HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CCLXXXIII. DECEMBER, 18 73,YoL XIYIII. THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 1 - I IITE have to deal with. a VVsubject that will bring to mind the old fable of the turtle and the hare, and which in most of its outward aspects is deceptive. Its moral, if it has one, is that the most clamorous streams are not the deepest, and that the great- est burdens of the commercial /! 4 BUFFALO JAOK. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18Th, by harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Libra- rian of Congress, at Washington. VOL. XLVIII.No. 288.i 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. world are borne steadily, silent- ly, and without visible sign of their extent, like woes in some human lives. An air of quiet that prevails nowhere else on the busy water-front rests upon the canal docks at Whitehall, New York, and the din of traffic on either side and in the rear comes to the ear in a subdued swell. The white clusters of unshapely argosies in the three docks lie lazily upon the wa- ter, like dismantled hulks, with no evidence of the wealth they contain. But the place is not deserted, though there is no life- and-death haste. The strong little tug-boats, that wriggle, back, and advance to the port and to the starboard in turn, have got the better of the de- moniac attributes of their class out of respect to the surround- ings, and they throb and whistle with perfectly humane softness. In the stream outside the docks one of the great Hudson River tow-boats is lying still, its white lines appearing in relief against ~ the red warehouses on the op- ~ posite shore, awaiting a flotilla ~ that is forming for transporta ~ tion to Albany in the evening. ~ Upon the adjoining wharves men are fiercely battling for ~ foot-hold and hearing, but here they are deliberate in their movements and speech, and as indisposed to hurry as their boats. In most there is evi- dently a fixed purpose, but here and there actual idleness is no- ticeable. On the deck of the Pauline Dodd, for instance, is a group that my friend the artist might study for the abandon of the figures and their uncon- scious grace. Three are men, one is a boy, and the other a young girl. Dusky as gypsies, and as picturesque in their cos- tume, they are reclining on the deck, unsheltered from the sun, enjoying a siesta sweet and long. Perhaps you are look- ing for some boat, and you ask them about her. Four out of the five slowly focus their eyes upon you, and the fifth, more active than the rest, stretches himself exactly one-tenth of an inch; your question is repeated, and he smiles blandly upon you, and, by the most courteous, ex- ertion, lengthens himself a frac THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 3 tion more; the third time you speak to him between Buffalo and Albany, and the total he appears to have got himself into articu- number of tons delivered at tide - water lating order, and after putting an interro- through the Erie Canal, as shown in the gation to your fourth inquiry, to your fifth report of the auditor of the Canal Depart- he answers, D-o-nt k-n-e-o-w I He then ment, which, it may be added, differs from draws himself up and slumbers, his compan- information obtained from another and un- ions having been similarly engaged mean- official but trustworthy source. Those read- time. The locality is by no means stagnant, ers who crave the picturesque, and can not. drowsy as it seems. It is the d6p6t of the momentarily conquer their abhorrence for largest proportion of the immense commerce figures, can conveniently skip them in the that comes from the great West, the termi- form they are here given, and resume the nus of the most important of the three nat- narrative at the proper moment. ural lines of transportation to the Atlantic - _____________ sea-board. In the busy seasons nearly 150 Namberof Total Time of ~ on Tons Years. tow-boots tonno,e between .a barrel delivered at boats reach tidewater through the Erie Ca built. cap ily. Albonfld of floor. tide-water. nal daily, each boat containing more cargo, Doyn. Cents. according to an eminent engineer, than the 1844 387 24,360 73aj 60 799,816 1847 1466 110,745 103~ 77 1,431,252 average railroad train, or more in the aggre- 1848 457 33,815 9 68 1,184,337 gate than twenty miles of railroad trains 1849 215 16,370 8~ 56 1,266,724 could carry. Yet it has well been said that 1850 152 12,260 9 58 1,554,675 1851 213 18,450 83~ 49 1,508,677 while the plodding canal-boat attracts no 1852 271 23,945 9 53 1,844,699 railroad train creates a sensa- 1853 590 57,280 9 56 1,851,458 attention, the 1854 760 80,365 83~ 52 1,702,693 tion in every village through which it passes. 1855 471 48,220 83 52 1,420,715 Standing in the roadway or sweet meadow 1856 364 38,390 83~ 60 1,587,130 1857 329 37,510 8~ 46 1,117,199 land, attention never rests upon the boat 1858 255 27,830 83~ 34 1,496,657 that is gliding through the narrow inland 1859 206 20,150 83s 31 1,451,333 the extent of the system is rare- 1860 403 48,355 8X 42 2,276,561 water way; 1861 619 95,230 8j~4 46 2,449,609 ly dreamed of, so methodical and unobtrusive 1862 850 142,470 83~ 48 2,917 094 is it; but should a delay occur at one of the 1863 770 119,170 9 45 2,547689 99 56,235 10 57X 2,146,634 locks, in twenty - four hours hundreds of 1865 200 28,790 10 51 2,078,361 boats would accumulate, with as much 1866 485 74,630 10 52 2,523,664 1867 520 80,360 10 48 2,226,112 grain on board as would feed a nation for at is~s 387 64,470 10 48 2,378,572 least one day. 1869 298 46,650 10 51 2,257,689 Figures, we know, are exceedingly dis- 1870 269 42,365 10 53 2,290,698 tasteful to most persons, and we do not pro- 1871 - 194 29,225 - 11 40 2,548,877 pose to inflict any upon our readers that Capacious as the several channels of trade have not some entertaining quality apart appear, they are inadequate for the move- from their intrinsic ugliness. With this mont of the constantly increasing surplus promise, we will begin. The principal lines of the superabundant West, which demands, of transportation from the West to the East above all things, cheapness and speed in include 10,000 miles by railway, 7000 miles transportation. The railroads supply tlte by river, 1600 miles by lake, and 1600 by ca- latter requisite, but they are too costly, and nal, and the total amount of through freight the most urgent need of to-day is the im- carried over them in one year (187172) was provement of our inland water ways. The 9,933,214 tons. Of this the New York Con- bold statement has been made that millions tral Railroad received 2,250,000 tons, the Erie of bushels of corn are rotting in the South- Railroad 1,262,881 tons, the Pennsylvania west and Northwest, owing to the insuffi- Central Railroad 1,292,846 tons, the Balti- ciency and imperfections of the existing more and Ohio Railroad 790,275 tons, the means of transportation, and out of this con- Welland Canal (Canadian) 1,250,000 tons, dition has grown a problem which thus far and the Erie Canal 3,087,212, or one-fourth has only resulted in a bitter and useless war of the entire tonnage! And this notwith- between producers and the railroads. Radi- standing that the railroads are carrying all cal measures have been proposed among the the year round, while the canals are only Western farmers, contemplating the com- open six months. Exclusive of its branch- pulsory cheapening of tariffs, or even the es, the Erie Canal, from Buffalo to Albany, seizure by the government of all canals and is 352 miles long, and upon it 7140 boats ran railroads, with a view to making them pub- 9,358,100 miles in one season. The number lic highways; but a calm consideration of of men and boys employed on the boats is the subject indicates that the solution of 28,000, and the number of horses and mules the problem depends largely upon the con- used in towing is about 16,000. And hero, struction of additional canals. Greater speed before proceeding, we will place before the than is now attained by the old system of reader a table showing the number and ton- horse-towage is equally essential, and the nage of the boats built in each year since fact that boats are moved by steam while 1844 (1845 and 1846 excepted), the time of in the Hudson River at half tho cost of tow- passage, the cost of carrying a barrel of flour age on the canal, and at twice the speed, 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. leads to the conclusion that that power will shortly supersede the present motive. In this connection the liberal action of the State De- partment will be remembered. Commission- ers have been appointed to reward the prac- tical and profitable introduction upon the canals of steam, caloric, electric, or any oth- er motor that will supersede animal power in the propulsion of the boats. The suc- cessful vessel must be able to transport, un- der the present rules, and in addition to her machinery and fuel, two hundred tons of cargo; her principle must be easily adapt- able to the present canal-boats, and must lessen the cost of transportation and in- crease the capacity of the canals. To the competitor who fulfills these requirements $50,000 will be awarded, and a like amount if his invention is generally adopted. It would be strange if the wide-spread scan- dals of last year had left the canal manage- ment unimpugned. Nor did they. There were legislative inquiries and volumes of testimony, charges of incompetency, proffi- gate expenditures, and general malfeasance. The public judgment was that they were sub- stantiated, and that, operated economically and in the interests of the public, the canals would have a better showing than they had in the last report of the commissioners. Premising, in the language of the conven- tion of governors, that neither the indefinite multiplication of railroads nor any possible legislative restrictions on freight charges will cure the evils complained of we will briefly mention the schemes proposed for relief. First is the Niagara Ship-canal, con- necting the lakes by an unbroken chain of navigation with the sea; second, the enlarge- ment of the Erie Canal; third, the improve- ment of the navigation of rivers, so that barges may pass through the entire length; fourth, the extension of water lines from the lakes to the Mississippi; and fifth, the connection of Lake Champlain by a ship- canal with the Hudson. The latter scheme claims particular attention in New York; for, unless measures are soon taken to im- prove the water ways of that State, the me- tropolis will suffer by the competition of oth- er cities on the Atlantic sea-board that have equal railroad accommodations. In the past its mercantile prosperity depended on the ad- vantageousness of its inland water commu- nications; and if these fall behind the works of other States, commerce will be absorbed by her rivals. We need not await the ex- ternal appearance of decay. There is an in- crease of tonnage constantly, as a matter of course, but the ratio proves that this State is losing ground. In 1854 eighty-three per cent. of the grain shipped from the Western States reached New York through the Erie Canal; in 1868 only sixty per cent. reached New York through all channels, and of this only forty-five per cent. came by the canal. The ratio continued to decrease until 1871, when fifty-three per cent. reached New York, only thirty per cent. being through the ca- naL The Champlain and Hudson Ship-canal, as proposed, will run from Troy to the lake, and by the proposed Caughnawaga Canal to the St. Lawrence, thence to the waters of the great lakes through the Welland Canal. The route, when complete, will be suitable for steamers and sailing vessels up to 1200 tons burden, and, its advocates claim, will allow a gain of from five to seven days in time over any existing water route from the lakes. The estimated cost of this canal is $8,000,000. The James River and Kanawba route is also receiving earnest consideration, as, indeed, in the urgency of the question, are all other propositions looking to the re- lief of the great and lusty West. It is to the twenty-eight thousand men employed on the canal and their surround- ings that our sketch will be mainly devoted. There is a vivid charm about all migratory people, and in vagabond adventure and vagabond life we find the breadth and color which elevate the commonplace into the ro- mantic. The changing scenes and multi- farious experiences stimulate the memory, quicken the eye, and loosen the tongue. There are other types of the vagabond than he who amuses us with his stories, gossip, impudent assumption of consequence, and genuine familiarity with the world; and when we abstract from his character idle- ness and thriftlessness, we find a fellow useful as well as refreshing. Among those whose vagabondage is a necessity and valu- able commercially are the canal-boat men. In their vessels they have their homes, their wives, and their children. While they are moving toward the sea - board or to the West, babies are born to them, children are schooled, and young men and women are married. A few own homes on shore, and do not allow their wives to accompany them, but most of them have been brought up in a cabin less spacious than a tent. They are cleanly and moral; the common schools have had no uses for them; but in wandering from hamlet to hamlet and city to city, they have acquired singularly varied knowledge, and habits at once cred- itable to themselves and interesting to the observer. Desirous of obtaining an insight into their lives, the artist and writer met early last June by appointment at Whitehall, in the office of a shipping agent, who had kindly offered to obtain passages for us to Buffalo in a canal-boat. Not searching for excite- ment, but prepared to rough it, we were both attired in the coarsest garments our wardrobes contained, and encumbered with no other extras than a hair-brush, a tooth- brush, some of Windsor and Newtons super- fine water-colors, a portfolio of drawing-pa- THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 5 per, several quires of foolscap, and a quill pen. On reaching the ship- ping agents office we were told that we could leave the city in the evening, arrange- ments having been made for our pas- sage. Ill take you long, boys,. said the captain, if the fare as is good enough for me is good enough for you. My wife is with me this trip, having wanted to purchase in York. She comes on them occasions, and on the last trip of the season, when she thinks Ill have a little money. Having explain- ed his wifes anx- iety to bear him company, he proposed that we should go on board. The boat was lying in the Atlantic Basin, and would be brought over to the New York side, and attached to one of the evening tows to Albany. The captain gen- erously offered to place us ashore there if we were unsuited. His deep voice sounded ominous, but we had not begun to retreat, and crossing the East River by the Hamil- ton Ferry, in fifteen minutes we had scram- bled over several other boats, and were on the broad deck of our own. The captain then said, leading the way to the cabin, Come long down, boys. Dont be afeared; you wont git skelped. Make yourselves en- tirely at home. Heave off your duds. And, housekeeper, let us have a bit of supper. The housekeeper, a comely woman of mid- dIe age, the captains wife, was caught in the act of cooking a savory dish of ham and eggs as we descended. She brushed her forehead with her apron, and was apologiz- ing for her untidy appearance (a prerogative that the neatest women insist upon), when the crew tumbled in to eat. This gave us an opportunity to observe our quarters. The cabin measured about six feet by ten, hut was exquisitely neat and cozy. An oil-cloth was spread over the floor, and several en- gravings hung upon the walls. The mistress of the most commodious house could not have found fault with the arrangements, and it seemed a matter for wonder that such tidi- ness should be possible within limits so nar- row. Apart from the larger room was a galley, in excellent order, and two sleeping berths, one of which was assigned for the use of our expedition. Our next move was to gain acquaintance with the crewan easy thing, for the artists sketch-book had an irresistible attraction for them. Buffalo Jack, one of the helms- men, a cheerful fellow, whose quirks and an- tics gave us great amusement in after-hours, was immediately seized with a yearning to have his photogram taken, and from the start, until his object was accomplished, he kept his store clothes and a small bottle of hairoil in an accessible corner of the deck, in order that he might not be found unpre- pared for the flattering operation. By de- grees he exalted the artist in his imagina- tion, and finally fell in love with him, affec AT THE SHIPPING AGENTS. V. THE CAPTAIN. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tionately calling him by a nickname, and attending carefully to all his wants. While the writcr was idling in the bow, and the artist was busy with his pencil near by, Jack came to the literary half of the expe- dition, and said, in a reverential voice, point- ing to the graphic half; That works mighty hard,aint it? Hard on the brainvery hard on the brain; for jest you look how much hes got to meove his head round. After our boat had been towed over to the New York side, and had been attached to another tow for Albany, the captain began to tell the story of a stocking that had been found buried on one of the banks of the canal. It war a large stocking, he said, and must have belonged to a big man. Prehaps so, capn, chimed in Jack, whose loquacity was the same at all times, but dont be too sure as it wasnt a little man with a big foot. The second man of the crew was not glee- ful or picturesque, the fact that he had a wife and two children to support on thirty dollars a month having a depressing influ- ence upon him. Handsome George, an ex ceedingly unattractive boy, played Ii Pease- ~oso to Jacks L Allegro. He offset the friv- olous gayety and rough wit of the latter by taciturnity and sluggishness. If speech were sought in him, he mildly expressed himself in inoffensive axioms, as, when his work was finished at six oclock, he vouch- safed the announcement that if it had been done at five, his leisure would have been richer by one hour; and that there were two men and a boy, in all, three, in the crew. Beyond occasional utterances of such indis- putable truths as these, George never ven- tured. When not on the tow-path he was in the stable at the bow of the boat; and in association with its dumb inhabitants there is reason to believe he found consolation for the neglect to which his fellow-men treated him. The captain himself was a farmer as well as a boatman, and worked his forty acres up to Oneider with profit. He was good-humored, but sardonic, and if irritated by the breaking of a tow-line, could be play- fully blasphemous, though not in the least abusive to his men. To them he was famil- iarly Pop, and a great favorite. The V ,12:? ~J1~5-7 j~ Tn~ cABIN. THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 7 purest democracy exists among boat- men; obedience is necessarily exacted, but otherwise the employ~s have little reverence in the treatment of their su- periors. They eat at the same table, and are waited on by the captains wife. While the captain was dozing on deck one of his men would coolly take his pipe out of his month, and use it him- self. His stories were openly winked at, au(l his manner of calking his own deck loudly depreciated in his presence. All was borne with toleration, and retorted to with somewhat uncouth wit but with good-will. These tows, each composed of from twenty to thirty boats, three abreast, leave the Whitehall docks, in New York, every evening for Albany. In that led by the steamer Niagara our boat was in the rear, as it was intended that we should drop off at Newburgh, and there load with coal. Passing up the North River at the speed of two miles an hour proved to be not at all wearisome. As the last red streaks of the receding sun fainted into the silver haze of a starry night, lights gleamed out from the long train of white boats ahead of us, the green and red steering lamps of the steamer diffusing their colors over all. From the windows of some cabins floods of hospitable light poured, revealing domestic groups at supper, reading and sew- ing; with the voices of men and women min- gled the soft, swelling tones of a parlor or- gan, and the less musical clicking of several sewing-machines. Contentment and tran- quillity rested upon these water-homes, a gentle spirit pervaded them, and though they were ever moving, the bonds within seemed permanent and strong. There was no riot- ous conduct, little loud talking, scarcely any thing stirring but the water rippling about the stern. The inexpressibly delicate out- lines of the river-banks, and the unclouded, infinite vault above, spread their influence over the good and bad, the rough and gentle, of the cort6ge alike. Mothers were hushing their children to sleep on some decks, andto complete the picture there loomed in even- ing light a young boatman bending over the side of his own craft to clasp the hand of his sweetheart on another. Shrewd with stran- gers, among themselves these people are sim- ple and generous. Our captains two daugh- ters were his idols, and of his plans to give them pleasure there was no end. The tough old gentleman was little addicted to profit- less day-dreaming, but in speaking of his girls his vision expanded and elevated him to the region of the idealist. At sunset on our second evening out, as the sky was lost in seas of golden light, he stood, drawn to his fullest height, on the roof of the cabin, with his head uncovered, and, while his pro- file was stamped in clear relief on the glow- ing expanse, he tenderly spoke to his wife and us, seated below, of the bright future he intended his eldest daughter should have. Unconsciously his attitude and words ex- pressed the glory of paternal affection, and the wisdom and far-looking thoughts which spring from it. On the invitation of Jack, after the tow had made fair headway on the river, we went to the mens quarters in the forward part of the boat: went, I say, but that is not the word that describes the manner in which we arrived there. They were next door to the stable, and, without exception, the smallest sleeping compartments in which men were ever herded. From an aperture in the deck about three feet square, we lowered ourselves into the dark abode, guided by the friendly voice of our host, and alighting found our- selves, artist and writer, standing in a space not more than large cnough to accommodate both our bodies when upright. Our first impression was that Jacks other accomplish- ments included ventriloquism, but by further peering we succeeded in distinguishing three forms tucked in blankets at either side of us, which were afterward identified as those of Jack, his mate, and Handsome George. Git up, hostilier, and give the gentlemen a bunk,~ cried Jack to the lachrymal mule- tender. But exhortation and abuse were ineffectual, and Jack himself made sitting- room for us on the side of his own couch. He tlien offered to show us his treasures. Would you like to have some of this yar hair-lb ? he inquired, producing from under his pillow a greasy and dirty-looking bottle. No, we never used it, but were exceedingly obliged for his offer. Well, see yar. Jest you take a smell of this, he continued, at once bringing forth a still more dirty bottle. BRAIN-WORK. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. This is boss ile, double-distilled, and a that Jack excelled, and a ditty that de- mighty sight nicer than tother. Ef you puts scribed the perils of canal life, the first two one drop on your head, your hair 11 suddenly stanzas of which we append, invariably have a handsome apperience, like mine. brought tears to the eyes of the auditors. His own hair was steeped in grease, and Come, sail-i-ors, landsmen, one and all, severe as was the temptation he held up to And Ill sing to you the dan-gi-ors of the ra-gi-ing us, we managed to resist it by a great ef- canawi; fort. His generosity can not be estimated For Ive been at the mer-ci-e of the win-di-as and too highly, for we subsequently disoovered waves, And Im one of the merry fellows what expects a that ile was the only toilet article in watery grave. which the crew gloried, and that, though they might be indifferent to soap, their heads We left Al-hi-any a-bout the break of day; As near as I can remember twas the second day were scrupulously anointed two or three of May; times a day. We depen-di-ed on our driver, though he was very Jack resembled a child in many qualities small, and took his playthings to bed with him: Although we knew the dan-gi-ors of the ra-gi-ing Beneath his pillow he kept a Jews - harp canawl. and a mouth-organ, which he now brought To sing this Jack had raised himself on out for our entertainment. His musical ac- his elbows in his bunk. An oil-lamp was tuisitions also included a stock of ballads, burning almost between our feet on the which he rendered with marvelous nasal in- floor, and the light revealed his humorous flections and in varying measures. The af- face undergoing contortions of the most fecting parts were delivered in deep bass, comical kind. and the voice was raised to a fearful pitch The meals were hurried through in an when the expression of joy, triumph, or ridi- astonishingly short time, silence apparently cule was sought. It was in the sentimental being considered a rule of etiquette; but IN THE FOliECASTLE. THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 9 amiable passages of arms occurred between the captain and Jack once in a while. Jacks hair appeared abnormally glossy at breakfast the morning after we left New York, and the writer asked him about the quantity of oil he had used. None; but Ive been sweatin and la- brin. Well, I wish as you wouldnt sweat and labor such a heap when you are a-eatin, retorted the captain, quickly. A little later said the captain to his faith- ful employ6, in a compassionate voice, Dont you git awful riled when thetes a stop on the canal, so as you cant steer her ? Dern yer ole head, no! Why on arth should I get riled? Taint no business of mine ! Arrived at Newburgh, the boat was to coal, and as soon as she had been hauled beneath the high trestle-work railway for this purpose, the expedition disappeared to- ward the town, over the steep hills of which we rambled until foot-sore. Next they ob- tained a boat, and pulling into the swells caused by passing steamers, we indolent- ly rested on our oars. It was a hot, clear day, and the pale skins of these slaves of the lamp were quickly tanned into a healthy red. Not seeking thrilling episodes, they found placid enjoyment, and when they re- turned to the town to look for the boat, were tired but exhilarated. The decks had been scoured to their ordinary whiteness, and the hatches battened over the cargo, when we got aboard, and next morning, when the tows came in sight through the grand turn in the river at Cornwall, we were prepared to continue our journey. While on the Hudson the boatmenaduties are light, aud the men sing, dance, and other- wise make merry with spirit and determina- tion. But the women are busy the day long. Early in the morning, in a uniform dress of brown calico, and a red sun-bonnet which hides their features, they may be seen wash- ing clothes and hanging them out to dry. Later a bevy of chubby children are brought on deck and scrubbed. Toward noon they are peeling potatoesthese good women or dressing the meat for dinner; and in the cool of the evening, when the crew have been served with supper, they are to be seen in spruce attire, alternating sewing with con- versation or reading. Social gatherings sometimes take place in the tows, and Mrs. Captain Frank Reese sends her compliments to Mrs. Captain Jake Boardman, and begs the pleasure of her company to tea at 7 P.M. If this life is not picturesque it has no charm. Every figure has a background that would touch an artists soul. The women washing stand out against a slope of meadow land, with a border of wild lilies in the under- growth at the river, and the ragged urchin without shoes or stockings seems tangled in the depths of a clump of elms through which the sunbeams are falling aslant, like golden spikes, into the trembling water. On our boat the expedition and crew wast- ed their time under an awning. Master Jack attempted to amuse us at the expense of Handsome George, and the captain and he bantered one another to the limits of their wit. A serious question arose as to Jacks honesty in a little matter, and becoming en- raged, he savagely turned upon his worst tor- mentor, the captain, and roared, Well, I do reckon as you wouldnt steal a hot stove, but youd run a derned long way to get water to cool it with ! which temporarily silenced his opponent. The only lonely people in the tow were the men on the scows, who form a distinct class. Ungainly as the regulation canal- boat is, she is a thing of beauty compared with the scow, which has neither shape nor color nor comfort, and is sworn at, necessari- ly or unnecessarily, every time she is passed on the canal. If a boatman has a be~te noire, it isascow; ifhewouldwoundarival,he calls his boat a scow; and to all that is despicable and contemptible he rarely applies any oth WASH-DAY ON THE CANAL-BOATS. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. er than that contemned name. Sometimes they steal up the canal with loads of coal, stone, or lime; but they are mostly nsed for lightering. They are usually each manned by a desolate old man and a very profane boy, who live in dark quarters somewhere in the hold, and cook their own scant provis- ions. No care is bestowed npon the dingy craft, no love lost upon them, and no inter- est attaches to them. The old man. is per- petually cursing the boy, and the boy is per- petually cursing the old man; and whenever theinternecine war slacks the outsiders curse both. Profanity, by-the-bye, is the common- est sin of the boatmen, and they blaspheme in cold blood, without the enthusiasm or sci- entific precision of the sailor, and without the idiomatic richness of the Californian. The inevitable peddler of American life is not missing from the tows. When they are in the neighborhood of Rondout a punt starts from the eastern shore, pulled by a hearty old man. As she nears the foremost boat in the line he sounds a dinner-horn, which brings all the men and women to their decks with baskets and pails in their hands. A rope is thrown out, and the marketman hauled in. He has strawberries, potatoes, lettuce, radishes, ice, milk, pea-nuts, and figs. More demands are made upon him than he can attend to, and he refuses to serve any one until cash is placed in his hands. He is an Ishmaelite: yesterday he was despoiled of a bag of pea-nuts, and to-day he looks suspiciously at the whole world. Loud pe -y titions are made to him for an honest five cents worth of ice, two cents worth of pea- nuts, a quart of milk with no water in it, and a basket of berries with no false bottom. He is distracted, irritated, and jocular by turns. In half an hour he has passed down the length of the tow, his stock is depleted, and he drops astern into the stream. At our last glimpse of him he is standing in his unsteady boat, counting his pence, and fum- bling in his pockets for a missing dime. So passeth away many chance acquaintances! The expedition had been gradually losing caste in its progress. The members started with a full suit of cl6thes apiece, and two or three indispensable toilet articles. On the first day out their coats were abandoned, and they appeared in the freedom of shirt sleeves; the second day their vests were rel- egated to the traveling-bags; the third day collars and scarfs were cast aside, and the rear of the brim of each felt hat turned down; and on the fourth day, when Albany was reached, the brim had been bent all around. Civilization was then played out in so far as it concerned the artist and writer. In cruising by canal you can secure de- lights not to be obtained afoot or on wheels. You have ample leisure to study the scenery, and while you are as well off in this respect as the pedestrian, you are better off than the man in the carriage. He is compelled to put up his team for the night in some hostelry, but you are moving without intermission into new lands. If you enjoy walking, you 1 - ENTXANOE TO THE ERIE CAI~AL AT TROT. THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 11 can spring from the boat to the tow-path, and go hunting in the adjacent woods. When tired you can hurry back, and lie on deck until you are refreshed, without losing time or missing a single patch of ground that you could desire to see. The motion is gentle, and just perceptible. There is no straining, and there are no rough stones. It is the ul- timate sensation of easy traveling. The boats are detached from the line at Albany, near the great basin, in which a large number are temporarily harbored. The boatmen are so unused to confusion that they exaggerate little circumstances, and storm and fret long before danger is near. The disbanding of the tow is entirely safe, but it is done clumsily, and a terrible clamor, which can be heard on either side of the riv- er, is raised. In the end the boats are es- corted by a steamer, one by one, to the locks at Troy, or to the branch entrance of the canal at the great basin in Albany. Here they receive the third man of the crew, who has been attending to a pair of horses while the boat has been down the river. The rou- tine of canal life then begins. The crew are divided into two watches, each of which, with a pair of horses or mules, is on duty six hours. Most of the boats travel night and day, making about forty miles in twen- ty-four hours; but the average passage be- tween Buffalo and Albany is at present eleven days. The outset of our journey was discoura- ging. In the first three miles of the canal, at Troy, are sixteen locks, only a few hundred feet apart, in passipg through which six hours are occupied. Either bank in this distance is lined with miserable wooden buildings, used for trade with boatmen. Most of them have beneath the sign indi- cating their business the additional an- nouncement, Highest price paid for old rope and iron. In one case the business of a restaurant was succ~ssfully combined with that of the junk dealer, and in another vet- erinary, dental, and photographic services were modestly offered by one man on one shingle. The most unsightly of these un- sightly structures are the day-boat barns, which bear misspelled legends in straggling characters, from which it is only too evident that the school-master has never been at home. HORSE KEP WHILE BOAT TO YORK appears upon one; and upon another, in the tragical and mystical vein, Ho BOATMAN HORSES PROMPLY SHOT ! Congregated in this neighborhood is the rough material of canal life, the tramps and unemployed hands. Crew all full, capn ? a hiccuppy voice inquired, as a beery face was thrust through tho cabin window while we were at break- fast. Please God, they arent as full as you he ! At which evasive retort the disagree- able animal slouched away. The collectors office, a pretentious build- ing in the Corinthian style, is near the port- als of the canal. One-half of it forms an arched passage, in which there is a lock. Here the vessels are weighed, the tolls paid, and the clearance is given. Comm up, they aint so rough on us as comm down. First, the State takes a small skelp off of you at Buffalo; and then the regiar and professional skelpers helps them- selves to a big slice. Two or three more then goes for you in a moderate way; and by the time you reach York the heads as bare as a smooth plank. Id just as lieve go among them Modocs ! lamented the captain, as he came out of the office with a bill of lading in his hand. Who are the professional scalpers I we asked. The middle-men at Buffalo. There is miles of them who makes it a business to obtain loads for the boats, and charges heavy commissions for it. Sometimes they holds back stuff ontil the boatmen is glad enough to make terms with em, and theres not a load comes to the Atlantic but on which they gits five per cent. Theyve got the whole system and trade under their thumbs. Another pint in the problem of reaching the sea-board is the big lake freights. The Erie Canal can accommodate more boats than is now on to it, bat theres not enough grain at Buffalo to keep the boats now built agoin. Further questioning resulted in nothing, the captains settled conviction being, like Stephen Blackpools, that its a a mud- dle. But it appeared to the writer that if the barnacles could be thoroughly cleaned out, the dishonest and blundering officials removed, and the pernicious middle-men re- strained, the solution of the problem of cheap freights would be simplified and quickened. At present it is hydra-headed: a score of in- terests are in conflict, and between them it is utterly impossible to trace the evils to their root. While the boat was passing through the sixteen locks the artist and writer jumped ashore in the impoverished costume to which they had come in the tow. A more common- looking pair never excited suspicions in hon CANAL SMITHY. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. est villagers. It is to be hoped that an in- telligent person could have detected the gentlemen gleaming through their collarless check shirts and dusty trowsers, but to most they werepeddlers, tramps, orcanvassers, and if they were in the least vain of their per- sonal appearance, they suffered a change of mind and heart. Entering a store, the writer asked the keeper if he could give him some milk. Ill give you some water, but no milk ! was the answer; and the scribbler finding that he had been mistaken for a mendicant, and momentarily losing sight of the joke, hastened from the store in a tow- ering passion. Once more the expedition sought the boat, and overtook her beyond Cohoes. Thinking he had lost us, Jack was in distress, and had been leaving a descrip- tion of us at the locks. One feller said he sawed you, and asked if you warnt well be- known about the canawl. No, said I; you warnt no old bums. In the evening we crossed the Lower Aq- ueduct, which carries the canal over the Mo- hawk River, and entered a dream-land of pastoral beauty. In its softness and repose it reminded us of some garden spot in En- gland. Far and wide the acres are fertile and cultivated, the orchards are crouching in blossom, the meadows dyed with purple and white clover. In wide expanse there is no tree uor house whose removal would fur- ther beautify it. In the valleythe valley in which Coopers heroes actedruns the river, with a current that makes its voice plainly heard, and on one of the slopes that meet it the canal is terraced, rich foliage embowering it, and repeating colors and forms in the glassy water. The houses on the towpath have quaint exteriors, to which we have not been accustomed, and the artist can not refrain from conveying rude outlines of them to his sketch-book. At one store the boat stopped. A bubbling stream rose in front, from which our watercasks were filled, and on a small table, beneath the thin spray of a syringe, an assortment of fresh vegetables was arranged. One glimpse at this display acted as a refrigerant, and sent a cool thrill through our heated bodies. Passing onward a hundred yards further, we met a boat coming east with grain, and saw a small boy and a very young lady coyly peeping at us between the tidy lace curtains to their cabin windows. The impression of these fair little people had not faded on the vision when a tramp in hereditary tatters hobbled into view. Beatin yourn way down ? the captain asks him. No, Sir! Cant beat the people in this locality much. Where did you come from ? Saginaw; and walked eight hundred miles for a job, said the vagabond, in a tri- umphant manner, as he disappeared. Sauntering further, we came upon a raft nearly eighty feet long and six feet wide, formed of the rough brown bodies of spruce and pine hewn in the Black River country, and there placed upon the canal to be drawn to the metropolis. The timbers are bound together by ropes, andin the centre a caboose of thin planking is erected for the habitation of the horses and men in charge. There is a sort of fascination in these uncouth waifs, who link the unclaimed wilderness with the city, and who themselves are to be classified somewhere between the barbarian and civil- ized man. We would extend our hands to them, but we have seen that they are morose and indisposed to answer even the boat- THE RAFT. U THE TRAMP. THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 13 mans greeting. Sometimes, if the raft be small, two boys navigate it down, and spend days and nights without shelter and without food. Once in a while the passing boat is owned by a neighbor of the captain, and as the two vessels move in opposite directions a string of questions is asked and answered until the voices can no longer exchange questions of home, wives, children, trade, and weather. An unfriendly boat now and then strikes us, and a good deal of ferocity finds an outlet. Dire threats are uttered on both sides, but neither crew evince an in- tention to execute them. Before night-fall we had more glimpses of perfect rural scen- ery: level miles of velvet-like turf, in superb condition, bounded by hills of the gentlest contours; fields of strong young grain curl- ing and singing at the touch of the evening breeze; neat homes hedged in with green- ery; and paths winding toward lovely vil- lages in the hazy distance. The landscape is too calm to be distinctively American: it is not rugged, and the colors have little body. Wells of light seem hidden in the foliage, and stream out at every crevice; it is surely the land of an olden country. But above there is a sky of native splendor, of countless tints, and clouds of subtile form that are unmatched away from home. As we crept down the cabin stairs to our inca- pacious berths, we had no reason for discon- tent at our journey. In stronger language, we were delighted, refreshed, and inspired beyond all our expectations. In the night we passed over the Higher Aqueduct, a repetition of that at the Half- moon, and early next morning were at Sche- nectady. Thence the canal follows the track of the Mohawk, into its sylvan haunts, its open meadows, steep defiles, and within hearing of its trill. Remnants of the old canal are scattered here and there along the routea moss-covered lock or a patch of the tow-path nearly obliterated by weeds and grass. It is luxury to lie on deck, hard as the planks are, and feast on the never- failing panorama. The interest is not per- mitted to lag, and the eye rests for hours together without a sensation of weariness upon the varied wealth revealed. A reflect- ive person finds plenty of character inci- dent to divert him on the boats, to encour- age him if he is despondent, and to satisfy his craving for humor should he be of a ge- nial turn. A boat comes along with a hard- worked woman seated in a rocking-chair at the stern; a wild lily recovered from the banks of the canal is drooping in a tumbler of water on a common box, which serves as a work-table; and in an inclosure of rope and wood, modeled from a sheep-pen, on the cab- in roof a group of plump children of from one to five years old are playing. There is an indescribable charm about child life on the boatsgreater freshness, buoyancy, and freedom than on land. Anon we see a young SenENECTAnY. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. woman pressing a tame robin to her breast, old Reuben got to thinkinwe called him aud feeding it at the end of her finger. old, you see, cause he war seedy. But my! Meyer von Bremens pictures are here in she wouldnt look at him. She talked an reality. Poetic simplicity in beautiful sur- jawed at that thar poor devil at breakfas, dinner, an supper; she called him a beast, roundiugs is not a dream. The New York Central Railroad keeps a loafer, an a scalawag. At last she made company with us on one side, and the track that thar derned fool cry, an called him a of the proposed West Shore line to Chicago baby, an told her father to git rid of him. is marked ont on the other. Somewhere Well, Sir, Hank thoughted as he could see beyond Amsterdam a haunted house was an intimacy atween Rosey an Silas Inger- on our patha pretty white frame struc- soll, one of his helmsmen, who Reuben war ture, sad - looking, but not dreary. The a sort of unpartial to, havin broken his front-door is not more than a stride from nose; so he quietly said to Reu one day, in- the water, and the windows are all battered stead of dismissin him, I cant abide that in. The garden is in a mass of weeds, which feller, thiukin that Reu would take the have smothered the flowers, two or three hint, an watch an report. But he didnt, hardy rose-bushes alone having struggled though he found out that Si and Rosey war through with their pink and white bbs- deep in boveleastways the girl war. Of soms. The captain shook his head in a course Rosey didnt like Reu any the more manner that excited our curiosity, and after for knowin of her secret, which she guessed supper, when he, his wife, and the expedi- he did, an because her father didnt turn tion were seated together in the cabin, we him off; but as for him, why, the old bum asked him if he knew the history of the de- war convarted, an only thicker than ever in serted cottage. sweetness. Camp-meetin never did sich a It war a woman who put a ghost into regeneration. At first he kem out sober ev- that thar house; leastways Ive beam it ery day; then his face war allus clean; then war~ a woman who was both young an he wore a collar, an gracious! soon he handsome, respected, an a scholard. I bought him a new. suit of clothes. Hank never did see hem myself, but I know them meautime got a-kinder jealouser an jealous- as did, an war close with her, an they it er, an atween Reu an Si war most a-ravin. war who parsed in to me these little facts So the first opportunity he discharged both. which I communicate to you. HeReuben Watchin so carefully of his daughter, though, Gaylord, I meanI kuowed him, seem as he hadnt saved her nevertheless, and Rosey he had been a-boatin along of mewar as war taken bad when Si went away with worthless a scamp as ever showed a face on historiesSir ?hysterics, eh fwell, then, the tow-path; no boatman would trust a she war taken bad of hysterics, with trem- pair of mules to him, an in every way he blins, cryins, an prote8tations. Hank war war a sot an idler. He war every thing almighty fond of her, an he got another but a thief the cussedest cuss you ever see; cook for his boat, so as to give Rosey a rest. but Im free to confess nothink did I ever But she didnt git well, an pined jest the hear agen his honesty. Lets give him a same as ever. Pa, she said at last to Hank, fair show in that. Hed beat you out of a lam married to Si,an since he went away square meal, or your wife out of a dose of he has never written to me, or sent word Epsing saltuses, but you could give him where he is! Men knows more about mens money to git a P. 0. 0., an hed come back characters than women does, an Hank an report jest as reglar, jest as lively, as ef knewd for certain that Silas Ingersoll war he war a auditer in the Canawi Department. not over an above nice, as my wife says As I told you, nobody cared about a-employ- when shes a-talkin of very bad characters. in of him, but the boys striked at Albiany Si never kem back, however, an ~ a year one spring, an Reubenhe kem out of as after he went away war hearn of in a tril good stock as there war in Herkitner Coun- from bigamy in Californy; but Reuben hang- tyReuben, who had been in the poor-house ed around, an managed when possible to through the winter, picked up a job on Hank git a boat runnin jest astern of Hanks bull- Beebes bull-header, which Hank war to pay header, which Rosey kept aboard of hem him a dollar a day an board. Well Sir I obstinate an a braggart when she found out did you ever see a man as war suspicious I how Silas had treated of her. Sometimes an jealous by natur, an couldnt trust his shed see Ren on deck steerin the boat be- own wife out of his sight, though he might hind, an she would pertend to take no no- know as she war above all temptation? Ef tice of him; but one day she kinder smiled you did, you kin picter Hanka widower, at him, an next day bowed to him. This but with an only daughter. He darnt leave kind o thing went on a little ways, ontil her ashore, an he war afraid to take her some of Reubens kin died up to Amsterdam, aboard among the men; but thar he could an amost at once Hank died too, leavin a have her under his eyes, an thur he took mortgage on his boat, an Rosey most un- her. The girl herself she war as nice an2 provided for. You kin guess the rest? as sweet seemingly as could be seen; an so Prehaps you kin. Of course Reuben began THE WATER WAYS OF NEW YORK. 15 to woo Rosey, you say Well, of course he did, an seemed t git her; hut I do hate to have a fel- - icr jawin when Im a-tellin of a story. Reu- ben did go for that thar girl, an she promised to marry him; bnt she had onacconutably be- corned aristocratic, an wanted him to leave boatin an to buy her a house, which he was quite able to do in his altered circumstances. He bought the house you admired this after- noon, an begand to fix it real handsome. Fortune did smilt upon him. He looked as nice a young man as ever you saw, an war sober allus now, and quite religious. The time for the splicin, got along, an one day Reuben war up to his new house a-paintin of the outside of it. Near sundown he had most got through, an war up a ladder in front, drawrin his brush easily up and down. Did you notice a patch on the house near the roof not as white as the rest? Well, thats where he left off. He war ex- pectin a letter from Rosey, makin a ap- p intment with him for that evenin, an suddenly he sawd a boy at the bottom of the ladder a-calm to him. The paint- brush dropped out of his hand in his hurry to git down, an he tored the envelope open. Im gone to the man I allus loved, the let- ter said, an Ren parsed in at the open door, an never kem out alive agen. Since which the house has been hanted, an no soul would live there for love nor money. The locks on the canal are drearily alike, not in masonry alone, but also in the struc- tures surrounding. One can not help con- trasting them with the pretty road-side rail- way stations of Germany ~ud England, where the traveler alights in a blooming garden, and wondering why the opportunities that exist for beautifying them are persistently (lisre(Yarded. Perhaps it is because women do not live near them. The tenders for the most part are uncouth andunintelligent men, who hold their positions through political in- fluence, and are often unqualified for their duties, to the great inconvenience of the boat- men. An ugly caboose on the quay shelters them, and in it they add to their incomes by dispensing magic oils, balsams, and liniments for man and beast. A sparse collection of shabby buildings is also near the lock, fore- most being the canal grocery, a squat, shin- gled structure with a portico in front. Here is gathered a pack of ill-favored fellows, vag- abonds and idlers, who, in tilted chairs, seem to pass their worthless lives in extracting poor sustenance from slips of wood or goose- quills. The interior is gloomy, and has a very insalubrious atmosphere; but there is no article in the range of an ordinary boat- mans necessities that can not be obtained at this mart. Dry-goods, fresh meat, poultry, groceries, liquors, and literature are com- bined attractions to purchasers. A sagacious dog is found attached to most establishments of this kind, and as each boat arrives he marches to the galley window and peers wistfully in until a piece of meat is thrown to him. He never by any chance mistakes the window, nor allows the purpose of his visit to be misunderstood. His demonstra- tions are perfectly decorous, but unmistaka- ble, audit is impossible to resist his pathetic importunities. A small dry-dock and boat- building yard adjoin the grocery, and we see a scow on the stocks; but most of the boats are built at Albany and Rochester, at a cost of from $3000 to $5000 each. CANAL GROCERY STORK. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. In the earlier part of our journey, and as far as Syracuse, the locks are double, but above that point many are single, though the commissioners are at present doubling them to meet the demands of traffic. At Lit- tle Falls, one of the most beautiful places ou the canal, the locks are worked by hydraulic power, and at Syracuse another experiment has been made, in the substitution of a flood- gate that turns over as the boat passes for the old one which swings aside on hinges. At Lockport, near the end of our journey, we successively enter five locks, built of solid masonry, which lift our heavy boat, with its two hundred tons of cargo, seventy-five feet in a few minutes. Night on the canal has the enchantment and mystery of night upon the ocean. Cool breezes sweep over us, and if the horizon is interrupted at all, it is by the graceful lines of some hill that holds the resplendent tints of the declining sun, and lends nobility to the prospect. As the stars gleam out, myr- iads of fire-flies imitate them on either bank, and flash across the calm surface of the stream. Each boat carries a brilliant lan- tern in the bow, which disperses a circle of yellow light on the watery track ahead. The tow- lines dip occasionally with a mu- sical thrill into the water, and in advance you may bear the steady thud of the horses hoofs on the ground, or the low cry of the driver as he urges them forward. At the stern the helmsman is singing in a plaint- ive measure, until a lock engages hint. His voice is then deepened. Lock be-l-o-o-w he calls to his mate; Ste-a-dy, ste-a-a-dy ! to the driver. There is a momentary clat- ter of feet upon the deck; we rise smoothly to the new level; the lock lights fade; quiet again, and we are traveling with the soft- ness of a dream toward the amber morning. We have omitted, as we said we should, the names of many places, giving preference to incident, and we now alight at Buffalo. Our boat rapidly discharges her cargo of coal, is hauled to an elevator, and deeply laden with grain, while we are speeding homeward in the Pacific Express. The boat- man calculates to make six round trips in a season, and at the end he retires to his farm- house, if he has one, and passes the winter in the bosom of his family. Nearly all the male inhabitants of some villages are nalers, and for the hard and constant labor of the summer they repay themselves by ex- travagancies in the winter. Purple velvet takes the place of fustian with the men, and silks the place of humble brown calico with the women. The simple life we have en- deavored to portray here is not abandoned by all, but is continued the year round. The tendency of prosperity in all the work- ing classes is toward display, however, and the boatmen are no more capable of restraint in this harmless passion than the rest. A large number of boats are quartered at the Atlantic Basin, Brooklyn, throughout the winter, and form in themselves a city, with denizens who have social ethics, occupa scOW-YAIU). GREEK NUN. 17 tions, and habits. Their religious wants are supplied by a Bethel, established by the Seamans Friend Society, and in charge of the Rev. Mr. Bates, a gentleman with an ex- tensive and favorable acquaintance among boatmen, who has aided the writer time and again in his work. Last January we went to the basin with Mr. Bates, and caught our first glimpse at the life with which we have since become familiar. Passing through al- leys separating massive lines of iron-bound warehouses, we met gangs of longshore- men with the well - known brogue on their tongues; but pressing onward we found our- selves among men whose sharp features, easy manner, and nasal voices turned our minds countryward. We were in the na- tive element, surrounded by the people upon whom all satire has been spent to prove tbeir worthiness. Mr. Bates is looking for George Martin, the wharfinger. George Martin! George Martin! Where is George Martin l Presently from the deck of a boat, which by means of a crank he is hauling into a snug berth, George replied, Out o bed, thankee, Govnor Bates, an purty well for a Janiwery day. He then came ashore, and showed us over the boats. A white plain appeared formed by over 200 vessels closely nestled together. Children were playing and loitering, run- ning from boat to boat, and leaping distances over water with astonishing daring and se- ciirity; women were passing to and fro with market-baskets; and, in brief, there was ev- ery sign of a thrifty and happy town. But we have forgotten our parting with Jack, the captain, and the crewfair sam- ples of the universally good-natured class. Jack carried the artists traps to the d6p6t for him, and was presented with a water- color drawing of himself as a proof that fun- ny people are always rewarded. It would Voa. XLVIII.No. 2832 be an exaggeration to say that he had ex- hausted his stock of ile on the occasion, but certainly that material was as plentiful and unctuous as his wit. The captain and Handsome George also accompanied us to wave farewell. As we departed hence, and were soon to be no more seen, Jack and thc captain gave way to thefr irrepressible bad- inage. Wouldnt he do to fill up the last page of a comic almineck with ? appealed the captain, referring to his man, as we glided away. And wouldnt he make a fortin if hed only sit and have his photogram taken to stick on valingtines ~ responded Jack, just as the train left him out of sight. Humorous and kindly, as we have said, these people are worthy of study and de- serving respect. In their ways and thoughts they are distinctly national. Racy of the soil, they are also temperate, industrious, and energetic. Their lives are simple, but picturesque, and in the length of our jour- ney we did not once meet with a discourt- eous word or a rude action. GREEK NUN. AID. 480. Mv very flesh to memory clings; Nor prayer nor scourge can quench my fire: In matin hymns his passion sings; His death-cry shrieks in vesper quire. I see no God upon the cross, But him whom my weak will forsook; No Saviour, hut my hitter loss; My lost loves broken, dying look. Prostrate I lie upon the stone, And wail unto the ancient gods; And dream of cruel fanes oerthrown, That bar poor souls from Loves ahodes. Cdurse quick, delirium, through my veins! Speed, madness, through my bursting brain! Bring death and him to end my pains; Loves kiss, if with Deaths kiss, again. ALFRED H. Louis. LAID UP roa THE WINTERATLANTIC BASIN, BROOKLYN.

GREEK NUN. 17 tions, and habits. Their religious wants are supplied by a Bethel, established by the Seamans Friend Society, and in charge of the Rev. Mr. Bates, a gentleman with an ex- tensive and favorable acquaintance among boatmen, who has aided the writer time and again in his work. Last January we went to the basin with Mr. Bates, and caught our first glimpse at the life with which we have since become familiar. Passing through al- leys separating massive lines of iron-bound warehouses, we met gangs of longshore- men with the well - known brogue on their tongues; but pressing onward we found our- selves among men whose sharp features, easy manner, and nasal voices turned our minds countryward. We were in the na- tive element, surrounded by the people upon whom all satire has been spent to prove tbeir worthiness. Mr. Bates is looking for George Martin, the wharfinger. George Martin! George Martin! Where is George Martin l Presently from the deck of a boat, which by means of a crank he is hauling into a snug berth, George replied, Out o bed, thankee, Govnor Bates, an purty well for a Janiwery day. He then came ashore, and showed us over the boats. A white plain appeared formed by over 200 vessels closely nestled together. Children were playing and loitering, run- ning from boat to boat, and leaping distances over water with astonishing daring and se- ciirity; women were passing to and fro with market-baskets; and, in brief, there was ev- ery sign of a thrifty and happy town. But we have forgotten our parting with Jack, the captain, and the crewfair sam- ples of the universally good-natured class. Jack carried the artists traps to the d6p6t for him, and was presented with a water- color drawing of himself as a proof that fun- ny people are always rewarded. It would Voa. XLVIII.No. 2832 be an exaggeration to say that he had ex- hausted his stock of ile on the occasion, but certainly that material was as plentiful and unctuous as his wit. The captain and Handsome George also accompanied us to wave farewell. As we departed hence, and were soon to be no more seen, Jack and thc captain gave way to thefr irrepressible bad- inage. Wouldnt he do to fill up the last page of a comic almineck with ? appealed the captain, referring to his man, as we glided away. And wouldnt he make a fortin if hed only sit and have his photogram taken to stick on valingtines ~ responded Jack, just as the train left him out of sight. Humorous and kindly, as we have said, these people are worthy of study and de- serving respect. In their ways and thoughts they are distinctly national. Racy of the soil, they are also temperate, industrious, and energetic. Their lives are simple, but picturesque, and in the length of our jour- ney we did not once meet with a discourt- eous word or a rude action. GREEK NUN. AID. 480. Mv very flesh to memory clings; Nor prayer nor scourge can quench my fire: In matin hymns his passion sings; His death-cry shrieks in vesper quire. I see no God upon the cross, But him whom my weak will forsook; No Saviour, hut my hitter loss; My lost loves broken, dying look. Prostrate I lie upon the stone, And wail unto the ancient gods; And dream of cruel fanes oerthrown, That bar poor souls from Loves ahodes. Cdurse quick, delirium, through my veins! Speed, madness, through my bursting brain! Bring death and him to end my pains; Loves kiss, if with Deaths kiss, again. ALFRED H. Louis. LAID UP roa THE WINTERATLANTIC BASIN, BROOKLYN. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. B~ RALPH KEELER. Ouchy or Vevaywhere one is inclined to answer Yes, forgetting the exquisite grace of the Lake of Zurich and the grandeur of the Lake of the Four Cantons. There is not a mnddier, more disreputa- ble-looking stream on earth than the Rhone where it enters the lake, laden witli the foul grists ground by the glaciers of the Alps in their slow, steady labors of thonsands of years. I know of no stream so clear and pure as the Rhone issuing out of the other end of the lake, beneath the quays and bridges of Geneva. Other smaller creeks and rivers, of conrse, empty into Leman, but the Rhone, it has been ascertained, takes about twice as much water out of the lake as itself and all the other known tributa- ries pour in. Undoubtedly there are springs in the bottom of the lake, and these, too, may help to account for many of the phe- nomena of the water hitherto not quite sat- isfactorily explained, and especially for the perverse, dangerous currents often encoun- tered, which no swimmer, and sometimes no oar, can make head against. In autumn, at the upper end of the lake, a slow kind of roll, like a faint tide, is heard, which is con- sidered to presage a change of weather. In early spring le lacfl nt the lake bbs- somswhich is the sort of fugitive poetry THE old Romans who gave Leman its bad the people of the shores use to describe a nameLernanus, the Lake of the Desert scum on the margin of the water. The boat- must have first seen the noble sheet of man will take his oath that he is going to water when swept by the bise, its frozen si- have good weather when he sees this phe- moom of the autumn and winter months. nomenon. It is found to be composed of The Saxon has never taken lovingly to the aquatic insects when brought under the mi- classic slander; the Germans have always croscope, and its presence is the result rath- called the lake the Genfer Seethe Lake of er than the forerunner of fine weather. In Genevaas we call it in English nine times summer, when its tributaries are swollen by out of ten. The modern Latin tongues cling the melting snows, Leman is at its highest, mostly to Leman, though they sometimes rising sometimes six feet above the winter name the lake after Geneva, and formerly level. The lake is never wholly frozen over. they often called it the Lake of Lausanne, The waves which sometimes roll down its after the city of that name on the northern length, chased by the malignant northeasi shore. wind, the bise, tossing the summer tourist tc Leman is a beautiful blue crescent of wa- seasickness as he steamswell, these waves ter, over a thousand feet above the sea-level, people on the shores call mouton8, which and forty-five miles long, measuring its con- you can translate muttons or sheep, vex or northern side. Its greatest known according to your appetite when you see depth is nearly 1200 feet. It averages 600 them. And your appetite, I presume, will near the famous Castle of Chillon, and below depend largely upon whether you see them the rocks of Meillerie at least 1000, while from the shore or from one of the cranky from Nyon to Geneva it nowhere reaches little steamers. 300 feet. It is nearly eight miles wide at Then Leman is said to be visited by wa- its widest part, which is between Rolle and ter-sponts. But the most wonderful of its Thonon. If I recollect Tyndall aright. Le- phenomena is unquestionably what is known man has the purest natural water ever an- as the sezchenamely, the sudden rising of alyzed. Its color is bluer than that of any the water, often to the height of five or six other of the Swiss lakes, which, in fact, ap- feet above its usual level. It rises in the pear green. Is it the most beautiful of the space of fifteen or twenty minutes, preceded Swiss lakes? There are viewssay, from by no movement and attended by no waves. MOAT TOWER OF CASTLE OF (IHILLON.

18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. B~ RALPH KEELER. Ouchy or Vevaywhere one is inclined to answer Yes, forgetting the exquisite grace of the Lake of Zurich and the grandeur of the Lake of the Four Cantons. There is not a mnddier, more disreputa- ble-looking stream on earth than the Rhone where it enters the lake, laden witli the foul grists ground by the glaciers of the Alps in their slow, steady labors of thonsands of years. I know of no stream so clear and pure as the Rhone issuing out of the other end of the lake, beneath the quays and bridges of Geneva. Other smaller creeks and rivers, of conrse, empty into Leman, but the Rhone, it has been ascertained, takes about twice as much water out of the lake as itself and all the other known tributa- ries pour in. Undoubtedly there are springs in the bottom of the lake, and these, too, may help to account for many of the phe- nomena of the water hitherto not quite sat- isfactorily explained, and especially for the perverse, dangerous currents often encoun- tered, which no swimmer, and sometimes no oar, can make head against. In autumn, at the upper end of the lake, a slow kind of roll, like a faint tide, is heard, which is con- sidered to presage a change of weather. In early spring le lacfl nt the lake bbs- somswhich is the sort of fugitive poetry THE old Romans who gave Leman its bad the people of the shores use to describe a nameLernanus, the Lake of the Desert scum on the margin of the water. The boat- must have first seen the noble sheet of man will take his oath that he is going to water when swept by the bise, its frozen si- have good weather when he sees this phe- moom of the autumn and winter months. nomenon. It is found to be composed of The Saxon has never taken lovingly to the aquatic insects when brought under the mi- classic slander; the Germans have always croscope, and its presence is the result rath- called the lake the Genfer Seethe Lake of er than the forerunner of fine weather. In Genevaas we call it in English nine times summer, when its tributaries are swollen by out of ten. The modern Latin tongues cling the melting snows, Leman is at its highest, mostly to Leman, though they sometimes rising sometimes six feet above the winter name the lake after Geneva, and formerly level. The lake is never wholly frozen over. they often called it the Lake of Lausanne, The waves which sometimes roll down its after the city of that name on the northern length, chased by the malignant northeasi shore. wind, the bise, tossing the summer tourist tc Leman is a beautiful blue crescent of wa- seasickness as he steamswell, these waves ter, over a thousand feet above the sea-level, people on the shores call mouton8, which and forty-five miles long, measuring its con- you can translate muttons or sheep, vex or northern side. Its greatest known according to your appetite when you see depth is nearly 1200 feet. It averages 600 them. And your appetite, I presume, will near the famous Castle of Chillon, and below depend largely upon whether you see them the rocks of Meillerie at least 1000, while from the shore or from one of the cranky from Nyon to Geneva it nowhere reaches little steamers. 300 feet. It is nearly eight miles wide at Then Leman is said to be visited by wa- its widest part, which is between Rolle and ter-sponts. But the most wonderful of its Thonon. If I recollect Tyndall aright. Le- phenomena is unquestionably what is known man has the purest natural water ever an- as the sezchenamely, the sudden rising of alyzed. Its color is bluer than that of any the water, often to the height of five or six other of the Swiss lakes, which, in fact, ap- feet above its usual level. It rises in the pear green. Is it the most beautiful of the space of fifteen or twenty minutes, preceded Swiss lakes? There are viewssay, from by no movement and attended by no waves. MOAT TOWER OF CASTLE OF (IHILLON. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 19 It remains so never more than twenty-five minutes, and then sinks quietly to its ordi- nary level. The port of Geneva, it is record- ed, was in the seventeenth century laid dry by one of these sezches. On the evening aft- er the combat between the citizens in the last Genevese revolution, it is said, the cen- tre of the Rhone near Rousseaus Island was seen to be drawn up until the banks were left dry, immediately after a violent clap of thunder. This phenomenon, which also oc- curs on the Lake of Constance, is snpposed to be caused by the unequal pressure of the air upon the surface of the water. It takes place in the narrowest parts of the lake, and generally in bad weather, and oftener by night than by day. In Harpers Magazine of last November I tried to give some idea of Geneva. There is no present call, therefore, to dwell upon the famous city of Calvin, Rousseau, and Fazy. Seated around the southwestern end of Leman, just where the Rhone rushes forth on its mad course to the Mediterranean, mak- ing the picturesque quays and bridges nec- essary to bind the town together, Geneva is easily queen of her beautiful lake. We shall see no so fair a city in our tour around its shores. A chain of hills beginuing almost at the Genevese gates skirts the northern or Swiss bank of Leman. The railroad to Lausanne runs along its slopes. Back of them rises the sombre Jura, mar king the border of France. Across the widening azure of the lake on the southern shore the Alps oppose their infinite diversity of form. The banks, sloping to the waters edge, are covered with villas, beginning before even the city leaves off. Only a few doors from that best of all hotels, the Beau -Rivage, where the American arbitrators found their happiness last summer, is the C ampagne Fauconnet, occupied by Mr. Evarts during the arbitration, being rented by him of the Bowles Brothers. It was the pleasantest, if not the most substantial, of that much- abused firms assets. Upon the steep rock overlooking the confluence of the Rhone and Arve, and in the midst of a park of great trees, stands the Villa Grisi. It was for the superb view that Voltaire had his summer- house, the Delices, in this neighborhood. The Viscount dItajnba, the Alabama arbi- trator appointed by Brazil, rented and lived in this fine place last summer. The old danseuse, Mademoiselle Grisi, who owns it. is still living. She and her daughter took lodgings in Geneva while the international court was in session, and turned an honest penny by the sacrifice. It was a little odd that the house of one who has set the world by the ears about her should have been oc- cupied by a missionary of the new doctrine of arbitration and peace. ViLLA CRLSI. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLTAIRE. Neither the D~lices nor the ch~tean of Fernex, properly speaking, is on the Lake of Geneva. The latter is on French terri- tory, three or four miles from the city, though nearer than that to the water. I think the lake is not visible from the front of Voltaires house at Fernex. A most magnificent view of it, however, and of Mont Blanc, is had from the garden at the rear of the house. Voltaires life of twenty years on the shores of Lake Leman has never been properly written. There are many curious documents in the public library of Geneva, and more in the hands of certain old Genevese fami- lies, which have never been printed. Al- though he was king of civilization when he came to the lake, there was doubtless a thought of personal safety behind this pas- sage of an old letter, written after he had bought the D~lices in the republic of Geneva and Fernex in France: I love to pass eas- ily from one frontier to another. If I were simply a Genevese, I should depend too much upon Geneva; if I were simply a Frenchman, I should depend too much upon France. Before the purchase of Fernex, Voltaire lived at Lausanne and the beautiful villa. of Montriond, in the neighborhood. It was here that he had his latest dramatic pieces represented by the intellectual coterie as- sembled about him, and even he himself played in at least one of them. The can- ton of Vaud was then under the authority of their excellencies of Berne; and Vol- taires talent at seeing the ridiculous in most things, from King Fredericks poetry down, threw a cloud upon the latter part of his stay at Lausanne. How could he have helped laughing at the dignified Ber- nese magistrate who said: M. Voltaire, you are always making such a lot of verses! What is the good of it, I should like to know? It all leads to nothing. Yet, with your talent, you ought to amount to some- thing in this country. Now look at me; I am a bailiff ! Another one of these magis- trates came to Voltaire to remonstrate with him. Sir, said the dignitary, they tell me that you write against the Creator; that is very bad, but I hope He will pardon you. They add that you rail at religion; thats very bad too; and against the Say- iour of the world also; that is very bad in- deed; but still I hope He, in his infinite VOLTAIRES HOUSE AT FERHEX. mercy, will pardon you. However, M. De Voltaire, have a care that you do not write against their excellencies of Berne, onr soy- creiga lords, for, you can rest assured, their excellencies will never pardon you! Voltaire quitted the D61ices after he took possession of Tournay and Fernex. In pur- chasing the flef of Tournay he showed his remarkable gift at driving bargains, and that absurd tenacity of small things of which his unpublished letters are full. This is all the more odd when it is recollected how the record of his life at Fernex is crowd- ed with acts of charity and lavish generos- ity. The property of Tournay, which was near the lake, produced a thousand crowns a year. By prepaying a certain amount of interest-money for twenty-four years, he gained a life interest in the estate. It was, in fact, a sort of life-insnrance policy, by which he gained by living instead of dying. A certain forest on the land had been repre- sented as likely to produce at the first cut- ring twelve measures of wood; it in fact produced only three measures. On this ac- count, the difference amounting to about thirty dollars in our money, Voltaire, the correspondent of kings and emperors, wrote more than forty letters to the gentleman of whom he had bought Tournay, charging him with all manner of wrongs and wicked- nesses, besides loading down his letters to us friends with the missing nine measures of wood. Bcfore giving an account of Fernex as it appears to-day, it will be well, perhaps, to glance at the spectacle of its glory a hun- dred years ago. Let us look at it over the shoulders, so to speak, of one of Voltaires old ultramontane enemies.* He will cer- tainly not state the case too favorably. Fernex, he says, was for twenty years the capital of intellect. All the monarchs vied with one another to recognize this principality; they saluted it eagerly as the queen of the nations, the torch of civiliza- tion. What the king of civilization ab- horred, they abhorred; what he loved, they loved; what he wanted to destroy, they destroyed. They sent him couriers almost every week; they ordered their embassa- dors to respect his whims, to favor all his enterprises, to forget all his faults. The French Parliament was eager to adopt harsh measures against the court of Fernex, but the court of France protected it. The Bish- op of Annecy menaced it with his thunder- bolts, but the Seven-hilled City tolerated its repeated insolences and gross wrongs. Streams of strangers flowed there inces- santlydukes, marshals, gentlemen, acade- micians, presidents, elbowed the advocate, officer, priest, pettifogger, journalist. All roads led to Fernex, as they formerly did to Rome. Was it proposed to go to Venice, Genoa, Florence, Naples, people went by way of Fernex. Did they desire to kiss the slipper of the Pope or the feet of the Rus M. Nicolardot. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. ~2l t~\ cuiuncui BUILT BY VOLTAIRE. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the sarcophagus of Voltaires geometrical companion, Madame Du Ch~telet. There are, among the other pictures, a Venus and Love, said to be by Titian; a Toilet of Venus, by Albano; and a kind of apotheosis of Voltaire, by Duplessis. In the study is the ornate earthen stove given to Voltaire by Frederick the Great. The worn and stained embroidery of the poets bed and easy-chair is the handiwork of his niece. The mausoleum intended to contain, or once containing, Voltaires heart, is, in some re- spects, perhaps the most interesting object in the study. On one side it bears this in- scription, in French: sian empress, they went through Fernex. Whatever the object of the journeylove, intrigue, business, war, persecution, pleas- ure, curiosity, healththey stopped at Fer- nex. It was the aristocratic capital of in- tellect, in a century when every one prided himself on being intellectual. A town sprang up about the chateau; it contained twelve hundred inhabitants at the time Voltaire left on his last triumphal visit to Paris. There do not seem to be one-third that number there now as you ride through the narrow street on your way from Geneva. Just before you reach the gate of the chateau you pass the famous church which Voltaire built to God. Between the clock and the window can still be read the daring inscrip- tion, Deo Erexit Voltaire. It does not now appear to be used at all. Twenty or thirty years ago it served as a farm-house. Our picture of Voltaires chAteau at Fernex pre- sents it to you as restored by its present owner, M. David, a Parisian diamond mer- chant. The bedroom and study are as near- ly as possible just as Voltaire left them. Upon the walls is a portrait of Catherine II. of Russia, with an inscription, in French, telling that it was painted by Pierre Lion, ant given by the empress to M. De Voltaire the 15th of July, 1770. Not far from there, queer enough, are a couple of old engravings, one of Franklin, and the other of Washing- ton. A bronze bust of Catherine, said to be by herself, presented by the author, keeps company with the picture of a pretty laun- dry-woman, and with that of a little Savoy- ard boy, Voltaires chimney-sweep. In the sleeping-room is a reproduction in porcelain Mv manes are consoled, Since my Heart Is in your midst. Under the urn it reads, Mon esprit est partout et mon cuur est ici. On a level with these apartments is a ter- race along which he used to walk when in the heat of composition. In the garden which, as I have said, commands a fine view of the lake and Mont Blanc-is the arbor where he wrote the tragedy of Irene. The theatre, formerly at the left of the court, has disappeared. I should have mentioned that among the pictures in Voltaires study is the portrait of Lecain, the great actor of his tragedies. In the park, perhaps a hundred rods from the chAteau, is a large elm, plant- ed by the poet himself. Though much dam- aged by lightning about forty years ago, it still lives on, guarded, however, from the eagerness of tourists by a rude railing. Voltaire was over sixty when he hnilt himself this magnificent retreat. Yet the score of years that he lived here was prob- ably the busiest of his life. During the summer he composed walking in the shad- ows of his trees; in the winter he worked mostly in bed. He always pretended ill health, but managed to toil fourteen hours a day. His secretary slept in a little recess above Voltaires bedroom, and at the least noise at night came down to write nuder his masters dictation. In this way this busiest and cleverest of men made up for the inter- ruptions of society. Many stories are told of the importunate who came from far and near to see the intellectual wonder of his century. None better than the following, which I have never met in English: One day an unknown person demanded to see the lord of Fernex. Tell him that I am not here, shouted Voltaire. But I hear him, urged the stranger. Tell him that I am ill, then. I will feel his pulse; 1 am in that business. Tell him Im dead. Ill bury him; it wont be the first one, either. I am a doctor. Well, exclaimed Voltaire, thats an obstinate mortal; let him come in. Now, Sir, do you take me for MAnAME flu cisATEa T. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 23 a strange animal r Yes, Sir, for the Phe- nix. Do you know, then, Sir, that it costs twelve sols to see me l Certainly; here are twenty-four. Ill come again to-mor- row. Voltaire was unarmed, and lavished all manner of politeness upon his visitor. A franc now will take you to what is left of this extraordinary mans earthly grand- eur. A silence and melancholy are upon it all. The fight that was going on in one of the wine-shops of the village as we drove away from Fernex had a far-off look about it, and the French oaths and curses of the combatants as they echoed behind us seemed somehow to come up quaintly out of the last century. Not very far from Fernex, but on the lake- shore and nearer Geneva, are the villas of Sir Robert Peel and Adolphe Rothschild. The green lawn in front of the former slopes down to the waters edge. The Villa Roths- childwhich is rather a palace than a villa sits magnificently upon the hill of Pregny. Further down the slope is the Villa of the Empress, so called because it was the sum- mer residence of the Empress Josephine after her divorce. Lola Montez has also lived there. Looking at those magnificent abodes from the deck of one of the minia- ture steam-ships gliding over the unrippled surface of the blue water in the cool fresh- ness of the summer morning, you can hardly believe that care could ever get through those doors or in at those windows. You, at least, are so good-natured at the sight that you can sit beneath the awning of the steamer and not be annoyed at the thought that perhaps all the vulgar traveling En- glish, whom of late years you have got in the habit of missing at your hotel, have as- sembled there on ~he deck of that little craft, as in Ariostos story things lost on earth are collected in the moon. Fine scen- ery must have the quality of inspiring pa- tience; else how could you keep your tem- per with the bold Briton who, with Mont Blanc in the distance and the marvelous beauty of Leman all around hini, asks his companion at half past nine in the morning, I say, do you know where were going to get dinnah to-day ? Then the cockney, who glides through the shadows of a thou- sand years of history and through the blue lapses of the beautiful lake, reading a miser- able French novel aloud in the very worst English-French accent to the young creature who is evidently his bride, and the nervous lady not far from him who sees nothing in the matchless serenity of the scene but the possibility of shipwreck, as she blows up her life-preserver and sits with it in readiness; the superiority with which you smile at these things as you sit fanned by the cool- ness coming to you somehow from the sum- mer haz~e that makes you fancy yourself sail- ing thrhugh one of, Turners landscapes this sense of superiority and self-conscious charity helps you to think how ludicrous we must all be to the angels, or something of the sort, till you find by your guide-book that you are approaching Versoix. Versoix is the place where the govern- ment of Louis XV. laid out the streets of the city which was to rival Geneva. Even in those days it took more than magnificent plots of towns, with eligible lots on paper VILLA OF THE EMPRESS JOsEPuLNE. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cr in the open country, to make a great city. Royal jealousy and anger at the Protestant and republican Genevese, added to the usual shifts of town-builders every where, were unavailing. The plow4~as long since oblit- erated all traces of proposed streets and avenues. Next we pass Coppet, where Madame De Sta~l for so many years held her intellectual court, and where she and her father and oth- er members of the Necker family are buried. The chateau of Coppet is still the property of a descendant of Madame De Sta~ilthe Duke de Broglie. You can see there, if you like, the table on which she wrote, also her picture by G6rard, and the bust of her father, the great finaiice minister. The chateau is rather massive than elegant, and has domi- neered over the little village ever since feud- al times. It is a remnant of the old taste, which had not discovered that the lake was beautifulof the times before Rousseau and Byron, when people nsedto bnildtheir houses with no particular thought of a view of the water. More curious and interesting than the solid old walls is the picture one can make to himself of the great company that has been assembled within themfor in- stance, when Byron came across the lake from Diodati to meet Mr. and Mrs. Shelley there. Napoleon would not let Madame De Sta~L live in France, and public opinion would not let the others live in England. How these luxurious exiles must have abused the world! What talk there must have been, too, when Sismondi and Schlegel and Ma- dame R6camier got together under one roof with this famous hostess! And what did she find to say, and how did the rest of the company like it, when Madame De Sta~il and Benjamin Constant kept up their conversa- tions here for whole days together? Further along on the northern or Swiss shorefor our tour of the lake will take ns VILLA OF PRINCE NAPOLEON. MA1)AMB IJE STALL. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 25 from Geneva by this shore, and back to Geneva by the south- ern or Savoyard one we come to the town of Nyon, found- ed, as we read, by Julius Ca~sar after his conquest of the Helvetians. This, like many other places on the lake, has Roman remains, which are, of course, as things of yester- day compared with the relics of those Swiss cousins of our Mound-Builders, the Lacustrines, a race of prehistoric Vene- tians who have left their traces along the shores. Nyon is the point where the lake begins to broaden. The way up to the Jura now is by more ample slopes, and upon Lhese ample slopes bask the rich vineyards of the canton of Vaud. The shore of Savoy opposite sinks gradually into a soft haze in the distance, out of which rise the Alps, flecked with glaciers, and the dark outline {~f the Mole, towering against the white of Mont Blanc, looks like his gigantic shadow on the landscape. A little way from Nyon is the beautiful illa or summer-palace of Prangins, built by Prince Napoleon. I saw in a Swiss paper last year this magnificent place advertised for sale. It has since, I believe, passed out of the princes hands. The old chateau of Prangins, on the same estate, dates from feudal times. In its present form it was 1)uilt by a Portuguese princess, who lived in it over two hundred years ago. It was once the temporary home of Voltaire, and at the fall of the first empire King Joseph Bonaparte bought the estate, and lived there many years. Our engraving will give you the best idea of the modern building. We glide by the vine-clad terraces of La C6te, with the fragrance of whose excellent wine Voltaire sometimes filled his letters to his friends. Our little steamer stops a mo- meut at Rolle, and then at Morges, a city founded by the old dukes of Zteringen. It is between Morges and Lausanne that we lose sight of Mont Blanc gradually behind the peaks of the Dents dOche, whose steep sides rise out of the water on the opposite shore. Onchy, the port of Lausanne, is our next stopping-place, and there are certainly few lovelier spots on earth. As is the rule in Switzerland, on the magnificent site where you would expect the wealthy citizen of the country, or at least some noble or princely sojourner there, to have his villa or his pal- ace, that is the spot where you are surest to find one of those Swiss hotels which are proverbially the best in the world. The traveler has got to be one of the estates in this beautiful land; in the matter of lux- ury, indeed, he is the ruler. Here, then, at Ouchy, in the most enchanting place, in the midst of the finest gardens, with the dust of Lausanne afar and above it, with its shady rambles sloping to the waters edge, with the wondrous Alpine world before it across the loveliest reaches of the lake, sits the palace of the real king of our latest civiliza- tionthe tourist. He lounges in cool halls, with marble pavements as rich as Charle- magnes, sipping his coffee and smoking his cigarluxuries of which Charlemagne nev- er dreamedand listening to a full band in the mazes of Strausss last, whose gauzy joy- ousness likewise the poor old emperor never knew. And it is well to enjoy ones self thus by comparison, so to speak; to think of ones self wearing finer linen than Charles the Bold; to think of Strauss setting more people in a whirl of pleasure about the earth than Charlemagne ever summoned by his trumpets to slay their fellows. Surely it wasnt in Neros fiddling, but rather in the accompaniment of burning down Rome, that he made his mistake, and But it does not exactly appear how all this is connected with Lake Leman, except, perhaps, it be in some way through the Phuinician lateen-sails of the boats, which here at Ouchy, as at Vevay, seem, as they come out of the distant haze of the still blue water, to be sailing up out of ancient his- tory. For was it not in ships rigged like these that commerce first made itself royal, bearing its Tyrian purple about the world? They are still the quaint gypsies of the sea, under their Mediterranean names of xebecs and feluccas, and there is certainly nothing else in the way of craft so picturesque. They have preserved the positive poetry of the times when a sail was called a wing. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. One of them seen coming down the lake with a fair breeze looks like some huge wa- ter-fowl dozing in its dreamy flight. It was at the little hotel of the Anchor here at Ouchy that Byron, detained by bad weather, wrote his Prisoner of Chillon; and it was at Lausanne, in the garden of the ho- tel named after him, overlooking the same spot, that Gibbon finished his great history. The wall of the hotel passes over the site of the famous snmmer-house where the last lines were written on that memorable 27th of June, between eleven oclock and mid- night. Gibbons house, notwithstanding what your guide-book may say, is no lon- ger standing in Lausanne. It is a curious fact that the Swiss girl whom Gibbons fa- ther would not let him marry was afterward the mother of Madame De Sta~l. She was a Mademoiselle Susanne Curchod, daughter of a country clergyman in the neighborhood of Lausanne, a remarkably beautiful and accomplished young lady, who afterward as Madame Necker was not unworthy of her high place at the time when her husband di- rected not only French finances, but France itself. Gibbon spent a great share of his life in Lausanne, mingling freely in the highly cultivated society for which that city was so celebrated in the last century. To- ward the close of his career good living and the extraordinary healthfulness of the cli- mate made him very stout This, however, did not prevent him from maintaining his reputation for excessive politeness to ladies. One day he threw himself upon his knees before one of the beauties of Lausanne, who did not seem pleased with the ardor of his compliment, and summoned him to rise; but he could nothe weighed too much. The lady had to ring for a servant to help the great Decliner and Faller to his feet again. Lausanne is, next to Geneva, the largest city on the lake. Apart from that fact it is easy to see why Leman has been called the Lake of Lausanne; no city on its banks seems so much to command it. The town is built upon two or three hills, at some dis- tance from the water. A deep ravine runs through the city, but can hardly be said to divide it, for a two-story bridge connects the two principal hills, and you can not see any place, up hill or down, that is not cov- ered with houses. The old cathedral is the principal show-place of Lausanne. It was here that over three hundred years ago the great discussion was held in which Calvin, Farel, and Viret took part, and which re- sulted in the separation of the country of Vand from the Roman Church, and in throw- ing off its allegiance to the House of Savoy. Between Lausanne and Vevay are the rich- est vineyards of Switzerland. Vevay is al- most universally considered the pleasantest town on the lake. Summer or winter, the cli- mate is better there and at Montreux than it is nearer Geneva. The harsh north wind the bise, does not lacerate the nerves of the invalid in these sheltered spots. The vast hotels are filled with winter boarders, at VzVAY. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 27 winter prices, which are about half those chestnuts supposed to be the original of of what is called the grand season. At Rousseaus Bosquet of Julia, wealth and sen- Vevay you are in the centre of the wine in- timent have built the beautiful chateau of terest of the canton of Vaud. Here, twice CrAtes, and there can scarcely be a fairer or thrice in a generation, the great festival scene than that of this fancifnl little castle of the vine - dressers takes place. A in the midst of its steep vineyards. Not very far from here, surrounded by a fine or chard, is the place where Rousseaus Ma- dame De Warens was born. It is not well, however, to go to Clarens in midsummer and read Byrons famous lines time of general peace and plenty is chosen, and fifty thousand people assemble to witness or mingle in the processions. Bacehus figures largely in the scene, and the festivals them- selves (being of unknown antiquity) have descended,it is supposed by some, from the Romans, among whom the wines of this dis- trict were highly prized. At Vevay you come in sight of the whole enchanted land of Rous- seauthe scene of the Nouvelle H6loise Clarens, Montreux, Chillon, Villenenve, the river Rhone entering the lake, the rocks of Meillerie, the Dent da Midi, the high Alps, and all. The vine-clad heights above the lake are now hemmed in by woodlands and abrupt rocks. About Vernex and Montreux the climate is so mild that the pomegranate, myrtle, and rose-laurel blossom in the open air. Above Clarens, beside the clump ~f Clarens! sweet Clarens! birth-place of deep love! Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought; Thy trees take root in love, etc., for the village is, at least in that season, too warm and dusty for any sentiments bnt those of weariness and thirst. What Montreux has to offer of most pic- turesque are its old parish church and the invalids who haunt its hotels and pensions, and pursue their lost health through its grimy streets and up its weary heights. The parish church is an ivy-clad old pile, surrounded by superb walnut - trees, and VERNEX ANn MONTREUX. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. stuck, like a swallows nest, on the side of a count and a bishop. The canton of Vand the mountain. In the porous sandstone be- now has a dozen or so of criminals there; neath it is a grotto of curious stalactites. but most of the available space is stowed The terrace about it gives a fine view of with the artillery of the little republic. this loveliest portion of the lake, and espe- The fortifications of Chillon date from the daily of the white battlements of the Castle thirteenth century, when Peter of Savoy, of Chillon, only a few miles away. Ever who was so doughty a conqueror that they since you left Lausanne, indeed, its turrets called him the Little Charlemagne, lived and walls have been rising gradually to there with his duchess. The apartments of you, as out of their thousand years of story the princely pair are still shown to the vis- and romance. The little steamer takes you itor. They give upon the lake, but in their by the old castle, landing you at Villeneuve, bareness and vacancy are only less sombre of which you carry away no memory but and depressing than the guard-rooms and that of the vast H6tel Byron, where you get prisons beneath them hewn out of the rock. your dinner. So you enter the Castle of And it is to these subterranean places that Chillon from the land side, over the old the worlds interest attaches more than it draw-bridge. The name is said to come does to the quaint towers and moat or the from chzlla Celtic word, signifying a nar- faded fleurs-de-lis on the walls of the state row passage. The ancient stronghold rests chambers, or to the memory of th~ stout upon a rock on a level with the water, and dukes battles, or of the minstrels who sang commands the narrow passage between the about them to him in the great old banquet- lake and the steep mountain - side. This hail, or even to the generous kitchen, whose narrow passage has been a Thermopylie to broad fire-place, capable of roasting an ox the country of Vaud, for this was the way whole, has handed down an imaginary flavor over the Alps to Italy in the Middle Ages. of bounteous good dinners through the cen- It is the route of a raiiroad to-day. The tunes. For in one of these Byzantine col- date of the castles foundation is not known. umned chambers in the rock a descendant In the ninth century a solitary high tower of the mighty Peter, another Duke of Savoy, doubtless of Roman originstood upon made Bonnivard the immortal Prisoner of the rock, unconnected with the shore. Even Chillon. You are shown the beam from in those times Chillon was put to the uses which the condemned were hanged, the in- of a prison, as it is at this day. Louis le struments of torture, the place where the D6bonnaire, in 830, say the books, used it Jews were burned alive by hundreds in 1348, to shut up a relation of his who was both upon the absurd suspicion of having entered CHATEAU OF CRTES. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 29 into a vast conspiracy to poison all the pub- from the facts. Very little is known, indeed, lic fountains in Europe. But you are im- of the personal history of the strong-willed patient to stand beside the pillar to which yet modest old patriot; but if he had any Bonnivard was chained, and to see with your brothers, they did not share his imprison- own eyes the traces left by his feet in the ment with him, as they are made to do in solid rock as he walked for years about the the poem. Bonnivard has left an account of pillars base. So you pass through the sue- the struggles of Geneva with the tyranny cession of subterranean chambers to the last and ultrainontanism of his time in his Chro- and largest of them. There, through the niques de Gen~ve; but you may search it all perpetual gloom, the thin lances of the aft- through for any further mention of his suf- ernoon sun have found entrance by way of ferings than I shall quote for you presently the narrow loop -holes, intended probably in his own quaint, strong French. for the defensive arrows of the medheval Fran~ois Bonnivard was born of a noble cross-bowmen. A solitary ray of green re- family at Seyssel, upon the banks of the Ilection from the lake without just touches Rhone, in 1493. He was brought up by his the rusty iron ring high upon the pillar to uncle, the Prior of St. Victor, whom he sue- which the prisoner was chained, and you ceeded at the extensive priory of that name, trace upon the pavement the uneven ciren- which used to stand just outside the old lar pathway, the foot-marks which, accord- walls of Geneva, on the high land where the ing to Byron, appeal from tyranny to God. modern visitor now sees the golden dome of The poet himself has left his name upon the the Russian Church. Though against his column. This name, too, has a cloud of interest as prior, and against his class as a witnesses; for the column is covered with noble, he early took sides with the Gene- a part of that great galaxy, that milk- vese in their struggles with the abuses of soppy-way of unknown autographs, extend- the Church and with the tyrautiy of the ing from our home board fences to the Pyr- Duke of Savoy. Bonnivard was but twenty- amids. The Puck of modern travel now six years old when first imprisoned by this puts this sort of autographic girdle about latter implacable enemy of his adopted city. the earth in forty days. For nearly two years he was kept in the Byron himself confesses that he knew lit- castle of Grol6e on a charge extorted by tor- tIe or nothing about the history of Bonnivard ture from a citizen of Geneva. He was only when he wrote The Prisoner of Chitlon. His the more earnest for liberty and the Refor- lordship certainly could not have kept his mation after this act of oppression. Nearly story about the pillar and got farther away ten years afterward Bonnivard desired to go CASTLE OF CIIILLON. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and visit his aged mother at Seysse], and the duke, hearing of his design, sent him a safe-conduct. His mother was more aston- ished and alarmed than rejoiced to see him, and she was not long in convincing him of the danger he was exposing himself to. Bon- nivard started for the north of the country of Vand, and still armed with his safe-con- duct, arrived at Moudon. His reception from the Bishop of Lausanne gave no suspicion of the treason plotting against him. He (rave me such good cheer,~~* writes Bonnivard himself that I resolved to return to Lan- sanne. Bellegarde gave me one of his own servants on horseback to accompany me, but when we had reached St. Catherine, on the Joint, the commandant of the Castle of Chil- lou, Messire Antoine do Beaufort, with cer- tain others, came out of the wood, where they had been in ambush, and confronted me. I was riding at the time on a mule, while my guide was upon a powerful work- horse. Spur on, I cried to him, spur on! and I used my spurs while putting my fland to my sword. Bnt my guide, instead of lead- ing on, turned his horse, rushed npon me, and using the knife which he had had in II me fit grosse chLire, puis je resolus de men re- tourner Li Laussue. Bellegarde me donna un sien serviteur Li cheval pour maccompagner, mais quand nous fCimes Li Ste-Catherine, sur le Jorat, voici le capi- tame do chiteau de Chullon, Messire Antoine de Beau- fort, lequel avec quelques compaguons sort des bois od ii 6tait emhnch6 & marrive sus. Je chevauchais lors sur une mare & mon guide sur un puissant courtant [archaic for cheval de labor]. Piquez! lui dis-je, piqnez! Et moi-m~me je piquals en mettant la main Li l~pLie. Mais mon guide, au lieu de piquer en avant, tourna son cheval, me santa sos, & jonant do coutel quil avait tout pr& t, ii me coupa la ceinture de mon op~e. Sur ce, ces honn~tes gens tombent tons sur mol, me font prisonnier de la part de Monsieur [the Duke of Savoy], & quelqne sauf-conduit que je leur montrasse, us memmtnent Ihi & garrott~ Li Chillon, ofl je devais sans antre secours que Dien subir ma se- conde passion. readiness, cut the belt of my sword. Upon this these honest people fell upon me in a body, and made me the dukes prisoner, and notwithstanding the safe-conduct which I showed them, they bore me away, securely bound, to Chillon, where I was forced, with- out other help than Gods, to endure my sec- ond passion. For the first two years of his captivity the prisoner seems to have been treated well, as he was assigned a comfortable apartment, near to that of the commandant, whose ob- ject was to win Bonnivard back to the cause of the Diike of Savoy. But the duke him- self having made a visit to Chillon, there was that added to the wrong of the unfortu- nate prior which will make him live forever in the romantic interest of the world. For ]JONNiVARD5 DUNGEON. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 31 after his departure, says Bonnivard, in the only half dozen lines he has left about his prison life, the commandant threw me into a crypt lower than the level of the lake, where I staid four years. I do not know if he acted by the dukes orders or of his own accord. But5 I know very well that after that I had such good leisure for walk- ing that I wore a path into the rocky floor, as if it had been done with a hammer. Thus Bonnivard passed six years in Chillon, four of them chained to the pillar. Meantime the people of Geneva had not forgotten the heroic prior. After the con- quest of the country of Vaud by Berne, an attack upon Chillon was concerted. The flower of the Genevese youth set sail with a small fleet, and the people on the shores of the lake, as the vessels went by, shouted, Save the captives ! At a signal the at- tack was begun by the Bernese on land and the Genevese on water. The commandant of the castle at last offered to surrender, and while the parley was going on he put his family and servants on board his galley, the swiftest on the lake, and sailed quickly away for the coast of Savoy, reaching it in safety notwithstanding the pursuit of the Gene- vese. It was at first supposed that the cap- tives had been taken away by the fugitives, but the next day, when the allies took pos * Mais je sais bien que ieus alors si boa loysir de me pourmener que j empreignis en Ia roche qal est le pavement de c~ans an vionnet, comme si on leust fait avec nag marteL session of Chillon, they found Bonnivard and six other Genevese prisoners. Bonnivard, you are free ! And Geneva ? Free, too. This is reported to have been the first dialogue held with the patriot. When lie returned to Geneva he found the city iudeed free, but his priory and his castle outside the walls razed to the ground. He lived afterward as the pensioner of the city, was a member of the Grand Council, and rendered other important services to the little state; but his temper, like that of most reformers, was, not the pleasantest one to live with. He did not always get along smoothly with the early rigid fathers of the Reformation. Toward the close of his life he seems to have contracted a habit of marrying elderly la- dies, and he lived long enough to marry four times. Still he died a natural death in the autumn of 1570, at the age of seventy-seven years, leaving his books to his adopted city, and thus laying the foundation of the pres- ent public library of Geneva. There are not many of what the tourist understands by show-places on the southern or Savoyard shore between Chillon and Ge- neva. The lake, indeed, has for hundreds of years divided two very opposite civilizations Calvin on one side, and Saint Francis of Sales on the other. This latter has walked a missionary over much of the rugged Savoy border, and the blight of centuries of bad government and blind following of his teach- TIIONON. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ings still rests upon the land and people. On our way down the lake we shall first come to a region of mountains and preci- pices; we shall pass the celebrated rocks of Meillerie, the solitary and sterile retreat whence Rousseaus sentimental St. Preux writes so despondently to Julie, and near whose base Byron and Shelley would have left their bones if a sudden lucky wind had not blown their boat ashore. Then, as we approach Evian, we come again to vine-clad slopes, and to a growth of chestnuts which is certainly one of the finest in the world. The glory of Evian, in fact, is divided be- tween its chestnuts and its mineral springs. These latter have of late years planted the crowded discomfort and lonesomeness of a fashionable watering-place about the little town. Between Evian and Thonon we pass the ruins of Ripaille, a retreat built by Duke Amadeus VIII. of Savoy. His subjects sur-. named him Solomon, whether on account of his wisdom as a ruler or on account of the luxuriousness of his life as a hermit his- tory does not record. His hermitage con- sisted of seven apartments, each having a garden and a machicolated tower, for when the duke retired from the world he took his six wise counselors with him. They were all widowers, and the style of their living has been embalmed in a phrase of the French language. For four hundred years, to sig- nify the exact opposite of asceticism, the French have said faire Rijpaille, just as they do to this day; and so the carousals of these jolly seven wise men have become immortal. A crisis in the Church, and the Council of Basle called the good duke away to be Pope for a decade; but then the majority of Chris- tians were rather more inclined to Pope Nicholas V., and Amadeus resigned in his favor, taking back to Ripaille the dignity of cardinal, and power over the episcopal sees of Geneva and Lausanne. The ruins are now used as haymows and hog-pens. Nature, too, has done her share in this shabby bur- lesque of history. There is, however, some- thing pathetic even in the irony of the rank vegetation with which she has overrun the park, whose seven converging avenues once ended each in a view of a town or village. Thonon is the largest of the Savoyard lake cities. That is not saying it is very large or prosperous, for it contains less than five thousand inhabitants, and they lead a sleepy sort of life. It is a very ancient town, once the residence of the dukes of Savoy, and held their castle till the Bernese tore it down. That was three hundred years ago; but the spot is still an open place, af- fording a fine view of the lake, here at its widest, as has been said before. It is on this quiet Savoyard shore, most of which we have now passed, that the successful fishing is done. More shady and solitary than the Swiss bank, it is more favorable to spawn. There are said to be twenty - one BYRONS VILLA, ~lODATI. AROUND LAKE LEMAN. 33 species of fish in the lake; but of its thirty- six leagues of shore, according to my au- thority, thirty leagues are so rocky as to give hardly any plants or insects for their food. Leman, therefore, is not so well stock- ed with fish as many of the Swiss lakes. The professional fishermen go out in their boats at dark, and are generally gone all iiight. The unprofessionals of the Swiss shores are, I think, the most patient people on earth. I have seen hundreds of them in the course of the summer holding their lines from bridges and quays at all hours of the (lay and night, and have never yet seen them catch a fish. The hotels of Geneva, at least in the grand season, are mostly supplied from the sea. The f6rra, which is nearest to the grayling, but, I believe, a species pe- cnliar to this and one or two other of the Swiss lakes, is the fish oftenest met on the table. There is a magnificent kind of salm- on-trout, called truite du lac, weighing oft- en twenty or thirty pounds, which some- times graces the dinners of the Bean-Rivage or Dc Ia Paix at Geneva. On days when VOL. XLvnLNo. 283.3 this fish is served he is paraded in all his superb proportions around the dining-room by a white-gloved waiter, in a sort of glori- fied triumph of sauce and silver, in the gen- teel lull between the soup and the first wine. We have reached the narrow end of the lake again before we come to the Villa Dio- dati, to which Byron exiled himself direct- ly after his separation from his wife. The house stands in the midst of vineyards slop- ing to the water. Here, in a little room from which the poet could see neither Mont Blanc nor the lake, he wrote Manfred and the third canto of Childe Harold. Further down toward Genevain the Eaux Vives suburb of the city, in point of factwe pass the country-seat of Merle dAnbign6, recent- ly dead. In a low, shady, many-windowed wing of this house the Hi8tory of the 1?eforrna- tion was written. And now the sullen Jura, crowding the valley of Leman into its nar- rowest limits, frowns across it at the SaThve and the Voirons; and the two shores are knit together by the fair metropolis of them both, and so the lake and our journey end. MEBLE nAU]ueNEs OOUNTRY-SEAT. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AN organ-grinder, meagre and sorrowful, Stops in the sun in the street below; The ragged street children come trooping about him, Crowding and eager and glad, I know, Their hright eyes peering through tangled tresses With childish wonder and happy trust: Even the boys stare, quiet a moment, Scraping their toes through the tawny dust. But the organ-grinder is bent and weary; Nothing is new to him under the sun; The tinkling notes of the old, old music Mean scanty crusts when the day is done. A waltz may come, or an Ave Maria; The children may listen or run away; The organ-grinder is old and weary, And he turns this handle the livelong day. What is he thinking, our tired brother? What do these sorrowful gray eyes see? Vacantly gazingat nothing about him Is he looking in faces that used to he? Is he thinking of old, old times and people, Of days when the sun in truth was bright, When the sweet winds blew to him perfumed fancies, And sunset castles rose fair in his sight? Does he hear, instead of the old, old music His brown, stiff fingers are grinding out, The dear wifes laugh in the pleasant twilight, And the babys step and tiny shout? Does he feel the pressure of loving fingers Deadly chill when he touched them last! Biding the troubled dream of the present In the gracious glow from the real past? Our worn-out brother! He is only weary; No fairy dreams are kissing his eyes; His life is sordid and narrow and sorrowful: The pennies fall rarelyfor this he sighs. No lovely phantoms are floating about him; No echoes are sounding within his breast From the voice divine of that love supernal Which shall surely somewhere give him rest. And the brnisdd spirit is mate with the body: He will hear with a stare that God is good. Silently add to the store of his pennies, And brighten his desolate solitude. Stifle the Pharisee pity that rises! Who links the merciless chain of fate? Through what dim cycles slow gather its atoms? In what flue junctionswhile we wait? THE ORGAN-GRINDER.

34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AN organ-grinder, meagre and sorrowful, Stops in the sun in the street below; The ragged street children come trooping about him, Crowding and eager and glad, I know, Their hright eyes peering through tangled tresses With childish wonder and happy trust: Even the boys stare, quiet a moment, Scraping their toes through the tawny dust. But the organ-grinder is bent and weary; Nothing is new to him under the sun; The tinkling notes of the old, old music Mean scanty crusts when the day is done. A waltz may come, or an Ave Maria; The children may listen or run away; The organ-grinder is old and weary, And he turns this handle the livelong day. What is he thinking, our tired brother? What do these sorrowful gray eyes see? Vacantly gazingat nothing about him Is he looking in faces that used to he? Is he thinking of old, old times and people, Of days when the sun in truth was bright, When the sweet winds blew to him perfumed fancies, And sunset castles rose fair in his sight? Does he hear, instead of the old, old music His brown, stiff fingers are grinding out, The dear wifes laugh in the pleasant twilight, And the babys step and tiny shout? Does he feel the pressure of loving fingers Deadly chill when he touched them last! Biding the troubled dream of the present In the gracious glow from the real past? Our worn-out brother! He is only weary; No fairy dreams are kissing his eyes; His life is sordid and narrow and sorrowful: The pennies fall rarelyfor this he sighs. No lovely phantoms are floating about him; No echoes are sounding within his breast From the voice divine of that love supernal Which shall surely somewhere give him rest. And the brnisdd spirit is mate with the body: He will hear with a stare that God is good. Silently add to the store of his pennies, And brighten his desolate solitude. Stifle the Pharisee pity that rises! Who links the merciless chain of fate? Through what dim cycles slow gather its atoms? In what flue junctionswhile we wait? THE ORGAN-GRINDER. NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. B~ CHARLES NOEDHOFF. II.MENDOCINO AND CLEAR LAKE. S OMEof the most picturesque country in California lies on or near the coast north of San Francisco. The coast coun- ties, Mann, Son oma, Mendocino, Hum- boldt, Kiamath, and Del Norte, are the least visited by strangers, and yet, with Napa, Lake, and Trinity, they make up a region which contains a very great deal of wild and fine scenery, and which abounds with game, and shows to the traveler mauy varieties of life and sev- eral of the peculiar industries of Califor- ma. Those who have passed through the lovely Napa Valley, by way of Calistoga, ~ the Geysers, or who have visited the same place by way of Healdsbnrg and the pretty Russian River Valley, have no more than a faint idea of what a tourist may see and en- joy who will devote two weeks to a journey along the sea-coast of Mariu and Meudocino counties, returning by way of Clear Lake WATER-JAM OF LOGS. a fine sheet of water, whose borders contain some remarkable volcanic features. The northern coast counties are made up largely of mountains, but imbosomed in these lie many charming little, and several quite spacious, valleys, in which you are sur- prised to find a multitude of farmers living, isolated from the world, that life of careless 35

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. B~ CHARLES NOEDHOFF. II.MENDOCINO AND CLEAR LAKE. S OMEof the most picturesque country in California lies on or near the coast north of San Francisco. The coast coun- ties, Mann, Son oma, Mendocino, Hum- boldt, Kiamath, and Del Norte, are the least visited by strangers, and yet, with Napa, Lake, and Trinity, they make up a region which contains a very great deal of wild and fine scenery, and which abounds with game, and shows to the traveler mauy varieties of life and sev- eral of the peculiar industries of Califor- ma. Those who have passed through the lovely Napa Valley, by way of Calistoga, ~ the Geysers, or who have visited the same place by way of Healdsbnrg and the pretty Russian River Valley, have no more than a faint idea of what a tourist may see and en- joy who will devote two weeks to a journey along the sea-coast of Mariu and Meudocino counties, returning by way of Clear Lake WATER-JAM OF LOGS. a fine sheet of water, whose borders contain some remarkable volcanic features. The northern coast counties are made up largely of mountains, but imbosomed in these lie many charming little, and several quite spacious, valleys, in which you are sur- prised to find a multitude of farmers living, isolated from the world, that life of careless 35 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and easy prosperity which is the lot of farm- wagon-road. In Mendocino, Lake, and Ma- ers in the fat valleys of California. na the roads are excellent, and either a pub- In such a journey the travekr will see the lic stage, or, what is pleasanter and but lit- famons redwood forests of this State, whose tle dearer, a private team with a driver trees are unequaled in size except by the familiar with the country, is always obtain- gigantic sequoias; he will see those dairy- able. In such a journey one element of farms of Mann County, whose butter sup- pleasure is its somewhat hap-hazard nature. plies not only this Western coast, but is sent You do not travel over beaten ground and East, and competes in the markets of New on routes laid out for you; you do not know York and Boston with the product of East- beforehand what you are to see, nor even em dairies, while, sealed hermetically in how you are to see it; you may sleep in a glass jars, it is transported to the most dis- house to-day, in the woods to-morrow, and tant military posts, and used on long sea- in a sail-boat the day after; you dine one voyages, keeping sweet in any climate for day in a logging camp, and another in a at least a year; he will see, in Mendocino farm-house. With the barometer at set County, one of the most remarkable coasts fair, and in a country where every body m in the world, eaten by the ocean into the civil and obliging, and where all you see is most singular and fantastic shapes; and on novel to an Eastern person, the sense of ad- this coast saw-mills and logging camps, venture adds a keen zest to a journey which where the immense redwood forests are re- is in itself not only amusing and healthful, duced to useful lumber with a prodigious but instructive. waste of wood. He will see, besides the Mann County, which lies across the bay larger Napa, Petaluma, Bereyessa, and Rus- from San Francisco, and of which the pretty sian River valleys, which are already con- village of San Rafael is the county town, con- nected by railroad with San Francisco, a tains the most productive dairy-farms in the number of quiet, sunny little vales, some of State. When one has long read of California them undiscoverable on the map, nestled as a dry State, he wonders to find that it pro- among the monutnius, unconnected as yet duces butter at all; and still more to dis- with the world either by railroad or tele- cover that the dairy business is extensive graph, but fertile, rich in cattle, sheep, and and profitable enoughwith butter at thir- grain, where live a people peculiarly Cali- ty-five cents a pound at the dairyto war- fornian in their habits, language, and cus- rant the employment of several millions of toms, great horsemen, famous rifle - shots, capital, and to enable the dairy-men to send keen fishermen, for the mountains abound in their product to New York and Boston for deer and bear, and the streams are alive sale. Maria County offers some important with trout. He may see an Indian reserva- advantages to the dairy-farmer. The sea fogs tionone of the most curious examples of which it receives cause abundant springs of mismanaged philanthropy which our gov- excellent soft water, and also keep the grass eminent can show. And finally, the tray- green through the summer and fall in the eler will come to, and, if he is wise, spend gulches and ravines. Vicinity to the ocean some days on, Clear Lakea strikingly love- also gives this region a very equal climate. ly piece of water, which would be famous if It is never cold in winter nor hot in summer. it were not American. In the milk-houses I saw usually a stove, but For such a journey one needs a heavy pair it was used mainly to dry the milk-room aft- of colored blankets and an overcoat rolled er very heavy fogs or continued rains; and up together, and a leather bag or valise to in the height of summer the mercury marks contain the necessary change of clothing, at most sixty-seven degrees, and the milk A couple of rough crash towels and a piece keeps sweet without artificial aids for thir- of soap also should be put into the bag; for ty-six hours. The cows require no sheds you may want to camp out, and you may nor any store of food, though the best dairy- not always find aiiy but the public towel at men, I noticed, raised beets, but more, they the inn where you dine or sleep. Traveling told me, to feed to their pigs than for the in spring, slimmer, or fall, you need no um- cows. These creatures provide for them- brella or other protection against rain, and selves the year round in the open fields; may confidently reckon on uninterrupted but care is taken, by opening springs and fine weather. The coast is always cool. leading water in iron pipes, to provide an The interior valleys are warm, and even abundance of this for them. hot, during the summer, and yet the dry The county is full of dairy-farms; and as heat does not exhaust or distress one, and this bnsiness requires rather more and bet- cool nights refresh you. In the valleys and ter buildings than wheat, cattle, or sheep on much-traveled roads there is a good deal farming, as well as more fences, this gives of dust, but it is, as they say, clean dirt, the country a neater and thriftier appear- and there is water enough in the country to ance than is usual among farming communi- wash it off. You need not ride on horse- ties in this State. The butter-maker must back unless you penetrate into Humboldt have good buildings, and he must keep them County, which has as yet but few miles of in the best order. NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. 37 But besides these smaller dairy - farms, Maria County contains some large butter ranchos,~~ as they are called, which are a great curiosity in their way. The Califor- nians, who have a singular genius for doing things on a large scale which in other States are done by retail, have managed to conduct even dairying in this way, and have known how to organize the making of butter in a way which would surprise an Orange Coun- ty farmer. Here, for instanceand to take the most successful and complete of these experimentsis the rancho of Mr. Charles Webb Howard, on which I had the curios- ity to spend a couple of days. It contains 18,000 acres of land well fitted for dairy pur- poses. On this he has at this time nine sep- arate farms, occupied by nine tenants en- gaged in ipaking butter. To rent the farms outright would not do, beeause the tenants would put up poor improvements, and would need, even then, more capital than tenant- farmers usually have. Mr. Howard, there- fore, contrived a scheme which seems to work satisfactorily to all concerned, and which appears to me extremely ingenious. He fences the farm, making proper subdi- visions of large fields; he opens springs, and leads water through iron pipes to the proper places, and also to the dwelling, milk-house, and corral. He builds the houses, which con- sist of a substantial dwelling, twenty-eight by thirty-two feet, a story and a half high, and cont~ining nine rooms, all lathed and plastered; a thoroughly well-arranged milk- house, twenty-five by fifty feet, having a milk-room in the centre twenty-five feet square, with a churning-room, store-room, wash-room, etc.; a barn, forty by fifty feet, to contain hay for the farm horses; also a calf-shed, a corral or inclosure for the cows, a well-arranged pig-pen; and all these build- ings are put up in the best manner, well-paint- ed, and neat. The tenant receives from the proprietor all this, the land, and cows to stock it. He furnishes, on his part, all the dairy utensils, the needed horses and wagons, the furniture for the house, the farm implements, and the necessary labor. The tenant pays to the owner twenty-seven dollars and a half per annum for each cow, and agrees to take the best care of the stock and of all parts of the farm, to make the necessary re- pairs, and to raise for the owner annually one-fifth as many calves as he keeps cows, the remainder of the calves being killed and fed to the pigs. He agrees also to sell noth- ing but butter and hogs from the farm, the hogs being entirely the tenants property. Under this system 1520 cows are now kept on nine separate farms on this estate, the largest number kept by one man being 225, and the smallest 115. Mr. Howard has been for years improving his herd; he pre- fers short-horns, and he saves every year the calves from the best milkers in all his herd, using also bulls from good milking strains. I was told that the average product of but- ter on the whole estate is now 175 pounds to each cow; many cows give as high as 200 and even 250 pounds per annum. Men do the milking, and also the butter-making, though on one farm I found a pretty Swed- ish girl superintending all the in-door work, with such skill and order in all the depart- ments that she possessed, so far as I saw, the model dairy on the estate. Here,saidlto myself is now an instance of the ability of women to compete with men which would delight Mrs. Stanton and all the Womans Rights people; here is the neatest, the sweet- est, the most complete, dairy in the whole re- gion; the best order, the most shining uten- sils, the nicest butter-roomand not only butter, but cheese also, made, which is not usual; and here is a rosy-faced, white-armed, smooth-haired, sensibly dressed, altogether admirable, and, to my eyes, beautiful Swed- ish lass presiding over it all; commanding her men-servants, and keeping every part of the business in order. Alas! Mrs. Stanton, she has discovered a better business than butter-making. She is going to marry sensible girl that she isand she is not go- ing to marry a dairy-farmer either. I doubt if any body in California will ever make as nice butter as this pretty Swede; certainly every other dairy I saw seemed to me com- monplace and uninteresting, after I had seen hers. I dont doubt that the young man who has had the art to persuade her to love him ought to be hanged, because butter- making is far more important than marry- ing. Nevertheless, I wish him joy in ad- vance, and, in humble defiance of Mrs. Stan- ton and her brilliant companions in arms, hereby give it as my belief that the pretty Swede is a sensible girlthat, to useaCall- fornia vulgarism, her head is level. For the coast journey the best route, be- cause it shows you much fine scenery on your way, is by way of Soucelito, which is reached by a ferry from San Francisco. From Soucelito either a stage or a private con- veyance carries you to Olema, whence you should visit Point Reyes, one of the most rugged capes on the coast, where a light- house and fog-signal are placed to warn and guide mariners. It is a wild spot, often en- veloped in fogs, and where it blows at least half a gale of wind three hundred days in the year. Returning from Point Reyes to Olema, your road bears you past Tomales Bay, and back to the coast of Mendocino County; and by the time you reach the mouth of Russian River you are in the saw- mill country. Here the road runs for the most part close to the coast, and gives you a long succession of wild and strange views. You pass Point Arena, where is another light-house; and finally land at Mendocino city. 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Before the stage sets you down at Men- (locino, or Big River, you will have no- ticed that the coast-line is broken at fre- qnent intervals by the months of small streams, and at the available points at the mouths of these streams saw-mills are placed. This continues up the coast, wherever a riv- er-mouth offers the slightest shelter to ves- sels loading; for the redwood forests line the coast up to and beyond Humboldt Bay. There are even mills which offer no lee to vessels loading; and here the adventurous schooner watches her opportunity, hauls un- der a perpendicular cliff, receives her lading in the shortest possible time, and her crew think themselves fortunate if they get safe- ly off. I am told the insurance companies charge very high rates to insure the lumber droghers, and in some cases entirely refuse to take risks on them. A number are lost every year, in spite of the skill and courage of their masters and crews. Big River is one of the best of the lumber ports; but even here vessels are lost every winter. One of the old residents told me he had seen more than one hundred seamen perish in the twenty years he had lived here; and I saw the strange and terrible cave into which a schooner was sucked in a sudden gale be- fore her crew could escape to the shore. She broke from her anchors, the meu hoist- ed sail, and the vessel was borne into the cave with all sail set. Her masts were snapped off like pipe - stems, and the hull was jammed into the great hole in the rock, where it began to thump with the swell so that two of the frightened crew were at once crushed on the deck by the overhang- ing ceiling of the cave. Five others hur- riedly climbed out over the stern, and there hung on until ropes were lowered to them by men on the cliff above, who drew them up safely. It was a narrow escape; and a more terrifying situation than that of this crew, as they saw their vessel sucked into a cave whose depth they did not know, can hardly be imagined outside of a hasheesh dream. Yankee ingenuity and mecbanical dex- terity have been strained to contrive means to support the slides on which lumber is let down from the steep cliffs. To throw the lumber down would be to shatter it to pieces. It must be gently handled: hence the wire-rope slides, lined and covered with smooth plank, and suspended at their outer ends from huge derricks which butt against the lower parts of the cliffs. These spider- web structures, which appear too frail to stand a gale, have, of course, to bear no heavy weight. The vessel anchors under one of them; a man stands by with a convenient and simple compress or brake to check the too rapid descent of the board or scantling; and above, a man shoves the pieces down from a car or lumber pile, keeping tally as they descend. A large part of the lumbering population consists of bachelors, and for their accom- modation you see numerous shanties erect- COAST V1~W, MEI~nocINo OOUNTY~ NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. 39 ed near the saw-mills and lumber piles. At And yet there are people who would make Meudocino city there is quite a colony of of woman only a kind of female man! such shanties, two long rows, upon a point As you travel along the coast, the stage- or cape from which the lumber is loaded, road gives you frequent and satisfactory I had the curiosity to enter one of these lit- views of its curiously distorted and ocean- tie snuggeries, which was unoccupied. It eaten caves and rocks. It has a dangerous was about ten by twelve feet in area, had a and terrible aspect, no doubt, to mariners, large fire-place (for fuel is shamefully abun- but it is most wonderful viewed from the dant here), a bunk for sleeping, with a lamp shore. At every projection you see that the arranged for reading in bed, a small table, waves have pierced and mined the rock; if hooks for clothes, a good board floor, a small the sea is high, you will hear it roar in the window, and a neat little hood over the caverns it has made, and whistle and shriek doorway, which gave this little hut quite wherever it has au outlet above through a picturesque effect. There was, besides, a which the waves may force the air. rough bench, and a small table. It seemed It is in the logging camps that a stranger to me that in such a climate as that of Men- will be most interested on this coast; for docino, where they wear the same clothes there he will see and feel the bigness of the all the year round, have evening fires in redwoods. A man in Humboldt County got July, and may keep their doors open in Jan- out of one tree lumber enough to make his nary, such a little kennel as this meets all house and barn, and to fence in two acres of the real wants of the mAle of the human ground. A schooner Was filled with shingles race. This, I suspect, is about as far as made from a single tree. One tree in Men- man, unaided by woman, would have car- docino, whose remains were shown to me, ned civilization any where. Whatever any made a mile of railroad ties. Trees fourteen of us have over and above such a snuggery feet in diameter have been frequently found as this we owe to womankind; whatever and cut down; the saw-logs are often split of comfort or elegance we possess, woman apart with wedges, because the entire mass has given us, or made us give her. I think is too large to float in the narrow and shal- no wholesome, right-minded man in the low streams, and I have even seen them blow world would ever get beyond such a hut; a log apart with gunpowder. A tree four and I even suspect that the occupant of the feet in diameter is called undersized in these shanty I inspected must have been in love, woods; and so skillful are the wood-choppers and thinking seriously of marriage, else he that they can make the largest giant of the would never have nailed the pretty little forest fall just where they want it, or, as hood over his doorway. So helpless is man! they say, they drive a stake with the tree. K SAW-MILL. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. at first a sharp crack; the cutter la- bors with his axe usually about fif- teen minutes after this premonitory crack, when at last the huge mass be- gins to go over. Then you may hear one of the grand- est sounds of the forest. The fall of a great redwOO(l is startlingly like a prolonged thunder- crash, aud is really a terrible sound. The Maine men make the best wood- choppers, but the logging camp is a favorite place also for sailors; and I was told that Ger- mans are liked as workmen about tim- ber. The choppers grind their axes once a weekusu- ally, I was told, ou Sundayand all hands in a logging camp work twelve houis a day. The government has lately become very strict in preserving the timber on Con- gress land, which was formerly cut at The choppers do not stand on the ground, random, and by any body who chose. Gov- but on stages raised to such a height as to eminent agents watch the loggers, and if enable the axe to strike in where the tree at- these are any where caught cutting timber tains its fair and regular thickness; for the on Congress land their rafts are seized and redwood, like the sequoia, swells at the sold. At present prices it pays to haul logs base, near the ground. These trees prefer in the redwood country only about half a steep hill-sides, and grow in an extremely mile to water; all trees more distant than rough and broken country, and their great this from a river are not cut; but the rivers height makes it necessary to fell them care- are in many places near each other, and the fully, lest they should, falling with such an belt of timber left standing, though consid- enormous weight, break to pieces. This erable, is not so great as one would think. constantly happens in spite of every precau- Redwood lumber has one singular property tion, and there is little doubt that in these it shrinks endwi8e, so that where it is forests and at the mills two feet of wood are used for weather-boarding a house, one is wasted for every foot of lumber sent to mar- apt to see the butts shrunk apart. I am ket. To mark the direction line on which told that across the grain it does not shrink the tree is to fall, the chopper usually drives perceptibly. a stake into the ground a hundred or a hun- Accidents are frequent in a logging camp, dred and fifty feet from the base of the tree, and good surgeons are in demand in all the and it is actually common to make the tree saw-mill ports, for there is much more occa- fall upon this stake, so straight do thesered- sion for surgery than for physic. Men are woods stand, and so accurate is the skill of cut with axes, jammed by logs, and other- the cutters. To fell a tree eight feet in di- wise hurt, one of the most serious dangers ameter is counted a days work for a man. arising from the fall of limbs torn from Wheu such a tree begins to totter, it gives standing trees by a falling one. Often such A cuorrxft AT WORK. 41 NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. a limb lodges or sticks in the high top of a vales, little gems big enough for one or two tree until the wind blows it down, or the farmers, fertile and easily cultivated. A concussion of the wood-cutters axe, cutting good many Missourians and other Southern down the tree,loosens it. Falling from such a people have settled in this part of the State. height as 200 or 250 feet, even a light branch The better class of these make good farm- is dangerous, and men sometimes have their ers; but the person called Pike in this brains dashed out by such a falling limb. State has here bloomed out until, at times, When you leave tbe coast for the interior, he becomes, as a Californian said about an you ride through mile after mile of redwood earthquake, a little monotonous. The forest. Unlike the firs of Oregon and Puget Pike in Meadocino County regards himself Sonud, this tree does not occupy the whole as a laboring-man, and in that capacity he land. It rears its tall head from a jungle of has undertaken to drive out the Indians, laurel, madrone, oak, and other trees; and I just as a still lower class in San Francisco doubt if so many as fifty large redwoods has undertaken to drive out the laboring often stand upon a single acre. I was told Chinese. These Little Lake and Potter Val- that an average tree would turn out about ley Pikes were ruined by Indian cheap la- fifteen thousand feet of lumber, and thus bor; so they got up a mob and expelled the even thirty such trees to the acre would yield Indians, and the result is that the work nearly half a million feet which these poor people formerly perform- The topography of California, like its cli- ed is now left undone. As for the Indians, mate, has decided features. As there are they are gathered at the Round Valley Res- but two seasons, so there are apt to be sharp- ervation to the number of about twelve hun- ly drawn differences in natural features, and dred, where they stand an excellent chance you descend from what appears to you an in- to lose such habits of industry and thrift as terminable mass of mountains suddenly into they had learned while supporting them- a plain, and pass from deep forests shading selv.es. At least half the men on the reser- the mountain-road at once into a prairie vation, the superintendent told me, are com- valley, which nature made ready to the farm- petent farmers, and many of the women are ers hands, taking care even to beautify it excellent and competent house - servants. for him with stately and umbrageous oaks. No one disputes that while they supported There are a number of such valleys on the themselves by useful industry in the val- way which I took from the coast at Mendo- leys where were their homes they were duo city to the Nome Cult Indian Reser- peaceable and harmless, and that the whites vation, in Round Valley. The principal of stood in no danger from them. Why, then, these, Little Lake, Potter, and Eden val- should the United States goverliment ford- leys, contain from five to twelve thousand bly make paupers of them? Why should acres; but there are a number of smaller this class of Indians be compelled to live ~uipPiNG LUMBER, MENDOCINO cousry. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. on reservations? Under the best manage- ment which we have ever had in the Indian Bureaulet us say under its present man- agementa reservation containing tame or I)eaceable Indians is only a panper asylum and prison combined, a nuisance to the re- spectable farmers, whom it deprives of use- ful and necessary laborers, an injnry to the morals of the community in whose midst it is placed, an injury to the Indian, whom it demoralizes, and a benefit only to the mem- bers of the Indian ring. Round Valley is occupied in part by the Nome Cult Reservation, and in part by farm- ers and graziers. In the middle of the val- ley stands Covelo, one of the roughest little villages I have seen in California, the gath- ering-place for a rude population, which in- habits not only the valley, but the mount- ains within fifty miles around, and which rides in to Covelo on mustang ponies when- ever it gets out of whisky at home or wants a spree. The bar-rooms of Covelo sell more strong drink in a day than any I have ever seen elsewhere; and the sheep-herder, the vaquero, the hunter, and the wandering rough, descending from their lonely mount- ain camps, make up as rude a crowd as one could find even in Nevada. Being almost without exception Americans, they are not quarrelsome in their cups. I was told, in- deed, by an old resident that shooting was formerly common, but it has gone out of fashion, mainly, perhaps, because most of the men are excellent shots, and the amuse- ment was dangerous. At any rate, I saw not a single fight or disturbance, though I spent the Fourth of July at Covelo; and it was, on the whole, a surprisingly well-con- ducted crowd, in spite of a document which was given me there, and whose directions were but too faithfully observed by a large majority of the transient population. This was called a toddy time -table, and I transcribe it here, for the warning and in- struction of Eastern topers, from a neat gilt- edged card: TODDY TIME-TABLE. 6 & .M. Eye-Opener. 3 P.M. Cobbler. 7 Appetizer. 4 Social Drink. 8 Digester. 5 Invigorator. 9 Big Reposer. 6 Soild Straight. 10 Refresher. 7 Chit-Chat. 11 Stimulant. S Fancy Smile. 12 ~. Ante-Lunch. 9 Entire Acte (sic). 1 P.M. Settler. 10 Sparkler. 2 A la Smythe. 11 Rouser. 12 P.M. Night-Cap. GOOD - NIGHT. My impression is that this time-table was not made for the latitude of Covelo, for they began to drink much earlier than 6 A.M. at the bar near which I slept, and they left off later than midnight. It would be unjust for me not to add that, for the amount of liquor consumed, it was the soberest and the best-natured crowd I ever saw. I would like to write respectable also,but it would be ridiculous to apply that term to men whose every word almost is an oath, and whose language in many cases corresponded accurately with their clothes and persons. ANOTHER COAST VIEW. NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. 43 From Round Valley there is a good enough horseback trail, as they call it, over a steep mountain into the Sacramento Val- ley, but a pleasanter journey, and one, be- sides, having more novelty, is by way of Potter Valley to Lakeport, on Clear Lake. The road is excellent; the scenery is pecul- iarly Californian. Potter Valley is one of the richest and also one of the prettiest of the minor valleys of this State, and your way to Lakeport carries you above the shores of two pleasant mountain lakeletsthe Blue Lakes, which are probably ancieut craters. Two days easy driving, stopping overnight in Potter Valley, brings you to Lakeport, the capital of Lake County, and the only town I have seen in California where they keep dogs in the square to worry strangers entering the place. As the only hotel in the town occupies one corner of this square, and as in California fashion the loungers usually sit in the evening on the sidewalk before the hotel, the combined attack of these dogs occurs in their view, and perhaps affords them a pleasing and beneficial excitement. The placid and impartial manner with which the landlord himself regards the con- test between the stranger 4nd the town dogs will lead you to doubt whether his house is not too full to accommodate anoth- er guest, and whether he is not benevolent- ly letting the dogs spare him the pain of re- fusing you a nights lodging; but it is grat- ifying to be assured, when you at last reach the door, that the dogs scarcely ever bite any body. Clear Lake is a large and picturesque sheet of water, twenty-five miles long by about seven wide, surrounded by mountains, which in many places descend to the waters edge. At Lakeport you can hire a boat at a very reasonable price, and I advise you to take your blankets on board, and make this boat your home for two or three days. You nill get food at different farm-houses on the shore, and as there are substantial, good- sized sail-boats, you can sleep on board very enjoyably. Aside from its fine scenery, and one or two good specimens of small Califor- nian farms, the valley is remarkable for two borax lakes and a considerable deposit of sulphur, all of which lie close to the shore. At one of the farm-houses, whose owner, a Pennsylvanian, has made himself a most beautiful place in a little valley hidden by the mountains which butt on the lake, I saw the culture of silk going on in that way in which only, as I believe, it can be made suc- cessful in California. He had planted about 2500 mulberry-trees, ~uilt himself an inex- pensive but quite sufficient little cocoonery, bought an ounce and a half of eggs for fifteen dollars, and when I visited him had already a considerable quantity of cocoons, and had several thousand worms then feeding. It was his first attempt; he had never seen a cocoonery, but had read all he could buy about the management of the silkworm and as his grain harvest was over, he found in the slight labor attending the manage- ment of these worms a s~urce of interest and delight which was alone worth the cost of his experiment. But he is successful be- sides; and his wife expressed great delight at the new employment her husband had found, which, as she said, had kept him close at home for about two months. She remarked that all wives ought to favor the silk culture for their husbands; but the old man added that some husbands might rec- ommend it to their wives. Certainly I had no idea how slight and pleasant is the labor attending this industry up to the point of getting cocoons. If, however, you mean to raise eggs, the work is less pleasant. This farmer, Mr. Alter, had chosen his field of op- erations with considerable shrewdness. He planted his mulberry-trees on a dry side- hill, and found that it did not hurt his worms to feed to them, under this condition, even leaves from the little shrnbs growing in his nursery rows. His cocoonery was sheltered from rude winds by a hill and a wood, and thus the temperature was very equal. He had no stove in his house, the shelves were quite rough, and the whole management might have been called care- less if it were not successful. I believe that the country about Clear Lake and in the Napa and Sonoma valleys will be found very favorable to the culture of the silk-worm; but I believe also that this industry will not succeed except where it is carried on by farmers and their families in a small way. Boat life on Clear Lake is as delightful an experience as a traveler or lounger can get anywhere. The lake is placid; there is usu- ally breeze enough to sail about; you nee~d not fear storms or rainy weather in the dry season. If it should fall calm, an dyoudo not wish to be delayed, you can always hire an Indian to row the boat, and there is suffi- cient to see on the lake to pleasantly detain a tourist several days, besides fine fishing and hunting in the season, and lovely views all the time. Going to the Sulphur Banks on a calm morning, I hired an Indian from a rancheria upon Mr. Alters farm to row for us, and my Indian proved to be a prize. His name was Napoleon, and he was a phi- losopher. Like his greater namesake, he had had two wives. Of the first one he re- ported that Jim catchee him, by which I understood that he had tired of her, and had sold her to Jim ; and he had now taken number two, a moderately pretty Digger girl, of whom he seemed to be uncommonly fond. As he rowed he began to speak of his former life, when he had served a white farmer. Him die now, said Napoleon; adding, in a musing tone, he very good man, plenty 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. money; give Inj un money all time. Him very good white man, that man; plenty mon- ey all time. Napoleon dwelt npon the wealth of his fa- vorite white man so persistently that pres- ently it occurred to me to inquire a little further. Suppose a white man had no money, said I, what sort of a man would you think him P My philosophers countenance took on a fine expression of contempt. Suppose white man no got money 1 he asked. Eh! sup- pose no got moneyhe dam fool ! And Na- poleon glared upon us, his passengers, as though he wondered if either of us would venture to coutradict so plain a proposi- tion. The sulphur bank is a remarkable deposit of decomposed volcanic rock and scoria, con- taining so large a quantity of sulphur that I am told that at the refining-works, which lie on the bank of the lake, the mass yields eighty per cent. of pure sulphur. The works were not in operation when I was there. Several large hot springs burst out from the bank, and gas and steam escape with some violence from numerous fissures. The de- posit looks very much like a similar one on the edge of the Kilauea crater, on the island of Hawaii, but is, I should think, richer in sulphur. Near the sulphur bank, on the edge of the lake, is a hot borate spring, which is supposed to yield at times 300 gallons per minute, and which Professor Whitney, the State Geologist, declares remarkable for the extraordinary amount of ammoniacal salts its waters containmore than any natural spAng water that has ever been analyzed. There is abundant evidence of volcanic action in all the country about Clear Lake. A dozen miles from Lakeport, not far from the shore of the lake, the whole mountain- side along which thestage-road runs is cov- ered for several miles with splinters and fragments of obsidian, or volcanic glass, so that it looks as though millions of bottles had been broken there in some prodigious revelry; and where the road cuts into the side of the mountain you see the obsidian AN INDIAN NANOHzRIA. NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. 45 lying in huge masses and in boulders. Join- ing this, and at one point interrupting it, is a tract of volcanic ashes stratified, and the strata thrown up vertically in some places, as though after the volcano had flung out the ashes there had come a terrific upheaval of the earth. The two borax lakes lie also near the shore of Clear Lake; the largest one, which is not now worked, has an area of about three hundred acres. Little Borax Lake covers only about thirty acres, and this is now worked. The effiorescent matter is composed of carbonate of soda, chloride of sodium, and b iborate of soda. The object of the works is, of course, to separate the borax, and this is accomplished by crystal- lizing the borax, which, being the least sol- uble of the salts, is the first to crystallize. The bottom of the lake was dry when I was there; it was covered all over with a white crust, which workmen scrape up and carry to the works, where it is treated very suc- cessfully. My nose was offended by the fet- id stench which came from the earth when it was first put in the vats with hot water; and I was told by the foreman of the works that this arose from the immense number of flies and other insects which fly upon the lake and perish in it. Chinese are employ- ed as laborers here, and give great satisfac- tion; and about eight days are required to complete the operation of extracting the bo- rax in crystals. Earth containing biborate of lime is brought to this place all the way from Wadsworth, in the State of Nevadaa very great distance, with several tranship- meatsto be reduced at these works; and it seems that this can be more cheaply done here than there, where they have neither wood for the fires nor soda for the opera- tion. Clear Lake is but twelve hours distant from San Francisco; the journey thither is full of interest, and the lake itself, with the natural wonders on its shores, is one of the most interesting and enjoyable spots in Cal- ifornia to a tourist who wishes to breathe fresh mountain air and enjoy some days of free open-air life. The visitor to Clear Lake should go by way of the Napa Valley, taking stage for Lakeport at Calistoga, and return by way of the Russian River Valley, taking the rail- road at Cloverdale. Thus he will see on his journey two of the richest and most fer- tile of the minor valleys of California, both abounding in fruit and vines as well as in grain. As there are two sides to Broadway, so there are two sides to the Bay of San Francisco. On the one side lies the fine and highly cultivated Santa Clara Valley, filling lip fast with costly residences and carefully kept country places. Opposite, on the oth- er side of the bay, lies the Russian River Valley, as beautiful naturally as that of the Santa Clara, and of which Petaluma, Santa Rosa, Healdsburg, and Cloverdale are the chief towns. It is a considerable plain, bounded by fine hills and distant mountains, which open up, as you pass by on the rail- road, numerous pretty reaches of subsidiary vales, where farmers live protected by the projecting hills from all harsh sea-breezes, and where frost is seldom if ever felt. As you ascend the valley, the madrone, one of the most striking trees of California, be- comes abundant and of larger growth, and its dark green foliage and bright cinnamon- colored bark ornament the landscape. The laurel, too, or California bay-tree, grows thriftily among the hills, and the plain and foot-hills are dotted with oak and redwood. This valley is as yet somewhat thinly peo- pled, but it has the promise of a growth which will make it the equal some day of the Santa Clara, and the superior of the Napa Valley. INDIAN SWEAT-nOUsE. 46 HARPERS 1~7EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE LIVING LINK. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE DODGE CLUB, THE AMERICAN BARON, ETC. CHAPTER VI. WALLED IN. y ERY early on the following day Edith arose, and found Mrs. Dunbar already moving about. She remarked that she had heard Edith dressing herself, and had pre- pared a breakfast for her. This little mark of attention was very grateful to Edith, who thanked Mrs. Dunbar quite earnestly, and found the repast a refreshing one. After this, as it was yet too early to think of call- ing on Miss Plympton, she wandered about the house. The old nooks and corners dear to memory were visited once more. Famil- iar scenes came back before her. Here was the nursery, there her mothers room, in an- other place the library. There, too, was the great hall up stairs, with pictures on each side of ancestors who went back to the days of the Plantagenets. There were effigies in armor of knights who had fought in the Crusades and in the Wars of the Roses; of cavaliers who had fought for King Charles; of gallant gentlemen who had followed their countrys flag under the burning sun of In- dia~ over the sierras of Spain, and in the wilderness of America. And of all these she was the last, and all that ancestral glory was bound up in her, a weak and fragile girl. Deeply she regretted at that moment that she was not a man, so that she might confer new lustre upon so exalted a lineage. As she wandered through the rooms and galleries all her childhood came back before her. She recalled her mother, her fond love, and her early death. That mothers picture hung in the great hall, and she gazed at it long and pensively, recalling that noble face, which in her remembrance was always soft- ened by the sweet expression of tenderest love. But it was here that something met her eyes which in a moment chased away every regretful thought and softer feeling, and bronght back in fresh vehemence the strong glow of her grief and indignation. Turning away from her mothers portrait by a natural impulse to look for that of her father, she was at first unable to find it. At length, at the end of the line of Dalton por- traits, she noticed what at first she had sup- posed to be part of the wall out of repair. Another glance, however, showed that it was the back of a picture. In a moment she un- derstood it. It was her fathers portrait, and the face had been turned to the wall. Stung by a sense of intolerable insult, her face flushed crimson, and she remained for a few moments rooted to the spot glaring at the picture. Who had dared to do thisto heap insult upon that innocent and suffering head, to wrong so foully the memory of the dead? Her first impulse was to tear it down with her own hands, and replace it in its proper position; her next to seek out Wig- gins at once and denounce him to his face for all his perfidy, of which this was the fit- ting climax. But a more sober thought fol- lowedthe thought of her own weakness. What could her words avail against a man like that? Better far would it be for her to wait until she could expel the usurper, and take her own place as acknowledged mis- tress in Dalton Hall. This thought made her calmer, and she reflected that she need not wait very long. This day would decide it all, and this very night her fathers por- trait should be placed in its right position. This incident destroyed all relish for fur- ther wandering about the house, and though it was yet early, she determined to set out at once for the village and find Miss Plymp- ton. With this design she descended to the lower hall, and saw there the same black servant whom she had seen the day before. What is your name ? she asked. Hugo, said the black, with his usual grin. Well, Hugo, said she, I want the brougham. Go to the stables, have the horses put in, and come back as soon as you can. And here is something for your trouble. Saying this, she proffered him a sovereign. But the black did not appear to see it. He simply said, Yes, miss, and turned away. Edith was surprised; but thinking that it was merely his stupidity, she went up stairs and waited patiently for a long time. But, in spite of her waiting, there were no signs of any carriage; and at L___ SHE SAW THE BLAOE SERVANT, HUGO.

46 HARPERS 1~7EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE LIVING LINK. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE DODGE CLUB, THE AMERICAN BARON, ETC. CHAPTER VI. WALLED IN. y ERY early on the following day Edith arose, and found Mrs. Dunbar already moving about. She remarked that she had heard Edith dressing herself, and had pre- pared a breakfast for her. This little mark of attention was very grateful to Edith, who thanked Mrs. Dunbar quite earnestly, and found the repast a refreshing one. After this, as it was yet too early to think of call- ing on Miss Plympton, she wandered about the house. The old nooks and corners dear to memory were visited once more. Famil- iar scenes came back before her. Here was the nursery, there her mothers room, in an- other place the library. There, too, was the great hall up stairs, with pictures on each side of ancestors who went back to the days of the Plantagenets. There were effigies in armor of knights who had fought in the Crusades and in the Wars of the Roses; of cavaliers who had fought for King Charles; of gallant gentlemen who had followed their countrys flag under the burning sun of In- dia~ over the sierras of Spain, and in the wilderness of America. And of all these she was the last, and all that ancestral glory was bound up in her, a weak and fragile girl. Deeply she regretted at that moment that she was not a man, so that she might confer new lustre upon so exalted a lineage. As she wandered through the rooms and galleries all her childhood came back before her. She recalled her mother, her fond love, and her early death. That mothers picture hung in the great hall, and she gazed at it long and pensively, recalling that noble face, which in her remembrance was always soft- ened by the sweet expression of tenderest love. But it was here that something met her eyes which in a moment chased away every regretful thought and softer feeling, and bronght back in fresh vehemence the strong glow of her grief and indignation. Turning away from her mothers portrait by a natural impulse to look for that of her father, she was at first unable to find it. At length, at the end of the line of Dalton por- traits, she noticed what at first she had sup- posed to be part of the wall out of repair. Another glance, however, showed that it was the back of a picture. In a moment she un- derstood it. It was her fathers portrait, and the face had been turned to the wall. Stung by a sense of intolerable insult, her face flushed crimson, and she remained for a few moments rooted to the spot glaring at the picture. Who had dared to do thisto heap insult upon that innocent and suffering head, to wrong so foully the memory of the dead? Her first impulse was to tear it down with her own hands, and replace it in its proper position; her next to seek out Wig- gins at once and denounce him to his face for all his perfidy, of which this was the fit- ting climax. But a more sober thought fol- lowedthe thought of her own weakness. What could her words avail against a man like that? Better far would it be for her to wait until she could expel the usurper, and take her own place as acknowledged mis- tress in Dalton Hall. This thought made her calmer, and she reflected that she need not wait very long. This day would decide it all, and this very night her fathers por- trait should be placed in its right position. This incident destroyed all relish for fur- ther wandering about the house, and though it was yet early, she determined to set out at once for the village and find Miss Plymp- ton. With this design she descended to the lower hall, and saw there the same black servant whom she had seen the day before. What is your name ? she asked. Hugo, said the black, with his usual grin. Well, Hugo, said she, I want the brougham. Go to the stables, have the horses put in, and come back as soon as you can. And here is something for your trouble. Saying this, she proffered him a sovereign. But the black did not appear to see it. He simply said, Yes, miss, and turned away. Edith was surprised; but thinking that it was merely his stupidity, she went up stairs and waited patiently for a long time. But, in spite of her waiting, there were no signs of any carriage; and at L___ SHE SAW THE BLAOE SERVANT, HUGO. THE LIVING LINK. 47 length, growing impatient, she determined out, and walked down the great avenue to- to go to the stables herself. She knew the ward the gates. It was a longer distance way there perfectly well, and soon reached than she had supposed: so long, indeed, did the place. To her surprise and vexation, it seem that once or twice she feared that the doors were locked,and there were no she had taken the wrong road; but at last signs whatever of Hugo. her fears were driven away by the sight of The stupid black must have misunder- the porters lodge. stood me, thought she. On reaching the gates she found them She now returned to the house, and wan- locked. For this she had not been pre- dered all about in search of some servants, pared; but a moments reflection showed But she saw none. She began to think that her that this need not excite surprise. She Hugo ~vas the only servant in the place; and looked up at them with a faint idea of climb- if so, as he had disappeared, her chance of ing over. One glance, however, showed that gettiug the brougham was small indeed. As to be impossible; they were high, and spiked for Wiggins, she did not think of asking him, at the top, afld over them was a stoue arch and Mrs. Dunbar was too much under the in- which left no room for any one to climb over. fluence of Wiggins for her to apply there. She looked at the wall, but that also was be- She was therefore left to herself. yond her powers. Only one thing now re- Time passed thus, and Ediths impatience mained, and that was to apply to the porter. grew intolerable. At length, as she could After this fellows rudeness on the previous not obtain a carriage, she determined to set day, she felt an excessive repugnance toward out on foot and walk to Dalton. She began making any application to him now; but her now to think that Wiggins had seen Hugo, necessity was urgent, and time pressed. So found out what she wanted, and had forbid- she quieted her scrnples, and going to the den the servant to obey. This seemed the door of the porters house, knocked impa- only way in which she could account for it tiently. all. If this were so,it showed that there The porter came at once to the door, and was some unpleasant meaning in the lan- bowed as respectfully as possible. His de- guage which Wiggins had used to her on ineanor, in fact, was totally different from ~he previous evening about a secluded life, what it had been on the previous day, and and in that case any delay made her situa- evinced every desire to show respect, though tion more unpleasant. She had already lost perhaps he might manifest it rather awk- too much time and therefore could wait no wardly. Edith noticed this, and was en- longer. On the instant, therefore, she set couragedby it. OluME! GUILT ![sEE PAGE 52.] 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I want you to let me out, said Edith. Im sorry, miss. Id do any thin to Im going to Dalton. oblige, miss; but Ive got to do as Im bid. The man looked at her, and then at the Who employs you? ground, and then fumbled his fingers to- Master, missMaster Wiggins. gether; after which he plunged his hands Do you want to keep this situation? in his pockets. Keep this situation? Do you hear what I say? said Edith, Yes. You dont want to be turned out, sharply. I want you to unlock the gate. do you? Well, miss, as to thatI humbly beg Oh no, miss. your pardon, miss, but Ive got my orders Well, obey me now, and you shall re- not to. main. I am the mistress of Dalton Hall, Nonsense, said Edith. No one here and the owner of these estates. Wiggins is gives orders but me. I am mistress here. the agent, and seems disinclined to do what Beg pardon, miss, but I dont know any I wish. He will have to leave. If you master but Master Wiggins. dont want to leave also, obey me now. Wiggins ! said Edith. All this seemed to puERle the porter, but Yes, miss, an hopin its no offense. I certainly made no impression upon his re- have to obey orders. solve. He looked at Edith, then at the But he couldnt have given you orders ground, then at the trees, and finally, as about me, said Edith, haughtily. Edith concluded, he said: He said all persons, miss, comm or go- Beg pardon, miss, but orders is orders, in, all the same. No offense bein intended, an Ive got to obey mine. miss, an beggin your pardon. Edith now began to feel discouraged. But this is absurd, said Edith. He Yet there was one resource left, and this knows that I am going to Dalton. You she now tried. Drawing forth her purse, have misunderstood him. she took out some pieces of gold. .1 -- -~-~- AT THAT MOMENT THE WOMAN RAISED HER VEIL.(SEE PAGE 60.] THE LIVING LINK. 49 Come, said she, you do very well to obey orders in ordinary cases; but in my case you are violating the law, and exposing yourself to punishment. Now I will pay you well if you do me this little service, and will give you this now, and much more aft- erward. Here, take this, and let me out quick. The porter kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and did not even look at the gold. See! said Edith, excitedly and hurried- ly see ! The porter would not look. But at last he spoke, and then came the old monotonous sentence, Beggin your pardon, miss, an hopin theres no offense, I cant do it. Ive got to obey orders, miss.~~ At this Edith gave up the effort, and turn- ing away, walked slowly and sadly from the gates. This was certainly more than she had an- ticipated. By this sbe saw plainly that Wiggins was determined to play a bold game. The possibility of such restraint as this had never entered into her mind. Now she recalled Miss Plymptons fears, and re- gretted when too late that she had trusted herself within these gates. And now what the porter had told her showed her in one instant the full depth of his design. He evidently intended to keep her away from all communication with the outside world. And shewhat could she do? How could she let Miss Plympton know? How could she get out? No doubt Wiggins would contrive to keep all avenues of escape closed to her as this one was. Even the walls would be watched, so that she should not clamber over. Among the most disheartening of her dis- coveries was the incorruptible fidelity of the servants of Wiggins. Twice already had she tried to bribe them, but on each occa- sion she had failed utterly. Th~e black serv- ant and the porter were each alike beyond the reach of her gold. Her mind was now agitated and distressed. In her excitement she could not yet return to the Hall, but still hoped that she might escape, though the hope was growing faint indeed. She felt humiliated by the defeat of her attempts upon the honesty of the servants. She was troubled by the thought of her isolation, and did not know what might be best to do. One thing now seemed evident, and this was that she had a better chance of escaping at this time than she would have afterward. If she was to be watched, the outlook could not yet be as perfect or as well organized as it would afterward be. And among the ways of escape she could think of nothing else than the wall. That wall, she thought, must certainly afford some places which she might scale. She might find some gate in a re- Voa. XLVIILNo. 283.4 mote place which could aftbrd egress. To this she now determined to devote herself. With this purpose on her mind, she sought to find her way through the trees to the wall. This she was able to do without much difficulty, for though the trees grew thick, there was no underbrush, but she was able to walk along without any very great trou- ble. Penetrating in this way through the trees, she at length came to the wall. But, to her great disappointment, she found its height here quite as great as it had been near the gate, and though in one or two places trees grew up which threw their branches out over it, yet those trees were altogether inaccessible to her. Still she would not give up too quickly, but followed the wall for a long distance. The further she went, however, the more hopeless did her search seem to grow. The ground was unequal; sometimes rising into hills, and at other times sinking into val- leys; but in all places, whether hill or val- ley, the wall arose high, formidable, not to be scaled by one like her. As she looked at it the thought came to her that it had been arranged for that very purpose, so that it should not be easily climbed,and soitwas not surprising that a barrier which might baffle the active poacher or trespasser should prove insuperable to a slender girl like her. She wandered on, however, in spite of dis- couragement,in the hope of finding a gate. But this search was as vain as the other. After walking for hours, till her feeble limbs could scarcely support her any longer, she sank down exhausted, and burst into tears. For a long time she wept, overwhelmed by accumulated sorrow and despondency and disappointment. At length she roused her- self, and drying her eyes, looked up and be- gan to think of returning to the Hall. To her amazement she saw the black serv- ant, Hugo, standing not far away. As she raised her eyes he took off his cap, and grinned as usual. The sight of him gave Edith a great shock, and excited new sus- picions and fears within her. Had she been followed? She must have been. She had been watched and tracked. All her desperate ef- forts had been noted down to be reported to Wigginsall her long and fruitless search, her baffled endeavors, her frustrated hopest It was too much. CHAPTER VII. A PARLEY WITH THE JAILERS. COMING as it did close upon her baffled effoTts to escape, this discovery of Hugo pro- claimed to Edith at once most unmistakably the fact that she was a prisoner. She was walled in. She was under guard and under 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. surveillance. She could not escape without the consent of Wiggins, nor could she move about without being tracked by the spy of Wiggins. It was evident also that both the porter and the black servant Hngo were de- voted to their master, and were beyond the reach both of persnasion and of bribery. The discovery for a moment almost over- whelmed her once more; but the presence of another forced her to put a restraint upon her feelings. She tried to look unconcern- ed, and turning away her eyes, she sat in the same position for some time longer. But beneath the calm which her pride forced her to assume her heart throbbed painfully, and her thoughts dwelt with something al- most like despair upon her present sitnation. Bnt Edith had a strong and resolute soul in spite of her slender and fragile frame; she had also an elastic disposition, which rose up sWiftly from any prostration, and re- fused to be cast down utterly. So now this strength of her nature asserted itself; and triumphing over her momentary weakness, she resolved to go at once and see Wiggins himself. With these subordinates she had nothing to do. Her business was with Wiggins, and with Wiggins alone. Yet the thought of an interview had some- thing in it which was strangely repugnant to Edith. The aspect of her two jailers seemed to her to be repellent in the extreme. That white old man, with the solemn mys- tery of his eyes, that weird old woman, with her keen, vigilant outlookthese were the ones who now held her in restraint, and with these she had to come in conflict. In both of them there seemed something un- canny, and Edith could not help feeling that in the lives of both of these there was some mystery that passed her comprehension. Still, uncanny or not, whatever might be the mystery of her jailers, they remained her jailers and nothing less. It was against this thought that the proud soul of Edith chafed and fretted. It was a thought which was intolerable. It roused her to the in- tensest indignation. She was the lady of Dalton Hall; these who thus dared to re- strain her were her subordinates. This Wiggins was not only her inferior, but he had been the enemy of her life. Could she submit to fresh indignities or wrongs at the hands of one who had already done so much evil to her and hers? She could not. That white old man with his mystery, his awful eyes, his venerable face, his unfath- omable expression, and the weird old wom- an, his associate, with her indescribable look and her air of watchfulness, were both partners in this crime of unlawful imprison- ment. They dared to put restrictions upon the movements of their mistress, the lady of Dalton Hall. Such an attempt could only be the sign of a desperate mind, and the vil- lainy of their plan was of itself enough to sink them deep in Ediths thoughts down to an abyss of contempt and indignation. This indignation roused her, and her eagerness to see Miss Plympton impelled her to action. Animated by such feelings and motives, she delayed no longer, but at once returned to the Hall to see Wiggins himself. On her way back she was conscious of the fact that Hugo was following; but she took no notice of it, as it was but the sequel to the preceding events of the day. She en- tered the Hall, and finding Mrs. Dunbar, told her to tell Wiggins that she wished to see him. After this she went down to the dreary drawing-room, where she awaited the coming of her jailer. The room was unchanged from what it had been on the preceding day. By this time also Edith had noticed that there were no servants about except Hugo. The drear desolation of the vast Hall seemed drearier from the few inmates who dwelt there, and the solitude of the place made it still more intolerable. After some time Wiggins made his ap- pearance. He came in slowly, with his eyes fixed upon Edith, and the same expression upon his face which she had noticed before. A most singular man he was, whoever or whatever he might be. That hoary head and that venerable face might have awed her under other circumstances, and the un- fathomable mystery of its expression might have awakened intense interest and sympa- thy; but as it was, Edith had no place for any other feelings than suspicion, indigna- tion, and scorn. What do you mean by this treatment ? said Edith, abruptly. It seems as though you are trying to imprison me. I have told you that I wish to call on Miss Plympton. I can not get a carriage, and I am not allow- ed to leave this place on foot. You are re- sponsible for this, and I tell you now that I must go, am1 at once. At this peremptory address Wiggins stood looking at her with his usual expression, and for some moments made no reply. I did not know, said he at length, in a slow and hesitating voice, that you wished to leave so soon But I told you so. You drove away Miss Plympton yesterday from my gates. I prom- ised to call on her this morning. She is anxiously expecting me. I must go to her. Wiggins again waited for a few moments before replying, and at length said, in an abstracted tone: No, no; it can not beit can not be ! Cannot be ! repeated Edith. It seems to me that you are trying to carry out a most extraordinary course of action toward me. This looks like restraint or imprison- ment. Wiggins looked at her with an expression of earnest entreaty on his face, with which THE LIVING LINK. 51 there was also mingled an air of indescriba- ble sadness. It is necessary, said he, in a mournful voice. Can you not bring yourself to bear with it? You do not know what is at stake. Some day all will be explained. This is silly, exclaimed Edith. No explanation is possible. I insist on leaving this place at once. If you refuse to let me go, it will be worse for you than for me. You do not know what you ask, said Wiggins. I ask you, said Edith, sternly and proudly, to open those gates to your mis- tress. Wiggins shook his head. I ask you to open those gates, continued Edith. If you let me go now, I promise not to prosecute youat least for this. I will forget to-day and yesterday. Saying this, she looked at him inquiringly. But Wiggins shook his head as before. It can not be, said he. You decide, then, to refuse my demand ~ said Edith, impatiently. I must, said Wiggins, with a heavy sigh. It is necessary. All is at stake. You do not know what you are doing. It is evident to me, said Edith, master- ing herself by a strong effort, that you are playing a desperate game, but at the same time you are trusting much to chance. Why did you wish me to come here? It was by the merest chance that I decided to come. It was also by another chance that I entered those gates which you now shut against my departure. Few would have done it. Your presence seemed necessary to my plans, said Wiggins, slowly. What those plans are I can not yet confide to you. You are concerned in them as much as I am. Op- position will be of no avail, and will only injure you. But I hope you will not try to oppose me. I entreat you to bear with me. I entreat you to try to put a little confidence in me. I was your fathers friend; and I now implore you, that daughter whom he loved so dearly, for your fathers sakeyes, and for the sake of your sainted mother not to This is mere hypocrisy, interrupted Edith. My father was one with whom one like you can have nothing in common. You add to your crimes by this treatment of his daughter. What you have already been guilty of toward him you alone know. If you hope for mercy hereafter, do not add to your guilt. Guilt! cried Wiggins, in an awful voice. He started back, and regarded her with eyes of utter horror. Guilt ! he repeated, in a voice so low that it was scarcely above a whisper- and she says that word ! Edith looked at him with unchanged se- verity. You made a great mistake, said she, coldly and sternly, when you drove Miss Plympton away. If you hope to keep me imprisoned here, you will only destroy your- self. I have a friend who knows you, and who will know before evening that I am here under restraint. She will never rest until she effects my deliverance. Have you counted on that ? Wiggins listened attentively, as usual, to every word. The effort seemed to give him pain, and the suggestion of her friend was undoubtedly most unpleasant. No, I have not said he~ He spoke as though to himself. The candor of this con- fession stimulated Edith to dwell to a great- er extent upon this subject. She was not willing for me to come in, said she. She wished me not to enter with- out a lawyer or the sheriff. If she finds that I am detained, she will 4~nter here in that way herself. She will deliver me in spite of you. If she does not see me to-day, she will at once use every effort to come to me. Your porters and your spies will be of no use against the officers of the law. At this Wiggins looked at the floor, and was evidently in a state of perplexity. He stood in silence for some time, and Edith waited impatiently for his answer, so as to learn what effect these last hints had pro- duced. At length Wiggins looked up. He spoke slowly and mournfully. I am very sorry, said he. I hope it will not come to that. Im afraid that I shall have to take you elsewhere. These words fell upon Ediths ears omi- nously and threateningly. They conveyed to her mind a menace dark and gloomy, and showed the full determination of Wiggins to maintain at all hazards the control that he had gained over her. Edith therefore was silent, and apprehensive of evil. She was afraid that she had said too much. It might have been better not to threaten, or to show her hand prematurely. It might be the best plan to wait in silence and in patience for Miss Plympton. Wiggins was desperate. He might take her away, as he darkly hinted, from this place to some other where Miss Plympton could never find her. She stood for some time in silence, with her mind full of such thoughts as these. Wiggins waited for a few moments, and then turned and slowly left the room. Edith said nothing, and made no effort to recall him, 1for she now felt that her situation was grow- ing serious, and that it would be better for her to think it all over seriously, and not speak to Wiggins again until she had de- cided upon some definite plan of action. She therefore allowed him to take his de- parture, and soon afterward she went to her own room, where she remained for hours in deep thought. At length Mrs. Dunbar brought in dinner. After laying the table she stood for a few 52 HARPERS 1~EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. moments in silence looking at Edith; but at length, yielding to some sudden impulse, she came forward, and as Edith looked up in surprise, she exclaimed, with startling ab- ruptuess, Oh, how unfortunate! and oh, what a wretched mistake you are nuder! If you had not come home so suddenly, all might have been well. We hoped that you would be content and patient. Mr. Wiggins has plans of immense importance; they require great quiet and seclusion. Oh, if you could only have some faith in us She stopped as abruptly as she had be- gun. This style of address from a house- keeper seemed to Edith to be altogether too familiar, and she resented it deeply. Be- sides, the identification of herself with Wig- gins put Mrs. Dunbar in an odious position in Ediths eyes. Mr. Wigginss plans are of no conse- quence to me whatever, said she, coldly. They are; they are of immense impor- tance, cried Mrs. Dunbar. Edith looked at her for a few moments with a cold stare of wonder, for this volun- teered advice seemed something like inso- lence, coming thus from a subordinate. But she contented herself with answering in a quiet tone: You are mistaken. Nothing is of impor- tance to me but my liberty. It will be very dangerous to deprive me of that. My friends will never allow it. In Wiggins this at- tempt to put me under restraint is nothing less than desperation. Think yourself how frantic he must be to hope to be able to con- flue me here, when I have friends outside who will move heaven and earth to come to me. At this a look of uneasiness came over Mrs. Dunbars face. It seemed to Edith that this hint at friends without was the only thing that in any way affected either of her jailers. The punishment for such a crime as un- lawful imprisonment, continued Edith~ is a suvere one. If Wiggins has ever commit- ted any crimes before, this will only aggra- vate his guilt, and make his punishment the worse. At this Mrs. Dunbar stared at Edith with the same horror in her eyes which Wiggins had lately shown. Crime ? she repeated. Guilt? Pun- ishment? Oh, Heavens! Has it come to this? This is terrible. Girl, she continued, with a frown, you dont know the dreadful nature of those words. You are a marplot. You have come home to ruin every thing. But I thought so, she murmured to herself. I told him so. I said it would be ruin, but he would have his way. And now The remainder of her remarks was inaudible. Suddenly her manner changed. Her anger gave way once more to entreaty. Oh ! she said, can nothing persuade you that we are your friends? Trust us oh, trust us! You will s6on learn how we love you. He only thinks of you. You are the final aim of all his plans. Edith gave a light laugh. That she was the final aim of Wigginss plans she did not doubt. She saw now that plan clearly, as she thought. It was to gain control of her for purposes of his own in connection with the estate. Under such circumstances Mrs. Dunbars entreaties seemed silly, and to make any answer was absurd. She turned away and sat down at the table. As for Mrs. Dunbar, she left the room. Night came. Edith did not sleep; she could not. The day had been the most eventful one of her life. The thought that she was a prisoner was terrible. She could only sustain herself by the hope that Miss Plympton would save her. But this hope was confronted by a dark fear which great- ly distressed her. It might take time for Miss Plympton to do any thing toward re- leasing her. She knew that the law work- ed slowly: she did not feel at all certain that it worked surely. Her fathers fate rose before her as a warning of the laws uncertainty and injustice. Could she hope to be more fortunate than he had been? Wiggins had passed his life in the study of the law, and knew how to work it for his own private ends. He had once succeeded in his dark plot against her father. Might not his present plan, about which he and his associate talked, be equally successful? Mrs. Dunbar had called her a marplot. To mar the plot of this man, and avenge upon him the wrongs of her father, would be sweet indeed; but could it be possible for her to do it? That was tbe question. The next morning came, and Edith rose - full of a new purpose. She thought of her efforts on the preceding day, and concluded that she had made one great mistake. She saw now that Miss Plympton had most prob- ably called, and had not been admitted. If she had only remained by the gate,she could have seen her friend, and told her all. That she had not thought of this before was now a matter of the deepest regret, and she could only hope that it might ~iot yet be too late. She determined to go to the gates at once and watch. She therefore hurried down to the gates as soon as she could. No efforts were made to prevent her. She had feared that she might be locked up in the Hall; but, to her surprise and relief she was not. Such for- bearance made her situation still more per- plexing. It was evident that Wiggins hes- itated about proceeding to extremities with her, and did not venture as yet to exercise more than a general restraint. Arriving at t~ie gate, Edith sat down close by it on a seat in front of the porters lodge, THE LIVING LINK. 53 and waited and watched. The gates were of iron bars, so that it was easy to see through them, and the road ran in front. The road was not much frequented, however. An oc- casional farmers wagon or solitary pedes- trian formed the only life that was visible outside. The porter watched her for some time in surprise, but said nothing. Hugo came up after about half an hour and talk- ed with the porter, after which he loitered about within sight of Edith. Of all this, however, Edith took no notice whatever; it was what she expected. The hours of the d~y passed by, but there were no signs of Miss Plympton. As hour after hour passed, Ediths hopes grew faint- er and fainter. She longed to ask the por- ter whether she had called or not, but could not bring herself to do sofirst, because she did not like to destroy all hope; and sec- ondly, because she did not wish to hold any further communication with him. She sat there all day long. Miss Plymp- ton did not come. The hours passed by. Evening came. She had eaten nothing all day. She was faint and weary, and almost in despair. But to wait longer was useless now; so she rose from her seat, and with feeble footsteps returned to the house. Early the next morning she returned to the gates to take up her station as before and watch. She did not hope to see Miss Plympton now; for she concluded that she had called already, had been turned back, and was now perhaps engaged in arranging for her rescne. But Edith could not wait for that. She determined to do something herself. She resolved to accost all passers- by and tell them her situation. In this way she thought she might excite the world out- side, and lead to some interposition in her behalf. Full of this purpose, she went down to the gates. As she drew near, the first sight of them sent a feeling of dismay to her heart. A change had taken place. Something had been done during the night. She drew nearer. In a few moments she saw it all. The gates had been boarded up during the night so that it was impossible to see the road. One look was enough. This last hope was destroyed. There was nothing to be done here; and so, sick at heart, Edith turn- ed back toward the Hall. CHAPTER VIII. MISS PLYMPTON BAFFLED. MEANWHILE Miss Plympton had been un- dergoing various phases of feeling, alterna- ting between anxiety and hope, and termi- nating in a resolution which brought forth important results. On the departure of Edith she had watched her till her carriage was out of sight, and then sadly and reluc- tantly had given orders to drive back to Dalton. On arriving there she put up at the inn, and though full of anxiety, she tried to wait as patiently as possible for the fol- lowing day. Accustomed to move among the great, and to regard them with a certain reverence that pervades the middle classes in England, she tried first of all to prevent any village gos- sip about Edith, and so she endeavored, by warning and by bribery, to induce the maid, the footman, and the driver to say nothing about the scene at the gates. Another day, she hoped, would make it all right, and idle gossip should never be allowed to meddie with the name of Edith in any way. That evening Ediths note was brought to her. On receiving it she read it hurriedly, and then went down to see who had brought it. She saw the porter, who told her that he had come for Miss Daltons baggage. The porter treated her with an effort to be re- spectful, which appeared to Miss Plympton to be a good omen. She offered him a piece of gold to propitiate him still further, but, to her amazement, it was declined. Thank ye kindly, mum, said he, touch- ing his hat, an hope its no offense; but we beant allowed to take nothin savin an ex- cept what he gives us hisself. A moments surprise was succeeded by the thought that even this was of good omen, since it seemed to indicate a sort of rough, bluff, sterling honesty, which could not co- exist with a nature that was altogether bad. Returning to her room, she once more read Ediths note. Its tone encouraged her great ly. It seemed to show that all her fears had been vain, and that, whatever the character of Wiggins might be, there could be no im- mediate danger to Edith. So great, indeed, was the encouragement which she received from this note that she began to think her fears foolish, and to believe that in England no possible harm could befall one in Ediths position. It was with such thoughts, and the hope of seeing Edith on the following day, that she retired for the night. Her sleep was refreshing, and she did not awake till it was quite late. On awaking and finding what time it was, she rose and dressed hastily. Breakfast was served, and she began to look out for Edith. Time passed, however, and Edith did not make her appearance. Miss Plympton tried to account for the delay in every possible way, and consoled herself as long as she could by the thought that she had been very much fatigued, and had not risen until very late. But the hours passed, and at length noon came without bringing any signs of her, and Miss Plympton was unable any longer to repress her uneasiness. This in- 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. action grew intolerable, and she determined to set forth and see for herself. Accordingly she had the carriage made ready, and in a short time reached the park gate. She had to ring for a long time before any one appeared; but at length, after fully an hours delay, the porter came. He touched his hat on seeing her, but stood on the other side of the iron gateway without opening it. Is Miss Dalton at the Hall 1 asked Miss Plympton. Yes, mnm. I wish to see her. Beg yer pardon, mum, but there be no callers allowed in. Oh, its different with me. Miss Dalton wrote that she would come to see me this morning, and Im afraid shes ill, so I have come to see her. She beant ill, then, said the other. Miss Plympton reflected that it was of no use to talk to this man, and thought of Wig- gins himself. Is your master in ? she asked. He is, mum.~~ Tell him I wish to see him. Beggin yer pardon, mum, he never sees nobody. But I wish to see him on business of a very important kind. Cant help it, mumbeggin yer pardon; but Ive got to obey orders, mum. My good fellow, cant you take my mes- sage, or let me in to see him l Sorry, mum, but I cant; Ive got my or- ders. But he cant know. This business is so important that it will be very bad for him if he does not see me now. Tell him that. Go, now; you cant know what his business is. Tell him that Well, mum, if you insist, I dont mind goin, said the porter. Ill tell him. Say that I wish to see him at once, and that the business I have is of the utmost im- portance. The porter touched his hat, and walked off. Now followed another period of waiting. It was fully half an hour before he returned. Miss Plympton saw that he was alone, and her heart sank within her. Mr. Wiggins presents his respects, mum, said he, and says hes sorry he cant see you. Did you tell him that my business was of the most important kind ? Yes, mum. And he refuses to come He says hes sorry he cant see you, mum. At this Miss Plympton was silent for a little while. Come, said she at last, my good fel- low, if I could only see him, and mention one or two things, he would be very glad. It will be very much to his injury if he does not see me. You appear to be a faithful servant, and to care for your masters inter- ests, so do you let me pass through, and Ill engage to keep you from all harm or punish- ment of any kind. Sorry, mum, to refuse; but orders is or- ders, mum, said the man, stolidly. If I am not allowed to go in, said Miss Plympton, surely Miss Dalton will come here to see mehere at the gates. I dont know, mum. Well, you go and tell her that I am here. Sorry to refuse, mum; but its agin or- ders. No callers allowed, mum. But Miss Dalton can come as far as the gates. The man looked puzzled, and then mut- tered Mr. Wigginss orders, mum, is to have no communication. Ah ! said Miss Plympton; so she is shut up here. Beggin your pardon, mum, she beant shut up at all nowheres: she goes about. Then why cant I see her here ? Agin orders, mum. By this Miss Plympton understood the worst, and fully believed that Edith was un- der strict restraint. My good man, said she, solemnly, you and your master are committing a great crime in daring to keep any one here in im- prisonment, especially the one who owns these estates. I warn him now to beware, for Miss Dalton has powerful friends. As to you, you may not know that you are break- ing the law now, and are liable to transpor- tation for life. Come, dont break the laws and incur such danger. If I choose I can bring here to-morrow the officers of the law, release Miss Dalton, and have you and your master arrested. At this the man looked troubled. He scratched his head, drew a long breath, and looked at the ground with a frown. Miss Plympton, seeing that this shot had told, followed it up. Refuse me admittance, said she, and I will bring back those who will come here in the name of the law; but if you let me in, I promise to say nothing about this matter. The porter now seemed to have recovered himself. He raised his head,. and the old monotonous reply came: Sorry, mum, but its agin orders. Miss Plympton made one further attempt. She drew forth her purse, and displayed its contents. See, said she, you will be doing a kind- ness to your master, and you shall have all this. But the man did not look at the purse at all. His eyes were fixed on Miss Plympton, and he merely replied as before: THE LIVING LINK. 55 Sorry, mum, but its agin orders. Very well, said Miss Plympton. There is only one thing left for me to do. I wish you to take one final message from me to your master. Tell him this: It is my inten- tion to procure help for Miss Dalton at once. Tell him that her uncle, Sir Lionel Dudleigh, is now iu England, and that this very day I shall set out for Dudleigh Manor. I shall tell Sir Lionel how his niece is situated, and bring him here. He will come with his own claims and the officers of the law. Wiggins shall be arrested, together with all who have aided and abetted him. If he refuses to ad- mit me pow, I shall quit this place and go at once without delay. Go, now, and make haste, for this matter is of too great impor- tance to be decided by you. The porter seemed to think so too, for, touching his hat, he at once withdrew. This time he was gone longer than before, and IMiss Plympton waited for his return with great impatience. At length he came back. Mr. Wiggins presents his respects, mum, said the man, and says he is not breakin any law at all, and that if you choose to go for Sir Lionel, he is willin to have you do so. He says if you fetch Sir Lionel here he will let both of you in. He says hell be very happy indeed to see Sir Lionel. This singular way of taking what was meant to be a most formidable threat took away Miss Plymptons last hope, and reduced her to a state of dejection and bewilderment; for when she sent that threatening mes- sage, it was not because she had really any fixed design of carrying it into execution, but rather because the name of Sir Lionel Dudleigh seemed to her to be one which might overawe the mind of Wiggins. She thought that by reminding Wiggins of the existence of this powerful relative, and by threatening an instant appeal to him; she would be able to terrify him into releasing Edith. But his cool answer destroyed this hope. She felt puzzled at his assertion that he was not breaking any law, when he him- self must know well that such a thing as the imprisonment of a free subject is a crime of the most serious character; but she felt even more puzzled at his reference to Sir Lionel. Her own connection and association with the aristocracy had never destroyed that deep unswerving reverence for them with which she had set out in life; and to find Wiggins treating the mention of Sir Lionel with such cool indifference was to her an in- comprehensible thing. But there was noth- ing more for her to do at this place, and feel- ing the necessity of immediate action, she at once drove back to the inn. Arriving here, she hoped that her prompt departure might frighten Wiggins, and lead to a change in his decision, and she con- cludedto remain that evening and that night, so as to give him time for repentance. Nothing was left now but to devise some plan of action. First of all, she made inqui- ries of the landlord about Wiggins. That personage could tell her very little about him. According to him, Mr. Wiggins was a lawyer from Liverpool, who had been in- trusted with the management of the Dalton estate for the past ten years. He was a very quiet man, devoted to his business, and until latterly had never been at Dalton oftener or longer than was absolutely necessary. Of late, however, he had been living here for some months, and it was belleved that he intended to stay here the greater part of his time. This was all that Miss Plympton was able to learn about Wiggins. CHAPTER IX. SIR LIONEL DUDLEIGH. ALTHOUGH Miss Plympton had indulged the hope that Wiggins might relent, the time passed without bringing any message from him, and every hour as it passed made a more pressing necessity for her to decide on some plan. The more she thought over the matter, the more she thought that her best plan of action lay in that very threat which she had made to Wiggins. True, it had been made as a mere threat, but on thinking it over it seemed the best policy. The only other course lay in action of her own. She might find some lawyer and get him to interpose. But this involved a responsibility on her part from which she shrank so long as there was any other who had a better right to incur such responsibil- ity. Now Sir Lionel was Ediths uncle by marriage; and though there had been trou- ble between husband and wife, she yet felt sure that one in Ediths position would ex- cite the sympathy of every generous heart, and rouse Sir Lionel to action. One thing might, indeed, prevent, and that was the dis- grace that had fallen upon the Dalton name. This might prevent Sir Lionel from taking any part; but Miss Plympton was sanguine, and hoped that Sir Lionels opinion of the condemned man might be like her own, in which case he would be willing, nay, eager, to save the daughter. The first thing for her to do was to find out where Sir Lionel Dudleigh lived. About this there was no difficulty. Burkes Peer- age and Baronetage is a book which in most English homes lies beside the Bible in the most honored place, and this inn, humble though it might be, was not without a copy of this great Bible of society. This Miss Plympton procured, and at once set herself to the study of its pages. It was not with- out a feeling of self-abasement that she did this, for she prided herself upon her exten 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sive knowledge of the aristocracy, but here she was deplorably ignorant. She comfort- ed herself; however, by the thought that her ignorance was the fault of Sir Lionel, who had lived a somewhat quiet life, and had never thrust very much of his personality before the wdrld, and no one but Sir Ber- nard Burke could be expected to find out his abode. That great authority, of course, gave her all the information that she wanted, and she found that Dudleigh Manor was situated not very far distant from Cheltenham. This would require a detour which would involve time and trouble; but, under the circum- stances, she would have been willing to do far more, even though Plympton Terrace should be without its tutelary genius in the mean time. On the next morning Miss Plympton left Dalton on her way to Dudleigh Manor. She was still full of anxiety about Edith, but the thought that she was doing something, and the sanguine anticipations in which she in- dulged with reference to Sir Lionel, did much to lessen her cares. In due time she reached her destination, and after a drive from the station at which she got out, of a mile or two, she found herself within Sir Lionels grounds. These were extensive and well kept, while the manor-house itself was one of the noblest of its class. After she had waited for some time in an elegant drawing-room a servant came with Sir Lionels apologies for not coming to see her, on account of a severe attack of gout, and asking her to come np stairs to the li- brary. Miss Plympton followed the servant to that quarter, and soon found herself in Sir Lionels presence. He was seated in an arm-chair, with his right foot wrapped in flannels and resting npon a stool in front of him, in orthodox gout style. He was a man apparently~ of about fifty years of age, in a state of excel- lent preservation. His head was partially bald, his brow smooth, his cheeks rounded and a little florid, with whiskers on each side of his face, and smooth-shaven chin. There was a pleasant smile on his face, which seemed natural to that smooth and rosy countenance; and this, together with a general tendency to corpulency, which was rather becoming to the man, and the gouty foot, all served to suggest high living and self-indulgence. I really feel ashamed of myself; Miss ahPlympton, said Sir Lionel, for giving you so much trouble; but gout, you know, my dear madam, is not to be trifled with; and I assure you if it had been any one else I should have declined seeing them. But of course I could not refuse to see you, and the only way I could have that pleasure was by begging you to come here. The mount- ain could not come to Mohammed, and so Mohammed, you knoweh? Ha, ha, ha 1 The baronet had a cheery voice, rich and~ mellow, and his laugh was ringing and mu- sical. His courtesy, his pleasant smile, his genial air, and his hearty voice and laugh, all filled Miss Plympton with sincere de- light, and she felt that this man could do nothing else than take up Ediths cause with the utmost ardor. After a few apologies for troubling him, which Sir Lionel turned aside by protesting that apologies were only due from himself to her, Miss Plympton began to state the ob- ject of her visit. In the first place, Sir Lionel, said she, I take it for granted that you have heard of the death of Frederick Dalton, Esquire, in Van Diemens Land. The smile on the baronets face died out at this, and his eyes fixed themselves npon Miss Plymptons face with quick and eager curiosity. Then he turned his face aside. A table stood on his right, with some wine and glasses within reach. Excuse me, said he; I beg ten thou- sand pardons; but wont you take a glass of wine? No ? he continued, as Miss Plymp- ton politely declined; really I think you had better. And then, pouring out a glass, he sipped it, and looked at her once more. Poor Dalton ! said he, with a sigh. Yes, of course, I saw it in the papers. A most melancholy affair. Poor Dalton! Let me in- form you, madam, that he was more sinned against than sinning. Sir Lionel sighed. Oh, Sir Lionel, exclaimed Miss Plymp- ton, earnestly, how it rejoices my heart to hear you say that! For my part, I never, never had oue single doubt of his perfect in- nocence. Nor had I, said Sir Lionel, firmly, pour- ing out another glass of wine. It was excessively unfortunate. Had I not myself been ininnhaffliction at the time, I might have done something to help him. Oh, Sir Lionel, Im sure you would ! Yes, madam, said Sir Lionel; but do- mestic circumstances to which I am not at liberty to allude, of a pninful.character, put it out of my power totonhto interpose. I was away when the arrest took place, and when I returned it was too late. So I have understood, said Miss Plymp- ton; and it is because I have felt so sure of your goodness of heart that I have come now on this visit. I hope that you will give me the chance of showing you that your confidence in me is well founded, said Sir Lionel, cordially. You may have heard, Sir Lionel, began Miss Plympton, that about the time of the trial Mrs. Dalton died. She died of a broken heart. It was very, very sudden. Sir Lionel sighed heavily. She thought enough of me to consider me her friend; and as she did not think her own relatives had shown her sufficient sym THE LIVING LINK. 57 pathy, she intrusted her child to me when But what is to be done, Sir Lionel ? dying. I have had that child ever since, asked Miss Plympton, impatiently. She is now eighteen, and of age. Done ? cried Sir Lionel every thing! A girl! God bless my soul I said Sir First, we must get Miss Dalton out of that Lionel, thoughtfully. And does she know rascals clutches; then we must hand that about thisthismelancholy business ? fellow and his confederates pver to the law. I deemed it my duty to tell her, Sir Lio- And if it dont end in Botany Bay and hard nel, said Miss Plympton, gravely, labor for life, then theres no law in the land. I dont know about that. I dont Why, who is he? A pettifoggera misera- knowaboutthat, said Sir Lionel, purs- ble low-born, low-bred, Liverpool pettifog- ing up his lips and frowning. Best wait a ger ! while; but too late now, and the mischiefs Do you know him ? done. Well, and how did she take it ? Know him, madam? I know all about Nobly, Sir Lionel. At first she was quite himthat is, as much as I want to know. crushed, but afterward rallied under it. But Do you know any thing about the rela- she could not remain with me any longer, tions that formerly existed between him and and insisted on going homeas she called Mr. Frederick Dalton ? itto Dalton Hall. Relations ? said Sir Lionel, pouring out Dalton Hall! Yeswell? Poor girl! another glass of wine relations, madam poor little girl !an orphan. Dalton Hall! that isahto sayahbusiness relations, Well ? madam? Well, they were those of patron And now I come to the real purpose of and client, I believenothing more. I be- my visit, said Miss Plympton; and there- lieve that this Wiggins was one to whom upon she went on to give him a minute and poor Dalton behaved very kindlymade him detailed account of their arrival at Dalton what he is, in factand this is his reward! and the reception there, together with the A pettifogger, by Heaven !a pettifogger subsequent events. Seizing the Dalton estates, the scoundrel, To all this Sir Lionel listened without one and then putting Miss Dalton under lock and word of any kind, and at length Miss Plymp- key! Why, the mans madmad! yes, a ton ended. raviug maniac! He is, by Heaven ! Well, madam, said he, it may surprise And now, Sir Lionel, when shall we be you that I have not made any comments on able to effect her release ~ your astonishing story. If it had been less Leave it all to me. Leave it all to me, serious I might have done so. I might even madam. This infernal gout of mine ties me have indulged in profane languagea habit, up, but Ill take measures this very day; Ill madam, which, lam sorry to say, I have ac- send off to Dalton an agent that will free quired from not frequenting more the soci- Miss Dalton and bring her here. Leave it ety of ladies. But this business, madam, is to me. If I dont go, Ill sendyes, by Heav- beyond comment, and I can only say that I en, Ill send my son. But give yourself no rejoice and feel grateful that you decided trouble, madam. Miss Dalton is as good as as you did, and have come at once to me. free at this moment, and Wiggins is as good Oh, I am so glad, and such a load is tak- as in jail. en off my mind ! exclaimed Miss Plympton, Miss Plympton now asked Sir Lionel if he fervently, knew what Wiggins meant by his answer tc~ Why, madam, I am utterly astounded at her threat, and she repeated the message. this mans audacity, cried Sir Lionel ut- Sir Lionel listened with compressed lips and terly astounded! To think that any man a frowning brow. After Miss Plympton had should ever venture upon such a course! told it he sat for some minutes in silent Its positively almost inconceivable. And thought. so you tell me that she is there now ? So that is what he said, is it ? ex- Yes. claimed Sir Lionel at last. Well, madam, Under the lock and key, so to speak, of we shall see about that. But dont give this fellow ? yourself a moments uneasiness. I take the Yes. matter in hand from this moment. The in- And she isnt allowed even to go to the solence of this fellow, Wiggins, is unparal- gate? leled, madam; but be assured all this shall No. surely recoil on his own head with terrible The mans mad, cried Sir Lionel effect. mad, raving mad. Did you see him ? Some further conversation followed to the No. He wouldnt consent to see me. same effect, and at length Miss Plympton Why, I tell you, hes a madman, said took her leave, full of hope and without a Sir Lionel. He must be. No sane man care. Sir Lionel had hinted that she was could think of such a thing. Why, this is not needed any more in the matter; and as England, and the nineteenth century. The she felt a natural delicacy about obtruding days of private imprisonment are over. Hes her services, she decided to go back toPlymp- mad! The mans mad ! ton Terrace and wait. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Accordingly Miss Plympton, on leaving Dudleigh Manor, went back to Plympton Terrace. CHAPTER X. LEON. Fon some time after Miss Plymptons departure Sir Lionel remained buried in thonght. At length he rang the bell. A servant appeared. Is Captain Dudleigh here yet ? asked Sir Lionel. Yes, Sir Lionel. Tell him that I want to see him. The servant departed, and in a short time the door opened and a young man entered. He was tall, muscular, well-formed, and with sufficient resemblance to Sir Lionel to indi- cate that he was his son. For some time Sir Lionel took no notice of him, and Captain Dudleigh, throwing himself in a lounging attitude upon a chair, leaned his head back, and stared at the ceiling. At length he grew tired of this, and sitting erect, he looked at Sir Lionel, who was leaning forward, with his elbow on the arm of his chair, supporting his head in his hand, and evidently quite oblivious of the presence of any one. Did you wish to see me, Sir ? said Cap- tain Dudleigh at length. Sir Lionel started and raised his head. By Jove ! he exclaimed. Is that you, Leon? I believe I must have been asleep. Have you been waiting long? Why didnt you wake me? I sent for you, didnt I? Oh yes. Let me see. It is a business of the greatest importance, and Im deuced glad that you are here, for any delay would be bad for all concerned. Sir Lionel paused for a few moments, and then began: You know about thatthat melancholy story ofof poor Dalton. Leon nodded. Did you hear that he is dead ? Well, some pai~agraphs have been going the rounds of the papers to that effect, though why they should drag the poor devil from his seclusion, even to announce his death, is somewhat strange to me. Well, he is dead, poor Dalton ! said Sir Lionel,andand so theres an end of him and that melancholy business. By-the-way, I suppose you havent heard any particulars as to his death ? No,~~ said Leon, nothing beyond the bare fact. Besides, what does it matter? When a mans dead, under such circum- stances, too, no one cares whether he died of fever or gunshot. True, said Sir Lionel, with a sigh. It isnt likely that any one would trouble him- self to find out how poor Dalton died. Well, that is the first thing that I had to mention. And now there is another thing. You know, of course, that he left a daughter, who has been growing up all these years, and is now of age. She has been living under the care of a Miss Plympton, from whom I had the pleas- ure of a call this morning, and who appears to be a remarkably sensible and right-minded person. A daughter ? said Leon. Oh yes! Of course I remember. And of age! Well, I never thought of that. Why, she must be heiress to the immense Dalton property. Of age, and still at school! Whats her name? I really forget it, and its odd too, for, after all, shes my own cousin, in spite of the short- comings of her father andand otherpeople. Yes, Leon, said Sir Lionel, youre right. She is your own cousin. As to her father, you must remember how I have al- ways said that he was innocent, and sinned against rather than sinning. Heaven for- bid that we should visit on this poor child the disgrace of her father, when he was Lot guilty at all. I feel confident, Leon, that you will espouse her cause as eagerly as I do; and since I am prevented from doing any thing by this infernal gout,I look to you to represent me in this business, and bring that infernal scoundrel to justice. Infernal scoundrel! What infernal scoundrel ? Why, this Wiggins.~~ Wiggins? Yes. The madman that is trying to shut up Edith, and keep her under lock and key. Edith! Whos Edith? What, Daltons daughter? Oh, is that her name? But what do you mean? What madman? what lock and key ? - You know Wiggins, dont you ? asked Sir Lionel. Which Wiggins? There are several that I knowWiggins the sausage man, Wiggins the rat-catcher, Wig I mean John Wiggins, of John Wiggins and Company, solicitors, Liverpool. You know them perfectly well. I sent you there once. Yes, said Leon, slowly, I remember. What sort of a man was this John Wig- gins himself when you saw him ? Oh, an ordinary-looking persongrave, quiet, sensible, cool as a clock, and very ret- icent. I told you all about him. Yes, but I didnt know but that you might remember something that would throw light on his present actions. You went there to ask some questions in my name with reference to poor Dalton, and the disposal of his property. Yes, and got about as little satisfaction as one could get. He was not communicative. Not at all. Every answer was an eva- sion. What little I did get out of him had THE LIVING LINK. 59 to be dragged out. The most important questions he positively refused to answer. Of course. I remember all that, for I was the one who, wished to know, and con- sequently his refusal to answer affected me most of all. I wondered at the time, and thought that it might be some quiet plan of his, but I really had no idea of the au- dacity of his plans. How is that Wait a moment. Did you see any thing in this man that could excite the suspicion that he was at all ffighty or insane ? Insane! Certainlynot. Hewas,onthe contrary, the sanest person I ever met with. Well, then, he must have become insane since. Ive no doubt that he has for years been planning to get control of the Dalton property; and now, when he has become in- sane, he is still animated by this ruling pas- sion, and has gone to work to gratify it in this mad way. Mad way? What mad way? I dont understand. Well, Ill tell you all about it. I merely wished to get your unbiased opinion of the man first ~ and upon this Sir Lionel told him the whole story which Miss Plympton had narrated to him. To all this Leon list- ened with the deepest interest and the most profound astonishment, interrupting his fa- ther by frequent questions and exclama- tions. What can be his design ? said Leon. He must have some plan in his head. Plan? a mad plan enough ! exclaimed Sir Lionel. It is clearly nothing else than an attempt to get control of the property by a coup de main. Well, the opinion that I formed of Wig- gins is that he is altogether too shrewd and deep a man to undertake any thing without seeing his way clear to success.~~ The mans mad! cried Sir Lionel. How can any sane man hope to succeed in this? Why, no one can set up a private prison- house in that style. If the law allowed that, I know of one person who could set up a private jail, and keep it pretty well filled, too. An idea strikes me, said Leon, which may explain this on other grounds than mad- ness, and which is quite in accordance with Wigginss character. He has been the agent of the estates for these ten years, and though he was very close and uncommunicative about the extent of his powers and the na- ture of his connection with Dalton, yet it is evident that he has had Daltons confidence to the highest degree; and I think that be- fore Daltons unfortunate business he must have had some influence over him. Perhaps he has persuaded Dalton to make him the guardian of his daughter. Well, what good would that do ? asked Sir Lionel. Do you know any thing about the law of guardianship ? Not much. Well, it seems to me, from what I have heard, that a guardian has a great many very peculiar rights. He stands in a fathers place. He can choose such society forhis ward as he likes, and can shut her up, just as a father might. In this instance Wiggins may be standing on his rights, and the knowledge of this may be the reason why he defied you so insolently. Sir Lionel looked annoyed, and was silent for a few moments. I dont believe it, said he; I dont be- lieve any thing of the kind. I dont believe anylaw will allow a man to exercise such con- trol over another just because he or she is a minor. Besides, even if it were so, Edith is of age, and this restraint can not be kept up. What good would it do, then, for him to im- prison her for three or four months? At the end of that time she must escape from his controL Besides, even on the ground that he is in loco parentie, you must remember that there are limits even to a fathers au- thority. I doubt whether even a father would be allowed to imprison a daughter without cause. But this imprisonment may only, be a restriction within the grounds. The law can not prevent that. Oh, the fact is, this guard- ianship law is a very queer thing, and we shall find that Wiggins has as much right over her as if he were her father. So we must go to work carefully; and my idea is that it would be best to see him first of all, before we do anything, So as to see how it is. At any rate, said Sir Lionel, we can force him to show by what right he controls her liberty. The law of guardianship can not override the habeas corpus act, and the liberty of the subject is provided for, after all. If we once get Edith out of his control, it will be difficult for him to get her back again, even if the law did decide in his favor. Still I think there is a good deal in what you say, and it certainly is best not to be too hasty about it. An interview with him, first of all, will be decidedly the best thing. I think,before going there, you had better see my solicitors in London. You see I in- trust the management of this affair to you, Leon, for this infernal gout ties me up here closer than poor Edith at Dalton Hall. You had better set about it at once. Go first to London, see my solicitors, find out about the law of guardianship, and also see what we had better do. Then, if they approve of it, go to Dalton Hall and see Wiggins. I dont think that you are the sort of man who can be turned back at the gates by that ruf- fian porter. You must also write me what the solicitors say, for I think I had better keep Miss Plympton informed about the progress of affairs, partly to satisfy her auxi 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ety, and partly to prevent her from taking any independent action which may embar- rass our course of conduct. CHAPTER XI. LUCY. ABOUT a week after the conversation de- tailed in the last chapter, the train stopped at the little station near Dalton village, and Leon Dudleigh stepped out. At the same time a woman got out of another carriage in the train. She was dressed in black, and a crape veil concealed her face. Leon Dud- leigh stood and looked about for a few mo- ments in search of some vehicle in which to complete his journey, and as the train went on he walked into the little station-house to make inquiries. The woman followed slowly. After exchanging a few words with the ticket clerk, Leon found out that no vehicle was to be had in the neighborhood, and with an exclamation of impatience he told the clerk that he supposed he would have to walk, and at the same time asked him some questions about getting his lug- gage forwarded to the inn at Dalton. Hav- ing received a satisfactory answer, he turned to the door and walked toward the village. The woman who had followed him into the station-house had already left it, and was walking along the road ahead of him. She was walking at a slow pace, and before long Leon came up with her. He had not no- ticed her particularly, and was now about passing her, when at that very moment the woman raised her veil, and turned about so as to face him. At the sight of her face Leon uttered an exclamation of amazement and started back. Lucy ! he exclaimed, in a tone of deep and bitter vexation. Aha, Leon ! said the woman, with a smile. You thought you would give me the slip. You didnt know what a watch I was keeping over you. At this Leon regarded her in gloomy si- lence, while the expression of deep vexation remained unchanged on his face. The woman who had thus followed him was certainly not one who ought to inspire any thing like vexation. Her face was beau- tiful in outline and expression. Her eyes were dark and animated, her tone and man- ner indicated good-breeding and refinement, though these were somewhat more viva- cious than is common with English ladies. I dont see what brought you here, said Leon at last. I might say the same of you, mon cher, replied the lady; but I have a faint idea, and I have no desire to give you too much liberty. Its some more of your confounded jeal- ousy, said Leon, angrily. My business here is a very delicate one indeed. I may have to do it incognito, aiid it may ruin all if I have any one here who knows me. Incognito ? said the lady. That will be charming; and if so, who can help you better than I? I can be your mother, or your grandmother, or your business partner, or any thing. You ought to have insisted on my accompanying you. The light tone of raillery in which this was spoken did not in any way mollify the chagrin of the other, who still looked at her with a frown, and as she ended, growled out, I dont see how you got on my track, confound it ! Nothing easier, said the lady. You didnt take any pains to hide your tracks. But I told you I was going back to Dud- leigh. I know you did, mon cher; but do you think I believed you ? I dont see how you followed me ~ said Leon again. Well, I dont intend to let you know all my resources, said the lady, with a smile, for fear you will baffle me some other time. But now come, dont let yourself get into a passion. Look at me, and see how good- natured and sweet-tempered I am. Your reception of me is really quite heart-rending, and I have a great mind to go back again at once and leave you. I wish you would, said Leon, rudely. But I wont, said the lady. So come, be yourself again, for you can be sweet-tem- pered if you only try hard, you know. Now see here, Lucy, said Leon, sternly, you dont know what youre doing. Its all very well to pass it off as a frolic,but it wont do. This business of mine is too se- rious to admit of trifling. If it were my own affair, I wouldnt care; and even if I didnt want you, I should submit with a good grace. But this is a matter of extreme delicacy, and my father has sent me here be- cause he was unable to come himself. It is aa law matter. I went to London merely to see the solicitors. I didnt tell a soul about my business, and I thought that no one knew I was coming here except my fa- ther and the solicitors. Well, but Im always an exception, you know, said the lady, pleasantly. Oh, see here, now, said the other, its all very well for you to meddle with my own affairs; but you are now forcing yourself into the midst of the concerns of others the business affairs of two great estates. I must attend to this alone. Mon cher, said the lady, with unalter- able placidity, business is not one of your strong points. You really are not fit to manage any important matter alone. At THE LIVING LINK. 61 Dudleigh you have your papa to advise with, at London your papas solicitors, aud here at Dalton you need a sound adviser too. Now is there any one in whom you could put greater confidence, or who could give you better advice on innumerable mat- ters, than the unworthy being who now ad- dresses you? Come, dont keep up the sulks any longer. They are not becoming to your style of beauty. For my part, I never sulk. If you will reflect for a moment, you will see that it is really a great advantage for you to have with you one so sagacious and shrewd as I am; and now that the first mo- ment of irritation has passed, I trust you will look upon my humble offer of service with more propitious eyes. Something in these words seemed to strike Leon favorably, for the vexation passed away from his face, and he stood looking thought- fully at the ground, which he was mechan- ically smoothing over with his foot. The lady said no more, but watched him attent- ively, in silence, waiting to see the result -of his present meditations. ~ said he at last, I dont know but that something may arise in this busi- ness, Lucy, in which you may be able to do somethingthough what it may be I can not tell just now. Certainly, said the lady, if you really are thinking of an incognito, my services may be of the utmost importance. Theres something in that, said Leon. But whether the incognito is advisable or not should first be seen. Now if you would honor me with your confidence to ever so small an extent, I could offer an opin- ion on that point which might be worth hav- ing. And I will set you a good example by giving you my confidence. Frankly, then, the only reason why I followed you was be- cause I found out that there was a lady in the case. So thats it, is it ? said Leon, looking at her curiously. Yes, said the lady. And I heard that your father sent you, and that you had been talking with his solicitors. Now as you are not in the habit of doing business with your father, or talking with his solicitors, the thing struck me very forcibly; and as there was a ladyin fact, a rich heiressin the ease, and as you are frightfully in debt, I concluded that it would be well for me to see how the business proceeded; for I some- times do not have that confidence in you, Leon, which I should like to have. This was spoken in a serious and mourn- ful voice which was totally different from the tone of raillery in which she had at first indulged. As she concluded she fixed her eyes sadly on Leon, and he saw that they were suffused with tears. You preposterous little goose ! said Leon. There never was a wilder, a sillier, and at the same time a more utterly groundless fan- cy than this. Why, to begin with, the lady is my cousin. I know, said the ladly, sadly. It seems to me you found out every thing, though how the deuce you contrived it is more than I can tell, said Leon. Our faculties are very much sharpened where our interests are concerned said the lady, sententiously. Now, see here, said Leon. It is true that this lady is my cousin, and that she is an heiress, and that I am infernally hard up, and that my father sent me here, andthatl have been talking with the solicitors; but I swear to you the subject of marriage has not once been mentioned. But only thought of:, suggested the other. Well, I dont know any thing about peo- ples thoughts, said Leon. If you go into that style of thing, I give up. By-the-way, you know so much, that I suppose you know the ladys name. Oh yes: Miss DaltonEdith Dalton. The devil ! exclaimed Leon. Well, I confess Im mystified. How you could have found out all this is utterly beyond me. So you have no idea of matrimony, mon cher ? said the lady, attempting to use a sprightly tone, but looking at him with a glance so earnest that it showed what im- portance she attached to his reply. Leon was silent for a moment, and looked at the ground. At last he burst forth im- patiently: Oh, confound it all! whats the use of harping forever on one string, and putting a fellow in a corner all the time? You insist on holding an inquisition about thoughts and intentions. How do I know any thing about that? You may examine me about facts if you choose, but you havent any busi- ness to ask any thing more. Well, I suppose it i8 rather unfair, said the lady in a sweet voice, to force one to explain all ones thoughts and intentions; so, mon cher, lets cry quits. At any rate, you receive me for your all~y, your advis- er, your guide, philosopher, and friend. If you want incognitos or disguises, come to me. Well, I suppose I must, said Leon, since you are here, and wont go; and perhaps you may yet be really useful, but But at first I ought to know what the present condition is of this business of yours.~~ Oh, Ive no objection to tell you now, since you know so much; in fact, I believe you know all, as it is. Well, not quite all. It seems to me, said Leon, if were going to talk over this matter any further, we might find some better place than the middle of a public road. Let me see, he 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. continued, looking all around where shall we go ? As he looked around his eyes caught sight of the little river that flowed near, on its course through Dalton to the Bristol Chan- nel. Some trees grew on the margin, and beneath them was some grass. It was not more than twenty yards away. Suppose we sit there by the river, said Leon,and we can talk it over. The lady nodded, and the two walked to the river margin. THE PARTING SOUL. Bx WILL WALLACE HARNEY. Ke~ra eaX~n A& enr ~r wpecr~.Dtrge of Adonis, Bion. Alas, poor Yorick !I knew him, Horatio; a fel- low of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times.Hamlet, Act V., Scene 1. LAST night, by some unconscious sense, I felt the spirit leave the clay; Before my sight this body lay In all its helpless impotence. Around me swam all sweet desires Of life fulfilled and at an end; I felt the past and present blend In one, like flames of wedded fires. No more to do: all work was done: Henceforth my spirit clove through space, And stood with wisdom face to face, With all its final conquests won. No more removed, but purified, It joined the conscious chain of sense That springs from all intelligence In the I Am, uncrucified. A larger impulse moved it on Above the plane of pride or pelf, In that complete increase of self That gathers all through all in one. It had no need to speak or move, It had no wishes to fulfill, For all things lay within its will, And all of love, for it was Love. But there the helpless body lay. How pitiful and cold and pale! The fetters and the broken jail, All windowless and cold and gray. No more to ache, or pain, or cry; No more to sorrow or to think; No more to sleep, or eat, or drink; No more to work, no more to die. And yet how pitiful it was! The blue-white lips and stiffened form, That had been once so sweet and warm Within its little round of laws. I almost wished to die for it, It had been once so true to me So free of gall or jealousy; So full of laugh and simple wit. And now a poor weak thing like that, Believed unworthy of the light, And to be hidden out of sight, A trampled clod, a bruised mat; A piece of clay, a thing rejected, Or fit to feed the garden mould, And grow again in green and gold, Of its sweet nature imperfected. Not to be thought of or compared. But look you, now! I can remember, Some twoscore years ago, the ember Of baby life was in it sphered. And all the days of childhood hide In crush of flowers; happier With this, my little playmate here, Than I could tell you if I tried. These poor cold feet of straitened look Have climbed the apple-trees for me, And I scarce higher than your knee, Or barefoot paddled in the brook. Those arnis have clasped a mothers breast. That tongue about a fathers knee Has prattled of that life to be, Or, tired, with me has sunk to sleep. That cold and unresponsive brain Has, through the ever-quenchdd eyes, Its service home to make me wise, In cells and chambers full of pain. And just for what? Not self but me Some idle honor lost or won Enough to know its part was done, And I was happy, just to be. How wan the poor thing is! I would That I could close its cold, sad eyes, That never more will see the skies, Or kiss the lips so shrunk and blued. I do not praise its form or grace, Or make it other than I see: Worn in the service out for me, And dear because she loved its face. Pale self! I kiss thee, so subdued, Lest of thy heart some bitter herb Should grow up rankly, and disturb Man with infused ingratitude. Of all thats true, thou wert the truest; Of all things kind, thou wert most kind; My perfect image was thy mind In what I am and what thou knewest. Now to be rich and strong, and use The general gift of conscious sense That runs through nature, I go hence, half traitor. Then a voice said, Choose. All things flow out from God, and back, In one full circle. Nothing grows But in the current life that flows From him; and yet there is no lack. And as my married lips in breath Kissed the cold clay, the life in sped, And like a whisper something said, This spirit was not ripe for death.

62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. continued, looking all around where shall we go ? As he looked around his eyes caught sight of the little river that flowed near, on its course through Dalton to the Bristol Chan- nel. Some trees grew on the margin, and beneath them was some grass. It was not more than twenty yards away. Suppose we sit there by the river, said Leon,and we can talk it over. The lady nodded, and the two walked to the river margin. THE PARTING SOUL. Bx WILL WALLACE HARNEY. Ke~ra eaX~n A& enr ~r wpecr~.Dtrge of Adonis, Bion. Alas, poor Yorick !I knew him, Horatio; a fel- low of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times.Hamlet, Act V., Scene 1. LAST night, by some unconscious sense, I felt the spirit leave the clay; Before my sight this body lay In all its helpless impotence. Around me swam all sweet desires Of life fulfilled and at an end; I felt the past and present blend In one, like flames of wedded fires. No more to do: all work was done: Henceforth my spirit clove through space, And stood with wisdom face to face, With all its final conquests won. No more removed, but purified, It joined the conscious chain of sense That springs from all intelligence In the I Am, uncrucified. A larger impulse moved it on Above the plane of pride or pelf, In that complete increase of self That gathers all through all in one. It had no need to speak or move, It had no wishes to fulfill, For all things lay within its will, And all of love, for it was Love. But there the helpless body lay. How pitiful and cold and pale! The fetters and the broken jail, All windowless and cold and gray. No more to ache, or pain, or cry; No more to sorrow or to think; No more to sleep, or eat, or drink; No more to work, no more to die. And yet how pitiful it was! The blue-white lips and stiffened form, That had been once so sweet and warm Within its little round of laws. I almost wished to die for it, It had been once so true to me So free of gall or jealousy; So full of laugh and simple wit. And now a poor weak thing like that, Believed unworthy of the light, And to be hidden out of sight, A trampled clod, a bruised mat; A piece of clay, a thing rejected, Or fit to feed the garden mould, And grow again in green and gold, Of its sweet nature imperfected. Not to be thought of or compared. But look you, now! I can remember, Some twoscore years ago, the ember Of baby life was in it sphered. And all the days of childhood hide In crush of flowers; happier With this, my little playmate here, Than I could tell you if I tried. These poor cold feet of straitened look Have climbed the apple-trees for me, And I scarce higher than your knee, Or barefoot paddled in the brook. Those arnis have clasped a mothers breast. That tongue about a fathers knee Has prattled of that life to be, Or, tired, with me has sunk to sleep. That cold and unresponsive brain Has, through the ever-quenchdd eyes, Its service home to make me wise, In cells and chambers full of pain. And just for what? Not self but me Some idle honor lost or won Enough to know its part was done, And I was happy, just to be. How wan the poor thing is! I would That I could close its cold, sad eyes, That never more will see the skies, Or kiss the lips so shrunk and blued. I do not praise its form or grace, Or make it other than I see: Worn in the service out for me, And dear because she loved its face. Pale self! I kiss thee, so subdued, Lest of thy heart some bitter herb Should grow up rankly, and disturb Man with infused ingratitude. Of all thats true, thou wert the truest; Of all things kind, thou wert most kind; My perfect image was thy mind In what I am and what thou knewest. Now to be rich and strong, and use The general gift of conscious sense That runs through nature, I go hence, half traitor. Then a voice said, Choose. All things flow out from God, and back, In one full circle. Nothing grows But in the current life that flows From him; and yet there is no lack. And as my married lips in breath Kissed the cold clay, the life in sped, And like a whisper something said, This spirit was not ripe for death. LIEBEIR AND NIEBUHE. 63 LIEBER AND NJEBUHR. THERE are some very curious incidents in the life of the late Francis Lieber, Professor of Law in Columbia College,which were published in his Itemini8cence8 of Nie- buhr, the historian. He sent the manuscript of this book to Mrs. Austin, in London, the translator of the Conversation8 with Goethe. This was nearly forty years ago, and the hook appeared there and in this country dur- ing the same year. Both editions are scarce. Professor Lieber was in Rome during a part of 1822 and 1823, and the story he tells of his traveling difficulties, and of his intro- duction to Mr. Niebuhr, then the Prussian minister in Rome, is very interesting, and is substantially as follows: Lieber had been in prison in Germany for political offenses, and being in Dresden, where he was con- stantly watched, it was with some difficulty by a ruse, in factthat he got to Mar- seilles, when he decided, in 1821, to go to Greece, being seized with that Philhellen- ic fever so prevalent among imaginative young men at that period. He obtained a passport for Nuremberg, and for a period of two weeks only. Once in possession of the paper, he states that he emptied an ink- bottle over the words indicating the limited space of time; then he had it signed in ev- ery small place on the way to Nuremberg, so that it had quite a formidable appear- ance when he arrived at that city. There he accounted for the defacing ink blot by the awkwardness of an officer at some pre- vious bureau, and got the passport signed for Munich. Another ruse, and he got the document signed for Switzerland. On the frontier of France he received, according to the existing regulations, a provisionary passport, the other being retained and sent by the officials to Paris. He remained in Greece but a short time, and would have died of hunger, he says, if he had staid longer. He sold nearly every article he possessed, and before the effects were entirely exhausted took passage at Missolonghi in a small ship bound for An- cona, in Italy, on the Adriatic. About one dollar and a half; or one scudo and a half; was the only money he had after paying his passage for accommodations of the most meagre character. During a storm the ship sought shelter in the bay of Gonzola. On entering quarantine at Ancona Liebers fu- ture hopes rested on this slim chance: re- membering that a fellow- student in Ger- many had told him in a letter that he in- tended to abandon the pandects and take up art as a profession, and concluding, if he had done so, that he would be in Rome by this time, Lieber wrote to a well-known artist there, inclosing a letter to his friend, whom he hoped the artist might have heard of. Yet, strange enough, the friend was in Rome, the letter reached him, and, with the promptness of a German student, he sent Lieber all the money he possessed! This money enabled Lieber to pay his quarantine expenses at Ancona. If he had failed to do this, the Greek captain of the ship would have had to pay the expenses, according to the regulations then existing, and Lieber would have been obliged to re- imburse the captain by serving on board the ship. The joy he experienced on re- ceiving his friends letter and its contents may be imagined. But his troubles were not yet ended. He was conscious of the immense gap in his passport; yet with that provisionary paper received on the French frontier he was forced to make the attempt to pass the police office at Ancona. His idea was, of course, to go to Rome. But the Ancona officials informed him that they had just received orders from Rome to sign no passport of any one from Greece, except for a direct journey home. Lieber says he was thunderstruck. Would you prevent me from seeing Rome ? he asked the Italian official, and evidently with tears in his voice if not in his eyes, for the Italian was touched, as his answer shows: You see, cari8simo mio, I can not do other- wise. You are a Prussian, and I must direct your passport home to Germany. I will di- rect it to Florence; your minister there may direct it back to Rome; or I will direct it to any place in Tuscany which you may choose, for through Tuscany you must travel in or- der to reach Germany. Lieber says, I think I never felt more wretched than when I left that police office. I had sailed for Greece from Marseilles, and had now returned to Ancona. Had I made my way around Rome without seeing the Eternal Citywithout seeing her ever, per- haps, in my life ? In company with Lieber there was at that time a Dane, another disappointed Philhel- lene, who had sailed with him from Misso- loughi. The two went home to their lodg- ings and threw themselves on the only bed in their room in silent despair. Finally they discussed their situation over the map of Italy. Another ruse was the result of their cogitations and investigations. They went back to the office, and Lieber pretended to have just received a letter from a friend in Orbitello, in Tuscany, on the boundary of the Papal territory, and after convincing the officials with some difficulty that Orbi- tello was in Tuscany and not within the Pa- pal States, they got their passports signed for that place. Lieber had chosen Orbitello because he thought the stage route must lie near Rome, and, once near that city, he would trust his wits to gain him entrance. He expresses gratitude for the kindness of the official servant at Ancona, and adds,

LIEBEIR AND NIEBUHE. 63 LIEBER AND NJEBUHR. THERE are some very curious incidents in the life of the late Francis Lieber, Professor of Law in Columbia College,which were published in his Itemini8cence8 of Nie- buhr, the historian. He sent the manuscript of this book to Mrs. Austin, in London, the translator of the Conversation8 with Goethe. This was nearly forty years ago, and the hook appeared there and in this country dur- ing the same year. Both editions are scarce. Professor Lieber was in Rome during a part of 1822 and 1823, and the story he tells of his traveling difficulties, and of his intro- duction to Mr. Niebuhr, then the Prussian minister in Rome, is very interesting, and is substantially as follows: Lieber had been in prison in Germany for political offenses, and being in Dresden, where he was con- stantly watched, it was with some difficulty by a ruse, in factthat he got to Mar- seilles, when he decided, in 1821, to go to Greece, being seized with that Philhellen- ic fever so prevalent among imaginative young men at that period. He obtained a passport for Nuremberg, and for a period of two weeks only. Once in possession of the paper, he states that he emptied an ink- bottle over the words indicating the limited space of time; then he had it signed in ev- ery small place on the way to Nuremberg, so that it had quite a formidable appear- ance when he arrived at that city. There he accounted for the defacing ink blot by the awkwardness of an officer at some pre- vious bureau, and got the passport signed for Munich. Another ruse, and he got the document signed for Switzerland. On the frontier of France he received, according to the existing regulations, a provisionary passport, the other being retained and sent by the officials to Paris. He remained in Greece but a short time, and would have died of hunger, he says, if he had staid longer. He sold nearly every article he possessed, and before the effects were entirely exhausted took passage at Missolonghi in a small ship bound for An- cona, in Italy, on the Adriatic. About one dollar and a half; or one scudo and a half; was the only money he had after paying his passage for accommodations of the most meagre character. During a storm the ship sought shelter in the bay of Gonzola. On entering quarantine at Ancona Liebers fu- ture hopes rested on this slim chance: re- membering that a fellow- student in Ger- many had told him in a letter that he in- tended to abandon the pandects and take up art as a profession, and concluding, if he had done so, that he would be in Rome by this time, Lieber wrote to a well-known artist there, inclosing a letter to his friend, whom he hoped the artist might have heard of. Yet, strange enough, the friend was in Rome, the letter reached him, and, with the promptness of a German student, he sent Lieber all the money he possessed! This money enabled Lieber to pay his quarantine expenses at Ancona. If he had failed to do this, the Greek captain of the ship would have had to pay the expenses, according to the regulations then existing, and Lieber would have been obliged to re- imburse the captain by serving on board the ship. The joy he experienced on re- ceiving his friends letter and its contents may be imagined. But his troubles were not yet ended. He was conscious of the immense gap in his passport; yet with that provisionary paper received on the French frontier he was forced to make the attempt to pass the police office at Ancona. His idea was, of course, to go to Rome. But the Ancona officials informed him that they had just received orders from Rome to sign no passport of any one from Greece, except for a direct journey home. Lieber says he was thunderstruck. Would you prevent me from seeing Rome ? he asked the Italian official, and evidently with tears in his voice if not in his eyes, for the Italian was touched, as his answer shows: You see, cari8simo mio, I can not do other- wise. You are a Prussian, and I must direct your passport home to Germany. I will di- rect it to Florence; your minister there may direct it back to Rome; or I will direct it to any place in Tuscany which you may choose, for through Tuscany you must travel in or- der to reach Germany. Lieber says, I think I never felt more wretched than when I left that police office. I had sailed for Greece from Marseilles, and had now returned to Ancona. Had I made my way around Rome without seeing the Eternal Citywithout seeing her ever, per- haps, in my life ? In company with Lieber there was at that time a Dane, another disappointed Philhel- lene, who had sailed with him from Misso- loughi. The two went home to their lodg- ings and threw themselves on the only bed in their room in silent despair. Finally they discussed their situation over the map of Italy. Another ruse was the result of their cogitations and investigations. They went back to the office, and Lieber pretended to have just received a letter from a friend in Orbitello, in Tuscany, on the boundary of the Papal territory, and after convincing the officials with some difficulty that Orbi- tello was in Tuscany and not within the Pa- pal States, they got their passports signed for that place. Lieber had chosen Orbitello because he thought the stage route must lie near Rome, and, once near that city, he would trust his wits to gain him entrance. He expresses gratitude for the kindness of the official servant at Ancona, and adds, 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I should have blamed no one for keeping a respectful distance from ns, shabby as our whole exterior was.~~ Hiring a vetturino, they left Ancona at once. At Nepi, where the road divided, they had to confess to the coachman that they were going to Rome, not to Orbitello, and to smooth over his scruples with money. When near Rome they jumped out of the coach, leaving their knapsacks, and soon after entered the Porto del Popolo carelessly, as if the churches and the obelisk near were nothing new to them. Lieber says that as he approached the tame-looking sentinel of the Papal troops his heart beat as it had never done at the approach of any grena- dier of the enemy; and the delight that he felt when the sentinel was safely passed, and he stood within the walls of immortal Rome, was, as he declares, ~ He found his friend and fellow-student, who generously offered to share his room with a poor compatriot. Lieber spent some days enjoying the glo- ries of Rome, with that keen relish known only to the cultivated, enthusiastic student. But he could not remain in Rome without the permission of the police, and this per- mission could not be obtained without a cer- tificate from the Prussian minister that his passport was in order. This was exactly what Liebers passport was not; he was, in fact, ashamed to show it at the Prussian legation, and in his strait he determined to seek a private interview with Mr. Niebuhr, the Prussian minister, and frankly disclose his situation. It was hard for the sensitive student to make up his mind to this, to ap- pear before that dignitary in such an un- prepossessing condition, and his heart grew heavy as he approached the venerable pile, the Orsini Palace, where Niebuhr resided. This palace is built on the ruins of the the- atre which Augustus built and dedicated to his nephew Marcellus. Lieber preserved carefully an engraving of ihe palace which he then had in his possession, and under which he subsequently wrote, In que8ta ro- vina ritrovai la vita. Not finding it possible then to see Mr. Niebuhr, Lieber told his story to the secre- tary of the legation. The secretarys heart was touched, and he went to the minister himself, returning soon with a few written words, which, on being shown to the Papal police, would secure the bearer permission to remain in Rome. Accompanying this paper was a sum of money, which the secre- tary presented as a loan by the order of the minister, telling him at the same time that he could accept it without any unpleasant feeling, for it was from the fund that Prince Henry, brother of the Prussian king, had placed at Mr. Niebuhrs disposal for the as- sistance of ruined Philhellenes returning from Greece. The next morning Lieber saw the histo- nan, and was very kindly received. The in- terview lasted several hours, during which Mr. Niebuhr drew out the students whole history, and pressed him to give all the in- formation in his power respecting Greece. At the close of the interview he invited Lieber to return and dine with him. Here was a dilemma. The poor student glanced at his shabby dress and stammered, Real- ly, Sir, I am not in a condition to dine with your excellency. Niebuhr stamped his foot impatiently and exclaimed, Are diploma- tists always believed to be so cold-hearted? I am the same that I was in Berlin when I delivered my lectures. This is unworthy of you. (Da8 war kieinlich.) Of course the invitation was accepted; but the delight that Lieber experienced in the brilliant conversation of his host; in the presence of Madam Niebuhr and her beau- tiful children; in a faultless dinner, which the student had not enjoyed for a longtime; in the elegance of the vaulted room of the palace, adorned by masterpieces of art; in the murmuring fountain of the garden; in the charm of such surroundings, boldly con- trasted by Liebers mind with the disgust- ing sufferings he had enduredthe delight that he experienced in all this was terribly marred by the painful consciousness of his sorry attire. The sensitive will fully sym- pathize with him in his trying position. His dress consisted of a pair of coarse un- blacked shoes, such as are commonly worn in the Levant, socks of coarse Greek wool, brownish pantaloons, a blue frock - coat pierced with two balls, and a blue cap, also pierced by a bullet. But this was not the worst of it: the socks were exceedingly short, as were also the pantaloons, so that, when he was in a sitting posture, they re- fused him the charity of meeting with an obstinacy that reminded him, he says, of the irreconcilable temper of the two broth- ers in Schillers Bride of Messina. Toward the end of the dinner the children left the table, and, playing about the floor, embar- rassed the poor student exceedingly by their frank remarks, after the manner of children, and this embarrassment was greatly in- creased by the consciousness that after din- ner he would have to take coffee with the ladies, unprotected by the kindly shelter of the table. After the dinner Mr. Niebuhr proposed a walk in the gardens, and invited the ladies to join. I pitied them, says Lieber, but the entrance of a visitor spared them the mortification of taking my arm. Before leaving, Mr. Niebuhr asked him if there was any service that he could do him. Lieber replied that he would like much to borrow his (Niebuhrs) Hi8tory. To this the historian was unwilling to consent, as he had but one copy, to which he had added FALSE. 65 notes, but he promised to obtain a second copy and present it to Lieber. As to his other books, he gave the student a key to his library, and told him to take whatever he wanted. He laughed, Lieber says, when I returned laden with books, and dismissed me in the kindest manner. A few days after, Lieber be came a member of the historians family, being invited to assist in the education of his son Marcus, and then there commenced for the unfortu- nate student a most congenial and happy life. It was during his residence with Niebuhr that he wrote the journal of his sojourn in Greece, published in Leipsic in 1823. After Mr. Niebuhrs official duties at Rome were ended Lieber accompanied him and his family on a tour through Italy and Switz- erland, quitting them finally at Innspriick with deep grief. On returning to Berlin, Lieber was again imprisoned, and was visit- ed in his confinement by Niebuhr, who final- ly succeeded in causing his release. About three years later Lieber went to London, where, through the kindness of Mrs. Austin, he became acquainted with Grote, the historian. His intention was to apply for a chair in the London University, then in process of organization, but before any arrangements were completed to secure that position he decided to take up his resi- (lence in this country. There is a passage in one of his letters from Niebuhr which will interest certain readers: The New England States, in which you live, are indeed worthy of the namewhich south of the Potomac would not be befitting. It is England with- out aristocracy and tradition, active and busy only in the material world; hence with- out beautiful illusions, but also without En- glish political hypocrisy. Only beware that you do not fall into an idolatry of the coun- try, and that state of things which is so daz- zling because it shows the material world in a favorable light. It would be interesting to inquire just what distinguished foreigners mean when they talk so confidently of our material tendencies. Tennyson, in his epilogue To the Queen, in the new edition of the Idyls of the King, pays us a startling compliment in two lines: The darkness of that battle In the West, Where all of hi~gh and holy dies away. During Liebers early residence in this country he was engaged as correspondent of the Ailgeaneine Zeitung, Morgenblatt, Poly- technic Journal, the Ausland, and some other periodicals. Niebuhrs advice to him as a newspaper correspondent is golden: It is all-important to be conscientious and true to the letter. The correspondent of a news- paper is the embassador not of its proprie- tor, but of the public. And then Niebuhr cautions him about what he calls a vast, extensive shoal, because all newspaper cor- VoL. XLVIII.No. 283.5 respondents wreck upon it. Yo political dis- 8ertations and generalities, but facts simply and concisely related. The italics are the authors own. Niebuhr, he says, was very thin, and of small stature. His voice was high-pitched, and spectacles were so indispensable to him that once having left his Dollands, Lieber was obliged to make a days journey to fetch them. He lived frugally, and drank usually only wine and water. He shaved himself walking up and down the room, talking the while when there was any one present, and he was an inordinate snuff-taker, though smoking was very offensive to him. He used his pen a very long time without mending it, turning it all round, so as to use always its sharp point, and he could study and write amidst any noise and confusion. Noll- ing on the floor with his children was a fre- quent indulgence, and in all things his sim- plicity was great. One day Lieber found him pale and agitated, and asked him if he was ill. Niebuhr confessed that he was sad, and had not slept, because the previous night he had punished his son Marcus for telling a falsehood, when subsequent developments proved the boy innocent. Niebuhr asked the childs pardon again and again. According to Lieber, the historian must have possessed a most extraordinary memo- ry. He establishes this by the citation of incidents in Niebuhrs life. But though pos- sessing such a memory, though a great read- er and a rare classical scholar, he scarcely ever quoted for ornament, and his style of writing is characterized by simplicity and conciseness. Pedantry he abominated, as real thinkers always do. FALSI~. FALSE! and the dream of love is dead I thought would live forever! Though he and I shall die, I said, Our true love shall die never How, then, if my hearts love was true, Can it he else than living, Though he, the while, was guile all through In taking and in giving? False! and beneath his smiling mask I loved a grand ideal; So sweet the dream, I seem to ask, Een yet, that it were real! I did not love the cold deceit That shined the specious wooing, And my true love above the cheat Its end is still pursuing. Through bitter tears, and dropping fast Where my vain hopes lie buried, My sight will he more free at last, Discerning where Ive errdd. False! but my hearts true love lives on, And patient to discover, In some sweet wayand dayto dawn, A fond and faithful lover!

FALSE. 65 notes, but he promised to obtain a second copy and present it to Lieber. As to his other books, he gave the student a key to his library, and told him to take whatever he wanted. He laughed, Lieber says, when I returned laden with books, and dismissed me in the kindest manner. A few days after, Lieber be came a member of the historians family, being invited to assist in the education of his son Marcus, and then there commenced for the unfortu- nate student a most congenial and happy life. It was during his residence with Niebuhr that he wrote the journal of his sojourn in Greece, published in Leipsic in 1823. After Mr. Niebuhrs official duties at Rome were ended Lieber accompanied him and his family on a tour through Italy and Switz- erland, quitting them finally at Innspriick with deep grief. On returning to Berlin, Lieber was again imprisoned, and was visit- ed in his confinement by Niebuhr, who final- ly succeeded in causing his release. About three years later Lieber went to London, where, through the kindness of Mrs. Austin, he became acquainted with Grote, the historian. His intention was to apply for a chair in the London University, then in process of organization, but before any arrangements were completed to secure that position he decided to take up his resi- (lence in this country. There is a passage in one of his letters from Niebuhr which will interest certain readers: The New England States, in which you live, are indeed worthy of the namewhich south of the Potomac would not be befitting. It is England with- out aristocracy and tradition, active and busy only in the material world; hence with- out beautiful illusions, but also without En- glish political hypocrisy. Only beware that you do not fall into an idolatry of the coun- try, and that state of things which is so daz- zling because it shows the material world in a favorable light. It would be interesting to inquire just what distinguished foreigners mean when they talk so confidently of our material tendencies. Tennyson, in his epilogue To the Queen, in the new edition of the Idyls of the King, pays us a startling compliment in two lines: The darkness of that battle In the West, Where all of hi~gh and holy dies away. During Liebers early residence in this country he was engaged as correspondent of the Ailgeaneine Zeitung, Morgenblatt, Poly- technic Journal, the Ausland, and some other periodicals. Niebuhrs advice to him as a newspaper correspondent is golden: It is all-important to be conscientious and true to the letter. The correspondent of a news- paper is the embassador not of its proprie- tor, but of the public. And then Niebuhr cautions him about what he calls a vast, extensive shoal, because all newspaper cor- VoL. XLVIII.No. 283.5 respondents wreck upon it. Yo political dis- 8ertations and generalities, but facts simply and concisely related. The italics are the authors own. Niebuhr, he says, was very thin, and of small stature. His voice was high-pitched, and spectacles were so indispensable to him that once having left his Dollands, Lieber was obliged to make a days journey to fetch them. He lived frugally, and drank usually only wine and water. He shaved himself walking up and down the room, talking the while when there was any one present, and he was an inordinate snuff-taker, though smoking was very offensive to him. He used his pen a very long time without mending it, turning it all round, so as to use always its sharp point, and he could study and write amidst any noise and confusion. Noll- ing on the floor with his children was a fre- quent indulgence, and in all things his sim- plicity was great. One day Lieber found him pale and agitated, and asked him if he was ill. Niebuhr confessed that he was sad, and had not slept, because the previous night he had punished his son Marcus for telling a falsehood, when subsequent developments proved the boy innocent. Niebuhr asked the childs pardon again and again. According to Lieber, the historian must have possessed a most extraordinary memo- ry. He establishes this by the citation of incidents in Niebuhrs life. But though pos- sessing such a memory, though a great read- er and a rare classical scholar, he scarcely ever quoted for ornament, and his style of writing is characterized by simplicity and conciseness. Pedantry he abominated, as real thinkers always do. FALSI~. FALSE! and the dream of love is dead I thought would live forever! Though he and I shall die, I said, Our true love shall die never How, then, if my hearts love was true, Can it he else than living, Though he, the while, was guile all through In taking and in giving? False! and beneath his smiling mask I loved a grand ideal; So sweet the dream, I seem to ask, Een yet, that it were real! I did not love the cold deceit That shined the specious wooing, And my true love above the cheat Its end is still pursuing. Through bitter tears, and dropping fast Where my vain hopes lie buried, My sight will he more free at last, Discerning where Ive errdd. False! but my hearts true love lives on, And patient to discover, In some sweet wayand dayto dawn, A fond and faithful lover! 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A GOLDEN WEDDING. By H. Th HUDSON. IT was a sunny day: Winter had looked with favor on the land He came to; so withheld a while his hand, And waved his storms away. The crisped brown hills and fields Lay hare and silent neath the waning sun, And, warring with November, one by one The trees had lost their shields. Quiet and sombre shades Of bro~vn and gray replaced the brilliant glow That decked all Natureautumns boastful show Of joy when summer fades; And, matching soberly With the grave landscape, clustered buildings stood, Low, hospitable, of time-darkened wood, Shadowed by many a tree. The door-yard, populous With vehicles of quaint, old-fashioned style, Left standing in a long, uneven file, Had space for overplus. Rustling in grasses dun, The busy fowls ranged slow from side to side; And patient horses, blanketed and tied, Dozed in the chilly sun. House windows, half inwrougb With tangled skeletons of summer vines, Were decked with pine and hemlock boughs, the signs Of festive time and thought. Within, fire-lit and wide, The ancient keeping-room was dressed with green, And a long table, fair with damask sheen, Was stretched from side to side; And, bounding its extent Perhaps a little crowded, like the fare The feasting guests found time enough to spare For constant merriment. The children, feasting too, Scarce exiled in the kitchens friendly space, As joyous as their elders, made the place Echo with mirth anew. Plain folk were most of these, Good-natured, practical, bard-working folk, Fond of a holiday and of a joke; Somewhat the less at ease TIlE ])oolI-vAaI), rOrULOUS WITH VEHICLES OF QUAINT, OLn-FA5HIONED STyLE.

66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A GOLDEN WEDDING. By H. Th HUDSON. IT was a sunny day: Winter had looked with favor on the land He came to; so withheld a while his hand, And waved his storms away. The crisped brown hills and fields Lay hare and silent neath the waning sun, And, warring with November, one by one The trees had lost their shields. Quiet and sombre shades Of bro~vn and gray replaced the brilliant glow That decked all Natureautumns boastful show Of joy when summer fades; And, matching soberly With the grave landscape, clustered buildings stood, Low, hospitable, of time-darkened wood, Shadowed by many a tree. The door-yard, populous With vehicles of quaint, old-fashioned style, Left standing in a long, uneven file, Had space for overplus. Rustling in grasses dun, The busy fowls ranged slow from side to side; And patient horses, blanketed and tied, Dozed in the chilly sun. House windows, half inwrougb With tangled skeletons of summer vines, Were decked with pine and hemlock boughs, the signs Of festive time and thought. Within, fire-lit and wide, The ancient keeping-room was dressed with green, And a long table, fair with damask sheen, Was stretched from side to side; And, bounding its extent Perhaps a little crowded, like the fare The feasting guests found time enough to spare For constant merriment. The children, feasting too, Scarce exiled in the kitchens friendly space, As joyous as their elders, made the place Echo with mirth anew. Plain folk were most of these, Good-natured, practical, bard-working folk, Fond of a holiday and of a joke; Somewhat the less at ease TIlE ])oolI-vAaI), rOrULOUS WITH VEHICLES OF QUAINT, OLn-FA5HIONED STyLE.

66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A GOLDEN WEDDING. By H. Th HUDSON. IT was a sunny day: Winter had looked with favor on the land He came to; so withheld a while his hand, And waved his storms away. The crisped brown hills and fields Lay hare and silent neath the waning sun, And, warring with November, one by one The trees had lost their shields. Quiet and sombre shades Of bro~vn and gray replaced the brilliant glow That decked all Natureautumns boastful show Of joy when summer fades; And, matching soberly With the grave landscape, clustered buildings stood, Low, hospitable, of time-darkened wood, Shadowed by many a tree. The door-yard, populous With vehicles of quaint, old-fashioned style, Left standing in a long, uneven file, Had space for overplus. Rustling in grasses dun, The busy fowls ranged slow from side to side; And patient horses, blanketed and tied, Dozed in the chilly sun. House windows, half inwrougb With tangled skeletons of summer vines, Were decked with pine and hemlock boughs, the signs Of festive time and thought. Within, fire-lit and wide, The ancient keeping-room was dressed with green, And a long table, fair with damask sheen, Was stretched from side to side; And, bounding its extent Perhaps a little crowded, like the fare The feasting guests found time enough to spare For constant merriment. The children, feasting too, Scarce exiled in the kitchens friendly space, As joyous as their elders, made the place Echo with mirth anew. Plain folk were most of these, Good-natured, practical, bard-working folk, Fond of a holiday and of a joke; Somewhat the less at ease TIlE ])oolI-vAaI), rOrULOUS WITH VEHICLES OF QUAINT, OLn-FA5HIONED STyLE. A GOLDEN WEDDING. 67 For holiday array; Not apt at mingling colors pleasantly, Yet rich in common-sense, kindly, and free In untaught speech and way; Much like their own rongh clime, Or home-made articles that one loves best, Because their coarse, firm strength can bear the test And wear of use and time. And, scattered here and there, Were others, more conventional of dress And manner, with the ease and courteousness That please with little care. Matrons in calico Were placed by ladies bright in sheeny silk; Hands rough and brown and hands as white milk Passed dishes to and fro; But all, of differing grade And station, felt the equal influence Of simple kindness, keen and sturdy sense, And quiet worth, that made The low room, decked with green And boughs of scarlet that November banned, The scene of hospitality as grand As that of king and qneen. This king and queen, twice wed, An ancient, happy-hearted, honored pair, Royal with cheer and crowned with silver hair, Sat at the tables head. as The fifty busy years That brought around their second wetiding-day Had given them joyand taken some away In bartering faith for tears; Had made him somewhat bent; Had withered him, and made his stout form spare; Had left him much the worse for toil and care, But with a fair percent Of his slow, hard-earned gain; With honesty and soberness and truth; More of the fire and humor of his youth Than most men may retain. Sitting, he stooped a hit, But the keen glances roving here and there Neath brows that matched his sparse white frin~e of hair, The flashes of swift wit That brightened pale blue eyes, And smiles that grouped the wrinkles closer still, Defied times power, but first earned times good-will, And made the years allies. His best coat, velveteened, Bright-buttoned, swallow-tailed, immaculate, Long saved for Sundays and for times of state; His vest of satin, screened By damasks flowered flock; Ills polished boots, and wristhands stiffly turned; The ammcient tiny ruby pin that burned On his alpaca stock MATRONS IN CALIcO WERE PLACED a~ LADIES BRIOHT IN snEENY 5ILR. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Made a short opening speech, Inviting some remarks to suit the day, hoping their friends would have a word to say Interrogating each By glance complaisantly, And so sat down. Then one in threadbare drab A rusty cousin with the gift of gab Arising, Would make free, Having his friends kind ear, To say that this occasion, festive time, This happy meeting, now just in its prime, This pleasant hour, was dear, More dear than he could tell In the set words that left so much to guess And so proceeded with great fluentuess, Deeming he spoke so well All would delight to hear; Till restlessness bore witness otherwise; So drawing to a close, with half-shut eyes, And one hand raised to steer, With motion eloquent, His meaning straighter through the shoals of wordt Said, Cheerful and more constant than the birds You have lived long content. May you still happier be! May your days round in ripe and golden joy, Like this fair orange which I here employ In way of simile! May figurative gold, And literal gold as well, if that may be, Fill hearts and pockets overfiowingly In quantities untold 1 He paused; ere he renewed, A neighboring listener, rising noisily A rough old farmer, honest-browed and free Said, I was never good At speeches and fine talk. In fact, I never made a speech before, Except a short one in a court o law, And when I tried to chalk A drunken candidate; However, I dont feel like gum by A golden weddin-daywere comm nigh That time, I and my mate Were tokens to agree With the green mottoes on the parlor wall, Circled with immortelles, that said to all, Honor good memory. His wife sat close beside In Quaker gray; the snowy folds of lace Touched neck and wrist, and shaded a calm face Full of unspoken pride, Because around the board Were gathered many children she had reared in the good precepts of the God she feared; Now finding age restored To happy youth and prime In other lives that it had sought to bless, She thanked God for the deal of tenderness Within the heart of time. Ere the long meal was done Dishes that first had known much bulk and pride Had shrunk to naught or toppled half aside, Made ruins, one by one. At last a general stir And settling brought a passing pause in speech, And swift hands cleared the tables littered reach. Then, after some demur, A chairman, just elect, Called all to order, and with aspect grave Reminded scattered children to behave; And when the noise was checked, A CITY flAKEEE~ RHINO rONl)ESIOUSLY. to nuAwINe TO A CLOSE, wi~u OALF-sucT EYES, ANT) ONE HAN)) RAISED TO STEEL A GOLDEN WEDDING. 69 Ithont I say a bit Some like the peth o what was said jest now; But arter folks know what to say, the how To say it takes the wit! Well, for my neighbor here And his good wife, I wish em happiness; I wish cm all the good I know or guess That isnt bought too dear; For I am bound to say Id like the world new-stocked from end to end, As thick as white-weed in the medder-bend, With folks as good as they. So, emphasizing all With a sonorous blowing of his nose, lie ended suddenly; and some of those Around him kept the ball Spnning upon its way With polished gratulation, smoothly said; And some, less cultured, to rude humor wed The wishes of the day. At last a portly man, A city banker, rising ponderously, Said, with as ponderous utterance, that he Ahem Ihe just began To see propriety In golden weddings; since we had been told That friendship counts in heaven as more than gold Ahem Iwe all might see They made good capital To start ones fortunes in another sphere, Where men need less of solid cash than here. Then in a little lull The good old minister, With genial kindness beaming from his face, Stood in their midst to thank God for His grace Shown to the pair who were Before him, whose long life Was crowned with brightness, as a happy day In midsummer passed slow away With sunset splendors rife. I will not here rehearse The pious words that fitted such as he; I can not warp their rare simplicity Into the shape of verse. Now, when the prayer was done, The ancient bridegroom rose; the ancient bride Rose too, and stood half smiling at his side, Listening as he begun: Good friends, I want to try To thank you for the kindness you have shown To us, whose usefulness is near outgrown; And wemy wife and I Do thank you earnestly. We are a hearty and old-fashioned pair, With less of cash than rheumatism to spare, But with the will to see The whole wide world content. Of old, they say, twas counted half a crime For men or women to outlive their time; But it is evident That age now makes one rare As russet apples that last on through spring, And so are counted as a better thing When withered than when fair. 1)0 THANK YOU EARNEsTLY. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 70 GAYLY HE LED THE WAY BACK TO TILE KEEPING-ROOM. THE SUNlIT TUNING OF A FIDlILE PRICKED TH EARS OF THOSE AROUND. A GOLDEN WEDDING. 71 My friends, we both will trust Your golden weddings, coming by-and-by, :~Iay find you rich in things that satisfy When we are only dust. Then all with one accord Sought the wide parlor, where the gifts were laid On a long table, showily arrayed, Tempting the race outlawed, The children, who without Waited impatient for the general fun, Easing their nervousness with skip or run, Or a half-smothered shout. Till one who watched them came A merry youth who could not yet forget His childhoodknowing that their hearts were set Upon a romping game. Gayly he led the way Back to the keeping-room. The elder folk, Bnsy with reminiscence or with joke, Would never heed their play. So 0 puss-in-corners grew To hunt-the-ring, and that to bliudmans-buff So onfor children never have enough Through all the games they knew. But with the noise begun The old folks music; and the Auld Lang Syne Floated above the clamor line by line. When its last strains were done, Came many a good old tune, Borne on united tones with force and power; And hymns that seemed to consecrate the hour Closed the short afternoon. Meanwhile, by threes and fours, Deserters joined the children at their games, And presently the candles branching flames Shut twilight out-of-doors. Just then a faint, thin sound, As of a violin-string idly flicked, And the sharp tuning of a fiddle, pricked The ears of those around. They quickly cleared a space, And motley sets were formed of young and old, With the demurs and jestings manifold That suited time and place. Then, led by violins, Came a quadrille, made antic by the twirls Of former days, with wondrous skips and whirls To vary outs and ins. Then down the long low room Were stretched the lines of the Virginia Reel. The ancient couple, fired with sudden zeal, Consented to assume The head; so veterans In caps and wigs fell quickly into line, And the queer rows began to intertwine, While with swift trills and runs The merry music, free To match odd motion, leaped along the tune; And flying coat tails and the wide balloon Of skirts spun dizzily. O happy, ancient times! O merry gatherings scattered through the past! Would that your joyous mirth and cheer might last And live outside my rhymes! TILE ANCIENT COUPLE, FIRED WITH sUDDEN zzu., CONSENTED TO A55UME THE HEAD. 72 HAI~PERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. B AND SAID GOOD-BYES AND BLESSINGS 0 ER AND 0 ER, AS ONE BY ONE PASSED OUT. But now come noise and stir, Laughings and lingerings and the slow good-byes, Wheels, and impatient YOiCS5 to apprise Those ready to defer. And then by twos and threes They range in wagons where the round of light Glows out npon the still and frosty night, And gleams on shrubs and trees. Their children close about, The old folks stood within the open door, And said good-byes and blessings oer and oer, As one by one passed out, Till the last cheery loads Rolled off beyond the circle of the light; And noisy wheels were echoed through the night On quiet country roads. TILL THE LAST CHEERY LOADS ROLLED OFF BEYOND TIlE CIRCLE OF THE LIGHT. SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 73 SWANS ON OHESIL EEAOH.[5EE PAGE 86.] DORSET.IL FROM the port of Bridport the coast sweeps in two fine curves, at the end. of the second of which lies Lyme Regis, glistening in the distance li1~e a group of white shells cast up by the waves. A very quaint old town indeed is this Lyme Regis so called, they say, from the Saxon lAm, meaning a torrent of water. The river Lyme rises three miles north of the place. In the year 774 Cynewulf, King of the West Sax- ons, gave to the church of Sherborne the land of one mansion on the bank of this river, that salt might he there made to supply the necessities of the said church. Before that time Sherborne had a learned bishop Ealdhelm who wrote epigrams and theology in Latin, though whether the sal he and the Saxon king gave it has still reserved its savor I know not. Alfred, who founded the English navy in his prepara tion to fight the Danes, tried to or- ganize some kind of fleet at Char- month, near Lyme Regis, hut could not harbor there well, and so passed to the latter. Under the Edwards, who granted it many fa- vors, the town be- came very prosper- ous. One of the most curious things about its history is that one of its most importanli institu- tions five centuries ago was a hospital for lepers, a disease nowunknowninEn- gland. There were laws cutting the lepers off from the society of man- kind, and forbid- ding them to ask alms. The lepro- sy was probably brought in some ship from Egypt, as the plague was brought to the same place (1346) from Cathay. From this region it was propa- gated throughout the kingdom. The plague was so terri- ble that things lost tbeir valueoxen, cows, lambs, and horses selling for from two to six pennies. Hardly a tenth of the people survived. Then Lyme had soon after a catastrophe, wherein, dur- ing a storm, the sea swept away all of its ships and seventy houses, and even wrench- ed away forever the ground they stood on. Next (Henry III.) the French burned the place. The Spanish Armada was not so suc- cessful. The people thronged the cliffs, and witnessed that historic struggle, when the whole bay was covered with ships, until they saw the enemy fly. It was from Lyme that Sir George Summers, a native of the place, started out in 1607 to take a colony to Virginia. The. colonists reported a terri- ble voyage; but the chief peril they related was their having to go ashore on the Ber- mudas, those islands which are said to have been called the Summer Islands in honor of Sir Georgebeing regarded as in- SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND.

SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 73 SWANS ON OHESIL EEAOH.[5EE PAGE 86.] DORSET.IL FROM the port of Bridport the coast sweeps in two fine curves, at the end. of the second of which lies Lyme Regis, glistening in the distance li1~e a group of white shells cast up by the waves. A very quaint old town indeed is this Lyme Regis so called, they say, from the Saxon lAm, meaning a torrent of water. The river Lyme rises three miles north of the place. In the year 774 Cynewulf, King of the West Sax- ons, gave to the church of Sherborne the land of one mansion on the bank of this river, that salt might he there made to supply the necessities of the said church. Before that time Sherborne had a learned bishop Ealdhelm who wrote epigrams and theology in Latin, though whether the sal he and the Saxon king gave it has still reserved its savor I know not. Alfred, who founded the English navy in his prepara tion to fight the Danes, tried to or- ganize some kind of fleet at Char- month, near Lyme Regis, hut could not harbor there well, and so passed to the latter. Under the Edwards, who granted it many fa- vors, the town be- came very prosper- ous. One of the most curious things about its history is that one of its most importanli institu- tions five centuries ago was a hospital for lepers, a disease nowunknowninEn- gland. There were laws cutting the lepers off from the society of man- kind, and forbid- ding them to ask alms. The lepro- sy was probably brought in some ship from Egypt, as the plague was brought to the same place (1346) from Cathay. From this region it was propa- gated throughout the kingdom. The plague was so terri- ble that things lost tbeir valueoxen, cows, lambs, and horses selling for from two to six pennies. Hardly a tenth of the people survived. Then Lyme had soon after a catastrophe, wherein, dur- ing a storm, the sea swept away all of its ships and seventy houses, and even wrench- ed away forever the ground they stood on. Next (Henry III.) the French burned the place. The Spanish Armada was not so suc- cessful. The people thronged the cliffs, and witnessed that historic struggle, when the whole bay was covered with ships, until they saw the enemy fly. It was from Lyme that Sir George Summers, a native of the place, started out in 1607 to take a colony to Virginia. The. colonists reported a terri- ble voyage; but the chief peril they related was their having to go ashore on the Ber- mudas, those islands which are said to have been called the Summer Islands in honor of Sir Georgebeing regarded as in- SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. habited by demons. They bitterly corn- relates it, and adds, Such admirable cour- plained, too, that they had to sail in a ship age it pleased the Lord to infuse into the with only one iron bolt. The people of hearts of all the inhabitants during all the Lyme have no donbt as to who first settled time of this long and sharp siege. This America, and they say that Lyme, in New enthusiasm was celebrated in a long poem. Hampshire, and Portland, Maine, were so entitled, Joanereidos, or F mine Valor, em- called from their having originated from inently discovered in Western Women at the trade with their own town here, which siege of Lyme, as well by defying the merci- holds the Portland headland in sight. In less enemy at the face abroad as by fighting the civil wars of the seventeenth century against them in garrison towns; sometimes the wealth of Lyme, as well as its situation, carrying stones, anon tumbling of stones over made it an important position; and as the the works on the enemy when they have been people were in the main friendly to Parlia- scaling them; some carrying powder, others ment, Sir Thomas Trenchard and Sir Walter charging of pieces to ease the souldiers eon- Erie took possession of it in that interest stantly resolved for generality not to think (1642). It was the key of the west and the any ones life dear to maintain that Christian key of the south coast, and Parliament for- quarrel for the Long Parliament. Whereby, tified it. as they deserve commendation in themselves, In 1643, during the civil wars, the kings so they are proposed as example unto others. troops met with a sharp resistance at Brid- By James Strong, batchelor, etc. It was pub- port, but took it, the troops being command- lished in 1674. The sympathizers with royal- ed by Prince Maurice. The prince, howev- ty revenged themselves on the poet by pla- er, lost his reputation by his failure to take cing on record this brief but very questiona- Lyme Regis immediately after. Lyme Re- ble biography of him: He was son of a tai- gis was strongly fortified by the Parliament br at Chardstock, in this county, educated soldiers, and from April 20, 1644, to June 16 by Dr. Pitts, rector there, afterward warden it endured a terrible shower of red - hot of Wadham College, Oxford, who sent him bullets and iron bars crooked at the end. to Oxford, where he continued a poor schol- But the king had no Moltke, and the people ar a year or two, and left it to turn extem- found one fine morning that the enemy had pore preacher, and at last turned the doctor retired during the night. It was one of the out of his rectory, sequestered his living, severest sieges and the most splendidly re- and carried his goods and books to his own sisted on record. There were many anec- living at Bettescombe, which he obtained dotes told of the heroism of the women on simoniacally with his wife, who was niece this occasion. A woman is said to have dis- to Mr. Brown, of Frampton, whom Oliver charged at one attack sixteen muskets. A Cromwell used to call the Old Roman, for maid who had one of her hands cut off in giving his vote for bringing King Charles the fight being asked what course she would to trial. He took the font out of the church now take to live, Truly, said she, I am and made it his pigtrough, and preached a glad with all my heart that I had a hand to funeral sermon for Row, the Sequestrator) lose for Jesus Christ, for whose cause I am who hanged himself and was son of a Coin- willing and ready to lose not only my other mittee man in this county. His wife, tired hand, but my life also. A sweet and most of his peevish temper and ill usage, left him saint-like speech indeed ! says Vicars, who and went home to her father; and after her HOUSE 11J wuien cHARLES STUART WAS cORcEAazn.[szx PAGE 77.) SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 75 death he took to his second wife a rich wid- ow at Ilminster, where he took the se- questration of the vicarage belonging to Mr. Tariton, bought an estate, and built a house, which, upon his removing to it the l)orch of the vicarage house, fell down. The registers of many parishes in this part of the country have entries made to show the cruelties of Cromwells men, which they, no doubt, exaggerate. Nevertheless, there seem to have been some excesses on their part, and many more opportunities for excesses offered to the brutal as they scour- ed the country. One of the registers tells this story: Ralph Ironside, B.D., rector of Long Bridy and Little Bridy, in the county of [Dorset], worth 250 per annum, de- prived of his living, and forced to get his livelihood, in the Isle of Portland, by pick- ing of stones, being hired to do it for 2d. a day. While the poor old gentleman was thus afflicted he received sustenance from. a poor woman, one Mary Bartlett, who brought it to him privately in Gorwell Coppice, ~where he lay hid. One day the Parliament soldiers plundered his home. They took from him every thing he had in his house; and having a lap-dog which he fancied very much at that time fawning upon him, a strumpet, belonging to one of the plunder- ers, came to the room where the old gentle- man was sitting, and demanded it. The poor old man begged her not to take that last part of his goods by violence from him; she gave him a severe box under the ear, and said, I am able to keep a dog better than thou canst, thon old rogue. The poor old gentleman was carried prisoner to Dor- chester goal, several persons being ready to swear that he had not confirmed according to Gods ordinance, whereby they meant their ordinance of Parliament for repealing the Common Prayer, which he constantly used, and suffered an unnameable deal of hardship upon that uccount. He continued deprived of his livings, and exiled in the Isle of Portland, until the Restoration. Of him it was said that he was preferred to the arch- deaconry of Dorset, neither for favor nor friendship, but purely for his merit. The descendants of this old loyalist received great favors after the Restoration, and be- came important and very wealthy ecclesias- tics, one of them Bishop of Bristol in 1667. Charmouth (the mouth of the Char) is a charming little watering-place, memorable to readers of the ancient chronicles as the place where two great battles between the Saxons and the Danes were fought. The Danes having landed here, were pillaging the country, and King Egbert attacked them; but he was defeated, and barely es- caped himself under cover of night. This was in A.D. 832. In 840 Ethelwoiph march- ed against the same, and was in turn defeat- ed; so the Danes remained to transmit mnny of their characteristics to the people who live here at the present day. But Little Char- mouth is chiefly memorable for being the scene of the chief romance in the life of Charles II. After the battle of Worcester the king escaped hither to try and get to France on a vessel which awaited him in the harbor. The kings friend, Colonel Wyadham, sent do~vn his servant, Harry Peters, with instructions to secure the two best rooms of the inn, with this tale: That there was a young man to come thither the next Monday that had stolen a gentlewom- an to marry her, and (fearing lest they should be followed and hindered) that he de- sired to have the house and stables at liber- ty, to depart at whatsoever hour of the night he should think fittest. The king came in disguise, but his disguise was discovered, chiefly through the sagacity of an observant blacksmith. The Clarendon state papers quote Ehlesdons account: My Lord Wil- mots horse wanting a shoe in Peterss ab- sence, the hostler led him to one Hammet, a MONKS eRANARY.[SEE PAGE 83.] 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. smith, then living in Charmouth, who, view- ing the remaining shoes, said, This horse hath but three shoes on, and they were set iu three several counties, and one of them in Worcestershire, which speech of his fully confirmed the hostler in his former opinion. By this time Harry Peters being returned from Lyme, and my Lord Wilmots horse shod, upon the advertisement that was sent him, his majesty immediately departed to- ward Bridport, a town eastward of Char- mouth and about five miles distant from it. The hostler, now that the birds had taken their flight, began to spread his net; for, go- ing a second time to the parson, he fnlly dis- covered his thoughts to him, and withal told him what the smith had said concerning my Lord Wilmots horse. The parson there- upon hastens to the inn, and salutes the host- ess in this manner : Why, how now, Mar- gret? You are a maid of honour now.~ What mean you by that, Mr. Parson? quoth she. Said he, Why, Charles Stuart lay last night at your house, and kissed you at his departure; so that you cant but be a maid of honour. The woman began then to be very angry, and told him he was a scurvy- conditioned man to go about to bring her and her house into trouble. But, said she, if I thought it was the king, as you say it was, I would think the better of my lips all the days of my life; and so, Mr. Parson, get you out of my house, or else Ill get those shall kick you out. I shall (before we come in our thoughts to attend his majesty in his journey eastward) humbly beg of your lordship this favor, that your lordship would here be pleased seriously to admire with my- self the goodness of Almighty God in infat- uating this hostler and the rest of his maj- estys enemies in these parts. First of all, the parson (being not a lit- tle nettled at the rude and sharp language the hostess gave him), taking Hammet the smith along with him, he speedily applied himself to the next justice of the peace, to inform him of the fore-mentioned jealousies, together with the reasons of them, and ear- nestly pressed him to raise the connty by his warrants, in order to his majestys ap- prehension. But he (as God was pleased to order it), thinking it very unlikely that the king should be in these parts, notwithstand- ing all the parsons bawling and the strong probabilities upon which their conjectures seemed to be grounded, utterly rejected his counsel, fearing lest he should make himself ridiculous to all the country by such an un- dertaking. The parson mentioned in the story as hav- ing been consulted by the hostler was Bar- tholomew Wesley, the great-grandfather of John Wesley, founder of the Methodists. In the register of the rectory of Catherston, a village close to Charmouth, it appears that under the pati~nage of George Wadhem (de- scendant of Justice Wadhem, of Henry IV.), and in the year 1650, the nameBarth. West- ly is entered as rector. The return to the rector was thirteen pounds ten shillings, a small, but at that time not wretched, sum. One or two other items I found in Dorsetshire chronicles about these ancestors of the Wes- leys which were new to me. Bartholomew was intensely odious to the royal party. In a book which was written about the nifairof the king, entitled Miraculum Basilicon, or the Royal Chronicle, truly exhibiting the wonder- ful preservation of his sacred majesty, etc. By A. J. [Abraham Jenings], Eirenophilale- thes, 1664, it is said, From hence, the hope of reward being conceived, the hostler goeth to one Westly, the puny parson of the place, and a most devoted friend to the parricides, to ask his advice what is to be done in the case. But he, being at his morning exercise, ought not to be disturbed, neither doth the hostler await the end of his long-breathed ncr ABBEY REMAIN5.[5EE PAeE b~.J SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 77 devotions (or his bloody prayers), for fear he should lose his seute at the gen- tlemans departing, and therefore, return- ing without his er- rands end, suffers the gentlemen to ride away unnoticed. Ia a marginal note it is added: This West- icy is since a Noncon- formist, and lives by the practice of phys- ick in the same place. He told a gentleman that he was confident that if ever the king did come in again he would love long prayers, for had he not been then longer than ordinary at his devotion he had sure- ly suapt him. Dr. Calamy writes con- cerning Bartholomew Wesley: After his ejeetment, in 1662, though he preached as he had opportuni- ty, yet he had much more employment as a physician than as a minister. He did, in- deed, use a peculiar plainness of speech, which hindered his being an acceptable popular preacher. He lived several years after he was legally si- lenced, but the death of his son (John Wes ley, ejected from Whitchurch, near Bland- ford, Dorsetshire) made a very sensible al- teration in the father, so that he afterward declined apace, and did not long survive him. In the parish register of the church at Lyme Regis there are among the bap- tisms the following: Martha, daughter of John Westley, born the 5th of Feb., and bapt. the beginning of March, 1655 ; Ben- jamin, son of John Wesly, 1 Oct., 1671. Among the burials recorded are these: Mr. Bartholomew Wesley, buryed 150 die Febra- arii, 1670; Margaret Wesly, widow, Dec. 20, 1685. It is very amusing to read, in the accounts given of these adventures of the second Charles by his courtiers, how they see the interposition of Providence at every turn. He had not rode past half a mile ere by the finger of Divine Providence he was directed into a narrow lane on the left hand of Dor- chester road, etc. Some troopers come for quarters to an inn where the king lodges, which might have proved fatal, quoth Elles- don,had not God in his infinite mercy in- capacitated them from such like actings here; for having a woman in their company who had not long after their coming thither fell in travail, and was delivered of a child, the officers and other inhabitants con- tested so long with them about freeing their parish from the burthen of its maintenance, etc. The house in which the king was concealed is a double one, as will be seen in the pic- ture, the portion of it nearest the observer being that which is associated with the mon- arch. Over the door appear the words, Bag, Gardiner. The gate leads into an Inde- pendent chapel just behind the house. The inside of the house is kept as it was original- ly, with the exception of the farther part. Of course there are many legends connected with itcurious noises by night, and so forthbut Mr. Bag does not seem to be dis- turbed by them. There is not much of interest to be ob- served at Charmouth, which is an easy twc CAEVING OvER THE nooa OF ST. RIGIIOLAs.[SEE PAGE 84.] 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. miles stroll from Lyme, except that which in reply to the dukes Brave young man, appeals to the lover of old grave-stones, you will join me, replied, No, Sir, I have One of these at Charmouth is that of a cer- sworn to be true to my king, and no consid- tam Lieutenant Warden, of his majestys eration shall move me from my fidelity. navy. He entered the navy in 1760, was in Nevertheless the majority joined the new ijineteen engagements under Hawke against standard. A proclamation which had been the French, and fought gallantly against printed in Holland was read in tlie market- America in our war of independence. After place to a rather riotous assembly, declaring surviving all these perils he returned home that he had come to liberate the people from anti quarreled with a neighbor about game, the despotism of the Duke of York, whom he the result of which was a duel in which he accused as the author of the conflagration was slain. The poetic epitaph of Warden which had laid the greater part of London begins, in ashes, of the popish plot to murder the, Dear victim of imperious Honours laws, king, of the murder of Essex in the tower, Those impious laws inexorably stern, etc. and the poisoning of the king, his brother. Those who favored Monmouth had as a The sea has made great encroachments badge a broad crimson ribbon. Monmouth between Charmouth and Lyme, the old road is, no doubt libelously, said by tradition to between the two having been swept into the have composed the following lines: water within less than a hundred years. Old Lyme, although a little place, inhabitants lived at the close of last century I think it wondrous pretty; who remembered when much that is now If tis my fate to wear the crown, water was green pasture, and it is probable Ill make of it a city. that some of those now living will have sim- We would less deplore that the head which ilar memories. The river Char, which was could have composed such a stanza fell from once considerable enough to give the town its shoulders soon after. The first action its name, is now a miserable and muddy they had was at Bridport, where 300 men little stream, hardly observable, went only to return speedily, bringing, how- Perhaps the most notable episode in the ever, some prisoners. Going over to Taun- history of this region was in its connection ton, they were met by twenty-six young with the rebellion of Monmouth. This no- girls, who presented a flag, a naked sword, bleman and his friends, fleeing from the tyr- and a Bible to Monmouth. It was here that anny of James VII., had assembled at the the duke allowed his ambition to betray Hague Argyle, Melville, Polworth, Lord him. He was told that the reason why the Stair, Torwoodle, Fletcher of Saltoun, and gentry would not move was that he came on others. There they arranged the unforta- the commonwealth principle, but that if nate Monmouth expedition. With three he would proclaim himself king, they would ships th ~y sailed for Lyme Regis, where flock to his standard. The proclamation they arrived June 11, 1685. A large crowd was made, and of course was utterly inef- assembled, most of whom were friendly to fectual. From Taunton to Bridr,ewater, the duke; nevertheless Monmouth soon from Bridgewater to Glastonbury, and on found that all were not so, for a young to Bristol and Bathabout 5000 strong in lieutenant, who jumped into the sea that he allthe duke marched, and thence to Frome, might offer his knee to Monmouth to step on where the rebellion had a little victory. But that he might land withoftt wetting his feet, then they heard that large forces of the king aT. CATHERINES CHAP L.LSEE 1AHS ~.j SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 79 were after them. They were overtaken at Sedgemoor, and sent flying in all directions. Poor King Moumonth was found, on the re- port of an old woman, near Ringwood, hid- ing in a fern-covered ditch. The poor man had in his hunger filled his pockets with pease from a neighboring field. He was try- ing to get to the coast again, and back to Holland; but he must needs go to White- hall. He was executed by Jack Ketch at Tower Hill July 15 of the same year, and his body laid in a velvet coffin. Hume says that the Monmouth party reported that somebody else was executed in their dukes stead; and this observation gave rise to the theory, nearly a hundred years later, that Monmouth was the man with the Iron Mask. Saint Foix, in a pamphlet printed at Am- sterdam, 1762, asserted that one of the dukes officers was his substitute at the block, and that a great lady, having induced the open- ing of the coffin, exclaimed, Tis not he. The tradition of Provence that the Man with the Iron Mask confined at St. Marguerite was a Turk named Macmouth suggests that this name might have become associated with (the theorists said corrupted from) Mon- mouth. Under the despotic rigime that followed the death of Monmouth the people did not fail to idealize him; and it is the tradition of the neighborhood that the old woman who told of his hiding-place was hooted, and that she and her family came to evil luck. It was upon those of his followers who were caught, and all who had in any way assisted him, or even been seen in his company, that the notorious Judge Jeifries wreaked his bloody-mindedness. Jeifries held his fearful assize at Dorchester that year, and the bod- ies of the men and women whom he caused to be executed were exposed along every highway of Dorsetshire. It is said that, being informed by an officer that he had hunted down a thousand of the fugitives, Jeffries said, with glee, Why, I believe I have banged as many myself. One poor fellow suffered for having sold for Mon- months horse three pennies worth of hay. Jeffries tried another batch of prisoners at Lynie, where he found a very active co-op- erator in one Jones. When Jones lay dead, it is said, a tremendous noise was heard, the air was illuminated, the gable of the house fell in, and the devil came bodily and bore him away. An old sailor returned from a voyage and told the Lyme folk that off the coast of Sicily he saw something in a thick fog, which he hailed. On nearer approach he discovered thousands of devils, whose leader answered his inquiry as to whither he was bound, by saying, like a naval com- mander, Out of Lyme, bound for Mount Etna, with Jones. Jones thus became pro- verbially associated with the volcano, and no one would live in his house, which, of course, was haunted. Jones is said to have set up the heads of two of the executed ad- herents in his garden, so that he might see them in his morning walks, and thatthey were only removed after the revolution of 1768. But though Jeffries was a very bad man, it does not follow that Monmouth was a good one. He seems to have had a certain poetic enthusiasm for liberty, but he was super- stitious, vacillating, and conceited. At the very moment when he was associated with the Rye-house Plot, he was engaged in an intrigue with Lady Henrietta Wentworth (he was married), whose mother had fled with her to Toddington. She shared his exile, and on the eve of the flight to Holland he wrote some lines, which were discovered only about twenty years ago: With joy we leave thee, False world, and do forgive All thy false treachery, For now ~vell happy live. Well to oar bowers, And there spend our hours; Happy there well he, We no strifes can see; UCOMLECH.LS~E PACE a~.J 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No quarreling for crowns, in battle, together with songs and prayers. Nor fear the great ones frowns 1 Lord Dartmouth wrote, My uncle, Colonel Nor si very of state, William Legge, who went in a conch with Nor changes in our fate. From plots this place is free, him [Monmouth] to London as a guard, with There ~vell ever be; orders to stab him if there were any disor- Well sit and bless onr stars ders on the road, showed me several charms That from the noise of wars that were tied about him when he was tak Did this glorions place give That thus we happy live. en, and his table-book, which was full of as- trological characters that nobody could un When he was on the scaffold he paid the derstand; but he told my uncle that they executioner six guineas to cut his head off had been given to hina some years before in neatly, which wns not merited, audhis last Scotland, and he now found they were but act was to send a tooth-pick case to Lady foolish conceits. It is a curious fact that Wentworth. Give it tothat person, he after a lapse of near a century and a half said to his servant. The baroness did not this old volume should have been discover- survive him long; a few months later she ed. In 1827 an Irish divinity student pur- was buried at Toddington. Her fanaily, chased a queer-looking volume at a book- says Macaulay, reared a sumptuous man- stall in Paris, and afterward gave it to a soleum over her remains; but a less costly I)riest in Kerry. Neither of them imagined memorial of her was long contemplated with that the volume had any special value. But far deeper interesther name, carved by the Dr. Anster, of the Royal Irish Academy of hand of him she loved too well, was a few Dublin, got hold of it, and prosecuted his years ago still discernible on a tree in the inquiries until, in 1849, he was able to dem- adjoining park. It was long known that onstrate to the entire satisfaction of anti- when Moumouth was taken he threw away quarians that it was the veritable book of a gold snuff-box, which was afterward found Monanouth. At King Jamess deposition all full of gold-pieces, and also that he had a his books and manuscripts were carried to curious manuscript book about him, which France. The Abb6 Waters, to whom the was given to the king, but disappeared. In kings papers had been antrusted in I rauce. the ilarlejase Miscellany, volume six, it is stat- had written his name inside as Baron Wa- ed, in Sir John Reresbys Memoirs, that tiers, and there was in it the following sen- out of his [Monmouths] pocket were taken tence: This book was found in the Duke hooks in his own handwriting, containing of Monmouths pocket when he was taken, charms or spells to open the doors of a pris- and is most of his owne handwriting. This on, to obviate the danger of being wounded sentence Sir F. Madden verified as the auto- ESVLANADE IN W YMOUTO.Lb C PACE 81.1 SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. Si ~raph of King James. Upon which the gov- Nevertheless his guards conspired to let eminent at once purchased the book, and it him escape, and he made a very interest- is now in the British Museum. The part of ing pilgrimage through the country in dis- the cover where the royal arms would have guise. On one occasion, when he was walk- been is carefully torn off, this having been ing through a lonely place, he met a woman done probably in the time of the French who advised him to turn into another road, Revolution, when every royal emblem was a as he would avoid danger; he did so, and danger. It is a volume of 157 pages, and con- on arriving at the next town found it ex- tains accounts of two visits to the Prince of cited over a robbery and murder which had Orange, and other interesting memoranda, just occurred on the road against which he Public characters are alluded to as figures, had been cautioned. But I can not accom- 20 and 39 respectively representing King pany further the story of this valiant old Charles and the Duke of York. There are Scotone of the most learned, pure, do- numbers of cabalistic signs in it; receipts quent, and faithful men that ever struggled for the stone, to know the sum of num- for winithe considered justico and patriotism. hers before they be writ down, pour net- Lyme is not without its good anecdotes toyer lovrages de cuyvre argent6, for to and romances. There was a treasure found make Bouts and Choos [boots and shoes] there which became historic. An old house, hold out water, pour savoire si une per- which had for generations been in Chancery, son sera fidelle on non, to make the faco at last settled the dispute, so far as it could, fair, to make the hair grow black, though by falling to a heap of dust, like Dr. Holmess of any color. Besides charms to get out of one-horse shay. A workman who had been prison and to find out any secret, there is a employed to fill up a saw-pit that had been drawing of a planetary wheel (dated 1680) sunk near the cellar of the old house was to foreshow life or death in illness; also observed one morning picking something prosperity or adversity. There is in it this up. The observer was a servant-maid, who, touching paragraph: Mercy, mer~y, good being impressed by the workmans move- Lord! I aske not of Thee any longer the ments, reported them to a woman next door. things of this world; neither power, nor This woman, a Mrs. Langford, repaired to honours, nor riches, nor pleasures. No, my the spot, which the workman had now left, God, dispose of them to whom Thou pleas- and seeing a pick, the idea struck her that est, so that Thou givest me mercy. she would continue the digging herself. The spot where Monmouth was found is Result-a rotten box full of coins and pa- inclosed now, and called Monmouths Close. pers written on. Mrs. Langford filled her It is in the parish of Woodlands, and is own- apron, and turning saw a man looking at ed by Lord Shaftesbury. The old ash-tree her, whom she informed that she wa~ pick- under which he was apprehended is still ing up a few chips. Hastening to her has- standing, and is marked all over with the band (who was ill in bed from having re- initials that have been cut in it. The tradi- cently lost his vessel), she laid her treasures tions abont the duke are remarkably strong before him, and next proceeded to proclaim in the vicinity, considering the length of her good luck to the neighbors. Then com- time that has elapsed. One of thdse, seem- menced a rush. Old and young, sick and ingly authentic, is that he was very power- lame, all forgot their infirmities, and sting- ful, and that when brought out as a prisoner gled around the old cellar, where more coins to take horse he refused help to mount, and were found. The people dug on until they pinioned as his arms were, placed his foot threatenedtoundermineagentlemanshouse, in the stirrup, and sprang lightly into the so that he had to appeal to the authorities. saddle. The authorities brought some soldiers to the From among the followers of Monmouth spot, when a general fight began. Kelaway, there is no one whom the mind singles out the workman who had made the first discov- with so much interest as Fletcher of Sal- ery, returning to get more, found the fght toun. In the course of a scuffle at Lyme going on, and receiving a blow on the head, about a horse, Fletcher, in a moment of ir- was taken home senseless. In the rush for ritation, ran a man throughtradition says the gold not one of the MSS. was preserved! it was the mayorand to the distress occa- Mrs. Langford disposed of her coins for 200, sioned by this was added his utter disgust which enabled her husband to bring an ac- with his chief, Monmouth, when the latter tion for his lost vessel. Kelaways money agreed to be proclaimed king at Taunton. was all stolen from him, and he became half- His devotion to his principles did him good witted, and went digging about the country service, for these led him to abandon the in spots indicated in his dreams. One wom- duke just in time to escape the common an found enough to redeem a mortgage on ruin. He went from Taunton to the coast, her house. Many concealed what they had where he found a vessel bound for Spain. got for fear the lord of the *nanor would No sooner had he arrived in Spain, how- claim shares. There is a rumor that one of over, than he was thrown into prison by I the adherents of Monmouth after the battle preceding order of the British government. of Sedgemoor had resided in the old house. Vor. XLvIII.No. 253.6 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The boxes were made of handsome wood lined with velvet, and were found in the corner of a stone staircase. The coins were of very various dates, from the Edwards to the Charleses. Lyme is pre-eminently the place for treas- ure-trove. Innumerable stories are told of coins and gems discovered on the removal of old houses, and still more of such things washed up by the sea; and, what is more to the point, several thousands of such things are shown in the neighborhood. There is a small break in the cliff through which, if the sea runs very high, the water streams, flooding a considerable extent of cduntry; and when the flood subsides large numbers of people may be seen groping about in the fields so inundated looking for treasures, which are sometimes really found. Those hitherto discovered are large gold and silver rings, grotesquely carved, and coins, chief- ly Spanish, Portuguese, and French. One piece, of the size of a half-penny, has on it the figure of a man counting out money on an old table. The popular explanation is that a Spanish ship, heavily freighted with money and treasure, sank a century or two ago near Lyme, and that the sea washes up its contents. Superstition is also at work, and declares that a lady, dressed in silk, ap- pears from time to time, and at the spot where she vanishes coins or gems are sure to be found. It was she whom poor Kela- way in his delusion was continually seeing. Another Lyme superstitionwhich may be mentioned here, though unrelated to the money findingsis that a certain Lady Sam- ford (a lady well known in the neighbor- hood) is doomed to wander at a certain place a cock stride a year, for some fraud com- mitted by her during life. Children are still terrified by their grannies with this ghosts mysterious refrain I rue the time I sold water for wine, And combed my hair of a Sunday. spent it all in founding the London Found- ling Hospital, the prejudices arising from the belief that it would encourage illegiti- macy being so strong that few would aid him. He became so poor through his chari- ties that he was supported at last by a pen- sion of 100. Au elegant memorial in the Foundling Hospital at London tells the his- tory of this good old man. Much is said also in the Lyme annals of a sort of quack, named John Case, who flourished in the reign of James II. He became possessed of the magical utensils of Lilly,* the astrologer, and was wont to expose with derision to his intimate friends the dark chamber and pic- tures with which Lilly imposed on the cred- ulous, even while he was making a similar use of them. His quackery was in the di- rection of cures, and he sold preternatural pills, each box being labeled, Heres fourteen pills for thirteenpence; Enough in any mans own conscience. Some writer said John Case made more mon- ey by the following distich over his door than Dryden did by all his poems: Within this place Lives Doctor Case. Once, being at supper with two eminent physicians, one of them drank his health, with the words, and to all the fools your patients. Thank you, brother, said Case; let me have all the fools, and you are wel- come to the rest of the practice. He wrote a book entitled, The Angelical Guide; show- ing Men and Women their Lot and Chance in this Elementary Life. He was poor at first, but ac~iimulated a large fortune, and set up a fine poach, on which were painted his arms, and beneath them the words, The Case is altered. This part of Dorset seems to have been famous for its physicians. Arbuthnot lived at Dorchester, and Sydenham near Bridport. There is in Yote8 and Querie8, April 7, 1855, a notice of another Dorset physician, famous two centuries agoWalter Gray: Doctor Gray was a little desperate doctor, common- ly wearing a pistol about his neck; and as most of the gentlemen of the shire that were young and sociable were adopted as his sons, we can not hesitate to describe conviviality as being a characteristic of this medical prac- titioner, or, as appears on his tomb at Swyre, Among the notables of Lyme was Arthur Gregory, whose ability to open a letter and close it again without any one being able to discover that it had ever been touched was so useful to Sir Francis Walsiugham that he took him to London to dwell in his own house. It was he who opened all those let- ters received from abroad by Mary Queen of Scots, which were submitted to Queen Elizabeth. It was to him that allusion was * Lilly was the famous astrologer who in 1651 pre- made, as is supposed, in the anonymous Life dicted that somewhere about the year 1665 a catas- of Sir Philip Sidney, prefixed to the Arcadia, trophe would occur. It will be omenous to Lou- in which it is said of Sir Francis Walsing- don, unto her merchants at sea, to her traffique at land, to her poor, to her rich, to all sorts of people in- ham, that he had a key to unlock the Popes habiting in her or her liberties, by reason of srndry cabinet; as if master of some invisible whis- fires and a Plague. The Plague occurred in 1665, and pering-place,~ll the secrets of princes met the Great Fire the next year. Lilly was examined by at his closet.~ Another worthy of Lyme was a committee of the House of Commons on suspicion that, so far as the fire was concerned, he had had some Thomas Coram, who, having made a fortune hand in bringing about the fulfillment of his own out of the tar trade with Virginia (1688), prophecy. SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 83 Professor of Medicine. When a sheriffs officer, disguised as a pedlar, once served him with a process, he seized him, drew a great run dagger, and brake his head in two or three places. Dr. Gray was famed for a point of practice much thought of in those days the predicting how long the patient would last, or, as is elsewhere expressed, having a judgment good to discern how near men were to their ends. He used to pronounce beforehand at what time the patient would begin to talk lightly, and when lie still, and when depart. This he did, among others, to a famous contemporary in Dorset, the Gold- en Argentine, so called from his riches and display. When the sheriff was at Dorches- ter with sixty men, this desperate doctor came protected by twenty of his adopted sons, true roysterers, no doubt, and those the lustiest young gentlemen, and of the best sort and rank, and drank before the sheriff who had some writ out against him, bade who dare to touch him, and so after a while blew his horn, and came away. One family name, still known at Lyme, is connected with an interesting episode in the life of Henry Fielding, the novelist. Solo- mon Andrew, ofLyme, had a son anda daugh- ter. At the fathers death, early in the last century, this daughter, Sarah, her brother having died, was a rich heiress, and an at- tachment sprang up between her and Field- ing; but her two guardians disapproving the match,she was sent off to the home of one of those disinterested protectors in Dev- onshire, where she married his son. The facts of the case are reflected in Tom Jone8, and Sarah Andrew was the original of Sophia Western. I must not end my account of Lyme with- out relating a very curious event in its mod- ern annals. On the evening of August 19, 1800, a large number of people had assembled in a field to witness some feats of horseman- ship. During the affair a terrific thunder- storm arose, and the people imprudently ran to some elm-trees for shelter. There came a deafening andblinding thunder-bolt, and aft- er it three women and an infant were seen prostrate on the ground. Of the four only the infant recovered, and she very slowly. It is declared that before that the infant, which had been diseng~ged from its dead mothers arms, had been particularly stupid, though this looks like a superstitious gloss on the narrative, which is peculiar enough without it. However that may be, certain it is that the little girl thus preserved afterward grew to be that Mary Anning who became famous among the scientific men that explored the south coast. Mary Annings father was a casual collector of curiosities from the beach, and his daughter accompanied him on his sea-side walks. She seems to have had al- most no education, and to have had a spon- taneous scientific development. When the ichthyosaurus and plesiosaurus were dis- covered, Buckland, Conybeare, De la Beche, and Sir Everard Home explored the has of Lyme, in which such remains abound, and this girl was their guide and assistant at every step, astonishing them by her ability in discovering the bits of bone that belonged to each other, and pointing out the localities where fossils were likely to be found. She became as famous in her way as any heroine, and, according to Mr. Roberts, it was she who enabled Cuvier to supply some deficien- cies in his description of the ichthyosaurus, and to confirm the relationship of that ani- mal to the lizards. She extricated many of the finest saurian specimens in existence, and was declared by the great geologists I have named to have in her brain and eye a kind of divining-rod to discover where fos- sils were imbedded. From Bridport I made a very pleasant ex- cursion to Abbotsbury, some ten miles off the railway, once the seat and centre of the monks who ruled and tithed this whole dis- trict of country. Bits of the old abbey re- main, indicating that it was large and finely built, and near by a great building, like a long (one hundred yards) low castle, which may have served for grain-house, brewery, and many other things. Over the large gateway of this building is a little stone sen- try-box, where it is surmised that one of the brothers stood to count the loads that en- tered, though the explanation seems to me doubtful. The place is now used as stable and barn. The usual ugly legends are re- lated, and the normal dungeon where refrac- tory monks were starved to death is pre- served. The place, however, is no show- place, and one has to intrude in order to see it. The place is of great antiquity. The register of the monastery says: Here was built in the very infancy of Christianity among the Britons a church to St. Peter by Bertulfus, a priest, to whom that saint had often appeared, and, among other things, had given him a charter, written with his (St. Peters) own hand, wherein he professed to have consecrated the church himself, and to have given it the name of Abodesbyry. When Canute reigned he gave the pYace to Orc, his house earl, who in 1044 built the monastery, and filled it with Benedictine monks. Popes and kings gave great reve- nues to it and many immunities, so that the brothers made money. There are still in the direction of the sea traces of large artificial fish ponds built for them, and it is probable that the decoy and swannery of the neigh- borhood (where Sir E. Landseer when paint- ing his swans sat for many a day) originated in their provisions for loading their tables with sea-fowL A curious old black marble coffin stood on end inside of the old parish church, which was supposed to hold the re- mains of Orc. It was buried at the same 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spot in 1750. This latter church, St. Nich- olas, is an interesting structure of ancient Gothic, with square tower, in which are five bells, on one of which is written, Sancte Nichole, ora pro nobis. Over a door and on the front there is an extremely curious fig- ure, which is generally stated to be a repre- sentation of the Trinity. I could not find any trace of the dove which is said to be at the right ear of the principal figure of the group; but the drawing (see page 77) made for me by a lady of Bridport is exact enough to enable the reader to see the figure as accurately as we did. It is the most pe- culiar image of the kind which I have seen in England, and ancient as the church wall is, there are some signs that it may have been transferred there from an older building. On the highest hill of the neighborhood stands old St. Catherines Church, furnish- ing a landmark to the surrounding country. There are several St. Catherine churches in England, and they are pretty sure to be on high hills, probably on account of the legend that St. Catherine was carried by angels to her grave on Mount Sinai. This particular one is thought by some to have been built in expiation of the blood shed between the houses of York and Lancaster, and to be at the same time a point of observation against enemies infesting the coast, and who were anciently much attracted by the well-known wealth of the monastery. The church is very small, but rather high, and being gray as the ages, might almost be mistaken (but for its tower) as a rocky protuberance on the hill-top. It is not used now, if it ever was, and the interior looks as if it had never been finished. I was sorry that I could not get to the top of the tower, which must com- mand one of the finest views on the coast, but the last owner of the place had destroy- ed the stairway leading up it. He had a cow of high aspirations, which, after being missed and searched for, was finally found on the top of this tower. After long reflec- tion as to how any such attempt in future could be prevented, the owner pulled down the stone stairway. This was unfilial of him toward the cow, and unfriendly toward strangers. There is in the church a wish- ing-place, i. e., a place where if one puts his knees into two wide-apart sockets in the rock and utters a wish, he shall unquestion- ably have that wish fulfilled. The sock- ets are well worn with the knees of wish- ing pilgrims. Whence did this superstition drift? From as far in time and place as a certain three-inch female figure of bronze, with Egyptian head-dress, which was found a hundred years ago on the site of the abbey. A very curious, and ancient manuscript was found in the chapter-house of Westmin- ster relating to the abbot of Abbotsbury, who could not have been immaculate if all that the subordinate monk who writes it says be true. It runs as follows: Of the Monasterye of Abbatsburye and of the said Abbat thereof of the mysse- usynge of himselfe. Whereas he doth breke the kyngs fowudacons and the injuncyons of the same: Whereas we have benefactors who hath gevyn lands unto the Monasterye and to the snide brothers of the same, to have mass and dirige and dole1 to be distributed to poore folkes, and wyth certain pyttance to the Convent: Whereas many of them bee nott observyd and kepit: Whereas the Abbat takyt to hys owne use, and hath made great waste of wudde salys, wrongfully solde from hys brothers and from hys tenants, and also hathe sent owt of the Tresary sertin juellis, mor than halfe, whereas3 we canot juge the tren valow of the same, and hathe solde hyt, and at another tyme after that sent owt of the Tresary a crose and a boxto putt the sacrament on, and al thys ys solde & gon. He hath an abhomynable rule wyth kipyng of wymen, nott wyth i, ii, or iii, but wyth manie more than I doe wryte off; and also no religion he kepyth, nor bye day ne- ther bye nyghte, nether to no brother else; and yff any of hys brithren speket unto hym for any thyng brakyng hys fowndacons, he seith7 thus Mye councill gyveth mee to take ytt as ytt pleseth mee ; and hath putt owte certen growne to hys brother in law, wich marryed wyth hys own syster; and whereas he myght had a great fyne for hyt, he gave hytt awnie for nothynge; and when he myght had xxvi8. viiid. of yerely rente, he hath putt ytt owte for xii8. a yere, and hath sent owte of the Tresary all the evydens of the men of Skilgat, whereas1 we cannot till wher they ~ and owte off hys bolduesse ys upon Master Strangwaise,1 whych hathe grett profytts and grete feys3 and bargayns for hys servynts and to other gentylemen, whereas Master Strangwaise ys bent to hold up the Abbat in hys doynges wyth long salys of reversyons. Written bye mee, DAN WILL. GREY, Muncke of Abbatsburie. There is record of an old mass founded by Thomas Strangeways, 1505, and termed Strangewayss Chantry.. The monk cele- brating it was to receive at the end of every week 14d. It was to occur on the anniver- sary of the said Thomas and Alianorname- ly, April 2, when the abbot was to receive 2s. to furnish eight wax-candles. After the 1 Charity. 2 Wood sales. The use of coal was then unknown. Whereby. Illegible, but might probably be the Pix. 1 The monks are accustomed to pray by night. 6 Nor to his brethren. Saith. My council willeth me to take it while it pleaseth me. Illegible. 5 Whereby. 11 Illegible. 12 Gyles Strangways, commissioner in the time of Henry VIIL 13 Fees. SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 85 mass lOs. worth of wheaten bread was to be which is about a yard in diameter. The distributed to the poor. Two shillings were male hastens to bring the rushes and other to go for the bread and wine used in the material, but she is builder and architect. mass, Ss. to the convent, 4d. to the clerks for Then they sit on their nests, and the males tolling the befls, 4d. to the beadle who pro- swim by in a line, making shrewd observa- claimed the anniversary, and 12d. to the tion upon the nesters, one and another turn- younger monks not in orders. Another, call- ing aside to select his spouse. This is very ed Staffords Mass, was founded by Sir much after the fashion of the wife-bazar in Humphrey Stafford, and provided that 6s. 8d. Roumania. If two swans pause at one nest should be paid annually to some poor man there is a fight, which is very apt to end whom the abbot should elect, such benefici- only with the death or disabling of one of ary being one who attended the masses of them. The worst fault of the male swan both Strangeways and Stafford. seems to be an inability to enjoy life in the In the time of Elizabeth a writ was order- bosom of his family so long as his neighbor ed to seize all the white swans of this estu- is enjoying the same. He will make dia- aryit being the ancient law that all white bolical efforts to destroy the young of the swans in an open river belong to the king neighboring nest. The fights that ensue by prerogativeand 400 were taken under are terrible, the blows being given with the writ. The defendants in this case plead- Their powerful bills, and still more with ed that the estuary, etc., belonged to the ab- their wings, a blow from which is sometimes bots in fee; that there had been time out of strong enough to break a mans arm. The mind a game or flight of wild swans haunt- female is free from this miserable spite to- ing there which were not accustomed to be ward her sisters offspring; and when breed- marked; and that the abbot and his prede- ing-time is over the graceful Herods will cessors did breed up for the use of the kitch- treat the young swan which has survived en and hospitality some of the lesser cyg- their malice as a brother. There are a king nets, and used yearly to mark them by cut- and queen among them. They occupy a ting off the pinion of the wings to prevent small embowered inlet all to themselves, their flying away. This is all that is known and if any of the commoners venture into about the origin of the swannery. Near the their sacred precinct they are fought with same period we read that the premises and great fury. I saw a particularly stuck-up 100 messuages, wreck of the sea, exemption and vicious-looking fellow, upon whom my from the power of the Lord High Admiral republican instinct at once fixed as the king. of England in this manor, the water, soil, I should not be sorry to hear that he had and fishery, called the East Flete, and the found his Sedan. The swans live to a very flight of wild swans, called the game of advanced age. It is the usage to make a swans, yearly breeding, nesting, and coming peculiar mark upon each of their feet when there, were held by John Strangeways, Esq., they are quite young, with a knife; and this of the Queen in chief. The swannery is now mark remains through life. The keeper told in possession of Lord flchester, whose yen- me that two died the previous year which erable keeper attended, and gave me some had on their feet marks of a kind not now curious swan gossip. A high wall inclosing made, nor could he tell (though he had been several acres of ground, covered with small there forty years), nor could Lord flchester willows, furnishes a kind of private resi- trace out, at what period such marks could dence for the swans whenever they wish to have been made. They are occasionally enjoy it, and within this is the decoy, where visited by flocks of wild swans, called vast numbers of teal, widgeon, and ducks whoopersbecause of a whoop they ut- are enticed, by admiration for the beautiful terand which differ further from the creatures, to their destruction. By this time swans of the swannery in having no black one would suppose rumors must have got at all about the bill. The dwellers in the abroad among the wild fowl, and one would swannery look upon these wilder creatures imagine that the creek would be shunned as as barbarians, and disdain their savage a resort of ornithological sirens or lurleys; whoop. But no battles, intermarriages, or but it is not so. The fascination of the wild any social intercourse of any kind ever creatures seems irresistible. Along the mar- take place between the two parties, and gin of the pool, which is sheltered from the the wilder ones, after staring at the others, main sea by Chesil (Pebble) Beach, the swans take their flight with loud expressions of build their nests, and up and down the astonishment. glassy water they swim at aristocratic leis- Why the swans have fixed on this partic- ure. There are nearly a thousand swans. The ular spot for their colony through so many male swan sits on the eggs alternately with generations it is difficult to explain; prob- the female. The male, so the old keeper as- ably it is because of the singular bank of sured mc, was during a season not a polyga- pebbles, called Chesil Beach,~ which shelters mist, or even a bigamist, but keeps him faith- it from the angrier moods of the sea. In re- ful to one. Just before breeding-time the turning I visited Lord Ilchesters garden, female swan begins to build her own nest, which is noted for the many tropical plants 56 HARPERS N1~W MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which grow in it by reason of the shelter that as she was believed to have been forci- from the wind afforded by the surrounding bly taken away, and was heard to shriek out hills and cliffs. The camellia, tea-plant, Clii- in a hackney-coach in Bishopsgate Street, nese arbutus, fig, olive, aloe, bamboo, and the coachman is desired to give an account other foreign growths are found there,reach- of what he knows of the affair, and a reward ing a health and size equal to that they en- of two guineas is offered for intelligence joy in their own climates, making a strange what is become of the girl. On January 29 and enchanting scene. The swan is not a the girl returned to her mother, almost naked, tropical bird, but it loves smooth water and and much bedraggled, and told the following shelter, and I imagine that it nestles behind story. She said that retnrning from a visit Chesil Beach to get protection from the to her uncle, she had reached Moorfields at heavy seas that dash against this coast for the hour mentioned, when she was assaulted the same reason that the plants I have by two men, who robbed her of 138. 6d., and named repay the care which has selected of her gown, apron, and hat; that they for them a home shut away from the more stopped her attempt to scream with a hand- aerial currents. However that may be, it kerchief at her month, tied her hands be- was certainly a magnificent sight that their hind her, and, threatening to kill her, struck flying and floating offered. As we approach- her on the temple, so that she fell into con- ed, a long flock came sailing through the vnlsions, to which she had been previously air, with military regularity, from the direc- subject. That when she recovered from in- tion of Portland, and lazily descended upon sensibility she found herself in a road where the water; then, as if to meet these, and re- there was water, between the two men who ceive any tidings they might bring, a line had robbed her, each of whom held an arm of near two hundred emerged softly from and dragged her along. That they carried behind a green shore, and sailed like a fleet her to the house of Mother Wells (a noto- of yachts past us toward the rest. The crowd rious house), where they arrived about three met, consulted, then formed into a long line, hours before daylight. That there she saw while through the air another troop ?~ame to Squires, a gypsy woman, and two young join them. Each body, whether it sailed in women. That Squires took her by the hand, air or water, had four or five thrown in and promised her fine clothes if she would front, apparently as ~claireura. And when go their way, which she refused. That they had assembled to the number of about Squires then taking up a knife, cut the lace five hundred, and started full speed to swim of her stays, and took them from her. That the length of the lake, a certain number they then thrust her up into a hay-loft, and seemed to act as Ulilans, going up and down shut her in, threatening to kill her if she swiftly on each side of the main body. Now made any noise. In this place she found a and then there were appearances of eccen- black gallon pitcher (which was produced tricity. Some one would break loose from in court), not quite full of water, twenty-four the fleet and go far away to one side, or pieces of dry bread, and no bed. She found backward, and after anchoring a little, swim in the grate a gown and handkerchief with quietly behind in utter loneliness. Another which she covered herself and subsisted on rose up out of the group and circled in the air, the bread and water and a mince-pie which and alighted five hundred yards away, reso- she had bought for her brother, up to the lutely remaining there, as if he had abjured time when she made her escapetwenty- swan society forever. When the swan flies eight days. That having consumed all the so that the head and neck are foreshortened, provisions, she broke down a board which to the eye it is graceful enough; but as it was nailed on the inside of a window, and flies past it is less beautiful. The head is managing to get through the hole, jumped to stretched far out and depressed below the the ground (eight or ten feet), and found her rest of the body, and the neck seems broken way home (twelve miles). Upon this Susan- at the shoulder, and twisted the rest of the na Wells, keeper of the house, and Squires, way. The serpent-like curves of the neck, the gypsy, were arrested. The Canning which add so much to this creatures beauty family being poor, the expenses of the prose- when it is on water, seem to be the contor- cution were defrayed by subscription, and tions of violence when it is on the wing, and the trial lasted five days. The girl Canning if they should ever develop a critic among described the view of Wellss window and them, he wili no doubt advise their sticking the inside of the house, as was at first stated, to the water. accurately. Virtue Hall, one of the two Abbotsbury was once connected with one girls whom she said she had seen at Wellss, of the most remarkable trials, so far as con- confirmed the main particulars of Cannings flicting evidence is concerned, which this story. Wells made no defense, and was sen- country has known. In the London Daily tenced to six months imprisonment. The Advertiser, January 6, 1753, an advertisement interest turned upon the case of the Abbots- appeared to the effect that a girl named bury gypsy. No fewer than sixty respecta- Elizabeth Canning left her friends between ble witnesses came to London from Dorset- nine and ten on the night of January 1, and shire, and swore most positively that they SOUTH-COAST SAUNTERINGS IN ENGLAND. 87 had seen Squires selling things at or near onment, and came near costing another her Abbotsbury on January 1. The alibi was as life. complete as human testimony could make it, On Ridge Hill, near Abbotsbury, there is respectable witnesses having sworn to her a Druidic cromlech called hell-stone, con- presence at Abbotsbury every day from Jan- cerning which the legend is that the devil nary 1 to Jannary 10, inclusive. (Of course flung it there from Portland Island while he at that time it was a journey of several days was playing at quoits. Such legends are to London.) Nevertheless, their testimony common near hell-stones, arising out of was overborne by the evidence of one John- the word hell, which, however, as applied son, who swore that he had seen Squires near to such stones, is the corruption of heilig Wellss house about the time of Cannings ab- holy. A more important remnant of antiq- duction, telling fortunes, and that she told nity was found toward the close of last cen- his. So Squires was sentenced to death, tury at Maiden Newton, a village not far that being the punishment of such offenses from Dorchester. This was a beautiful tes- in those days. But the mystery was much sellated pavement, exhibiting the head of heightened when the gypsy, contradicting Neptune, surrounded by dolphins,~nd four her own numerous witnesses from Abbots- other deities. Near this was the figure of bury, declared that on January 1 she had the cross. The cross, however, was evident- been at Coombe! She said she had arrived ly but a marginal ornament, the main spirit at Wellss on the 9th. The next ~omplication of the pavement being pagan. It probably was that the young woman, Virtue Hall, belongs to the reign of Constantine, in whose whose veracity there was some reason to head paganism and Christianity were so odd- doubt, having been promised that she should ly jumbled, and is one of the most notable not suffer by speaking the truth, recanted monuments of the transitional period ever her evidence, and swore that she never saw discovered. Canning at Wellss house until she was Weymouth is the most fashionable of Dor- brought there afterward by the police. Then set watering-places, and has a remarkably there was an able pamphlet written by a cer- fine sea view. On that rocky and wild shore tam Dr. Hill, showing that Cannings de- from which Athelstan sent forth his broth- scription of the interior of Wellss house was er, Prince Edwin, to perish as he did in an erroneous, and adducing various points to open boat without oars or sails, there are support a theory that the entire story had now brilliant promenades, and barges laden been trumped up by the girl to conceal an with gay pleasure-seekers float past. A hun- expedition with a lover. Sympathy became dred years ago Weymouth (the mouth of excited for Canning, and she received con- the Wey) was but a collection of fisher- tributions. Half a dozen pamphlets were mens huts; but George III. chose it for an written about the case, and the mystery was occasional summer resort in 1789, and it at such that the grand jury, when asked to once became fashionable. It has a some- bring in bills for perjury against the wit- what interesting political history, Admiral nesses on each side, refused, on the ground Sir William Penn (father of the founder of thatthough theywere diametricallyopposed, Pennsylvania) and Sir James Thoruhill hay- they were so fortified that neither could be ing been born here, and represented it in declared false. At a subsequent session the Parliament. Sir Christopher Wren, who grand jury being asked to return indictments came to reside at Weyniouth to be near the for perjury against Elizabeth Canning, and Portland stone, on which he drew so large- also bills against the Squire witnesses, re- ly, also for eight years represented Wey- turned them all true bills! It subsequently month in Parliament, and has signified his appeared that Cannings mother, having in gratitude by painting a fine altarpiece, vain advertised her daughter, had paid a fa- The Last Supper, for one of their church- mous fortune-teller, who in those days was es. (Thoruhill painted the dome of St. Paul permitted to ply her trade in the Old Bailey, and the great hall at Greenwich.) The place three shillings, and was told that the girl seems to have been not always successful in was in keeping of an old black woman, and its representatives, and having been notori- such a description was given as indicated ously corrupt and venal in its elections, it that the fortune-teller knew the gypsy. This could hardly expect to be. In 1726 its mem- being told to Elizabeth Canning after her her, Mr. John Ward, was expelled from the return home, might have enabled her to de- House of Commons for forgery, and stood in scribe Squires. Meantime, things looked so the pillory. Among his papers the follow- doubtful that the gypsy was reprieved, and ing written prayer was found, which shows afterward pardoned. Elizabeth Canning did Ward to have been more pious than disin- not appear to prosecute the Dorsetshire wit- terested: nesses for perjury, and she managed to escape 0 Lord, Thou knowest that I have nine a prosecution against herself. So it had to houses in the city of London, and that I have be concluded that this young girl had been lately purchased an estate in fee simple in guilty of an imposture which had been the Essex. I beseech Thee to preserve the two means of punishing one woman by impris- counties of Middlesex and Essex from fires 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and earthquakes; and as I have a mortgage of Hugh Mortimer, seized the fair Catherine, in Hertfordshire, I beg of Thee also to have bore her away for weeks on his ship, and7 an eye of compassion on that county; and being one day overwarm in his wooing, saw for the rest of the counties, Thou mayest her leap into the waves. Mortimer died deal with them as Thou art pleased. 0 miserably, and Catherine haunted the old Lord, enable the bank to answer all their nunnery at Melcombe, where the two used bills1 and mako all my debtors good men. to meet. But she also haunted the towns in Give a prosperous voyage and return to the the feud, whereto we return. There now Mermaid sloop, because I have not insured appear on the scene a young Charles Major, it; and ~because Thou hast said the days of related to Lord Burleigh, and enamored of the wicked are short, I trust in Thee that Jessie Hayward, of the hated house in Mel- Thou wilt not forget Thy promise, as I have combe. The two have to meet in secret. purchased an estate in reversion, which will They conclude that it being impossible that be mine on the death of that profligate young they can be united until Melcombe and man, Sir J. L. Keep my friends from sink- Weymouth are reconciled, and with these ing, and preserve me from thieves and house- their fathers, Charles resolves to go to Lou- breakers, and make all my servants so hon- don and seek the intervention of his rela- est and faithful that they may attend to my tive, Lord Burleigh, and even of the queen. interest, and never cheat me out of my prop- For some unexplained reason Charles, before erty night or day. leaving, goy to an old fort near the castle, Weymouth was the chief scene of the la- where he hears a footstep. This turns out hors of Bubb Doddington, who raised him- to be that of an old witch called Crazy Kate. self to the peerage by trafficking in elec- Deemed a lunatic, C. K. is really omniscient, tions. 1754June 21.In conversation and she sings some doggerel to the effect with Lord Dupplin I informed him that I that a queens head has to fall, and that had a good deal of marketable ware at Wey- Charles is to become a knight, to be lord of mouth. This is only a specimen entry of the castle, and then to have a mysteriousfate~ Doddingtons diary. In 1832 the town (which Charles goes to London, succeeds in adjust- has 14,000 inhabitants) was deprived of two ing the Melcombe-Weymouth difficulty, is members in Parliament, and now has two. knighted, and assists at the decapitation of I went to see an old house, the oldest the Mary. He is attached to Queen. Elizabeths town possesses, because of its association household, and all that. But then he with an ancient legend of which the Wey- hears that his beloved Jessie has not only mouth folk do not fail to make the most. been wooed by a powerful nobleman, Sir~ It is now, if I remember, a haberdashers John Trenchard, but that her father (now shop, but in its old carvings and gables one straitened in circumstances) has pledged his~ could trace some of the importance it had daughters hand to Trenchard in ignorance in the Middle Ages. This house and Sands- of her love for Sir Charles Major. The lat- foot Castle (on the neck toward Portland) on ter tells his story to Lord Burleigh, who at the one part, and a curious mansion of Mel- once allows him to leave the court, and combe, which, though a fish-mongers shop, makes him lord of Sandsfoot Castle. He is has good old carvings, and an old nunnery received grandly by the now harmonious on the other part, have been all entwined in people of Melcombe and Weymouth, and, aa the Weymouth legend. Melcombe Regis is the Hayward-Major feud is over, nothing separated by the harbor from Weymouth, stands between Jessie and Charles except and the story begins with the perpetual Trenchard. Some warm words pass between quarrels between the two places about har- these rivals, and they meet to come to an bor rights three hundred years ago. There understanding face to face with the young lived at that time a certain eminent burgess lady herself. The father is also present, and of Weymouth, named Bernard Major, in the although, having now discovered his daugh- old mansion first mentioned; and at Mel- ters attachment, it grieves him to do so, he combe, in the other mansion named, a cor- nevertheless tells Sir John that his pledge respondingly grand personage, one Thomas to him shall be fulfilled if it is insisted upon. Hayward. Between these two men there But when Sir John witnesses the meeting was a bitter feud, which feud prevented the between Charles and Jessie, he is melted towns from coming to an understanding he joins their hands, and adds his blessing. about their respective rights in the harbor. Then follows a magnificent wedding and Just here the legend has two branches. One banquet on Christmas-day at the castle, to goes into the past, and accounts for the feud which all the noblemen come from their by explaining that there had once been a castles. The banquet is said to have been. devoted attachment between a youth of the I very fine. There were roasted fawns and Hayward household and a maiden of the marinated peacocks, boars heads and swan- Major family. This youth, however, seems hugs, buttered crabs and pickled lobsters to have been something of a pirate, afid the being particularly mentioned. There were Majors having prevented a marriage, the tankards of mead and metheglin, pragget, fascinating pirate, with the romantic name stour~s of sack, and skins of hydromeh Sir~ POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. 89 John Trenchard was present to drink the health of the happy pair. All at once Jes- sie fell into convulsions, and Charles totter- ed and fell. Both were dead. At that moment Crazy Kate enters (she, by-the-way, had once been fair and happy, but had been ruined by Trenchard), and her shrill voice criesPOISON! So,indeed, it turned ont. Trenchards page confessed that his master had drugged the nuptial cup. Sir John rushed out and gained the tower of the castle. He was hotly pursued, and defended himself furiously; but the siege prevailed; the room was entered. Sir John, glaring defiance on his pursuers, made an effort to leap from the window across the moat to another foot-hold, but his foot was entangled, and he fell, dashed to pieces on the flags beneath. A few days afterward a procession draped in black followed two cof- fins along the road where the brilliant wed- ding cort6ge had passed, and side by side the hero and heroine of Melcombe and Wey- mouth were laid in one grave. POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. IT is a popular and time-honored fallacy that the earths annual seasons are only four in number. Between the tropics the physical geographer can distinguish but two well-marked variations of the atmospheric conditions during the years cycle, and omits winter and summer from his climatal reg- ister. Within this vast zone a vertical sun holds undisputed sway, and lays an effectual arrest upon ever3 disturber of the thermo- metric equilibrium. Like the Ancient Mariner, within the equatorial belt, all under a hot and copper sky, human na- ture is calm-bound; lassitude is the law of mans being; and in the midst of the most prodigal displays of physical energy, the most dazzllng splendors of vegetation and virgin forestsfit for the abode of Saturn and the most powerful specimens of the animal kingdom, the lord of creation suc- cumbs to an oppressive and overmastering climate. In the extra-tropical regions, the middle and higher latitudes, it is otherwise. In these the rolling year is ever pleasing, ever fresh~ with its variety of seasons and its incessant alternation of heat and cold, And as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. Amidst the lavish exnberance of dllmatic varietyin the middle zones no period excelsin loveliness that of Indian summer. This may be justly called the fifth ~easoa of the earths temperature, and an important element in that benign succession, primarily ordained: While the earth remains, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease. The physical geography of this beautiful and delicious season, which, if a supernu- merary, is far more grateful to many than that of which it is a transient renewal, is extremely interesting and instructive; but we must reserve it till the last. The phe- nomenon alone is worthy of profound sci- entific attention, as upon its annual rence the comfort and pleasure, as well as the agricultural prosperity, of immense sec- tions of our globe depend. The beginning of Indian summer takes place not before the middle of October, when the sun has fully retired below the equator, and his ardent gleam is withdrawn from the countries north of the parallel of 300. It is amidst the suggestive and sadden- ing scenes of the falling year, when all na- ture is in the sere and yellow leaf, or so- ber autumn, fading into age, begins to cast its shadow over the earth, that the Indian summer opens with its genial and mellowing influence. It is almost impossible to describe the charm that this event affords, when, in- stead of the poetic idea of Winter lingering in the lap of May, the ease is transposed, and we may, by a somewhat vivid exercise of imagination, picture sweet May, full-grown, reposing on the storm-beaten breast of Winter, and watch that fairest of maids her radiant form unfold, Unclose her blne, voluptuous eye, And wave her shadowy locks of gold. The duration and geographic extent of this second and more pleasing edition of summer are little known. In his Missi8sippi Valley Professor Foster says: This delicious season is often prolonged into December, when a calm, soft, hazy atmosphere fills the sky, through which, day after day, the sun, shorn of his beams, rises and sets like a globe of fire ; and he adds, This peculiarity is ob- served as far north as Lake Superior, but is more conspicuous and protracted in Kansas and Missouri, but does not extend south into the lower latitudes of the United States. Another climatologist (Disturnell) tells us this phenomenon is -of constant yearly oc- currence and marked characteristics in the northwest of the United States and Canada, and states that while it is an established fact that hazy, warm, mellow weather, termed Indian summer, is a periodical phe- Page 205.

POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. 89 John Trenchard was present to drink the health of the happy pair. All at once Jes- sie fell into convulsions, and Charles totter- ed and fell. Both were dead. At that moment Crazy Kate enters (she, by-the-way, had once been fair and happy, but had been ruined by Trenchard), and her shrill voice criesPOISON! So,indeed, it turned ont. Trenchards page confessed that his master had drugged the nuptial cup. Sir John rushed out and gained the tower of the castle. He was hotly pursued, and defended himself furiously; but the siege prevailed; the room was entered. Sir John, glaring defiance on his pursuers, made an effort to leap from the window across the moat to another foot-hold, but his foot was entangled, and he fell, dashed to pieces on the flags beneath. A few days afterward a procession draped in black followed two cof- fins along the road where the brilliant wed- ding cort6ge had passed, and side by side the hero and heroine of Melcombe and Wey- mouth were laid in one grave. POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. IT is a popular and time-honored fallacy that the earths annual seasons are only four in number. Between the tropics the physical geographer can distinguish but two well-marked variations of the atmospheric conditions during the years cycle, and omits winter and summer from his climatal reg- ister. Within this vast zone a vertical sun holds undisputed sway, and lays an effectual arrest upon ever3 disturber of the thermo- metric equilibrium. Like the Ancient Mariner, within the equatorial belt, all under a hot and copper sky, human na- ture is calm-bound; lassitude is the law of mans being; and in the midst of the most prodigal displays of physical energy, the most dazzllng splendors of vegetation and virgin forestsfit for the abode of Saturn and the most powerful specimens of the animal kingdom, the lord of creation suc- cumbs to an oppressive and overmastering climate. In the extra-tropical regions, the middle and higher latitudes, it is otherwise. In these the rolling year is ever pleasing, ever fresh~ with its variety of seasons and its incessant alternation of heat and cold, And as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. Amidst the lavish exnberance of dllmatic varietyin the middle zones no period excelsin loveliness that of Indian summer. This may be justly called the fifth ~easoa of the earths temperature, and an important element in that benign succession, primarily ordained: While the earth remains, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease. The physical geography of this beautiful and delicious season, which, if a supernu- merary, is far more grateful to many than that of which it is a transient renewal, is extremely interesting and instructive; but we must reserve it till the last. The phe- nomenon alone is worthy of profound sci- entific attention, as upon its annual rence the comfort and pleasure, as well as the agricultural prosperity, of immense sec- tions of our globe depend. The beginning of Indian summer takes place not before the middle of October, when the sun has fully retired below the equator, and his ardent gleam is withdrawn from the countries north of the parallel of 300. It is amidst the suggestive and sadden- ing scenes of the falling year, when all na- ture is in the sere and yellow leaf, or so- ber autumn, fading into age, begins to cast its shadow over the earth, that the Indian summer opens with its genial and mellowing influence. It is almost impossible to describe the charm that this event affords, when, in- stead of the poetic idea of Winter lingering in the lap of May, the ease is transposed, and we may, by a somewhat vivid exercise of imagination, picture sweet May, full-grown, reposing on the storm-beaten breast of Winter, and watch that fairest of maids her radiant form unfold, Unclose her blne, voluptuous eye, And wave her shadowy locks of gold. The duration and geographic extent of this second and more pleasing edition of summer are little known. In his Missi8sippi Valley Professor Foster says: This delicious season is often prolonged into December, when a calm, soft, hazy atmosphere fills the sky, through which, day after day, the sun, shorn of his beams, rises and sets like a globe of fire ; and he adds, This peculiarity is ob- served as far north as Lake Superior, but is more conspicuous and protracted in Kansas and Missouri, but does not extend south into the lower latitudes of the United States. Another climatologist (Disturnell) tells us this phenomenon is -of constant yearly oc- currence and marked characteristics in the northwest of the United States and Canada, and states that while it is an established fact that hazy, warm, mellow weather, termed Indian summer, is a periodical phe- Page 205. 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. nomenon in Canada, the characters of the season are still more decided in the far Northwest than in the neighborhood of Lake ~ Mr. J. V. Ellis speaks of snmmer lingering as if regretting to quit the scenes of beanty it has created, and of the beauty of this season of rare and exqnisite loveli- ness, that unites the warmth of summer with the mellowness of autumu. During its prevalence sonnds are distinctly audible at very great distances; objects are with diffi- culty discernible unless close by; all natnre appears somnolent, as if to prepare itself by rest against the blasts of winter; the morn- ings are cool, with fogs on the low grounds, soon dissipated by the sun; and the atmos- phere maintains during the day a stillness which scarcely stirs the richly tinted but fading leaves of autumn. A delicious calm, often prevailing for a week or more at a time, amidst unclouded sunshine, softened by the vaporous ether and mild temperature, sheds its rich golden glory upon the land- scape as the day departs. During such a spell of weather in England the veil of stratus cloud shrouds the earth at evening as with a gentle, misty rain-fall, while in reality not a drop of water falls; and the spiders, it has been often noticed, fill the air with their fine gossamer net - work an omen which the peasants and even the Channel fishermen and sea - captains are said to interpret as auspicious of fine set- tled weather. Indian summer is a season not unknown in the high latitudes of both hemispheres. In Australia, after the scorching heat of summer, and toward the close of February (corresponding to the August of our half of the globe), when the hot blasts from the north are over, a second spring suddenly re-appears,5 the parched soil swells with moisture, the grasses spring forth anew, the indigenous shrubs and plants become ever- greens, and now put forth a beauty and growth often more than vernal. In the Andes, south of the equatorial zone, the prevalence of this phenomenon and the won- derful blending together of all the seasons has been the frequent remark of South Amer- ican travelers. Lieutenant Gilliss, of the United States navy, in his admirable work on Chili, says: All through March and the latter half of Aprilcorresponding to the fall in our northern hemisphereunexcejp- tionably fine weather lasts, though the atmos- phere is less transparent by day than during the other seasons. About the close of the former month, or in the first half of the latter, there are usually from ten to fif- teen days when it assumes that peculiar appearance between smoke and dry fog * Mossmans Seasons, p. 384. MAP suowi~e THE PROBABLE BELT OF THE RECURRENT SEASONS IN NORTH AMERICA. POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. 91 which is so notable as Indian summer in North America. Dr. Livingstone also graphically describes the same seasonal peculiarity as observed by himself at Kolobeng, South Africa (latitude 240 south), and he states it is observable here every winter, but less frequently as you approach the equator. But it is reserved for the northern hemisphere, which, as Dov6 called it,is the condenser of the earths aqueous vapor, and for a reason we shall presently discover, to enjoy the finest dis- plays of this supplementary season. It is not peculiar to the United States, but,as Professor Loomis has shown, is proper also to Central Europe. According to the dif- fering locality, it is known as The Sum- mer of Old Men, St. Johns Summer, St. Martins Summer,~~ The AfterHeat,~~ and the Red ~ and, in the Old World as in the New, is characterized by dry fogs, redness of the sky, absence of heavy rain, and mild temperatures, with frequent and extensive calms. The French farmers note the 11th of November as St. Martins Daythe beginning of their second warm season. Thomson has, with pen as philo- sophic as poetic, described it as it is in En- gland: But see the fading many-colored woods, Shade deepening over shade, the country round Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dun, Of every hue, from wan, declining green To sooty dark. And again: The pale descending year, yet pleasing still. Crossing over from England to the Con- tinent, and entering Belgian soil, we find the most gorgeous autumnal displays, especially in the vicinities of St. Hubert, and amidst the remnants of the old and celebrated for- est of Ardennes, whose sylvan landscape furnished the scene for Shakspeares As You bike It, and whose famous oaks, with their radiant hues, perhaps taught the Belgian artists of the Van Eyck and Rubens school the brilliancy of coloring in which they so much excelled. In France the recurrence of the second summer is identified with the good cheer and hilarity of the vintage season, which is the most charming period of the year even in La Belle France. In many parts of Prussia, and in Austria and Hungary, the phenomenon is observed. It is known to spread its lovely mantle over many portions of Italian territory. Its pres- ence, late in the fall, relieves the Pontine Marshes of their deadly miasma; and to it the Italian lakes, Maggiore, Como, and Gar- da, are largely indebted for their pictur- esque and golden beauty. While in North- ern Greece we have the glories of Indian * Fitzroys Weather Book, p. 86. summer perpetuated in the lines of her wine-loving bard : Lo! the vintage now is done! And purpled with the autumnal sun, The grapes gay youths and virgins bear, The sweetest product of the year. The first explorers of America noted the Indian summer, and ever since it has excited the poetic fancy as well as the philosophic inquiry of many minds. Palfrey, the dis- tinguished historian of New England, and Thomas Jefferson, in his History of Virginia, have not forgotten it as one of the most fas- cinating features of American climate. By the first week of November, says the former writer, the last fruits of the year are gath- ered in. Some of the aspects of nature are of rare beauty. No other country presents a more gorgeous appearance of the sky than that of the New England sunset; none a more brilliant painting of the forests than that with which the sudden maturity of the foliage transfigures the landscape of autumn. No air is more delicious than that of the warm but bracing October and November noons of the Indian summer in New En- gland. This testimony, which was borne by other colonial annalists, agrees with the present facts, and shows the identity of this meteorologic wonder with that of the Old Mens Summer of Germany, St. Mar- ~jfl~5~~% of France, and a similar one, which has been remarked by one or two historians, of Mexico. As we follow the golden thread of our subject, slender as it may seem, it leads us into the presence of some of the most gigan- tic and beneficent physical phenomena, and assumes dignity by acquainting us with the vast and grandest natural agencies of Amer- ican climate and the laws of our physical geography. But to return to the phenome- non as it is in America, we find it most marked in the Western and Northwest- ern sections. Matthew Macfie, F.R.G.S., for five years a resident on the North Pacific coast, states, in his very valuable work on Vancouver Island and British America, that autumn clothes the grass of these regions a second time with verdure, which it re- tains till after Christmas ; and he adds, The latter part of the fall is known as In- dian summer.t This writer, with many others, represents the climate as indescrib- ably delightful and free from extremes, with scarcely an instance of rheumatic or bronchitic diseases, and tells us that, to his personal knowledge, some who have lived in China, Italy, Canada, and England, aft- er a residence of some years in Vancouver Island, entertained a preference for the cli- * St. Martin is said to have been the son of a mili- tary tribune in Constantines army, who, after escap- ing the service of the emperor, became a bishop, but spent his subsequent life in rural solitudes, and died November 5, 59T. t Page 181. 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mate of the colony which approached affec tam Mullan is corroborated by all who have tionate enthusiasm. Such an experience is visited the regions described by him. Dr. impossible in climes subject to sudden and Gibbons states, in the Ninth Annual R~port of torturing vicissitudes of temperature at and the Smith8onian Institution, that when the sea- after the autumnal equinox, which the In- winds cease in California, as they do in Sep- dian summer, by a merciful adaptation of tember and October, there comes a delightful the Creator, is designed to prevent or cor- Indian summer. In November and Decem- rect. The reports of Fremont, in his great ber the early rains fall, and the temperature expedition to Oregon and North California being moderate, vegetation starts forth, and in the years 184344, contain numerous en- midwinter finds the earth clad in lively tries of many calm clear days, delight- green, and spangled with countless flow- ful weather. To-night, he says, in one ers.~~~ The physical conditions which bring of his autumnal journeys, there was a brill- about this peculiar climatic phenomenon iant sunset of golden - orange and green. are at work all along the Pacific coast and The summer frogs were singing around us, Territories, and were first celebrated by the and the evening was very pleasant, with a great English navigator, Captain Cook, in temperature of 600a night of a more south- March, 1778, when first sighting the golden era autumn. From the 1st to the middle shores of the American continent, near the or 25th of October nearly every entry in his parallel of 44O~ in the vicinity of Juan de diary is either clear and calm day, or Fucas Strait, to a bold promontory of which clear and pleasant. These data were con- he gave the present name of Cape Flattery, firmed by Captain Mullans exploration, in allusion to the delightful weather he be- sent out by the War Department in 1858, to gan to experience at this point. Fortunate- report on a military road from Fort Walla- ly for the elucidation of our beautiful sub- Walla to Fort Benton, Montana Territory, ject, we have the record of that gallant En- during Buchanans administration (with the glish officer and accomplished observer, Sir view to permanent winter and summer com- John Richardson, to enable us to connect all munication with the Pacific coast, via the these facts with the ultimate extension of Upper Missouri and the Columbia River val- the American belt of Indian summer. That leys). This officer makes the following this season extends to very high latitudes is statement: We find this meteorological shown by the diary of Richardson while fact to exist, that if we take the isocheimal spending the winter of 184849 at Fort Con- line (or line of equal winter temperature) fidence, on Great Bear Lake, near the arctic which crosses the country in the latitude of circle, in latitude 660 54 north, in which he St. Joseph, Missouri, and trace this line west- states: With regard to the progress of the wardly, we reach Fort Laramie, when, vary- seasons, Indian summer, as it is called, ing from the line of latitude, it trends north- brought us three weeks of fine weather aft- westwardly and passes between the Wind er our arrival in September. This is most River Mountains and the Black Hills of Da- significant information, and enables us to kota, reaching the head waters of the Yel- draw the continental limits of this wonder- lowstone at the hot springs and geysers of ful season, which is thus seen annually to that stream; thence again to the Beaver cover and beautify with its charms the zone Head Valley, crossing the main range of the of country running through Canada and Rocky Mountains at the Deer Lodge Valley New England westward to Lakes Michigan in latitude 470 north. In other words, in and Superior, thence southwestward to Kan- the longitude from St. Joseph to the Rocky sae and Nebraska, and northwestward over Mountains it has gained six degrees of lati- the territory of British America to the arctic tude. Thus we find the same climate along circle, and thence to Minnesota, and Dakota~ the Clarks Fork, Hells Gate, Upper Mis- Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, and Washington souri, and Yellowstone rivers that we find Territories, Oregon, and Northern California. at St. Joseph, Missouri. This is as true as The chart (see page 90) will illustrate by it is strange, and sbows unerringly that the dark, broken, heavy line the geographic there exists in this zone an atmospheric nv- area of Indian summer. The continuona er of heat flowing through this region, and light lines are the mean annual isothermals, this affects the kingdoms of natural history, which indicate a peculiar similarity of de- botany, and climatology to such an extent flection with the heavy broken line. that herein we find mild winters, and vigor- It is remarkable now, as furnishing a clew ous grasses even in midwinter, that enable to the secret of Indian summer, that the lat- stock to be grazed on the open hills, and ter has its converse season in the frequently give a facility for travel during the severest observed and constantly recurring cold spell seasons of the year.~~* of April and early May. This phenomenal In the philosophy of the season of which cold occasionally is most striking after aii we are writing these facts will be seen to be unusually early and warm opening of spring. highiyimportant, and the observation of Cap- The reality of this converse of Indian sum * Mullans Report, p. 19, 20. Pages 235, 236. POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. 93 mer, making a sixth annual season, may eas- ily be proved by meteorological registers; but it is not less clearly established in the more pleasing form of national poetry. Thus we find Thomson describing the early and middle spring: As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed, And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, Chills the pale moon, and bids his driving sleets Deform the day. And again the poet alludes to what the phys- ical geographer records The blast that riots on the springs increase. There is an old and homely English proverb in Forsters Collection: Shear your sheep in May, And you will shear them all away. And in some pastoral countries it is common to hear of sheep storms, or those which endanger the newly shorn sheep in the time succeeding the first vernal outbursts. The 11th, 12th, and 13th of May are held in France as the anniversaries of the three icy saintsSt. Mamert, St. Pancrace, and St. Servaiswhen the French agriculturists notice a remarkable refrigeration, often ac- companied with very sudden and killing frosts, and celebrated in the popular llnes: St. Mamert, St. Pancrace, Et St. Servais Sans froid ces saints de glace Ne vont jamais. It is hardly necessary to say that in the middle and higher latitudes of the United States these characteristics of a proverbial season are well known, and almost always experienced by the husbaudman. The an- nual destruction of fruits by a post-vernal frost is so common that it should be regard- ed as not an exceptional but as a normal phenomenon, and farmers and horticultur- ists ought to regard it just as truly as a part of the cycle of the seasons as rain in summer or snow in winter. Indeed, it is all-important to the interests of tillage and fruit and vegetable culture that it should be universally known that this sixth, or semi-hiemal season (which we may call it), is always to be counted on, and that, for a reason which will appear, its non-occurrence is the deviation from nature and physical law; and this view of our subject becomes, therefore, one of immense practical and pop- ular importance. Although it is not infre- quently attended with loss to the agricul- turist, it is a season not less to be desired than Indian summer, for it checks the ex- cess of the early heat every where, and in certain mountainous sections of the country, and also on our windWard or Pacific sea- coast, it greatly shortens and mitigates the severity of the heated term, and solves that most difficult and perplexing of all problems in medical geography and domes- tic economywhere to find a pleasant and salubrious summer climate.* It is for this reason, we may safely conclude, that the vast National Yellowstone Park, recently created by act of Congress, will at an early day, as soon as the rapidly progressing work on the great Northern Pacific Railroad and its numerous railway tributaries is a little more advanced, become the resort in sum- mer of thousands of tourists and invalid summer travelers. Without attempting to draw a chart of the geographic distribution of the same phenomena for Europe, it is proper to note that the same physical machinery of the air and ocean, which determine all conditions of American climatology, has its counter- part in the winds which sweep and the waters which wash the shores of Great Britain and Western Europe. Although we must be careful to mark orographic pecul- iarities, after all there is left the necessity of studying the climatology of every con- tinent from its windward side. Beyond all dispute, whatever may be our theory of Gulf- Stream extensionwhether that of the late Captain M. F. Maury and Dr. Pe- termann, or that of Dr. Carpenter and Mr. Findlayit must be, and is, universally conceded that the antitrade-winds and the warm ocean waters which lie to the west- ward of both Europe and North America are controlling factors of their analog.us and wonderfully correspondent climates and seasons. Our modest subject, therefore, links itself with these immense continental regu- lators. The utility and benign offices of these re- current seasonsa second summer and a second winterare now readily understood. The phenomena are essential to the making good that sober and deliberate gradation of physical activity and change expressed in the aphorism, Natura non faeit saltum. The two supplementary periods are balance- wheels in the powerful and immense ma- chinery of terrestrial climate, and preserve it from those sudden and violent jerks and shocks of temperature which the suns an- nual astronomic motion would communicate to the middle and higher latitudes of our planet. After the vernal equinox the northern or land hemisphere rapidly warms up as the solar rays daily become more and more ver- tical. As the sun crosses the line and moves into our skies in the latter part of March, he not only pours down upon us his dark * Except for persons of wealth, who can in summer afford to frequent our expensive summer resorts in the Atlantic States, it is impossible to find security against the intense heat of this season. It is easy enough to heat our houses in the coldest latitudes by artificial means; but no practical invention of the age has been made known for their artificial cooling. Hence the importance of this problem in America 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. waves of heat, but brings with him, as by a tidal pull, the great southerly or equatorial air currents. The isothermal lines in the United States begin early in April to bend northward in a remarkable manner, and often run from the Gulf States to Northern Kansas, Iowa, and the Northwest, revealing the nascent or developed movement of the moist and superheated aerial Gulf Stream from the tropical zone. The days are now getting so much longer than the nights that the nocturnal radiation of the diurnal heat is comparatively small, and the crust of the earth is expanding with rapidly increasing temperature. Before June sets in we are threatened with the premature and precipi- tate appearance of blighting August. The season, in a word, is growing too fast. To avert such an evil the physical law of ther- mal absorption lays an arrest upon it. The thawing of the northern and arctic ices llberates immense quantities of aqueous va- por, which had been locked up all winter in the solid ice-block, and this liberated vapor, borne southward, greedily absorbs the excessive heat and chills the air. The polar currents also, enfeebled, it is true, but not yet permanently driven back, return to check the advance of the overconfident and presumptuous spring. The aqueous vapor, whose heat-absorptive power has been so beautifully demonstrated b~ Professor Tyndall,* is most largely sup- plied to the earth, and spread over it as a cooling mantle in summer by the sea-winds and the upper atmospheric currents, but is, as before said, largely supplled from the dis- solution of ice. In the United States the sea-winds are on the Pacific coast, and the upper equatorial current of the great western ocean sifts through the air over the Rocky Mountains; and on these vast ranges, also, are melted the snow and ice accretions, often immense and pyramidalformations of the entire winter. So that we should expect to find in the Pacific Territories and British Columbia the most beautiful illustrations of the sec- ond winter, and its modified prolongation into the midst of summers scorching and deadly reign (which latter, in the Atlantic States, annually gathers its fearful harvests of human victims). In fact, we find, as the laws of physical geography teach us to ex- pect, that the summer climates of the Pacific States, and the montane districts of Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana, with, of course, Washington Territory, are the most deli- cious and healthy for temperature on our continent. Throughout the spring, sum- mer, and autumn months, in the northern as well as in the southern sections of Idaho, says the government Commissioner of the General Land-office, the weather is gener- Tyndalls Heat as a Mode of Motion, Lecture XL ally delightful and salubrious. In Montana the climate and fertility of the Yellowstone Valley are a medium between the valleys of the mountains and prairies of the Western States. The climate of Wyoming is mild and healthy.~~* And to these, other author- itative and authentic accounts of these sec- tions might be added, that, according to Blodget, our highest cliinatological author- ity, the summer isothermal lines, which run between New London, Connecticut, and Port- land, Maine, embracing the most delightful summer resorts of our Atlantic sea - board, run northwestwardly after passing the lakes, and are deflected into Washington Territory and British Columbia.t We thus discover the existence of the wonderful phenomenon of this semi-winter, prolonged, in a modified and delicious form, so as to temper the fierce heat of summer. To comprehend this fully we have only to observe the now established laws of radiant heat as connected with the vapor of water. To illustrate the agency of the latter, Pro- fessor Tyndall, in a beautiful experiment be- fore the Royal Institution, passed the cab- rific rays successively through a tube filled with dry air and air from the laboratory. When the tube contained the dried air the rays of heat met with no resistance, no de- tention, but penetrated it as light penetrates a transparent object, oravacuum. But when the tube was emptied of dried air, and allow- ed to fill with the undried air of the room, the case was very different: the rays of heat were stricken down by the suspended par- ticles of aqueous vapor in the experimental tube arrested in their passage, and absorb- ed by the molecules of water. The undried air, or rather the vapor, suspended in it, ex- erted an action on the radiant heat seventy- two times more powerful than that of the dried air, or of the air itself; and the for- mer, or common air, was found to absorb or intercept nearly ten per cent. of the entire radiation passing through it4 If aqueous vapor thus exerts an absorption seventy times that of the ordinary air, in which the vapor is diffused, we can see what a mighty agent this vapor becomes in determining climatic and seasonal chara~teristics. The more saturated the air of a country becomes, the more opaque and impenetrable is it to either solar or terrestrial radiation. The desert of Sahara, where the soil is fire and the wind is flame, owes its terrific heat to the absence of aqueous vapor in its super- incumbent air, which, were it present, would absorb the solar rays, and act as a screen to shield the caravan on its burning sands. In the United States the country lying east of the Alleghanies owes its extreme summer * See Report, 1569, p. 159165. t Blodgets Climatotogy of United States, p. 273. t Tyndalls Heat, Lecture XL POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. 95 heats to the dryness of its air, which is due to the fact that the moist southerly or south- westerly air currents from the Gulf of Mex- icoour sole dependence for moisture in summerare deflected by the mountain- wall of the Alleghanies northward over the lower lakes. These winds have their moist- ure condensed on the mountain - tops, and fall over on the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge, often with every drop of water wrung out, just as the southeast trade-winds from the South Atlantic Ocean, which sweep over Eastern South America, are robbed of their vapor on the summits of the Andes, to form the Amazon fountains, butdrop downwithout a blessing on the western slopes in the rain- less and drought-cursed coasts of Peru and Chili. The summer isotherms of the Gulf States, therefore, curve around the southern spurs of the Appalachian chain, and beird northward toward our Northern cities; and hence we find that the summer climate of Memphis is cooler and pleasanter than that of our Atlantic sea-board centres. But in our North Pacific States, in North- ern California and Oregon, in Washington Territory and the trans - Rocky Mountain districts of Idaho and Montana, which are swept by the great band of eternal west- erly wind (as Dr. Draper calls it), and thus covered with a mantle of oceanic vapor, the summer climate is very different. The va- por cloak spread over these regions is scarce- ly less impenetrable to the fiery solar rays of July and August than the shield of Achil- les; for the invisible aqueous particles ap- propriate and make latent the excessive heat of the snn,* and thus preserve the equi- librium of the season. The difference be- tween the Atlantic and Pacific sea-board summer climates is, therefore, just about the difference one experiences in the weather at Cape May or Long Branch, with a hot, dry, and mosquito-bearing land-wind, and a cool, bracing, delicious sea-breeze. Thus, as we at first intimated, this investigation of an apparently humble and insignificant phe- nomenon ushers us into the presence of the higher and more profoundly practical prob- lems of American climatology. So much for the philosophy of the phe- nomenal season, which, we have seen, is the converse of Indian summer, and which is due to the heat-absorptive power of aqueous va- por, or its retentive capacity for the dark waves of solar caloric that fall upon it in summer. What, then, the intelligent read- er will ask, explains Indian summer itself~ According to the theory of Professor Erman, of Berlin, Steinmetz; Proctor, and others, it is partly due to the earths passage, in No- vember, through or beneath the great meteor stratum, which then intercepts or checks the earths radiation into space, and also retards the refrigeration by the meteors returning to her a portion of the heat which they them- selves receive from the sun. It is very pos- sible that these myriad radiant meteors that furrow the November skies with their light may serve to intensify the phenomenon in question. But this explanation is deficient, and leaves uncovered the facts of the case. If the cause is external or cosmical, we should expect, and should certainly find, that the effect was general over our planet, just as in the instance of magnetic storms, which, having a cosmical origin, are observed to af- fect the magnetic instruments in England, the United States, the West Indies, South America, and Australia with a sudden jerk at the identical moment of time on both sides of the equator, without regard to lati- tude or longitude. But, as we have observed already, the phenomenon of Indian summer obeys the periodic movement of the sun in declination, occurs in the contrary periods of the autumn in the northern and southern hemispheres, and is confined within certain meridians and certain zones. Moreover, the earth soon passes from beneath the November meteor stratum, while it is a marked fact in the climatology of some sectionsas of our Northern Pacific States and Territories that in a modified form the substantial feat- ures of Indian summer are prolonged into midwinter.* It is also usually protracted into the last of December, long before which time the earth has gotten rid, by radiation into interstellar space, of the excess of its * The winter of 181112 was, in America, one of un- precedented severity. But in this sectionthe extreme Northwestit was muchless severe than further south. The Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroads were overwhelmed with snow and ice. But north of these lines of traffic, in the upper valley of the Missouri, in Montana, and thence to the Pacific Ocean, the snow- fall was cc~nparatively light, and the thermometric de- pression indicated much milder weather than in Wy- oming, Colorado, and Utah. In Washington Territo- ry, on the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad, a res- ident of Kalama wrote on the 11th of March: The flocks ranging upon the foot of the Blue Mountains, which had access to the shelter of the woods and some subsistence from the twigs, lived and were in good order. About the 10th of February the southwest winds, which follow the Columbia River and traverse the Walla-Walla Valley, carried off the snow, and in a few days the lands were fit for plowing; and by the first of March the grass was four or five inches high upon these broad plains. These winds, which the in- habitants call the Chenook Winds, are warm, and la- den with the salt moisture from the ocean. No snows can remain before it for many hours. Not a single acre of the broad area of Puget Sound, its numerous islets or harbors, has been frozen, and the ice in the Lower Columbia all melted a month ago, and in the Upper Columbia navigation was resumed early in ~1L~L~AI. The stock had to be fed but little, often not at all, during the entire winter, exceedingly rigorous. The winter maximum cold last year at Fort Benton, Montana Territory, was 340 Fahr., less than that of Fort Laramie, lying 400 miles further south, in Wy- oming Territory. * This fact probably explains another, stated by A. Keith Johnston in his PhysicaL Atlas, p. 118: The main-land of North America, from the Tropic of Can- cer to Behring Strait, on the Pacific side, is free from endemic diseases. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. summer heat. That radiation is exceeding- ly rapid, as evidenced by the fact that in a single August night the thermometer on the glowing sands of the Sahara has often been known to fall to the freezing-point, and the traveler who all day had been tortured with the blaze of the sun, wakes with the shivers in the morning. In the plains of Egypt and in India ex- plorers, when perplexed with doubts of the way, have frequently discerned and followed the tracks of the Nile and Ganges in the early hours of the day, guided by the cloud- stream overhanging their water-courses, and caused by the chilling of the saturated air as it rose and radiated the heat of its vapor. If we can imagine an atmospheric river or current richly supplied with aqueous vapor, and spreading as a mantle over a zone of the earth, we shall have the key to the solution of all the Indian summer phenomena. At mid-day the presence of this moist atmos- pheric riveran aerial Gulf Streamis scarcely discernible by the eye; for, as Pro- fessor Tyndall has well noted, on the most serene days the atmosphere may be charged with vapor, and in the Alps, for example, it often happens that skies of extraordinary clearness are the harbingers of rain ;~~* and we know that in France and elsewhere the famous serein, or fine rain, falls at sunset from a clear and cloudless sky. But as the morning approaches, the supposed vapor-la- den atmospheric river, having slightly lifted above the surface of the earth, begins to manifest its existence, just as the Nile or Ganges and other rivers do in their respect- ive valleys by the fog stratum and cloud can- opy due to the chilling of the saturated air as its heat escapes beyond the clouds. This gives the cool and foggy mornings of the pe- cullar season; but during the afternoon and night, when the earth would throw ~ff its solar heat received during the day, the pres- ence of this invisible but benign mantle of vapor arrests the radiation, and pre%~ents the sudden check of temperature. The agency of this vapor plane on the belt or zone of country within which the characteristics of Indian summer are most marked will ac- count for the absence of heavy rains and for the prevalence of calms, conditions which result from the general and wide-spread ther- mometric equilibrium, and the consequent lack of those great variations of tempera- ture which, in the aerial (as in the oceanic) circulation, give rise to sfrong currents and high winds, and thus ultimately produce frequent and excessive precipitation. The enormous part played by the aqueous vapor predominant over the great zone of the recurrent seasons may be faintly discovered when we recall the fact, now demonstrated by experiments in the domain of radiant heat, that were our globe encircled by a complete shell of olefiant gas only two inch- es in thickness, the earths surface would be kept at a stifling temperature; while if such a vaporous canopy as at present exists were removed, the now verdant plains and valleys would expand in one vast scene of sterility, as the South American llano, to borrow the fine figure of Humboldt, dead and rigid, like the stony crust of a desolated planet. Hence it appears that in the phenomena of Indian summer and all its cognates nature has had a much higher purpose than mere scenic display, the ornamentation of autum- nal foliage, To gild destruction with a smile, or beautify de- cay. Its principal object has been to. throw a shield over the harvests of the earth, and to cover its vegetation with a vapor mantle, or blanket of aqueous vapor, as Tyndall calls it, while at the same time to protract the grain-ripening period to meet the necessities of the higher latitudes, from which the sun makes an early autumnal retreat. The presence of this vast vapor mantle, which both marks the presence of an aerial river, or immense band of moist wind, and is derived from it, will undoubtedly explain the redness of the sky, so remarkable in In- dian summer. When the sky is free from cloud, and but little water is present in the invisible shape of vapor, says Mr. Glaisher, the great English aeronaut, the color deep- ens to an intense Prussian blue at the highest elevation. And again: The sky, as viewed from above the clouds, is of a deep blue color, which deepens in intensity with increase of elevation regularly from the earth, if the sky be free from clouds, or with the increase of elevation above the clouds, if they be pres- ent.~~* He also says, At the greatest height to which I have ascended, namely, at the height of five, six, and seven miles, where the blue is brightest, the air is almost deprived of moieture. But in his ascent in the Cap- tive balloon, with M. Tissandier, the sun appeared in the midst of mountains of cloud, and its brilliant rays transformed theThames into a river of fire. M. Tissandier, the French air-navigator, in his ascent in the Union, en- countered a glorious sunset in a bank of fog and clouds. The sun disappears behind a curtain of cloud that hides its magic splen- dor, but from behind this dark vale of pur- ple a thousand golden rays shoot forth, and dazzle the eye. The MazCne has a rosy hue. The last luminous rays of the sun light up the higher clouds with a deep orange-red tint. Up above we have an Alhambra of unheard-of richness and-beauty, whose ruby fires rival those of the opal and the sapphire. The extreme red in Glaishers sunset was Contributione to Molecular PAyeice, p. 141. * Travels in the Air, p. 95, 96, 8Th. POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY OF INDIAN SUMMER. 97 synchronous with maximum indication of the hygrometer, showing, it would appear, that the redness was due to the presence of the aqueous vapor. The distinction here drawn between the atmospheric conditions which give the blue and those which give the red skies has not escaped the keen eye of the great poets. Thus Hood, describing the season of London rain and wet fog, has it, No skyno earthly view No distance looking blue while Longfellow, describing the Indian summer proper, says, The great sun Looked with the eye of love upon the golden vapors around him. The only question which remains unanswer- ed to the reader is, Whence comes the supply of vapor, which is concerned alike in the pro- duction of the second summer, with its gor- geous scenery, and its converse second win- ter, not so picturesque, but equally delicious and refreshing when prolonged into mid- summer (as it is in the Pacific States and Territories)? The atmospheric river of heat, as we said in the outset Captain Mul- lan called it, or the aerial vapor stream, as it might be better called, originates, beyond all doubt, in the tropical ocean, and thence flows, as an upper current, toward the polar circle, descending and dipping toward the earths surface, as, in its poleward move- ment, it becomes more and more chilled and denser by its own radiation. The Atlantic and Pacific have each a distinct and well-in- dicated upper atmospheric current moving from the southwest to the northeast. In the Atlantic this high current (which was form- ed in the equatorial seas by the hot ascend- ing masses of vapor-charged air) flows off in the upper atmosphere northward, and oversweeps the Southern and Gulf States, descending toward the earth, or ocean, as it approaches New England and Canada, and at certain periods of the year rushing over the North Atlantic as southwest wind with torrential velocity. For nine months in the year this causes southwesterly winds to pre- vail in England and Western Europe. In the Pacific Ocean a similar upper cur- rent from the southwest to the northeast (i. e., toward our Pacific States and Territo- ries) has been distinctly observed on the lofty volcanic cones of the Sandwich Islands, as steady, powerful, and perennial, and as pre- vailing even when at the base of the mount- ains the contrary and surface (northeast) trade-winds were blowing with equal con- stancy.* The equatorial waters of the Atlan- tic, in which this warm and vaporous upper current is generated, are less extensive and less highly superheated than those of the Pa- Loomis, Meteorology, p. ~4. voL. XLvIILNo. 253.7 cific. The equatorial current in the former ocean is exposed to the vertical sun in its pas- sage acress the oceanfrom the coast of Afri- ca to the Gulf of Mexicoamuch shorter time than is the great equatorial current of the Pa- cific in passing from the South American and Isthmiau to the China coasts; and it is clearly to be inferred from this circumstance that the Pacific aerial upper current, or vapor stream, is not only far broader and deeper, but is more densely charged with oceanic vapor than is the Atlantic. We all know the immense cli- matic effect the Gulf Stream and the south- westerly winds of the latter ocean combined have in mitigating the character of British and European weather, and in clothing Ire- land with her verdure, and France with her vintage. It can therefore excite no wonder when we behold the climate of our vast and far Northwest, and of our Pacific Territo- ries, lying in the broad band of westerly and southwesterly ocean winds, which bear to its soil and skies the evaporation of the vast tropical Pacific, and produce the won- derful and benign as well as beautiful phe- nomena which we have sought to portray. This reasoning is borne out by the most reliable explanation I have been able to gather concerning the origin of the term In- dian summer which is given by an early writer in Silliman8 Journal (vol. xxvii., p. 140): The New England tradition is that the term Indian summer is derived from the prevalence of the southwest winds at that time, and which the Indians supposed to be sent as a peculiar favor from their good dei- ty, Coutantowoit. At this time there is certainly a noticeable prevalence of south- westerly winds, which may be ascribed to the lowering in the high latitudes of the great aerial upper current, or vapor stream, till it comes closer to the earths cooling crust, which condenses its wasted moisture and liberates its latent heat. This depres- sion is in autumn, when the sun is moving southward, below the equator, and is ex- plained by the latter fact; but in the spring, when his solar majesty is advancing north- ward toward the Tropic of Cancer, instead of causing a depression of the upper air stream, his activity elevates that current into the loftiest regions of the atmosphere. The cooling of the stream in the great upper chambers aloft by its own radiation into space allows vast waves of heavy and re- frigerated air to fall vertically on the earth, and gives rise to the second winter, or the period of the icy saints, in April and May. We must unquestionably regard this vast vapor plane, or aerial Gulf 5tream, in its vertical play, rising or falling as the sun moves north or south, as exercising an im- mense climatic and seasonal influence. It follows from the facts, phenomena, and physical laws here presented that in the dis- tribution and extension of the two recurrent HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 98 seasons the belts of country over which one out into higher and more expanded views of them breathes its delicious and bracing air ofthe terrestrial climatology. in the hot season, and upon which the other We must now arrest this beautiful re- spreads its gorgeous magnificence ofcolorand search, but not without the single remark its luxurious temperature in the winter, are that the wonderful agents, both aerial and among the most blessed and happy lands of oceanic, which give rise to the peculiar and our globe. As we have already seen, Central grateful second seasons display their poten- and Western Europe enjoys these favored con- tial energy and proclaim their beneficent ditions in the Old World. In the New World presence in the vaster phenomena of conti- they are realized most fully in the western nental climates. In nature the mightiest and northwestern portions of the trans-Mis- forces are often manifested by very obscure sissippi United States. Speaking of the vast and humble outworkings, and by following and splendid domain which lies west of these up to their origin the grander and the 98th meridian and above the 43d par- more ponderous physical machinery is dis- allela region described by Captain M. F. covered. The gentle and imperceptible in- Maury as the mild-winter ~ tumescence in the water of the smallest ing Montana and Washington Territories, creek or river is part of the tremendous tidal the Yellowstone and Columbia valleys, the wave formed in the deep sea and propagated words of the great American climatologist, by the luni-solar influence. The delicate Blodget, are strikingly to the point: The threads of the polar band, or the fine, pal- assertion may at first appear unwarrantable, mated filaments of the cirrus cloud, which but it is demonstrable that an area not in- stretch aloft as the fingers of a spectral skel- ferior in size to the whole United States east eton in the high air, are in reality fringes of the Mississippi lies west of the 98th me- of the cyclonic tempest which simultaneous- ridian and above the 43d parallel, which is ly ravages a continent and strews an ocean perfectly adapted to the fullest occupation with wrecks. In like manner the tinted by cultivated nations. The west and north beauties of the Indian summer and the cool of Europe are there reproducedgiving us delights of its converse phenomenon are the an immense and yet unmeasured capacity outshinings and neesings of those ever-act for expansion. Beyond the Great Lakes the ive, leviathan forces of the atmosphere thermal lines rise as high in latitude, in most which, physical geography shows, serve to cases, as at the west of Europe. CentralRus- temper and felicitate the climates of the sia, Germany, the Baltic districts, and the higher latitudes, and to ordain fertility, British Islands are all reproduced in the verdure, and health over vast territories of general structure. The buffalo winters on our planet. the Upper Athabasca at least as safely as at _____________________________________ St. Paul, Minnesota. Buffaloes are far more abundant on the Northern plains than on the DELGRADO. plains which stretch from the Platte south- T F ever one-half of the Japonicadom as- ward to the Llano Estacado of Texas, and 1 sembled at a sea-side place rustled, it remain through the winter at their extreme did so when Delgrado came to Wildriver border, taking shelter in the belts of wood- Beacha lonesome stretch of saud bluffs land on the Upper Athabasca and Peace and hard shore lying beneath a hill-side rivers. All the grains of the cool temper- townan island, indeed, some half dozen ate zones are produced abundantly: Indian miles in extent, and curving inward all its corn may be grown on both branches of the length, so that the arm of the sea that sep- Saskatchewan, and the grass of the plains is arated it from the main-land tumbled at singularly abundant and rich. The parallel either end in sheets of silver foam across in regard to the advancement of American the shallows there, and reached out in two States here may be drawn with the period great horns of breaker, makingthe naviga- of the trans-Alpine Roman expansion, when tion dangerous and the swell of ;the sea su- ~Gaul,Scandinavia, and Britain were regard- perb for miles on either side. Before the ed as inhospitable regions, fit only for barba- inns and cottages, though, in the middle of ~rian occupa4iion. The cultivable surface of the island, there was a smooth, safe bay, the ~di~triet (bordering the Pacific ocean) where boats and bathers made the scene can not be much less than 300,000 square always lively. miles. Of the plains and their woodland Delgrado was a young West Indian, whose borders the valuable surface measures fully mother, having married an American for her 500,000 square miles.t second husband, had reared and educated Thus, jasensibly and gradatim, have we her son in this country, though not all the been drawn by this investigation of the schooling of the Puritans had been able to minor and almost overlooked phenomena do away with his hot Spanish blood. On of the recurrent seasons with which we set the other hand, it had only done away with ____________________________________ his fortune; for the day on which he came of age, but a month or two before he came to Wildriver, he carried into execution the Maurys Manual of Geography. f c7limatology of the United States, p. S29.

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 98 seasons the belts of country over which one out into higher and more expanded views of them breathes its delicious and bracing air ofthe terrestrial climatology. in the hot season, and upon which the other We must now arrest this beautiful re- spreads its gorgeous magnificence ofcolorand search, but not without the single remark its luxurious temperature in the winter, are that the wonderful agents, both aerial and among the most blessed and happy lands of oceanic, which give rise to the peculiar and our globe. As we have already seen, Central grateful second seasons display their poten- and Western Europe enjoys these favored con- tial energy and proclaim their beneficent ditions in the Old World. In the New World presence in the vaster phenomena of conti- they are realized most fully in the western nental climates. In nature the mightiest and northwestern portions of the trans-Mis- forces are often manifested by very obscure sissippi United States. Speaking of the vast and humble outworkings, and by following and splendid domain which lies west of these up to their origin the grander and the 98th meridian and above the 43d par- more ponderous physical machinery is dis- allela region described by Captain M. F. covered. The gentle and imperceptible in- Maury as the mild-winter ~ tumescence in the water of the smallest ing Montana and Washington Territories, creek or river is part of the tremendous tidal the Yellowstone and Columbia valleys, the wave formed in the deep sea and propagated words of the great American climatologist, by the luni-solar influence. The delicate Blodget, are strikingly to the point: The threads of the polar band, or the fine, pal- assertion may at first appear unwarrantable, mated filaments of the cirrus cloud, which but it is demonstrable that an area not in- stretch aloft as the fingers of a spectral skel- ferior in size to the whole United States east eton in the high air, are in reality fringes of the Mississippi lies west of the 98th me- of the cyclonic tempest which simultaneous- ridian and above the 43d parallel, which is ly ravages a continent and strews an ocean perfectly adapted to the fullest occupation with wrecks. In like manner the tinted by cultivated nations. The west and north beauties of the Indian summer and the cool of Europe are there reproducedgiving us delights of its converse phenomenon are the an immense and yet unmeasured capacity outshinings and neesings of those ever-act for expansion. Beyond the Great Lakes the ive, leviathan forces of the atmosphere thermal lines rise as high in latitude, in most which, physical geography shows, serve to cases, as at the west of Europe. CentralRus- temper and felicitate the climates of the sia, Germany, the Baltic districts, and the higher latitudes, and to ordain fertility, British Islands are all reproduced in the verdure, and health over vast territories of general structure. The buffalo winters on our planet. the Upper Athabasca at least as safely as at _____________________________________ St. Paul, Minnesota. Buffaloes are far more abundant on the Northern plains than on the DELGRADO. plains which stretch from the Platte south- T F ever one-half of the Japonicadom as- ward to the Llano Estacado of Texas, and 1 sembled at a sea-side place rustled, it remain through the winter at their extreme did so when Delgrado came to Wildriver border, taking shelter in the belts of wood- Beacha lonesome stretch of saud bluffs land on the Upper Athabasca and Peace and hard shore lying beneath a hill-side rivers. All the grains of the cool temper- townan island, indeed, some half dozen ate zones are produced abundantly: Indian miles in extent, and curving inward all its corn may be grown on both branches of the length, so that the arm of the sea that sep- Saskatchewan, and the grass of the plains is arated it from the main-land tumbled at singularly abundant and rich. The parallel either end in sheets of silver foam across in regard to the advancement of American the shallows there, and reached out in two States here may be drawn with the period great horns of breaker, makingthe naviga- of the trans-Alpine Roman expansion, when tion dangerous and the swell of ;the sea su- ~Gaul,Scandinavia, and Britain were regard- perb for miles on either side. Before the ed as inhospitable regions, fit only for barba- inns and cottages, though, in the middle of ~rian occupa4iion. The cultivable surface of the island, there was a smooth, safe bay, the ~di~triet (bordering the Pacific ocean) where boats and bathers made the scene can not be much less than 300,000 square always lively. miles. Of the plains and their woodland Delgrado was a young West Indian, whose borders the valuable surface measures fully mother, having married an American for her 500,000 square miles.t second husband, had reared and educated Thus, jasensibly and gradatim, have we her son in this country, though not all the been drawn by this investigation of the schooling of the Puritans had been able to minor and almost overlooked phenomena do away with his hot Spanish blood. On of the recurrent seasons with which we set the other hand, it had only done away with ____________________________________ his fortune; for the day on which he came of age, but a month or two before he came to Wildriver, he carried into execution the Maurys Manual of Geography. f c7limatology of the United States, p. S29. DELGRADO. 99 plan he had laid out in his college years, and freed every slave on his sugar and cof- fee plantations, and divided the land among them all, leaving himself but the amount of property accumulated in bank during his minoritya small amount, since his mother had been his sole guardian, and had spent as freely as she received, without the least regard to any process of law. Delgrado, then, had come almost directly from the university to the beachmeaning, he said, to take a few weeks pleasure, and be off to make his fortune over again, which, owing to his opportnnities of commercial connection with his native island, was only an affair of time. It was not the rumor of his fortune or his want of fortune, then, that fluttered the fair flowers of Japonicadom, but it was the ro- mance that always attaches in the youthful fancy to a person of foreign birth, and there- fore of unknown experiences, and it was his absolutely wonderful personal beautythe noble stature and proportions, the blue-black hair, the glowing eyes, the brilliant smile, the dark clear pallor of the face, that gave it all such a starry effect as might belong to Lucifer himseli~ But~themaidens were fluttered,the matrons were not less so. There was not a single duenna at Wildriver Beach that did not tremble for her charge when she saw this young Spaniard, and beard the words that went about concerning him; for it is to be doubted if there was a single duenna there who had not arrived at that philos- ophy of llfe which teaches that when the brief hour of youth and of youthful passion is passed there is a long life to be lived, and only to be lived to the best advantage by the means of a luxurious home and a full purse. It is of no use to talk sentimentality to me, Allce, said Mrs. Montgomery one day as she dressed for dinner, a month after this arrival, and when Alice had carried terror to her soul by sailing and riding and stroll- ing with Delgrado with the most undis- guised enjoyment. Of no use at all. I have been through the whole thing. I mar- ried your uncle for love. I loved him so much that I made a perfect tyrant of him. And now I dont love him at all. And thats the whole of it ! Oh, aunt, how wicked! I do. I love Uncle Martin ! Nonsense, Alice! I dont want to hear any heroics or histrionics, for lam going to have a plain talk with you. Dont, dont, Aunt Montgomery ! I am. A plain talk, said the matron, proceeding to shut one end of her false hair in a drawer while she braided the other end, interspersing a few gray hairs plucked from her own tresses as she went along. Now if I had married Mr. Grecubrier, what a differ- ent life I should have led! He would always have been at my feet; I should have rolled in my carriage instead of having to think twice before I can take a hack; I should have had a villa at Narraganset Pier instead of being here trying to marry off my niece into a comfortable competence. Aunt Montgomery, how can you talk so ! cried Mice, opening her soft, bright-lashed blue eyes in amazement, for she had never before heard her aunt make quite so plain a statement. Any body would suppose you were in earnest ! And indeed I am ! returned Mrs. Mont- gomery. Entirely in earnest. What do you suppose I had a months struggle with your uncle for before we came here? For. the pleasure of being in a llttle ~room the size of our trunks, scorched and stifled night and day, and pinching all the rest of the year to pay this seasons expenses? Not at all. Not by any means. And I want you to under- stand it, Alice. I have given you every pos- sible hint and innuendo, and you have taken not a bit of notice of them. So that I have to speak plainly. I came here because Mr. Cleaveland is here, and because Mr. Cleave- land is a millionaire, and I leave the rest to you! And I shall be dreadfully disappointed in you if__ Oh, a untie! auntie! Who wouldnt think it was a Georgian slave-market ! exclaimed Alice, her face burning and her eyes spark- llng. Nonsense ! said the elder lady, smartly. Listen to reason, child, do! Mr. Cleave- land is ready to propose to you, as all the house ought to know, if they dont, the mo- ment you give him an opportunity, though I dare say the Spencer girls think they are the attraction themselves. I declare it is perfectly indecent the way those girls carry on; and as for Miss Anthony, she is literal- ly throwing herself at his head! But Mr. Cleaveland is a man of sense, and I know what he means from some remarks he made to me. So dont let me hear you utter an- other syllable about this ridiculous young Spaniard. And I forbid your dancing with him; and if I meet you walking with him again by moonlight on the beach, Ill send you away to a convent just as surely as your name is Montgomery! It was for nothing of that sort that I took you when Martin Montgomery brought you home, a puny, ail- ing child, and have cared for you ever since, you may rest assured ! Alice rose indignantly, but sat down again at her aunts gesture, for she had always been a docile child, and she knew that it was because her aunt felt strong measures nec- essary that she used such strong language. No rashness now, Mice, continued Mrs. Montgomery. I know all this would sound very differently in different words, but I prefer to put the vulgar facts before you. 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. You love ease and luxury: to marry hue, and the pale rose-tinted shells which man, or one with his fortnne yet to , over bands of black velvet played the part to relinquish ease and luxury, and accept of jewelry for her. It was a fresh and sim- care and poverty. You love your soft sofa, ple toilet, lovely as its fresh and simple continued Mrs. Montgomery, with her mouth wearer with all her changing blushes and full of hair-pins, thick carpets, great mir- lustres, and it was completed by the rose rors, servants, silks, horses. Of course you she set among the bright brown braids of would have to choose between these on the her hair before she left the glass. Yet, aft- one side, and love and work and worry on er all, as she looked at herself, she could not the other. Then, too, you would be wretched help wishing the muslin were silk, the illu- if you lost the devotion of your handsome sion lace were duchesse, the shells were cor- husband, whom you marry all so fine for love; als; could not help thinking that if she gave but let me tell you that if a man marries you Mr. Cleaveland the chance for which her foryourbeauty,he leaves off loving you when aunt declared him waiting, next year the your beauty fades; and how long do you muslin would be silk, the shells perhaps be suppose that, as a poor mans wife, you would diamonds. But with the thought came up keep your rose-leaf of a skin, your white the picture of Mr. Cleavelands great gold hands, or your health, or your happiness ~ spectacles and his one big eye, from which No! with poor care in your illnesses and the cataract had been taken. Oh, to sit poor fare in your health, with children and opposite that eye all the days of ones llfe ! broken sleepfor you couldnt keep a nurse she cried. It would be maddening ! And with hard sewing and struggles to make then the dark beauty of the starry Spanish both ends meet, your color would soon be face rose before her, and remembrance of gone, wrinkles and the yellow moth would the sunshiny soul, the noble nature, made come on your skin, your blue eyes would be her heart beat, and she forgot tjie elder lover, blurred with crying, and you would wish and gayly danced along to meet Delgrado. you were in your grave, or had never seen a But there were others in the hall besides handsome Spaniard in your life ! Delgrado as she went down. There were Aunt Montgomery, it is shameful! My the Spencer girls, and Miss Anthony, and uncle never would let me hear you talk so ! Julia Le Moyneno cheap muslins and shell cried Alice, the color of a velvet rose herself. jewelry on them, but linen cambrics and Oh, I wish he was here! I wish Valenciennes, silks and amethysts. She Yes, continued the wise and wily wom- gazed at them as she came slowly down the an, coolly, handsome Spaniards are luxu- staircase, and wished she had a little of their ries for rich girls, and even they may regret splendor, wished, at any rate, she had some it when they happen one day to cross the of the hair piled so lavishly on their heads Spanish temper. But you are not rich, and she who had to make her own hair go as in the long runit is a long run, Aliceyou far as it would. But then what did it mat- are youngeighteenand after your hey- ter? she said; Delgrado did not care; he day is over there are forty years to be en- looked at no one else as he looked at her, dured where a romantic lover is of small ac- sought no one else so, and she did not be- count beside opera ticket& and good dinners lieve he said such things to any one else as and all the luxuries of life. And for my he did to her, always catching himself back part, said Mrs. Montgomery, I think it the as if he reverenced too much to love. He height of selfishness to indulge these years was looking np at her now, with his great and starve those! So think about it, Alice. eyes all aglow. But as she returned the Dont say a word yet. I rely on your good gaze, looking down, Julia Le Moyne came sense. And Mrs. Montgomery patted the to his side and stood murmuring something, powder-puff all over her face, and sailed and he straightway offered her his arm, and from the room so majestically that Alice had had gone off with her, though Alice herself not the courage to ask her, as she felt in- was not a dozen steps away. dined to do, apropos of the iowder-puff, why Alice opened wide the eyes that had been does a miller wear a white hat? half veiled by the down-dropping lids as she Of course this little beauty, now making descended the stairs, looked directly before her own toilet, had not the least idea of her, and walked to the door with her head giving a second thought to a word of the up, as if she had not caught a glimpse of tirade to which she had been obliged to Delgrado or of Julia. listen. She considered it truly not only Miss Anthony was in the doorway, shin- atrociously coarse, but abominably wicked. ing with her yellow hair and creamy skin, Marry Mr. Cleavelaud without a particle of in her white embroidered fawn-colored Tassa love ! she exclaimed as she dressed. Who silk, with scarlet poppies at her throat; and would think, to hear such talk, that it was the rustling Spencer girls had that moment a Christian country I And she proceeded stepped outside, and were upon the piazza, to array herself in the colors that she had where stood Mr. Cleaveland, whose team had heard Deigrado declare the most beautiful, just come up. They were all talking about the soft muslin, with its delicate rert deaa the horses and admiring them, quite as if DELGflADO. 101 horses were their passion, and all evidently ready to accept the invitation for a drive, the ultimate prize in view being perhaps too valuable for their efforts to be much dis- guised. But as Mr. Cleaveland turneda stout, bald, rosy gentlemanwith his one big eye, and saw Mice, he left the exclaim- ing group and approached her. Why, yes, of course she would drive, though she had refused every day before since her arrival. Miss Anthony, who had treated her with dis- dain for three weeks, should find that there were others besides herself in the world; it was not disagreeable to take this little pre- cedence of the Spencer girls; and as for Del- grado, it would do him good to find that he was not so sure of his way as he dreamed. She accepted the flowers that Mr. Cleaveland gave her, and smilingly pinned them on her breast; and that done, all owed him to help her into the wagon, and took her seat there without a single backward glance to see whether Delgrado had dropped his black brows and was gazing after her, or was only bending in a more devoted manner over Julia Le Moyne. And so they went spinning down the plank-road and over the high bridge into the beautiful back country, the hoofs of the horses keeping time to the devils tattoo that her quick thoughts were beating. For just escaping from the ordeal of that conversationit was an or- deal to the timid childand all warm and glowing with defiance to authority and love for her lover, she was ready to take the im- press of the first outward fact, like wax be- neath a die, ready for love or for despair. Perhaps it was Julia Le Moyne, after all, that Delgrado cared for, Alice had thought, swiftly, as she had watched them walking offtogether,his head bent toward her; per- haps she herself was merely the by-play by which he had meant to kindle Julias emo- tionsJulia a handsome girl, not an unwor- thy one, and an heiress. Alice turned white now, as they drove along, considering such a possibility. To consider it was to make it a realityeasy and natural revolution iu a nature so humble, and withal so impetuous. She began to feel sure it was so, to trenible with shame at remembrance of all she had suffered Delgrado to say to her, and had half answered by her silence; and she was so absorbed that she was saying yes and no in all manner of inappropriate ways to her companions unheard remarks, till she sud- denly found herself sitting bolt-upright and staring into the magnified and gold-rimmed eye while its owner was making her an offer of his hand. In an instant the sense of her folly in coming with him rushed over her. She felt as if some one had struck her. To think that a judicious refusal to drive might have ended the whole business; and instead of that she had encouraged him to this point by the weak and silly desire to humiliate her adversaries, and had brought humilia- tion on herself by the meansand with what a fate before her! For even if she said nothing about it to her aunt, he surely would, and she had an instantaneous picture of all the rest of the year at home: one long course of nagging and reproaching and taunting at her having thrown away a for- tune and a settlement; and her uncle would take her side, and her aunt would make his life a burden to him for doing so. Oh,if her uncle were only here to help her through with it all! But imagine Mr. Cleavelands amazementthe amazement of a man who had just put himself and his millions at her disposalwhen suddenly hiding her face in her hands, she exclaimed Oh, I dbnt deserve any thing better ! I beg your pardon, Miss Alice, he said, with some stiffness. I can not have heard you rightly. Oh, Mr. Cleaveland, she gasped, I didnt meanI never meantI You I mean I am so sorry you should have thought Ah ! said Mr. Cleaveland, with some- thing like a breath of relief. I understand. You are sorry that I have thought myself warranted to say so much. And he paused a moment, not altogether displeased. Miss Alire, said he, then, do you know that it makes me only the more earnest in my suit, to see your distress at the idea of having misled me? Unintentionally, I am sure. It teaches me your sincerity; it shows me that my wealth does not weigh with you. Oh no, no, no ! cried Alice, deprecating- ly, an4 ashamed in her heart to think how much it had weighed. Pardon the egotism, he said. I have seen so many with whom it did weigh. It gives me, your hesitation does, indeed, a hope that I may yet succeed. Oh, Mr. Cleaveland, you cantI cant. And she ceased, half choked, and unable to finish for the excitement she was in. I am not sorry, since you did not per- ceive the meaning of my attentions in the past, Miss Alice, that the knowledge of it should so surprise you now. It gives me an even higher idea of your innocence and sweetness than I had. It does not dishearten me, said the old beau, who had not had all the world of women bowing down before him for nothing, and who naturally felt that little of this sort was impossible to him. I know that patience and love when com- bined are formidable foes with which to lay siege to a heart, he said; but I love you. I can be patient. And I have much to offer you. He paused again, for Alice had looked up quickly. It was true that he had much to offer her how true! For,in the first place, hehad a by- 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing heart, andifDelgrado did not care for her, it might some day, by-and-by, not nowno, nothing could be a comfort nowbe a com- fort to feel that the whole world was not of Deigrados mind. And then all the rest. Cer- tainly Alice was no baser than her kind, but all the rest, as if by invocation, suddenly showed itself to her: the large and lofty city house, with its gardens, its noble rooms, its conservatories, the luxurious table set in gold and silver; to be the mistress of such a carriage as Mr. Cleaveland could give her, of such servants, of such a bank account; to be able to help in many ways the dear uncle who had been a father to her, who had made his home her own ever since he took her there an orphan baby, and whom she loved with all her heart and soul, and pitied too. And if she could not have the moon, need she sit in the dark and cry for it, when there were such candles to be had by which she could see many a pleasing and diverting scene? What difference did it make? If Delgrado did not love her, nothing was any matter; she might as well be Mr. Cleave- lands wife as any thing elseshe did not care what be~ame of her. She looked up, flushed and trembling, with a great fear that she was going to yield. I shall not ask you for a definite answer now,~~ said Mr. Cleaveland, turning upon her the full orb of his large eye. I want you to think about it, to think if you can not give me a little affection. I shall be content with very little. I shall be content if you only think you can be happy with me. Having so much, I will win the rest ! And then, without another word from her, the confident and rather pompous old lover turned the horses heads, and they fled along the high - road on their homeward way as if the ground was on fire beneath them while Alice, in a sort of reaction, began to wonder if she had not taken altogether too tragically the fact that Deigrado had been somewhat civil to a young lady demanding the civility. Mr. Cleaveland handed her down from the wagon at last, with a pressure of the hand that she felt like a burn long after, and she was on the piazza they had left an hour ago. Nothing was mach changed in that hour. The Spencer girls were fanning themselves and chattering to her aunt and a young lieu- tenant; Miss Anthony was walking up and down, flirting her huge Oriental fan over a new arrival; andDelgrado was sitting beside Julia Le Moyne and holding a skein of the bright-colored flosses that she was winding for her work; groups were gathering here and there, coming in from the beach and down from the upper rooms; and the gong was sounding for dinner. They allwent in together. Mrs.Montgom- ery with her head up, and Alice with hers down. She played with her plate and spoon, sent one thing after another away untasted, and sat there silent and white as if she were awaitingexecution. It is all right,thought Mrs. Montgomery, eating her own dinner with a relish. She has evidently accepted him. Alice is a sensible girl. I was pretty sure she would. Now we must set at work to interest her in it. Poor child! that is just the way I should have felt thirty years ago if I had had to give up Montgomery for Mr. Greenbrier, and the way I am inclined to feel now to think I didnt. Ah, well, how we do change! This thing is like the mea- slesif it doesnt strike in shell be over it presently, and in the course of a dozen years shell be a widow with an immense fortune, and will thank me for it. And then she can marry twenty Delgrados if she wants to ! said this dreadful woman to herself. Alice dear, she said to her charge, do try this dish. It will give you an appetite. Mr. Delgrado is drinking wine with you. Alice looked up hurriedly, and caught Del- grados eye fastened on her with a singular look, half wonder, half displeasure. She lifted the glass that had just been set down beside her plate, and her hand shook, and she spilled the whole of it upon her skirt, and stood up, hurriedly gathering the stain- ed muslin about her as she left the room. What is a stained muslin more or less to Mr. Cleavelands wife ? thought Mrs. Mont- gomery, as she continued her repast com- posedly. But Alice had not reached the staircase when Delgrado was beside her. Gallantry might have sent him after her; but gallant- ry made no face so intense, no eyes so burn- ing. What does it mean I he demanded. You pass me without seeing me; you drive with him, that Cyclops; you spill the wine I send you for an excuse to leave the room! Are you ill, or are you Please, Mr. Delgrado ! said Alice, look- ing up with piteous eyes; and he stood aside directly for her to pass up the staircase. She came down again soon in another dress, and slipped out of a side-door, and ran down to the shore, wrapping her white cloak about her. She wanted to be alone, and she knew her aunt would be up pres- ently, cager to know the whole. It was just at sunset, and the tide that had left a boat aground was stealing up about it now. Alice stepped into the boat, and went out to the stern, where she seated herself look- ing across the sea, and feeling the little lap of the ripple under hersafe enough, since the anchor was thrown high upon the sand, even though the boat were presently afloat. She was trying to compose her thoughts and to understand things, and the wash of th~ tide prevented her hearing a footstep, till suddenly the boat tilted, as some one sprung into it with the little anchor in hand, and, without a syllable, began to run up the sail, DELGEADO. 103 that filled and swelled and swung them round, and took them out into the deep wa- ter of the placid cove before Alice could do more than exclaim. Port your helm ! cried Deigrado then. It is always best to take what you want without asking. I thought, if I asked, you would perhaps refuse to sail alone with me to-night. Now I will take the tiller, and there is my cloak spread for you to sit on. But, Mr. Delgrado, indeed We shall never have a better night for sailing, he said. Pray sit down, or you will be overboard, and then it will be in all the papers. She had been on the water so much that summer that she could manage a sail her- self, and it did not need her boatcraft to tell her that there was nothing for her to do but obey. She seated herself and leaned back, and looked away into the distant horizon again, and thought she would enjoy these few moments without reflection. You are tired ! said Delgrado, gazing at her with wistful eyes. That is right. Rest. And so the little sloop went beating to and fro, always near the shore, like a bird in search of prey; and neither of them spoke: only Alice felt that Delgrado was looking at her with strange, eager, tender eyes, and her cheek hung out a blushing color as an- swering signal that she knew it. How I love the sea ! said Deigrado at last. It is the grave of my sister, whom I never saw. You must resemble ~ said Alice, look- ing an instant at his face, that shone in a dark beauty, ringed about with the westcrn light. Do you think so? Once I had a dream of her, with so pale a face and such soft eyes, the wet curls hanging round them! But I have thought that she must be like you, said he, half shyly, and turning quickly from his survey of Alice. At any rate, I love her. Perhaps that is why you love the sea because it is her grave. No; it is the first thing I remember, said Delgrado, leaning on his tiller sit- ting on deck, and its blue walls seeming to lift up all round me into the sky. And then nights, being carried in a sailors arms down narrow streets and wharves, or else out upon long low reefs, and off in a boat, with meas- ured oars, till the dark hulk of a ship began to rise, and I was handed up her side, and cordage began to creak, and we were rock- ing from wave to wave. What waters they were there, swinging up and down in such great clear masses and colors! Such wonder- ful birds flew over us, too, when we were not a league from shore, and we sailed through such streaks of fragrance ! said Delgrado, while he drew in a full breath, as if he would inhale the spicy wafts once more. But the splendid thing was always the sea, he said. Sometimes it seemed to be only the water of a pink topaz, sheets of it, sunshine sifted all through it, or else its color was a beryl- blue; and in another place a pale flame of chrysolites; at twilight a whole world of amethyst. A beggar would be rich sailing there, said Mice, feeling some blind necessity of keeping the conversation at this pitch. I should think the life so long ago down there would seem like a dream to you. And it does. Sometimes I feel that I must go and see whether the place is still there or not. For we have all to live our own lives. I would go to-morrow, to-night, Alice, if you would go with me. He glanced up and saw a quick color deepen in her cheek. This was, in fact, the moment he had been waiting for, the thing he had come for. With Delgrado the flash and the report were the same thing. In a twinkling the boat had gone about again, the sail had shot out on the running rope like a white cloud; they were flying before the breeze toward the point where a streak lay like a blue crevasse betwixt the white- caps always tossing their plumes there, down the tortuous passage, and into open sea. Alice was silent, lying back in the boat. Now she heard the long waves plun- ging upon one another, and the shore re- sounding with the shock; now the wild salt breath of the outer stretches was blowing freshly about her temples; they were mount- ing and falling on the great swell off the two horns of the curving island, and one . broad billow threw them to the next like a bubble. The town lay upon the hill-side far away behind the island, with the blue vapors drifting in and out of its streets; Wildriver Beach lifted its silver edge upon the sky; a rosy sunset finshed half heaven behind them as they were buoyed along; then a great moon swung up out of a sky beneath the sea, and laid her highway of lustre along the dim waters. All around them the murmur of the depths and the horizons rose in a vast, faint music. We are all alone ! cried Delgrado. How alone! And we are never going back ! Delgrado ! Never going back ! he said, grasping the rudder handle more firmly, and looking before him. At least not for many years. Do not jest so, said Alice. It is really time we turned now. My aunt will be so worried, and I know I ought not to be here. Only it is delicious; but then we have all the way back, you know. We are never going back ! repeated Delgrado, distinctly. I am afraid we shall lose the tide if we do not go about now, and we really must turn, if you please, persisted Alice, though 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her voice trembled the least in the world, and she sat up and looked about her. Delgrado did not reply at once. He took out his handkerchief and tied down the till- er strongly; then he crossed over and seated himself opposite Alice a moment. You do not understand me; you do not believe me, he said. But I menu it. We are not going back. We are making directly for the cape. You shall go on shore with me there, and the clergyman shall work his miracleand then the world before us! Am I going back to let you escape me, to expose you to the temptation of that purse again? Do you suppose I did not know what was happen- ing, that I had no senses, no suffering? Oh, never, never! For what would you have, Alice, when we lovewhen I am sure when we know we love each other so The impersonation of impassioned splen- dor, Delgrados face was close before her. And as for herself, had she not been his from the first smile that beamed on her? She stood up in the boat an instant. On the sweet land-breeze blowing by them there came a scent of flowers. The thought of her window-garden and her home came with it: the little window-garden by which her kind uncle was perhaps this moment sitting, sad and solitary, in the twilighthe who had been father and mother both. Could .she leave him in this heartless way to his lone- ly life and his bickering wife, instead of taking him step by step along with her into her own new life? Instead of tears upon her cheek, they were sparks of fire. She had sprung past him, bad torn off the hand- kerchief and cast it loose, had bent down the tiller with all her strength upon it; the sail had flapped and shaken and crashed over on the other side, and the boat, just missing a capsize, darted along on the shore- ward tack, with the dark water rushing in over the gunwale, righting herself, and bear- ing down upon the breakers of the Wildriver Beach, and going like the wind that followed her. Deigrado did not move for some moments. He staid as lie was, looking at her, white in the moonlight against the purple of the dark- ening sea. Then, at last, he rose. You shall have your way, Alice, on one condi- tion, he said, in a restrained voice. Look there below: every wave as it runs scatters gold, but down in its depths what black- ness! And II will drop myself over the side, I will dive into those depths, I will drown there in the blackness, just as surely as you do not promise me thatsome time some time, Alice He was mad enough to do as he said; she saw that in the fixed face, in the two eyes blazing like a wild creatures. She shivered, hearing the water seethe as it closed over the gash the swift keel cut; then, hesit4ting- ly and slowly, she reached back her hand. Promise me ! he exclaimed again promise that some time You do not need to make me promise, Delgrado, she said. Butsome time He was down before her in the wet boat, seizing the cold little hand and holding it against his cheek, that was burning now, sobbing like some sudden tropical storm, and never saying another word till, guided more by lovers luck than skill, the bows of the boat slid deep into the sand, and the sail went loose. Then he leaped out and held his arms for Alice, and kept her poised one moment there above him. You are just as much my wife ! he passionately breathed. I thought it was your boat, Deigrado, walking over the water like a ghost, said Mr. Cleaveland, rising on the vision like a ghost himself. Mrs. Montgomery has been in great alarm; she has dispatched every body in all directions. Miss Alice, shall I take you to your aunt? Your uncle has just arrived. Alice waited for no more, but ran up be- fore him, fleet - footed, and met her uncle coming, half-way down. Oh, Uncle Martin, send him away, send him away ! she cried, with breathless inco- herence. Dont let him ever speak to me again. My aunt would have made me mar- ry him if I had not gone out in the boat. I dont know what she will say when I tell her! cried the child, half under her breath, her face all rosy and glorified with its tears and smiles in the moonlight. But, oh, uncle! you will not care if I marry Del- grado ? And then she hid the face in the great rough uncles breast. My dear child, whispered Mr. Mont- gomery, folding her in his arms, and reach- ing a hand to Delgrado, who had distanced Mr. Cleaveland in the race, he doesnt know itbut I sent him here on purpose ! THE MIRACULOUS PJCTURE.C A MONKISH LEGEND. IN his cell Medardus lived, secluded More than monks were wont their lives to keep; Not a worldly care or wish intruded On his waking thoughts or dreams in sleep; For art, prayer, and praise claimed every thought, And through all his dreams Flashed the heavenly gleams Which his hand to glorious pictures wrought. Through his cell one night a glory streaming Smote his awe-struck spirit with amaze Knew he not was he awake or dreaming By his side, all clad In heavenly rays, Stood the virgin Mother and the Child; With a look that said, Have no thought of dread, Oer the youth they bent, and gently smiled. * The student of German literature will perceive that this poem was suggested by~ Theodore K6rners Meclardus, of which it Is, bowever, an adaptation rath- er than a translatiun.

104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her voice trembled the least in the world, and she sat up and looked about her. Delgrado did not reply at once. He took out his handkerchief and tied down the till- er strongly; then he crossed over and seated himself opposite Alice a moment. You do not understand me; you do not believe me, he said. But I menu it. We are not going back. We are making directly for the cape. You shall go on shore with me there, and the clergyman shall work his miracleand then the world before us! Am I going back to let you escape me, to expose you to the temptation of that purse again? Do you suppose I did not know what was happen- ing, that I had no senses, no suffering? Oh, never, never! For what would you have, Alice, when we lovewhen I am sure when we know we love each other so The impersonation of impassioned splen- dor, Delgrados face was close before her. And as for herself, had she not been his from the first smile that beamed on her? She stood up in the boat an instant. On the sweet land-breeze blowing by them there came a scent of flowers. The thought of her window-garden and her home came with it: the little window-garden by which her kind uncle was perhaps this moment sitting, sad and solitary, in the twilighthe who had been father and mother both. Could .she leave him in this heartless way to his lone- ly life and his bickering wife, instead of taking him step by step along with her into her own new life? Instead of tears upon her cheek, they were sparks of fire. She had sprung past him, bad torn off the hand- kerchief and cast it loose, had bent down the tiller with all her strength upon it; the sail had flapped and shaken and crashed over on the other side, and the boat, just missing a capsize, darted along on the shore- ward tack, with the dark water rushing in over the gunwale, righting herself, and bear- ing down upon the breakers of the Wildriver Beach, and going like the wind that followed her. Deigrado did not move for some moments. He staid as lie was, looking at her, white in the moonlight against the purple of the dark- ening sea. Then, at last, he rose. You shall have your way, Alice, on one condi- tion, he said, in a restrained voice. Look there below: every wave as it runs scatters gold, but down in its depths what black- ness! And II will drop myself over the side, I will dive into those depths, I will drown there in the blackness, just as surely as you do not promise me thatsome time some time, Alice He was mad enough to do as he said; she saw that in the fixed face, in the two eyes blazing like a wild creatures. She shivered, hearing the water seethe as it closed over the gash the swift keel cut; then, hesit4ting- ly and slowly, she reached back her hand. Promise me ! he exclaimed again promise that some time You do not need to make me promise, Delgrado, she said. Butsome time He was down before her in the wet boat, seizing the cold little hand and holding it against his cheek, that was burning now, sobbing like some sudden tropical storm, and never saying another word till, guided more by lovers luck than skill, the bows of the boat slid deep into the sand, and the sail went loose. Then he leaped out and held his arms for Alice, and kept her poised one moment there above him. You are just as much my wife ! he passionately breathed. I thought it was your boat, Deigrado, walking over the water like a ghost, said Mr. Cleaveland, rising on the vision like a ghost himself. Mrs. Montgomery has been in great alarm; she has dispatched every body in all directions. Miss Alice, shall I take you to your aunt? Your uncle has just arrived. Alice waited for no more, but ran up be- fore him, fleet - footed, and met her uncle coming, half-way down. Oh, Uncle Martin, send him away, send him away ! she cried, with breathless inco- herence. Dont let him ever speak to me again. My aunt would have made me mar- ry him if I had not gone out in the boat. I dont know what she will say when I tell her! cried the child, half under her breath, her face all rosy and glorified with its tears and smiles in the moonlight. But, oh, uncle! you will not care if I marry Del- grado ? And then she hid the face in the great rough uncles breast. My dear child, whispered Mr. Mont- gomery, folding her in his arms, and reach- ing a hand to Delgrado, who had distanced Mr. Cleaveland in the race, he doesnt know itbut I sent him here on purpose ! THE MIRACULOUS PJCTURE.C A MONKISH LEGEND. IN his cell Medardus lived, secluded More than monks were wont their lives to keep; Not a worldly care or wish intruded On his waking thoughts or dreams in sleep; For art, prayer, and praise claimed every thought, And through all his dreams Flashed the heavenly gleams Which his hand to glorious pictures wrought. Through his cell one night a glory streaming Smote his awe-struck spirit with amaze Knew he not was he awake or dreaming By his side, all clad In heavenly rays, Stood the virgin Mother and the Child; With a look that said, Have no thought of dread, Oer the youth they bent, and gently smiled. * The student of German literature will perceive that this poem was suggested by~ Theodore K6rners Meclardus, of which it Is, bowever, an adaptation rath- er than a translatiun.

104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her voice trembled the least in the world, and she sat up and looked about her. Delgrado did not reply at once. He took out his handkerchief and tied down the till- er strongly; then he crossed over and seated himself opposite Alice a moment. You do not understand me; you do not believe me, he said. But I menu it. We are not going back. We are making directly for the cape. You shall go on shore with me there, and the clergyman shall work his miracleand then the world before us! Am I going back to let you escape me, to expose you to the temptation of that purse again? Do you suppose I did not know what was happen- ing, that I had no senses, no suffering? Oh, never, never! For what would you have, Alice, when we lovewhen I am sure when we know we love each other so The impersonation of impassioned splen- dor, Delgrados face was close before her. And as for herself, had she not been his from the first smile that beamed on her? She stood up in the boat an instant. On the sweet land-breeze blowing by them there came a scent of flowers. The thought of her window-garden and her home came with it: the little window-garden by which her kind uncle was perhaps this moment sitting, sad and solitary, in the twilighthe who had been father and mother both. Could .she leave him in this heartless way to his lone- ly life and his bickering wife, instead of taking him step by step along with her into her own new life? Instead of tears upon her cheek, they were sparks of fire. She had sprung past him, bad torn off the hand- kerchief and cast it loose, had bent down the tiller with all her strength upon it; the sail had flapped and shaken and crashed over on the other side, and the boat, just missing a capsize, darted along on the shore- ward tack, with the dark water rushing in over the gunwale, righting herself, and bear- ing down upon the breakers of the Wildriver Beach, and going like the wind that followed her. Deigrado did not move for some moments. He staid as lie was, looking at her, white in the moonlight against the purple of the dark- ening sea. Then, at last, he rose. You shall have your way, Alice, on one condi- tion, he said, in a restrained voice. Look there below: every wave as it runs scatters gold, but down in its depths what black- ness! And II will drop myself over the side, I will dive into those depths, I will drown there in the blackness, just as surely as you do not promise me thatsome time some time, Alice He was mad enough to do as he said; she saw that in the fixed face, in the two eyes blazing like a wild creatures. She shivered, hearing the water seethe as it closed over the gash the swift keel cut; then, hesit4ting- ly and slowly, she reached back her hand. Promise me ! he exclaimed again promise that some time You do not need to make me promise, Delgrado, she said. Butsome time He was down before her in the wet boat, seizing the cold little hand and holding it against his cheek, that was burning now, sobbing like some sudden tropical storm, and never saying another word till, guided more by lovers luck than skill, the bows of the boat slid deep into the sand, and the sail went loose. Then he leaped out and held his arms for Alice, and kept her poised one moment there above him. You are just as much my wife ! he passionately breathed. I thought it was your boat, Deigrado, walking over the water like a ghost, said Mr. Cleaveland, rising on the vision like a ghost himself. Mrs. Montgomery has been in great alarm; she has dispatched every body in all directions. Miss Alice, shall I take you to your aunt? Your uncle has just arrived. Alice waited for no more, but ran up be- fore him, fleet - footed, and met her uncle coming, half-way down. Oh, Uncle Martin, send him away, send him away ! she cried, with breathless inco- herence. Dont let him ever speak to me again. My aunt would have made me mar- ry him if I had not gone out in the boat. I dont know what she will say when I tell her! cried the child, half under her breath, her face all rosy and glorified with its tears and smiles in the moonlight. But, oh, uncle! you will not care if I marry Del- grado ? And then she hid the face in the great rough uncles breast. My dear child, whispered Mr. Mont- gomery, folding her in his arms, and reach- ing a hand to Delgrado, who had distanced Mr. Cleaveland in the race, he doesnt know itbut I sent him here on purpose ! THE MIRACULOUS PJCTURE.C A MONKISH LEGEND. IN his cell Medardus lived, secluded More than monks were wont their lives to keep; Not a worldly care or wish intruded On his waking thoughts or dreams in sleep; For art, prayer, and praise claimed every thought, And through all his dreams Flashed the heavenly gleams Which his hand to glorious pictures wrought. Through his cell one night a glory streaming Smote his awe-struck spirit with amaze Knew he not was he awake or dreaming By his side, all clad In heavenly rays, Stood the virgin Mother and the Child; With a look that said, Have no thought of dread, Oer the youth they bent, and gently smiled. * The student of German literature will perceive that this poem was suggested by~ Theodore K6rners Meclardus, of which it Is, bowever, an adaptation rath- er than a translatiun. THE MIRACULOUS PICTURE. 105 Many a picture had Medardus painted Of the Virgin Mother and the Child; Never had he won that beauty sainted, Never from his canvas had they smiled, As they stood beside his lowly bed. Soon the vision bright Faded from his sight With a look and smile that banished dread. Then at earliest dawn Medardus hasted To the cloister chapel, where he wrought Eager-hearted, food and drink untasted, Lest the vision vanish from his thought Ere it grew to life beneath his hand. Round him, na it grows, Wondering brothers close, And in awe-struck silence gazing stand. Lo, at eventide the task was ended, And the vision lived for all mens eyes. Had the Mother and the Child descended In the very glory of the skies? At her feet a form abject and fell, In whose face, upturned, Endless hatred burned Had he risen from the depths of hell? But at midnight, with a sound of thunder, And surrounded with a baleful light, Burst the Prince of the black regions under On the artist-monks bewildered sight. Hast thou passed the brazen gates ? he roared, And beheld my face, Verily to trace Thus my lineaments by men abhorred? Hear me now !If thou will paint me fairer, I will give thee riches, power, and fame; Thou in all delights shalt be a sharer; Thy reward, whatever thou wilt name, So thou paint me that men shall not shun me. Look thou wisely choose! If thou darst refuse, By the deadly sin that has undone me, Thou shalt perish ere another morning, And thy hated work shall with thee die! Thou shalt have no oti~ei word of warning; And though all the saintsin heaven were nigh, I will wreak my vengeance on thy head. On thy lips my hand, Like a burning brand, Leaves this earnest of my purpose dread. Like to one who in a swoon has sunken Lay Medardus silent until morn; From that touch his lips all parched and shrunken, And his heart with dread emotions torn; But with earliest light the chapel sought, And with cunning hand, And high self-command, All that day upon his picture wrought. Groups of brothers kneel about the altar, Cross themselves in fear, and mutter prayars, While with hands that tremble not nor falter, And with mien of one that greatly dares, He reveals that vision of aifright: There, abject and fell, Lies the Prince of Hell At the Virgins feet. Hide, hide the sight! Once again the narrow cell was gleaming With a brightness never native here; Knew he not were he awake or dreaming, But the fear he felt was holy fear; For the Virgin Mother and the Child, Oer him gently bending, Radiance transcending Shed around him as they looked and smiled. Still he lay as in a deep swoon sunken, Or as one who breathes in haunted land, Till she stooped, and on the mouth all shrunken From the angered demons burning hand Laid her own lips, gracious and benign: Never knew a kiss Other man like this! Healed the fierce pain of that touch malign! Knew he not were he awake or dreaming When the vision faded from his sight; But a radiance through the chamber streaming Made more bright than noonday all the night: For a shining Cross above his head, In mid-air suspended, Whose clear light transcended Fullest sunshine, banished fear and dread. On the morrow, on the fated morrow, Round the picture grouped the brotherhood; And, as one who dreads some awful sorrow, There, with folded arms, Medardus stood, While the simple village people came Trooping, young and old, Eager to behold Rumor wide had spread the pictures fame. Suddenly, with lightning and with thunder, In a murky cloud of suiphurous smoke, Cleaving earth and marble floor asunder, On the crowd the Prince of Darkness broke. At Medardus feet a black abyss Yawned, with smoke and flame, Terrors without name, Direful shriek, and moan, and serpent hiss. Down that reeking, black, and loathsome chasm Sank Medardus and his picture, hurled (While through all there thrilled a terror-spasm) By the demon to the under-world. From the pit up-echoed hideous laughter, While the brotherhood, Terror-stricken, stood With the others, dumbly gazing after. Then arose a weeping and a wailing, But too deep for words their mute despair Hope and faith in that dark moment failing, Not a voice was lifted up in prayer. But while thus they stood with shrouded eyes, From that chasm dark Strains arise. Oh, hark Can such a melody from hell arise? Wondering, but assured, they gather nearer. Through the air a heavenly fragrance floats, Through the chasm light dawns clear and clearer, Ever clearer the celestial notes. Each with awe-struck expectation stands. Lo, the picture, 10! Can it thus be so ? From the canvas they have stretched their hands From the canvas, gracious and benignant, They, the Virgin Mother and the Child, Took Medardus from the clutch malignant; him whose soul no evil had defiled Laid they gently at his brothers feet. Then was weeping hushed, While low music gushed From the air in heavenly cadence sweet. Thus was fear and thus was sorrow banished; Saved and praying, there Medardus lay; But the picture from their eyes had vanished! It was never more, old legends say, Seen by mortal eye; and some relate That, by angel hands Borne to heaven, it stands Just within the glorious golden gate. Many a picture, since, Medardus painted Of the Virgin Mother and the Child. Never could he win that beauty sainted; Never more upon his eyes they smiled, Till one night they stood beside his bed, And at dawn of day There Medardus lay, On his lips a smileand he was dead. 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A CHAPTER OF GOSSIP.* I TWICE saw the late King of Holland at the Hague. He was reputed the most daring horseman in Europe; and at the breaking out of the revolution which re- sulted in the separation of Belgium from Holland, he performed the feat of riding from Brussels to the Hague in a single day. The first time that I saw him was upon a Sunday afternoon, when I was walking, ac- companied by a valet de place, on an almost deserted street on the outskirts of the town. Presently there came in view a horse, dash- ing headlong in our direction; and, turning iu alarm to my companion, I exclaimed, There is a runaway ! It is the king, he replied, and in a moment his majesty passed us at the same furious gait. He had a foraging cap upon his head and a cigar in his mouth, and, without in the least relax- ing his speed, he bowed and touched his cap. Behind him, at a long distance, came two panting and blowing aids, and behind them again two court carriages. They were all returning from a country palace where they had heen dining. It was said that no aid to the king could stand the service more than two or three years at the utmost, and the position was not at all in request. A few days afterward I was loitering in the royal picture-gallery attached to the palace. Besides myself there happened to be nobody there but a French artist, who was making a very creditable copy of an important picture. Soon I entered into con- versation with this gentleman, and while I was so engaged a door opened and the king walked briskly in. Instead of crossing the room, as we supposed it his intention to do, he came directly to us, and began to compli- ment the artist upon his picture. He then talked to me for a long time, and tendered me many civilities. At length, offering us each a cigar, he withdrew as he had entered. On one side of the gallery there stood, npon a pedestal, stuffed, the white horse which the king, then Prince of Orange, had ridden at Waterloo.~ He was a fearful spendthrift. His father was not only a king, but also the most suc- cessful merchant and speculator in Europe, and upon his death he left an enormous for- tune to his son. The latter managed not only to squander the whole of it in a reign of about seven years, but also to accumulate debts which compelled the sale, after his death, of his pictures and other effects. He was a very ill-favored man, although the Orange family is noted as an uncommonly fine race. The king was the Grant of his day in respect of smoking. He was, never without a cigar. He even smoked at the opera. When he did this, he occupied a lat- ticed proscenium box, where you could not see him, but whence the odor of the tobacco emerged and impregnated the entire atmos- phere of the house. He was a great linguist, and otherwise accomplished; but his repu- tation as a man was scandalous, and he made the Hague during his reign the rendezvous of some of the vilest characters in Europe. I came npon a very singular personage during my visit to Turin. I was one day sitting alone in the dining-room of my hotel, waiting for my dinner to be served. There were a great many ladies and gentlemen in the room at the same time, either dining or expecting to dine. Presently there entered a very tall young man, dressed, or rather overdressed, in the most outr6 Paris fashion, who seated himself at a round table, hither- to unoccupied, which stood between two windows which opened upon the street. His first act was to roll up a napkin into a ball, and throw it at the head of a waiter in a distant part of the room for the purpose of attracting his attention. Shortly afterward he was joined by two young officers in uni- form, and I observed a deference in their manner toward him which strangely com- ported with his ill-bred conduct. Every few minutes he would spring from his seat, rush to one of the windows, shout to some passer-by at the top of his voice, and wave a napkin as if in salutation. All the time he talked so loud as to drown all other con- versation in the room. I noticed that the ladies smiled behind their fans; but neither their gentlemen companions nor the people of the hotel seemed to pay any attention to his eccentricities. After dinner I went for a walk to the public promenade. I had been sauntering about for some time, when I saw approaching an English drag drawn by four magnificent horses. In the inside were three military gentlemen, and lying upon the roof at full length, his long legs dangling over on the one side, and his head extended beyond the other, was the strange young man whom I had seen at dinner. There was a crowd of pedestrians, and as the drag rolled on he kissed his hand and fluttered a pocket-handkerchief at the ladies. I knew nobody there, and I did not venture to ask who he was. But after I had return- ed to the hotel, I went straight to the pro- prietor and inquired about him. He inform- ed me that he was the Hereditary Grand Duke of Lucca, and nephew to Charles Al- bert, to whose pious care his father had in- trusted him. The king at first