she reaps it with the soft sickle of her tongue. She crops close, but she does not bruise or devour the turf like the horse. She is the swards best friend, and will make it thick and smooth as a carpet. The turfy mountains where live the nibbling sheep are not for her. Her muzzle is too blunt; then she does not bite as do the sheep; she has not upper teeth; she crop8. But on the lower slopes, and margins, and rich bottoms, she is at home. Where the daisy and the but- tercup and clover bloom, and where corn will grow, is her proper domain. The agriculture of no country can long thrive without her. Not only a large part of the real, but much of the po- tential wealth of the land is wrapped up in her. What a variety of individualities a herd of cows presents when you have come to know them all, not only in form and color, but in manners and disposition. Some are timid and awk- ward and the butt of the whole herd. Some remind you of deer. Some have an expression in the face like certain persons you have known. A petted and well-fed cow has a benevolent and gracious look; an ill-used and poorly- fed one a pitiful and forlorn look. Some cows have a masculine or ox expression; others are extremely fem- inine. The latter are the ones for milk. Some cows will kick like a horse; some jump fences like deer. Every herd has its ringleader, its un- ruly spiritone that plans all the mis- chief and leads the rest through the fences into the grain or into the or- chard. This one is usually quite dif- ferent from the master spirit, the boss of the yard. The latter is generally the most peaceful and law- abiding cow in the lot, and the least bullying and quarrelsome. But she is not to be trifled with; her will is law; the whole herd give way before her, those that have crossed horns with her, and those that have not, but yielded their allegiance without cross- ing. I remember such a one among my fathers milkers when I was a boy a slender.horned, deep-shouldered, large-uddered, dewlapped old cow that we always put first in the long stable so she could not have a cow on each side of her to forage upon; for the master is yielded to no less in the stancheons than in the yard. She al- ways had the first place anywhere. She had her choice of standing room in the milking yard, and when she wanted to lie down there or in the fields the best and softest spot was hers. When the herd were foddered from the stack or barn, or fed with pumpkins in the fall, she was always first served. Her demeanor was quiet but impressive. She never bullied or gored her mates, but literally r~iled them with the breath of her nostrils. If any newcomer or ambitious younger cow, however, chafed under her su- premacy, she was ever ready to make good her claims. And with what spirit she would fight when openly challenged I She was a whirlwind of pluck and valor; and not after one defeat or two defeats would she yield the championship. The boss cow, when overcome, seems to brood over her disgrace, and day after day will meet her rival in fierce combat. A friend of mine, a pastoral philos- opher, whom I have consulted in re- gard to the master cow, thinks it is seldom the case that one rules all the herd, if it number many, but that there is often one that will rule nearly 1877.] 45 4 OUR RURAL DINTINITY. all. Curiously enough, he says, a case like this will often occur: No. 1 will whip No. 2; No. 2 whips No. 3; and No. 3 whips No. 1; so around in a circle. This is not a mis- take; it is often the case. I remem- ber, he continued, we once had feeding out of a large bin in the cen- tre of the yard six oxen who mastered right through in succession from No. 1 to No. 6; lntt No. 6 paid off the scare l~y whipping No. 1. I often watched them when they were all trying to feed out of the box, and of course trying, dog- in-the-manger fashion, each to prevent any other he could. They would often get in the order to do it very system- atically, since they could keep rotating about the box till the chain happened to get broken somewhere, when there would be confusion. Their master- ship, you know, like that between nations, is constantly changing. But there are always Napoleons who hold their own through many vicissitudes but the ordinary cow is continually liable to lose her foothold. Some cow she has always despised, and has often sent tossing across the yard at her horns ends, some pleasant morn- ing will return the compliment and pay off old scores. But my own observation has been that in herds in which there have been no important changes for several years, the question of might gets pretty well settled, and some one cow becomes the acknowledged ruler. The bully of the yard is never the master, but usually a second or third- rate pusher that never loses an oppor- tunity to hook those beneath her, or to gore the masters if she can get them in a tight place. If such a one can get loose in the stable, she is quite certain to do mischief. She delights to pause in the open bars and turn and keep those at bay behind her till she sees a pair of threatening horns press- ing toward her, when she quickly passes on. As one cow masters all, so there is one cow that is mastered by all. These are the two extremes of the herd, the head and the tail. Between them are all grades of authority, with none so poor but hath some poorer to do her reverence. The cow has evidently come down to us from a wild or semi-wild state; perhaps is a descendant of those wild, shaggy cattle of which a small band still exists in the forests of Scotland. Cuvier seems to have been of this opinion. One of the ways in which her wild instincts still crop out is the disposition she shows in spring to hide her calfa common practice among the wild herds. Her wild nature would be likely to come to the sur- face at this crisis if ever; and I have known cows that practised great se- crecy in dropping their calves. As their time approached they grew rest- less, a wild and excited look was upon them, and if left free, they generally set out for the woods or for some other secluded spot. After the calf is sev- eral hours old, and has got upon its feet and had its first meal, the dam by some sign commands it to lie down and remain quiet while she goes forth to feed. If the calf is approached at such time, it plays possum, assumes to be dead or asleep, till on finding this ruse does not succeed, it mounts to its feet, bleats loudly and fiercely, and charges desperately upon the in- truder. But it recovers from this wild scare in a little while, and never shows signs of it again. The habit of the cow, also, in eat- ing the placenta, looks to me like a vestige of her former wild instincts. the instinct to remove everything that would give the wild beasts a clue or a scent, and so attract them to her helpless young. How wise and sagacious the cows become that run upon the street, or pick their living along the highway. The mystery of gates and bars is at last solved to them. They ponder over them by night, they lurk about them by day, till they acquire a new sensetill they become en rapport with them and know when they are open and unguarded. The garden gate, if it open into the highway at any 48 [JAr~trAnY, 1877.] OUR RURAL DI\TNITY. 47 point, is never out of the mind of these roadsters, or out of their calcula- tions. They calculate upon the chances of its being left open a certain number of times in the season; and if it be but once and only for five minutes, your cabbage and sweet corn suffer. What villager, or countryman either, has not been awakened at night by the squeaking and crunching of those p1- ratical jaws under the window or in the direction of the vegetable patch? I have had the cows, after they had eaten up my garden, break into the stable where my own mllcher was tied, and gore her and devour her meaL Yes, life presents but one absorbing problem to the street cow, and that is how to get into your garden. She catches glimpses of it over the fence or through the pickets, and her imagi- nation or epigastrium is inflamed. When the spot is surrounded by a high board fence, I think I have seen her peeping at the cabbages through a knot-hole. At last she learns to open the gate. It is a great triumph of bo- vine wit. She does it with her horn or her nose, or may be with her ever ready tongue. I doubt if she has ever yet penetrated the mystery of the newer patent fastenings; but the old- fashioned thumb-latch she can see through, give her time enough. A large, lank, muley or polled cow used to annoy me in this way when I was a dweller in a certain pastoral city. I more than half suspected she was turned in by some one; so one day I watched. Presently I heard the gate- latch rattle; the gate swung open, and in walked the old buffalo. On seeing me she turned and ran like a horse. I then fastened the gate on the inside and watched again. After long waiting the old cow came quickly round the corner and approached the gate. She lifted the latch with her nose. Then, as the gate did not move, she lifted it again and again. Then she gently nudged it. Then, the obtuse gate not taking the hint, she butted it gently, then harder and still harder, till it rattled again. At this juncture I emerged from my hiding place, when the old villain scampered off with great precipitation. She knew she was tres- passing, and she had learned that there were usually some swift penalties attached to this pastime. I have owned but three cows and loved but one. That was the first one, Chloe, a bright red, curly-pated, golden-skinned Devonshire cow, that an ocean steamer landed for me upon the banks of the Potomac one bright May day many clover summers ago. She came from the north, from the pastoral regions of the Catskills, to graze upon the broad commons of the national capital. I was then the fortunate and happy lessee of an old place with an acre of ground attached, almost with- in the shadow of the dome of the cam itol. Behind a high but aged and de- crepit board fence I indulged my ru- ral and unclerical tastes. I could look up from my homely tasks and cast a potato almost in the midst of that cataract of marble steps that flows out of the north wing of the patriotic pile. Ah, when that creaking and sagging back gate closed behind me in the evening, I was happy; and when it opened for my egress thence in the morning, I was not happy. Inside that gate was a miniature farm redo- lent of homely, primitive life, a tum- ble-down house and stables and imple- ments of agriculture and horticulture, broods of chickens, and growing pumpkins, and a thousand antidotes to the weariness of an artificial life. Outside of it were the marble and iron palaces, the paved and blistering streets, and the high,vacant, mahogany desk of a government clerk. In that ancient enclosure I took an earth bath twice a day. I planted myself as deep in the soil as I could to restore the normal tone and freshness of my sys- tem, impaired by the above mentioned government mahogany. I have found there is nothing like the earth to draw the various social distempers out of one. The blue devils take flight at once if they see you mean to bury them and make compost of them. 48 OUR RURAL DIVINITY. [JANUAIIY, Emerson intimates that the scholar had better not try to have two gar- dens; but I could never spend an hour hoeing up dock and red-root and twitch grass without in some way get- ting rid of many weeds and fungus, unwholesome growths that a petty, in-doors life was for ever fostering in my own moral and intellectual nature. But the finishing touch was not given till Chloe came. She was the jewel for which this homely setting waited. My agriculture had some ob- ject then. The old gate never opened with such alacrity as when she paused before it. How we waited for her coming! Should I send Drewer, the colored patriarch, for her? No; the master of the house himself should re- ceive Juno at the capital. One cask for you, said the clerk, referring to the steamer bill of lading. Then I hope its a cask of milk, I said. I expected a cow. One cask it says here. Well, lets see it; Ill warrant it has horns and is tied by a rope; which proved to be the case, for there stood the only object that bore my name, chewing its cud, on the forward deck. How she liked the voyage I could not find out; but she seemed to relish so much the feeling of solid ground beneath her feet once more that she led me a lively step all the way home. She cut capers in front of ( the White House, and tried twice to wind me up in the rope as we passed the Treasury. She kicked up her heels on the broad avenue and became very coltish as she came under the walls of the capitol. But that night the long- vacant stall in the old stable was filled, and the next morning the coffee had met with a change of heart. I had to go out twice with the lantern and survey my treasure before I went to bed. Did she not come from the de- lectable mountains, and did I not have a sort of filial regard for her as toward my foster mother? This was during the Arcadian age at the capital, before the easy-going southern ways had gone out and the prim new northern ways had come in, and when the domestic animals were treated with distinguished considera- tion and granted the freedom of the city. There was a charm of cattle in the streets and upon the commons: goats cropped your rose bushes through the pickets, and nooned upon your front porch, and pigs dreamed Arcadian dreams under your garden fence or languidly frescoed it with pigments from the nearest pool. It was a time of peace; it was the poor mans golden age. Your cow, or your goat, or your pig led a vagrant, wandering life, and picked up a subsistence wherever they could, like the bees, which was almost everywhere. Your cow went forth in the morning and came home fraught with milk at night, and you never troubled yourself where she went or how far she roamed. Chloe took very naturally to this kind of life. At first I had to go with her a few times and pilot her to the nearest commons, and then left her to her own wit, which never failed her. What adventures she had, what ac- quaintances she made, how far she wandered, I never knee. I never came across her in my walks or ram- bles. Indeed, on several occasions I thought I would look her up and see her feeding in the national pastures, but I never could find her. There were plenty of cows, but they were all strangers. But punctually, between four and five oclock in the afternoon, her white horns would be seen tossing above the gate and her impatient low be heard. Sometimes, when I turned her forth in the morning, she would pause and apparently consider which way she would go. Should she go toward Kendall Green to-day, or fol- low the Tiber, or over by the Big Spring, or out around Lincoln Hospi- tal? She seldom reached a conclusion till she had stretched forth her neck and blown a blast on her trumpet that awoke the echoes in the very lantern on the dome of the capitol. Then, after one or two licks, she would dis- appear around the corner. Later in 1877.1 OUR RURAL DIVINITY. 49 the season, when the grass was parched or poor on the commons, and the corn and cabbage tempting in the garden, Chloe was loth to depart in the morn- ing, and her deliberations were longer than ever, and very often I had to aid her in coming to a decision. For two summers she was a well- spring of pleasure and profit in my farm of one acre, when in an cvii mo- ment I resolved to part with her and try another. In an evil moment I say, for from that time my luck in cattle left me. Juno never forgave me the execution of that rash and cruel re- solve. The day is indellibly stamped on my memory when I exposed my Chloe for sale in the public market place. It was in November, a bright, dreamy, Indian summer day. A sadness op- pressed me, not unmixed with guilt and remorse. An old Irish woman came to the market also with her pets to sell, a sow and five pigs, and took up a position next me. We condoled with each other; we bewailed the fate of our darlings together; we berated in chorus the white-aproned but blood- stained fraternity who prowled about us. When she went away for a mo- ment I minded the pigs, and when I strolled about she minded my cow. How shy the ini~ocent beast was of those carnal market men. How she would shrink awdy from them. When they put out a hand to feel her condi- tion she would scrooch down her back, or bend this way or that, as if the hand were a branding iron. So long as I stood by her head she felt safedeluded creatureand chewed the cud of sweet content; but the mo- ment I left her side she seemed filled with apprehension, and followed me with her eyes, lowing softly and en- treatingly till I returned. At last the money was counted out for her, and her rope surrendered to the hand of another. How that last look of alarm and incredulity, which I caught as I turned for a parting glance, went to my heart Her stall was soon filled, or partly filled, and this time with a native a specimen of what may be called the cornstalk breed of Virginia: a slender, furtive, long-geared heifer just verging on cowhood, that in spite of my best efforts would wear a pinch- ed and hungry look. She evidently inherited a humped back. It was a family trait, and evidence of the puri- ty of her blood. For the native blood- ed cow of Virginia, from shivering over half rations of corn stalks, in the open air, during those bleak and windy winters, and roaming over those parched fields in summer, has come to have some marked features. For one thing, her pedal extremities seemed lengthened; for another, her udder does not impede her travelling; for a third, her backbone inclines strongly to the curve; then, she de- spiseth hay. This last is a sure test. Offer a thorough-bred Virginia cow hay, and she will laugh in your face; but rattle the husks or shucks, and she knows you to be her friend. The new comer even declined corn meal at first. She eyed it furtively, then sniffed it suspiciously, but finally discovered that it bore some relation to her native ~ when she fell to eagerly. I cherish the memory of this cow, however, as the most affectionate brute I ever knew. Being deprived of her calf, she transferred her affections to her master, and would fain have made a calf of him, lowing in the most piteous and inconsolable manner when he was out of her sight, hardly forgetting her grief long enough to eat her meal, and entirely neglecting her beloved husks. Often in the middle of the night she would set up that sonorous lamentation and continue it till sleep was chased from every eye in the household. This generally had the effect of bringing the object of her affection before her, but in a mood anything but filial or comforting. Still, at such times a kick seemed a comfort to her, and she would gladly have kissed the rod that was the instrument of my midnight wrath. 4 OUR RURAL DIVINITY. But her tender star was destined soon to a fatal eclipse. Being tied with too long a rope on one occasion during my temporary absence, she got her head into the meal barrel, and stopped not till she had devoured nearly half a bushel of dry meal. The singularly placid and benevolent look that beamed from the meal-besmeared face when I discovered her was some- thing to be remembered. For the first time also her spinal column came near assuming a horizontal line. But the grist proved too much for her frail mill, and her demise took place on the third day, not of course without some attempt to relieve her on my part. I gave her, as is usual in such emergencies, everything I could think of and everything my neigh- bors could think of, besides some fear- ful prescriptions which I obtained from a German veterinary surgeon, but to no purpose. I imagined her poor maw distended and inflamed with the baking sodden mass which no physic could penetrate or enliven. Thus ended my second venture in live stock. My third, which followed sharp upon the heels of this disaster, was scarcely more of a success. This time I led to the altar a buffalo cow, as they call the mully down south a large, spotted, creamy-skinned cow, with a fine udder, that I persuaded a Jew drover to part with for ninety dollars. Pag like a dish rack (rag), said he, pointing to her udder after she had been milked. You vill come pack and gif me the udder ten tol- lars (for he had demanded an even hundred), he continued, after you have had her a gouple of days. True I felt like returning to him after a gouple of days, but not to pay the other ten dollars. The cow proved to be as blind as a bat, though capable of counterfeiting the act of seeing to per- fection. For did she not lift up her head and follow with her eyes a dog that scaled the fence and ran through the other end of the lot, and the next moment dash my hopes thus raised by trying to walk over a locust tree thirty feet high ? And when I set the buck- et before her containing her first mess of meal, she missed it by several inches, and her nose brought up against the ground. Was it a kind of far-sighted- ness and near blindness? That was it. Ithink; she had genius, but not talent; she could see the man in the moon, but was quite oblivious to the man imme- diately in her front. Her eyes were telescopic and required a long range. Aslongaslkeptherinthe stall,or confined to the enclosure, this strange eclipse of her sight was of little conse- quence. But when spring came, and it was time for her to go forth and seek her livelihood in the citys waste places, I was embarrassed. Into what remote corners or into what terra incog- nita might she not wander I There was little doubt but she would drift around home in the course of the sum- mer, or perhaps as often as every week or two; but could she be trusted to find her way back every night? Per- haps she could be taught. Perhaps her other senses were acute enough to in a measure compensate her for her defective vision. So I gave her les- sons in the topography of the country. I led her forth to graze for a few hours each day and led her home again. Then I left her to come home alone, which feat she accomplished very en- couragingly. She came feeling her way along, stepping i~ery high, but ap- parently a most diligent and interested sightseer. But she was not sure of the right house when she got to it, though she stared at it very hard. Again I turned her forth, and again she came back, her telescopic eyes ap- parently of some service to her. On the third day there was a fierce thun- derstorm late in the afternoon, and old buffalo did not come home. It had evidently scattered and bewildered what little wit she had. Being barely able to navigate those straits on a calm day, what could she be expected to do in a tempest? After the storm had passed, and near sundown, I set out in quest of her, but could get no clue. I heard that two 50 [JANUAImY, 1877.] LOVES MESSENGERS. 51 cows had been struck by lightning about a mile out on the commons. My conscience instantly told me that one of them was mine. It would be a fit closing of the third act of this pastoral drama. Thitherward I bent my steps, and there upon the smooth plain I be- held the scorched and swollen forms of two cows slain by thunderbo1ts, but neither of them had ever been mine. The next day I continued the search, and the next, and the next. Finally I hoisted an umbrella over my head, for the weather had become hot, and set out deliberately and systematically to explore every foot of open common on Capitol hill. I tramped many miles, and found every mans cow but my ownsome twelve or fifteen hundred, I should think. I saw many vagrant boys and Irish and colored women, nearly all of whom had seen a buffalo cow that very day that answered ex- actly to my description, but in such diverse and widely separate places that I knew it was no cow of mine. And it was astonishing how many times I was myself deceived; how many rumps or heads, or liver backs or white flanks I saw peeping over knolls or from be- hind fences or other objects that could belong to no cow but mine! Finally I gave up the search, con- cluded the cow had been stolen, and advertised her, offering a reward. But days passed, and no tidings were obtained. Hope began to burn pretty lowwas indeed on the point of going out altogether, when one afternoon, as I was strolling over the commons (for in my walks I still hovered about the scenes of my lost mileher), I saw the rump of a cow, over a grassy knoll, that looked familiar. Coming nearer, the beast lifted up her head; and, behold! it was she! only a f~w squares from home, where doubtless she had been most of the time. I had overshot the mark in my search. I had ransacked the far-off, and had neglected the near- at-hand, as we are so apt to do. But she was ruined as a milcher, and her history thenceforward was brief and touching! JOHN BURROUGHS. LOVES MESSENGERS. WHO will tell him? Who will teach him? Have you voices, merry birds? Then be voice for me, and reach him With a thousand pleading words. Sing my secret, east and west, Till his answer be confessed Roses, when you see him coming, Light of heart and strong of limb, Make your lover-bees stop humming; Turn your blushes round to him Blush, dear flowers, that he may learn, How a womans heart. can burn! Windoh, windyou happy rover! Oh that I were half as free Leave your honey-bells and clover, Go and seek my love for me. Find, kiss, clasp him, make him know It is I who love him so! Miur AINGn Da Vnnu.

1877.] LOVES MESSENGERS. 51 cows had been struck by lightning about a mile out on the commons. My conscience instantly told me that one of them was mine. It would be a fit closing of the third act of this pastoral drama. Thitherward I bent my steps, and there upon the smooth plain I be- held the scorched and swollen forms of two cows slain by thunderbo1ts, but neither of them had ever been mine. The next day I continued the search, and the next, and the next. Finally I hoisted an umbrella over my head, for the weather had become hot, and set out deliberately and systematically to explore every foot of open common on Capitol hill. I tramped many miles, and found every mans cow but my ownsome twelve or fifteen hundred, I should think. I saw many vagrant boys and Irish and colored women, nearly all of whom had seen a buffalo cow that very day that answered ex- actly to my description, but in such diverse and widely separate places that I knew it was no cow of mine. And it was astonishing how many times I was myself deceived; how many rumps or heads, or liver backs or white flanks I saw peeping over knolls or from be- hind fences or other objects that could belong to no cow but mine! Finally I gave up the search, con- cluded the cow had been stolen, and advertised her, offering a reward. But days passed, and no tidings were obtained. Hope began to burn pretty lowwas indeed on the point of going out altogether, when one afternoon, as I was strolling over the commons (for in my walks I still hovered about the scenes of my lost mileher), I saw the rump of a cow, over a grassy knoll, that looked familiar. Coming nearer, the beast lifted up her head; and, behold! it was she! only a f~w squares from home, where doubtless she had been most of the time. I had overshot the mark in my search. I had ransacked the far-off, and had neglected the near- at-hand, as we are so apt to do. But she was ruined as a milcher, and her history thenceforward was brief and touching! JOHN BURROUGHS. LOVES MESSENGERS. WHO will tell him? Who will teach him? Have you voices, merry birds? Then be voice for me, and reach him With a thousand pleading words. Sing my secret, east and west, Till his answer be confessed Roses, when you see him coming, Light of heart and strong of limb, Make your lover-bees stop humming; Turn your blushes round to him Blush, dear flowers, that he may learn, How a womans heart. can burn! Windoh, windyou happy rover! Oh that I were half as free Leave your honey-bells and clover, Go and seek my love for me. Find, kiss, clasp him, make him know It is I who love him so! Miur AINGn Da Vnnu. THE HEAD OF HERCULES. ONE of the most curious cases that avoided by the younger girls. In a ever came under my notice ina Virginia country party there are al- long course of criminal practice was ways two or three unmarried women, not brought into any court, and, as I past their first youth, with merry blue believe, has never been published eyes, brown hair, and delicate features until now. The details of the affair women with a history, but who are came under my personal cognizance in none the less good dancers, riders, and the following manner: able to put all their cleverness into the In 1858 I went down into the Shen- making of a pie or a match for their andoah valley to spend my summer va- cousins. This woman was blue-eyed cation among the innumerable Pages, and brown-haired, but she had none Marshalls, and Cookes who all hailed of the neat, wide-awake self-possession me as cousin, by right of traditional of her class. She had a more childish intermarriages generations back. My expression, and spoke with a more list visit was to the house of McCor- timid uncertainty, than even Lotty mack Beardsley, a kinsman and school- Beardsley, who was still in the school- fellow whom I had not seen since we room. I called my hosts attention to parted at the university twenty years her and asked who she was. before. It is the daughter of my cousin, We were both gray-haired old fel- General George Waring. You remem- lows now, but I had grown thin and ber him surelyof the Henrico branch sharp in the courts of Baltimore and of Warings? Washington, while he had lived quietly Certairdy. But he had only one on his plantation, more fat and jovial childLouisa; and I remember re- and genial with every year. ceiving an invitation to her wedding Beardsley possessed large means years ago. then, and maintained the unlimited Yes. This is Louisa. The wed- hospitality usual among large Virginia ding never took place. Its an odd planters before the war. The house story, he said, after a pause, and the was crowded during my stay with my truth is, Floyd, I brought the girl old friends from the valley and south- here while you were with us in the em countries. His daughter, too, was hope that you, with your legal acumen, not only a beauty~ but a favorite among could solve the mystery that surrounds the young people, and brought many her. Ill give the facts to you to-mor- attractive, well-bred girls about her, rowits impossible to do it now. and young men who were not so at- But tell me, in the mean time, how she tractive or well bred. Lack of occu- impresses you, looking at her as a law- pation and a definite career had re- yer would at a client, or aa prisoner duced the sons of too many Virginia on trial. Do you observe anything families at that time to cards and peculiar in her face or manner ? horses as their sole pursuits; the war, I observed a very peculiar maunc~ while it left them penniless, was in one in all those about heran effort at cor- sense their salvation. diality in which they did not succeed; One evening, sitting on the verandah a certain constraint in look and tone with Beardsley, smoking, and looking while speaking to her. I even saw it in the open windows of the parlor, I in yourself just now as soon as you noticed a woman who iat a little mentioned her name. apart, and who, as I fancied, was You did? Im sorry for thatex

THE HEAD OF HERCULES. ONE of the most curious cases that avoided by the younger girls. In a ever came under my notice ina Virginia country party there are al- long course of criminal practice was ways two or three unmarried women, not brought into any court, and, as I past their first youth, with merry blue believe, has never been published eyes, brown hair, and delicate features until now. The details of the affair women with a history, but who are came under my personal cognizance in none the less good dancers, riders, and the following manner: able to put all their cleverness into the In 1858 I went down into the Shen- making of a pie or a match for their andoah valley to spend my summer va- cousins. This woman was blue-eyed cation among the innumerable Pages, and brown-haired, but she had none Marshalls, and Cookes who all hailed of the neat, wide-awake self-possession me as cousin, by right of traditional of her class. She had a more childish intermarriages generations back. My expression, and spoke with a more list visit was to the house of McCor- timid uncertainty, than even Lotty mack Beardsley, a kinsman and school- Beardsley, who was still in the school- fellow whom I had not seen since we room. I called my hosts attention to parted at the university twenty years her and asked who she was. before. It is the daughter of my cousin, We were both gray-haired old fel- General George Waring. You remem- lows now, but I had grown thin and ber him surelyof the Henrico branch sharp in the courts of Baltimore and of Warings? Washington, while he had lived quietly Certairdy. But he had only one on his plantation, more fat and jovial childLouisa; and I remember re- and genial with every year. ceiving an invitation to her wedding Beardsley possessed large means years ago. then, and maintained the unlimited Yes. This is Louisa. The wed- hospitality usual among large Virginia ding never took place. Its an odd planters before the war. The house story, he said, after a pause, and the was crowded during my stay with my truth is, Floyd, I brought the girl old friends from the valley and south- here while you were with us in the em countries. His daughter, too, was hope that you, with your legal acumen, not only a beauty~ but a favorite among could solve the mystery that surrounds the young people, and brought many her. Ill give the facts to you to-mor- attractive, well-bred girls about her, rowits impossible to do it now. and young men who were not so at- But tell me, in the mean time, how she tractive or well bred. Lack of occu- impresses you, looking at her as a law- pation and a definite career had re- yer would at a client, or aa prisoner duced the sons of too many Virginia on trial. Do you observe anything families at that time to cards and peculiar in her face or manner ? horses as their sole pursuits; the war, I observed a very peculiar maunc~ while it left them penniless, was in one in all those about heran effort at cor- sense their salvation. diality in which they did not succeed; One evening, sitting on the verandah a certain constraint in look and tone with Beardsley, smoking, and looking while speaking to her. I even saw it in the open windows of the parlor, I in yourself just now as soon as you noticed a woman who iat a little mentioned her name. apart, and who, as I fancied, was You did? Im sorry for thatex .4 THE HEAT) OF HERCULES. ceedingly sorry 1 anxiously. I be- lieve in Louisa Warings innocence as I do in that of my own child; and if I thought she was hurt or neglected in this house But theres a cloud on the girl, Floydthats a fact. It dont amount even to suspicion. If it did, one could argue it down. But Well, what do you make of hcrher face now? It is not an especially clever face, nor one that indicates power of any kind; not the face of a woman who of her own will would be the heroine of any remarkable story. I should judge her to have been a few years ago one of the sensible, light-hearted, sweet- tempered girls of whom there are so many in Virginia; a nice housekeeper, and one who would have made a ten- der wife and mother. Well, well ? Nothing more I Yes. She has not matured into womanhood as such girls do. She looks as if her growth in every-day ex- periences had stopped years ago; that while her body grew older her mind had halted, immature, incomplete. A great grief might have had that ef- fect, or the absorption of all her facul- ties by one sudden, mastering idea. You are a little too metaphysical for me, said Beardsley. Poor Lou isnt shrewd by any means, and always gives me the feeling that she needs care and protection more than most women, if that is what you mean. There is a singular expression in her face at times, I resumed. AhI Nowyonhaveit ! hemut- tered. Sitting there in your parlor, where there is certainly nothing to dread, she has glanced behind and about her again and again, as though she heard a sound that frightened her. I observe, too, that when any man speaks to her she fixes on him a keen, suspicious look. She does not have it with wo- men. It passes quickly, but it is there. It is precisely the expression of an in- sane person, or a guilty one dreading arrest. You are a close observer, Floyd. 4 I told my wife that we could not do better than submit the whole case to your judgment. We are all Lous friends in the neighborhood; but we cannot look at the matter with your legal experience and unprejudiced eyes. Come, let us go into supper now. The next morning I was summoned to Beardsleys study (so called probably from the total absence of either book or newspaper), and found himself and his wife awaiting me, and also a Doctor Scheffer, whom I had previously noticed among the guests a gaunt, hectic young man, apparently on the high road to death, thQ victim of an incurable consumption. I asked William Scheffer to meet us here, said Mr. Beardsley, as Lou- isa Waring was an inmate of his fath- ers house at the time of the occur- rence. She and William were chil- dren and playmates together. I be- lieve I am right, William. You knew all the circumstances of that terrible night? The young mans heavy face changed painfully. Yes; as much as was known to any one but Louisa, and. the guilty man, whoever he was. But why are yoa dragging out that wretch- ed affair? turning angrily on Mrs. Beardsley. Surely any friend of Miss Warings would try to bury the past for her I No, said the lady calmly. It has been buried quite too long, in my opinion; for she has carried her bur- den for six years. It is time now that we should try to lift it for her. You are sitting in adraught, William. Sit on this sofa. Scheffer, coughing frightfully, and complaining with all the testiness of a long-humored invalid, was disposed of at last, and Beardsley began: The story is briefly this. Louisa, before her fathers death, was engaged to be married to Colonel Paul Merrick (Merricks of Clarke county, you know). The wedding was postponed for a year when General Waring died, and Louisa went to her unclesyour father, Wil 1877.] 53 54 THE HEM) OF HERCULES. [JANUARY, hamto live during that time. When the year was over, every preparation was made for the marriage: invitations were sent to all the kinsfolk on both sides (and that included three or four counties on a rough guess), and we the immediate familywere assembled at Major Scheffers preparing for the grand event, when Beardsley became now excessively hot and flur- ried, and getting up, thumped heavily up and down the room. After all, there is nothing to telL Why should we bring in a famous lawyer to sit in judgment on her as if the girl were a criminal? She only did, Floyd, what women have done since the beginningchanged her mind without reason. Paul Merrick was as clever and lovable a young fellow as you would find in the State, and Lou- isa was faithful to himshes faithful to him yet; but on the night before the wedding she refused to marry him, and has persisted in the refusal ever since, without assigning a cause. Is that all of the story? I asked. Beardaley was silent. No, said his wife gently; that is not all. I thought McCormacks courage would fail before he gave you the facts. I shall try and tell you Only the facts, if you please, with- out any inferences or opinions of others. The old lady paused for a moment, and then began: A couple of days before the wedding we went over to Major Scheffers to help prepare for it. You know we have no restau- rateurs nor confectioners to depend upon, and such occasions are busy seasons. The gentlemen played whist, rode about the plantation, or tried the Majors wines, while indoors we, all of usmarried ladies and girls and a dozen old auntieswere at work with cakes, creams, and pastry. I recollect I took over our cook, Prue, because Lou fancied nobody could make such wine jelly as hers. Then Lous trous- seau was a very rich one, and she want- ed to try on all of her pretty dresses, that we might see how My dear! intcrrupted Mr. Beard- sley, this really appears irrelevant to the matter Not at all. I wish Mr. Floyd to gain an idea of Louisas temper and mood at that time. The truth is, she was passionately fond of her lover, and very happy that her marriage was so near; and being a modest little thing, she hid her feeling under an in- cessant, merry chatter about dresses and jellies. Dont you agree with me, William? The sick man turned on the sofa with a laugh, which looked ghastly enough on his haggard face. I sub- mit, Aunt Sophie, that it is hardly fair to call me in as a witness in this case. I waited on Lou for two or three years, Mr. Floyd, and she threw me over for Merrick. It is not likely that I was an unprejudiced observer of her moods just then. Nonsense, William. I knew that was but the idlest flirtation between you, or I should not have brought you here now, said his aunt. Well, Mr. Floyd, the preparations all were completed on the afternoon before the wedding. Some of the young people had gathered in the libraryPaul Merrick and his sisters andyou were there, William? Yes, I was there. And they persuaded Lou to put on her wedding dress and veil to give them s glimpse of the bride. I think it was Paul who wished it. He was a hot, eager young fellow, and he was impatient to taste his happiness by an- ticipation. It was a dull, gusty af- ternoon in October. I remember the contrast she made to the gray, cold day as she came in, shy and blushing, and her eyes sparkling, in her haze of white, and stood in front of the win- dow. She was so lovely and pure that we were all silent. It seemed as if she belonged then to her lover alone, and none of us had a right to utter a word. He went up to her, but no one heard what he said, and then took her by the hand and led her reverently to the door. Presently I met her coming 1877.] THE HEAD OF HERCULES. 55 out of her chamber in a cloak and hat. Her maid Abby was inside, folding the white dress and veil. I am go- ing down to Aunty Huldahs, Lou said to me. II promised her to come again before I was married and tell her the arrangements all over once more. Huldali was an old colored woman, Lous nurse, who lived down on the creek bank and had long been bedridden. I remember that I said to Louisa that the walk would be long and lonely, and told her to call Paul to accompany her. She hesitated a moment, and then turned to the door, saying Huldali would probably be in one of her most funereal moods, and that she would not have Paul troubled on the eve of his wedding day. She started, running and looking back with a laugh, down the hill. Mrs. Beardsley faltered and stopped. Go on, said Dr. Scheffer. The incidents which follow are all that really affect Louisas guilt or inno- cence. Go on, mother, said Beardsley hastily. Louisas innocence is not called in question. Remember that. Tell everything you know without scruple. The old lady began again in a lower voice: We expected an arrival that afternoonHouston Simms, a distant k?asman of Major Scheffers. He was from Kentuckya large owner of lilooded stockand was on his way home from New York, where his horses had just won the prizes at the fall races. He had promised to stop for the wedding, and the carriage had been sent to the station to meet him. The station, as you know, is five miles up the road. By some mis- take the carriage was late, and Hous- ton started, with his valise in his hand, to walk to the house, making a short cut through the woods. When the carriage came back empty, and the driver told this to us, some of the young men started down to meet the old gentleman. It was then about four oclock, and growing dark rapid ly. The wind, I recollect, blew sharp- ly, and a cold rain set in. I came out on the long porch, and walked up and down, feeling uneasy and annoyed at Louisas prolonged absence. Colo- nel Merrick, who had been looking for her all through the house, had just learned from me where she had gone, and was starting with umbrellas to meet her when she came suddenly up to us, crossing the ploughed field, not from the direction of Huldahs cabin, but from the road. We both hurried toward her; but when she caught sight of Colonel Merrick she stopped short, putting out her hands with a look of terror and misery quite indescribable. Take me away from him Oh, for Gods sake 1 she cried. I saw she had suffered some great shock, and taking her in my arms, led her in, mo- tioning him to keep back. She was so weak as to fall, but did not faint, nor lose consciousness for a single mo- ment. All night she lay, her eyes wan- dering from side to side as in momen- tary expectancy of the appearance of some one. No anodyne had any effect upon herevery nerve seemed strained to its utmost tension. But she did not speak a word except at the sound of Colonel Merricks voice or step, when she would beg piteously that he should be kept away from her. To- ward morning ~he fell into a kind of stupor, and when she awoke appeared to be calmer. She beckoned to me, and asked that her uncle Scheffer and Judge Grove, her other guardian, should be sent for. She received them standing, apparently quite grave and composed. She asked that seve- ral other persons should be called in, desiring, she said, to have as many witnesses as possible to what she was about to make known. You all know, she said, that to-morrow was to have been my wedding day. I wish you now to bear witness that I refuse to-day or at any future time to marry Paul Merrick, and that no argu- ment or persuasion will induce me to do so. And I wish, raising her hand, to keep silence I wish to say pub- licly that it is no fault or ill doing of 58 THE HEM) OF HERCULES. [JA~TTJARY, Colonel Merricks that has driven me to this resolve. I say this as in the sight of Almighty God. Nobody ar- gued, or scarcely, indeed, spoke to her. Every one saw that she was physically a very ill woman; and it was commonly believed that she had received some sudden shock which had unhinged her mind. An hour after- ward the searching party came in (for the young men, not finding Houston Simms, had gone out again to search for him). They had found his dead body concealed in the woods by Mills spring. You know the place. There was a pistol shot through the head, and a leathern pocketbook, which had apparently contained money, was found empty a few feet away. That was the end of it all, Mr. Floyd. You mean that Simmss murderer was never found? Never, said Beardsley, though detectives were brought down from Richmond and set on the track. Their theorya plausible one enough too was that Siinms had been followed from New York by men who knew the large sum he carried from the races, and that they had robbed and mur- dered him, and readily escaped through the swamps. It never was my belief, said Dr. Scheffer, that he was murdered at all. It was hinted that he had stopped in a gambling house in New York, and there lost whatever sum he had won at the races; and that rather than meet his family in debt and penniless, he blew out his brains in the first lonely place to which he came. That expla. nation was plain enough. What was the end of the story so far as Miss Waring was concerned? I asked. Unfortunately, it never has had an end, said Mrs. Beardsley. The mystery remains. She was ill after- ward; indeed, it was years before she regained her bodily strength as before. But her mind had never been Un- hinged, as Paul Merrick thought. He waited patiently, thinking that some day her reason would return, and she would come back to him. But Louisa Waring was perfectly sane even in the midst of her agony on that night. From that day until now she has never by word or look given any clue by which the reason of her refusal to marry him could be discovered. Of course the murder and her strange conduct produced a great excitement in this quiet neighborhood. But you can imagine all that. I simply have given you the facts which bear on the case. The first suspicion, I suppose, rested on Merrick? I said. Yes. The natural explanation of her conduct was that she had witnessed an encounter in the woods between Simms and her lover, in which the old man was killed. Fortunately, how- ever, Paul Merrick had not left the house once during the afternoon until he went out with me to meet her. And then Miss Waring was se- lected as the guilty party ? No one answered for a moment. Young Scheffer lay with his arm over his face, which had grown so worn and haggard as the story was told that I doubted whether his affection for the girl had been the slight matter which he chose to represent it. No, said Beardsley; she never was openly accused, nor even sub- jected to any public interrogation. She came to the house in the opposite direction from the spot where the murder took place. And there was no rational proof that she had any cog- nizance of it. But~ there were not wanting busybodies to suggest that she had met Simms in the woods, and at some proffered insult from him had fired the fatal shot. His wifes fair old face flushed. How can you repeat such absurdity, McCormack? she said. Louisa War- ing was as likely to go about armed as as I 1 knitting vehemently at a woollen stocking she had held idly un- til now. I know it was absurd, my dear. But you know as well as I that though it was but the mere breath of suspi 1877.] THE HEAD OF HERCULES. 57 cion, it has always clung to the girl and set her apart as it were from other women. What effect did that report have on Merrick? I asked. The effect it would have on any man deserving the name, said Beard- sley. If he loved her passionately before, she has been, I believe, doubly dear to him since. But she has never allowed him to meet her since that night. You think her feeling is un- changed for him? I have no doubt of ~ Mrs. Beardsley said. There is nothing in Lous nature out of which you could make a heroine of tragedy. After the first shock of that night was over she was just the commonplace little body she was before, and could not help showing how fond she was of her old lover. But she quietly refused to ever see him again. Merrick went abroad three years ago, interposed her husband. Ill let you into a secret, Floyd. Ive de- termined there shall be an end of this folly. I have heard from him that he will be at home next week, and is as firm as ever in his resolve to marry Miss Waring. I brought her here so that she could not avoid meeting him. Now If you, Floyd, could only man- agecould look into this matter be- fore the meeting, and set it to rights, clear the poor child of this wretched suspicion that hangs about her? Well, now you know why I have told you the story. You have certainly a sublime faith in Mr. Floyds skill, said Schef- fer with a disagreeable laugh. I wish him success. He rose with diffi- culty, and wrapping his shawl about him, went feebly out of the room. William is soured through his long illness, Beardsley hastened to say apologetically. And he cared more for Lou than I supposed. We were wrong to bring him in this morn- ing; and he hurried out to help him tip the stairs. Mrs. Beardsley laid down her knitting, and glanced cau tiously about her. I saw that the vi- tal point of her testimony had been omitted until now. I think it but right to tell you-~ nobody has ever heard it before coining close to me, her old face quite pale. When I undressed Louisa that night her shoes and stockings were stained, and a long reddish hair clung to her sleeve. She had trodden over the bloody ground and handled the murdered man. Every professional man will under- stand me when I say I was glad to hear this. Hitherto the girls whim and the murder appeared to me two events connected only by the accident of occurrence on the same day. Now there was but one mystery to solve. Whatever success I have had in my practice has been due to my habit of boldly basing my theories upon the known character of the parties impli- cated, and not upon more palpable accidental circumstances. Left to my- self now, I speedily resolved this case into a few suppositions, positive to me as facts. The girl had been present at the murder. She was not naturally reticent: was instead an exceptionally confiding, credulous woman. Her mo- tive for silence, therefore, must have been a force brought to bear on her at the time of the murder stronger than her love for Merrick, and which was still existing and active. Her refusal to meet her lover I readily interpreted to be a fear of her own weakness dread lest she should betray this secret to him. Might not her refusal to marry him be caused by the same fear? some crushing disgrace or misery which threatened her through the murder, and which she feared to bring upon her husband? The motive I had guessed to be strong as her love: what if it were her love? Having stepped from surmise to surmise so far, I paused to strengthen my position by the facts. There were but two ways in which this murder could have pre- vented her marriagethrough Mer- ricks guilt or her own. His inno- cence was proven; hers I did not 58 THE HEAD OF HERCULES. [JANUARY, doubt after I had again carefully stud- ied her face. Concealed guilt leaves its secret signature upon the mouth and eye in lines never to be mistaken by a man who has once learned to read them. Were there but these two ways? There was a third, more probable than eitherfear. At the first presentation of this key to the riddle the whole case mapped itself out before me. The murderer had sealed her lips by some threat. He was still living, and she was in daily expectation of meeting him. She had never seen his face, but had reason to believe him of her own class. (This supposition ii based on her quick, terrified inspection of every mans face who approached her.) Now what threat could have been strong enough to keep a weak girl si- lent for years, and to separate her from her lover on their wedding day? I knew women well enough to say, none against herself; the threat I be- lieved hung over Merricks head, and would be fulfilled if she betrayed the secret or married him, which, with a weak, loving woman, was equivalent, as any man would know, to betrayal. I cannot attempt to make the breaks in this reasoning solid ground for my readers; it was solid ground for me. The next morning Beardsley met me on leaving the breakfast table. He held a letter open in his hand, and looked annoyed and anxious. Heres a note from Merrick. He sailed a week sooner than he expected has left New York, and will be here to-night. If I had only put the case in your hands earlier! I had a hope that you could clear the little girl. But its too late. Shell take flight as soon as she hears he is coming. Schef- fer says its a miserable, bloody mud- dle, and that I was wrong to stir it up. I do not agree with Dr. Scheffer, I said quietly. I am going now to the library. In half an hour send Miss Waring to me. You have not yet been presented to her? So much the better. I wish her to regard me as a lawyer simply. State to her as formally as you choose who I am, and that I desire to see her on business. I seated myself in the library; placed pen and ink, and some legal-looking documents, selected at random, before me. Red tape and the formal pomp of law constitute half its force with women and men of Louisas calibre. I had hardly arranged myself and my materials when the door slowly opened, and she entered. She was alarmed, yet wary. To see a naturally hearty, merry little body subjected for years to this nervous strain, with a tragic idea forced into a brain meant to be busied only with dress, cookery, or babies, appeared to me a pitiful thing. Miss Waring? reducing the ordi- nary courtesies to a curt, grave nod. Be seated, if you please. I turned overmy papers slowly, and then looked upather. I had,I saw, none of the common feminine shrewdness to deal with; need expect no subtle devices of concealment; no clever doublings; nothing but the sheer obstinacy which is an unintellectual womans one re- source. I would ignore it and her boldly assume full possession of the ground at the first word. My errand to this house, Miss Waring, is in part the investigation of a murder in 1854, of which you were the sole witnessthat of Houston Simms I stopped. The change in her ft~ce appalled me. She had evidently not expected so direct an attack. In fact, Beardsley told me afterward that it was the first time the subject had been broached to her in plain words. How- ever, she made no reply, and I pro- ceeded in the same formal tone: I shall place before you the facts which are in my possession, and re- quire your assent to such as are within your knowledge. On the afternoon of Tuesday, October 5, 1854, Houston Simms left the Pine Valley station, carrying a valise containing a large sum of money. You 1877.] THE HEAD OF HERCULES. 59 She had been sitting on the other side of the table, looking steadily at me. She rose now. She wore a blue morning dress, with lace ruffles and other little fooleries in which women delight, and I remember being shocked with the strange contrast between this frippery and the speechless dread and misery of her face. She gained con- trol of her voice with difficulty. Who has said that I was a witness of the murder? she gasped. I al- ways explained that I was in another part of the wood. I went to aunty Huldab Pray do not interrupt me, Miss Waring. I am aware that you were the witnessthe sole witnessin this matter. (She did not contradict me. I was right in my first guessshe had been alone with the murderer.) On returning from your nurses cabin you left the direct path and followed the sound of angry voices to the gorge by Mills spring I did not go to play the spy. He lied when he said that, she cried feebly. I heard the steps, and thought Colonel Merrick had come to search for me. That matters nothing. You saw the deed done. The old man was killed, and then robbed, in your sight I came toward her, and lowered my voice to a stern, judicial whisper, while the poor girl shrank back as though I were law itself uttering judgment upon her. If she had known what stagy guesswork it all was 1 When you were discovered, the murderer would have shot you to insure your silence. I wish he had! It was Thad who would have done that. The white mans way was more crueloh, God knows it was more cruel I ~here were two then.) I was very sorry for the girl, but I had a keen pleasure in the slow unfolding of the secret, just as I suppose the physician Lakes delight in the study of a new disease, even if it kills the patient. Yes, I said with emphasis. I believe that it would have been less suffering for you, Miss Waring, to have died then than to have lived, forced as you were to renounce your lover, and to carry about with you the dread of the threat made by those men. I have not said there was a threat made. I have betrayed nothing. She had seated herself some time be- fore by the table. There was a large bronze inkstand before her, and as she listened she arranged a half dozen pens evenly on the rest. The words she heard and spoke mattered more to her than life or death; her features were livid as those of a corpse, yet her hands went on with their mechanical wprkone pen did not project a hairs breadth beyond the other. We law- yers know how common such puerile, commonplace actions are in the su- preme moments of life, and how sel- dom men wring their hands, or use tragic gesture, or indeed words. No, you have betrayed nothing, I said calmly. Your self-control has been remarkable, even when we re- member that you believed your con- fession would be followed by speedy vengeance, not on your head, but Col- onel Merricks. She looked up not able to speak for a minute. Youyou know all ? Not all, but enough to assure you that your time of suffering is over, You can speak freely, unharmed. Her head dropped on the table. She was crying, and, I think, praying. You saw Houston Simms killed by two men, one of whom, the negro Thad, you knew. The white mans face was covered. You did not recoo- nize him. But he knew you, and the surest way to compel you to silence. I wish you now to state to me all the details of this mans appearance, voice, and manner, to show me any letters which you have received from him since (a random guess, which I saw hit the mark) in short, every cir- cumstance which you can recall about him. She did not reply. My dear Miss Waring, you need have no fear on Colonel Merricks ac GO THE HEAD OF HERCULES. [JA~u~uw, count. The law has taken this matter out of your hands. Colonel Merrick is protected by the law. Oh! I did not understand, meek ly. To be brief, she told me the whole story. When she reached the spring she had found the old man breeding and still breathing. He died in her arms. The men, who had gone back into the laurel to open the valise, caine back upon her. The negro was a des. perate character, well known in the county. He had died two years later. The other man was masked and thoroughly disguised. He had stopped the negro when he would have killed her, and after a few minutes consult- ation had whispered to him the terms upon which she was allowed to escape. You did not hear the white mans voice? Not once. Bring me the letters you have re- ceived from him. She brought two miserably spelled and written scrawls on soiled bits of paper. It was the writing of an edu- cated man, poorly disguised. He threatened to meet her speedily, warn- ed her that he had spies constantly about her. That is all the evidence you can give me? All. She rose to go. I held the door open for her, when she hesitated. There was something morea mere trifle. Yes. But most likely the one thing that I want. I returned to the spring again and again for months afterward. People thought I was mad. I may have been; but I found there one day a bit of red- dish glass with a curious mark on it. You have it here? She brought it to me. It was a fragment of engraved sardonyx, appa- rently part of a seal; the upper part of a head was cut upon it; the short hairs curving forward on the low forehead showed that the head was that of Her- cules. Some old recollection rose in my brain, beginning, as I may say, to gnaw uncertainly. I went to my room for a few minutes to collect myself, and then sought Beardsley. He was pacing up and down the walk to the stables, agitated as though he had been the murderer. Well, Floyd, well I What chance is there? What have you discov~ ered ? Everything. One moment. I have a question or two to ask you. About ten years ago you commissioned me to buy for you in New York a seal an intaglio of great valuea head of Hercules, as I remember. What did you do with it? Gave it to Job Scheffer, Williams father. Will has it now, though I think it is broken. Very well. What have Dr. Schef- fers habits been, by the way? Was he as fond of turning the cards as the other young fellows? Oh, yes, poor boy I There was a rumor some years ago that he was frightfully involved in Baltimore that it would ruin the old man, in fact, to clear off his debts of honor. But it died out. I suppose William found some way of straightening them out. Probably. Where is Dr. Scheffer now? I have a message for him. In his room. But this matter of Louisa Waring Presently. Have patience. I went up to the young mans room. After all, the poor wretch was dying, and to compel him to blast his own honorable name seemed but brutal cruelty. I had to remember the poor girls wasted face and hopeless eyes before I could summon courage to open the door after I had knocked. I think he expected me, and knew all that I had to say. A man in health would soon have known that I was acting on surmise, and defied me to the proof. Scheffer, I fancied, had been creeping through life for years with death in two shapes pursuing him, step by step. He yielded, cowed submissive at the first touch, and only pleaded feebly for mercy. The negro had been his body ser- vantknew his desperate straits, and 1877.] ROMANCE. ~31 dragged him into the crime. Then, he had loved Louisa: he was maddened by her approaching marriage. The scheme of ensuring her silence and driving Merrick away was the inspira- tiQn of a moment, and had succeeded. He only asked for mercy. His time was short. He could not live beyond a few weeks. I would not bring him to the gallows. I was merciful, and I think was right to be so. His deposition was taken before his uncle, Mr. Beardsley, who was a magistrate, and two other men of position and weight ia the community. It was to be kept secret until after his death, and then made public. He was removed at once to his fathers house. On Colonel Merricks arrival that evening, this deposition was formally read to him. I do not think it im- pressed him very much. He was re- solved to marry Miss Waring in spite of every obstacle. But I never would have married you unless the truth had been discov- erednever, she said to him that evening as they stood near me in the drawing-room. Her cheeks were warm, and her dark eyes full of tender light. I thought her a very lovely woman. Then I owe you to Mr. Floyd after all ? he said, looking down at her fondly. Oh, I suppose so, with a shrug. But he is a very disagreeable person! Cast-iron, you know. I am so thank- ful you are not a lawyer, Paul. JAMES M. FLOYD. ROMANCE. J WOULD I were mighty, victorious, A monarch of steel and of gold I would I were one of the glorious Divinities hallowed of old A god of the ancient sweet fashion Who mingled with women and men, A deity human in passion, Traushuman in strength and In ken. For then I could render the pleasure I win from the sight of your face; For then I could utter my treasure Of homage and thanks for your grace; I could dower, illumine, and gladden, could rescue from perils and tears, And my speech could vibrate and madden With eloquence worthy your ears. You meet me: you smile and speak kindly; One minute I marvel and gaze, Idolatrous, worshipping blindly, Yet mindful of decorous ways. You pass; and the glory Is ended, Though lustres and sconces may glow: The goddess who made the scene splendid Has vanished; and darkly I go. You know not how swiftly you mounted The throne in the depths of my eyes; You care not how meekly I countcd Those moments for pearls of the skies; Or, knowing it, all is forgotten The moment I pass from your sight Consigned to the fancies begotten Of chaos and slumber and night. But II remember your glances, Your carelessest gesture and word, And out of them fashion romances Man never yet uttered nor heard; Romances too splendid for mortals, Too sweet for a planet of dole; Romances which open the portals Of Eden, and welcome my soul. J. W. DEFouzST.

1877.] ROMANCE. ~31 dragged him into the crime. Then, he had loved Louisa: he was maddened by her approaching marriage. The scheme of ensuring her silence and driving Merrick away was the inspira- tiQn of a moment, and had succeeded. He only asked for mercy. His time was short. He could not live beyond a few weeks. I would not bring him to the gallows. I was merciful, and I think was right to be so. His deposition was taken before his uncle, Mr. Beardsley, who was a magistrate, and two other men of position and weight ia the community. It was to be kept secret until after his death, and then made public. He was removed at once to his fathers house. On Colonel Merricks arrival that evening, this deposition was formally read to him. I do not think it im- pressed him very much. He was re- solved to marry Miss Waring in spite of every obstacle. But I never would have married you unless the truth had been discov- erednever, she said to him that evening as they stood near me in the drawing-room. Her cheeks were warm, and her dark eyes full of tender light. I thought her a very lovely woman. Then I owe you to Mr. Floyd after all ? he said, looking down at her fondly. Oh, I suppose so, with a shrug. But he is a very disagreeable person! Cast-iron, you know. I am so thank- ful you are not a lawyer, Paul. JAMES M. FLOYD. ROMANCE. J WOULD I were mighty, victorious, A monarch of steel and of gold I would I were one of the glorious Divinities hallowed of old A god of the ancient sweet fashion Who mingled with women and men, A deity human in passion, Traushuman in strength and In ken. For then I could render the pleasure I win from the sight of your face; For then I could utter my treasure Of homage and thanks for your grace; I could dower, illumine, and gladden, could rescue from perils and tears, And my speech could vibrate and madden With eloquence worthy your ears. You meet me: you smile and speak kindly; One minute I marvel and gaze, Idolatrous, worshipping blindly, Yet mindful of decorous ways. You pass; and the glory Is ended, Though lustres and sconces may glow: The goddess who made the scene splendid Has vanished; and darkly I go. You know not how swiftly you mounted The throne in the depths of my eyes; You care not how meekly I countcd Those moments for pearls of the skies; Or, knowing it, all is forgotten The moment I pass from your sight Consigned to the fancies begotten Of chaos and slumber and night. But II remember your glances, Your carelessest gesture and word, And out of them fashion romances Man never yet uttered nor heard; Romances too splendid for mortals, Too sweet for a planet of dole; Romances which open the portals Of Eden, and welcome my soul. J. W. DEFouzST. BEER. POETS, in every age since the time of Anacreon, have sung odes in praise of wine. The greatest bards of every clime have sought inspiration in its sparkling depths. But the poet, even German, is yet unborn, who, moved by sweet memories of the nec- tar of his fatherland, shall chant in rhyme the virtues of his national drink. Yet though its merit has inspired nei- ther of the sister graces, poetry and song, to strike the lyre in its honor, it has had, none the less, an important mission to perform. To its plebeian sister beer, as a healthful beverage, wine must yield the palm. As a com- mon drink, suited to human natures daily need, it has never been surpassed. If it has nerved no hand to deeds of dar- ing, or struck the scintillating sparks of genius from the human brain, it has - added immensely to the health, long life, and happiness of many nations, and is destined to still greater tri- umphs, as life becomes studied more from a hygienic standpoint. Beer is believed to have been in- vented by the Egyptians, and is of almost universal use; the zone of the cereals being more extended than that of the grape. Greek writers before Christ mention a drink composed of barley, under the name of zytho8. This beverage was not unknown to the Romans, and we find it first mentioned by the historian Tacitus. By the na- tions of the West it was regarded as a nourishing drink for poor people. Theyprepared it from honey and wheat. Among the ancient Germans and Scan- dinavians, however, beer was in former times the national beverage, and was prepared from barley, wheat, or oats, with the addition of oak bark, and later of hops. The ancients put bitter herbs in beer, and the present use of hops is in imi- tation. Modern beer was born at the time of Charlemagne, an epoch at which hops were first cultivated. The earliest writing in ~vhich one finds mention of hops as an aroma to beer is in a parchment of St. Hildegarde, abbess of the convent of St. Rupert, at Bingen on the Rhine. The art of fabricating beer remained for a long time a privilege of convents. The priests drank Paters beer, while the lighter or convent beer was used by the laity. Although beer has been manufactured of all the cereals, barley only can be called its true and legiti- mate father. Bavaria and Franconia were already in the fourteenth century celebrated for their excellent beer, and the Ger- man eities, of which each one soon had its own brewery, vied with their predecessors. In the fifteenth and six- teenth centuries the Upper and Lower Saxony breweries became well known. The Braunschweiger, Einbeker, Got- tinger, Bremer, and Hamburger beer, as well as the breweries of the cities of Wiirzen, Zwickau, Torgau, Merseburg, and Goslar, were far and wide cele- brated. Bavarian beer has long made the tour of the world. Bock beer from Bavaria and from the Erzgebirge is exported to Java and China. German lager beer, as a healthy and lightly stimulating beverage, is wel- come in both hot and cold countries. It is liked as well by the Russians and Scandinavians as by the inhabitants of the tropics. It is brewed by Germans in all parts of the globein Valen- ciennes, Antwerp, Madrid, Constanti- nople, and even in Australia, Chili, and Brazil. The English commenced later than the Germans to make beer. In 1524, however, they not only brewed beer, but used hops in its fabrication. The Greek and Latin races, which drank wine, had but little taste for beer, which divided them from the Germanic races as a sharp boundary.

BEER. POETS, in every age since the time of Anacreon, have sung odes in praise of wine. The greatest bards of every clime have sought inspiration in its sparkling depths. But the poet, even German, is yet unborn, who, moved by sweet memories of the nec- tar of his fatherland, shall chant in rhyme the virtues of his national drink. Yet though its merit has inspired nei- ther of the sister graces, poetry and song, to strike the lyre in its honor, it has had, none the less, an important mission to perform. To its plebeian sister beer, as a healthful beverage, wine must yield the palm. As a com- mon drink, suited to human natures daily need, it has never been surpassed. If it has nerved no hand to deeds of dar- ing, or struck the scintillating sparks of genius from the human brain, it has - added immensely to the health, long life, and happiness of many nations, and is destined to still greater tri- umphs, as life becomes studied more from a hygienic standpoint. Beer is believed to have been in- vented by the Egyptians, and is of almost universal use; the zone of the cereals being more extended than that of the grape. Greek writers before Christ mention a drink composed of barley, under the name of zytho8. This beverage was not unknown to the Romans, and we find it first mentioned by the historian Tacitus. By the na- tions of the West it was regarded as a nourishing drink for poor people. Theyprepared it from honey and wheat. Among the ancient Germans and Scan- dinavians, however, beer was in former times the national beverage, and was prepared from barley, wheat, or oats, with the addition of oak bark, and later of hops. The ancients put bitter herbs in beer, and the present use of hops is in imi- tation. Modern beer was born at the time of Charlemagne, an epoch at which hops were first cultivated. The earliest writing in ~vhich one finds mention of hops as an aroma to beer is in a parchment of St. Hildegarde, abbess of the convent of St. Rupert, at Bingen on the Rhine. The art of fabricating beer remained for a long time a privilege of convents. The priests drank Paters beer, while the lighter or convent beer was used by the laity. Although beer has been manufactured of all the cereals, barley only can be called its true and legiti- mate father. Bavaria and Franconia were already in the fourteenth century celebrated for their excellent beer, and the Ger- man eities, of which each one soon had its own brewery, vied with their predecessors. In the fifteenth and six- teenth centuries the Upper and Lower Saxony breweries became well known. The Braunschweiger, Einbeker, Got- tinger, Bremer, and Hamburger beer, as well as the breweries of the cities of Wiirzen, Zwickau, Torgau, Merseburg, and Goslar, were far and wide cele- brated. Bavarian beer has long made the tour of the world. Bock beer from Bavaria and from the Erzgebirge is exported to Java and China. German lager beer, as a healthy and lightly stimulating beverage, is wel- come in both hot and cold countries. It is liked as well by the Russians and Scandinavians as by the inhabitants of the tropics. It is brewed by Germans in all parts of the globein Valen- ciennes, Antwerp, Madrid, Constanti- nople, and even in Australia, Chili, and Brazil. The English commenced later than the Germans to make beer. In 1524, however, they not only brewed beer, but used hops in its fabrication. The Greek and Latin races, which drank wine, had but little taste for beer, which divided them from the Germanic races as a sharp boundary. 1877.] BEER. 68 Beer and wine seem to have had an in- fluence in forming the temperament of these widely differing races. While wine excites the nervous system, beer tranquillizes and calms it. The action of a particular kind of daily drink, used for centuries, must in this respect have been more or less potent. Hence, perhaps, the Teutons phlegm and the Gauls excitability. There may be said to be three prin- cipal types of beerthe Bavarian, Bel- gian, and English. The Bavarian is obtained by the infusion or decoction of sprouted barley; then by the fer- mentation of deposit, in tubs painted internally with resin. The varieties most appreciated are the Bock and Salvator beers. The beers of Belgium have the special character of being prepared by spontaneous fermentation, and the process is therefore slow. The principal varieties are the Lambick, the Faro, the March beer, and the Uytzd. In the English beer the must is prepared by simple infusion and the fermentation is superficial. On ac- count of its great alcoholic richness it is easily conserved. The ale, the por- ter, and the stout are the chief varie- ties~of English beer,which differ among themselves only by the diverse propor- tion of their ingredients and the dif- ferent degrees of torrefaction of the barley, rendering it more or less brown. In France only the superficial method of fermentation is employed. In a litre of Strasburg beer one finds 5 14 grammes of albumen, 45 grammes of alcohol, and .091 of salts. The ordi- nary Bavarian beer contains three per cent. of alcohol and six and a half per cent. of nourishing extracts. The beers the most sticky to the touch are the heaviest in volume and the most nu- tritious. It is historical that in very olden days the Munich city fathers tried the goodness of the beer by pour- ing it out on a bench and then sitting down in their leather inexpressibles, and approved of it only when they re- mained glued to the seat. In Kuremberg there is a school of brewers, where one may learn all the mysteries of beer brewing. Certain breweries, however, pretend to possess secrets pertaining to the art known exclusively to them. For example, one family near Leipsic is said to have possessed for a century the secret which chemistry has tried in vain to discover, of making the famous Gose beer. Good beer, says Dr. Paolo Mante- gazza, a celebrated Italian writer on medicine, is certainly one of the most healthy of alcoholic drinks. The bit- ter tonic, the richness of the alimen- tary principle which it contains, and its digestibility make it a real liquid food, which, for many temperaments, is medicine. The English beer, which is stronger in spirit than some wines, never produces on the stomach that union of irritating phenomena vulgarly called heat, and for this reason beer is often tolerated by the most weak and irritable persons, and can be drunk with advantage in grave diseases. i Laveran, a French physician, counsels it for consumptives, and for nervous thin people in the most diverse cli- mates. In the intoxication by beer there is always more or less stupidity. Beer is by no means favorable to lesprit. It is doubtful if it has ever inspired the great poets or the profound thinkers who make Germany, in science, the leading country in Europe. Reich, Yoigt, and many great writers have launched their anathemas against it. As a stimulant beer is less potent than wine or tea and coffee. The.forces of soldiers have never been sustained on a fatiguing march, nor can they be incited to a battle, by plentiful liba- tions of beer. During the late French- Prussian war nearly every provision train which left Bavaria carried sup- plies of beer to the Bavarian troops. It was found very favorable for the convalescent soldiers in the hospitals, but inferior to coffee or wine as a stimulant on the eve of battle. The old chroniclers of Bavaria relate this curious tale of the origin of the celebrated bock beer. There was one * Quadri della Natura Umana. 64 BEER. [JA~uAnv, day in olden times at the table of the Duke of Bavaria, as guest, a Brunswick nobleman. Now there had long prevailed at the court the custom of presenting to noble guests, after the meal, a beaker of the Bavarian barley juice, not without a warning as to its strength. The Brunswicker received the usual cup, emptied it at a draught, and pronounced it excellent. But, he continued, such barley juice as we brew at home in Brunswick is equalled by no other. Our Mumme is the king of beers, so that the bravest drinker cannot take two beakers of it without sinking under the table. The duke listened with displeasure to the haughty words of the knight, for he was not a little proud of the brewings of his country, and commanded his cup- bearer, with a meaning look, to chal- lenge him. By your leave, Sir Knight, re- plied the page, what you say is not quite true. If it pleases you and my lord Duke, I should like to lay a wager with you. The duke nodded assent, and the knight, smiling scornfully, challenged the cup-bearer to pledge him. Your Brunswick Mumme, contin- ued the page, may pass as a refresh- ing drink; but with our beer you can- not compare it, for the best of our brewings is unknown to you. In case, however, you please again to make your appearance at the hospitable court of my gracious lord, I will promise you a beaker of beer which cannot be equalled in any other country of united Christendom. I will drink the greatest bumper that can be found in our court of your Mumme at one draught, if you can take of our beer, even slowly, three beakers. He who a half hour afterward can stand on one leg and thread a needle shall win the wager, and receive from the other a mighty cask of Tokayer Reben- safte. This speech received loud applause, and the Brunswicker laughingly ac- cepted the challenge. After the knight had departed the duke tapped the page on the shoulder and said, Take care that thou dost not repent thy word, and that the Brunswicker does not win the wager. The first morning in May the Brunswickcr rode into the castle and was welcomed by the duke. All eyes were turned on the cup- bearer, who shortly afterward ap- peared with a suite of pages carrying on a bier two little casks, one bearing the Bavarian arms and the other those of Brunswick. The right to give to the contents of the former a particular name was reserved to the duke. The page produced likewise a monstrous silver bumper and three beakers of the ordinary size. It was long before the bumper was filled to the rim, and then it required two men to raise it to the table. In the mean time another page placed the three beakers before the knight, who could not suppress a sar- castic laugh at the huge bumper which the page, taking in his strong arms, placed to his lips. As the knight emptied the last beaker the cup-bearer turned down the bumper. Two nee- dles and a bundle of silk lay on the table. It wanted a few moments of the half hour, and the Brunswicker ran toward the garden for fresh air. Hardly arrived in the court, a peculiar swimming of the head seized him, so that he fell to the ground. A servant saw him from the window, and hasten- ed out, followed by the court, with the duke in advance. There lay the Bruns- wicker, and tried in vain to rise. By all the saints, Herr Ritter, what has thrown you in the sand? inquired the duke sympathetically. The bock, the bock (the goat, the goat), murmured the knight with a heavy tongue. A burst of sarcastic laughter echoed in the courtyard. In the mean time the page stood on one foot, and with- out swaying threaded the needle. The bock, the bock, repented the duke smiling. Our beer is no long- er without a name. It shall be called bock, that one may take care. The bock season lasts about six 1877.1 BEER. 65 Weeks, from May into June. Just be- fore it commences a transparency of a goat, drinking from a tall, Blender glass, is placed as a sign before cer- tain beer locals, called in Munich dia- lect bock stalls, not because goats are kept there, but because wonderful beer, called bock, is dispensed. He who has not lived in Bavaria can have no idea of what importance beer is in Bavarian life. There are in Mu- nich Germans who exist only for beer, and there have been pointed out to me old gentlemen who have frequent- ed daily the same local for twenty-five or thirty years, and even occupied the same seat, and pounded the same table, by way of enforcing their views, in discussing the politics of the day. They are called Stammg& ste (literally stock guests), and are much honored in their respective locals. The greatest personages do not dis- dain the meanest locals, provided the beer is good and to their taste. Naked pine tables do not disgust them, nor the hardest benches. Often on the table skins of radishes, crusts of bread, cigar stumps, tobacco ashes, herring heads, and cheese rinds form a fragrant milunge. The inheritors of this precious legacy push it away without undue irritability. Radishes are carried about by old women called rctdt-weibers, who do a thriving busi. ness besides in nuts and herrings. One cannot find in any other country of the world radishes of such size, tender- ness, and flavora brown variety in- herited by the happy Milucheners with their brewcries. Nowheru else docs cutting and salting them rank as an art. To prepare one scientifically they pare it carefully, slit it in three slices nearly to the end, place salt on the top, and draw the finger over it, as if it were a pack of cards. The salt falls between the slices, and when they are pressed together becomes absorbed. In a German Bier Loecti are represent- ed all classes of society. Beer is the great leveller of social distinctions. The foaming glass of King Gambrinns unites all Germans of all states, cli- mates, and professions in a closer brotherhood than the sceptre of the Hohenzollerns, and links that portion of the Teutonic race over which the stars and stripes throws its protecting folds to the dear fatherland. Fine wines are a perquisite of money. The fortunate aristocrat and the house of Israel, which everywhere waxes fat on the needs of travellers, may sip their champagne, their Lachry- mre Christi, and their Hockheimer, while less favored humanity contents itself with sour vie, ordinaire; but beer is the same for all, and in some brew- eries each one must search for a glass, rinse it, and present himself in his turn at the shank window, to which there is no royal road. La bil~re, which a great writer calls Ce yin.. de la r~forme, is essentially a demo- cratic drink. It became popular at a time when a fatal blow had been struck at class privileges and priestly exclusiveness. Manfully does a true-hearted Bava- rian stand by his brewery, in ill as well as good report. If the beer turns out badly, he does not find it a suffi- cient reason to desert his local for some other, but rather remains with touch- ing devotion, and anticipates the ap. proaching end of the old beer and the advent of new, with implicit trust and confidence in the future. Some years ago the Bavarian post and rail- way conductors distinguished them- selves by the mournful zeal with which they notified to the passengers the nearing of the frontier. At each sta- tion they were sorrowfully cominuni-. cative. The last Bairischer* but four, gen- tlemen I Gentlemen, there are only two more real Bairisehers I Gentle- men,~ with tears in the voice, the last Bairiseher. The passengers rushed to the buffet and drank. Even now, with that curious affec- tion with which every Bavarians heart turns to his Mecca of beer, the saluta- tion to a stranger is, Are you going * The local term In Bavaria for a glass of beer. 66 BEER. [JA~TuABY, to Munich? Da werden 825 gutes Bier trinlcen.* You came from Munich? Ash! cia haben sie gutes Bier getrunleen. t Even in Beerland there are different kinds of beer, like the federal union, one in many and many in one. Be- tween them are sometimes irreconcil- able differences, as for example, be- tween the white and Actiens beer of Berlin. The former is made of wheat, and is exclusively a summer beverage, and a glass of it is fondly termed a kleine Weisse (a little white one), perhaps in irony, for it is served in excentric mammoth tumblers, which require both hands to lift. Then there is the Vienna beer, the antipodes of the Bavarian. The latter must be drunk soon after it is made, while the former must lie many months in the cellar before it is ready for use. In Austria, that forcible union of States of clashing interests and nationalities, which is not a na- tion, but only a government reposing on bayonets, the population is divided between the partisans of King Gain- brinus and those of Bacchus. As little as an artist could maintain that he was familiar with the works of the great masters when he had not visited Italy, so little could a beer drinker assert that he had seen beer rightly drunk when he had not been in Munich. All over the world beer is regarded as a refreshment, but in Munich it is the elixir of life, the fa- bled fountain of youth and happiness. It is looked upon as nourishment by the lower classes, who drink for din- ner two masses~ of it, with soup and black bread. For the price of the beer they could procure a good portion of meat, but they universally maintain that they are best nourished with beer and bread. The Bavarian drinks to satisfy his thirst, that beautiful German gift of God. If he is healthy, he drinks be- cause it keeps his life juices in their * There you will drink good beer. t There you drank good beer. t A mass equals fifteen-siatecuths of a quart. normal state; if he is sick and in pain, because it is a soothing and harmless narcotic; if he is hungry, because beer is nourishment; if he has already eaten, because beer promotes diges- tion; if he is warm, because it is cool- ing and refreshing; if he is cold, be- cause it warms him; if he is fatigued, because it is a tonic and sovereign strength renewer; if he is angry, be- cause beer soothes him and gives him time to consider; if he needs courage, because beer is precisely the right stimulant. Where the Americans fly to their bitters to tone up the system and enliven the secretions, the Ger- mans resort to beer; and many are of opinion that frequent trips to the bock stalls in the spring are more heal- ing than a visit to Carlsbad or Baden Baden, where one drinks disgusting water. In all circumstances and all moods they drink and are comforted. The Jews believed that the sacred waves of the Jordan were powerful to wash away all human suffering, either of the soul or body. Faith was neces- sary to this pious healing. To the Milnehener beer is the river of health. His faith in it dates from his earliest infancy, and he resorts to its benefi- cent influence at least seven times a day, and drinks his last Kritgl with apparently the same relish as the first. The quantity which Germans drink is something incredible. Bavarian stu- dents usually take from five to seven masses per day. (At the German Je- suit seminary in Prague the novices are allowed daily seven, the clericos ten, and the priests twelve pints of beer.) Beer is considered good not only for men, but for women, for girls and boys, and even unweaned infants. Mein KrUgl the Milnehener speaks of as of his natural and human rights. He was born with a right to his beer, and his Kriigl, as man is born with a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and equally with these the State must look after this right. The krtlgls, or beer mugs, of each brewery are inspected by the police, to 1877.] BEER. 07 see if the measure is correct, and if the ware has no poisonous lead in its composition. The royal K is stamped on them by the Kings authority. The police also examine the contents of the beer with the same zeal as the water or the condition of the sewers. The Germans as a nation are patient of wrong and peace-loving, but the rumor of a tax on beer raises a fright- ful commotion, and a riot is often the consequence. As well tax air, water, and fire as beer, the fifth element. In an ancient neighborhood of Mu- nich, behind the post, and best enter- ed from Maximilian street, is a little square remarkable for its ugliness. All the houses are old, and one feels upon entering it as if one had sudden- ly walked back into the middle ages. On the east side stands a time-gray, low, irregular building, resembling in architecture, or by its want of it, no- thing of the present age. This is the royal Hof Brauerei. ~After 10 A. M. a constant stream of thirsty souls flows along the streets and narrow alleys leading toward its dismal-looking por- tals. Its beer is celebrated as being the finest in the world, and is the stan- dard by which all other beers are judged. It is the poetry of beer; it is to all other brewings what Shake- speare is to the drama; what the Co- liseum is to other antiquities. None of the beer is exported or sold; it is all drunk on the spot, and when it gives out no other brewery can supply a drop comparable with it. The Pa- risians, who have heaped every luxu- ry, from the poles to the tropics, in their capital of the world, have not enough money in the Bank of France to purchase a cask of it. It is said that Maximilian II. resolved that the best beer in the world should be made at the royal brewery in Munich. It has never been expected that it would yield any revenue, but merely pay its expenses. It is now under the protec- lion of the present King, and the in- gredients are inspected by an officer of the royal household. For its dirt, its darkness, and its utter want of service, the Hof Brau- erei is unequalled in the world, and nowhere else can be found such a mixed society. Entering the low- vaulted room, each one looks anxiously about for an empty mug. These are of gray stone, containing a mass, the price of which is seven and a half kreutzers. Spying one, he hastens to secure it from other competitors. The first who reaches it carries it off in triumph to the spring in the ante- room, rinses it, and presents himself behind a queue of predecessors at the shank window, where several pairs of hands are occupied all day long in fill- ing mugs from the great casks within. This accomplished, he returns to the guest room and searches for a seat. If found, it is certainly not luxuriousa wooden bench of pine, stained by time and continual use to a dark dirt color, behind an ancient table. The walls and ceiling are grim with age, and the atmosphere hazy with smoke. The scene baffles description. All classes of society are represented. Side by side with the noble or learned profes- sor, one sees the poorest artisan and the corn mon soldier. Here and there the picturesque face of an artist is in close proximity to a peasant, and through the smoky atmosphere one catches the gleam of the scarlet or sky- blue cap of a German student, or the glitter of an epaulette. The Catholic of the most ultramontane stamp is there, as well as the Jew, the Protes- tant, and the freethinker. Here stands a pilgrim from far America, armed~ with a Biideker, and there an English- man with the inevitable Murray under his arm, too amazed or disdainful to search for a mass. Remarkable also are the steady habitu~s of the place, with Albert Darer-like features which look as if hastily hewn out of ancient wood with two or three blows of a hatchet, or with smoke-dried physiognomies having a tint like that of a meerschaum pipe, acquired by years of exposure to the thick atmosphere of smoky brew- eries. They are there morning, noon, and night, year in and year out. 68 BEER. [JAIiUARY, Some talk over the news of the day, but most sit in silence. Not a few make a meal with bread and radishes, or a sausage brought from the nearest pork shop. In Munich a singular and ancient custom prevails. If by chance the cover of a mug is left up, any individ- ual who chooses may seize it, and drink the contents. At the Hof Brau- erei I once saw a newly arrived Eng- glishman, carrying the usual red guide- book, quit the room for an instant, leaving uncovered his just acquired mass of beer. There came along a seedy-looking old gentleman, evident- ly a Stammgast. A gleam of satisfac- tion stole over his wooden features as he espied the open mug. Pausing a moment, he lifted it to his lips and slowly drank the contents. Setting it down empty, with a face mildly radiat- ing satisfaction, he went his way. Presently the owner of. the beer re- turned, took his seat, and lifted the mass, without looking, to his lips. With intense astonishment he put it down again, appeared not to believe the evidence of his senses, applied his glass to his eye, looked with anxie- ty into his mug, and became satisfied of its emptiness. At his neighbors he cast a quick glance of indignant sus- picionthe look of a Briton whose rights were invaded. No one even looked up; apparently the occasion was too common to excite attention. Gradually his face regained its com- posure. He procured a new supply, and as the wc~nderful barley juice dis- appeared became again calm and hap- py. Miraculous mixture I Who would not, under thy benign influence, for- get all rancor and bitterness, even though his deadliest enemy sat oppo- site ? In the ilaupt und Residenz Stadt Manchen, as Munich is always called in official documents, many of the breweries bear the names of orders of monks, because there the friars in old- en days made particularly good beer. The breweries borrowed from them the receipt and the name. Hence the brewery to the Augustiner, to the Do- minikaner, to the Franciskaner, and the Salvator. New beer is in all cities of America and Europe a simple fact. In Munich it is an important public and private family event, concerning each house as well as the entire city. The opening of the Salvator brewery in the suburbs of Munich, for its brief season of a month in the spring, as- sumes for the inhabitants the impor- tance of a long anticipated holiday. Thither an eager crowd of townspeople make pilgrimage. I was present on one of these auspicious occasions, and found a joyous multitude of more than two thousand persons, filling to over- flowing the capacious building gayly trimmed with evergreens interspersed with the national colors. A band dis- coursed excellent music, that neces- sary element, without which no Get- man scene is complete. The waiters, more than usually adroit in supplying the wants of the crowd, carried in their hands fourteen glasses at a time with professional dexterity. The pe- culiar delicacy of the occasion, aside from the beer, seemed to be cheese, plentifully sprinkled with black pep- per. Late in the evening the people be- came more excited and sympathetic, and then it was proposed to sing Herr Fisher, a popular German song of the people. A verse was sung by a few voices as a solo; then fol- lowed a mighty chorus from all the persons present. Each one raised the cover of his beer mug at the com- mencement, and let it fall with a clang at the close of the chorus, with start- ling effect. In Munich one-half of the inhabi- tants appear to be engaged in the fab- rication of beer and the entire popu- lation in drinking it. It impresses one as being the only industry there. The enormous brewery wagons, drawn by five Norman horses, are ever to be seen. On the trains going from the city there is ordinarily a beer car painted in fes- tive white. It bears an inscription, 1877.] BEER. 69 that none may mistake its contents, and perhaps that the peasants may bless it as it passes. It is looked upon with as much reverence as if it bore the ark of the covenant. All over Germany, among the most ordinary of birthday or holiday pres- ents are the elegantly painted porce- lain tops for beer glasses. The works of great masters may be found copied in exquisite style for this purpose, as well as illustrations suited to unculti- vated tastes. To these pictures there are appropriate mottoes, and often a verse adapted to the comprehension of the most uneducated peasant. A fa- vorite among the Bavarians, judging from the frequency with which it is met with in all parts of Bavaria, rep- resents a peasant in a balcony waving her kerchief to her lover, departing in a little skiff, on an intensely blue sea. Beneath, in patois, is the doggerel: Beautifully blue is the sea, But my heart aches in me, And my heart will never recover Till returns my peasant lover. Equally a favorite is the following: A rifle to shoot, And a fighting ring to hit, And a maiden to kiss, Mast a lively boy have. The rings to which the rhyme refers are of huge size, of silver, with a sharp-edged square of the same metal. They are heirlooms among the pea- sants, and are worn on the middle fin- ger. It is the custom in a quarrel to lift ones adversary with the Stozzri~g on the cheek, which it tears open. In Germany many of the great brew- eries have summer gardens in the sub- urbs of the cities. In Berlin there are magnificent Biergtirten, where the two most necessary elements of German existence, beer and music, are united. I need only refer to the Hof Jilger, with its flowers, fountains, miniature lake, and open-air theatre, where pop- ular comedies are performed. Three times per week there is an afternoon concert by one or two regiment bands. Thither the Germans conduct their families. In the winter there are con- cert rooms in the cities, where mu- sic is married, not to immortal verse, but to beer; and these classical concerts are patronized by people of high respectability. Beer is peculiarly suited to the American temperament, too nervous and sensitive. It is certain that the human race always has, and probably always will, resort to beverages more or less stimulating. The preaching of moralists and the efforts of legislators will not exclude them permanently from our use. It is not in the use but in the abuse of these that the difficulty lies. Neither tea nor coffee answers for all temperaments and all occasions as nervous aliments. The extraordinary and increasing diffusion of liquors is one of the social ulcers of modern so- ciety, particularly in America. It is unfortunately true that the use of strong alcoholics is increasing every day, to the great detriment of public health and morals. Taken merely to kill time, they often end by killing the individual. One of the great advantages of beer, too much forgotten even by physicians, is that it reverses the influence of al- cohol, by which it loses its irritating properties on the mucous membrane of the stomach. The celebrated Dr. Bock (late professor of pathological anatomy in the university at Leipsic) says, Beer exercises on the digestion, on the cir- culation, on the nerves, and above all on the whole system, a beneficial ef- fect.* It would be well if Americans would adopt it instead of the innumerable harmful beverages which ruin the health and poison the peace of society. S. G. YOUNG. * Bach vom gesunden und krankcn Men- sc~en (9th edition). 5 ON READING SHAKESPEARE. PLAYS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. WE have followed Shakespeares course of dramatic production down to the time when he began to embody in the work by which he earned his bread and made his fortune the results of an intuitive knowledge of human nature and a profound reflection upon it never surpassed, if ever equal- led, and which, even if possessed, have never been united in any other man with a power of expression so grand, so direct, so strong, and so subtle. Twelfth Night, Henry V., and As You Like It mark the close of his second period, which ended with the sixteenth century. His third pe- riod with Hamlet which opens was written about the year 1600. But here I will say that the division of his work into periods, and the as- signment of his plays to certain years, is only inferential and approximative. We are able to determine with an ap- proach to certainty about what time most of his plays were written; but we cannot fix their date exactly. Nor is it of very great importance that we should do so. There are some people who can fret themselves and others as to whether a play was written in 1600 or in 1601, as there are others who deem the question whether its author was born on the 23d of April in one year, and died on the same day of the same month in another, one of great importance. I cannot so regard it. A few days in the date of a mans birth or death~ a few months in the produc- tion of a playthese are matters surely of very little moment. What is im- portant to the student and lover of Shakespeare is the order of the produc- tion of his works; and this, fortunate- ly, is determinable with a sufficient approach to accuracy to enable us to know about at what age he was en- gaged upon them, and what changes in his style and in his views of life they indicate. In the first ten years of the seven- teenth century, between his thirty- seventh and forty-seventh year, he produced Hamlet, Measure for Measure, his part of Pericles, Alls Well that Ends Well, King Lear, Macbeth, Julius Canar, Antony and Cleopatra, Troilus and Cressida, Cymbeline, Corio- lanus, and ~ These, with other works, were the fruit of his mind in its full maturity and vigor. Think of it a moment I what a period it was! As my eye lights upon the back of the eleventh volume of my own edition and the eighth of the Cambridge edi- tion, and I read HAMLET, KING LEAR, OTHELLO, I am moved with a sense of admiration and wonder which, if I allow it to continue, becomes almost oppres- sive; and I also take pleasure in the result of a convenicnce of arrangement that brought into one volume these three marvellous worksthe three greatest productions of mans imagin- ation, each wholly unlike the others in spirit and in motive. Although they were not written one after the other, but with an interval of about five years between them, it would be well to read them consecutive- ly and in the order above named, which is that in which they happen to be print- ed in the first collected edition (1623) of Shakespeares plays. They were writ- tcn Hamlet in 16002, King Lear in 1605, and Othello about 1610, its date being much more uncer- tain than that of either of the others. The thoughtful reader who, having fol- lowed the course previously marked out, now comes to the study of these tragedies, is prepared to apprehend them justly, not only in their own greatness, but in their relative position

ON READING SHAKESPEARE. PLAYS OF THE THIRD PERIOD. WE have followed Shakespeares course of dramatic production down to the time when he began to embody in the work by which he earned his bread and made his fortune the results of an intuitive knowledge of human nature and a profound reflection upon it never surpassed, if ever equal- led, and which, even if possessed, have never been united in any other man with a power of expression so grand, so direct, so strong, and so subtle. Twelfth Night, Henry V., and As You Like It mark the close of his second period, which ended with the sixteenth century. His third pe- riod with Hamlet which opens was written about the year 1600. But here I will say that the division of his work into periods, and the as- signment of his plays to certain years, is only inferential and approximative. We are able to determine with an ap- proach to certainty about what time most of his plays were written; but we cannot fix their date exactly. Nor is it of very great importance that we should do so. There are some people who can fret themselves and others as to whether a play was written in 1600 or in 1601, as there are others who deem the question whether its author was born on the 23d of April in one year, and died on the same day of the same month in another, one of great importance. I cannot so regard it. A few days in the date of a mans birth or death~ a few months in the produc- tion of a playthese are matters surely of very little moment. What is im- portant to the student and lover of Shakespeare is the order of the produc- tion of his works; and this, fortunate- ly, is determinable with a sufficient approach to accuracy to enable us to know about at what age he was en- gaged upon them, and what changes in his style and in his views of life they indicate. In the first ten years of the seven- teenth century, between his thirty- seventh and forty-seventh year, he produced Hamlet, Measure for Measure, his part of Pericles, Alls Well that Ends Well, King Lear, Macbeth, Julius Canar, Antony and Cleopatra, Troilus and Cressida, Cymbeline, Corio- lanus, and ~ These, with other works, were the fruit of his mind in its full maturity and vigor. Think of it a moment I what a period it was! As my eye lights upon the back of the eleventh volume of my own edition and the eighth of the Cambridge edi- tion, and I read HAMLET, KING LEAR, OTHELLO, I am moved with a sense of admiration and wonder which, if I allow it to continue, becomes almost oppres- sive; and I also take pleasure in the result of a convenicnce of arrangement that brought into one volume these three marvellous worksthe three greatest productions of mans imagin- ation, each wholly unlike the others in spirit and in motive. Although they were not written one after the other, but with an interval of about five years between them, it would be well to read them consecutive- ly and in the order above named, which is that in which they happen to be print- ed in the first collected edition (1623) of Shakespeares plays. They were writ- tcn Hamlet in 16002, King Lear in 1605, and Othello about 1610, its date being much more uncer- tain than that of either of the others. The thoughtful reader who, having fol- lowed the course previously marked out, now comes to the study of these tragedies, is prepared to apprehend them justly, not only in their own greatness, but in their relative position 1877.] ON READING SHAKESPEARE. 71 as the product of their authors mind in its perfected and disciplined matur- ityas the splendid triple crown of Shakespeares genius. No other dra- matist, no other poet, has given the world anything that can for a moment be taken into consideration as equal to these tragedies; and Shakespeare himself left us nothing equal to any one of them, taken as a whole and in detail; although there are some parts of other late plays Macbeth, An- tony and Cleopatra, Troilus and Cressida, and The Tempest which, in their grandeur of imagin- ation and splendor of language, bear the stamp of this great period. And yet such was the merely stage- providing nature of Shakespeares work, that even Hamlet, produced at the very height of his reputation, is, like the Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI., which came from his prentice hand, connected in some way, we do not know exactly what, with a drama by an elder contempo- rary upon the same subject. There are traces in contemporary satirical literature of a Hamlet which had been performed as early as 1589, or possibly two years earlier. It is re- markable that in the first edition of Shakespeares Hamlet (1603) Polo- fins is called Corambis, and Reynaldo, Montano; in which latter names we may safely assume that we have relics of the old play; and, although I am sure that in this edition of 1603 we have merely a mutilated and patched- up version, surreptitiously obtained, and printed in headlong haste, of the perfected play (in which opinion I differ from some English scholars, whose learning and judgment I respect, but to whom I would hold myself ready to prove, under forfeit, to their satis- faction the correctness of my view); there are also in this mutilated 1603 edition passages which not only are manifestly not what Shakespeare wrote, but not even a mutilated form of what he wrote. They are probably taken from the older play to supply the place of passages of the new play which could not be obtained in time for the hasty publication of this pi- rated edition of Shakespeares tragedy. Remark, here, in this hasty and sur- reptitious edition, evidence of the great impression suddenly made by Shakespeares Hamlet. On its pro- duction it became at once so popular that a piratical publisher was at the trouble and expense of getting as much of the original as he could by unfair means, and vamping this up with in- ferior and older matter to meet the popular demand for reading copies. There is evidence of a like success of King Lear. Since the time when these plays were produced there has been, we are called upon to believe, a great elevation of general intelligence, and there surely has been a great dif- fusion of knowledge; and yet it may be safely remarked that Saratoga and Pique and The Golden Age, which ran their hundred nights and more, are not quite equal to Ham- let or to King Lear, which, even with all their success, did not run any- thing like a hundred nights; and we may as safely believe that if Hamlet or King Lear were produced for the first time this winter in New York or in London, there would not be such a great and sudden demand for copies that extraordinary means would be taken by publishers to supply it. This superiority of the general public taste in dramatic literature during the Elizabethan era is one of the remark- able phenomena in literary history and it is one that remains unaccounted for, and is, I think, altogether inex- plicable, except upon the assumption that theatres nowadays rely for their support upon a public of low intel- lectual grade, and a taste for gross luxury and material splendor. In reading Hamlet there is little opportunity of comparing it instruct- ively with any of its predecessors. Its principal personage is entirely unlike any other created by Shakespeare. The play is all Hamlet: the other per- 1o are mere occasions for his presence and meahs of his develop- ON READING SHAKESPEARE. ment. But Polonius is something the same kind of man as old Capulet in Romeo and Juliet; and although there were opportunities enough for the noble Veronese father to utter sen- tentiously the knowledge of the world which he had gained by living in it, see how comparatively meagre and su- perficial his wise saws are com- pared with the counsel that Polonius gives to his son and to his daughter, and to the King and Queen; although Polonius, with all his sagacity, is gar- rulous and a bore; in Hamlets words, a tedious old fool. As to Hamlets character, Shakespeare did not mean it to be altogether admirable or other- wise, but simply to be Hamleta per- fectly natural and not very uncommon man, although he expresses natural and not uncommon feelings with the marvellous utterance of the great mas- ter of dramatic poetry. And Hamlets character is not altogether admirable; but it is therefore none the less, but probably the more, deeply interesting. How closely packed the play is with profound truths of life philosophy is shown by the fact that it has contrib- uted not only very much morefour or five times morethan any other poem of similar length to the storehouse of adage and familiar phrase, but at least twice as much as any other of Shake- speares plays. I know two boys who, going to see the play for the first time, some years before the appearance of a like story in the newspapers, came home and did actually, in the inno- cence of their hearts, qualify the great admiration they expressed for it by add- ing, but how full it is of quota- tions. In fact, about one eighth of this long play has become so familiar to the world that it is in common use, and is recognized as the best expression known of the thoughts that it em- bodies. This, however, is not an ab- solute test of excellence, for it is re- inarkable that King Lear is very much behind it, and also behind Othello, in this respect; and in- deed there are several plays, including Macbeth, Julitis C~usar, Hen ry IV., As You Like It, and The Merchant of Venice, which are richer than King Lear in passages fa- miliarly quoted; and yet as to the su- periority of King Lear to the other plays I think there can be no doubt. It is the greatest tragedy, the greatest dramatic poem, the greatest book, ever written; so great is it, in fact, so vast in its style, so lofty in its ideal, that to those who have reflected upon it and justly apprehended it, it has be- come unplayable. As well attempt to score the music of the spheres, or to paint the fat weed that roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf. In King Lear there is a personage who may be very instructively compared with others of the same kind by the student of Shakespeares mental development. This is the Pool. Shakespeares fools or clQwns (such as those in Loves Labors Lost and in Hamlet) are among the most remarkable evi- dences of his ability to make anything serve as the occasion and the mouth- piece of his wit and his wisdom. He did not make the character; he found it on the stage, and a favorite with a considerable part of the play-goers. It was, however, as he found it, a very coarse character, rude as well as gross in speech, and given to practical jok- ing. He relieved it of all the rude- ness, if not of all the grossness, and reformed the joking altogether; but he also filled the Fools jesting with sententious satire, and while preserv- ing the low-comedy style of the char- acter, brought it into keeping with a lofty and even a tragic view of life. In King Lear the Fool rises into heroic proportions, and becomes a sort of conscience, or second thought, to Lear. Compared even with Touch- stone he is very much more elevated, and shows not less than Hamlet, or than Lear himself, the grand develop- ment of Shakespeares mind at this pe- nod of its maturity. In the represen- tation of Shakespeares plays there has been no greater affront to common sense than the usual presentation of this Fool upon the stage as a boy, ex 72 S [JANUARY, 1877.1 ON READING SHAKESPEARE. 73 cept the putting a pretty woman into the part, dressed in such a way as to captivate the eye and divert the at- tention by the beauty of her figure. It is disturbing enough to see Arid, sexless, but, like the angels, rather masculine than feminine, represented by a woman dressed below the waist in an inverted gauze saucer, and above the waist in a perverted gauze no- thing; but to see Lears Fool thus un- bedecked is more amazing than Bot- toms brutal translation was to his fellow actors. This Fool is a man of middle uge, one who has watched the world and grown sad over it. His jesting has a touch of heart-break in it which is prevented from becoming pathetic only by the cynicism which pertains partly to his personal charac- ter and partly to his office. He and Kent are about of an ageKent, who when asked his age, as he comes back disguised to his old master, says, Not so young as to love a wo- man for her singing, nor so old as to dote on her for anything; I have years on my back forty-eight a speech which contains one of the finest of Shakespeares minor touches of worldly-wise character drawing. The German artist Retsch in his fine out- line illustrations of this play has con- ceived this Fool with fine appreciation of Shakespeare~ s meaning. He makes him a mature man, with a wan face and a sad, eager eye. The misrepre- sentation of the character has its ori- gin in Lears calling the Fool boy a term partly of endearment and partly of patronage, which has been so used in all countries and in all times. A similar misunderstanding of a similar word fool, which Lear touch- ingly applies to Cordelia in the last scene and my poor fool is hanged caused the misapprehension until of late years* that Lears court Fool was hangedalthough why Edmunds crea- tures should have been at the trouble in the stress of their disaster to hang a Fool it would puzzle any one to tell. Othello bears throughout the * Since 1854. marks of the same maturity of intel- lect, and the same mastery of dramatic effect, that appear in Hamlet and in King Lear; but from the nature of its subject it is not so profoundly thoughtful as the others. It is a drama of action, which Hamlet~ is not in a high degree; and although a grand example of the imaginative dramatic style, it has the distinction of being the most actable of all Shake- spear& s tragedies. It is difficult to conceive any age or any country in which Othello would not be an im- pressive and a welcome play to any in- telligent audience. Highly poetical in its treatment, it is intensely real in its interest; and it must continue so until there is a radical change in hu- man nature. In the first of these articles I pro- posed to analyze and compare the jealousy of Othello, Claudio, and Le- ontes; but I have abandoned the de- sign, partly because I find that it would require another article in itself, and partly because it would necessari- ly lead me into a psychological and physiological discussion which would hardly be in keeping with the purpose with which I am now writing, which is merely to offer such guidance and such help as I can give to intelligent and somewhat inexperienced readers of Shakespeare. But I will remark that Othellos jealousy is mans jealousy (so called) raised to the most intense power by the race and the social position of the person who is its subject. The feeling in man and that in woman, called jea- lousy, are quite different in origin and in nature, although they have the same name. In woman the feeling arises from a supposed slight of her person, the spreta3 injurksformce of Yirgil, to which he attributes Junos enmity to Troy; and however it may be sentimentally developed, it has this for its spring and its foundation. But a man, unless he is the weakest of all coxcombs, and unworthy to wear his beard, does not trouble himself because a woman ad- mires another mans person more than his own. His feeling has its origin in ON READING SHAKESPEARE. the motherhood of woman, a re- cognition of which is latent in all so- cial arrangements touching the sex, and in all mans feeling toward her. Mans jealousy is a mingled feeling of resentment of personal disloyalty, and of grief at unchastity on the part of the woman that he loves. Man is jealous much in the same sense in which it is said, The Lord thy God is a jealous God; which saying, indeed, is a consequence of the anthropomor- phic conception of the Deity, notwith- standing the exclusion from it of the idea of sex. But it is impossible to conceive of such a feeling as feminine jealousy being referred to in the pas- sage in the second commandment. The jealousy of Othello and Leon- tes, and of Claudio, will be found on examination to be at bottom the same. La Claudlo it is correct, gentlemanly, princely, and somewhat weak; in Le- ontes it is morbid, unreasonable, hard, and cruel; in Othello it is perfectly pure in its quality, and has in it quite as much of tenderness and grief as of wrath and indignation; and it rages with all the fierceness of his half-sav- age nature. The passion in him be- comes heroic, colossal; but it is per- fect in its nature and in its proportions, and from the point to which he has been brought by Ingo, perfectly justi- fiable. Hence it is that it is so re- spected by women. Nothing was more remarkable at Salvinis admirable performance of Othello than the ac- quiescence of all his female auditors in the fate of Desdemona. They were sorry for the poor girl, to be sure; but they seemed to think that Desde- monas were made to be the victims of Othellos, and that a man who could love in that fashion and be jealous in that style of exalted fury was rather to be pitied and admired when he smothered a woman on a misunder- standing. She should not have teased him so to take back Cassio; and what could she have expected when she was so careless about the handkerchief and told such lies about it ! It is some- what unpleasant to be smothered, to be sure, but all the same she ought to be content and happy to be the object of such love and the occasion of such jealousy. They mourned far more over his fate than over hers. This representation of manly jealousy, so elemental and simple, and yet so stu- pendous, is one of Shakespeares mas- terpieces. I mean not merely in its ver- bal expression, but in its characteristic conception of the masculine form of the passion. Compare it with the jealousy of any of his womenof Ad- riana, of Julia, of Cleopatra, of Imo- gen, of Reganand see how different it is in kind; I will not say in degree; for Shakespeare has not exhibited wo- man as highly deformed by this pas- sion; that he left for inferior dramat- ists, with whom it is a favorite subject. In two of these tragedies we have Shakespeares most elaborate and, so to speak, admirable representations of villany: Edmund in King Lear~ and Jago in Othello. These vile creations cannot, however, be justly regarded as the fruit of a lower view of human nature consequent upon a longer acquaintance with it. They were merely required by the exigen- cies of his plots; and being required, he made them as it was in him to do. For in nothing is his superiority more greatly manifested than in the fact that monsters of baseness, or even thoroughly base men, figure so rarely among his dran-tctti8 persoflw. They are common with inferior dramatists and writers of prose fiction, whose ruder hands need them as convenient mo- tive powers and as vehicles of the ex- pression of a lower view of human na- ture. Not so with him. He has weak and erring menmen who are misled by their passions, ambition, re- venge, selfish lust, or what not; but Jago, Edmund, and the Duke in Measure for Measure are almost all his characters of their kind. In Richard III. he merely painted a highly colored historical portrait; and Parolles, in Alls Well that Ends Well, and lachimo, in Cymbeline, do not rise to the dignity of even 74 V [JA~UAR; ON READING SHAKESPEARE. third-rate personages. lago, it need hardly be said, is the most perfect of all his creatures in this kind, and in- dced he is the most admirably detest- able and infamous character in all lit- erature. Edmund is equally base and cruel; but compared with Iago he is a coarse, low, brutal, and rabid animal. In Jago all the craft and venom of which the human soul is capable is united with an intellectual subtlety which seems to reach the limit of im- agination or conception. There are some who see in the making the bas- tard son in Lear the monster of in- gratitude and villany and the legiti- mate a model of all the manly and filial virtues an evidence of Shake- speares judgment and discrimination. But this is one of those fond and over- subtle misapprehensions from which Shakespeare has suffered in not a few instances, even at the hands of critics of reputation. It suited Shakespeares plot that the villain should be the bas- tard; that is all; and Lears legitimate daughters Goneril and Regan are as base, as bad, and as cruelly ungrate- ful as Gloucesters illegitimate son. Shakespeare knew human nature too well, and handled it with too just and impartial a hand, to let the question of legitimacy influence him in one way or the other. In King John we have, on the contrary, the mean- souled Robert Faulconbridge and his gallant and chivalrous bastard brother Philip. About the same time, or if not in the same time, perhaps in the same year which saw the production of King Lear, Macbeth was writ- ten. But its date is not certain with- in four or five years. It was surely written before 1610, in which year a contemporary diary records its per- formance on the 20th of April. The Cambridge editors, in their annotated edition of this play, in the Clarendon Press series, prefer the later date; but notwithstanding my great respect for their judgment, I hold to my con- clusion for the earlier, for the reasons given in my own edition. The ques tion has not in itself much pertinence to our present purpose, as there is no doubt that the tragedy was produced in this period, and its general style, both of thought and versification, is that of Shakespeare in its fullest de- velopment and vigor. But with the question of date there is involved an- other of great interest to the thought- ful readerthat of mixed authorship. In the introductory essay to my edi- tion of this play (published in 1861) attention was directed to the internal evidence that it was hastily written and left unfinished.* Subsequent ed- itors and critics, notably the Cam- bridge editors and the Rev. F. G. Fleay, in his Shakespearian Manual, starting from this view, have gone so far as to say that Macbeth, as we have it,,is not all Shakespeares, but in part the work of Thomas Middleton, a second or third-rate playwright con- * For the convenience of readers to whom my edition is not accessible I quote the following passage: I am more inclined to this opinion from the indications which the play itself affords that at was produced upon an emergency. It exhibits throughout the hasty execution of a grand and clearly conceived design. But the haste is that of a master of his art, who, with conscious com- mand of its resources, and in the frenzy of a grand inspiration, works out his conception to its minutest detail of essential form, leaving the work of surface finish for the occupation of cooler lei- sure. What the Sistine Madonna was to Raphael, it seems that Macbeth was to Shakespearea magnificent impromptu; that kind of impromptu which results from the application of well-dis- ciplined powers and rich stores of thought to a subjadt suggested by occasion. I am inclined to regard Macbath as, for the most part, a speci- men of Shakespeares unelaborated, if not unfin- ished, writing, in the maturity and highest vital- ity of his genius. It abounds in instances of extremest compression and most daring ellipsis; while it exhibits in every scene a union of su- preme dramatic and poetic power, and in almost every line an imperially irresponsible control of language. Hence, I think, its lack of formal completeness of versification in certain passages, and also of the imperfection in its text,the thought in which the compositors were not always able to follow and apprehend. The only authority for the text of Macbeth Is the folio of 1623, the ap- parent cormptions of which must be restored with a more than usually cautious hand. With- out being multitudinous or confusing, they are sufficiently numerous and important to test severely the patience, acumen, and judgment of any editor. The Works of WWiam Shalc~- speare. Vol. X., P. 421.. 1877.] V 75 76 ON READING SHAKESPEARE. [JAKUARY, temporary with Shakespeare, who wrote a play, called The Witch, which is plainly an imitation of the supernatural scenes in this tragedy. The Cambridge editors believe that Middleton was permitted to supply certain scenes at the time of the writ- ing of Macbeth: Mr. Fleay, that Mid- dleton cut down and patched up Shakespeares perfected work, adding much inferior matter of his own, and that he did this being engaged to alter the play for stage purposes. The lat- ter opinion I must reject, notwith- standing Mr. Ficays minute, elabo- rate, and often specious argument; but the opinion of the Cambridge ed- itors seems to me to a certain extent sound. I cannot, however, go to the length which they do in rejecting parts of this play as not being Shake- speares work. This study of Shake- speares style and of what is not his wQrk at a certain period of his life be- ing directly to our purpose, let us ex- amine the tragedy for traces of his hand and of another. And first let the rcader turn to Scene 5 of Act III., which consists al- most entirely of a long speech by lIe- cate, beginning: Have I not reason, beldames as you are, Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death: And I, the mistress of your charms, ihe close contriver of all harms, Was never called to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? This speech is surely not of Shake- speare s writing. Its being in octo- syllabic rhyme is not against it, how- ever; although he abandoned rhyme al- most altogether at or before this period. The fact of the business of the scene being supernatural would account for its form. But it is mere rhyme; little more than an unmeaning jin- gle of verses. Any journeyman at versemaking would write such stuff. Read the speech through, and then think of the writer of Hamlet, and Lear, and Othello, producing such a weak wash of words at the same time when he was writing those tragedies. And even turn back and compare it with the rhyming speeches of his other supernatural personages, of Puck and Titana and Oberon in A Midsummer Nights Dream, which he wrote at least ten or twelve years earlier, and you will see that it is not only so inferior, but so unlike his un- doubted work that it must be rejected. Turn next to Scene 3 of Act II., and read the speeches of the Porter. Long ago Coleridge said of these, This low soliloquy of the Porter and his few speeches afterward I believe to have been written for the mob by some other hand. That they were written for the mob is nothing against them as Shakespeares. Shakespeare wrote for the mob. He made a point of put- ting in something for the groundlings * in every play that he wrote. But with what a mighty hand he did it! so that those who have since then sat in the highest seats in the worlds theatre have laughed, and pondered as they laughed. Lear is notably free from this element; but even in the philosophical Hamlet we have the much elaborated scene of the Grave- diggers, which was written only to please Coleridges mob. t But let the reader now compare these Porters speeches in Macbeth with those of the Gravediggers in Hamlet, and if he is one who can hope to appre- ciate Shakespeare at all, he will at this stage of his study see at once that although both are low-comedy, tech- nically speaking, the former are low- lived, mean, thoughtless, without any other significance than that of the sur- face meaning of the poor, gross lan- guage in which they are written; while * So called because they stood on the ground. The pit was then a real pit, and its door was the bare earth. There were no benches. It was so in the French theatre until a much later period. Hence the French name parterre for the pitpar terre, upon theground. The name parquet, which Is given to that part of a theatre in America, is not French, and Is no word at all, but a miserable affected nonentity of sound. t The reader who cares to do so wfll find something upon this point in my essay on Shake. speares genius, Life and Genius of Shake- speare, pp. 280, 281. ON READING SHAKESPEARE. the latter, although far more laughable even to the most uncultivated hearer, are pregnant with thought and sug- gestion. There can be no question that these speeches in Macbeth were written by some other hand than Shakespeares. Having now satisfied ourselves that some part of Macbeth is not Shake- speares (and I began with those so manifestly spurious passages to estab- lish that point clearly and easily in the readers apprehension), we are in a proper mood of mind ~o consider the objections that have been made by the Cambridge editors to other parts of the tragedy. The whole second scene of Act I. is regarded as spurious be- cause of slovenly metre, too slovenly for him even when he is most careless; bombastic phraseology, too bom- bastic for him even when he is most so; also because he had too much good sense to send a severely wounded sol- dier with the news of a victory. I cannot reject this scene for these rea- sons. The question of metre and style is one of judgment; and the one seems to me not more irregular and careless, and the other not more tumid, than Shakespeare is in passages undoubt- edly of his writing; while there is a certain flavor of language in the scene and a certain roll of the words upon the tongue which are his peculiar traits and tricks of style. The point as to the wounded soldier seems to me a manifest misapprehension. He is not sent as a messenger. Nothing in the text or in the stage directions of the original edition gives even color to such an opinion. The first two scenes of this act prepare ones mind for the tragedy and lay out its action; and they do so, as far as design is con- cerned, with great skill. The first short scene announces the supernatural character of the agencies at work; the next tells us of the personages who are to figure in the action and the po- sition in which they are placed. In the second scene King Duncan and his suite, marching toward the scene of conflict, and so near it that they are within ear-shot, if not arrow-shot, meet a wounded officer. He is not sent to them. He is merely retiring from the field severely woundedso severely that he cannot remain long uncared for. The stage direction of the folio is Alarum within, which means (as will be found by examining other plays) that the sound of drums, trum- pets, and the conflict of arms is heard. Then, Enter King, etc., etc., meeting a bleeding Captaine. The King, then, does not greet or regard him as a mes- senger, but exclaims, What bloody man is that? and adds, He can re- port, as 8eelneth by his plight, the con- dition of the revolt. Plainly this is no messenger, but a mere wounded officer who leaves the field because, as he says, his gashes cry for help. In Act IV., Se. 1, this speech of the First Witch after the Show of Eight Kings,~~ is plainly not Shakespeares: Ay, sir, all this is so; but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights. Ill charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round, That this great king may kindly say Our duties did his welcome pay. This is condemned by the Cam- bridge editors, and I agree entirely with them. Moreover it seems to be manifestly from the same hand as Hecates speech (Act III., Sc. 5), pre- viously referred to. The style shows this, and the motive is the samethe introduction of fairy business, dancing and singing, which have nothing to do with the action of the tragedy, and are quite foreign to the supernatural motive of it as indicated in the witch scenes which have the mark of Shake- speares hand. In Act IV., Sc. 3, the passage in re- gard to touching for the Kings Evil, from Enter a Doctor to full of grace, was, we may be pretty sure, an interpolation previous to a representa- tion at court, as the Cambridge edit- ors suggest, and it is probably not Shakespeares; but I would not under- take to say so positively. The same editors say they have doubts about 1877.] V 77 78 ON READING SHAKESPEARE. [JANUARY. the second scene of Act V. I notice this not merely to exprcss my surprise at it, but to let the reader see how difficult it is to arrive at a general con- sent upon such poiats which are mere- ly matters of judgment. To me this scene is unmistakably Shakespeares. Who else could have written this pas- sage, not only for its excellence but for its peculiarity? Caithness.Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: Some say hes mad; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury; but for certain He cannot 1)uck,le his distempered cause JJithin the belt of rule. Angus. Now does he feel His secret murders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love; now doss hefeet his title Hang loose about him like a giants robe l7jpon a dwarfish thief. I am sure that I should have sus- pected those lines to be Shakespeares if I had first met them without a name, in a nameless book. Still more stir- prising is it to me to find these editors saying that in Act V., Sc. 5, lines 47 50 are singularly wcak. Here they are: If this which he avouches does appear, There is no flying hence or tarrying hare. I gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate of the world were now un- done. The first two have no particular char- acter, nor need they have any, as they merely introduce the last two, which contain an utterance of blank despair and desolation which seems to me more expressive than any other that I ever read. The last passage of the play, that after line 34, when Macbeth and Mac- duff go off fighting, and Macbeth is killed, are probably, as the Cambridge editors suggest, by another hand than Shakespeares. Their tameness and their constrained rhythm arc not Shake- spearian work, particularly at this pe- riod of his life, and in the writing of such a scene. Nor would he, as the Cambridge editors say, have drawn away the veil which with his fine tact he had dropped over her [Lady Macbeths] fate by telling us that she had taken off her life by self, and violent hands. The person who wrote these un- Shakespearian passages was prob- ably Middleton. Shakespeare, writ- ing the tragedy in haste for an occa- sion, received a little help, according to the fashion of the time, from an- other playwright; and the latter hav- ing imitated the supernatural poets of this play in one of his own, the play- ers or managers afterward introduced from that play songs by him Music and a song, Come away, come away, Act III., Sc. 5, and Music and a song, Black spirits, etc., Act IV., Sc. 1. This was done to please the inferior part of the audience. These songs and all this sort of operatic incantation are entirely foreign to the supernatural motive of the tragedy as Shakespeare conceived it. And I will here remark that the usual performance of Mac- beth with a chorus and all Lockes music is a revolting absurd- ity. My next paper will close this se- ries with an examination of some of Shakespeares least known dramas. RICHARD GRAST WRITE. V APPLIED SCIENCE. A LOVE STORY IN TWO cHArTERS. CHAPTER I. THE village of Salmon Falls, in eastern New England, consists of a number of mills and factories, the railroad station, a store or two, and two hundred dwellings. Among these is the Denny mansion at the top of the hill, where the road climbs up from the station and the river. It is a large square house in the old colo- nial fashion, with two wings at the rear and a garden in front. It was a warm July morning when Mr. John Denny, mill owner and pro- prietor of the homestead, had his chair rolled out to the porch, and with some assistance from the servants, reached it on his crutch and sat down in the shadow of the great house and out of the glare of the hot sun. The vine-covered porch and the wide pi- azza opened directly upon the garden and gave a full view of the road. Beyond there was an outlook over the open fields, the mills, the stream, and the village in the valley. By the road there was a stone wall and a wicker gate opening upon the grassy sidewalk outside. A table had been laid with a white cloth in the porch, and Mr. Denny sat by it and waited for the coming of his daughter and breakfast. While he sat thus he turned over a number of papers, and then, after a while, he began to talk to himself somewhat in this wise: Expense I expense I expense I There seems no end to it. Bills com- ing in every day, and every one larger than was expected. In my young days we built a shop and knew to a dollar what it would cost. Now the estimates are invariably short. The batting mill has already gone a thou- sand dollars beyond the estimates, and the roof .is but just put on. Even the new chimney cost four dol mrs a foot more than was expected. Thank Heaven, it is done, and that expense is over. Could I walk, IL might look after things and keep them within bounds. With my crush- ed foot I sit a prisoner at home, and must leave all to Lawrence. It is for- tunate that I have one man I can trust with my affairs. Just here Alma,his only child, a bright and wholesome girl of nine- teen, appeared from the house. Fair- ly educated, sensible, and affectionate, but perhaps a trifle inexperienced by reason of her residence in this quiet place, she is at once the pride and the light of the house. Good morning, father. Are you well this happy summers day? The old gentleman kissed her fond- ly, and asked did she pass a quiet night. Oh, yes. I didnt sleep much, that is allfor thinking. Thinking of what? The expected guest. To-day is the 9th of July, and cousin Elmer comes. Ah, yesElmer Franklin. I had almost forgotten him. How does he look,father? Is his hair dark, or has he blue eyes? I hardly know which I like best. IL do not remember. Ive not seen the boy since he was a mere child, years ago. He has been at school since. He must be a man now. He is past twenty-one, and, as for school, why, its the Scientific School, and Im sure men go to that. You seem greatly interested in this unknown relative, Alma. He is to be our guest, fatherfor a whole month. Come! Will you havp breakfast out here in the porch? Yes, dear. It is quite comfortable

V APPLIED SCIENCE. A LOVE STORY IN TWO cHArTERS. CHAPTER I. THE village of Salmon Falls, in eastern New England, consists of a number of mills and factories, the railroad station, a store or two, and two hundred dwellings. Among these is the Denny mansion at the top of the hill, where the road climbs up from the station and the river. It is a large square house in the old colo- nial fashion, with two wings at the rear and a garden in front. It was a warm July morning when Mr. John Denny, mill owner and pro- prietor of the homestead, had his chair rolled out to the porch, and with some assistance from the servants, reached it on his crutch and sat down in the shadow of the great house and out of the glare of the hot sun. The vine-covered porch and the wide pi- azza opened directly upon the garden and gave a full view of the road. Beyond there was an outlook over the open fields, the mills, the stream, and the village in the valley. By the road there was a stone wall and a wicker gate opening upon the grassy sidewalk outside. A table had been laid with a white cloth in the porch, and Mr. Denny sat by it and waited for the coming of his daughter and breakfast. While he sat thus he turned over a number of papers, and then, after a while, he began to talk to himself somewhat in this wise: Expense I expense I expense I There seems no end to it. Bills com- ing in every day, and every one larger than was expected. In my young days we built a shop and knew to a dollar what it would cost. Now the estimates are invariably short. The batting mill has already gone a thou- sand dollars beyond the estimates, and the roof .is but just put on. Even the new chimney cost four dol mrs a foot more than was expected. Thank Heaven, it is done, and that expense is over. Could I walk, IL might look after things and keep them within bounds. With my crush- ed foot I sit a prisoner at home, and must leave all to Lawrence. It is for- tunate that I have one man I can trust with my affairs. Just here Alma,his only child, a bright and wholesome girl of nine- teen, appeared from the house. Fair- ly educated, sensible, and affectionate, but perhaps a trifle inexperienced by reason of her residence in this quiet place, she is at once the pride and the light of the house. Good morning, father. Are you well this happy summers day? The old gentleman kissed her fond- ly, and asked did she pass a quiet night. Oh, yes. I didnt sleep much, that is allfor thinking. Thinking of what? The expected guest. To-day is the 9th of July, and cousin Elmer comes. Ah, yesElmer Franklin. I had almost forgotten him. How does he look,father? Is his hair dark, or has he blue eyes? I hardly know which I like best. IL do not remember. Ive not seen the boy since he was a mere child, years ago. He has been at school since. He must be a man now. He is past twenty-one, and, as for school, why, its the Scientific School, and Im sure men go to that. You seem greatly interested in this unknown relative, Alma. He is to be our guest, fatherfor a whole month. Come! Will you havp breakfast out here in the porch? Yes, dear. It is quite comfortable APPLIED SCIENCE. here, and it will save the trouble of movino~ Thereupon Alma entered the house in search of the breakfast, and a mo- ment after Mr. Lawrence Belford en-~ tered the garden at the street gate. The son of an old friend of Mr. Den- nys lamented wife, Mr. Belford had been admitted to the house some months siace as confidential clerk and business man. He was a rather com- monplace person, about thirty years of age, and his education and manners were good if not remarkable. During his residence with the Dennys he had found time to fall in love with Alma, and they had been engagedand with Mr. Dennys consent. Good morning, Lawrence. Youre just in time for breakfast. Good morning, sir. Thank you, no. I have been to 1)reakfast. I am just up from the station. Seen anything of the railroad coach? The train is in, and it is time for the coach to pass. Our guest may be in it. No, sir, but I saw the express coming up the hill with an extra large load of baggage. Just here Alma returned from the house bearing a large tray of plates and breakfast things. The young people greet each other pleasantly, and Alma proceeds to lay the table. Now for breakfast, father. Every- thing waits upon a good appetite. Will you not join us, Lawrence? Mr. Belford replies that he has been to breakfast. Mr. Denny takes a cup of coffee, and while sipping it re- marks: How many more window-frames shall you require for the new mill, Lawrence? Ten more, sir. There is only a part of the fourth story unfinished. Alma, dear, do you remember how high we decided the new chimney was to be? Yes, thank you, only two lumps of sugar. Thank you. You remember we were talking about it when the Lawsons were here. Dont ask me. Ask Lawrence. I never can remember anything about such matters. Just at that moment the express pulled up at the gate, and there was a knock. Alma rose hastily, and said: Oh! That must be Elmer. She opened the gate, and young Mr. Elmer Franklin of New York en- tered. A man to respect: an open, manly face, clear blue eyes, and a wiry, compact, and vigorous frame. A man with a sound mind in a sound body. He was dressed in a gray trav- elling suit, and had a knapsack strapped to his back; in his hand a stout stick looking as if just cut from the roadside, and at his side a field glass in a leather case. Immediately behind him caine a man bending un- der the load of an immense trunk. Alma smiled her best, and the young stranger bowed gallantly. Mr. Denny, I presume? Welcome, cousin Franklin, said Mr. Denny from his chair. I knew you at once, though it is years since any members of our families have met. Pardon me if I do not rise. Im an old man, and confined to my chair. Mr. Franklin offered his hand and said politely: Thank you, sir, for your kind re- ception. I am greatly pleased to Hullo! Look out there, boys! That baggage is precious and fragile. Another man appeared, and the two brought in trunks and boxes, bundles and parcels, till there was quite a large heap of baggage piled up on the grass. Alma and Lawrence were properly amazed at this array of things porta- ble, and Mr. Denny laid aside the breakfast things to look at the .rather remarkable display. The young man seemed to think apologies essential. I do not wonder that you are alarmed. I do not often take such a load of traps. I wrote you that my visit would be one of study and scien- tific investigation, and I was obliged to. bring my philosopjiical apparatus and books with mc. 80 V [JANUARY, 1877.] APPLIED SCIENCE. 81 It is indeed a wonderful train of luggage for a man. One would have thought you intended to bring a wife. Then Mr. Denny bethought him of his duty, and he introduced his newly found relative to his daughter and to Mr. Lawrence Belford, and then bade him draw up to the table for breakfast. The young man made the motioas suitable for such an occasion, and then he turned to pay his expressman. This trifling incident deserves record as happily illustrating the young mans noble character. Thank you, sir. Breakfast will be a cheerful episode. Ive a glorious appetite, for I walked up from the sta- tion. Theres a coach, Mr. Franklin, and it passes our door. I knew that, sir, but I preferred to walk and see the country. Fine section of conglomerate you have in the road cutting just above the sta- tion. EhI What were you saying? I said that I observed an interest- ing section of conglomeratewater- worn pebbles, I should saymingled with quartz sand, on the roadside. I must have a run down there and a bet- ter look at it after breakfast. Mr. Denny was somewhat ovcr- whelmed at this, and said doubtfully, Ah, yes, I rememberyes, ex- actly. Are you interested in gcology, Miss Denny? Alma was rather confused, and tried hard to find the lump of sugar that had melted away in her coffee, and said briefly, No. I didnt know that we had any in this part of the country. Mr. Belford here felt called upon to say: My dear Alma, you forget your- self. Why will you take me up so sharply, Lawrence? I meant to say that I didnt know we had any quartz conglomerate hereabouts2 Mr. Franklin smiled pleasantly, and remarked to himself: My dear Alma! Thats significant. Wonder if hes spooney on her?~ Then he said aloud: The pursuit of science demands good dinners. Pardon me if I take some more coffee. Yes, doand these rolls. I made them myselfexpressly for you. Thank you for both rolls and com- pliment. Mr. Lawrence took up some of the papers from the table and began to read them, and the others went on with their breakfast. Presently Mr. Denny said: I presume, Mr. Franklin, that you nre greatly interested in your school studies? Yes, sir. The pursuit of pure science is one of the most noble em- ployments that can tax the ciAtivated intellect. But you must confess that it is not very practical. Before the young man could reply Alma spoke: Oh I cousin ElmerI mean Mr. Franklinexcuse inc. You havent taken off your knapsack. Taking it off and throwing it be- hind him on the ground, he said: Its only my clothes. Clothes! said Mr. Denny. Then what is in the trunks? My theodolite, cameras, chains, levels, telescopes, retorts, and no end of scientific traps. Alma, quite pleased: How interesting. Wont you open one of the trunks and let us see some of the things? With the greatest pleasure; but perhaps Id better take them to my room first. ~Anything you like, ElmerMr. Franklin, I mean. Our house is your home. Lawrence Belford here frowned and looked in an unpleasant manner for a moment at the young stranger, who felt rather uncomfortable, though he could scarcely say why. With appa- rent indifference he drew out a small brass sounder, such as is used in tele APPLIED SCIENCE. graph offices, and began snapping it in his fingers. In his mind he said: Wonder if any of them are famil- iar with the great dot and line alpha- bet 1 Alma heard the sounder and said eagerly: Oh! couMr. Franklin, what is that? It is a pocket sounder. Do you know the alphabet? I should hope so. I beg pardon. I meant Morses. Morses? Yes. Morses alphabet. No. You must teach it to me. Thereupon he moved the sounder slowly, giving a letter at a time, and saying: A- L--- M A-. Thats your name. Queer sound, isnt it ? Let me try. Perhaps I could do it. My dear Alma, your father is waiting. You had best remove the things. Yes, Lawrence. Ill call Mary. The maid soon appeared, and the breakfast things were removed. Then Mr. Denny drew Mr. Franklins atten- tion to the new factory chimney that stood in plain sight from where they sat. The young man promptly drew out his field glass, and, mounting one of the steps of the porch, took a long look at the new shaft. Not quite plumb, is it? Not plumb! What do you mean? It is impossible, said Mr. Belford with some warmth. It looks so, said the young man with the glass still up at his eyes. I tell you it is impossible, sir. I built it myself, and I ought to know. Oh! Beg pardon. You can take the glass and see for yourself. I need no glass. I took the stage down only yesterday, and I ought to know. Allow me to take your glass, cou- sin Franklin, said Mr. Denny. He took the glass, but quickly laid it down with a sigh. My eyes are old and weak, and the glass does not suit them. I am very sorry to hear what you say. I would not have one of my chimneys out of line for the world. I am sorry I said anything about it, sir. I did not know the chimney be- longed to you. Alma was apparently distressed at the turn the conversation had taken, and tried to lead it to other matters, but the old gentlemans mind was dis- turbed, and he returned to the chim- ney. I designed it to be the tallest and finest chimney I ever erected, and I hope it is all correct. It is, sir, said Mr. Belford. Everything is correct to the very eapstones. It is my tallest chimney, Mr. Franklineighty-one feet and six inches; and that is two feet taller than any chimney in the whole Salmon Falls valley. Mr. Franklin, in an innocent spirit of scientific inquiry, put his glass to his eyes and examined the chimney again. Alma began to feel ill at ease, and Lawrence Belford indulged in a mut- tered curse under his black moustache. Eighty-one feet and six inches the tallest chimney in the valley. No one seemed to heed the old gen- tlemans remark, and presently Mr. Franklin laid his field glass on the table, and taking out his brass sounder, he idly moved it as if absently think- ing of something. Alma suddenly looked up with a little blush and a smile. 11cr eyes seemed to say to him: I heard you call ? What is it? He nodded pleasantly, and said, Would you like to see some of my traps? Oh, yes. Do open one of your trunks. Mr. Franklin took out a bunch of keys and weift to one of the trunks. As he did so he said to himself: Deuced bright girl I She learned 82 U [JANUAUY, 1877.] APPLIED SCIENCE. 83 my call in a flash. I must teach her the whole alphabet, and then will have some tall fun and circumvent that fool of a clerk. This remark was applied to Mr. Bel- ford, and was eminent for its touching truth. While the young people were open- ing the trunk, Mr. Denny and Mr. Belford were engaged in examining the business papers spread on the table, and for several minutes they paid no attention to things done and said al- most under their eyes. Such a very strange trunk. Instead of clothing, it contained the most sin- gular assortment of scientific instru- ments. Each was carefully secured so that no rude handling would harm it, and all shining and glistening bril- liantly as if kept with the most ex- quisite care. Mr. Franklin unfastencd a small brass telescope, mounted upon a stand, with a compass, levels, plumb line, and weight attached. Thats my theodolite. Theres a tripod ia one of my boxes. Ill get it and mount it, and well have a shot at the chimney. What do you mean? Oh, nothing I Im going to mea- sure it. Wouldnt you like to help With all my heart. Tell me what to do. Presently. Wait till Ive screwed things together; then Ill tell you what to do. Oh I By the way, I must tell you an amusing episode that happened at the railroad station while I was waiting for my luggage. There was a young man sending off a message at the little telegraph station, and I over- heard the message and the comments of the operator. Alma didnt appear to enjoy this in- ciLlent. Not listening intentionally, you know. It was the telegraph I heard, not the people. Alma felt better. It was all by mere sounds, and it ran this way: The old fool is here again. Thats what she saidthe op erator, I mean. To Isaac Abrams, 1,607 Barclay street, New York. I have secured the will. Foreclose the mortgage and realize at once. Get two state rooms for the 25th.L. B. That was the message, and it was so very strange I wrote it out in my Oh I Beg pardon, Miss Denny. Are you ill ? Almas face had assumed a sudden pallor, and she seemed frightened and ill at ease. Tis nothingreally nothing I I shall be better presently. Then, as if anxious to change the conversation, she began to ask rapid questions about the theodolite and its uses. Mr. Franklin was too well bred to notice anything, but he confessed to himself that he had said something awkward, and, for the life of him, he could not imagine what it might be. He replied briefly, and then went on with his preparations for some time in silence, Alma meanwhile looking on with the greatest interest. The theo- dolite having been put together, Mr. Franklin opened another box and took out a wooden tripod, such as are used to support such instruments. He also took out a fine steel ribbon, or measur- ing tape, neatly wound up on a reel. You shall carry that, Miss Denny, and Ill shoulder the theodolite. Wait till I get my hat and the sun umbrella. To be sure; it will be warm in the fields. Alma was soon arrayed in a dainty chip. At least she called it a chip, and the historian can do naught but repeat her language. Besides this, it was not bigger than a chip, and it looked very pretty tied under her chin. Over her head she carried its real protection, an immense Japanese paper umbrella, light, airy, and gen- erous. Where are you going, Alma I said Mr. Denny. Oh I only to the fields for a little walk. Well be back presently. The confidential clerk thought it 84 APPLIED SCIENCE. [JANUAIIY, strange that the daughter of the house should be so free with the stranger. But the young people were distant cousins, and it wouldnt have been po- lite in him to have objected to the lit- tle walk. So the two, under the friendly shade of the big paper umbrella, went out to see the new chimney, while Mr. Den- ny and the confidential clerk staid be- hind to talk business. The new chimney stood at the south- east corner of the great four-story mill, and close beside the little brick en- gine house. Alma led the youthful son of science out of the gate, down the road a few rods, and then they passed a stile, and took the winding path that straggled over the pastures to the mill. Of course they talked volubly. This being the stern and prosy record of applied science, it becomes us not to report the chatterings of these two till they reached the base of the vast brick chimney, towering nearly eighty feet into the air above them. Its long shadow lay like a stiffened snake upon the fields, and Elmer, observing it, said: Good! We can use the shadow, too, and have double proof. How? said the bright one, in a beautiful spirit of inquiry. If an upright stick, a foot long, casts a shadow three feet long, the shadow of another stick beside it, at the same time, is proportionally long. I knew that before. That isnt very high science. Why did you say how I Because I didnt think. Because I was a goose. Such terms are not choice, and are devoid of truth. Here I stern duty calls. Do you hold one end of the tape at the foot of the chimney, and Ill measure off the base line of our triangle. Alma was charmed to be of use, and sat on a stone with the brass ring of the tape on her ring finger next her engagement ring, and her hand fiat against the first course of bricks. Trifles sometimes hint great events. Little did she think that the plain brass ring on her finger was the hard truth of science that should shiver her gold ring to fragments and pale its sparkling diamond. Being a whole- some creature, and not given to ro- mance, she thought nothing about it, which was wise. Her cousin, the knight of the theodolite, set his instru- ment upright upon the grass, and then ran the measuring line out to its full length. All right I Let the tape go. Alma took off the brass ring, and the steel ribbon ran like a glittering snake through the grass, and she slowly fol. lowed it and joined her knight. Once more, please. Hold the ring on this bit of a~ stake that Ive set up in the ground. Alma, like a good girl, did as she was bid, and the ribbon ran out again to its full length. Another stake was set up, and the theodolite was placed in position and a sight obtained at th& top of the tall chimney. A little fig- uring in a note-book, and then the son of high science quietly remarked: Seventy-six feet four inchesshort five feet two inches. Just here several urchins of an in- quiring turn of mind drew near and began to make infantile comments, and asked with charming freedom if it was circus. No ~ said Alma, from under her paper tent. No! Run away, chil- dren, run away.~~ It was too warm for so much exer- tion, and they wouldnt move. Oh I never mind them. They dont trouble me; and if it amuses them, its so much clear gain.~~ They are some of the factory chil- dren, and I thought they might bother you. Inelegant, but thoughtful. He didnt say so. He only thought it, which was quite as well. During this little episode the im- pressive facts that all this scientific exertion had brought out concerning the chimney were lost upon Alma. APPLIED SCIENCE. It was small consequence. She knew it well enough before night. Now for the shadow by way of proof. The theodolite, paper umbrel- la, and admiring crowd of children trotted severally and collectively over the grass till they reached the chimney again. The tape-measure, Alma. You hold the ring, and Ill unreel the string. It was surprising how quickly these two made each others acquaintance. By the time the long shadow was measured, a stake set up, and the two shadows compared, they seemed to have known each other for weeks. Such is the surprising effect of pure science when applied to love. Had it come to this already? She was engaged to the confidential, the chimney-builder. His ring glittered on her finger. Trueall of it I See them sauntering slowly (the thermometer at 87 deg.) homeward under the friendly shade of an oiled paper umbrella. They are indeed good friends already. They enter the house togethcr, and the cheerful dinner bell greets their ears. She folds her oiled paper tent and he sets his instrument up in a corner of the great shady hail. She leads the way to the chamber that is to be his room during his stay, and then retires to her own to prepare for the frugal noontide meal. The exact truth records that the meal was not severely frugal. It was othorwise, and so much nicer. The entire family were assembled, and conversation was lively, consider- ing the weather. Near the close of the meal it grew suddenly warm. The in- nocent son of science, proud of his accomplishments, made a most incau- tious statement, and the result was pe- culiar. Oh, uncle, you were saying this morning that my science was not very practical. I tried a bit of it on your chimney this morning, and what do you think I found I Im sure I cant tell, said Mr. Denny. 0 I measured it, and it is exactly seventy-six feet, four inches high. If he had dropped a can of nitro- glycerine under the table, the effect couldat have been more startling. Mr. Lawrence Belford dropped his fruit knife with a ruinous rattle, his face assumed the color of frosted cake (the frosting, to be exact), and he seemed thoroughly frightened. Mr. Denny looked surprised, and said, What? Alma said nothing, but fished for the sugar in her strawberries and cream. What did you say, Mr. Franklin? I said that I measured the new chimney, just for the fun of the thing, and found that it is exactly seventy- six feet, fo.r inches high. its an abominable lie. Lawrence I said Alma, with an appealing glance. Are you sure, Mr. Franklin? Have you not made some mistake? You are utterly mistaken, Mr. Franklin. I measured that chimney with a line from the top, and I know your statement is entirely incorrect. I hope so, said the old gentle- man. It is so, sir, added Mr. Belford; and then, waxing bolder, he said, How could this young person, just from school, know anything of such matters? Did he build a staging, or did he climb up the inside like a chim- ney sweep? Young Mr. Franklin saw that he had in some innocent fashion started a most disagreeable subject. Why Mr. Denny should be so disturbed and Mr. Belford so angry was past his comprehension. At the same time Mr. Belfords language was offensive, and he replied with some spirit: There is no need to climb the chimney, or use a line. It is a trifling affair to ascertain the height of any building with a theodohite, as you probably know. I tell you, sir, it is falseutterly false. Besides, you have made some mistake in the figures. Youyou 1877.3 9 85 88 APPLIED SCIENCE. [JA~tTARY, but Ive no patience with such boys play. Its only fit for school children. Lawrence, said Alma, you are unkind. Im sure we meant no harm. I helped Mr. Franklin, and Im sure hes right; besides, we measured the chimney by its shacbw, and both statements were alike. Oh, if youve turned against me, Ive nothing more to say. Mr. Denny meanwhile seemed lost in deep study, and he hardly heeded what was going on. What can that boy know about such things? I tell you, its It seems to me, Mr. Belford, you are unnecessarily excited,~~ said Mr. Denny. Mr. Franklin is a much younger man than you, but he showed a knowledge of this matter, and if his figures are correct They are, sir,~~ said Elmer warm. ly. I can show you the base line, and the theodolite is still at the same angle. Alma saw me measure the base, and she can tell you its length. There are the figures in my note-book. Mr. Denny took the note-book and examined the figuring out of this problem, and Elmer went to the hall for his instrument. He returned with the theodolite still secured at the angle at which the sight had been takea. As he laid the instrument on the din- ing table, he said: I am very sorry, uncle, that I did anything about this matter. It was done in mere sport, and I wish I had said nothing concerning it. I would not had not Mr. Belford used the lan- guage he did. Mr. Denny ran his eye over the fig- ures in the book, and then, with a pain- ed expression, he said briefly, Everything seems to be correct. Damnation! Ill break his head for him, the intermeddling fool. This language was not actually used by Mr. Belford, but he thought as much. His eyes flashed, and he clenched his fists under the table. Almas presence alone restrained him from something more violent. He appeared calm, but inwardly he was augry. This unex pected announcement concerning the chimney he had built cast a heavy shadow over him, and his conscience awoke with a sudden smart. Alma was greatly disturbed, and rcady to cry for shame and vexation. She did not, for she felt sure this was only the beginning of a new trouble, and she well knew that heavy sorrows had already invaded the house. They needed no more. Mr. Franklin glanced from one to another in alarm. He saw that he was treading upon uncertain ground, and he wisely held his peace. After a brief and awkward pause, Mr. Belford rose, and pleading the calls of busi- ness, went out, and the unhappy inter- view came to an end. It was a strange room. Its belong- ings stranger still. A large square chamber, with windows on three sides and a door and a fireplace on the other. Just now the fireplace had fallen from its high estate and had be- come a catch-all for the wrecks of much unpacking. There was a small single bed, two chairs, and an indefin- ite number of tables. Impossible to say how many, for they were half ob- scured by numberless things scientific: microscopes, a retort, small furnace, two cameras, galvanic battery, coils of wire and rQbber tubing, magic lan- tern, books, photographs, and papers; on a small desk a confused pile of papers; on the walls a great number of pictures and photographs. The very den of a student of science. Hardly room to walk among the wil- derness of traps, boxes, and trunks. At the window, the young man, just dressed, and taking a view of the mill and its new chimney. Gad! how mad the fellow was over my little measurements. Wonder what it all means i The girls in trouble, the father has a grief, and the clerkI can make nothing of him. What matter? My duty is with my books, that I may pursue pure science. The moment things become practical I drop em. 1877.] APPLIED SCIENCE. 87 Then he turned and looked out of the next window. Fine view of the river. I must have another try at it with the camera. He crossed the room, and standing in the bright morning sunshine, he looked about to examine the other L that had been thrown out from the back of the main building. Thats Almas room, and the next is the clerks, the chimney man. The window is open, and the place looks as dark as a cave. Ive a mind to light it up. So saying he took a small hand mir- ror from a table near by. Holding it in the full sunlight, he moved it slowly about till the dancing spot of reflected light fell upon the open window and leaped in upon the opposite wall of the room. The observer with steady hand moved the spot of light about till he had probed the room, and found all it contained, which was nothing save a bed and two chairs. Applied science reports the man is fit for treason, spoils, and that sort of thing. He has no pictures. His room is a sleeping den. The man is a Hallo I Steady there I The door in the room opened, and the student of applied science turned quickly away with his back to the wall beside his window. Cautiously raising the mirror, he held it near the window in such a way that in it he could see all that went on in the other room, without being himself seen. Suddenly he saw something in the glass. Some one appeared at the win- dow, looked out as if watching for something, and then withdrew into the bare little sleeping room. Then the figure in the mirror went to the bed and carefully turned all the clothes back. The student of science watched the mirror intently. The figure bent over the uncovered mat- tress and quietly opened the sacking and took something out. It sat down on the edge of the disordered bed and proceeded to examine the box or bun- dle, whatever it might be, that it had found in the bed. Just here there was the sound of a distant door opening and closing. The figure crouched low on the bed, as if fearing to be seen, and waited till all was quiet again. Then it slowly opened the box or package, and took out a folded paper. The student bent over the mirror with the utmost inter- est. What did it mean? What would happen next? Nothing in particular happened. The figure closed the box, returned it to its hiding place in the bed, and then crept out of the range of reflected vision. Why should the confidential clerk hide papers in his bed? What was the nature of the documents? A strange affair, certainly, but it did not concern him, and perhaps he had bet- ter drop the subject. He turned to his books and papers, and for an hour or more was too much occupied with them to heed aught else. Suddenly there was a brisk series of taps at his door, like this: Im here. Come in. Alma, the bright one entered. What a room I Such disorder, Elmer. Yes. It is quite a comfortable den. Ive unpacked everything, andmind your stepsfeel quite at homethank you. I should say as much. Do look at the dust. I must have Mary up here at once. Madam, I never allow any female person to touch my traps. Mary may make the bed, but she must not sweep, nor dust, nor touch anythiag. Oh! really. Then Ill go at once. Better not. Why? Because Ive many things to show Oh, Elmer! What is thatthat queer thing on ths table? May I look at it? Thats my new camera.~~ How stupid. I might have known that. Do you take pictures? Photos? Yes. Will you sit? Oh, dear, no. I hate photo- APPLIED SCIENCE. graphs. Its so disagreeable to see oneself staring with some impossible expression, and sitting in an impossi- ble palace, with a distant landscape and drapery curtains. Then Ill take a view for you. Find a seat somewhere while I rig things. See those two people sitting on the little bridge that crosses the race beyond the mill? Ill photo- graph them without their permission. Alma looked out of the window when Elmer had raised the curtain, but de- clared she couldnt see anything. They are very far off. Take the field glass, and youll see them. Alma took the glass from the table, and looked out on the sunny land- scape. I see what you mean, but I cant make out who they are, even with the glass. Its a man and a woman, and thats as much as I can see. You shall see them plain enough in a moment. So saying, Elmer placed a long brass telescope upon a stand by the open window, and through it he examined the couple on the bridge. Meanwhile Alma gazed round the room and ex- amined its strange contents with the greatest interest. The moment the focus of the glass was secured, Elmer hastily took the little camera, and adjusting a slide in it from a table drawer, he placed it before the telescope on the table and close to the eye hole. Then, by throw- ing a black cloth over his head, he looked into it, turned a screw or two, and in a moment had a negative of Lhe distant couple. Arent you almost ready? In one moment, Alma. I must fix this first. P11 be right back. So saying he took the slide from the little camera, and went out of the room into a dark closet in the entry. Alma waited patiently for a fow mo- ments, and then she took up the field glass, and looked out of the window. Who could they be? They seemed to 1)e having a cosy time together; but beyond the fact that one figure was a woman she could learn nothing. She wanted to take a look through the tele- scope, but did not dare to move the little camera that stood before it. Heres the picture, said Elmer as he entered the room. Alma took the bit of glass he offered her, but declared she couldnt see any- thing but a dirty spot on the glass. Thats the negative. Let me copy it, and then Ill throw it up with the stereopticon. He selected anotherbit of glass from a box, and in a few minutes had it prepared and the two put together and laid in the sun on the window-seat. Whats in that iron box, Elmer? Nitrous oxide. The same thing that the dentisbe use? Yes. Would you like to try a whiff? Its rather jolly, and will not hurt you in the least. Elmer caught up a bit of rubber pipe, secured one end to the iron chest and inserted the other in a mouth- piece having the proper inhalation and exhalation valves. Put that in your mouth for a mo- ment. Alma, with beautiful confidence, put the tube in her mouth, and in a moment her pretty head fell back against the back of the chair in deep sleep. With wonderful speed and skill Elmer rolled a larger camera that stood in a corner out into the centre of the room, ran in a slide, adjusted the focus, and before the brief slumber passed had a negative of the sleeping one. Oh, how odd! What a queer sen- sation to feel yourself going and go- ing, off and off, till you dont know where you are I It is rather queer. Ive often tak- en the gas myselfjust for fun. Now, Alma, if you will let down the cur- tains, and close the shutters, and make the room dark, Ill light the lan- tern and show you the picture. Alma shut the blinds, drew down the curtains, and closed all the shut- ters save one. 88 V [JANUARY, 1877.] APPLIED SCIENCE. 89 Wont it be too dark? No. It must be quite dark. You can stand here in the middle of the room and look at that bit of bare wall between the windows. I left that space clear for a screen. ~ Alma eagerly took her place, and said with a laugh: If this is the pursuit of pure sci- ence, it is very amusing. Id like to study sciencein this way. Yes, it is rather interesting Oh, Elmer, its pitch dark. Never mind. Stand perfectly still and watch the wall. Theretheres the spot of light. Now Ill run in the positive. A round spot of white light fell on the unpapered wall, and then two dusky shadows slid over it, vague, ob- scur2, and gigantic. There are your people. Now Ill adjust the focus. Therelook. A heavy sob startled him. Oh! Its that hateful Alice Green! Elmer opened the door of the lan- tern, and the light streamed full upon Alma. She was bathed in tears, and her shoulders, visible through her light summer dress, shook with sobs. Whats the matter? Nothing I Oh, itsnothinglet mego With an impatient gesture she tried to brush the tears from her eyes, and then, without a word, she hastily ran out of the room. The student of pure science was sur- prised beyond measure. What had happened? What new blunder had he committed ? With all his deep study of things material he was igno- rant of things emotional and sentimen- tal. This exhibition of anger and grief in his pretty cousin utterly dis- concerted him. He did not know what to do, nor what to think, and he stood in the glare of his lantern for a moment or two in deep thought. Then he closed the lantern and turn- ing round, examined the shadowy pic- ture thrown upon the wall. It repre- sented a young man and a young woman seated upon the wooden rail of the bridge in the open air, and in most loving embrace. His arm was about her waist, and he was looking in her face. His straw hat hid his features, but the face of the young woman was turned toward the camera that had so perfectly mirrored them both. She seemed to be a young and pretty girl in the more lowly walks of life, and her lover seemed to be a gentleman. What a pity he hadnt looked up I Who could he be ~ And she? Almas remark plainly showed that she at least knew the girl, and for some rea- son was hotly indignant with her. Thinking he had made trouble enough already, Elmer took one more good look at the picture, and then pre- pared to destroy it. Something about the young mans hat struck him as fa- miliar. It was a panama hat, and had two ribbons wound round it in a fan- ciful manner that was not exactly con- ventional. He silently opened a shutter, and the picture faded away. He drew up the curtains and looked out on the bridge. The young couple had disap- peared. Poor innocents! They little knew how their pictures had been taken in spite of themselves, and they little knew the tragic and terrible consequences that were to flow from the stolen photograph so strangely made. Elmer took the little slide from the lantern, and was on the point of shivering it to fragments on the hearthstone, when he paused in deep thought. Was it wise to destroy it? Had he not better preserve it? Per- haps he could some day solve the mys- tery that hung about it, and find out the cause of Almas grief and anger. Perhaps he might help her; and there came a softening about his heart that seemed both new and wonderfully un- scientific. Shortly after this the dinner bell rang, and he went down to the din- ing-room. Alma sent word that she had a severe headache and could not appear. Mr. Belford was already there, and he looked at Mr. Franklin APPLIED SCIENCE. with an expression that made the young man uncomfortable in spite of himself. Mr. Denny was unusually thoughtful and silent, and conversa- tion between the younger men was not particularly brilliant or entertaining. At last the dreary meal was finished. Mr. Belford rose first and went out into the hall. Mr. Franklin followed him, and saw something that quite took his breath away. There lay the hat of the photo. graph, double ribbons and all. Mr. Belford quietly took it up and put it en, and it fitted him perfectly. Elmer stopped abruptly and looked at the man with the utmost interest. The confidential, the chimney builder paid no attention, and quickly passed on out of the front door. E. Franklin, you have made a dis- covery. The pursuit of pure science never showed anything half so inter- esting as this. You had better raise a cloud on the subject. Gad I Its cloudy enough already! This to himself as he slowly went up stairs to his room. Selecting a pipe, he filled it, and finding a com- fortable seat, he fired up and prepared to examine mentally the events of the day. It was the confidential, making love to some village beauty, supposed to be Green, by name, if not by na- ture. Alma loves him. Thats bad. Perhaps shes engaged to him. Has she a ring? Yessaw it the other day. The affair is cloudyandGad! Blessed if I dont keep that lantern- slide! It may be of use som~ day. Come in. This last was in response to a knock at the door. Mr. Belford entered, panama hat with two ribbons in hand. Good afternoon, Mr. Franklin. I thought I might find you here. Yes, Im at leisure. What can I do for you? Smoke I No; I cant to-day. The fact is, Ive a bad tooth, and smoking troubles it. Indeed? Let me see it. Im a bit of a dentist. Are you ? Thats fortunate, for it aches sadly, and our nearest dentist is five miles away. Sit right here by the window, where I can have a good light. Mr. Belford,a physical coward, could not bear pain; and though he was un- willing to be under obligations to one whom he considered a mere boy, he sat down in the proffered chair, and opened his mouth dutifully. Ah, yesdente8 8c.tpentia. Its quite gone. Shall I take it out for you? Will it be painful ? No. Ill give you nitrous oxide. Without it it might be very painful, for the tooth is much broken down. Mr. Belford hesitated. Had he bet- ter place himself so utterly at the mercy of this young man? it will pass off in a moment, and leave no ill effects behind. You had better take it. Well, I will; but make it very mild, for I am afraid of these new- fangled notions. You need have no fear, said El- mer, bringing up his iron box of ni- trous oxide, and selecting a pair of forceps from the mass of instruments in one of his trunks. Its very odd. Its the merest chance that I happened to have a pair of forceps. Are you ready now? Put this tube in your mouth, and breathe easily and naturally. The patient leaned back in the chair, and the amateur stood silently watch- ing him. Its a fearful risk, but Im going to try it. I succeeded with Alma, and I fancy I can with this fool. He was a fool to run right into my arms in this fashion. No wonder his wisdom tooth was rotten. Ill have it out in a mo- ment. All this to himself. The patient closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep. Take it strong. It will not hurt you, and I must keep you quiet till the deed is done.~~ High science was to be brought to 90 V [JANUARY, 1877.] APPLIED SCIENCE. 91 bear upon rascality, and he must move cautiously and quickly. The instant the patient was unconscious, Elmer bent over him and turned back his coat, and from the inside pocket he drew forth a folded paper. He had caught a glimpse of it when he looked in the mans mouth, and on the spur of the moment he had conceived and put into practice tli~s bold stroke of applied science. Mak- ing the man comfortable, and giving him a little air with the gas, he open- ed the paper and spread it wide open before a pile of books in the full sun- light. The patient stirred uneasily. With a breathless motion Elmer plied him with more gas, and he sighed softly and slumbered deeper than evcr. With a spring he reached the camera, rolled it up before the paper, and set in a new slide. It copied the paper with terrible certainty, and then, without reading it, Elmer folded the paper up again and restored it to his patients pocket. The patient revived. He put his hand in his mouth. The tooth was still there. Why, you didnt touch it? No. I was delayed a bit. Take the gas again. The man submitted, and inhaled more gas. At the instant he slum- bered the forceps were deftly plied and the tooth removed. Bathing the mans face with water, the young den- tist watched him closely till he revived again. Do you feel better ? Better! Why, Im not hurt I Is it really out? Yes. There it is in the wash- bowl. You did very well, young man. Excellently. Im sure Im much oblig- ed. Youre welcome, replied Mr. Franklin. It was a trifling affair. Repeating his thanks, the visitor put on his hat with its two ribbons and retired. For an hour or more the youthful son of science worked over his ne~v negatives, and then he quietly closed the shutters and lighted his stereop- ticon. The first picture he threw upon the wall greatly pleased him. With half-parted lips, a placid smile, and closed eyes, the sleeping Alma lived in shadowy beauty before him. Queer such a charming girl should belong to such a fool 1 Not choice language for a son of pure-eyed science, but history is his- tory, and the truth must be told. Now for the paper. He took Almas stolen picture from the lantern, and inserted in its place a positive copy of the paper he had cap- tured from her lover. Suddenly there flashed upon the wall a document of the most startling and extraordinary character. He read it through several times before he could bring himself to understand the peculiar nature of the important discovery he had made. Long and earnestly he gazed upon the gigantic writing on the wall, and then he slowly opened one of the shutters, and the magic writing faded away in the rosy light of the setting sun. A moment after, the tea-bell rang. This over, young Mr. Franklin said he must go out for his evening constitu- tional. He wiuhed to be alone. The events of the day, the discoveries he had made, and, more than all, Almas grief and silence at the supper-table, disturbed him. He wished more air, more freedom to think over these things and to devise some plan for future action. Alma. What of her? Was he not growing to like herperhaps love her? And she was engaged to that thathe could not think of him with patience. The chimney, the two in the photo, and the strange paper: what did they all mean? Why were both father and daughter in such evi- dent distress? He pondered these things as he walked through the shadowy lanes, and then, about eight oclock, he returned, in a measure composed and serene. There was a light in the parlor, and he went in and found Alma alone. Oh, Elmer! Im glad youve come. Its very lonely here. Father has gone APPLIED SCIENCE. to bed quite ill, and Lawrence asked me to sit up till he returned. Hes gone down to the village on some busi- ness. I cant see why he should. The stores are closed and the last train has gone. She made a place for him on the sofa, and he sat down beside her. For some time they talked indifferently upon various mattersthe weather, the heat of the day, and like triviali- ties. Suddenly she turned upon him, and said, with ill-suppressed excitement: What did you do with it, Elmer? Do with what? The picture.~~ Oh, yes the lantern slide. I wish I had never made it. Its up stairs in my room. You didnt know it was Alice Green? No. How should I? I did not know who either of the people was till the picture was thrown upon the wall. Do you know nowknow both of them, I mean? YesI think I do. One was Mr. Yes, Elmer, you may as well say it. It was Lawrence. Elmer could think of nothing to say, and wisely said nothing. After a brief pause Alma said slowly, as if talking to herself: It was a cruel thing to do. I did not mean to be cruel. Oh, my dearcousin, dont think of it in that way. It was Lawrence who was so cruel. Yes. It was not very gentleman- ly; but perhaps he does not care for for this person. He does. The picture was only confirmation of what I had heard be- fore. Ive done with him, she added in a sort of suppressed desperation. Im going to break our engagement this very night. I know it will nearly break my heart, and father will be very angry; but, Elmer, come nearer; let me tell you about it~ Im afraid of him. He has such an evil eye, and you remember the chimneythe day you cameI thought he would kill you, lie was so angry. Evidently she was in sore trouble. Even her language was marked by doubt and difficulty. Advise me, Elmer. Tell me what to do. I hardly know which way to turn, and Im so lonely. Father is busy every day, and I cant talk to him. And LawrenceI dare not trust him. Here she began to cry softly, and hid her face in her handkerchief. The son of science was perplexed. What should he do or say? All this was new to him. That a young and pretty girl should appeal to him with such ear- nestness disconcerted him, and lie did not know how to act. A problem in triangulation or knotty question in physics would have charmed him and braced him up for any work. This was so new and so peculiar that he said, Dont cry, cousin, aud re- pented it at once as a silly speech. I must. It does me good. Then I would. Thereupon they both laughed heart- ily and felt better. He recovered his wits at once. Do you think you really love him? The man of science is himself again. No, I dont. Thenwell, its hardly my place to say it. Then break the engagement. Thats what you mean. I intend to do so; but, Elmer, I wish you could be here with me. It would be impossible. Oh! Ive an idea. Have you? There! I knew you would help me. You are so bright, Elmer, and so kind He nipped her enthusiasm in the bud. Do you think you could telegraph to me from your pocket? I dont know what you mean. You know the letters now per- fectly, and if you had your hand on an armature, you could send off mes- sages quickly? Yes. You know I learned the alphabet in one day, and its nearly a 92 V [JANUARY, APPLIED SCIENCE. week since you put up that line to my room. Think how we have talked with it already. And you remember the tea table, when the Lawsons and the Stebbens were here. Didnt I an- swer all your questions about Minna Lawson while I was talking with her by tapping on the table with a spoon I Yes. So far so good; but now Im going to try a most dangerous and difficult piece of scientific work, and you must help me. My plan is for you to keep in telegraphic communi- cation with me while the interview goes on. Then, if he is insulting or 7~ troublesome, you can call me. How bright of you, Elmer. If Lawrence had been half so good and kind and brightif he knew half as muchI might have loved him longer. Wait a bit, and Ill get the lines. May I go too? Oh, yes; come. The two went softly up the hall stairs, through the long entry to the L, and into Elmers room. They set the lamp on a table, and Elmer dragged forth from the scientific confusion of the place a collection of telegraphic apparatus of all kinds. Theres the battery. That Ill keep here. There is the recording instru- ment. That Ill keep here also. Now you want a small armature to open and close the current. Wait a bit I Id better make one. Alma sat down on a box, and her new Lohengrin set to work with shears and file to make something that would answer for an armature and still be small enough to hide in the hand. Cutting off two small pieces of in- sulated copper wire, he bound them together side by side at one end. The loose ends he separated by crowding a bit of rubber between them, and then with the file and his knife he removed a part of the insulating covering till the bright copper showed at the tips of each wire. There I You can hide that in the pocket of your dress, or hold it in your hand even. When you wish to close the circuit, pinch the wires, and they will touch each other. When you withdraw the pressure the rubber will push them apart. Alma declared she could do it easily, and the armature having been con- nected ~rith the wires and the battery, they both prepared to go to the par- lor. Down the stairs they crept, slowly unwinding two delicate coils of in- sulated wire as they went, and pushing them back against the wall well out of sight. When they came to the mats Alma lifted them up, and Elmer laid the wires down, and then the mats covered them from sight. Now, you sit here, in a comfort- able chair, and hide the wires in the folds of your dress. Ill lead them off over the carpet behind you, and un- less the Lawrence is brighter than Ithinkheis, hell not find them. These mysterious operations were hardly completed before the door bell rang and Lawrence came in. He did not seem particularly pleased to find Mr. Franklin sitting up with Alma, and the meeting was not very cor- dial. After a few unimportant re- marks Mr. Franklin said that he must retire. Id like to know, miss, what that puppy said to you. Hes been here all the evening, I dare say. He has, Lawrence; but I will not have my friends spoken of in that way. Your friends indeed! What do you intend to do about it? Meanwhile her hand, persistently kept in her pocket, nervously moved the electric armature, and a sudden twinge of pain startled her. Her fin- ger, caught between the wires, felt the shock of a returning current. Sud- denly the pain flashed again, and she understood it. Elmer was replying to her. She forced herself to read his words by the pain the wires caused her, and she spelled out: Keep cool. Dont fear him. Seems to me youre preeio~1s silent, miss. One might well keep silence while you use such language as you do, Lawrence Belford. 1877.] S 93 APPLIED SCIENCE. Whos a better right? No man has a right not to be a gentleman, and as for your right, I have decided to withdraw it. What do you mean? he 3ried in sudden anger. She drew her hand out of her pocket, slowly took off her engage- ment ring, and said, That. Oh! Well have none of that. You may put your ring on again. I shall never wear it again. Yes, you will. I shall not. Look here, Miss Denny. Well have no nonsense. You are going to marry me next week. I suppose you know that mortgage is to be fore- closed on Monday, and you and your father will be beggars. I know how to stop all this, and I can do it. Marry me, and go to New York with me on Wednesday, and the mortgage will be withdrawn. We may find the will before that. Oh! You~ may, you may. You and your father have been searching for that will these ten years. You havent found it yet, and you wont. Alma under any ordinary circum- stances would have quailed before this man. As it was, those trails of copper wire down her dress kept her busy. She rapidly sent off through them nearly all that was said, and her knight of the battery sat up stairs copying it off alone in his room, and almost swearing with anger and ex- citement. Suddenly the messages stopped. He listened sharply at the door. Not a sound. The old house was as still as a grave. Several minutes passed, and nothing came. What had happened? had he cut the wires? Had Alma fainted? Suddenly the sounder spoke out sharp and clear in the silent room: Elmer, come I He seized a revolver from the bu- reau, and thrusting it into his pocket, tore off the white strip of paper that had rolled out of the instrument, and with it in his hand he went quickly down stairs. He opened the door without knocking, and advanced into the middle of the room. The moment he entered, Alma sprang up from her seat, pulling out the two wires as she did so, and throwing her arm about the young man, she cried out in an agony of fear and shame: Oh, Elmer, Elmer I Take me away! Take me to my father! He supported her with his right arm, and turned to face her assailant with the crumbled ribbon of paper still in his hand. What does this mean, sir? Have you been ill treating my cousin? Go to bed, boy. Its very late for school children to be ~ Your language is insulting, sir. I repeat it. What have you said or done to Miss Denny? Oh! Come away! come away, El- mer ! None of your business, you puppy. There is no need to ask what you said, sir. I know every word and have made a copy of it. Ah! Listening, were you? No, sir. Miss Denny has told me. Do you see those wires? They will entangle you yet and trip you up. Come away, Elmer. Come away. For the present I will retire, sir; but, mark me, your game is nearly up. By, by, children. Good night. Remember your promise, Miss Denny. The carriage will be all ready. Without heeding this last remark, Elmer, with his cousin on his arm, withdrew. As they closed the door the telegraph wires caught in the car- pet and broke. The man saw them, and picking one up, he examined it closely. Suddenly he dropped it and turned ashen pale. With all his bravado, he quniled before those slender wires upon the carpet. He did not under- stand them. He guessed they might be some kind of telegraph, but beyond this everything was vague and myste- rious, and they filled him with guilty alarm and terror. CHARLES BARNARD. 94 V [JANUARY. V FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. THE oilier day, before the first fire of winter, when the deepening dusk had compelled me to close my book and wheel my chair closer, I in- dulged in a retrospect. The objects of it were not far distant, and yet they seemed already to glow with the mel- low tints of the days that are no more. In the crackling flame the last remnant of the summer appeared to shrink up and vanish. But the flicker of its destruction made a sort of fan- tastic imagery, and in the midst of the winter fire the summer sunshine seem- ed to glow. It lit up a series of vis- ible memories. I. ONE of the first was that of a per- fect day on the coast of Normandya warm, still Sunday in the early part of August. From my pillow, on wak- ing, I could look at a strip of blue sea and a section of white cliff. I ob- served that the sea had never been so brilliant, and that the cliff was shining like the coast of Paros. I rose and came forth with the sense that it was the finest day of summer, and that one ought to do something uncommon by way of keeping it. At Etretal it was uncommon to take a walk; the custom of the country is to lie all day upon the pebbly strand watching, as we should say in America, your fellow boarders. Your leisurely stroll, in a scanty sheet, from yourbathing cabin into the water, and your trickling progress from the water back into your cabin, form, as a general thing, the sum total of your peregrination. For the rest you re- main horizontal, contemplating the horizon. To mark the day with a white stone, therefore, it was quite sufficient to stretch my legs. So I climbed the huge grassy cliff which shuts in the little bay on the right (as you lie on the beach, head upward), and gained the bleak white chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde, which a lady told me she was sure was the original of Matthew Arnolds Little Gray Church on the Windy Hill. This is very likely; but the little church to- day was not gray; neither was the hill windy. I had occasion, by the time I reached the summit, to wish it had been. Deep, silent sunshine filled the air, and the long grass of the downs stood up in the light without a tremor. The downs at Etretal are magnificent, and the way they stretched off toward Dieppe, with their shining levels and their faintly-shaded dells, was in it- self an irresistible invitation. On the land side they have been somewhat narrowed by cultivation; the woods, and farms, and grain fields here and there creep close enough to the edge of the cliff almost to see the shifting of the tides at its base. But cultiva- tion in Normandy is itself picturesque, and the pedestrian rarely need resent its encroachments. Neither walls nor hedges or fences are anywhere visible; the whole land lies open to the breezes and to his curious footsteps. This universal absence of barriers gives an air of vastness to the landscape, so that really, in a little French prov- ince, you have more of the feeling of being in a big country than on our own huge continent, which bristles so unconsciously with prohibitory rails and stone-piles. Norman farmhouses, too, with their mossy roofs and their visible beams making all kinds of tri- angles upon the ancient plaster of their walls, are very delightful things. Hereabouts they have always a dark little wood close beside them; often a ch~naie, as the term isa fantastic lit- tle grove of tempest-tossed oaks. The trees look as if, some night, when the sea-blasts were howling their loudest and their boughs were tossing most

V FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. THE oilier day, before the first fire of winter, when the deepening dusk had compelled me to close my book and wheel my chair closer, I in- dulged in a retrospect. The objects of it were not far distant, and yet they seemed already to glow with the mel- low tints of the days that are no more. In the crackling flame the last remnant of the summer appeared to shrink up and vanish. But the flicker of its destruction made a sort of fan- tastic imagery, and in the midst of the winter fire the summer sunshine seem- ed to glow. It lit up a series of vis- ible memories. I. ONE of the first was that of a per- fect day on the coast of Normandya warm, still Sunday in the early part of August. From my pillow, on wak- ing, I could look at a strip of blue sea and a section of white cliff. I ob- served that the sea had never been so brilliant, and that the cliff was shining like the coast of Paros. I rose and came forth with the sense that it was the finest day of summer, and that one ought to do something uncommon by way of keeping it. At Etretal it was uncommon to take a walk; the custom of the country is to lie all day upon the pebbly strand watching, as we should say in America, your fellow boarders. Your leisurely stroll, in a scanty sheet, from yourbathing cabin into the water, and your trickling progress from the water back into your cabin, form, as a general thing, the sum total of your peregrination. For the rest you re- main horizontal, contemplating the horizon. To mark the day with a white stone, therefore, it was quite sufficient to stretch my legs. So I climbed the huge grassy cliff which shuts in the little bay on the right (as you lie on the beach, head upward), and gained the bleak white chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde, which a lady told me she was sure was the original of Matthew Arnolds Little Gray Church on the Windy Hill. This is very likely; but the little church to- day was not gray; neither was the hill windy. I had occasion, by the time I reached the summit, to wish it had been. Deep, silent sunshine filled the air, and the long grass of the downs stood up in the light without a tremor. The downs at Etretal are magnificent, and the way they stretched off toward Dieppe, with their shining levels and their faintly-shaded dells, was in it- self an irresistible invitation. On the land side they have been somewhat narrowed by cultivation; the woods, and farms, and grain fields here and there creep close enough to the edge of the cliff almost to see the shifting of the tides at its base. But cultiva- tion in Normandy is itself picturesque, and the pedestrian rarely need resent its encroachments. Neither walls nor hedges or fences are anywhere visible; the whole land lies open to the breezes and to his curious footsteps. This universal absence of barriers gives an air of vastness to the landscape, so that really, in a little French prov- ince, you have more of the feeling of being in a big country than on our own huge continent, which bristles so unconsciously with prohibitory rails and stone-piles. Norman farmhouses, too, with their mossy roofs and their visible beams making all kinds of tri- angles upon the ancient plaster of their walls, are very delightful things. Hereabouts they have always a dark little wood close beside them; often a ch~naie, as the term isa fantastic lit- tle grove of tempest-tossed oaks. The trees look as if, some night, when the sea-blasts were howling their loudest and their boughs were tossing most FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. wildly, the tumult had suddenly been stilled and they had stopped short, each in the attitude into which the storm was twisting it. The only thing the storm can do with them now is to blow them straight. The long, in- dented coast line had never seemed to me so charming. It stretched away into the light haze of the horizon, with such lovely violet spots in its caves and hollows, and such soft white gleams on its short headlandssuch exquisite gradations of distance and such capricious interruptions of per- spectivethat one could only say that the land was really trying to smile as hard as the sea. The smile of the sea was a positive simper. Such a glitter- ing and twinkling, such a softness and blueness, such tiny little pin-points of foam, and such delicate little wrinkles of wavesall this made the ocean look like a flattered portrait. The day I speak of was a Sunday, and there were to be races at F~camp, ten miles away. The agreeable thing was, of course, to walk to Fdlcamp, over the grassy downs. I walked and walked, over the levels and the dells, having land and ocean quite to myself. Here and there I met a shepherd, lying flat on his stomach in the sun, while his sheep, in extreme dishabille (shearing time being recent), went huddling in front of me as I approached. Far below, on the blue ocean, like a fly on a table of lapis, crawled a little steamer, carry- ing people from Etretal to the races. I seemed to go much faster, yet the steamer got to F6camp before me. But I stopped to gossip with a shep- herd on a grassy hillside, and to ad- mire certain little villages which are niched in small, transverse, seaward- sloping valleys. The shepherd told me that he had been farm-servant to the same master for five-and-thirty yearsever since the age of ten; and that for thirty-five summers he had fed his flock upon those downs. I dont know whether his sheep were tired of their diet, but he professed himself very tired of his life. I remarked that in fine weather it must be charming, and he observed, with humility, that to thirty-five summers there went several rainy days. The walk toF6camp would be purely delightful if it were not for the fond8. The fond8 are the transverse valleys just mentionedthe channels, for the most part, of small water- courses which discharge themselves in-~ to the sea. The downs subside, precipi- tately,to the level of the beach, and then slowly lift their grassy shoulders on the other side of the gully. As the cliffs are of immense height, these indenta- tions are profound, and drain off a little of the exhilaration of the too elastic pedestrian. The first fonds trike him as delightfully picturesque, and he is down the long slope on one side and up the gigantic hump on the other before he has time to feel hot. But the second is greeted with that tem- pered empressem~ent with which you bow in the street to an acquaintance with whom you have met half an hour before; the third is a stale repetition; the fourth is decidedly one too many, and the fifth is sensibly exasperating. The fonds, in a word, are very tire- some. It was, if I remember rightly, in the bottom of the last and widest of the series that I discovered the little town of Yport. Every little fishing village on the Norman coast has, within the last ten years, set up in business as a watering-place; and, though one might fancy that Nature had condemned Yport to modest ob- scurity, it is plain that she has no idea of being out of the fashion. But she is a miniature imitation of her rivals. She has a meagre little wood behind her and an evil-smelling beach, on which bathing is possible only at the highest tide. At the scorching mid- day hour at which I inspected her she seemed absolutely empty, and the ocean, beyond acres of slippery sea- weed, looked very far away. She has everything that a properly appointed station de bains should have, but every- thing is on a Lilliputian scale. The whole place looked like a huge Nil- 98 V [JANUARY, FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. remburg toy. There is a diminutive hotel, in which, properly, the head waiter should be a pigmy and the chambermaid a sprite, and beside it there is a Ca8i~w on the smallest pos- sible scale. Everything about the Casino is so harmoniously undersized that it seems a matter of course that the newspapers in the reading-room should be printed in the very finest type. Of course there is a reading- room, and a dancing-room ,andacaft, and a billiard-room, with a bagatelle board instead of a table, and a little terrace on which you may walk up and down with very short steps. I hope the prices are as tiny as everything else, and I suspect, indeed, that Yport honestly claims, not that she is attrac- tive, but that she is cheap. I toiled up the perpendicular cliff again, and took my way over the grass, for another hour, to F6camp, where I found the peculiarities of Yport di- rectly reversed. The place is a huge, straggling village, seated along a wide, shallow bay, and adorned, of course, with the classic Casino and the row of hotels. But all this is on a very brave scale, though it is not manifest that the bravery of F~camp has won a vic- tory; and, indeed, the local attractions did not strike me as irresistible. A pebbly beach of immense length,fenced off from the town by a grassy embank- ment; a Casino of a bold and unsociable aspect; a principal inn, with an inter- minable brown fa~ade, suggestive some- how of an asylum or an almshouse such are the most striking features of this particular watering-place. There are magnificent cliffs on each side of the hay, but, as the French say, without impropriety, it is the devil to get to them. There was no one in the hotel, in the Casino, or on the beach; the whole town being in the act of climbing the further cliff, to reach the downs on which the races were to be held. The green hillside was black with trudging spectators and the long sky line was fretted with them. When I say there was no one at the inn, I forget the gentleman at the door who informed me positively that he would give me no breakfast; he seemed to have staid at home from the races ex- pressly to give himself this pleasure. But I went further and fared better, and procured a meal of homely suc- culence, in an unfashionable tavern, in a back street, where the wine was sound, the cutlets tender, and the serving-maid rosy. Then I walked alongfor a mile, it seemedthrough a dreary, gray grand rue, where the sunshine was hot, the odors porten- tous, and the doorsteps garnished with aged fishwives, retired from busi- ness, whose plaited linen coifs looked picturesquely white, and their faces picturesquely brown. I inspected the harbor and its goodly basinwith nothing in itand certain pink and blue houses, which surround it, and then, joining the last stragglers, I clambered up the side of the cliff to the downs. The races had already begun, and the ring of spectators was dense. I picked out some of the smallest people, looked over their heads, and saw several young farmers, in parti-colored jackets, and very red in the face, bouncing up and down on handsome cart-horses. Satiated at last with this diversion, I turned away and wandered down the hill again; and after strolling through the streets of F6camp, and gathering not a little of the wayside entertainment that a sea- port and fishing town always yields, I repaired to the Abbey church, a mon- ument of some importance, and almost as great an object of pride in the town as the Casino. The Abbey of F& . camp was once a very rich and power- ful establishment, but nothing remains of it now save its church and its trap- pistine. The church, which is for the most part early Gothic, is very stately and picturesque, and the trappistine, which is a distilled liquor of the Char- treuse family, is much prized by peo- ple who take a little glass after their coffee. By the time I had done with the Abbey, the townsfolk had slid en masse down the cliff again, the yel 1877.] V FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRE~EES. low afternoon had come, and the holi- day takers, before the wine-shops, made long and lively shadows. I hired a sort of two-wheeled gig, without a board, and drove back to Etretal in the rosy stage of evening. The gig dan- died me up and down in a fashion of which I had been unconscious since I left off baby-clothes; but the drive, through the charming Norman coun- try, over roads which lay among the peaceful meadows like paths amid a park, was altogether delightful. The sunset gave a deeper mellowness to the standing crops, and in the grassiest corner of the wayside villages the young men and maidens were danc- ing like the figures in vignette illus- trations of classic poets. II. You may say there is nothing in this very commonplace adventure to sentimentalize about, and that when one plucks sentimentally a brand from the burning one should pick out a more valuable one. I certainly call it a picked day, at any rate, when I went to breakfast at St. Jouin, at the beau- tiful Ernestines. Dont be alarmed; if I was just now too tame, I am not turning wild. The beautiful Ernestine is not my especial beauty, but every ones, and to contemplate her charms you have only to order breakfast. They shine forth the more brilliantly in proportion as your order is liberal, and Ernestine is beautiful according as your bill is large. In this case she comes and smiles, really very hand- somely, around your table, and you feel some hesitation in accusing so well-favored a person of extortion. She keeps an inn at the end of a lane which diverges from the high road between Etretal and llavre, and it is an indispensable feature of your sta- tion~ at the former place that you choose some fine morning and seek her hospitality. She has been a celebrity these twenty years, and is no longer a simple maiden in her flower; but twenty years, if they have diminished her early bloom, have richly augment- ed her muse~. This is a collection of all the verses and sketches, the auto- graphs, photographs, monographs, and trinkets presented to the amiable hostess by admiring tourists. It cov- ers the walls of her sitting-room and fills half a dozen big albums which you look at while breakfast is being prepared, just as if you were await- ing dinner in genteel society. Most Frenchmen of the day whom one has heard of appear to have called at St. Jouin, and to have left their homages. Each of them has turned a compli. ment with pen or pencil, and you may see in a glass case on the parlor wall what Alexandre Dumas, Fils, thought of the landladys nose, and how seve- ral painters measured her ankles. Of course you must make this excur- sion in good company, and I affirm that I was in the very best. The company prefers, equally of course, to have its breakfast in the orchard in front of the house; which, if the repast is good, will make it seem better still, and if it is poor, will carry off its poorness. Clever innkeepers should always make their victims (in tolerable weather) eat in the garden. I forget whether Er- nestines breakfast was intrinsically good or bad, but I distinctly remem- ber enjoying it, and making every- thing welcome. Everything, that is, save the party at the other tablethe Paris actresses and the American gen- tlemen. The combination of these two classes of persons, individually so delightful, results in certain phenora- ena which seem less in harmony with appleboughs and summer breezes than with the gas lamps and thick per- fumes of a ealilnet pas-ticulier, and yet it was characteristic of this odd mix- ture of things that Mile. Ernestine, coming to chat with her customers, should bear a beautiful infant on her arm, and smile with artless pride on being assured of its filial resemblance to herself. She looked decidedly handsome as she caressed this start- ling attribute of quiet spinsterhood. 98 V [JANUARY, FROM NORMANDY TO TITE PYRE~EES. St. Jonin is close to the sea and to the finest cliffs in the world. One of my companions, who had laden the carri- age with his painting traps, went off into a sunny meadow to take the por- trait of a windmill, and I, choosing th~ better portion, wandered through a little green valley with the other. Ten minutes brought us to the edge of the dliffs~ which at this point of the coast are simply sublime. I had been thinking the white sea-walls of Etre- tal the finest thing conceivable in this way, but the huge red porphoritic- looking masses of St. Jouin have an even grander character. I have rarely seen anything more picturesque. They are strange, fantastic, out of keeping with the country, and for some rather arbitrary reason suggested to me a Spanish or even African landscape. Certain sun-scorched precipices in Spanish Sierras must have very much the same warmth of tone and desola- tion of attitude. A very picturesque feature of the cliffs of St. Jouin is that they are double in height, as one may say. Falling to an immense depth, they encounter a certain outward ledge, or terrace, where they pause and play a dozen fantastic tricks, such as piling up rocks into the likeness of needles and watch-towers; then they plunge again, and in another splendid sweep descend to the beach. There was something very impressive in the way their evil brows, looking as if they were all stained with blood and rust, were bent upon the blue expanse of the sleeping sea. m. IN a month of beautiful weather at Etretal, every day was not an excursion, but every day seemed indeed a picked day. For that matter, as I lay on the beach watching the procession of the easy-going hours, I took a good many mental excursions. The one, per- haps, on which I oftenest started was a comparison between French manners, French habits, French types, and those of my native land. These com- parisons are not invidious; I dont conclude against one party and in fa- vor of the other; as the French say, j~ constate simply. The French people about me were spending the summers just as I had so often seen my fellow countrymen spend it, and it seemed to me, as it had seemed to me at home, that this operation places men and women under a sort of monstrous magnifying glass. The human figure has a higher relief in the country than in town, and I know of no place where psycho- logical studies prosper so as at the sea- side. I shall not pretend to relate my observations in the order in which they occurred to me (or indeed to re- late them in full at all); but I may say that one of the foremost was to this effectthat the summer question, for every one, had been more easily set- tled than it usually is at home. The solution of the problem of where to go had not been a thin-petalled rose, plucked from among particularly sharp- pointed thorns. People presented themselves with a calmness and fresh- ness very different from the haggard legacy of that fevered investigation which precedes the annual exodus of the American citizen and his family. This impression, with me, rests per- haps on the fact that most Frenchwo- men turned of thirtythe average wives and mothersare so comfortably fat. I have never seen such n~assive feminine charms as among the mature baigneuses of Etratal. The lean and desiccated person into whom a dozen years of matrimony so often converts the blooming American girl has no ap- parent correlative in the French race. A majestic plumpness fioui~ished all around metue plumpness of triple chins and deeply dimpled hands. I mused upon it, and I concluded that it was the result of the best breakfasts and dinners in the world. It was the corpulence of ladies who are thorough- ly well fed, and who never walk a step that they can spare. The assiduity with which the women of America measure the length of our democratic pavements 1877.] V 99 FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRE~EES. is doubtless a factor in their frequent absence of redundancy of outline. As a regular boarder at the Hotel Blanquetpronounced by Anglo-Saxon visitors BlanketI found myself ini- tiated into the mysteries of the French dietary system. I assent to the com- mon tradition that the French are a temperate people, so long as it is un- derstood in this sensethat they eat no more than they want to. But they want to eat so much Their capacity strikes me as enormous, and we our- selves, if we are less regulated, are cer- tainly much more slender consumers. The American breakfast has, I be- lieve, long b cenasubject of irony to the foreign observer; but the American breakfast is an ascetic meal compared with the French d4jeuner d Za fouT- ehette. The latter, indeed, is simply a dinner without soup; it differs nei- ther generically nor specifically from the eveniag repast. If it excludes soup, it includes eggs, prepared in a hundred forms; and if it proscribes champagne, it admits beer in foaming pitchers, so that the balance is fairly preserved. I think it is rarely that an American will not feel a certain sym- pathetic heaviness in the reflection that a French family that sits down at half past eleven to fish and entrees and roasts, to asparagus and beans, to sal- ad and dessert, and cheese and coffee, proposes to do exactly the same thing at dinner time. But we may be sure at any rate that the dinner will be as good as the breakfast, and that the breakfast has nothing to fear from prospective comparison with the din- ner; and we may further reflect that in a country where eating is a pecu- liarly unalloyed pleasure it is natural that this pleasure should be prolonged and reiterated. Nothing is more no- ticeable ari~ong the French than their superior intelligence in dietary mat- ters; every one seems naturally a judge, a dilettante. They have analyzed tastes and savors to a finer point than we; they are aware of differences and rela- tions of which we take no heed. Ob- serve a Frenchman of any age and of any station (I have been quite as much struck with it in the very young men as in the old) as he orders his break- fast or his dinner at a Parisian restau- rant, and you will perceive that the operation is much more solemn than it is apt to be in New York or in Lon- don. (In London, indeed, it is intel- lectually positively brutal.) Monsieur has, in a word, a certain ideal for that particular repast, and it will make a difference in his happiness whether the kidneys, for instance, of a certain style, are chopped to the ultimate or only to the penultimate smallness. His directions and admonitions to the wait- er are therefore minute and exquisite, and eloquently accentuated by the pres- sure of thumb and forefinger; and it must be added that the imagination of the waiter is usually quite worthy of the refined communion thus opened to it. This subtler sense of quality is observable even among those classes in which in other countries it is gen- erally forestalled by a depressing con- sciousness on the subject of quantity. Watch your Parisian porter and his wife at their mid-day meal, as you pass up and down stairs. They are not satisfying nature upon green tea and potatoes; they are seated before a meal which has been reasoned out, which, on its modest scale, is served in courses, and has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I will not say that the French sense of comfort is confined to the philosophy of nutrition, but it is certainly higher at this point (and per- haps one other) than it is elsewhere. French people must have a good dinner and a good bed; but they are willing that the bed should be stationed and the dinner be eaten in the most un- pleasant neighborhoods. Your por- ter and his wife dine grandly and sleep soft in their lodge, but their lodge is in all probability a fetid black hole, five feet square, in which, in England or in America, people of their talents would never consent to live. French people consent to live in the dark, to huddle together, to forego privacy, and to let bad smells grow great among 100 V [JANUARY, 1877.] FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. 101 them. They have an accursed passion for coquettish furniture: for cold, brittle chairs, for tables with scolloped edges, for ottomans without backs, for fireplaces muffled in plush and fringe and about as cheerful as a festooned hearse. A French bedroom is a bitter mockerya ghastly attempt to serve two masters which succeeds in being agreeable to neither. It is a thing of traps and delusions, constructed on the assumption that it is inelegant to be known to wash or to sleep, and yet pervaded with suggestions of unclean- ness compared with which a well- wrung bathing sponge, well en evidence, is a delightful symbol of purity. This comes of course from that supreme French quality, the source of half the charm of the French mind as well of all its dryness, the genius for econ- omy. It is wasting a room to let it be a bedroom alone; so it must be trick- ed out as an ingeniously contrived sitting-room, and ends by being (in many cases) insufferableboth by night and by day. But allowing all weight to these latter reflections, it is still very possible that the French have the better part. If you are well fed, you can perhaps afford to be ill lodged; whereas, I doubt whether enjoyment of the most commodious apartments is compatible with inanition and dys- pepsin. Iv. IF I had not cut short my mild re- trospect by these possibly milder gen- eralizations, I should have touched lightly upon some of the social phe- nomena of which the little beach at Etretal was the scene. I shall have narrated that the French, at the sea- side, are not sociable as Americans affect to be in a similar situation, and I should subjoin that at Etretal it was very well on the whole that they were not. The immeasurably greater simplicity of composition of American society makes sociability with us a comparatively untaxed virtue; but 7 anything like an equal exercise of it in France would be attended with alarming perils and inconveniences. Sociability (in the American sense of the word) in any aristocratic country would indeed be very much like an attempt to establish visiting relations between birds and fishes. At Etretal no making of acquaintance was ob- servable; people went about in com- pact, cohesive groups, of natural for- mation, governed doubtless, internally, by humane regulation, but presenting to the world an impenetrable defen- sive front. These groups usually formed a solid phalanx about two or three young girls, compressed into the centre, the preservation of whose innocence was their chief solicitude. Here, doubtless, the groups were act- ing wisely, for with half a dozen co- cottes, in scarlet petticoats, scattered over the sunny, harmless looking bench, what were mammas and duen- nas to do? In order that there should be a greater number of approachable- irreproachable young girls in France there must first be a smaller number of cocottes. It is not impossible, in- deed, that if the approachable-irre- proachable young ladies were more numerous, the eocotte8 would be less numerous. If by some ingenious sumptuary enactment the latter class could be sequestrated or relegated to the background for a certain period say ten yearsthe latter might in- crease and multiply, and quite, in vul- gar parlance, get the start of it. And yet after all this is a rath- er superficial reflection, for the ex- cellent reason that the very nar- row peep at life allowed to young French girls is not regarded, either by the young girls themselves or by those who have their felicity most at heart, as a grave privation. The case is not nearly so hard as it would be with us, for there is this im- mense difference between the lot of the jeunejille and her American sister, that the former may as a general thing be said to be certain to marry. Ay, to marry ill, the Anglo-Saxon FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. objector may reply. But the objec- tion is precipitate; for if French mar- riages are almost always arranged, it must be added that they are in the ma- jority of cases arranged well. There- fore, if a jeune flue is for three or four years tied with a very short rope and compelled to browse exclusively upon the meagre herbage which sprouts in the maternal shadow, she has at least the comfort of reflecting that accord- ing to the native phrase, on soeeupe de la marierthat measures are being carefully taken to promote her to a con- dition of unbounded liberty. What- ever, to her imagination, marriage may fail to mean, it at least means freedom and consideration. It does not mean, as it so often means in America, being socially shelvedand it is not too much to say, in certain circles, degraded; it means being so- cially launched and consecrated. It means becoming that exalted person- age, a mere defamille. To be a m~lre de famiUe is to occupy not simply (as is rather the case with us) a sentimen- tal, but a really official position. The consideration, the authority, the do- mestic pomp and circumstance allotted to a French mamma are in striking contrast with the amiable tolerance which in our own social order is so oft~en the most liberal measure that the female parent may venture to ex- pect at her childrens hands, and which, on the part of the young lady of eighteen who represents the family in society, is not infrequently tempered by a conscientious severity. All this is worth waiting for, especial- ly if you have not to wait very long. Mademoiselle is married certainly, and married early, and she is sufficiently well informed to know, and to be sus- tained by the knowledge, that the sen- timental expansion which may not take place at present will have an open field after her marriage. That it should precede her marriage seems to her as unnatural as that she should put on her shoes before her stockings. And besides all this, to browse in the ma- ternal shadow is not considered in the least a hardship. A young French girl who is bien deviean expression which means so muchwill be sure to consider her mothers company the most delightful in the world, and to think that the herbage which sprouts about this ladys petticoats is peculiar- ly tender and succulent. It may be fanciful, but it often seems to me that the tone with which such a young girl says Ala rn~re has a peculiar inten- sity of meaning. I am at least not wrong in affirming that in the accent with which the mammaespecially if she be of the well-rounded order alluded to abovespeaks of Ala flue there is a kind of sacerdotal dignity. V. AFTER this came two or three pic- tures of quite another complexion pictures of which a long green valley, almost in the centre of France, makes the general setting. The valley itself, indeed, forms one delightful picture, although the country which surrounds it is by no means a show region. It is the old region of the Gatinais, which has plenty of history, but no great beauty. It is very still, deliciously rural, and immitigably French. Nor- mandy is Norman, Gascony is Gascon, but this is France itselfthe typical, average, pleasant France of his- tory, literature, and artof art, of landscape art, perhaps, especially. Wherever I look in the country I seem to see one of the familiar pictures on a dealers walla Lambinet, a Troyon, a Daubigny, a Diaz. The Lambinets perhaps are in the majority; the mood of the landscape usually expresses it- self in silvery lights and vivid greens. The history of this part of France is the history of the monarchy, and its language is, I wont say absolutely the classic tongue, but a nearer approach to it than any local patois. The pea- sants deliver themselves with rather a drawl, but what they speak is good clean French that any cockney can un- derstand, which is moro than can be 102 V [JAI~UARY, 1877.] FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. 103 said sometimes for the violent jargon that emanates from the fishing folk of Etretal. Each side of the long valley is a long low ridge, which offers it a high, bosky horizoa, and through the middle of it there flows a charming stream, wandering, winding, and dou- bling, smothered here and there in rocks, and spreading into lily-coated reaches, beneath the clear shadow of tall, straight, light-leaved trees. On each side of the stream the meadows stretch away flat, clean, and magnifi- cent, lozenged across with rows of so- l)er foliage under which a cow-maiden sits on the grass hooting now and then, nasally, to the large uddered browsers in front of her. There are no hedges, nor palings, nor walls; it is all a sin- gle estate. Here and there in the meadows stands a cluster of red-roofed hovelseach a diminutive village. At other points, at about half an hours walk apart, are three charming old houses. The chateaux are extremely different, but, both picturesquely and conveniently, each has its points. They are very intimate with each other, so that these points may be amicably discussed. The points in one case, however, are remarkably strong. The chateau stands directly in the little river I have mentioned, on an island just great enough to hold it, and the garden flowers grow upon the further bank. This, of course, is a most delightful affair. But I found something very agreeable in the aspect of one of the others, when I made it the goal of certain of those walks be- fore breakfast which of cool mornings in the late summer do not fall into the category of ascetic pleasures. (In France, indeed, if one did not do a great many things before breakfast, the work of life would be but meager- ly performed.) The dwelling in question stands on the top of the long ridge which en- closes the comfortable valley to the south, being by its position quite in the midst of its appurtenant acres. It is not particularly kept up, but its quiet rustiness and untrim- medness only help it to be pictur- esque. A grassy plateau approaches it from the edge of the hill, bordered on one side by a short avenue of horse- chestnuts, and on the other by a dusky wood. Beyond the chestnuts are the steep-roofed, yellow-walled farm buildings, and under cover of the wood a stretch of beaten turf, where, on Sundays and holidays, the farm- servants play at bowls. Directly be- fore the chateau is a little square gar- den enclosed by a low stone parapet, interrupted by a high gateway of mossy pillars and iron arabesques, the whole of it overelambered by flower- ing vines. The house, with its yel- low walls and russet roof, is ample and substantial; it is a very proper gentil1iomrni~re. In a corner of the garden, at the angle of the parapet, rises that classic emblem of rural gen- tility, the pige~nnier, the old stone dovecote. It is a great round tower, as broad of base as a lighthouse, with its roof shaped like an extinguisher, and a big hole in its upper portion, in and out of which a dove is always flut- tering. You see all this from the windows of the drawing-room. Be sure that the drawing-room is pannelled in white and gray, with old rococo moulding over the doorways and man- tlepiece. The open garden gateway, with its tangled vines, makes a frame for the picture that lies beyond the little grassy esplanade where the this- tIes have been suffered to grow around a disused stone well, placed at quaint remoteness from the house (if, indeed, it is not a relic of an earlier habita- tion), a picture of a wide green coun- try rising beyond the unseen valley, and stretching away to a far horizon in deep blue lines of wood. Behind, through other windows, you look out on the gardens proper. There are places that take ones fancy by some ac- cident of expression, by some mystery of accident. This one is high and breezy, both sunny and shady, plain yet picturesque, extremely cheerful, FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. and a little melancholy. It has what in the arts is called style, and so it took mine. Going to call on the peasants was as charming an affair as a chapter in one of George Sands rural tales. I went one Sunday morning with my hostess, who knew them well and en- gaged their most garrulous confidence. I dont mean that they told her all their secrets, but they told her a good many; if the French peasant is a simpleton, he is a very shrewd simpleton. At any rate, of a Sunday morning in Au- gust, when he is stopping at home from work, and he has put on his best jacket and trowsers, and is loafing at the door of his neighbors cabin, he is a very charming person. The pea- santry in the region I speak of had admirably good manners. The curs gave me a low account of their morals; by which he meant, on the whole, I suspect, that they were moderate church-goers. But they have the in- stinct of civility and a talent for con- versation; they know how to play the host and the entertainer. By he, just now, I meant she quite as much; it is rare that, in speaking superla- tively of the French, in any connec- tion, one does not think of the wo- men even more than of the men. They constantly strike the foreigner as a stronger expression of the quali- ties of the race. On the occasion I speak of the first room in the very humble cabins I successively visited in some cases, evidently, it was the only roomhad been set into irre- proachable order for the day. It had usually a sort of brown-toned pic- turesqueness, begotten of the high chimney-place, with its swinging pots, the important bed, in its dusky niche, with its flowered curtains, the big- bellied earthenware on the cupboard, the long-legged clock in the corner, the thick, quiet light of the small, deeply set window; the mixture, on all things, of smoke-stain and the polish of horny hands. Into the midst of this la Rabillon or la M~re Lager brings forward her chairs and begs us to be seated, and seating herself, with crossed hands, smiles handsomely and answers abundantly all questions about her cow, her hus. band, her bees, her eggs, and her last-born. The men linger half out- side and half in, with their shoulders against dressers and door-posts; every one smiles, with that simple, clear- eyed smile of the gratified peasant; they talk much more like George Sands Berrichons than might be sup- posed. And if they receive us with- out gross awkwardness, they speed us on our way with proportionate ur- banity. I go to six or eight little hovels, all of them dirty outside and clean within; I am entertained every- where with the bonhomie, the quaint- ness, the good faces and good man- ners of their occupants, and I finish my tour with an esteem for my new acquaintance which is not diminished by learning that several of them have thirty or forty thousand francs securely laid by. And yet, as I say, M. le Curi~ thinks they are in a bad way, and he knows something about them. M. le Cur6, too, is not a dealer in scandal; there is something delightfully quaint in the way in which he deprecates an un- Christian construction of his words. There is more than one cur6 in the valley whose charms I celebrate; but the worthy priest of whom I speak is the pearl of the local priesthood. He has been accused, I believe, of pre- tentions to what is called illuminisme; but even in his most illuminated mo- ments it can never occur to him that he has been chronicled in an Ameri- can magazine, and therefore it is not indiscreet to say that he is the cure, not of Gy, but of the village nearest to Gy. I write this sentence half for the pleasure of putting down that brief- est of village names and seeing how it looks in print. But it may be elon- gated at will, and yet be only im- proved. If you wish to be very spe- cific, you may call it Gy-les-Nonnains Gy of the Little Nuns. I went with my hostess, another morning, to call 104 V [JAIWARY, 1877.1 FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. 105 upon M. le Cure, who himself opened his garden door to us (there was a crooked little black cross perched up- on it), and, lifting his rusty ccdotte, stood there a moment in the sunshine, smiling a greeting more benignant than words. A rural presbytire is not a very sumptuous dwelling, and NI. le Cur6s little drawing room reminded me of a Yankee parlor (minus the sub- scription books from Hartford, on the centre-table) in some out-of-the-way corner of New England. But he took us into his very diminutive garden, and showed us an ornament that would not have flourished in the shade of a Yan- kee parlora rude stone image of the Virgin, which he had become possessed of I know not how, and for which he was building a sort of niche in the wall. The work was going on slowly, for he must take the labor as he could get it; but he appealed to his visitors, with a smile of indulgent irony, for an assurance that his little structure would not make too bad a figure. One of them told him that she would send him some white flowers to set out round his statue; whereupon he clasped his hands together over his snuff-box and expressed cheerful views of the world we live in. A couple of days afterward he came to breakfast, and, of course, he arrived early, in his new cassock and band. I found him in the billiard-room, walking up and down alone, and reading his breviary. The combination of the locality, the personage, and the occupation made me smile; and I smiled again when, after breakfast, I found him walking up and down the garden, puffing a cigarette. Of course he had an ex- cellent appetite; but there is some- thing rather cruel in those alternations of diet to which the French parish priest is subjected. At home he lives like a peasanta fact which, in itself, is not particularly cruel, inasmuch as he is usually a peasant born. But his fellow peasants dont breakfast at the chateau and gaze adown the savory vistas opened by cutlets ~ la Soubise. They have not the acute pain of being turned back into the stale atmosphere of bread and beans. Of course it is by no means every day or every week even that M. le Cur6 breakfasts at the chateau; but there must nevertheless be a certain uncomfortable crookedness in his position. He lives like a labor- er, and yet he is treated like a gentle- man. The latter character must seem to him sometimes a rather heavy irony on the other. But to the ideal cur6, of course, all characters are equal; he thinks neither too ill of his bad break fasts, nor too well of his good ones. I wont say that the excellent man I speak of is the ideal cure, but I sus- pect he is an approach to it; he has a grain of epicureanism to an ounce of stoicism. In the garden path, beside the moat, while he puffed his cigarette, he told me how he had held up his head to the Prussians; for, hard as it seemed to believe it, that pastoral val- ley had been occupied by ravaging Teutons. According to this recital, he had spoken his mind civilly, but most distinctly, to the group of officers who had made themselves at home in his dwellinghad informed them that it grieved him profoundly that he was obliged to meet them standing there in his cassock, and not out in the fields with a musket in his hands and a dozen congenial spirits at his side. The scene must have been picturesque. The first of the officers got up from table and asked for the privilege of shaking his hand. M. le Cur6, he said, jestime hautement votre caract~re. Six miles awayor nearer, by a charming shaded walk along a canal was an ancient town with a legend a legend which, as a child, I read in my lesson-book at school, marvelling at the wood-cut above it, in which a ferocious dog was tearing a strange man to pieces, while the king and his courtiers sat by as if they were at the circus. I allude to it chiefly in order to mention the name of one o~ its promenades, which is the stateliest, beyond all comparison, in the world; the name, I mean, not the street. The FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. latter is called Les Belles Mani~res. Could anything be finer than that? With what a sweep gentlemen must once have taken off their hats there how ladies must once have curtsied, regardless of gutters, and how people must have turned up their toes as they walked! VI. Mv next impressions were gathered on the margin of a southern seaif the Bay of Biscay indeed deserves so soft-sounding a name. We generally have a mental image beforehand of a place we think of going to, and I supposed I had a tolerably vivid pre- vision of Biarritz. I dont know why, but I had a singular sense of having been there; the name always seemed to me expressive. I saw the way it lay along its gleaming beach; I had taken in imagination the long walks toward Spain over the low cliffs, with the blue sea always to my right, and the blue Pyrenees always before me. My only fear was that my mental pic- ture was not brilliant enough; but this could easily be touched up on the spot. In truth, however, I was exclu- sively occupied in toning it down. Biarritz seemed to be decidedly below its reputation; I am at a loss to see how its reputation was made. There is a partial explanation that is obvious enough. There is a low, square, bare brick mansion seated on the sands, under shelter of a cliff; it is one of the first objects to attract the attention of an arriving stranger. It is not pic- turesque, it is not romantic, and even in the days of its prosperity it never can have been impressive. It is called the Villa Eug~nie, and it explains in a great measure, as I say, the Biarritz which the arriving stranger, with some dismay, perceives about him. It has the aspect of one of the cottages of Newport during the winter season, and is surrounded by an even scanti- er umbrage than usually flourishes in the vicinity of those establishments. It was what the newspapers call the favorite resort of the ex-Empress of the French, who might have been seen at her imperial avocatioas with a good glass at any time from the Casino. The Casino, I hasten to add, has quite the air of an establishment frequented by gentlemen who look on ladies windows with telescopes. There are Casinos and Casinos, and that of Biarritz is, in the summary French phrase, impossible. Except for its view, it is moreover very unat- tractive. Perched on the top of a cliff which has just space enough to hold its immense brick foundations, it has no garden, no promenade, no shade, no place of out-of-door reunion the most indispensable feature of a Casino. It turns its back to the Py- renees and to Spain, and looks out prettily enough over a blue ocean to an arm of the low French coast. Biarritz, for the rest, scrambles over two or three steep hills, direct- ly above the sea, in a promiscuous, many-colored, noisy fashion. It is a watering-place, pure and simple; every house has an expensive little shop in the basement, aad a still more expen- sive set of rooms to let above stairs. The houses are blue, and pink, and green; they stick to the hillsides as they can, and being near Spain, you try to fancy they look Spanish. You succeed perhaps, even a little, and are rewarded for your zeal by finding, when you cross the border a few days afterward, that the houses at San Se- bastian look strikingly French. Biar- ritz is bright, crowded, irregular, filled with many sounds, and not with- out a certain second-rate picturesque- ness; but it struck me as common and cocknified, and my vision travelled back to modest little Etretal, by its northern sea, as to a more truly delect- able resting-place. The southwestern coast of France has little of the exqui- site charm of the Mediterranean shore. It has of course a southern expression which in itself is always delightful. You see a brilliant, yellow sun, with a pink-faced, red-tiled house staring up 106 V [JANUARY, 1877.] FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. 107 at it. You can see here and there a trellis and an orange tree, a peasant woman in gold necklace, driving a donkey, a lame beggar adorned with ear-rings, a glimpse of blue sea be- tween white garden walls. But the superabundant detail of the French Riviera is wanting; the softness, luxu- riousness, enchantment. The most picturesque thing at Biar- ritz is the Basque population, which overflows from the adjacent Spanish provinces and swarms in the crooked streets. It lounges all day in the public places, sprawls upon the curbstones, clings to the face of the cliffs, and vocif- erates continually in a shrill, strange tongue, which has no discoverable affin- ity with any other. The Basques look like the hardier and thriftier Neapoli- tan lazzaroni; if the superficial resem- blance is striking, the difference is very much in their favor. Although those ~ specimens which I observed at Biar- ritz appeared to enjoy an excess of leisure, they had nothing of a shiftless or beggarly air, and seemed as little disposed to ask favors as to confer them. The roads leading into Spain were dotted with them, and here they were coming and going as if on im- portant businessthe business of the abominable Don Carlos himself. They struck me as a very handsome race. The men are invariably clean shaved; smooth chins seem a positively religious observance. They wear little round, maroon-colored caps, like those of sail- or-boys, dark stuff shifts, and curious white shoes, made of strips of rope laid togetheran article of toilet which makes them look like honorary members of base-ball clubs. They sling their jackets, cavalier fashion, over one shoulder, hold their heads very high, swing their arms very bravely, step out very lightly, and when you meet them in the country at eventide, charging down a hillside in companies of half a dozen, make al- together a most impressive appearance. With their smooth chins and childish caps, they may be taken, in the dis- tance, for a lot of very naughty little boys. They have always a cigarette in their teeth. The best thing at Biarritz is your op- portunity for driving over into Spain. Coming speedily to a consciousness of this fact, I found a charm in sitting in a landau and rolling away to San Sebas- tian, behind a driver in a high glazed hat with long streamers, a jacket of scarlet and silver, and a pair of yellow breeches and of jack-boots. if it has been the desire of ones heart and the dream of ones life to visit the land of Cervantes, even grazing it so lightly as by a day~ s excursion from Biarritz is a matter to set one romancing. Everything helpingthe admirable scenery, the charming day, my oper- atic coachman, and smooth-rolling carriageI am afraid I romanced more than it is decent to tell of. You face toward the beautifully outlined mass of the Pyrenees, as if you were going to plunge straight into them, but in reality you travel beneath them and beside them; you pass between their expiring spurs and the sea. It is on proceeding beyond San Sebastian that you seriously attack them. But they are already extremely picturesque none the less so that in this region they abound in suggestion of the re- cent Carlist war. Their far-away peaks and ridges are crowned with lonely Spanish watch-towers and their lower slopes are dotted with demolish- ed dwellings. It was hereabouts that the fighting was most constant. But the healing powers of nature are as re- markable as the destructive powers of man, and the rich September land- scape appeared already to have forgot- ten the injuries of yesterday. Every- thing seemed to me a savory foretaste of Spain. I discovered an uncon- scionable amount of local color. I discovered it at St. Jean de Luz, the last French town, in a great brown church, filled with galleries and boxes, like a playhousethe altar and chair, indeed, looked very much like a pro- scenium; at Bohebia, on the Bidassoa, the small yellow stream which divides France from Spain, and which at this 108 FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. [JANUAflY, point offers to view the celebrated Isle of Pheasants, a little bushy strip of earth adorned with a decayed commem- orative monument, on which, in the sev- enteenth century, the affairs of Louis X1V. and his brother monarch were discussed in ornamental conference; at Fuentarabia (glorious name), a moul- dering relic of Spanish stateliness; at Hondaye, at Irun, at Renteria, and finally at San Sebastian. At all of these wayside towns the houses show marks of Aiphonsist bullets (the region was strongly Carlist); but to be rid- dled and battered seems to carry out the meaning of the pompous old es- cutcheons carven above the doorways, some of them covering almost half the house. It seemed to me, in fact, that the narrower and shabbier was the poor little dusky dwelling, the grand- er and more elaborate was this noble advertisement. But it stood for knight- ly prowess, and pitiless Time had taken up the challenge. I found it fine work to rumble through the nar- row single street of Irun and Renteria, between the strangecolored houses, the striped awnings, the universal bal- conies, and the heraldic doorways. San Sebastian is a lively watering- place, and is set down in the guide- books as the Biarritz or the Brighton of Spain. It has of course a new quarter in the provincial-elegant style (fresh stucco cafes, barber shops, and apartments to let), looking out upon a planted promenade and a charming bay, locked in fortified heights, with a narrow portal to the ocean. I walked about for two or three hours, and de- voted most of my attention to the old quarter, the town proper, which has a great frowning gate upon the harbor, through which you look along a vista of gaudy house fronts, balconies, and awnings, surmounted by a narrow strip of sky. Here the local color was richer, the manners more naif Here too was a church with a flamboy- ant Jesuit fa9ade and an interior redo- lent of Spanish Catholicism. There was a life-sized effigy of the Virgin perched upon a table beside the great altar (she appeared to have been walk- ing abroad in a procession), whom I looked at with extreme interest. She seemed to me a heroine, a solid Span- ish person, as perfect a reality as Don Quixote or St. Theresa. She was dressed in an extraordinary splendor of laces, brocades, and jewels, her coiffure and complexion were of the finest, and she evidently would an- swer to her name if you spoke to her. Improving the stateliest title I could think of, I addressed her as Doria Ma- ria of the Holy Office; whereupon she looked round the great dusky, per- fumed church, to see whether we were alone, and then she dropped her fringed eyelids and held out her hand to be kissed. She was the Sentiment of Spanish Catholicism: gloomy, yet bedizened, emotional as a woman, and yet mechanical as a doll. After a mo- ment I grew afraid of her, and went slinking away. After this I didn1~ really recover my spirits until I had the satisfaction of hearing myself ad- dressed as Cabellero. I was hailed with this epithet by a ragged infant, with sickly eyes and a cigarette in his lips, who invited me to cast a copper into the sea, that he might dive font; and even with these limitations, the sensation seemed worth the cost of my excursion. It appeared kinder, to my gratitude, to make the infant dive upon the pavement. A few days later I went back to San Sebastian, to witness a bull fight; but I suppose my right to descant upon this entertainment should be measured less by the gratification it afforded me than by the question whether there is room in literature for another bull fight. I incline to think there is not; the Spanish diversion is the best de- scribed thing in the world. Besides, there are other reasons for not describ- ing it. It is extremely disgusting, and one should not describe disgusting thingsexcept (according to the new school) in novels, when they have not really occurred, and are manufactured on purpose. But one has taken a cer- tain sort of pleasure in the bull fight, 1877.1 THE BALLAD OF CONSTANCE. 109 and yet how is one to state gracefully that one has taken pleasure in a dis- gusting thing? It is a hard case. If you record your pleasure, distinctly, you seem to exaggerate it and to ca- lumniate your delicacy; and if you re- cord nothing but your displeasure, you feel rather crabbed and stingy. This much I can say, at any rate, that as there had been no bull fights in that part of the country during the Catlist war, the native dilettanti (and every man, woman, and child of them comes under this denomination) returned to their previous pastime with peculiar zest. The spectacle, therefore, had an unusual splendor. Under these cir- cumstances it is highly picturesque. The weather was beautiful; the near mountains peeped over the top of the vast open arena, as if they too were curious; weary of disembowelled horses and posturing espadas, the spec- tator (in the boxes) might turn away and look through an unglazed window at the empty town and the cloud- shadowed sea. But few of the native spectators availed themselves of this privilege. Beside me sat a blooming matron, in a white lace mantilla, with three very juvenile daughters; and if these ladies sometimes yawned, they never shivered. For myself, I confess that if I sometimes shivered, I never yawned. A long list of bulls was sac- rificed, each of whom had pretentions to originality. The Iwinderillos, in their silk stockings and embroidered satin costumes, skipped about with a great deal of elegance; the espada folded his arms, within six inches of the bulls nose, and stared him out of counte- nance; but I thought the bull, in any case, a finer fellow than any of his tormentors, and I thought his tormen- tors finer fellows than the spectators. In truth, we were all, for the time, rather sorry fellows together. A bull fight will, to a certain extent, bear looking at, but it will not bear think- ing of. There was a more innocent picturesqueness in what I saw after- ward, when we all came away, in the late afternoon, as the shadows were at their longest the bright-colored southern crowd, spreading itself over the grass, and the women, with man- tillas and fans, strolling up along be- fore the mountains and the sea. HENRY JAMES, Ju. THE BALLAD OF CONSTANCE. I. WITH diamond dew the grass was wet, Twas in the spring, and gentlest weather, And all the birds of morning met, And carolled in her heart together. IL The wind blew softly oer the land, And softly kissed the joyous ocean: lie walked beside her, on the sand, And gave and won a hearts devotion. m. The thistledown was in the breeze, With birds of passage homeward flying: His fortune called him oer the seas, And on the shore he left her sighing.

1877.1 THE BALLAD OF CONSTANCE. 109 and yet how is one to state gracefully that one has taken pleasure in a dis- gusting thing? It is a hard case. If you record your pleasure, distinctly, you seem to exaggerate it and to ca- lumniate your delicacy; and if you re- cord nothing but your displeasure, you feel rather crabbed and stingy. This much I can say, at any rate, that as there had been no bull fights in that part of the country during the Catlist war, the native dilettanti (and every man, woman, and child of them comes under this denomination) returned to their previous pastime with peculiar zest. The spectacle, therefore, had an unusual splendor. Under these cir- cumstances it is highly picturesque. The weather was beautiful; the near mountains peeped over the top of the vast open arena, as if they too were curious; weary of disembowelled horses and posturing espadas, the spec- tator (in the boxes) might turn away and look through an unglazed window at the empty town and the cloud- shadowed sea. But few of the native spectators availed themselves of this privilege. Beside me sat a blooming matron, in a white lace mantilla, with three very juvenile daughters; and if these ladies sometimes yawned, they never shivered. For myself, I confess that if I sometimes shivered, I never yawned. A long list of bulls was sac- rificed, each of whom had pretentions to originality. The Iwinderillos, in their silk stockings and embroidered satin costumes, skipped about with a great deal of elegance; the espada folded his arms, within six inches of the bulls nose, and stared him out of counte- nance; but I thought the bull, in any case, a finer fellow than any of his tormentors, and I thought his tormen- tors finer fellows than the spectators. In truth, we were all, for the time, rather sorry fellows together. A bull fight will, to a certain extent, bear looking at, but it will not bear think- ing of. There was a more innocent picturesqueness in what I saw after- ward, when we all came away, in the late afternoon, as the shadows were at their longest the bright-colored southern crowd, spreading itself over the grass, and the women, with man- tillas and fans, strolling up along be- fore the mountains and the sea. HENRY JAMES, Ju. THE BALLAD OF CONSTANCE. I. WITH diamond dew the grass was wet, Twas in the spring, and gentlest weather, And all the birds of morning met, And carolled in her heart together. IL The wind blew softly oer the land, And softly kissed the joyous ocean: lie walked beside her, on the sand, And gave and won a hearts devotion. m. The thistledown was in the breeze, With birds of passage homeward flying: His fortune called him oer the seas, And on the shore he left her sighing. 110 THE BALLAD OF CONSTANCE. [J~uAItY. V. She saw his barque glide down the bay Through tears and fears she could not banish; She saw his white sails melt away; She saw them fade; she saw them vanish. V. And Go, she said; for winds are fair, And love and blessing round you hover: When you sail backward through the air, Then I will trust the word of lover. YL Still ebbed, still flowed the tide of years, Now chilled with snows, now bright with roses, And many smiles were turned to tears, And sombre moms to radiant closes. FIt And many ships came gliding by, - With many a g~Aden promise freighted: But nevermore from sea or sky Came love to bless her heart that waited. VII.. Yet on, by tender patience led, Her sacred footsteps walked unbidden, Wherever sorrow bows its head, Or want and care and shame are hidden. IX. And they who saw her snow-white hair, And dark, sad eyes, so deep with feeling, Breathed all at once the chancel air, And seemed to hear the organ pealing. X. Till once, at shut of autumn day, In marble chill she paused and harkened, With startled gaze where far away The waste of sky and ocean darkened. XL There, for a moment, faint and wan, High up in air, and landward striving, Stern-fore a spectral barqne came on, Across the purple sunset driving. XIL Then something out of night she knew, Some whisper heard,from heaven descended, And peacefully as falls the dew Her long and lonely vigil ended. XflI. The violet and the bramble-rose Make glad the grass that dreams above her; And freed from time and all its woes, She trusts again the word of lover. Wnzr& 3[ Wnrrsna. THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. TT is a cameo to break ones insist that it could not have been exe- I heart I said Mrs. Dalliba, as cuted out of Italy. she toyed with the superb jewel. ~The But Prof. Stonehenge was right too; cutting is unmistakably Florentine, it was a stone of the chalcedonic fana- aud yet you have placed it among your ily, resembling sardonyx, except in Indian curiosities. I do not under- color; others, similar to it both in a stand it at all. natural state and wrought into arrow- Mrs. Dalliba was a connoisseur in heads, had been found along the shores gems; she had travelled from one ex- of Lake Superior. This seemed to have tremity of Europe to the other; had been brought away from its associates studied the crown jewels of nearly by some wandering tribe, for it had every civilized nation, haunted mu- been discovered in Central Illinois. seums, and was such a frequent visitor The nearest point at which other relics at the jewellers of the Palais Royal, belonging to the same period had been that many of them had come to regard found was the site of Fort Cr~vecceur, her as an individual who might harbor near Starved Rock, Illinois. After all, burglarious intentions. She was a the stone only differed from the arrow- very harmless specialist, however, who, heads of Lake Superior in its beautiful though she loved these stars of the carving and unprecedented sizeand, underworld better than any human ah, yes there was another difference, being, could never have been tempted the mystery of its discovery. No other to make one of them unfairly her own, skeleton among all the buried braves and she seldom purchased, for she unearthed by scientific research at never coveted one unless it was some- Cr~veccnur had been found with a gem thing quite extraordinary, beyond the for a hearta gem that glittered not reach of even her considerable fortune. on the breast, but within a chest hoop- Meanwhile few of the larger jewelry ed with human bone. Mrs. Dalliba houses had in their employ lapidaries had just remarked that she had never more skilled than Mrs. Dalliba. She felt so strong a desire to possess and pursued her studies for the mere love wear any jewel as now; but when of the science, devoting a year in Prof. Stonehenge told how the un- Italy to mosaics, cameos, and intaglios. canny thing rattled within the white And yet the Cr~vec~ur cameo had ribs of the skeleton in which it was puzzled wiser heads than Mrs. Dal- found, she allowed the gem to slip libas, adept though she was. It was from her hand, while something of its cut from a solid heart-shaped gem, a, own pale green flickered in the dis- layer of pure white, shading down gusted expression which quivered through exquisite gradations into deep about the corners of her mobile mouth. green, and represented Aphrodite ris- The cameo was a mystery which had ing from the sea; the white form rose baffled geologist, antiquarian, and gracefully, with arms extended, scat- sculptor alike, for Father Francis tering the drops of spray from her Xavier had gone down to his gravel hands and her wind-blown hair; the with his secret and his cameo hidden foamy waves were beautifully cut with in his heart. He had kept both well their intense hollows and snowy crests; for two centuries, and when the heart it was evidently the work of a culti- crumbled in dust ittook its secret with vated as well as a natural artist; it was it, leaving only the cameo to bewilder not surprising that Mrs. Dalliba should conjecture.

THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. TT is a cameo to break ones insist that it could not have been exe- I heart I said Mrs. Dalliba, as cuted out of Italy. she toyed with the superb jewel. ~The But Prof. Stonehenge was right too; cutting is unmistakably Florentine, it was a stone of the chalcedonic fana- aud yet you have placed it among your ily, resembling sardonyx, except in Indian curiosities. I do not under- color; others, similar to it both in a stand it at all. natural state and wrought into arrow- Mrs. Dalliba was a connoisseur in heads, had been found along the shores gems; she had travelled from one ex- of Lake Superior. This seemed to have tremity of Europe to the other; had been brought away from its associates studied the crown jewels of nearly by some wandering tribe, for it had every civilized nation, haunted mu- been discovered in Central Illinois. seums, and was such a frequent visitor The nearest point at which other relics at the jewellers of the Palais Royal, belonging to the same period had been that many of them had come to regard found was the site of Fort Cr~vecceur, her as an individual who might harbor near Starved Rock, Illinois. After all, burglarious intentions. She was a the stone only differed from the arrow- very harmless specialist, however, who, heads of Lake Superior in its beautiful though she loved these stars of the carving and unprecedented sizeand, underworld better than any human ah, yes there was another difference, being, could never have been tempted the mystery of its discovery. No other to make one of them unfairly her own, skeleton among all the buried braves and she seldom purchased, for she unearthed by scientific research at never coveted one unless it was some- Cr~veccnur had been found with a gem thing quite extraordinary, beyond the for a hearta gem that glittered not reach of even her considerable fortune. on the breast, but within a chest hoop- Meanwhile few of the larger jewelry ed with human bone. Mrs. Dalliba houses had in their employ lapidaries had just remarked that she had never more skilled than Mrs. Dalliba. She felt so strong a desire to possess and pursued her studies for the mere love wear any jewel as now; but when of the science, devoting a year in Prof. Stonehenge told how the un- Italy to mosaics, cameos, and intaglios. canny thing rattled within the white And yet the Cr~vec~ur cameo had ribs of the skeleton in which it was puzzled wiser heads than Mrs. Dal- found, she allowed the gem to slip libas, adept though she was. It was from her hand, while something of its cut from a solid heart-shaped gem, a, own pale green flickered in the dis- layer of pure white, shading down gusted expression which quivered through exquisite gradations into deep about the corners of her mobile mouth. green, and represented Aphrodite ris- The cameo was a mystery which had ing from the sea; the white form rose baffled geologist, antiquarian, and gracefully, with arms extended, scat- sculptor alike, for Father Francis tering the drops of spray from her Xavier had gone down to his gravel hands and her wind-blown hair; the with his secret and his cameo hidden foamy waves were beautifully cut with in his heart. He had kept both well their intense hollows and snowy crests; for two centuries, and when the heart it was evidently the work of a culti- crumbled in dust ittook its secret with vated as well as a natural artist; it was it, leaving only the cameo to bewilder not surprising that Mrs. Dalliba should conjecture. 112 THE HEARTBEEA-K CAMEO. [JANUARY, Its story was, after all, a simple one. On the southern shore of Michullimack- mac, in the romantic days of the first exploration of the great lakes by the Courreurs de Bois and pioneer priests, had settled good P~re Ignace, a de- voted Jesuit missionary. The old man was revered and loved by the Indians among whom he dwelt. His labors blossomed in a little village, called from his patron saint the mission of St. Jgnace, that displayed its cluster of white huts and wigwams like the petals of a water-lily on the margin of the lake. Just back of the village was a round knoll which served as a landmark on the lake, for the shore near St. Ignace was remarkably level. On the summit of this mound the good father had reared a great white cross, and at its foot the superstitious Indians often laid votive offerings of strongly incongruous character. Here he had lived and taught for many years, suc- ceeding in instructing his little flock in the French tongue, and in at least an outward semblance of the Catholic religion. Even the rude trappers, who came to trade at regular intervals, re- vered him, and lived like good Chris- tians while at the mission, so as not to counteract his teaching by their law- less example. Here P~re Ignace was growing old, and even this grasshopper of a spiritual charge was hecoming a burden. His superior, at Montreal, understood this and sent him an as- ~istant. Very unlike Father Ignatius was P~re Fran~ois Xavier, a man with all the fire and enthusiasm of youth in his bloodjust the one for daring, hazard- ous enterprises; just the one to under- go all the privation and toil of plant- ing a mission; to undertake plans re- quiring superhuman efforts, and to carry them through successfully by main force of will. A better assistant for Father Ignatius could not have been found. It was force, will, and intellect in the service of love and meekness; only there was a doubt if the servant might not usurp the place of the master, and the sway of love be not materially advanced by its new ally. Indeed, if the truth had been known, even the Bishop of Montreal had felt that Father Francis Xavier was too ambitious a character to reside safely in too close proximity to him- self; and engrossing employment at a distance for him, rather than the ex- pressed solicitude for Father Ignatius, prompted this appointment. The re- sults of the following year approved the arrangement. The mission received a new accession of life; its interests were pushed forward energetically. Father Francis Xavier devoted him- self to an acquisition of the various Indian dialects, and to excursions among the neighboring tribes. Con- verts were made in astonishing num- bers, and they brought liberal gifts to the little church from their simple pos- sessions. Father Ignatius had never thought to barter with the trappers and traders, but his colleague did; large church warehouses were erected, and the mission soon had revenues of importance. Away in the interior Father Xavier had discovered there was a silver mine; but this discovery, for the present, he made no attempt at ex- ploiting. He had secured it to the church by title deed and treaty with the chief who claimed it; had visited it and assured himself that it would some day be very valuable, and he contented himself with this f~r the present, and even managed to forget its acquisition in his yearly report sent to Montreal. Father Francis Xavier was something of a geologist; his father was a Florentine jeweller, and the so?i had studied as his apprentice, not having at first been destined for the church. Even after taking holy orders, Father Francis Xavier had la- bored over precious stones designed for ecclesiastical decoration. His spe- cialty had been that of a gem engrav- er, and his long white fingers were remarkably skilful and delicate. This northern region, with all its wealth of precious stones, was a great jewel cas- ket for him, and he became at once an enthusiastic collector. 1877.] THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. 113 Before the coming of his assistant, Father Ignatius had managed his own simple housekeeping in all its most humble details. Now they had the services of an Indian maid of all work, who had been brought up under the eyes of Father Ignatius, and whom the old man regarded rather as a daugh- ter than as a servant. Her moccasined feet fell as silently as those of spir- its as she glided about their lodge. She never sang at her work, and rarely spoke, but she smiled often with a smile so childlike as to be almost silly in expression. Father Ignatius loved the silent smile, and a word from him was always sure to bring it; but it angered Father Francis Xavier more than many a more repulsive thing would have done. It seemed so utterly imbecile and babyish to him, he had got so far away from innocence and smiles and childhood himself, that the sight of them irritated him. The young Indian girl had a long and al- most unpronounceable name. Pi~re Ignace had baptized her Marie, and the new name had gradually taken the place of the old. One day, as she was silently but dex- terously putting to ordcr the large up- per room, which served P~re Francis Xavier as study and dormitory, she paused before his collection of agates and minerals, and stroking the stones, said in her soft French and Indian patois, Pretty, pretty. Father Xavier was seated at the great open window, looking over the top of his book away across the breezy lake. He heard the words, and knew that she was looking at him from the corner of her eye, but his only reply was a deeper scowl and a lowering of his glance to the printed page. The silly smile which he felt sure was upon her face faded out, but the girl spoke again, and this time more resolutely, determined to attract his attention. Pretty stones. Maries father many more, much prettiermuch. Father Xavier laid down his book. He was all attention. Where did your father get them? he asked. In the mountains climb, in the mines dig, in the lake dive, he seek them all the time summer. What does he do with them? Cuts them like mon pinire, and Marie imitated in pantomime the use of the hammer and chisel. Cut them all time winter, very many. What does he do that for? asked the priest, surprised. All the same you, replied the girl make arrow-heads. Oh! he makes arrow-heads, does he? Mine are not arrow-heads, but I should like to see what your father does. Does he live far from here ? Marie take you to-night in canoe. Yery well, after supper. She had often taken him out upon the lake before, for she managed their birch-bark canoe with more skill than himself, and it was convenient to have some one to paddle while he fished or read or dreamed. She rowed him swiftly up the lake for several miles, then, fastening the canoe, led the way through a trail in the forest. The sun was setting, and the whisper- ing pines and the hemlocks of the forest primeval formed a tapestry of gloom around the paternal wigwam as they reached it. Black Beaver, her father, reclined lazily in the door, watching the coals of the little fire in front of his tent. He was always lazy. It was difficnlt to believe that he ever climbed or dug or dived for agates as Marie had said, so complete a picture he seemed of inaction. The girl spoke a few words to him in their native dialect, and he grumblingly rose, shuffled into the interior of the wig- wam, and brought out two baskets. One was a shallow tray filled with the finished heads in great variety of ma- terial and color. There were white carnelian, delicately striped with pro- phetic red, blood-stone deep-colored and hard as ruby, agates of every shade and marking, flinty jasper, eme- rald-banded malachite, delicate rose color, and purple ones made from shells, and various crystals with whose names Father Fran9ois Xavier was un 114 THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. [JANUARY, familiar. There was one shading from dark green through to red, only a drop of the latter color on the very tip of the arrow where blood would first kiss blood. Father Xavier looked at it in wondering admiration, and at last asked Black Beaver what he call- ed it. It is a devil-stone, replied the Indian. More here, and he opened the deeper basket in which were stored the unground and uncut stones, and placed a superb gem in Father Xa- viers hand. He had ground it suffi- ciently to show that it was in two lay- ers, white and green; in this there was no touch of red, but in every other respect it was the handsomer stone. Will you sell it to me? asked the priest. How much? The Indian smiled with an expres- sion strangely like that of his daugh- ter, and put it back with alacrity in his basket, saying, Me no sell big devil-stone. No money buy. What do you mean to do with it? asked Father Xavier. Make arrowheadvery hungry no blood; and he indicated the ab- sence of the red tint. Very hun- gry kill very much never have enough! Then you mean to keep it and use it yourself? ~ said the other. Me no hunt gamehunt stones. What will you do with it? asked the puzzled priest. Give it away, said Black Beaver give away to greatest Chief? asked Father Xavier. Black Beaver shook his head. Friend then? No, grunted the arrowhead mak- er give away to big enemy! What did he mean by that? Father Xavier asked of Marie on their way back to the mission. And the girl explained the superstition that In- dians of their own tribe never killed an enemy with ordinary weapons, for fear that his soul would wait for theirs in the Happy Hunting Grounds; but if he was shot with a devil-stone, the soul could not fly upward, but would sink through all eternity, until it reached the deepest spot of all the great lakes under the stony gaze of the Doom Woman. When he inquired further as to the whereabouts of the Doom Womans residence he ascertained that she was only a sharp cliff among the pictured rocks of sandstone of the upper lake a cliff that viewed from either side maintained its resemblance to a female profile looking sternly down at the water beneath it, which was here be- lieved to be unfathomable. The Doom Woman still exists. Strange to say, under its sharp-cut features a steamer has since been wrecked and sunk, and its expression of gloomy fate is now awfully appropriate. Marie had visit- ed the great Sea Water with her father. Natures titanic and fanciful frescoing and cameo cutting had strongly wrought upon her impression- able mind, and the old legends and superstitions of paganism had been by no means effaced by the very slight veneer of Christianity which she had received at the mission. From this evening Father Xaviers manner toward her changed. Her smile no longer seemed to irritate him, and a close observer might have noticed that she smiled less than for- merly. He talked with her more, paid closer attention to her studies, made her little presents from time to to time, and spoke to her always with studied gentleness that was quite for- eign to his nature. And Marie watch- ed him at work over his stones, spent her spare time in rambling in search of those which she had learned he liked, and laid upon his table without re- mark each new discovery of quartz, or crystal, or pebble. She had been in the habit of making little boxes which she decorated with a rude mo- saic of small shells, and Father Xavier noticed that these gradually acquired more taste and were arranged with some eye to the harmonies of color, while the forms were copied with Chinese accuracy from patterns on the 1877.] THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. 115 bindings of his books or the borders of the religious pictures. Marie was developing under an art education which if carried far enough might effect great things. She even man- aged his graving tools with a good deal of accuracy, copying designs which he set her, until he wondered what his father would have thought of so apt an apprentice. Suddenly, one morning in midsum- mer, Marie announced that she should leave them. Her father was going on a long expedition for stones to the head of Lake Superior, and she did not know when she might return. As she imparted this information she watched Father Xavier from the corner of her eye, and something of the old childish smile reappeared as he showed that he was really annoyed. The summer passed profitably for the Black Beaver, and he began to think of returning to St. Ignace with his small store of valuable stones be- fore the fall gales should set in. He was just a few days too late. When within sight of Michillimackinac a storm arose driving them out upon the open lake, and playing with their canoe as though it were a cockle shell. When the storm abated a cloudy night had set in; no land was visible in any direction; they had completely lost their direction, and knew not toward which point to seek the shore. Pad- dling at hazard might take them fur- ther out into the centre of the lake, and indeed they were too worn with bat- tling with the storm to do any more than keep the tossed skiff from cap- sizing. Morning dawned wet and gray, after a miserable night; they were drenched to the skin, and almost spent with weariness and hunger, and now that a wan and ghostly daylight had come they were no better for it, for an impenetrable fog shut them in on every side. Marie and her mother began to pray. The Black Beaver sat dogged and inert, with upturned face, regarding the sky. The day wore by wearily; some of the time they paddled straight on- ward, with sinking hearts, knowing not toward what they were going, and at others rested with the inaction of de- spair. When the position of the bright spot which meant the sun told that it lacked but an hour of sunset, and the clouds seemed to be thickening rather than dispersing, the Black Beaver gave a long and hideous howl. His wife and daughter shuddered when they heard it, as would any one, for a more un- earthly and discordant cry was never uttered by man or beast; but they had double reason to shudder; it was the death cry of their nation. We can never live through another, night, said he, and he covered his face with his arms. Father, said Marie, try what power there is in the white mans God. Say that you will give Him your devil- stone if He will save us now. The priest may have it, said the Black Beaver, and he uncovered his face and sat up as though expecting a miracle. And the miracle came. The sun was setting behind them, and in front,somewhat above the horizon, the clouds parted, forming a circle about a white cross which hung suspended in the air. They all saw it distinctly, but only for a few moments; then the clouds closed and the vision vanished. With new hope the little party rowed toward the spot where they had last seen it, and through the fog they could dimly discern the outlines of the coast they were nearing land. A little fur- ther on, and a village was visible,which gained a more and more familiar as- pect as they approached. Night set- tled down before they reached it, but ere their feet touched the land they had recognized the mission of St. Ig- nace. The cross was not a vision. The clouds had parted to show them the great white landmark and sign which Father Ignatius had raised upon the little knoll. The next day the Black Beaver un- earthed his devil-stone4 and fastening a silver chain to it, was about to carry it away and attach it to the cross, which was already loaded with the 110 THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. [JMUARY, gifts of the little colony; but Marie took it from his hand. I will give it to the good priest myself, she said. He may see fit to place it on the im- age of the Virgin in the church. A few days later Marie placed the coveted stone in Father Xaviers hand; but what was his bittcr disappoint- ment to find that she had marred the exquisite thing by a rude attempt at a delineation upon it of the vision of the cross. She had carefully chiselled away the milky white layer, excepting on the crests of some very primitive representations of waves, and within the awkwardly plain cross in the cen- tre of the gem. All his hopes of cut- ting a face upon this lovely jewel were crushed; it was ruined by her unskil- ful work. Fathcr Xavier was com- pletely master of his own emotions. He took the stone without remark, and hung it, as Marie requested, about the neck of the Madonna. Each day as he said mass the sight of the mutilated jewel roused within him resentful feelings against poor, well-wishing little Made. He had been very kind to her since he had first seen the stone in the possession of her father, but now it was worse than before. He avoided her markedly, for the smile which so annoyed him still lighted her face whenever she saw him, and there was in it a reproachful sadness which was even more aggravating than its simple childishness had been. One day Father Xavier in turning over his papers came across an old etching of Venus rising from the sea. The figure, with its outstretched arms, suggested a possibility to him. He made a careful tracing of it, took it to the church and laid it upon the stone. All of its outlines came within the white cross; there was still hope for the cameo. All that winter Father Xavier toiled upon it, exhausting his utmost skill, but never exhausting his patience. His chief trial was in the extreme hardness of the stone, which rapidly wore out his graving tools. At last it was finished, and Father Xavier confessed to himself, in all hu mility, that he had not only never exe- cuted so delicate a piece of workman- ship, but he had never seen its equal. Every curve of the exquisite-hued waves was studied from the swell that sometimes swept grandly in from the lake on the long reef of rocks a few miles above St. Ignace. The form of the goddess was modelled from his re- membrance of the Greek antique. It was a gem worthy of an emperor. What should he do with it? As the spring ripened into summer, ambitious thoughts flowered in P~re Francis Xaviers soul. What a grand bishopric this whole western country would make with its unexplored wealth of mines, and furs, and forest. Why should he be obliged to make re- ports of the revenue which his own financiering had secured to the mission, to the head at Montreal? Why should not his reverence the Lord Bishop Francis Xavier dwell in an episcopal palace built somewhere on these lakes, with unlimited spiritual and temporal sway over all this country? To effect such a scheme it would be necessary for him to see both the King of France and the Pope. He was not sure that even if lie could return to Europe im- mediately, he had the influence neces- sary in either quarter, but the cameo was a step in the right direction. Something of the same thought oc- curred at the same time to the Bishop of Montreal. Father Xaviers reports showed the mission to be in a flourish- ing condition. The first struggles of the pioneer were over. Father Xavier must not be left in too luxurious a po- sition. The Chevalier La Salle was now fitting out his little band designed to explore the lakes and follow the Mississippi from its source to the Gulf. A most important expeditien; it would be well that the Jesuit fathers should share in the honors if it proved suc- cessful, and if the little party perished in its hazardous enterprise, P~re Fran- cis Xavier could perhaps be spared as easIly as any member of his spiritual army. And so, in the summer of 1079, the 1877.] THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. 117 Chevalier sailed up the Lao du Dau- phin, as Lake Erie was then called, into the Lac dOrleans, or Huron, car- rying letters in which P~re Francis Xavier was ordered to leave his charge for a time in order to render all the assistance in his power to the explor- ers. The Bishop of Montreal could never have guessed with what heart- felt joy his command was obeyed. Father Xavier was tired of this peace- ful life, tired of the endless wash of melancholy waves, of the short cool summers, and long white blank of winter; tired of inaction, of the lack of stimulating surroundings, of the gentleness of Father Ignatius and Maries haunting smile. Here, too, might be the very occasion he craved of making himself famous and deserv- ing of reward as an explorer. It was true that he started as a subordinate, but that was no reason that he should return in the same capacity. Marie had served the noble guests with plea- sant alacrity, passing the rainbow- tinted trout caught as well as broiled by her own hand, and the luscious huckleberries in tasteful baskets of her own braiding, and Tontz Main de Fer, the chivalric companion and friend of La Salle, was moved like Geraint, served by Enid., to stoop and kiss the dainty little thumb that crossed the trencher. The salutation was re- ceived with unconscious dignity by little Marie; once only was P~re Fran9ois Xavier annoyed by the ab- sence of a display of childish pleasure in an ever ready smile. History tells how trial and privation of every kind waited on this little band of heroic menhow hunger, and cold, and fever dogged their steps; how the Indians proved treacherous and hostile; how, having reached cen- tral Illinois after incredible exertion, they found themselves in the dead of winter unable to proceed further, and surrounded by tribes incited against them by some unknown enemy. A fatality seemed to hang over them; suspicious occurrences indicated that they had a traitor among their number, 8 but he was never discovered. La Salle did not despair or abandon the enter- prise, but when six of his most trusted men mutinied and deserted, he lost hope, and became seized with a pre- sentiment that he would never return from his expedition. Father Xavier was his confidant as well as confessor, but he seems not to have been able to disperse the gloom which settled over the leaders mind. Perhaps he did not endeavor to do so. Hopeless but still true to his trust, La Salle constructed near Peoria a fort which he named Cr~vecceur, in token of his desponden- cy and disappointment. Leaving Tontz Main de Fer in command here with the greater part of his men, he set out with five for Frontenac, on the 2d of March, 1680, intending to return with supplies to take command again of his party, and to proceed southward. It was at this point that the most inex- plicable event of the entire enterprise occurred. Before the party divided some one attempted to poison the Chev- alier La Salle. The poison was a sub- tle and slow one, similar in its effects to those used by the Borgia family; the secret of its manufacture was thought to be unknown out of Italy. Fortunately he had taken an under or overdose of it, and the effects mani- fested themselves only in a long illness. He was too far on his journey from Fort Heartbreak when stricken down to return to it, and was mercifully re- ceived and nursed back to health by the friendly Pottawottamies. While the leader was lying sick in an Indian lodge, the knightly Tontz, of the fate of his friend was ignorant having his troubles at the little fort of Heartbreak. P~re Fran9ois Xavier had remained with him, and aided him with counsels and personal exer- tions; he had made himself so indis- pensable that he was now lieutenant; if anything should happen to Tontz, he would be commander. He was secre- tary of the expedition, drew careful maps, and made voluminous daily en- tries in a journal, which was afterward found to be a marvel of painstaking 118 THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO. [JANUAItY, both in the facts and fictions which it contained. Scanty mention was there of La Salle and Tontz Main de Fer, and much of F~re Fran9ois Xavier, but it was clear, explicit, depicting the advantages of an acquisition of this territory to the crown of France in glowing terms, and strongly advis- ing that the man who had most dis tinguished himself in the difficulties of its discovery should be appointed as governor, or baron, under the royal authority. While Father Xavier was compiling this remarkable piece of authorship, the Iroquois descended in warlike ar- ray upon the somewhat friendly dis- posed Illinois Indians, in whose midst Fort Cr~veceur had been built. The suspicious Indian mind immediately connected the advent of their enemies with the building of the fort, and re- garded the little garrison with dis- trust. Tontz, at the instance of Fa- ther Xavier, presented himself to their chief, and offered to do anything in his power to prove his friendly inten- tions. The chief accepted his ser- vices, and sent him as ambassador to inquire into the cause of the coming of the Iroquois. This mission had nearly been his last, for Tontz was re- ceived with stabs, and hardly allowed to give the message of the chief. His ill treatment at the hands of their ene- mies did not reassure the suspicious Illinois, who ordered Tontz to imme- diately evacuate the fort and return with his forces to the country whence he had come. In his wounded con- dition such a journey was extremely hazardous, and it must have been with grave doubts as to his surviving it that Father Xavier took temporary com- mand of the returning expedition. It was the spring of 1681. Father Xavier had been absent nearly two years. Father Ignatius missed him sadlyall the life and fire seemed to have gone out of the mission. Even Marie moved about her work in a list- less, languid way, which contrasted markedly with her once lithe and rapid movements. They had not once heard from the explorers, and Father Igna- tius shook his head sadly, and feared that he would never see his energetic colleague again. The Black Beaver had slept through the last months of winter, and, as with the general awak- ening of spring the bears came out of their dens, and the snakes sunned themselves near their holes, he too stretched himself lazily and awoke to a consciousness of what was passing around him. In the first place some- thing was amiss with Marie. When she came to the wigwam it was not to chat merrily of the affairs of the mis- sion. She did not braid as many bas- kets as formerly, and no longer showed him new patterns in shell mosaic on the lids of little boxes. He was a curious old man, and he soon drew her secret from her. Marie loved P~re Fran9ois Xavier, and he had gone. The Black Beaver went down to the mission one evening and had a long talk with Father Ignatius. He ascer- tained first that P~re Fran9ois Xavier really meant to return; then, with all the dignity of an old feudal baron, he offered Marie as a bride for his spirit- ual son. Very gently the good P?~re Ignace explained that Romish priests were so nearly in the kingdom of heaven that the question of marrying and giving in marriage was not for them to consider. The Black Beaver went home, told no one of his visit, and for several days indulged in the worst drunken spree of which he was capable. When he came out of it lie announced to his wife and Marie that he was going away on his annual trip for stores, but that they need not ac- company him. Marie knelt as usual in the little church on the evening of the day on which her father had gone away. P~re Fran9ois Xavier had replaced the cameo on the Virgins breast before he went; it was a safer place than the vault of a bank would have been, had such a thing existed in the country. There was no one in the island sacri- legious enough to rob the church. Marie had gazed at the stone each 1877.] MONSIEUR DELILLE. 119 time that she repeated the prayer which he had taught her. She looked up now, and it was gone. Half-way upon their northward route, Tontzs band were struggling wearily on when they were met by a solitary Indian, who, though he carried a long bow, had not an unfriendly aspect. He eyed the little band silently as they passed by him in defile, then ran after them, and inquired if the P~re Fran- 9ois Xavier, of Mission St. Ignace, was not of their number. He was informed that the reverend father had remained a short distance behind to write in his journal, but that he would soon over- take them; and he was warmly pressed to remain with them if he had mes.. sages for the priest, and give them to him when he arrived; but the Indian shook his head and passed on in the direction in which they told him he would be likely to meet Father Xavier. The party halted and waited hour after hour for the priest, but he did not come. Finally two went back in search, and found him lying upon the sod with upturned facethe place where he had written last in his jour- nal marked by a few drops of his hearts blood, and the long shaft of an arrow protruding from his breast. They drew it out, but the arrow-head had been attached, as is the custom in some Indian tribes, by means of a soft wax, which is melted by the warmth of the body, and it remained in the heart. Father Xavier had been dead some hours. They buried him where they found him, and proceeded on. their march. Tontz recovered on the way. They reached Michillimackinack in safety, where they were joined two months later by La Salle ; and the world knows the result of his second expedition. Little Marie learned by degrees to smile again, and in after years mar- ried another arrow-head maker, as swarthy and as shaggy as the Black Beaver. There is no moral to my story except that of poetic justice. P~re Fran~ois Xavier had sown a plen- tiful crop of stratagems, and he learned in the lonely forest that Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap. Meanwhile to all but you, my read- ers, the Cr~vecceur cameo remains as great a mystery as ever. Lizzm W. CHAI[PNEY. MONSIEUR DELILLE. ROTE-BOOK OF A SECRETARY OF LEGATIO1~. THE newspapers of Berlin an- nounced the arrival of a supe- rior artist, the celebrated M. Delille of the Th6~tre Fran9ais de Paris, where he had played first parts. Born and bred in the French metropolis, it was believed he would not only open new sources of amusement to the public, but add elegance to the French even of the highest regions. Everybody was talking of him. His acquisition, ren- dered possible only by a d~ff~rend with the Paris manager, was a triumph for Berlin. I was quite curious to see him. One day I stepped into Reys per- fumery shop to buy some cologne wa- ter. The rooms were crowded with fashionable ladies looking over the glit- tering and fragrant assortment of sa-~ VOfl8 de toilette, pdte8 dcsman#~es, huiles e88entwlles, eau~r de vie arornati& ~,ee, etc. While making my purchase, a very handsome fellow came in who excited unusual attention. His toilette re~. cli erchie, his noble but modest air made one look at him again and again. He spoke with Rey in a voice so harmo- nious and in such French as one does not hear every day even in Paris. I

1877.] MONSIEUR DELILLE. 119 time that she repeated the prayer which he had taught her. She looked up now, and it was gone. Half-way upon their northward route, Tontzs band were struggling wearily on when they were met by a solitary Indian, who, though he carried a long bow, had not an unfriendly aspect. He eyed the little band silently as they passed by him in defile, then ran after them, and inquired if the P~re Fran- 9ois Xavier, of Mission St. Ignace, was not of their number. He was informed that the reverend father had remained a short distance behind to write in his journal, but that he would soon over- take them; and he was warmly pressed to remain with them if he had mes.. sages for the priest, and give them to him when he arrived; but the Indian shook his head and passed on in the direction in which they told him he would be likely to meet Father Xavier. The party halted and waited hour after hour for the priest, but he did not come. Finally two went back in search, and found him lying upon the sod with upturned facethe place where he had written last in his jour- nal marked by a few drops of his hearts blood, and the long shaft of an arrow protruding from his breast. They drew it out, but the arrow-head had been attached, as is the custom in some Indian tribes, by means of a soft wax, which is melted by the warmth of the body, and it remained in the heart. Father Xavier had been dead some hours. They buried him where they found him, and proceeded on. their march. Tontz recovered on the way. They reached Michillimackinack in safety, where they were joined two months later by La Salle ; and the world knows the result of his second expedition. Little Marie learned by degrees to smile again, and in after years mar- ried another arrow-head maker, as swarthy and as shaggy as the Black Beaver. There is no moral to my story except that of poetic justice. P~re Fran~ois Xavier had sown a plen- tiful crop of stratagems, and he learned in the lonely forest that Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap. Meanwhile to all but you, my read- ers, the Cr~vecceur cameo remains as great a mystery as ever. Lizzm W. CHAI[PNEY. MONSIEUR DELILLE. ROTE-BOOK OF A SECRETARY OF LEGATIO1~. THE newspapers of Berlin an- nounced the arrival of a supe- rior artist, the celebrated M. Delille of the Th6~tre Fran9ais de Paris, where he had played first parts. Born and bred in the French metropolis, it was believed he would not only open new sources of amusement to the public, but add elegance to the French even of the highest regions. Everybody was talking of him. His acquisition, ren- dered possible only by a d~ff~rend with the Paris manager, was a triumph for Berlin. I was quite curious to see him. One day I stepped into Reys per- fumery shop to buy some cologne wa- ter. The rooms were crowded with fashionable ladies looking over the glit- tering and fragrant assortment of sa-~ VOfl8 de toilette, pdte8 dcsman#~es, huiles e88entwlles, eau~r de vie arornati& ~,ee, etc. While making my purchase, a very handsome fellow came in who excited unusual attention. His toilette re~. cli erchie, his noble but modest air made one look at him again and again. He spoke with Rey in a voice so harmo- nious and in such French as one does not hear every day even in Paris. I 120 MONSIEUR DELILLE. [JANUARY, heard a lady whisper to another: Ali, voila qui est parlez Fran9ais (that is the way to speak French). The stranger was certainly some1~ody, or so many fur- tive glances would not have been cast at him. I might, by inquiry, easily have ascertained who he was,but I found a kind of pleasure in prolong- ing my curiosity. The Emperor Nicho- las of Russia was daily expected. He was supposed to be the handsomest man in the world. But he was six feet two, taller than this person. The Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin had arrived the previous afternoon; but, it seemed to me, no German could speak French with just that modula- tion. The Prince de Joinville was ex- pected. Perhaps it was he. Will you kindly give yourself the trouble to send the box to M. De- file, Friedrich strasse 30? Ah ha I Le voild! There was my man. Strange I had not thought of him. I had a sea~on ticket at the French theatre for the purpose of learning French, and I had been as much en- tertained as instructed (I mean in- structed in the language). Every one knows a Frenchman can infuse airy elegance into a button, bestow a mar- ketable value upon a straw, breathe esprit into a feather, and make ten dishes out of a nettle-top. So the poet can transform any incident into an attractive vaudeville. The tender situation dramatique, the humorous coup de th~dtre, the jeu de~prit sparkling up into music, the elevated sentiment, the merciless exposure of vice and folly, the purest and noblest morality, largely mixed with an ostentatious ridicule of every sacred truth, and an absolute disregard of every principle of decency and duty, give strange glimpses into French social life. As a school for the French student, however, the theatre is a useful insti- tution. For French has got to be learned somehow or other. A danc- ing master of my acquaintance used always to commence his course by a short address to his class in which he remarked: Mesdemoiselles I La chose la plus importante du monde cest la danse I (the most important thing in the world is dancing.) Per- haps he was right. In that case I must add that the next most impor- tant thing in the world is the French language; at least to a foreigner on the continent of Europe. Without that you do not know anything. You are a straw man. You are a deaf and dumb creature. Ladies gaze at you with compassion, gentlemen with con- tempt, children with wonder, while waiters quiz you, cheat you, and make the imaginary mill behind your back. Impressed with the inconvenience of this position, I had long ago com- menced a siege of the French lan- guage. I studied it a fond. I looked into every y and en. I had attended the French theatre as a school, and profited by the performances. The company was excellent, particularly one young girl, Mlle. Fontaine. Her playing was unsurpassable. She knew always when to go on and when to stop. Perfect simplicity, a taste never at fault, delightful humor, a high tragic power; to these add a love- ly face, a beautiful form, grace in every movement, a voice just as sweet as a voice could be, and you have a dim idea of Mile. Fontaine. In her private life, moreover, she enjoyed the reputation of being without re- proach. The whole world repeated of her the old saying: Elle na quun d6faut, celui de mettre de iesprit par- tout I (She has but one fault: she touches nothing without importing to it a charm of her own.) When M. Delille came out, Mile. Fontaine and he generally played to- gether, amid thundering plaudits of overflowing audiences. Delille him- self was a perfect artist. The French theatre was in its glory. One morning, hard at work in my office, I was surprised by a card, Mon- sieur Delille, dii Th6atre Fran9ais. The gentleman wished to have the honor of a few moments conversation. The theatre and all the various per- 1877.1 MONSIEUR DELII1LE. 121 sonages of its imaginary world were so completely apart from my real life, that I could scarcely have been more surprised at receiving a card from Louis XLV., or hearing that the Gene- ral Napoleon Bonaparte was waiting at the door, and desired the honor of my acquaintance. M. Delille entered, hat in hand, with bow and smile, as I had so often seen him do in the theatre drawing- rooms. We had a pleasant chat. He spoke no English, which forced upon me the necessity of exhibiting my daz- zling French. He complimented me upon it. I told him it was princi- pally owing to himself and to MIle. Fontaine. This brought out the ob- ject of his visit. He was going to be married. He had been in America, which emboldened him to consider himself in some sort my countryman, and to request the honor of my pres- ence at the ceremony. And the lady? Mionsieur,~ he said, pent-am dout er? (can you doubt?) MIle. Fontaine! You are to come to the French church at 3. You will, then, will you not, do us the honor to dine at our lodgings, Friedrich strasse, No. 30? I returned his own answer: Monsieur, pent-on douter? At the hour appointed I was at the church. I found quite an assembly artists, painters, sculptors, actors, critics, poets, newspaper writers, sev- eral members of the corps diplomatique, some officers, a few gentlemen of the court, etc. The bride and groom appeared very simply attired. Their deportment was perfect. The ceremony was impres- sive. In a short time the holy bands had made them one. There was no acting about either of them. M. Delille was pale; Mademoiselle still paler. Their emotion was obviously genuine. Some folks think when act- ors tremble or shed tears, it must be only acting; and that they can get married or die as easily in the world as on the stage. This is a mistake. Getting really married is as serious a step to them as to you; and they know that real dying is a very different thing from those exits which they make at the end of the tragedy. They struggle with life, and walk forward toward death just as do their fellow-creatures, who preach from the pulpit, speak in the Senate, or congregate on the ex- change. The rich banker; the self. important diplomat; the general, cov- ered with orders; the minister, who holds the helm of state; the emperor, the queen, who deign to honor the representation with their presence, smile when they behold themselves reflected on the stage. But there is not so much difference, as they are pleased to suppose, between themselves and their theatre colleagues. Shake- speare says: All the worlds a stage, And au the men and women merely players. The question is, which of these men and women are the best? Perhaps the theatre statesman would have ad- ministered the affairs of his country with more wisdom; the dramatic bankei~ would have made his money more honestly and used it with greater discretion; the stage general would have conducted the war with more hu- manity and success; and the senators, in Julius Cmesar and Damon and Pythias, would have been less open to bribery and corruption than the gentlemen who have really occupied similar positions in the world. Per- haps, if M. Delille had been Admiral Blank, he would have looked at his chart, and not run his ship upon that rock in the Mediterranean on a clear summer morning. Perhaps, if Mine. Dehille had been Empress of France, she would not have striven quite so hard to bring on the last war with Prussia. From the church to the lodgings of Monsieur and Madame Delille. On passing through the entrance, in Ber- un generally a way for horses and car- riages, you would scarcely expect such elegant apartments. The moment you crossed the threshold you were in an- other world. Everything rich, taste- 122 MONSIEUR DELILLE. [JA~TUARY, ful, new; the walls superbly papered; the woodwork painted like snow and tarnished like a mirror: Brussels car- pet, then not over-common in the rich- est houses ; lounges, chaises lcmgues, sofas, divans; a strong smell of Russia binding from splendid volumes on the table, and gleaming from mahogany book-cases; beautiful paintings and engravings; a lavish display of clocks on tables and writing-desks; one, looking down from a l6ftier pedestal, clicked audibly the seconds and struck the quarters with a solemn sound, like the booming of some far-off old cathe- dral bell hanging in the clouds. Every- thing told of the new married man: everything new, bright, unexception- able, faultless, perfectlike the new wife, the new husband, the new affec- tion, the new hopes, yet unexposed to the wear and tear of years. I was among the first. My host and hostess awaited their guests. MademoiselleI beg her pardonma- dame received me with graceful cor- diality. The company immediately began to appear, principally pe~rform- ers whose faces I had never seen be- fore, except on the stage, associated with incidents, words, actions, in- trigues, and scenes of the poets imag- ination. I enjoyed as if I had been a boy, recognizing the various characters whose pranks, joys, and sorrows I had followed with so much interest: the wicked jeune homme A la mode, the bewitching femme de chambre, the oieu~, g6n~ral sous lempire, the rich banquier de Paris, the handsome, dangerous guardien, the naughty hus- band who had exclaimed, Ciel ma femme ! the jealous lover, the hard- hearted landlord, and the comique of the troupe, upon whose mobile face I could scarcely look without laughing when he asked me: Youlez-vous bien avoir la bont6 de passer le sel I There were present several from the court: the Marquis de B, who in private theatricals at the Kings had distinguished himself; M. le Comte de 5, supposed to be a little impres- sionn~ by Mile. Zo6, the last success- ful d6butante, and now among the guests. Mine. Delille looked like a lady born, and did the honors of her house like one. The servant announced the dinner, and we adjourned to the din- ing-room. The dinner was on ne peut pas micux. I sat between the lady of the house and Mile. Zo6. One of the French arts is that of placing people at ease in society. It is not uncommon to meet persons not wanting in intelli- gence, yet who, unless you draw them out, will simply remain in the whole evening. My charming neighbors drew me out immediately. They possessed a magnetism which made talking, and in ones best style, as easy as flying to a bird. Mile. Zo6 said a great many brilliant and sur- prising things; but Mine. Delilles manners and conversation were far superior. I found in her a thoughtful, cultivated, balanced mind, inspiring genuine esteem. I was struck by her views of political events and charac- ters. She touched lightly and skil- fully upon various personages with wisdom and humor, but with charity. She referred to her own position in life as an actress in a way which interested me extremely, and she found opportunity amid the miscellaneous conversation to relate her history, and how she came to adopt a profession contrary to her taste; and a more touching story I never heard. The conversation even ascended to higher subjects. I was not a little astonished to find in a young and universally flat- tered French actress a noble-minded, superior woman, who had suffered deeply, and thought seriously and spiritually upon subjects generally con- sidered irreconcileable with her pro- fession. The dinner was finished; the nuts and the jokes were cracked; the caf6, the chasse-caf6, the enigmas, the co- nundrums, the anecdotes, the songs, the tabl& tuse-vivants followed each other. My amiable hostess seemed to think I must have had enough of it, and, with 1877.] MONSIEUR DELILLTh 123 her graceful acquiescence, I stole out after a confidential pantomimic leave- taking with her and my host. I became subsequently well ac- quainted with Monsieur and Madame Delille, and have seldom known more interesting persons. Occasionally they invited me to a quiet family dinner, where I always met one or two dis- tinguished guests; and sometimes I had the pleasure of having them at my houre in a quiet way. They both rose more and more in my esteem the more I observed their inner life and character. As years rolled on, my visits were enlivened by the sight of small drums, trumpets, horses with their tails pulled out, and dolls with their noses knocked off. Sometimes very pretty little cherubs peeped in at the door, or were invited for half an hour to the dinner table. The world went on with its ways. More than one throne was vacated and filled anew. Great knotty questions of diplomacy rose and disappeared. Mehemet Ali, M. Thiers, the King of Hanover, Metternich, the Chartist, the anti-corn law league, Sir Robert and Mr. Cobden filled the newspapers. Nations growled at each other like bulldogs, and we had wars and ru- mors of wars a plenty. One day who should come in but Monsieur and Madame Delille, the very picture of a perfectly happy man and wife. They came to bid me good-by. He had made his fortune, wound up his affairs with the theatre, and aban- doned his profession for ever. Ma- dame was at the summit of earthly felicity. She spoke with inexpressible delight of the change in her life. She had longed so often to quit the theatre, and now at last her dream was real- ized. M. Delille was going to buy a cottage in the south of France, and to be perfectly happy with his dear wife and four children. Amid oranges, lemons, and grapes, beneath the blue summer sky, surrounded by flowers, the waves of the beautiful Mediterra- nean breaking at his feet, he intended to pass the rest of his days in uncloud ed peace and joy. He had worked all his life, and now he was going to take his reward. But, said I, did you say fozw children I Yai., oui / I have four. Why, it seems but yesterday that Comptez done! Six years and six months. His picture of future felicity was very bright. I thought in my heart that such plans of retirement were but I suppressed my sermon and con- gratulated him upon his prospects. Why should I disturb his happiness even though it might be a dream? What but a dream would have been even the realization of all his hopes? We parted after embracing like old friends. I had more respect for those two than I had for a great many whose sonorous titles did not cover qualities half so estimable, manners half so agreea