HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CCCXIII.JUNE, 1876.VoL. LIII. VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. B~ JOHN ESTEN COOKE. IN May, 1765, the hall of the House of Burgesses, in the Old Capitol at Will- iamsburg, Virginia, was the scene of one of those incidents which project themselves forward from the canvas of history, and seem to sum up and define a whole epoch. The House was in full session, as the mace lying on, and not under, the Clerks table in- (heated. The Speaker sat in an arm-chair on a dais, behind which was a red curtain held aloft by a gilded rod. The members, in ruffles, silk stockings, and powder, were ranged in long rowsmen of ample estate, owning hundreds of servants and thousands of acresand the expression of the imposing faces was grave, almost solemn. The mo- ment was, indeed, solemn, and the responsi- bility they were about to assume critical. ~~j) (~ y~ IN OLE VulelNaY. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1576, by harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Libra- rian of Congress, at Washington. Voa. LIILNo. 313.i 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The Burgesses of the colony of Virginia were on this day called upon to decide whether the colony should definitely sub- mit itself to English misrule in the shape of the oppressive Stamp Act, or refuse to submit to it, and so defy the whole power of the British Empire. The question was so serious that the most resolute hesitated. But there was no possi- bility of evading it. The issue was clearly and sharply defined. To remain quiescent, or only respectfully protest, was to sub- mit formally to taxation withont represen- tation. And yet to resist was to take the first step in rebellion. For a long time, if we are to believe tradition, there was a sol- emn silence in the assembly; and when this silence was suddenly broken by the voice of one of the members, every head turned, and all eyes were fixed upon the speaker. This speaker was a young coun- try lawyer almost unknown to the House. He was about twenty-nine, gaunt of face, stooping in figure, awkward in address, and wore an old tie-wig without powder, a faded plum-colored coat, leathern knee-breeches worn smooth by riding, and carried his pa- pers in a pair of saddle-bags. His personal appearance was thus in vivid contrast to that of the wealthy planters, and the eyes fixed upon him seemed at first to confuse him. His voice faltered and his head hung down. After a short speech without sig- nificance, he proceeded to read from a yel- low sheetthe fly-leaf of an old volume of Coke on Lytteltona series of resolutions. These were to the effect that the Ameri- cans brought with them and transmitted to their posterity all the rights of British subjects; that two royal charters had con- firmed these rights; that taxation without representation violated the English Consti- tution; that Virginia had always hitherto taxed herself; and that the House of Bier- gesses of Virginia had the sole right to levy taxes in Virginia; for others to do so was to destroy British as well as American freedom. When Patrick Henry sat down after read- ing this paper, the storm burst forth, and the resolutions were denounced by speaker after speaker, as violent and premature. He rose to reply, and it was soon seen that the unknown county court lawyer was a matchless orator. His stooping figure grew as straight as an arrow, his eyes burned with a steady flame, and his voice began to thun- der. Passion carried him away at last, and in the midst of cries of Treason ! from all parts of the House, he exclaimed, Ca~sar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Crom- well, and George the Third may profit by their example! If this be treason, make the most of it ! The statement of prin- ciples had thus been followed by the defi- ance of power; and before the immense elo- quence of one man, all opposition had been swept away. The vote was taken, and the remarkable result was announced. The res- olutions were all carriedthe last and most defiant by a single voice. What was the character of the society from which issued this great protest in fa- vor of human freedom, and from which sprung in turn Henry the tongue, Jefferson the pen, and Washington the sword of the Revolution ~ The figure first attracting attention in that old society was the figure of the plant- er, or nabob, in his country-house on the banks of some lowland river, where we may see him, in fancy, surrounded by his swarms of dependents; laying down the law to ev- ery body around him; presiding like Shaks- peares justice of the peace at the county court; enthroned in the midst of his family, who love him as much as they respect him; or on the race-course; or playing trick-track with the old parson of the parish, under whose solemn droning from the tub-shaped pulpit he will serenely drop to sleep next Sunday. This figure of the planter is the one most racy of the soil and of greatest in- terest; but let us, in the first place, look at some others in that complex society which were grouped around the central personage. In our day the democratic idea pervades all minds, and social equality is the current dragging all else with it. It is difficult, then, to realize the state of things in Amer- ica, North and South, a century ago. At that time no human being believed in the doctrine of social equality. The wealthy proprietor of New England or New York wore silk and velvet and rolled in his coach, and the laboring-man doffed his hat to him; and in Virginia the old squire or colonel wore a similar dress, rode in a similar vehicle, and was treated with similar respect. In Vir- ginia society ascended in regular steps from bottom to top, like the rounds of a ladder, the black and white indented servants being the lowest rounds, and the planter the highest. The African and indented servant occu- pied much the same position. The former was either a native of Africaslave impor- tation, which began in 1620, having contin- ued to the Revolution, when it was forbid- den by lawor he was the descendant of natives. The status of the African is well known. He was the property of his mas- ter, and could be bought and sold; but sell- ing servants, as persons of good-breeding called themnever negroeswas a very unpopular proceeding, and seldom resorted to except in case of necessity. They were divided into farm laborers and domestic servants, an over seer managing the former, nuder the eye of the master. The farm la- borer was well fed, and rarely overtasked; generally had his own patch of ground, and sold eggs or poultry to his owner; was a VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. 3 merry, jovial, musical being, and when his days work was over, played his banjo in front of his cabin, and laughed and jested and danced by the light of the moon. The domestic servants were a step higher, and were looked upon very much as members of the family, whose joys and sorrows were their own too. They were slaves in noth- ing but the word. The gray-haired coach- man, the dignified old major-domo and body- servant, and that angust functionary the mammy, were important personages, and the idea of treating these merely as chattels, and pnnishing them in any manner, would have been regarded as supremely absurd. The coachman and major-domno had been playmates of the master of the establish- mnent when they were all children, and the mammy had narsed, washed, dressed, scold- ed, domineered over, and ruled the rising generation, male an(I female, who were much more snl)ject to her than she was to them. These old servants were a constituent part of a social organization essentially patri- archal, and repaid the confidence placed in them with warm affection and an overween- ing pride in every thing connected with the family. Of the indented servant, who was almost always a criminal transported to the colonies, not much need be said. He was bonnd to a master for a term of years, and during the term was subject to his orders, and could be reclaimed if he fled from work. His status is accurately defined in De Foes novels, where it will be seen that he was a servant bound to obey a master. At the end of his term he became a freedman again; and there were nmuerous instances where per- sons of this class reformed their lives, accu- mulated property, and became respectable members of the community. Passing to time class of free citizens, we encounter at the next round in the social laJder the small land-holder and two or three other classes occupying a somewhat similar social rankthe fishermen of the Chesapeake, the hunters of the mountains, etc. The small land-holdercalled by the black people, who invariably disliked him, the poor white manwas generally mm- educated, of hnmble origin, dressed in home- spun, tilled his small tract with his own hands assisted by his sons, and eked out what was often a scanty subsistence by selling the produce of his truck patch at some plant- ers establishment near, or in the neighbor- ing town, when there was a town. He bad no servants, farm or domestic. His wife and daughters cooked, washed, and spun; and his only recreation was to go and listen occasionally to the speechifying at the county court. He managed sometimes to send his children to the old field school,~~ and if he was a man of prudence and indus- try, often accumulated means to pnrchase more land, bought a servant or two, and at last became a well-to-do farmer, sometimes a large proprietor. These small land-hold- ers were men of sturdy and independent characters, like the English yeoman class. THE VILHmINIA MOUNTAINEER. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They were uneducated by books, but ardent lovers of public discnssion, which was often a very liberal education in political philoso- phy. Twenty-five acres of land was a free- hold, and gave the right to vote; and this vote was cast by the small proprietors in the freest and most independent manner. They were not very friendly to England. When henry came out of the Burgesses after his sileech against the Stamp Act, it was one of this class who slapped him on the shoulder, exclaiming, Stand by ns, old fellow, or we are gone ! The fishermen of the Chesapeake, the only aquatic class in a colony without fisheries like New England; the merchant factors of the small towns, very similar to the pres- ent commission merMiants, who managed the business affairs of the Illanters; the law- yers, physicians, and other classesoffer nothing very interesting. Let us pass to the two strongly contrasted types the hunter of the mountains, in his hunting shirt and moccasins, and the planter of tide- water, in his silk and velvet. The Virginia mountaineer of the eighteenth century was one of the most picturesqne and notable fig- ures of the epoch. He or his father had turned his back on the tide - water settle- ments, and resolutely set out to penetrate that debatable land and bloody ground, the region west of the Blue Ridge, intent, like Coopers Leatherstocking, on securing more elbow-room. The monutaineer was tall, stalwart, sparing of speech, entirely fearless, inured to hardship, of the race that extends civilization in new lands, preparing the way for others to enjoy what he wins from the wilderness and the savage. His sole possessions often were a rifle and an axe. With the axe he felled trees and built his rude cabin in some gash of the Alle- ghanys on the farthest outpost of civiliza- tion. With his rifle he provided venison and bear meat, or defended wife and chil- dren from massacre by the savages. The story of these bloody combats, as we read it in the old provincial history by Samuel Ker- cheval, is rich in romance, tragedy, and ex- hibitions of the coolest courage. The mount- aineer did not know the meaning of the word fear, and every thing about him was in accord with his surroundings. He was liberal, open-heartedas guileless and mm- suspecting, indeed, as a childbut tougher manhood never dwelt in human breast. The fibre of his character easily stood ally strain upon it, and he endured patiently and elmeer- fully all hardships. It was to this class of men tbat Washington looked, not to Brad- docks regulars, on the march to Fort Duquesne and in the bloody engagement there, as in all the long and arduous years of border war; and they formed the corps dJlite of the little Virgiiuia army under Gen- eral Andrew Lewis, which broke time power of the savage tribes in 1774, at the battle of Point Pleasant, on the Ohio. When the Revolution began, they appeared as C~ Mor- gans Riflemen in front of Boston, clad in fringed hunting shirts, belts of wampum, and moccasins, with Liberty or Death on their breasts, every man grasping his long rifle, and they fought throughout the war with unfaltering courage and endurance, from Quebec to tile Cowpens. The planter of Tide-water Virginiathe last round in the ladderwas the most GREENWAY COURT, HOME OF LORD FAuRFAX. VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. 5 striking representative of the older society of the colony, as the mountaineer was of the new. The planter was almost always an Englishman of unmixed race. He was a de- scendant of the first immigraiits who took root at Jamestown, or of those who after- ward sought Virginia as a place of refuge from the heavy hand of Cromwell. If they brought any means with them, they pur- chased rich tracts on the lowland rivers, and built fine houses. If they were poor, they went further lip, took up tracts which they engaged to defend from the In- dians, payiug so many shillings rent to his Majesty annually at the feast of Michael the Archangel, as the old deeds ran; and if these latter were prudent, energetic, and acquisitive of land, as almost all of their race were, they died wealthy. An instance out of a thousand others was Captain Will- iam Byrd, who took up thus the site of the present city of Riclunond. He was a gentleman of small means. His son, the fa- mous owner of Westover, was what we should now call a millionaire, and died pos- sessed of between one and two hundred thousand acres of the best land in Virginia.* This was the origin of the planter class. Their aucestors had been men of social po- sition hut impoverished fortunes. The de- scendants held the same position, hut were the owners of great estates. With the fam- ily blood they inherited all the family pro- clivities; and as they were the controlling class from social influence, and almost from their numbers, the commonwealth received from them an impress which it has never lost. Able writersamong them Mr. Ban- crofthave contested this controlling influ- ence, b at it existed in spite of other impor- tant elements. These were the brave and coiiscientious Hugnenot elementmen who had fled from bigotry and persecution in France to the free air of Virginiaand the Scotch-Irish element, chiefly encountered in the rich Valley of Virginia. From this hardy and intelligent Scotch-Irish stock sprung some of the most distinguished men of Virginia history; among them General Andrew Lewis, the fearless soldier and statesman of the Revolution, and General Stonewall Jackson, one of the greatest leaders of the Confederate army. The Val- ley was also the home of large numbers of thrifty and law-abiding Dutch and Ger- mans, owners of comfortable houses, huge red barns, and broad fertile acres. These and other classes gave variety and pictur- esqueness to the composite social fabric; but the most interesting individual of all, the figure with the richest peculiarities, was the large land-holder of tide-water. He was full of prejudices, oddities, humors; and the men of his class inaugurated the Revolu- tionary strugglea fact which by itself makes him worthy of attention. Let us go back in fancy for a moment and visit the planter in his manor-house on the banks of the James, the York, or the Rappa- hannock. His house is sometimes large and fine, like Rosewell or Stratford Hall, but frequently unassuming. It stands, however, in the midst of hundreds, often thousands, of rich acres, and its out-buildings and serv STRATFOEH, IN wESTMoRELAaI), THE IIOMF OF rue i rae. * An interesting illustrated article on The West- over Estate was published in Harpers Magazine for May, 1871. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ants quarters form a little village. Here the planter is lord and master of allriding to and fro over his estate (laily and issuing his orders, and these orders there is no one to dispute. He is an excellent horseman Washington, the best rider of the American army, was a planter before he was a soldier and the mounted figure is that of the bluff, ruddy, healthy English country gentle- man. His dress is plain at home; but when he enters his coach-and-four, driven by the portly black coachman, to go to the metrop- oils of Williamsburg, or to attend church, or to preside in awful state at the county court, he is en graade teaueruffles, gold-laced waistcoat, silk stockings, buckled shoes, and powder. The costumes of the old comedy, as we see them on the stage to-day, alone give an idea of the gorgeons full dress of that period, which is accurately shown in the bird-of-paradise-like plumage of the fig- ures in the painting of Washingtons wed- ding in 1759. At church, where the old squire calmly (lozes while the parson drawls at court, where, as magistrate, he is the terror of evil-doers; at the fine balls at the Govern- ors palace or the Raleigh Tavern; and in his own hospitable house, where the table groans under every delicacy and the wine flows freelythe generous, dogmatic, prej- udiced, courteous, imposing old worthy ap- pears in his most characteristic phases. His opinions upon political, religions, and social subjects have long since been made up, and he adheres to theni with an obstinacy which defies every attempt to modify them. He believes that constitutional monarchy, a his- toric nobility, and a landed aristocracy are the constituent elements of national gov- ernment and society. England and every thing English is with him a subject both of admiration and affection. The English Church Establishment is his establishment, and he has little patience with the New Lights, Baptists, Presbyterians, and other dissenters, who are leading people astray, he tells you, with their new-fangled views. The English law of prhnogeniture, giving the estate to the eldest son, and thus perpetuating an aristocratic landed classy is, in the planters opinion, the very corner- stone of the social fabric. The kings right to his obedienceif his own rights are respect- edis a doctrine which meets with his hearty approbation. He speaks of England always as home, and loves all connected with her. All his books are English books. All his pastimes are English. He loves thorough- bred horses, fox-hunting, improved breeds of stock, Christmas festivities, a house over- flowing with company, and a generous style of hiving. The sketch here given will, we hope, en- able the reader to take in at a glance that striking and composite society of Virginia in the last century, with its black and white servants working on the glehe; its wealthy land-holders rolling in their coaches, and rul- ing supreme on their large estates far from EN OStANDE TENtTE. VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. 7 towns; its parsons of the parish prone to easy living, quarrels with their vestries, and intolerance of New Light dissent led hy Wesley, Fletcher, Whitelield, and in Virginia hy Samuel Davies and some of the ablest and purest of men; its fishermen dredging the waters of the Chesapeake; its factors driving a profitable business in the few towns; and its stalwart borderers in the mountains and the great valley grasping their rifles, and as free as the eagle sweep- ing above them. If this picture is clear be- fore the eyes of the reader, he will find no (lifficulty in conceiving a tolerably correct idea of the land and period in which now took place the great political agitation which, concurrent with that in the other colonies, was to result in the overthrow of English supremacy in North America. From this outline of Virginia society we pass now to men and events. The English government recoiled before the determined opposition to the Stamp Act, and repealed it; hut two years later passed a new law levying duties on tea, glass, and other com- modities, which aroused a similar ferment in the colonies. In Virginia the Burgesses passed resolutions so rebellious that the Governor dissolved them. Thus all things hastened. In the spring of 1773 it was plain to all that the public sentiment of the colonies was becoming imbittered and dan- gerous. There was something in the air resembling the first breath of an approach- ing storm; and the great political leaders North and South, who foresaw that revolu- tion was inevitahle, welcomed joyfully these signs of popular agitation. In Virginia the two men who marched in front of all were Patrick Henry and Thomas Jeffersonand these two leaders are equally interesting as individuals and political overturners. Let us glance at them. Henry had already re- ceived the name of the Man of the People. He sprung from what may be called the mid- dle class, and his personal appearance was plain, almost humble. During his early manhood he was noted for idleness and fail- ure in all that he undertook. He failed twice as a small country merchant, giving his time and attention to hunting, fishing, and playing the violin, instead of his busi- ness; and, as a last resort, read law for six weeks, barely received a license to practice, and seemed destined to starve a little more rapidly even in his new profession than in trade. The moment was near, however, when his wonderful powers were to reveal themselves. The clergy of the colonywho were not a popular classbrought suit to recover their salaries, resting their claims on a royal order in council, which was in di- rect opl)osition to an act of the Burgesses, and Henry was employed to oppose theni, though the law was completely in their favor. The result was remarkable. The awkward youth rose to speak in the midst of derisive smiles from the clergy, who were present in great numbers. His head hung down and his voice faltered. But soon an astonishing transformation took place in his appearance. The head rose erect, the voice grew vibrating and imperious, and he de- nounced king, clergy, and Parliament in terms so violent and overwhelming that he was interrupted by cries of Treason ! and the parsons left the court-house in bitter indignation. Henrys triumph was com OLn SMITHFIELD ducuca, ISLE OF WICLIT, 1632TIlE OLI) ST enuacil 1)0W STANJ)ING IN VIlICINIA. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. plete. He had played upon the chords of the popular heart with the hand of a mas- ter. The jury decided in his favor in open opposition to all law; a~~d the crowd, yield- ing to passionate adniiration, canght the young orator up on their shoulders and bore him in the midst of shouts and outcries around the yard of the court-house. Henrys next public appearance was in the debate on the Stamp Act in the House of Burgesses. We have seen him on that occasion rise in the midst of the crowd of planters, and break down all opposition by his linmense eloquence. He had thns car- ried with him the first inca of Virginia, as he had carried with him the rustic crowd when he spoke against the parsons. He was thenceforward the mouth-piece and leader of the extreme revolutionists, and his own fiery spirit pervaded the whole fabric of so- ciety, moulding public sentiment and spur- ring the people to resolute resistance. Jefferson belonged by birth to the aristo- cratic classa subject of great derision to himand in his early years was a tall, thin, red-haired, laughing, fiddle-playing youth, who spent his time in a round of frolics; in writing rollicksome letters from Devils- burg, as he called the city of Williamsburo~ in making romantic love to little beauties with whom he danced, he tells as, in the Apollo Room of the Raleigh Tavern, where afterward, in the very same room, he was to inaugurate revolution. College ended, he became a county court lawyer, bore off beautiful young widow and heiress from many rivals, and in due time entered upon politics. Young as he was, the first intel- ThOMAS JEFFERBON.[FRONI TIlE STATUJI IN RICHMOND.] lects of the time soon found that he was their leader. The position he speedily as- sinned and never lost was due to no intrigue or influence of family or friends; the born r6rolntionnaire and iconoclast took as of right the rank to which his intellect entitled him. This intellect was mi geacris; a species of machine which rolled remorselessly without pausing over all that lay in its patlithejus divinum, aristocratic privilege, and ecclesi- astical authority. Henry was the orator, on fire with indignation, and lashing himself to rage, as it were, by the sound of his own voice. Jefferson was the writer, the cold political thinker, attaching no weight to au- thority, subjecting all to the test of reason, without reverence for what was established because it was established, and prone by nature to carry out abstract principles to their extremest bounds without shrinking from the result. It was not to be wondered at that, with such a bent of intellect and temperament, he should have become a po- litical agitator and social leveler: unfortu- nately lie became also an unbeliever in Chris- tianity. Such were the two great ultra-revolu- tionary leaders who moved in front. Im- mediately behind them, however, were men who surpassed theni in many of the quali- ties which found new commonwealths out of the d6bris of old ones. These men were Richard Henry Lee, of Chantilly, in Westmoreland, tall, noble - looking, with a PATRICK IIENRY.[FIIOM TIlE STATUE IN RIChMOND.] VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. black bandage on one hand cover- ing a gunshot wound received while shooting swans on the Potomac, with a slight bend in the neck, which gave him the appearance of listening courteously; and a delica- cy in public speaking so peculiarly graceful that he was said to have made it the subject of study, and to have practiced his gestures before a mirror. He was to play a great part in the approaching collision, to share in all the consultations of the lead- ers, to move in Congress the Dcc- I ration of Independence, and to die, at the end of a serene old age, in his native Westmoreland, leaving behind him the reputation of a devoted lover of his country, and an orator full of fire and splendor. Edmund Pendleton, of Ed- mundsbury, in Caroline, was another of these eminent figurestall and graceful in person, like Lee, with the silvery voice (vox argentea) of Cicero, and a face of the first order of manly beauty; a conservative statesman, having that intuitive love of prescription characteristic of all eminent lawyers; in favor of the system of primo- geniture and of a well-regulated Establish- ment; winning in manners, an exquisitely persuasive public speaker, and so vigorous of intellect that Jefferson said of him, Take him all in all, he was the ablest man in de- bate I have ever met with. He was to be- come the president of the Committee of Safety, to preside over the Supreme Court of Appeals of the Commonwealth, and to die in harness, old and famous, while pen- ning the. last lines of a judicial opinion protecting his beloved Episcopal Church. With these was associated George Mason, of Gunston Hall, on the Potomacpow- erful in frame, with a swarthy complexion, and dark eyes, whose expression was half sad, half severe, as may still be seen in his portrait: with his massive political genius trained by profound study of charters and state papers, his biting wit, his honesty, pride, simplicity, courage, a true type of the great race from which sprang Hampden and Sydney, though his ancestors had ad- AL ICC TAVEm. hered to the fortunes of the king. He was to become the author of the Bill of Bights of the people of Virginia, which has been styled the quintessence of all the great princi- ples and doctrines of freedom wrought out by the people of England from the earliest times ~ to write to his son in Paris, God bless you, my dear child, and grant that we may again meet in your native country as freemen, otherwise, that we never see each other, more, is the prayer of your affection- ate father ~ and to say, in 1778, If I can only live to see the American Union firmly fixed, and free governments firmly estab- lished in our Western world, and can leave to my children but a crust of bread and liberty, I shall die satisfied, and say with Simeon, Lord, now lettest Thou Thy serv- ant depart in peace! And others still were the eminent Benjamin Hnrrison, said to be descended from the regicide; Wythe and Bland, profoundly read in the ancient charters; Page and Nelson, both to become Governors; Edmund Randolph, afterward President of Congress and Washingtons cabinet officer; and Archibald Cary, of Ampthillthat small, slender, bright- eyed gentleman called Old Iron for his courage, who, when some one broached the project of making Patrick Henry dictator, sent him the message, Tell him that the day of his appointment shall be the day of his death,,fo~ he shall find my dagger in his heart before the sunset of that day. Such was the strong phalanx support- ing Henry and Jefferson at this critical momentthe spring of 73. These two latter were in the Burgesses, and under their hands all the ele- ments of revolution began to com- bine and form a compact mass. They held a meeting with other determin- ed spirits in the evening, in a pri- vate room of the Raleigh, and from this consultation sprang the project for a Committee of Correspondence and Inquiry for the Dissemination of Intelligence between the Cob- niesthe first great bond of union between the scattered colonies. ~ APOLLO RooM. Massachusetts had already such a 9 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. system within her own borders, among the counties and townships; the Virginia prop- osition was the first for intercolonial con- sultation, and it proved one of the main great engines of resistance. It was lai(l be- fore the Burgesses; the project was prompt- ly adopted; Lord Dunmore as promptly Jis- solved the body; the people as promptly re-elected every member; and with the ad- vent of 1774 the storm began to mutter nearer and nearer. What the leaders ear- nestly desired had duly taken place. The tea had been destroyed in Boston Harbor; Parliament ordered the port to be closed on the 1st of June; and the Virginia Bur- gesses resolved that the day should be one of fasting, humiliation, and prayer, whereupon Governor Dunmore again dis- solved them. But the (lie was now cast. The Burgesses had gone too far to recede, even if they desired to do so. We retired to the Apollo, as before, says Jefferson. The counties were recommended to appoint deputies to a convention to assemble on the 1st of August, and the Committee of Cor- respondence was directed to propose to all the colonies a Gen al Congres8 to meet and consult on the general welfare. CIVE ME LInCETY, OR CIVE ME DEATh ! VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. 11 The main aim of this paper is to show what part the colony of Virginia bore in the political his- tory of the Revolution, for therein lies her chief claim to attention. Having this in view, the writer ought not to pass over without mention a remarkable pnblication of the periodJeffersons Sum- mary View of the Rights of Brit- ish Americawhich procnred the enrollment of his name in a bill of attainder for treason. This strik- ing pamphlet led, according to John Adams, to the selection of Jefferson to draw up the Declara- tion of Independence. The his- tory of the latter document is familiar to all. The colonies al- most without exception were, in the spring of 1776, ready for such a step, but it was first formally proposed by Virginia. On the 17th of May the Burgesses direct- ed their delegates to Congress to propose to that body to declare the colonies independent of Great wAsaIaeToa.* Britain, and in June Richard Henry Lee moved in Congress that these fiery debate followed; but all opposition united colonies are and ought to be free was broken down, aiid on the 4th of July and independent States, that they are ab- this immeasurably important document be- solved from all alle~,iance to the British came the foundation of the republic of the crown, and that all political connection be- United States. The country was already at tween them and the state of Great Britain war. Henry had foreseen the armed sting- is and ought to be totally dissolved. John gle, and predicted, almost with the spirit of Adams, the hardy and resolute champion prophecy, the exact date of its beginning. of resistance, supported the resolution. A In Marcb, 1775, more than one year before, the Virginia Convention had met in old St. Johns Church, crowning a lofty hill above the falls of James River, at Rich- tuond, and henry had promptly moved that the colony be put in a state of defense. When his resolution was opposed, his extraordinary eloquence again swept all before it. Inaction ,he declared, would prove fatal. There is no retreat, he exclaimed, but in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged; their clanking may be beard on the plains of Boston The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of re- sounding arms I know not what course others uiay take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give Inc death ! The echo to this defiant outburst and call to arms was the rattle of musketry at Concord, and the thunder of Lord Percys cannon as he retreated, before the minute-men, on Boston. Thus step by step the Americans had advanced from indignation to protest, * From the Washington Monument in front of the Capitol in Richmond, virginia. The statues of Henry, Jefferson, and Lewis, represented in other cuts, are parts of this same monument, eaoaea WAsaLNeTON. EFROM roaLTaAIT BY COLONEL TRUMaULL.] 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from protest to resistance, and from resist- aiice to revolution; and, from the first, Vir- ginia had been one of those in front of the column. The great political revolution had thus been consummated. The tongue and the pen had done their work. The colonies had declared themselves independent of Great Britainthat step meant warand the great question now was, who should be se- lected as the military leader. It did not seem a difficult matter to find this leader. The old French and Indian wars had train- ed excellent soldiers in tbe severest of schools, and both in the North and the South were many suitable persons. The choice fell upon George Washington, a planter of the Potomac, who was now call- ed from his beloved retirement at Mount Vernon to take command of the armies of North America. The public career of Washington is an oft-told tale, and does not belong to the subject of this paper. But a few personal details of the man may interest-a familiar likeness of an individual whom we are much too prone to regard as merely a chill figure in bronze or marble. Washington was es- sentially a countryman: he became a sol- dier and ruler from force of circumstances, not from choice. He was a younger son, and began life as a surveyor for his connec- tion Lord Fairfax, of Greenway Court, in the Virginia Valleythe eccentric oJd no- bleman who owned nearly one-fourth of the colony of Virginia, who became the early protector of the boy George Washington, and who when, more than thirty years aft- erward, he heard that Lord Coruwallis had surrendered to this same boy, exclaimed to his old body-servant, Take me to bed, Joe; it is time for me to die ! The youth was sixteen when he forded the Shenandoah, chain and compass in hand, a ruddy boy with bright face and curling hair, intent on earning his doubloon a day. He had left behind him a little lowland beauty, as he called herthe mother afterward of Light- Horse Harry Leeand by the light of his bivonac fire in the great woods he made bad verses in her honor. Then came Braddocks march and the Indian wars on the frontier, and the youth was put in command there, and became tough and enduring for the greater work of the future. He made a high reputation and received public honors; but he did not seem to desire them. He pre- ferred country life at Mount Vernon, which was now his property, and the enjoyment of the society of his young wife and his old neighbors. His first meeting with Mrs. Washington was accidental and a little ro- mantic. He was making a rapid horseback journey from the frontier to Williamsburg, when, in New Kent County, he met a gen- tleman who invited him to stop for the night. He declinedhis business was pub- lic and urgent; but consented to dine, or- dering his horse to be ready in an hour. In an hour his horse was awaiting him at the BY TilE LIGHT OF HIS BIVOUAC FIRE HE MADE BAD VERSES IN HER HONOR. VIRGINIA IN THE REVOLUTION. 13 door, held by his stiff old body - servant, Bishop, presented to him by Braddock. But Colonel Washington was not ready, and did not make his appearance nntil next morn- ing. He had made the acqnaintance of the beautiful young Martha Custis, who in Jan- nary, 1759, became Mrs. Washington, bring- ing him a fortune of about 30,000. Thence- forth the yonng soldier seemed to lose all his ambition. Private life pleased him bet- ter than public. Ingrained in him were the instincts and tastes of the planter, and he loved the management of his estate as a pol- itician loves to govern a nationto lay out new fields, plan improvements, raise thor- ough-bred horses and new breeds of cattle, and to ride out gun in hand, or follow the hounds, of which he had an excellent pack. His character was sedate, and he seemed rather cold, but he entertained liberally, though his personal habits were plain and temperate. He was more a man of busi- ness than a student. In his county and in the Burgesses he threw his great name into the scales of revolution; and receiving from Congress in 1775 the summons to take com- mand of the American armies, at once obey- ed the summons, urging his incompetency, hut calmly accepting the responsibility. He set out for Boston, was every where received with acelamations, and at Cambridge took command of the colonial forces, resolved to do his duty and leave the rest to Provi- dence. The armed struggle of the ReVolution took place rather in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and the Carolinas than in Virginia; hut some interesting military events occurred upon her soil, and by a sin- gular chance the war came to an end with- in a few miles of the spot where Patrick Henry had sounded the first note of resist- ance. The military events were briefly these. In the autumn of 1774 a great force of In- dians appeared on the Virginia frontier, and it was chargedwith or without rea- sonagainst Lord Dunmore, time royal Gov- ernor, that he encouraged an inroad on the border to paralyze the spirit of colonial re- bellion. The Virginians acted with decision. A force was promptly embodied, under com SARATOGAGENERAL MORGAN S RESIDENCE. ANDREW LEWIS.[FROM THE STATUE IN RIOuMONII.] 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mand of General Andrew Lewis. He march- ed to Point Pleasant, on the Ohio, and in a bloody battle there, fought in the month of October, completely defeated and broke the strength of the great tribes under Cornstalk and other leaders, who thereafter gave the colonies no trouble. With 1775 the war began; and almost at the moment when the men of the North were fighting at Lexington and Concord, Patrick Henry was marching at the head of an armed force on Williamsburg, to ex- tort from Governor Dunmore the restitution of the powder which he had removed from the public magazine. The intelligence of this removal had fired the whole colony, and seven hundred men promptly assembled at Fredericksburg, ainon g whom was a com- pany of Culpepper minute-men, bearing a flag with a rattlesnake upon it, and the motto, Dont tread on ~ me ! One of the offi CUL?EPPERAINUTL ME~ of this company C was young John Mar- shall, afterward Chief ONT T~AD ON ME i Justice of the United States. It marched to the FLAG OF TH cULPEP- sea - l)oard, and PER MINUTE-MEN. Lord Dunmore having fled and begun a pred- atory war on the coasttook part in the battle of Great Bridge, in December, where an English force sustained a bloody re- pulse, their brave leader, Fordyce, falling at the head of his grenadiers, pierced by fourteen bullets from the rifles of the mount- aineers. This resolute race of men has been spoken of already; and in this year (1775) an interesting incident is related of them. Daniel Morganthe hero of Quebec, Sara- toga, and the Cowpens afterwardhad re- cruited in the Virginia Valley a battalion, which he called Morgans Riflemen. With these he set out to join Washington, then at Boston, and while riding along his lines, Washington saw them approaching. At the sight he stopped, the riflemen drew nearer, and their commander, stepping in front, made the military salute, exclaiming, Gen- eral, from the right bank of the Potomac ! The effect of these words was remarkable. Washington dismounted, came to meet the battalion, and going down the line with both arms extended, shook hands with the riflemen one by one, tears rolling down his cheeks as he did so. He then mounted, sa- lnted, and silently rode on. In 1781 the war was transferred from New York and the Carolinas to Virginia, Arnold, the traitor, ascending James River and set- ting fire to Richmond, after which he re- treated. This was followed by the occu- pation of Petersburg by General Phillips, whom Jefferson called the proudest man of the proudest nation upon earth. The young Marquis Lafayette, sent by Washing- ton to take command in Virginia, cannon- aded Petersburg; and the Bolingbroke mansion, where Phillips had his head-quar- ters and lay ill, was in the range of fire. To - ~44E~4-~.W __________ 7 - ________- ____ ______ GENERAL, FRO~ TUE RIGHT BANE OF THE POTOMAC. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. 15 protect him from the shot, the British gen- eral was removed to the cellar, exclaiming, Wont they let me die in peace ~ soon after which he expired. With the month of May came Lord Corn- wallis from the Carolinas, confident of his ability to capture Lafayette, of whom he said, The boy can not escape flue. The boy, however, steadily retired toward the Rappahannock; Lord Cornwallis advanced into the interior of the State, and Colonel Tarleton, his chief of cavalry, swept like a hurricane in front of him, burning houses, cutting the throats of such horses as he did not need, among others those on one of Jef- fersons estates, and having dispersed the Legislature at Charlottesville, made a swoop at Monticello, the residence of Jefferson, who just managed to escape into the neigh- boring mountains. Coruwallis soon fell back toward the Chesapeake, pursued by the boy Lafay- ette, who struck a heavy blow at him in the neighborhood of Williarnsbur~ and then appeared a courier at the American head- quarters, bringing great news. Washington had determined to transfer the war to Vir- ginia. He secretly evacuated his lines in front of New York, marched through Phila- delphia in the midst of shouts and acelama- tions, made a brief pause at Mount Vernon while the forces continued their way, and on the evening of the 14th of September, 1781, made his appearance at Williamsburg. All things now hastened forward to the great catastrophe upon which the curtain was about to fall. Lord Coruwallis had shut himself up in Yorktown, awaiting suc- cor from Sir Henry Clinton. The English fleet had been attacked outside the capes and driven off by the French fleet under Count de Grasse. The British commander was closely invested in Yorktown, and a thundering salute from the American can- non announced that the attack upon hini had begun; and at length a decisive as- sault took place, which resulted in the cap- ture of two of the strongest of the English redoubts, one toward the banks of the York, the other toward the bay. Washington, who had witnessed the contest, when the English works had been carried, said to Knox, in his grave, deliberate voice, The work is done, and well done. The long work was indeed over, the event was decided. Lord Coruwallis, in despair, conceived the desperate design of crossing his army secretly, under cover of darkness, to Gloucester Point, on the north bank of the York, and of thence pushing his way by a forced march to New York. But the ele- ments fought against him. A great storm arose and wrecked his barges, and he wrote to General Washington announcing his read- iness to surrender. This great final scene of the long and bloody tragedy took place on the 19th of October, and terminated the Revolutionary war. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. FROM the high mountain country of Southern Colorado, in which the Chama and Navajo rivers are fed by the inexhaustible snows of the San Juan range, Lieutenant Morrisons di- vision of the Wheeler exploring expe- dition, an account of whose progress to this point has already appeared in these pages, crossed the boundary line of New Mexico and entered a section which would have proved to us, had we needed proof, the impossibility of generalizing on the elements of West- ern scenery. The mature and mellow prettiness of the English rural land- scape may be comprehensively grasped in some happy figure of a poet. But it is as vain to attempt to describe the territory beyond the 100th meridian by one or half a dozen adjectives as it would be to attempt to epitomize in a single sentence the changing glories of the western sky. To say that it is all rugged, weird, and depressing is as incorrect as to say that it is invariably beautiful, luxuri- ant, and inspiring. It contradicts it- self in the possession of all these qual i4AVAJOB.

A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. 15 protect him from the shot, the British gen- eral was removed to the cellar, exclaiming, Wont they let me die in peace ~ soon after which he expired. With the month of May came Lord Corn- wallis from the Carolinas, confident of his ability to capture Lafayette, of whom he said, The boy can not escape flue. The boy, however, steadily retired toward the Rappahannock; Lord Cornwallis advanced into the interior of the State, and Colonel Tarleton, his chief of cavalry, swept like a hurricane in front of him, burning houses, cutting the throats of such horses as he did not need, among others those on one of Jef- fersons estates, and having dispersed the Legislature at Charlottesville, made a swoop at Monticello, the residence of Jefferson, who just managed to escape into the neigh- boring mountains. Coruwallis soon fell back toward the Chesapeake, pursued by the boy Lafay- ette, who struck a heavy blow at him in the neighborhood of Williarnsbur~ and then appeared a courier at the American head- quarters, bringing great news. Washington had determined to transfer the war to Vir- ginia. He secretly evacuated his lines in front of New York, marched through Phila- delphia in the midst of shouts and acelama- tions, made a brief pause at Mount Vernon while the forces continued their way, and on the evening of the 14th of September, 1781, made his appearance at Williamsburg. All things now hastened forward to the great catastrophe upon which the curtain was about to fall. Lord Coruwallis had shut himself up in Yorktown, awaiting suc- cor from Sir Henry Clinton. The English fleet had been attacked outside the capes and driven off by the French fleet under Count de Grasse. The British commander was closely invested in Yorktown, and a thundering salute from the American can- non announced that the attack upon hini had begun; and at length a decisive as- sault took place, which resulted in the cap- ture of two of the strongest of the English redoubts, one toward the banks of the York, the other toward the bay. Washington, who had witnessed the contest, when the English works had been carried, said to Knox, in his grave, deliberate voice, The work is done, and well done. The long work was indeed over, the event was decided. Lord Coruwallis, in despair, conceived the desperate design of crossing his army secretly, under cover of darkness, to Gloucester Point, on the north bank of the York, and of thence pushing his way by a forced march to New York. But the ele- ments fought against him. A great storm arose and wrecked his barges, and he wrote to General Washington announcing his read- iness to surrender. This great final scene of the long and bloody tragedy took place on the 19th of October, and terminated the Revolutionary war. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. FROM the high mountain country of Southern Colorado, in which the Chama and Navajo rivers are fed by the inexhaustible snows of the San Juan range, Lieutenant Morrisons di- vision of the Wheeler exploring expe- dition, an account of whose progress to this point has already appeared in these pages, crossed the boundary line of New Mexico and entered a section which would have proved to us, had we needed proof, the impossibility of generalizing on the elements of West- ern scenery. The mature and mellow prettiness of the English rural land- scape may be comprehensively grasped in some happy figure of a poet. But it is as vain to attempt to describe the territory beyond the 100th meridian by one or half a dozen adjectives as it would be to attempt to epitomize in a single sentence the changing glories of the western sky. To say that it is all rugged, weird, and depressing is as incorrect as to say that it is invariably beautiful, luxuri- ant, and inspiring. It contradicts it- self in the possession of all these qual i4AVAJOB. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ities, and in it Nature becomes a polyglot, expressing herself in a confusion of tongues, familiar and unfamiliar, breathing lullabies in the tranquillity of clover - loaded pas- tures, muttering threats where the spear- like peaks glitter with frosty brilliancy, and mocking herself in the witch-like im- ages and exuberant colors of the eroded sandstones. To-day the traveler labors in the troughs and over the hillocks of the plains, where the deformed sage bush man- tles the sterile earth with its leaden-hued pall, and where life is merely an illustra- tion of its consequence, death. To-mor- row he pitches his tent among the over- flowing vegetation of a mountain valley, and reposes on a bed of bluebells, with the melody of sighing cotton-woods and snow- fed brooks rippling in his ears, all his senses surfeited in a paradise of sweetness. The next day he may be in a region of monu- mental fantasies that set at naught the common laws of heaven and earth and all possibilities of descriptiona lost mortal in a goblin land where the grotesque and the preternatural are blended in the oddest ar- chitecture that wind, rain, and sand ever wrought upon. At the forks of the Rio Chama, near the sonth~rn limit of Colorado, we were in a country crystalline with peaks and glacier tracks, furrowed far and wide with deep caflons locked between chromatic walls of basalt and undulating hills of pine, as silent and sequestered to all appearance as it was when the world began. Ten miles farther south, across the New Mexican boundary line, we reached an extensive low- lying INDIAN RUINS IN TUE cANON DR (IHELLE. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. 17 plateau, realizing in all its features the cul- selves as a fitting prelude to an account of tivated and orderly magnificence of an En- the Wheeler expedition in one of the least gush park, with the difference that for oaks known and accessible of our possessions, for there were pinespines that matched the in most things New Mexico is the antithesis oaks in size, age, strength, and stateliness, of all other parts of the United States, and not packed together densely, but towering is alienated by the language, faith, customs, to a height of eighty or a hundred feet at and education of its people. even intervals, with a clear space wide The early records of the Spanish advent- enough to allow a carriage to pass between urers who opened the Territory to the knowl them. edge of Europe are extinct. In the Caflon Nor was the regularity with which these de Chelle, near the beautiful Zuni Mount- superb trees were set the only point of their ains, which are spurs of the main Rocky resemblance to the woodlands of the old range, there is a sandstone cliff widely country. The ground was perfectly level, known as Inscription Rock, on which a le- except where a little knoll broke its monot- gend is cut in letters of a size to do John ony, and covered with a short, thick, smooth Hancock credit. The name is that of Cap- carpet of grass that only needed a little care, tam Jude Avechu; the date, 1636. But the a little rolling and clipping, to make it as Spaniards had visited the Territory over a lustrous and elastic as the baronial lawns hundred years before this, over a hundred of England. In places an opening occurred, years, too, before the English had landed at in which, as if to complete the picture of Plymouth; and in 1595 it was formally added pastoral order and culture, great flocks of to the already dazzling possessions of Spain. sheep were grazing, attended by dirtily pic- About one-fifth of the entire population turesque half-breeds and Mexicans. of the Territory consists of Indians, and the These abrupt contrasts seem to lend them- original Spanish stock has mixed blood in cANON D14 cuz~~n VOL. LIII.No. 813.2 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. marriage as well as in battle with the hand- some Navajos, the brooding Apaches, the treacherous Utes, and the warlike Coman- ches. The New Mexican has not lost the characteristics of his forefathers, but to his own vices he has added those of the savage races surrounding him. In 1846, when the war growing out of the annexation of Texas was in progress, Gen- eral Kearney took possession of Santa F6, and soon afterward conquered the whole Territory, which was formally ceded to the lJnited States in 1848 by the treaty of Gua- (lalilpe Hidalgo, and reconstructed by the establishment of the Territorial government on September 9, 1850. It included at that ime a part of Colorado and of Arizona, which were successively separated from it, leaving an area of about 121,201 square miles. Its greatest breadth is 320 miles, its great- est length 350 miles, and iii acquiring it the United States made citizens of 60,000 im- poverished and ignorant people60,000 peo- ple alienated, as I have already said, by lan- guage, faith, customs, education, and, I might add, sympathies, since it is not denied that in event of another war with old Mexico, many of them would be fonnd leaning to- ward, if not aetnally engaged on, the side of their quondam compatriots. Though the native American settlers are insignificant in iinmbers, they control the politics and hold nearly all the important offices among themselves. The present Del- egate to Congress from the Territory, Mr. Stephen D. Elkins, has an extraordinary in- finence on the Mexicans both in political life and as a successful lawyer, and has twice defeated native candidates by heavy native majorities. The principal executive powers are vested in a Governor and Secre- tary, who are appointed for a term of four years by the President of the United States. The other officers of state, including an Au- ditor, a Treasurer, an Adjutant-Ceneral, and an Attorney-General, are chosen by the Leg- islature, which consists of a Council of thir- teen and a House of twenty-six Representa- tives, most of whom can neither read, write, nor talk English. In front of an adobe hovel near Tierra Amarilla we met a frowzy-looking fellow, whose dress consisted of a pair of trowsers and a shirt, and whose naturally brown complexion was darkened by untold depths of dirt. In a brief conversation with Lieu- tenant Morrison in Spanish, lie informed us that he was a member of the Legislature, and was astonished beyond measure that he was not already familiar to us by reputa- tion. He imagined that his fame had been carried world-wide, and was amusingly sor- ry for our ignorance when we assured him that we had never heard of him before. The language of the courts and church is Spanish, and in conversation a patois is used which bears about the same degree of relationship to the mother-tongue that the dialect of the Canadian habitant bears to Parisian French. ()ARvINe ON INSCRIPTION ROOK. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. 19 Education is making slow headway. Un- tornado in summer and the snows of winter til 1871 there were no public schools in the made the erection of a house a painfully un- Territory, but there are now no less than avoidable necessity. Nature accommodated 133, with 5625 pupils. In twelve schools him, however, and whichever site he chose, both English and Spanish are taught, in he had to go no farther than the spot on ten English only, and in 111 Spanish only. which he stood for building materials. The When the last census was made, the popula- earth only needed mixing with a little water tion included 48,836 persons over ten years and straw to make it adobe. Adobe, in point of age who could not read, and 52,220 persons of fact, is mud, and by spreading it while it who could not write. The wealthier class- is moist over a rude inclosure of logs, or es sometimes send their children to school shaping it into bricks, it can be fashioned in the States, but when a young man has without much labor or design into a passa- tasted the pleasures of Eastern society he bly comfortable habitation. This was all (loes not willingly submit himself again to that was necessary, and this was all that the primitive surroundings of his fathers was done. house, and hence there is a decided preju- If any thing is calculated to make a tray- (lice against this custom. eler feel more homesick than a dinner in a In faith the people are simple, obedient, railway restaurant, it is a collection of these miracle-loving believers in the most author- adobe houses. The prairie-dog throws up a itative and absolute Roman Catholicism mound around his dwelling; shapeliness and blind slaves of crude superstitions, taxed purpose are visible in the nomadic Indians beyond their means to support a tyrant wigwam; the bamboo house of the South Sea Church. Previous to the acquisitibn of the Islander has its overlapping roof of palms; Territory by the United States, their nearest but the home of the New Mexican is a cheer- bishop lived over a thousand miles away in less one-storied rectangle, as unpicturesque old Mexico, and seldoui if ever visited so as an empty soap box, without chimneys, remote a diocese as this. The priests exer- gables, or eavesfour flat, [expressionless cised unlimited temporal and spiritual pow- walls covered in by a flat, unmeaning lid, ers in the several parishes, and were inde- without a curve or projection of any kind scribably corrupt in the use of those powers to relieve the dead-weight of monotony. for their personal benefit and the shameless Neither mould nor creeper touches it; age satisfaction of their lusts. Never before leaves no mark of its caresses upon . it, ex- was religion further perverted. It became cept, perhaps, an unseemly gap here and the mere mask of license, and its ministers there where a portion of the adobe has fall- the priests, not of Christ, but of lechery and en away. The door has no panels, the win- greed. At the time when the present arch- dow no frame. Barren surfaces meet the bishop was appointed, he conld not close his eye every where, not one sign of beauty or eyes to the condition of affairs, and sum- strength. The crevices are infested by manly dismissed a large number of priests swarms of lizards, beetles, and hornets, to for open immorality; but despite his efforts, say nothing of roving tarantulas, scorpions, which have been sincere and zealous, the and rattlesnakes. And the interior match- Church is still represented in many distant es the exterior in its prison-like, angular settlements by men who are a disgrace and appearance. The two or three square apart- danger not only to Christianity, but to man- ments into which it is divided consist of. hood and freedom. The bishop is a native adobe walls, floors, and ceilings, furnished of France, and most of those under him are with a small table, a few kitchen utensils, French Jesuits, who, while they are not and a roll of bedding. They have the one guilty of downright corruption, have not merit of being warm in winter and cool in proved themselves in the history of their summer; and it would be unfair to overlook order the safest guardians of an ignorant their extreme cleanliness, for however filthy people. a Mexican woman may be personally, she The New Mexican is not extravagant in invariably keeps a clean house, and is never matters of architecture. He is not the man done scrubbing and whitewashing. by temperament or inclination to quarry Yet poverty-stricken and destitute of oth- stone and shape it for a shelter, when light- er decorations as these rude houses are, the er material can be found, and his chief airmi poorest of them can usually boast of a bit in constructing his dwelling has apparently of religious finery, and though a chair or a been to succeed with as little labor as pos- table is not included in the furniture, a cm- sible. His feeble indolence was not likely cifix dangles over the hearth, and a gaudy to express itself in such robust edifices of Nassau Street print of the Last Supper, the rock as some of the hardier Indians have manger of Bethlehem, or the Madonna and left on the cliffs to commemorate their for- Child may be found hanging against the mner greatness. Had the sun always shone wall. and the winds blown steadily from the Another indication of the homage paid south, he would not have built at all; but by these people to their religion is the pres- favorable as the climate is, an occasional ence of a church in the smallest settlemcnts; 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and whenever the Mexican has risen from the architectural sqnalor of his squat adobes, his efforts to attain a higher standard have been spent on the edifice that proclaims it- self in the cross. In the most distant and impoverished villages a little sanctuary is found, raising its head a few feet above the huts around it, and presenting in its belfry and cornice the only attempt at ornamenta- tion visible. The poverty within is almost pathetic. The bare mud walls are not more than twelve or fifteen feet high, and two small windows admit a drowsy yellow light into the dnsty interior. The altar is adorn- ed with cheap engravings, cheap paper flow- ers, cheap plaster images, cheap tallow can- dles, and cheap paper lace. It looks like a toy-shop window in fire-work times. The beams in the ceiling are as rongh as the woodmans axe left them. No chairs or seats are provided, and the congregation cronch, Indian fashion, on the hard mnd floor. In the larger towns, which are sup- plied with a resident priest, the chnrch bell is never done ringing for services, bnt in the far-off districts a wandering padre trots into town some Snnday morning and out of town on Monday morning, not to appear again for three weeks or a month. The extraordinary credulity and fanati- cism of the people are seen in the strongest light, however, during Holy-Week, when large numbers throughout the Territory par- ticipate in the exercises of the Society of Penitentes, which is discountenanced by the priests, though it originally sprang from the Church. The head-quarters of this organi- zation are at Mora, and its branches extend in every direction, including among its mem- bers a considerable part of the population, both male and female. It meets in the Mo- rada, or assembly hall, and its transactions are secret, but its avowed object is the expi- ation of sin by the infliction of violent bod- ily punishment. Toward Good-Friday there is an nnusual activity in the society, and the town-hall is occupied nearly every even- ing by meetings, which are signalized to the outsiders by dismal cries, groans, and the mysterious rattling of chains-prepara- tions which result on Holy-Thursday in the public scourging of those members who de- sire to chasten themselves and make atone- ment for their offenses. The day is regarded as a festival, and a crowd of eager specta- tors gather about the hall. After many preliminary ceremonies, the door is thrown open, and the penitentes file into the April twilight of the snow-covered street to the doleful music of a shrill reed instrument played by an attendant. They are desti- tute of other clothing than a thin pair of under-drawers, and their heads and faces are hidden in white cotton wraps, so that their neighbors may not, by recognizing them, have cause to wonder what crime they expiate. The leader staggers under the weight of a heavy cross about twenty feet high, and his companions, shivering with cold as the wind beats their naked bodies, carry thick bunches of the thorny cactus in their hands. The attendants place them in position, and at a given signal the procession moves, chanting a plaintive hymn to the time of the musicians pipe. At ev- ery second step the men strike themselves over the shoulders with the cactus, leaving a deeper scar with each blow, nntil the skin is broken and the lacerated flesh pours its blood in a carmine trail on the snow. Sev- eral are bound at the ankles by rawhide thongs, a dagger, pointed at both ends, be- ing secured between the two feet in such a way that when they stumble, it stabs them in a most sensitive part. The sight be- comes sickening with horror, and repress- ed moans of anguish fill the air as the cac- tus brushes afresh the streaming, quivering wounds. - No one is allowed to retire, and when the cross-bearer sinks to the ground from exhaustion, the attendants quickly raise him and nrge him on again with his heavy burden. The route is traced along the white road in crimson footsteps, and after parading the alleys of the town, the procession turns off toward a steep hill, in ascending which their bare feet are cut to the bone by the sharp projecting rocks. The eminence gained, preparations are made for a new and surpassing torture. The cross is laid upon the ground, and the bearer is so firmly bound to it by lengths of rawhide that the circulation of the blood is retarded, and a gradual discoloration of the body fol- lows. His arms are outstretched along the transverse beam, to which a sword, pointed at both ends like the dagger before men- tioned, is attached, and if he allows theni to drop a single inch from their original position, the weapon penetrates the flesh. Amidst the unearthly groans of the by- standers and the shrill piping of the musi- cian the cross is raised, and the crucifie4 turns his agonized face to heaven, while the blood slowly trickles from his wounds and a livid hue overspreads his skin. How long he remains is merely a question of endur- ance, for eventually he loses consciousness, and not until then is he released. At the conclusion of this barbarous performance, which occasionally results in death, the pe- nitentes return to the Morada, and the cele- bration is brought to a close. The nineteenth centi~ry has brought very few improvements to the Territory. The terminus of the nearest railroad is 300 miles distant from Santa P6. The few fields un- der cultivation are plowed with a forked wooden stick. The grain is trampled from the chaff by sheep and cattle. But curious as the people and their ways are, still more curious is the country itself. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. 21 From Tierra Amarilla (Yel- low Earth) our little party, including Lieutenant Morri- son, of the Sixth Cavalry, in command, and Mr. Frederick A. Clark, topographer,5 ex- plored an area to the west and southwest, presenting many difficulties, not a few perils, and innumerable novel geo- graphical features, most in- teresting of which are the ex- tensive mesas or table-lands that give some parts the ap- pearance of a vast archipela- go. Few whites had ever gone before us into this mysterious country. Hundreds of years ago it was inhabited by a race, possibly the Aztecs, that has left no tradition or record be- hind, except its ruined dwell- ings, which prove an intelli- gent knowledge of architect- sire and the art of fortifica- tion, such as no living Indian tribes possess: how manyhun- dred years ago no historian has ever ventured to say. Some of the ruins show traces of 400 rooms under one roof; and so large a population as this indicates could not have existed in the country as it now isan arid desert without permanent water, and consequently without vegetation, in a circle of ninety miles. It Inust have been moderately fertile certain- ly; in all likelihood it was well stocked with game; and the mind is dazed in think- ing of the a0es that have probably gone by while Nature has been canceling the old fe4t- ures, and clothing herself in the garments that she wears to-day. The pastures are wiped out. For three weeks we traveled twenty-five miles a day on an average without encountering a hu- nian being outside our own party, or a si~n (except the ruins, and the fragments of quaintly figured pottery that are thickly strewn around them) to show that we were not trespassing on a domain hitherto un- known to man. Our voices awoke no re- sponse in bird or beast. The swift lizard winding in and out among the prickly-pears, the cactus, and the sage bushes; the horned toad in its brightly colored armor creeping among the rocks; the yellow-brown rattle- snakes spitting their venom at us as they l)asked in the broiling mid-day sunshine; the prowling coyote stealing away from us, its weazen little body ill concealed by its bushy hair; a stray rabbit, so tough and flavorless that we did not deem it worth a cartridgethese, and these only, were the things that reminded us that life was not wholly extinct in the lonely wilderness be- fore ns. But in l)lace of the smiling aspect that the country once presented, the traveler is brought into the presence of the primitive forces of nature into a laboratory where not merely the effect, but the action itself is perceptible. The parched earth is mapped with open seams, that gape wider and wider with successive rains, until a deep channel is formed between abrupt, vertical walls. These arroyas, as they are called in Span- ish, lying in every direction, und making travel by night extremely dangerous, repre- sent, on a small scale, the gorgeous sand- stone mesas and the box cafions that divide them. The mesas are, technically speak- ing, plateaus, hut their formation is such that they are better described as flat-topped mountains, or islands in the ocean of the plains, rising with defiant bluffs of miracu- lous color to heights of from 8000 to 11,000 feet above the level of the sea, and 1000 feet above the immediate level. Looking from the summits, the eye follows their long smooth ridges, unbroken by pinnacle or crag, into the uncertain gray of a hundred miles. Viewed from the flat-bottomed troughs that separate them, they present in the lower half a slanting bed of detritus, specked by the dull green of stunted pines, and support- NEW MEXICAN FIELD WITH Ai)WIE WALLS. * The writers thanks are due to Mr. Clark and Mr. XV. H. Holmes for the valuable assistance he received from them in illustratin~ the article. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. great crevasse. One day we traveled several miles along a great oblong mesa, a mass of crimson, which elided sudden- ly in a rough escarpment of loose and overhanging rock, as though it had been violently torn asunder. After an inter- val of a qnarter of a mile, we came upon the missing frag- ment, which, withont doubt, had been separated from the main rock not in the convni- sive throes of an earthquake, but by the gradual, gentle, si- lent toil of the rain-drops. Nor are the evidences of the same power seen in such giant- like ~vork as this only. The bluffs and cliffs are often sup- ported by fluted columns and ornamented by delicate pilas- tered erosions that resemble the rich carvings of an old Gothic church in their infinite variety and harmonious design. And the wind, working with the sand, has not been less indus- trious than the water in lav- ishing fancies on these pliant rocks. The weird pillars that attract hundreds of tourists to Monument Park, in Central Colorado, are niultitudinously repeated here, and natnre con- fronts the astonished intruder with the grimace of a jester in the wildest and quaintest of vagaries. The yet more pliant sandstone clay which surrounds the mesas exhibits greater mar- vels. Cities with clustering spires, mina- rets, colonnades, towers, and monuments seem to rise out of the plain, bathed in deep, mellow, and brilliant tintsfair cities full of beautiful forms and colors. You can prob- ably recall pictures of Italy in which all kinds of tints are pervaded by a haze that softens all the outlines in its misty gold. Think, then, of such a picture realized with all its subtilty of color; think of an amphi- theatre of buildings, fanciful in form and fresh-looking as polished granite, composed of well-defined belts of mauve, violet, yel- low, pink, gray, blue, and a score of other hues, and from that you may gather an idea of the views that were constantly unfolded to us. First we saw a pyramid 200 feet high, at its base a shade of violet blending with an earthy brown that is next in the ribs of color surrounding it; above these a line of carmine exteads, melting into a soft rose-color, which by almost imperceptible degrees changes to a carmine again, and the apex is only reached by an infinite variety of the most astonishing chromatic transfor ed by abutments of solid or tessellated rock, and in the upper half a belt of stratified sandstone fringed with hemlock or fir. Some of them are precipitous on all sides. Oth- ers incline by an easy slope from a high bluff to the level. No words can describe the resplendent colors that illuminate them, nor the wonderful effects they produce in the effulgent western atmosphere. Some- times the sandstone forms a broad band of golden yellow, and its gritty particles glit- ter like burnished metal in the sunshine that pours down upon them from the un- dimmed sky; sometimes it is a vivid crim- son that seems steeped in the inextinguish- able fires of sunset; sometimes it is a mossy green, or bronze, or purple; but oftener it is ribbed by a score of different hues, each strong in its own beauty, and drawn across the wall of the mesa in a distinct line as by a painters brush. Wind and rain have written the story of their work on these sandstones in unmis- takable signs. We see the silver thread of a pool slowly wearing a channel for itself ia a fissure less than an inch wide. A little farther on, a similar channel widens into a MESA or emmAscA MomrAINS. A TRAIL IN THE FAR SOUTHWEST. 23 mations. Next we saw a larger and more complicated structuretwo tow- ers connected by a wall in front, with an arrow-like spire midway between them; and for miles farther we wonnd among similar and not less pictur- esqne rocks, some like crescent-shaped fortresses, others pointed and slim like needles, and others with a ludi- crous likeness to the human figure. In some places the stones have been eroded into thou- sands of little cells, like a worm-eaten l)iece of wood from the tropics, and oc- casionally a great split opens into a darksome cavern hundreds of feet deep. We crossed the Chasca Mountains by the Washington Pass, the suitabilit~~ of which as a wagon road to the West was confirmed, and for a week we worked in luxuriant valleys, amidst a tropical superabundance of vegetation and the music of cool, re- freshing brooks. The Navajo res- ervation includes these mountains, and we were visited by many Indians of that nation, broad-shoul- dered, swift-footed, handsome men, and pret- ty, pensive-looking squaws, with the merri- est of silvery laughs and the most winning of faces. Thence we entered Arizona by the way of Fort Defiance, traveling for three (lays under the shadow of a line of red sand- stone bluffs about 800 feet high, which are split ia many places into detached needles and pyramids like those in the Caflon do Chelle. Here and there a volcanic mass rises alone from the plain, its black and ~ substance covered with a yellowish- green moss; and among others of this kind we found one which Mr. Clark aptly named the Giants Arm-Chair. From Fort Defiance we re-entered New Mexico, passing through the Zuni Mountains, striking across country to the Rio Grande, ascending the valley to Albuquerque, working our way through the Zandia, Manzana, and Placer mountains to Santa F6, and giving a distinct name and place on the map to every peak, trail, and creek on our route. From Santa F6 the party explored the country to the southwest, calling at Galis- teo, Anton Chico, Las Vegas, and Fort Ly- ons, where the field season of five months was brought to a close on November 20, an(i the three divisions of the Colorado section of the expedition met to disband. Lieuten- ant Morrisons division traveled over 4200 road miles and surveyed 12,000 square miles an achievement which, considering the difficulties encountered in mountain regions TuE CIANTS AmmM-cuAIR. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from forest fires and swollen streams, the quantity of important materials, which will loss of mules from exhaustion, evinces the be incorporated in the reports of the sur- patient industry and zeal of the mem- vey, and many valuable specimens, which bers. Lieutenant Marshalls party traveled are deposited with the Smithsonian Insti- about 3800 miles and surveyed about 10,000 tution. The three other parties, working in square miles, and Lieutenant Carpenters Western Arizona and Southern California, party about 3600 road miles and 9000 square nnder the personal direction of Lieutenant miles. Besides the purely topographical Wheeler, were also successful, and, with the data obtained, the geologists, botanists, and exception of the death of one man by thirst, ornithologists of the parties gathered a large they met with no mishaps. OLD ABELS EXPERIENCE. So youre thinking of marriage, Josephwell, well, Ive naught to say; Most young folks (and some of the old ones) seem to incline that way. But Ive always liked you, Joseph; youve been very kind to me, And to know youre coming to trouble, why, it makes me sorry, you see. There now, Joseph, youre angry; twas foolish in me, no doubt: I didnt mean to say it, but somehow the words slipped out. Youll have to forgive me, Joseph; you know Im silly and old. Shake hands; and Ill tell you a story that has never yet been told; And perhaps when my storys ended, youll be ready, my friend, to say, Old Abel had very good reason for his doubts and fears to-day. I was sixty-five last birthdayIm gray and wrinkled, tis true; But forty years ago, Joseph, I was young and as spry as you, And Amy said I was handsomehow proud it made me then! Not the praise, but the thought that Amy preferred me to other men. She was a little beauty, sweet and dimpled and fair; You never saw such a mouth, Joseph, nor such brown eyes and hair. And she had such a coaxing way, too, that I was a fool, I know, And Im hardly cured of my folly, though its forty years ago. Amy and I were playmates; we went to school together; I carried her books and her basket through summer or winter weather. Later, at husking frolics, at quilting or apple bee, I was always her chosen sweetheart, and that was bliss for me. Time and thoughts and service gladly to her I gave; She was my queen, my idolI was her willing slave. And so, when she was twenty, and I was twenty-five, We were married: I thought that I was the happiest man alive. I fairly cried when the parson pronounced us man and wife, For hadnt I won the angel Id been worshiping all my life? Well, the wedding was fairly over, and I thought to settle down; Id built and furnished a cottage as pretty as any in town. Whatever I knew she fancied, I couldnt rest till I bought, So in trying to please my darling I spent far more than I ought. But when she smiled, and called me dear Abel, and praised my taste, What did I care if the neighbors talked of folly and waste? For a little while I was happy: to~ soon I was forced to see That Amy could he neglectful, and even cruel to me. When sometimes I hinted gently that the house wasnt very neat, Or left the food untasted that was scarcely fit to eat, Shed answer me so harshly, and say such cutting things, They gave me many a heartache: ah! words have terrible stings! At last I saw it plainlyher life too dull had grown; She was tired of her homely dutiestired of seeing me alone. I was always content and happy just at her side to be, But sheand that was bitterfound something wanting in me. Its too long a story, Joseph, to tell you how I strove To please and interest Amy, and to keep her fading love: My farm was left unteiided, my stock to ruin went, While we journeyed about and idled, till my little fortune was spent; Then back we went to our cottageit never had been a home; It could only grow more cheerless in the weary years to come. Weary and dreary I found them, till I grew to hate my life, And to think hard thoughts of all women, because I was grieved in my wife.

24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from forest fires and swollen streams, the quantity of important materials, which will loss of mules from exhaustion, evinces the be incorporated in the reports of the sur- patient industry and zeal of the mem- vey, and many valuable specimens, which bers. Lieutenant Marshalls party traveled are deposited with the Smithsonian Insti- about 3800 miles and surveyed about 10,000 tution. The three other parties, working in square miles, and Lieutenant Carpenters Western Arizona and Southern California, party about 3600 road miles and 9000 square nnder the personal direction of Lieutenant miles. Besides the purely topographical Wheeler, were also successful, and, with the data obtained, the geologists, botanists, and exception of the death of one man by thirst, ornithologists of the parties gathered a large they met with no mishaps. OLD ABELS EXPERIENCE. So youre thinking of marriage, Josephwell, well, Ive naught to say; Most young folks (and some of the old ones) seem to incline that way. But Ive always liked you, Joseph; youve been very kind to me, And to know youre coming to trouble, why, it makes me sorry, you see. There now, Joseph, youre angry; twas foolish in me, no doubt: I didnt mean to say it, but somehow the words slipped out. Youll have to forgive me, Joseph; you know Im silly and old. Shake hands; and Ill tell you a story that has never yet been told; And perhaps when my storys ended, youll be ready, my friend, to say, Old Abel had very good reason for his doubts and fears to-day. I was sixty-five last birthdayIm gray and wrinkled, tis true; But forty years ago, Joseph, I was young and as spry as you, And Amy said I was handsomehow proud it made me then! Not the praise, but the thought that Amy preferred me to other men. She was a little beauty, sweet and dimpled and fair; You never saw such a mouth, Joseph, nor such brown eyes and hair. And she had such a coaxing way, too, that I was a fool, I know, And Im hardly cured of my folly, though its forty years ago. Amy and I were playmates; we went to school together; I carried her books and her basket through summer or winter weather. Later, at husking frolics, at quilting or apple bee, I was always her chosen sweetheart, and that was bliss for me. Time and thoughts and service gladly to her I gave; She was my queen, my idolI was her willing slave. And so, when she was twenty, and I was twenty-five, We were married: I thought that I was the happiest man alive. I fairly cried when the parson pronounced us man and wife, For hadnt I won the angel Id been worshiping all my life? Well, the wedding was fairly over, and I thought to settle down; Id built and furnished a cottage as pretty as any in town. Whatever I knew she fancied, I couldnt rest till I bought, So in trying to please my darling I spent far more than I ought. But when she smiled, and called me dear Abel, and praised my taste, What did I care if the neighbors talked of folly and waste? For a little while I was happy: to~ soon I was forced to see That Amy could he neglectful, and even cruel to me. When sometimes I hinted gently that the house wasnt very neat, Or left the food untasted that was scarcely fit to eat, Shed answer me so harshly, and say such cutting things, They gave me many a heartache: ah! words have terrible stings! At last I saw it plainlyher life too dull had grown; She was tired of her homely dutiestired of seeing me alone. I was always content and happy just at her side to be, But sheand that was bitterfound something wanting in me. Its too long a story, Joseph, to tell you how I strove To please and interest Amy, and to keep her fading love: My farm was left unteiided, my stock to ruin went, While we journeyed about and idled, till my little fortune was spent; Then back we went to our cottageit never had been a home; It could only grow more cheerless in the weary years to come. Weary and dreary I found them, till I grew to hate my life, And to think hard thoughts of all women, because I was grieved in my wife. OLD ABELS EXPERIENCE. 25 One daycan I ever forget it ?wed been married just seven years I went out as usual, wretched,leaving Amy in angry tears. As I walked I found myself praying that God would send help to me, Never thinkingoh, never thinkingof what the answer might be! Before that day was over I stood by Amys bed, Aud saw her peaceful and smiling and beautifulyes, anddead! I had said my love was over, but then I knew I was wrong; Knew when I kissed her, my darling, Id been loving her all along; Knew when I looked at the baby, laid on her arm to rest, That my heart was dead withia me, and Id only a stone in my breast. Well, theres little more to tell you. I couldnt bear to stay In the house I had built for Amy; I sold it, and nioved away. Where to go next I knew notall places were much the same Till, my nephew wrote and bade me come here, and so I came. Since then Ive hardly noticed how the lonely years went on. Ive had chances for making money, but my energy seemed gone. Besides, I wanted so little, and why should I toil and save, When she who should have spent it rests in her quiet grave? So you see its natural, Joseph, that I should have doubts and fears, When I think of my disappointment, and all my lonely years. And yetIve often thought itif I was twenty-five, And had my life all before me, and Amy once more alive, Id marry hernever doubt itand love her, yes, all the same: So, after all is said, Joseph, youre not so ranch to blame. I W~T OUT AS USUAL, WRETcHEn, LEAVING AMY IN ANG V TEARS. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MISS SUSANS LOVE AFFAIR. SHE always impressed you as a person with a history. Though she was now a maiden woman of no doubtful age, hav- ing reached that age, indeed, that turns first, on opening the paper, to the record of deaths and marriages, and experiences a sort of dis- appointment if the name of some acquaint- ance is .to be found in neither; rather gaunt and spiny; dependent on her cup of tea; wearing spectacles on the sly at her fine work; clothed in fashions of three or four years ago, if, indeed, they could ever have been entitled fashions at all; with hardly any hair on her head, and a great deal of goldsmiths work in her month; with noth- ing at all to say, and nothing at all about her that to the yonng imagination presents an attraction; yet withal there was a quiet re- serve in manner, a certain contented silence, an air of satisfaction over delightfnl secrets, that led yon to look at her with inquiry, and presently to be assured that in the course of her experience she had played her part in some drama, had been one of the figures of some romance, had, in short, des affaires to remember. She seemed to be remember- ing them, too, all the time. She sat prick- ing and stitching and threading her needle, with an odd smile abont her lips, and now and then pausing with a far-away look i~ her eyes; sometimes the needle suspended, sometimes beating with its point a delicate tattoo on the pricked left finger, as if beat- ing time to the dream of some old tune to which her young feet once had danced, with a strong young arm about her. But Miss Susans reverie seldom ended with a sigh. If she had snifered any in her past, the suffering was all over now, and in some incomprehensible way it seemed to be compensation enough for her to remember it now. When the girls were gossiping, as girls do, sitting at their various work, jest- ing each other lightly, as girls will, and taking the name of this youth or of that in vain, Miss Susan joined in the gayety, yet much as the resident of a auperior planet, or rather, as Fred used to say, as Helen of Troy might have smiled, years after windy Ihion went down, when the slave women went on about their particular heroes, as she sat at her weaving, conscious of certain passages. Poor Miss Susan! there were no more ten- der passages for her. Let her make the most of what sweetness there had been in the past. It could hardly have been so very much, from appearances. And yet Fred said Miss Susan had been rather pretty than oth- erwise in her day and generation; that is, she was round and fair, with a pair of soft (lark eyes, and if not positively lovely, yet not at all unlovely, and comfortable in the sense that had never happened to doubt whether or not she was the peer of such oth- er girls as were not breathing beauties. Perhaps she was; and perhaps it was only her exceeding shyness that rendered it diffi- cult for any one to do more than address her a few commonplace sentences. When a per- son reddens and stammers if you attempt conversation, and is unable to command a thought with which to reply, and seems about to have tears spring into her eyes at another word, you naturally make your com- munication very brief:, if only for fear of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani- mals; and thus, if Miss Susan had charms, there was not much opportunity for any one to discover them. Certainly Clavers MVeigh never discovered them. Yet snch is fate: it was the charms of Clavers MVeigh that had moved Miss Susans heart and be- come the subject of her dreamsnot vivid, passionate dreams, be it understood, but mild, illusory visions that glaimeed upon her and came again, and gave her an airy region into which to mount occasionally above her work-a-day world as she went up and down with her daily taska region with which Miss Susan was quite content for ~a season, without troubling herself about its baseless fabric. Miss Susan was not the only girl of that day whose heart felt a quicker pulse when Clavers MVeigh went by. In fact, she would have been rather an exception if her heart had not felt his beautiful and mag- netic presence. He was a person of superb appearance, a Saul for statureand perhaps as much like ones ideal of the person of that picturesque monarch as it is given a modern mortal to beheroically strong and brave by nature, the traditions of him went, and dark and clear and brilliant-eyed in face, with a great lock of his black hair al- ways tumbling down his white forehead: yes, Clavers MVeigh had fired more than one young imagination, and Miss Susan left the others to think of him as Saul, or as Lucifer, Star of the Mdrning, or as any else in that line, and thought of him herself only as the one man of the world. It brightened life for her to know there was such a per- son, and the sight of him lent delight to any day. She could settle herself at no work till she had seen him go down the street in the morning to his office, and she sang like a bird long after the sight, and lived during the rest of the day in the anticipation of seeing him go back at night-fall. An hour before the time she was all aflutter, peering forth and drawing back demurely, veiled by the drapery of her aunts curtains, watching as eagerly as any girl watches for her de- laying long-acknowledged lover. If he did not conme, she waited till some chiding voice obliged her to drag herself, still looking back, away. If he came, her heart began to beat, her cheek to burn. She watched him

26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MISS SUSANS LOVE AFFAIR. SHE always impressed you as a person with a history. Though she was now a maiden woman of no doubtful age, hav- ing reached that age, indeed, that turns first, on opening the paper, to the record of deaths and marriages, and experiences a sort of dis- appointment if the name of some acquaint- ance is .to be found in neither; rather gaunt and spiny; dependent on her cup of tea; wearing spectacles on the sly at her fine work; clothed in fashions of three or four years ago, if, indeed, they could ever have been entitled fashions at all; with hardly any hair on her head, and a great deal of goldsmiths work in her month; with noth- ing at all to say, and nothing at all about her that to the yonng imagination presents an attraction; yet withal there was a quiet re- serve in manner, a certain contented silence, an air of satisfaction over delightfnl secrets, that led yon to look at her with inquiry, and presently to be assured that in the course of her experience she had played her part in some drama, had been one of the figures of some romance, had, in short, des affaires to remember. She seemed to be remember- ing them, too, all the time. She sat prick- ing and stitching and threading her needle, with an odd smile abont her lips, and now and then pausing with a far-away look i~ her eyes; sometimes the needle suspended, sometimes beating with its point a delicate tattoo on the pricked left finger, as if beat- ing time to the dream of some old tune to which her young feet once had danced, with a strong young arm about her. But Miss Susans reverie seldom ended with a sigh. If she had snifered any in her past, the suffering was all over now, and in some incomprehensible way it seemed to be compensation enough for her to remember it now. When the girls were gossiping, as girls do, sitting at their various work, jest- ing each other lightly, as girls will, and taking the name of this youth or of that in vain, Miss Susan joined in the gayety, yet much as the resident of a auperior planet, or rather, as Fred used to say, as Helen of Troy might have smiled, years after windy Ihion went down, when the slave women went on about their particular heroes, as she sat at her weaving, conscious of certain passages. Poor Miss Susan! there were no more ten- der passages for her. Let her make the most of what sweetness there had been in the past. It could hardly have been so very much, from appearances. And yet Fred said Miss Susan had been rather pretty than oth- erwise in her day and generation; that is, she was round and fair, with a pair of soft (lark eyes, and if not positively lovely, yet not at all unlovely, and comfortable in the sense that had never happened to doubt whether or not she was the peer of such oth- er girls as were not breathing beauties. Perhaps she was; and perhaps it was only her exceeding shyness that rendered it diffi- cult for any one to do more than address her a few commonplace sentences. When a per- son reddens and stammers if you attempt conversation, and is unable to command a thought with which to reply, and seems about to have tears spring into her eyes at another word, you naturally make your com- munication very brief:, if only for fear of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani- mals; and thus, if Miss Susan had charms, there was not much opportunity for any one to discover them. Certainly Clavers MVeigh never discovered them. Yet snch is fate: it was the charms of Clavers MVeigh that had moved Miss Susans heart and be- come the subject of her dreamsnot vivid, passionate dreams, be it understood, but mild, illusory visions that glaimeed upon her and came again, and gave her an airy region into which to mount occasionally above her work-a-day world as she went up and down with her daily taska region with which Miss Susan was quite content for ~a season, without troubling herself about its baseless fabric. Miss Susan was not the only girl of that day whose heart felt a quicker pulse when Clavers MVeigh went by. In fact, she would have been rather an exception if her heart had not felt his beautiful and mag- netic presence. He was a person of superb appearance, a Saul for statureand perhaps as much like ones ideal of the person of that picturesque monarch as it is given a modern mortal to beheroically strong and brave by nature, the traditions of him went, and dark and clear and brilliant-eyed in face, with a great lock of his black hair al- ways tumbling down his white forehead: yes, Clavers MVeigh had fired more than one young imagination, and Miss Susan left the others to think of him as Saul, or as Lucifer, Star of the Mdrning, or as any else in that line, and thought of him herself only as the one man of the world. It brightened life for her to know there was such a per- son, and the sight of him lent delight to any day. She could settle herself at no work till she had seen him go down the street in the morning to his office, and she sang like a bird long after the sight, and lived during the rest of the day in the anticipation of seeing him go back at night-fall. An hour before the time she was all aflutter, peering forth and drawing back demurely, veiled by the drapery of her aunts curtains, watching as eagerly as any girl watches for her de- laying long-acknowledged lover. If he did not conme, she waited till some chiding voice obliged her to drag herself, still looking back, away. If he came, her heart began to beat, her cheek to burn. She watched him MISS SUSANS LOVE AFFAIR. 27 pass, erect and haughty, looking straight l)efore him. With a long, satisfied survey she gazed after him, with clasped hands and suspended breath, and she pursued her evening duties then with as light a heart as though she felt a lovers arm about her. As for herself, Clavers MVeigh was not exactly aware of her existence. He had met her, to be sure, here and there with others, and had often passed her on the street; but she was one of those colorless shadows just outside of his special con- sciousness~ like the ghosts that flit round the dim border of hell, and he never gave her a second thought. Second Ihe had never given her a first thought. Yet for allthat,hehadgivenheraflower; yes, he had given her a flower. One festive night, when in a great gayety he was dividing a bouquet among the laughing bevy about him, and somewhere on the edge of the group Miss Susan, hovering, felt a hand touch hers and slip into it a spray of heath- er, Clavers MVeigh had no more idea whose hand he touched than if there had been no hand there; but poor Miss Susan has that spray of heather now. She has it in the box with her ribbon, which once he kept and wore; really kept and wore, and only surrendered on compulsion. She dropped it as she walkeda pretty blue ribbon with a silver rose wrought on it; she heard his step hastening behind her; she would have given the world to stop, but the very thought made her heart beat till she was faint, and she fled with swift feet, and he coolly folded the ribbon and put it in his breast pocket till it should be inquired for, a little amused with what he considered a bit of coquetry, and never dreaming that the light swift foot belonged to that pale and colorless Miss Susan,till his cousins, happening to see it when he accidentally pulled it out, inquired with mischievous glee if he were treasuring Miss Susans ribbon. It be- longs to the Fair Incognita,~~ he said~ he fluttered it aloft on his fingers and press- ed it dramatically to his lips. The fleetest foot, the lightest step Nonsense ! cried his cousin Rose. It is little Susans. You must give it to me. Part with it I cried Clavers, still dra- matically. Yes, indeed; the poor little thing can not afford to lose itshe has so few ribbons. Then she must ask me herself, he said. And, as it chanced, the door opened just then, and Miss Susan came in with a mes- sage from her aunt: always delighted with an errand to the house where lived Rose, for whom she cherished one of her enthu- siasms. Clavers has your silver ribbon, Susan, cried Rose and her sisters in chorus. And he will not let us have it for you. You must ask him yourself, he says. How glad she would have been to have him keep it! Did he wish to keep it, and had he made the excuse so as not to be forced to surrender it? She dared not hope. But she recognized all that propriety re- quired of her. The blush mounted her face and fluttered on her temples; she took a step in his direction, but could no more look up than if a weight sat on either eye- lid. If you please, she said, half inaudi- bly, and held out her little hand in its shab- by glove. And Clavers laid the ribbon across it with a grand bow; and then he and his cousin Rose exchanged a laughing look; but poor Miss Susan never saw the look. When Miss Susan was at home and in her own room again, she sat down and thought over the little scene, and it increased and magnified itself in the mirage of fancy and desire till it assumed gigantic proportions. Clavers MVeigh had kept her ribbon; had chosen to keep it; had refused it to Rose; had worn it, a day at least, next his heart. What possibilities all that implied, what authority it gave her dreams, what a hope it Warranted to spring in her hopeless passion! Till then Miss Susan had enjoyed no vivid personal dreams: her timid dreams had all been concerning Clavers MVeigh himself and that enchanted kingdom in which be moved, and in them she herself figured no more than any poor little supernu- merary, a sort of worthless and unhonored guardian angel with nothing but wings and wishes. But now something personal crept into them in spite of herself; she was no longer a supernumerary, but of some serv- ice, of some value: Clavers MVeigh was aware of her, was smiling on her, perhaps was thinking of her, perhaps Ah, no, that could not be, that was too much; yet perhapsonly perhapsnh, what if he were dreaming of her as she had dreamed of him! The mere idea gave Miss Susan a fantastic importance she had never felt before, gave her a place in the world, a clew to the fu- ture, something to hold by, to live for. Any one who saw her then and staid to think of it, with her head high and her foot elas- tic, with the sparkle in her eye and the eager light on her face, would have knowii somb great joyful hope, that was in itself almost fruition, had certainly dawned upon her and was shining over her. But nobody ever staid to look at Miss Susanhindered by her confirmed habit of n6nentity. Yet the bold beauty, accustomed to lov- ers, and enamored at last of one indifferent youth, would have laughed at Miss Susans modest dreams; they had not reached the lofty flight to which the beautys dreams might confidently spring. She had not once thought of herself as Clavers MVeighs wife, she had not thought of him even as her lov- er; she merely walked beside him in these 25 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. reveries, heard him speak, saw him turn to her with confiding smiles; in one daring moment she danced with him, and the thought of it, of the scene, the flowers and lights and music, the encircling arm, made her as giddy as though it were real; in another she sat at his feet while he read the verses he liked best, glancing at her face for opinion or approval, and her pulses quick- ened at the fancy; and for the moment, at any rate, she was happyhappy as though it had been true. Possibly no one had ever asked her opinion or solicited her approval in all her life; she had never expected it; and now to think of Clavers MVeigh doing so made her blood stir. Poor fool! But Miss Susan was held for more and greater bliss than this, if dreams could give it to her. There was to be a sailing party down the river to the beach; and of course, as nobody thought of her cousins going with- out their shadows, she was included in the general invitation; and Clavers MVeigh, as one of the committee, chanced to deliver the invitation, and Miss Susan chanced to go to the door. Presuming he should see a serv- ant, and seeing a young lady, the gentleman was not exactly startled, and certainly by no means embarrassedthe sky might have reeled from its foundation without embar- rassing Clavers MVeighbutjust sufficient- ly surprised to send an unexpected cordial- ity into his address, and cause him to take the young ladys little lifeless hand; the other hand was at her throatshe had for- gotten her bosom pin; and how she regret- ted the bauble! Her eyes danced, she look- ed really for the moment almost attractive. She promised for them all with fervor; and it seemed to her, as he turned on his way, that Clavers MVeigh had personally invited herself to the sail, and when he handed her on board next daythough he stood at the boat side for no other purpose, and had hand- ed a score of others across the plankshe felt that she was entirely Clavers MVeighs guest, and experienced a generous sense of renunciation in allowing him to bestow his attentions and his society on any of the oth- ers. All the evening beforeafter she had trimmed and retrimmed her little hat, with discarded scraps, for the excursionshe had sat alone in the dark with her sweet dreams. Wandering down the long beach with Clay- ers MVeigh, listening to his voice, stooping now to pick up a shell, venturing now to point out to him the rainbow in the spray, now standing still together and watching the light die away from some distant sail, and now Ah, Miss Susans dreams were growing bolder! It was this pleased sense of proprietorship that gave such a glad, bright smile to Miss Susans face, such a ringing tone to her voice. Clavers MVeigh, glancing at her as he crossed the boat, said to himself at last that that was really quite a sweet girl, and went and sat down by her side for a mo- ment. What do you think Miss Susan did? She burst into tears. The poor starved soul could not endure such a surfeit of happi- ness. What the ~ cried Clavers. Oh, you mustnt mustnt mind me, ejaculated Miss Susan, looking up, with the tears sparkling sunnily all over a laughing face. II always cry when Im happy. Well, if women are not strange creat- ures ! he cried, springing to his feet. And just then the great boat giving a slight lurch as they tacked to make shore, Miss Susan, with an idea that they were in dan- ger, sprang to her feet too, and completed the danger; for she lost her balance, swung a moment, caught at something, she knew not what, and went over into deep water, having pulled Clavers MVeigh after her. She saw in one moment what she had done, and loosed her hold and went down, deter- mined to let him go free, and in the instant when darkness closed over her, felt only a wild rejoicing that she had saved his life; for alone he could hold himself afloat till help came. Of course he could,and her too. He caught her, as she came up, in one hand, and grasping the boat side with the other, kept np a laughing interchange of words till she was drawn in and he could follow. They were close on shore; but there was no house near, no quarters where a change of clothing could be made, and the day was as full of danger for them in their wet gar- ments as if they had gone to the bottom for good. As soon, then, as they could cast anchor and rattle down the sails and get ashore, the friendly party laid violent hands on the two wet creatures, and making them assume a half-lying, half-sitting position on the side of a sand hill, buried them in the hot sand to dry, according to immemorial usage, and made a great business of the mer- riment. Nothing was ever more humiliating, said Clavers MVeigh. And now that they have placed us at the mercy of the elements, like any drift of the sand, for a wave to wash off, they are dispersing for their chowder, and will perhaps forget all about us. Do you suppose any leviathan will come up from the deeps and make a mouthful of us, or the young ravens de- scend and eat out our eyes? They will never have a better chance. There sits Rosejust out of hearing. We can think of her as a kindly guardian, or else as a vulture poised on that old broken keelson, and waiting for the last signs of life to dis- appear before attacking us. Let us sell our life dearly ! And he laughed his gay, infections laugh, that made Miss Susan laugh too, although she felt so very solemn. You are a strange little body, said MISS SUSANS LOVE AFFAIR. 29 Clavers MVeigh, presently. You havent even thanked me. Didnt you know I saved your life? Didnt you know I saved yonrs? asked Miss Susan, with more espiglerie than mor- tal had ever seen her show before; for hap- piness is a developing sunshine. Thats good! May I ask how I I let go. You let go? I let go. Indeed I did. I didnt pull you down, said Miss Susan, quaveringly. And you thought I would let you go? Oh no, no. I didnt think at all. I only knew you mustnt ~ You are a stranger little body than ever, said Clavers MVeigh, trying, inef- fectually, to turn and look at her. But I believe you are going to sleep. And he went to sleep himself. But Miss Susan had no idea of sleep. These were not moments to waste in uncon- sciousness. Lying there in the sand, with Clavers MVeigh beside her and not two yards awaylying there in the sand and watching Clavers MVeighs slumbersif a gypsy had foretold it to her, she would have thought it an impudent and impossible fic- tion; and here! Poor silly little Miss Su- san! it seemed to her as though no one had ever come quite so near to Clavers MVeigh. Who else had let go of life to spare him? for whom else had he risked life to save hers? What an awful moment was that in which they had been together, looking eternity in the face, and yet, indeed, each thinking of the other! How could any one ever come nearer to him than that? So strangely joyous, so unaccountably exalted, it seemed to this poor silly little Miss Susan that the sacrament of marriage could be no sweeter, no more solemn, than these moments! Her happiness quite tired her out. And when Clavers MVeigh awoke at length, and worried out of the sand, and rose clothed and in his right mindthat is to say, well dried as to his attire, shaking off the hot yellow grains like water-dropshe looked at her, with the long baby-like lashes rest- ing on her pale cheek, and murmured, Poor sweet little simpleton ! and went wander- ing down the beach with Rose, who had just finished her novel and scented the chowder from afar. Miss Susan was ill for some weeks after this escapade, having taken a violent cold, of course. She did not regret it, though. During every hour that confined her to her room she had the recollection of that pre- cious day to pore over and revel in, and of the evening sail in the moonlight on the dark water, when, as a cold wind blew up, chilling her to the marrow, ClaversMVeigh, talking with Rose, wrapped to her dimpled chin in her great soft plaids, turned to see the shivering Miss Susan sitting behind him, and, there being nothing else to do, divided with her his shaggy boat cloak; and as she accepted a modest corner, he bent and drew the rough drapery close about her himself. Could bliss go farther? Not in Miss Susans imagination had it ever done so. She sat in contented warmth, smiling up at the god who, obliged by the courtesy to turn his back on Rose, began to join in the boat songs that the rest were piping to the windsjoin with a rich deep voice, to which she thrilled as she listened. Now and then Miss Susan tuned up her lit- tle treble and sang with him, just for the joy of singing with him; but for the chief part of the time she merely gazed and hearkened, drinking at every pore the di- vine draught of the hours pleasure. This was what she never had expected, what she had no more right to expect than a princi- pality; if he should tell her all the experi- ences of his life, she did not feel that she could be any more intimate with him. If indeed, she had wildly dreamed of his love, she had, on the other hand, never so much as hoped for his acquaintance; and now, sitting wrapped in the same cloak with him, and with this bond between them caused by life risked and saved! Ah! how it made her own heart beat to remember how his beat with heavy throbs in the mo- ments when he clung to the boat side with her upon his arm! She did not dare quite to imagine that it beat for her; it did not occur to her to imagine that it beat from the exertion; she could only let the faint hope flutter and stretch its wings in her heart as she remembered it. This unfortunate little Miss Susan! Her aunt wrapped her in bed that night with a jug of hot water at her feet, and she sat up in bed the next morning only to have flan- nel and goose-grease about her throat, and her diet for a time consisted of little but onion sirup, squills, and other mild expec- torants. But it all availed nothing toward quenching the light of romance that shone over her; she endured her sufferings, scarce- ly knowing that she suffered, for her other self walked in a serene zone above the clouds and among the castles in the air. Clavers MVeigh had left town, she heard. Perhaps that was the reason he had not called to inquire for the health of the little girl whom he had rescued. He had gone away to make arrangements for that long lecturing tour which, since then, has made his name ring with his eloquence from one side of the land to the other. With the Oc- tober weather he had launched the enter- prise; and as Miss Susan sat up in her easy- chair by the fire at last, and her cousins brought her the papers, she followed his career with something of the rapture she would have felt had she been with him. What if she had been with him! Ah! ah! 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Earth then would have been too much like heaven for any use of Miss Susans. The very thought of it made the blood rush to her temples, and her aunt took away the papers, saying this reading was too much exertion yet, for any thing accelerating the heating of the heart engorged the lungs to a point of danger. If her aunt only knew the reveille Miss Susans heart was always keeping up! Later in the year, in the winter, indeed, and when she was quite well again, she went on a brief visit to a distant city. There was the opera, there were the theatres, there were the concerts of some seraph-toned pri- ma donna, there were a score of amusements; from them all she chose the lecture of Mr. Clavers MVeigh, and spent an ecstatic night. That great hall thronged to hear him; the echoing and re-echoing applause as he came upon the platform with his pol- ished and perfect presenceas fine a piece of art himself as bis oration waswhile her head swam with the delight of seeing him; the rapt silence, broken only 1y that voice with its silvern resonance; the kindling of answering thought, and the electric flash of swift intelligence between orator and people; the thunders that shook the very roof when he had doneto Miss Susan it was a scene from some life so much outside and beyond her sphere that it seemed like a chapter of enchantment, something too un- real, too heavenly happy, to be true. She sat thrilling through aud through with love and pride and admiration; she wondered if this great being saw her little white face in all that blossoming audience; she hugged herself with delight to think she had ever been so near him, to thi uk they might have died together in those moments in the sea, to think of the morning in the sand, of the evening in the boat cloak. And when she reticently replied, to her friends inquiries, that she knew him very well, their loud and enthusiastic expressions made her step along as if she walked on air. How he justified her love! No heros bride ever breathed with a loftier sense of her crowned honor as the chosen one than poor little Miss Susan in her exultation and her satisfaction over the fact that she loved this cynosure of all mens regardsthat she dared to love him. As Fox said of the game of whist, that the first best enjoyment in the world was win- ning at whist, and the second best was los- ing at whist, so Miss Susan felt that if the first best thing in life would be to have Clavers MVeighs love, so the next best thing was the liberty to give him hers. She had grown very bold; she had looked her emotions in the face and called them by name; and she went back presently to her little room, her flower and her ribbon, to her round of home duties, with deeper and richer dreams to dream over. Nobody knew any thing about the world in which the child lived. If her feelings had ever been guessed, they would have been laughed to scorn, and she was more than half aware of it. Something of their sweetness, too, possibly was due to this de- licious secrecy. The very fact of this se- crecy seemed to her like a tie between them; it was something that nobody shared but Clavers and herself. Many people pitied her as a girl without much vivid happiness in her way; none could have imaged her as one who pitied them, indeed, once in a while, as all people might be the objects of her pity who had not the great bliss of loving Clavers MVeigh. She brooded over her ridiculous yet touching fancies so munch, over her idea of him and her love for him, that he became a portion of her life itself, and she could not conjecture any di,ffereut sensations on the part of a betrothed girl in regard to her lover. And when a vague ru- mor reached her that Clavers MVeigh was engaged to be married to somebody else, she dismissed it cavalierly, and found it as impossible to believe as though he had been plighted to herself as impossible as though he belonged to her, as impossible as if it were a question of Clavers MVeighs break- ing faith! She used to sit by the fire in the twilight, intensely happy with the pictures that she found therepictures that sometimes made her heart leap to her throat; pictures of the days when she would beprondly hang- ing on her husbands arm, and only regret- ful that she did him no more honor; pictures of his face when he should bend to her with answering love in his eyes, and deplore the wasted days before he loved her, or else confess that he had loved her all along; some sudden unpremeditated picture of an- other fire-lit hearth to which he should en- ter while she sat, rosy, with clustering little yellow heads of rosy children round her poor little children that were only the shad- ow of shadows, born in a dream that was banished with a burning blush in the instant of its being! Thus far in Miss Susans love affair every thing had progressed quietly; she had loved without let or hinderance, her emotions had all been the true and deep emotions proper to the period, and her hopes, till very re- cently, had been so humble that she had had no disappointment; she could have felt no otherwise, nothing hut a deeper, more satisfied, more fixed and permanent joy, per- haps, had the right to feel them been real instead of fanciful. But the universal course of true love being far from smooth, it was to be expected that some obstacle would make the current run into rapids and shallows and general tumult and trouble. And so it did: a very decided obstacle. And that was the confirmation of the rumor MISS SUSANS LOVE AFFAIR. 31 of Clavers MVeighs engagement to marry another. Clavers had accepted Freds con- gratulations in the street, when Fred was last in the city; but there being only five minutes for the train, Fred had heard no particulars, not even the brides name. Of course she was some peerless thing, as all the girls exclaimed, for Claverss taste in beauty was perfect. It was true, then. It was horribly, fatally true. Like a puff, all Miss Susans dreams es- caped into thin airinto that of which they were made. Widowed, childless, dreamless, hopeless, in one instant, Miss Susan stood like a tropical tree in full summer stripped of its leaves and blossoms by a cruel winter gale. She was utterly bereft in that instant; the world where she had dwelt existed no longer; she was shaken from her centre; she had no refuge without, none within; she had lost her polar star, and was shiver- ing, bewildered, in the lonely cold. She went from room to room, aimless, white, and wan. Nobody noticed it. She was always one of those people who appear to suffer from insufficient nutrition both of body and soul, and it would have entered no ones wildest fantasies to suppose that Miss Su- san was disappointed in love for Clavers MVeigh. At first her little breaking heart was full of wild reproaches of Clavershe had seemed to her so entirely her own, and he had betrayed her. Bnt presently the faintest flicker of sense lighted her mind, or what passed with Miss Susan for a men- tal process; and she then confined her re- proaches to fateand bitter, bitter ones they were; fate, that had made her poor and mean and small and plain, unintelli- gent, unattractive, dependent, worthless; fate, that had at last robbed her even of the right to love! She sat down in the dark and cold, and cried and cried as if she would cry her soul away. It was. at this point that Miss Susan, de~ prived of the enjoyment of all her other dreams, took shelter in a new and somewhat inviting onea dream of suicide. Why should she live? who cared for her? who would sorrow for her? of what use was she? what right had the powers that had so spoil- ed her life to compel her to endnre it? These questions and a multitude of others swept like chaff on a whirlwind through her be- ing. She abstracted a small vial from her aunts medicine closet, and hung over it, lost in wonder to think so few drops of the liq- aid could induce a sleep from which only the Judgment trump could wake her. Wheth- er it was thought of that trump or the bit- ter taste of the opiate that moved her, one can not say, but she did not swallow the poison; and she began to think of some form of death that might more openly con- front Clavers MVeigh: drowning, for in- stance, in the brook behind the MVeighs ~gardenas soon as the weather was warmer. That was a strong sketch that she made of herself in her minds eye, brought up from the brook on mciis shoulders, with the wa- ter streaming from her long hair, and of Clavers MVeigh pausing on his way to view his work; but then she remembered Lancelot glancing carelessly, with his idle and indifferent compassion, on the dead Lady of Shalott. He said, She has a love- ly face; and she decided not to drown her- self. No; she would look this Lancelot in the face with her great sad eyes, and let the iron enter his soul! It is impossible to say that there was not, when the first and worst was over, something rather consolatory in all this to Miss Susan; it was still very ro- mantic, and that was a satisfaction. She could not quite rid herself of the fancy that Clavers had treated her badly, and that his conscience must smite him when he saw her; nd for him to be reminded of her, if only in that way, had some flavor of the old deli- ciousness. And so, on this total change of base~ she had begun a fresh succession of dreams. He would be coming to church on Sunday, with his future bride upon his arm this unknown dazzling beauty, very like- ly an idiot, but without doubt a beauty; he should meet her, Miss Susan, at the pew door, for the MVeighs pew would be full, and theirs was just behind; and then he could see the pale calm face that had found peace, and think of martyrs with their palms. There! there! poor Miss Susan! It grew too ineffably silly. But it was not silly to Miss Susan. It was all too lively reality. And when it happened just as she had fancied, and she heard her cousin murmur in church that the MVeighs pew was full and there was Clavers coming, she felt as if fate were real- ly meddling in the matter, and she trem- bled so that she dared not look up for a moment. And when she did~ who was this smiling, blushing little thing he was hand- ing into her aunts pewwho but his cousin Rose? If Miss Susan fainted away during the Te Deum that morning, the air of the chnrch was so oppressive that it was a wonder ev- ery body else did not faint away too; and all that Clavers MVeigh felt as he helped Fred take her out was that if an ugly wom- an only knew how much uglier she looked when she fainted once, she would never faint twice. How was he-how was any body to know that they had been present at as great an act of renunciation as it is possible for any one to make? In that half hour, feeling anew all her old love and worship of Rose, she had surrendered to her with her whole heart and soul all right and title even in a dream to the affections of Clavers MVeigh. And that was Miss Susans love affair.. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. As she sat, in her eventless middle life, she had its great thrilling secret to live over, and it never became threadbare. She felt again the rapture of her hidden passion; she was once more in the sea, in the sand, in the boat cloak; she was once more all hut engaged, all but receiving the great sac- rament of marriage; once more ne,,lected, once more forsaken, once more confronting the deserting lover, once more making the great rennnciatiou of love to friendship, once more borne from the church in those strong arms. It was always as true and as ecstatic as it had seemed to her then in her seventeenth year. And reveling in its mem- ories and in its conscions importance, she conld not help impressing you as a person with a history; and she could afford to sit and smile with that quaint air of superior experience, as the girls jested each other about their lovers, aware that she had loved a greater and brighter than any of theirs, that her romance was something sweeter than any they could ever know, and that, as I said, if she had now no love affairs to enjoy, she certainly had them to remember. THE ROMANCE OF THE HUDSON. [~1ijfrb 39apet.] WHAT a magnificent theatre of roman- tic events bursts suddenly upon the vision as the steamboat sweeps around the lofty promontory of Anthonys Nose on a fine summer afternoon! The aerial per- spective is charming, and a picture of mar- velous beauty and grandeur is presented to the eye of the voyager. We are in the heart of the Highlands, and seem to be traveling upon a narroxv lake with rugged shores, broken by islands and pierced by promon- tories. Through a narrow vista in the great hills, where the head of the Storm King is more than a thousand feet above the tide, may be seen in the far distance, sixty miles away, the pale blue line of the Katsbergs. In the immediate foreground is Anthonys Nose, rising full 1300 feet, its base pierced for the passage of the Hudson River Rail- way only a few feet above the water. From its northern verge stretches a wet meadow toward the foot of the Sugar Loaf, whose purple cone shoots up sharply in the north- ern sky. It is the first conspicuous object that attracts the eye when the enchanting scene opens. It is the highest part of a range of lofty hills on the eastern side of the Hudson, upon which the Americans planted batteries and lighted beacon fires in the time of the old war for independence. On the western shore, opposite the Sugar Loaf rises Mount Independence, crowned with dark evergreens, that cluster around the gray ruins of Fort Putnam. Below it you WASHINGTON S IIEAD-QUASITERS BELOW NEWBURGH. THE ROMANCE OF THE HUDSON. 33 0 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. may see the high promontory of West Point, with glimpses of the buildings of the Mil- itary Academy. On the brow of a rocky precipice nearer is Cozzenss summer hotel, and below it you may see the white foam of a mountain stream, as it falls in a gentle cnscade into the river over a smooth rocky bed, after a turbulent passage among the bowiders above. This the prosy Dutch skip- pers called Buttermilk Falls. Fort Putnam, now in ruins, was built un- der the direction of the accomplished Pol- ish patriot, Kosciusko. The latter was only a little more than twenty years of age when he came to America, the disappointed lover of a Lithuanian maiden. Recommended by Franklin, he asked Washington for employ- ment. What can you do ? asked the chief. Try me, was the laconic answer. He en- tered Washingtons military family, and soon became colonel of engineers. We shall meet his works on the Upper Hudson in those strong military lines on Bemiss Heights which Burgoyne could not break through. He was beloved by all. In testimony of the respect which their fathers cherished for the gallant Polander, the cadets at West Point, fifty years after Fort Putnam was constructed, erected a beautiful white mar- ble monument to his memory within the ruins of Fort Clinton, on the extremity of the promontory of West Point. Fort Putnam was the most important of all the numerous military works in the Highland region. It commanded all oth- ers, the plain below, and the river for miles up and down. Could the voyager ascend to its crumbling walls, one of the grandest scenes in nature would be opened to his view. Almost every rood of the wild and beautiful domain has been consecrated by historic deeds. With the eye of retrospec- tion, he might see the ffatf-Afooa running up into the Riuer tweutie leagues, passing by high Mountaines, as the chronicler tells us, where the hopes of her commander were extinguished by the freshening of the wa- ter; he might see the dusky tribes fighting for the mastery upon the mountains and in the ravines before the advent of the white man; flotillas of vessels bearing armies for northern campaigns during the French and Indian wars, sweeping around the magnifi- cent curves of the river, while the voices of men and the resounding drum awoke the echoes of the hills; he might see the camp fires of Continental soldiers engaged here and there in building fortifications, or span- ning the river with a great chain, or watch- ing the mountain passes, and the growth, upon a plain at his feet, of a grand military school from which have gone out soldiers and engineers to conquer armies and rugged nature, and astonish the nations by their prowess and skill; he might see the com- merce of an empire expanding, in the space of a few decades of years, from trade with a few Indian trappers, to the mighty hulk which now floats hourly upon the waters, or is hurried with the speed of; a gale along the railway from field to mart. Glancing his eye, as he awakes from his reverie, to the mouth of a broad hollow, scooped from the hills, he would see the smoke of fnr- naces and forges at Cold Spring, where the great Parrott guns of our army and navy have been wrought for many years. Such are the heads of some of the chapters in the romance of the Hudson unfolded among these everlasting hills. At the verge of the Buttermilk Falls is a modest house, with its back against the overhanging precipice. There, more than twenty years ago, the writer found an old waterman, who ferried him across the riv- er. He was eighty years of age, and well re- membered sitting upon Washingtons knee and admiring his silver buckles and big gilt buttons. He remembered, too, a romantic scene on the plain above that dazzled his eyes and made a lasting impression upon his memory. It was at a fete, given by Wash- ington, in obedience to the command of Con- gress, in honor of the birth of an heir to the throne of the French monarch, who had been the active ally of the Americans in their struggle for independence. It took place on the last day of May, 1782. A beautiful arbor was made, more than two hundred feet in length and eighty in width, con- structed of evergreen trees, which formed a colonnade of more than a hundred pillars. It was roofed with boughs and tent cloths. Branches curiously woven formed a sort of pediment, on which were displayed emblem- atic devices, the fleur-de-1i8 being promi- nent. Every column was encircled by mus- kets with bayonets; and the interior was decorated with festoons and garlands of evergreens, with devices significant of the alliance. Prominent among these also was the fleur-de-lis. Appropriate mottoes were scattered about the edifice. At five oclock in the afternoon more than five hundred ladies and gentlemen partook of a grand banquet in the arbor. These rep- resented the 6lite of civil and military society in America. Early in the afternoon General Washington and his wife and suit, Governor George Clinton and his wife, Generals Knox and Hand with their wives, Egbert Benson, the Attorney-General of New York, Mrs. Mar- garet Livingston, of the Lower Manor, and Janet, the widow of General Montgomery, and a large number of ladies and gentlemen from the States of New York and New Jer- sey, had arrived in their barges. They were conducted through the grand arbor, situ- ated on the gently rising ground in the rear of Fort Clinton, on which the West Point Hotel now stands. It was on the upper verge of the plain, with the magnificent THE ROMANCE OF THE HUDSON. 35 river and mountain scenery at the north in fall view. The Continental army was paraded on each side of the river. At the signal of three cannon discharges the regimental offi- cers left their conimands and repaired to the quarters of General MDougal. When the banquet was on the table, General Wash- ington, with his wife and suit, left those quarters, followed by the invited guests, and went to the arbor, where a martial band played sweet airs during the repast, suggest- ive of peace and reconciliation. After the banquet of meat canie a banquet of wine, when thirteen toasts were drunk, each fol- lowed by thirteen discharges of cannon, ac- companied by music. Then the regimental officers returned to their commands, and as night came on the arbor displayed the splen- dors of a grand illumination by scores of candle-lights. At that moment cannon and musketry throughout the whole army gave a feu dejoie which, like peals of thunder, awoke a thousand echoes among the grand old hills. This was followed by a consentaneous shout of the whole armya wild huzza, with the benediction, Long live the Dauphin ! A ball in the arbor followed these noisy demonstrations without, in which the com- inander-in-chief heartily joined. He at- tended like ball in the evening, wrote an eye-witness, and with dignified and grace- ful air, having Mrs. Ynox for his partner, carried down a dance of twenty couples in the arbor on the green grass. That partner was the wife of General Knox, the Boston booksellerthe beautiful Lucy, as she was familiarly spoken of, the belle of the camp, and then about thirty years of age. The festivities ended toward midnight with a brilliant display of fire-works. As the steamboat sweeps around the short curve in the river here, after leav- ing the government landing, you behold a white marble monument erected to the memory of more than a hundred United States soldiers who were massacred by the Indians in Florida many years ago. Near it may be seen a sheltered nook in the rocks at the brow of the cliff; which is known as Kosciuskos Garden. There the eminent Polander constructed a pretty fountain; and there, it is said, he retired for reading and repose. His monument may be seen a little further on; and across the river at the turn, on Constitution Island, the crum- bling walls of a part of old Fort Consti- tution may be seen. It is the relic of a work that guarded the immense iron chain which the Americans stretched across the river there, buoyed up by logs, after the obstructions at Fort Montgomery bad been broken. As the steamboat goes out at the upper gate of the Highlands, a picture of rare beauty opens upon the vision of the voy- ager. The great hills disappear on the right and left. The broad expanse of New- burgh Bay is before him, harmonizing in its aspect of repose with the rolling, cultivated country of Dutchess and Orange counties on each side of the river. Looking eastward, the eye wanders to the theatre of many of the exploits in the life of Harvey Birch (Enoch Crosby), the hero of Coopers Spy. You may almost see the spire of the old Dutch church at Fishkill, wherein he was a manacled and willing prisoner, after a mock trial before the Committee of Safety. Around that old church cluster many historical ro- mances of the valley of the Middle Hudson, of deepest interest. Near its ancient walls the fugitive Legislature of the State of New York met, after flying before British bayo- nets from the neutral ground in Westches- ter. There was the place of deposit for a large amonut of stores for the northern army; there the New York Committee of Safety held their nieetings; and by that old church passed the captive army of Burgoyne, British and Hessians, on their way to Vir- ginia. Nestled in a quiet spot on the western shore, a little below the city of Newburgh, TilE FETE or MAY $1, 1~5E. 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is New Windsor, famous as the head-quar- ters of Washington for many months during the Revolution, and as the residence of a charming little maiden named Anna Brews- ter, a lineal descendant of Elder Brewster, of the Mayflower. Her height in woman- hood was three feet, her form was perfect, her face beamed with intelligence and sweetness, and her mind was pure and act- ive. She was loved and admired by every one~ and she lived a charming maiden until she was seventy-five years of age. She pos- sessed such dignity and self-respect that she declined an invitation fromMrs. Washington to visit her at head-quarters, because she improperly thought it was curiosity rather than respect that prompted the kind act. As the steamboat approaches the wharf at Newburgh, the voyager beholds on the southern verge of the city a low broad-roof- ed house, built of stone, with a flag-staff near, and the grounds around garnished with cannon. That is the famous Head- quarters of Washington during one of the most interesting periods of the war and at its close. Then the camp was graced by the presence of Mrs. Washington a greater part of the time, and the cultivated wives of several of the of- ficers; and until a comparatively few years ago the re- mains of the bor- ders around the beds of a little gar- den which Mrs. Washington culti- vated for amuse- ment might have been seen in front of the mansion. That building, now the property of the State of New York, is preserved in the form it bore when Washington left it. There is the famous room, with seven doors and one window, which the owner used for a parlor, and the com- mander-in-chief for a dining hall. In that apartment, at different times, a large portion of the chief officers of the Continental army, American and for- eign, and many dis- tinguished civilians, were entertained at Washingtons table. More than fifty years after the war a counterfeit of that room was produced in the French capital. A short time before Lafayettes death he was invited, with the American minister and several of his coun- trymen, to a banquet given by the old Count de Marbois, who was the secretary to the first French legation in this country during the Revolution. At the hour for the repast, the company were shown into a room which strangely contrasted in appearance with the splendors of the mansion they were in. It was a low boarded room, with large project- ing beams overhead; a huge fire-place, with a broad-throated chimney; a single small uncurtained window, and numerous small doors, the whole having the appearance of a Dutch or Belgian kitchen. Upon a long rough table was spread a frugal repast, with wine in decanters and bottles and glasses and silver gohlets, such as indicated the habits of other times. Do you know where we now are l Marbois asked the marquis and the American guests. They paused for a moment, when Lafayette exclaimed: Ah! the seven doors and one window, and the silver camp goblets, such as the marshals KoscnJsKo s FOUNTAIN. THE ROMANCE OF THE HUDSON. 37 of France used in my youth. We are at At Krom Elbow, a few miles above Pough- Washingtons liead-quarters on the Hudson, keepsie, is the head of the Long Reach, which fifty years ago ! So the story was told by extends to the Dans-Kamer. Near there, on Colonel Fish, father of our Secretary of the western shore, is a smooth rock, with an State, who was one of the company. Close inscription chiseled by the ancient inhab- by the Head-quarters is a modest moun- itants of the valleya hieroglyphic record ment of brown freestone, beneath which of some event in their history. As the steam- rest the remains of Uzal Knapp, the last boat sweeps around the short curve of the survivor of Washingtons Life-Guard. crooked elbowas the name meansthe On the eastern side of the river,about river widens~into the appearance of a lake, two miles above Fishkill Landing, stands a with the lofty Katsbergs in full view. On mansion of similar form, a mile back from the left there is a low lighthouse in the the shore, which has been for more than a shallows, and beyond it is the village of century the country-seat of the Verplanck Rondout, now a part of old Kingston or Eso- family. It was the head-quarters of the pus, on the Esopus Creek, two miles from Baron de Steuben while the army lay back the river. of Newburgh. There, a little while before That region was a theatre of stirring that army was disbanded, the officers form- historical events from its first settlement ed the notable association known as the So- by Europeans, two hundred years ago, to ciety of the Cincinnati, which still exists. It the close of the old war for independence. was suggested by General Knox, and ap- The Indians and the white intruders there proved by Washington. Its object was to contended for the mastery many years, un- perpetuate and cherish the mutual friend- til the pale-faces conquered, as usual, after ship of the officers of the Continental army, seasons of bloodshed, terr~r, and distress. At and to provide a fund for the aid of the in- Kingston the Convention sat which framed digent among them. Membership was made the first Constitution of the State of New hereditary in the masculine line; that fail- York. There the new commonwealth was ing, it might be perpetuated in worthy col- organized in the snmmer of 1777, and there lateral branches. State societies were form- the first Legislature was in session when ed for convenience, which were subordinate Forts Clinton and Montgomery fell. When in a degree to the general society. Wash- news of that event and the coming of a ington was the first president of that gen- squadron under Sir James Wallace (piloted eral societyan office now filled by Secre- by a Dutchess County Tory), with almost tary Fish. This is the only institution in four thousand soldiers under General Vaugh- this country which bears the primogeniture an, reached Kingston, the members of the feature of English society. Legislature fled. They supposed that the Not far above Newburgh is a low rocky then capital of the State would feel most peninsula known as the Dans - Kamer cruelly the strong arm of the enemy. And Dance Chamber. On that spot, for a cen- so it did. The British frigates anchored tury after the discovery of the Hudson, the above Kingston Point, and large detach- Indians held their kinte-kaye8fearful orgies, ments of soldiers landed and marched upon in which they danced and yelled around the doomed town of almost four thousand great fires on the eve of an expedition for inhabitants. They laid nearly every house war or the chase. They appeared more like in ashes, driving the aifrighted people back fiends than human creat~es, and the Dutch upon the Wailkill settlements, ~~here they skippers called the place the Devils Dance were exposed to the dangers of attacks from Chamber. There it was, according to the savage war parties in the interior, under veracious Knickerbocker, that Peter Stuy- Brant. vesants crew were most horribly frighten- From Kingston the British went up the ed by roystering devils. river as far as Livingstons manor, on the Poughkeepsie, which bears the corrupted eastern shore. They spread desolation by form of an Indian word signifying safe the torch at intermediate places, and burn- harbor,~~ has historical associations of great ed the manor-house. Their object was to interest. Here were dock-yards, at which assist Burgoyne, then struggling with the vessels for the Continental navy were built, Americans at Saratoga, either by drawing and where they were burned on the stocks away a part of Gatess army for the defense to prevent their falling into the hands of of the country below, or by actually joining the marauders. In the old court-house in the crippled British force above. The news that village the Legislature of the State of of the surrender of Burgoyne, which reached New York held its sessions after Kingston them at the manor, quenched their hopes, was burned in the autumn of 1777; and here and they fled to New York with all possible was held the State Convention which rati- speed. fled the national Constitution. The house in From a point a little north of Tivoli, on which Governor Clinton resided, and where the river or on the land, may be obtained several of Washingtons letters were writ- the most comprehensive views of the Kats- ten, yet stands on Upper Main Street. bergs, lying bold and lofty against the west- 35 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. em sky. The Indians called the range On- ti-o-raMonntains of the Sky and the Dutch, less poetic, named them Katsbergs Cats Mountainsbecause of the abundance of wild-cats found there. They are com- monly called Catskill Mountains. High up on the Katsbergs are the two fa- mous summer resorts~ the Mountain House and the Overlook House, from both of which magnificent views of the country may be seen. In a hollow near which the road passes up to the old Mountain House is the scene of Rip Van Winkles encounter with the Dutch ghosts and the bewitch- ing ~agon. The story of Rip is one of the most charmin~ of Irvings legends. He tells ns that he was a good-for-nothing idler about the village tavern that stood in the evening shad- ows of these mountains, and was properly a hen-pecked hus- band. Rip feared nothing so much as Dame Van Winkles tongue, which was sharp and lively when the good woman was irate. He was much away with his dog and gun hunting in the mountains. On one of these occasions lie heard the rumbling of the ghostly nine - pins amon the hills, which often sounded in the ears of dwell- ers near and he soon came upon a queer- looking company, who were solemnly and silently engaged in that game. They were doubtless the ghosts of Hendrick Hudson and his crew in carnal form. He was in- troduced to them by a man who was bear- lug a keg of liquor on his shoulder. That hi(luor was poured into a flagon, out of which the ever-thirsty Rip drank freely, fell asleep, and did not awake until twenty years had passed away. Iii? VAN WINKLE. THE ROMANCE OF THE HUDSON. 39 When Rip awoke, his first thought was of his wifes tongue. Oh, that flagon! that wicked flagon ! he exclaimed. What shall I say to Dame Van Winkle ? Alas! all had changed. His rusty gun-barrel, without a stock, lay by his side; his dog was gone; his beard was white and flowing, and his clothes were rags. What could it mean? As he wandered back to the village, he saw nothing that was familiar to himmen, pol- itics, the tavern, all were changed. Every thing was a mystery to him, and he was a mystery to every body. At length some rec- ognitions occurred, and the first real hap- piness that beamed in Rips dim eyes was when he was assured that death had silenced Dame Van Winkles tongue. His story of the mysterious nine-pin players was finally believed; and even to this day, said the romancer, the Dutch inhabitants never hear a thunder-storm of a summer after- noon about the Katskill but they say, Hen- drick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins.~~ The story of the birth and growth of the city of Hudson is a notable romance. It was founded in 1780 by thirty families, chiefly Quakers from New England. At the end of three years from the time the farm on which the city stands was purchased, one hun- (fred and fifty dwelling-houses, and wharves, storehouses, workshops, and out-buildings, were seen there, and a population of fifteen hundred souls, who possessed a city charter. The history of cities has no parallel to this. Between Hudson and Albany the river is dotted with islands, the most notable of which is one off the mouth of Normans Kill, the Indian Ta-wa-3en-tha, or place of many dead, ~ that comes into the Hudson from the west a little below Albany. It was named by the Dutch Castle Island, from the cir- cumstance that a stockade fort was built upon it as a protection to Dutch traders with the Indians. This was the first fort built by the Hollanders on the Hudson Riv- er, and there a large trade in furs and pelt- ries was carried on with the Indians. On the eastern shore, abo at four miles be- low Castle Island, is the village of Scho- dac, the name of which is derived from the Indian word is-cko-da, a meadow,~~ or fireplain. There in ancient times was the seat of the council fire of the Mohegans, and there, it is believed, Uncas, the emi- nent sachem and chief in Connecticut, some- times presided over the great assembly. It is a beautiful region of country, and, like all the chosen seats of Indian society, attests their wisdom and taste in selection. From this point to Albany, where the ascending voyage of the Half-Moon was ended, the pas- sage is soon made; and when the steamboat from New York reaches the wharf at the po- litical capital of the State, it has traversed the leu~th of the Lower and Middle Hudson region. Henceforth the traveler must be content with various and less luxurious ve- hicles of conveyance over the beautiful re- gion of the Upper Hudson, from Albany to its head waters in the Northern Wilderness. On the northern verge of the city of Al- bany is one of the finest of the old mansions of the, State. It is the Van Rensselaer man- or-house. On the southern verge of the city there is another of the finer dwellings. It was the town residence of General Philip Schayler. Both were erected at about the same timea little past the middle of the last century. The Van Rensselaer mansion is associated with the settlement of the col- ony of New Netherland; the Schuyler man- sion is associated with the heroic age of that colony as the State of New York, and with the fortunes of the Six Nations of In- dians. The Dutch West India Company, trading along the Hudson River with the savages, built a small military work on the site of Albany, and named it Fort Orange. Wish- ing to colonize the country, they offered cer- tain privileges and exemptions to any per- son who should lead or send a colony to New Netherland, and within four years afterward should have there at least fifty permanent residents over fifteen years of age, one-fourth of whom should be located there within the first year. Killian Van Rensselaer, a pearl merchant of Amsterdam and one of the di- rectors of the company, undertook a settle- ment on these terms. With three other persons he bought of the Indians over sev- en hundred thousand acres of land on and around the site of Albany, and planted a colony near Fort Orange. He received the title of patroon, or patron, and was invested with its privileges. A reed-covered man- sion was built near the site of the later manor-house, in which for more than a hun- dred years the patroons or their agents en- tertained the best society of the Province, and received delegations from the dusky monarchs of the forest. So great were the delegated powers and privileges of the pa- troon that he defied the local authorities, and there was a grand quarrel between his agent and Governor Stuyvesant. When the English took possession of the Province, these privileges ceased, but the patroon en- joyed his title and rights under the law of primogenitare until 1840. The last patroon was General Stephen Van Rensselaer, a son- in-law of General Schayler. The Schayler family were conspicuous as friends of the Indians from the earliest pe- riod of their residence in this country, and through several generations they were pop- ular with the red men. They held peculiar relations with the Iroquois confederacy un- der government appointment, controlling in a great degree the political action of the Six Nations until Sir William John. on obtained 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his ascendency over them. For many years General Selinyler was at the head of the In- dian commissions for the transaction of gov- ernment business with them, and his house was a place of frequent resort of the chiefs and sachems of the confederacy. During the Revolution his personal influence, wis- dom, skill, and watchfiulness enabled him to hold a large portion of these savages in a position of neutrality, and so secured the State from any disastrous invasions, and the cause from ruin. The spacious Schuyler mansion is at the head of Schuyler Street. It was seldom without guests when the family were there. The most distinguished citizens of America and travelers from abroad found a generous welcome there during the forty years that Schnyler and his wife dispensed princely hospitality under its roof. The Schuyler mansion was the theatre of a romance in the summer of 1781. General Schuyler was not then in active military service, but, at his house at Albany or at Saratoga, he was the vigilant eye of the Northern Department. His person as a pris oner was coveted as a capital prize by his Tory neighbors. Walter Meyer, a Tory colleague of the famous Joe Bel- tys, was employed to execute a scheme for the seizure and abduction of the general. With a party of his associ- ates, Canadians and Indians, he prowled in the woods near Albany for many days, and ascertain- ed the exact situa- tion of affairs at Schuylers house from a Dutchman whom he had seized at his work. He learned that a guard of six men were there for the pro- tection of Seliny- lers person, three of them alternately on duty continually. The Dutchman was compelled to take an oath of secrecy. He did so with a mental reservation, and as soon as he was released, he ___ hastened to Schuy ler and warned him of his peril. As the twilight of a sultry day in August was yielding to the night, Schuyler and his family were sitting in the great hall of the mansion; the servants were ahout the prem- ises; three of the guard were asleep in the basement, and the other three were lying on the grass in front of the mansion. A servant announced that a person at the back gate wished to speak with the gen- eral. His errand was understood. The doors and windows of the mansion were immediately closed and barred, the family were gathered in an upper room, and the general ran to his hedroom for his arms. Looking out of a window, he saw the house surrounded by armed men. To alarm the town, half a mile distant, he fired a pistol from his window. At the s~ me moment the intruders burst open the front-door. At that instant Mrs. Schuyler perceived that in the confusion she had left her infant in a cradle in the hall below. She was about to rush down the stairs after it, when the gen- eral interposed and prevented her. Her third daughter, Margaret (who was after- ward the wife of the last patroon), instantly RESCUE or ScuUYLERs CHILn. flew down the great stairway, snatched the sleeping babe from the cradle, and bore it up to. its mother. One of the Indians hurled a sharp tomahawk at her. Its keen blade just grazed the in- fants head, and was buried in the rail- I lug of the stair. Meyer, supposing her to be a servant, called to her, asshe flew up the stairs, Wheres your mas- ter l With quick thonght she ex- claimed, as she reached the verge of the upper hall, Gone to alarm the town ! Her father heard her, and with as quick thonght threw up a window and called out, as to a multitude, Come on, my brave fel- lows! Surround the house, and secure the villains ! The alarmed marauders, who were plunder- ing the generals dining-room of the plate, fled in haste, carrying away some of the booty. That infant was the late Mrs. Catherine Van Rensselaer Cochran, General Schaylers youngest child, who died at Os- wego in the summer of 1857. In that mansion General Schuyler, the father of the canal system of the State of New York, worked out his plans, and re- vealed to his guests his knowledge and his hopes concerning the feasibility of inland lock navigation. Joel Barlow, who visited him, prophesied as follows, in his Vision of Columbus, published thirty years hefore the work on the great Erie Canal was begun: He saw as widely spreads th unebanneld plain, Where inland realms for ages bloomd in vain, Cenels, long winding, ope a watry flight, And distant streams and seas and lakes unite. From fair Albania toward the setting snn, Back through the midland lengthening channels run; Meet the fair lakes, their beauteous towns that lave, And Hudson joind to broad Ohios wave. That prophecy was fulfilled when canal- boats from Lake Erie came to Albany, and formed a part of the grand nuptial proces- sion already mentioned in honor of the wed- ding of the lakes with the Hudson and the sea. That procession was ended at Sandy Hook, where Governor Clinton poured a keg of the water of Lake Erie into the Atlantic a ceremony more significant of the true greatness of a state than that of the Doge of Venice who cast his ring into the waters, and so symbolically wedded the Adriatic. That canal, which eaters the Hudson at Al- bany, may now bear to the bosom of the riv- er 4,000,000 tons of the products of the West annually; when enlarged to the width of seventy feet, it may bear 24,000,000 tons. We might linger long in recounting the romances of this old Dutch-founded city. We might tell strange stories of the primi- tive society, where, on the benches at the front-doors, were seen nearly the whole pop- ulation in the evening, the old men smoking. the old women knitting, and the young peo- ple chatting loudly upon current topics or softly on love-making. We might tell of military events at Fort Frederick, that stood in the middle of State Street, on the bill, where General Charics Lee (then a captain) whipped one of Abererombies aids for in- THE ROMANCE OF THE HUDSON. 41 F K ALuANY IN TIlE OLDEN TIME. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. suiting a citizens daughter; or of the tron- l)les of Sexton Brower, of. the old Dutch church that stood in the middle of State Street, near the river. Poor old bell-ringer! It was his duty to pull its rope every even- ing at eight oclock, to ring out the sup- paan bellthe curfew bell of the Dutch when it was the duty of all good citizens to eat their snppaan, or hasty-pudding, and go to bed. The old bell-ringer was faithful and superstitious. The horrid boys of those days teased him dreadfully. While he was ringing the bell, by the light of a dim lan- tern, they would steal into the church, un- fasten a side door, and remain hidden until his departure. When the old man was quiet- ly seated at home, taking his last smoke be- fore going to bed, they would ring the bell furiously. The old sexton would hasten down to the church, and the boys would slip out of the side door, leaving him puzzled and half frightened with the idea that invisible hands were pulling at his ropethose peopleali, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone; And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the hnman heart a stone: They are neither man nor woman, They are neither hrnte nor human They are ghonls. We might tell of the adventures of that queer old bachelor, Balthazar Lydius, tall, 1)ullet-headed, and so ugly in featnres and manners that the boys would shuu him in the streets as they would an ogre of a fairy tale. He was a Lothario in his young man- hood. Jilted at Greenbush, he became a misanthrope. He loved his pipe and apple- jack better than human kind. He lived in a fine house, with mahogany partitions, the beams carved into pictures of vines and fruit, and a dresser that glittered with pew- ter plates so long as his mother lived, whom he loved tenderly. When she died, his locks were thin and white. He had no one to sew on his buttons, and so, to show his contempt for womenkind, he bought a squaw for a pint of giu, and lived with her as his wife the remainder of his life. Not far up the street from Balthazars dwelling was the grand Van der Heyden Palace, where sumptuous hospitality was dispensed. The owner figures iu Irvings charming story of Doiph Heyliger in Brace- bridge Halt, and the iron vane from his dou- ble-fronted mansion now swings over the pinnacle of the cottage at Sunnyside. But we must here bring to a close our record of romance. The valley of the Hud- son above Albany is associated with stirring events in our Revolutionary history. These, however, would not have full justice done them within the limit which we have as- signed to ourselves in these pages. THE PURSUIT OF A HERITAGE. ]~f Y beloved nephew, said the Honor- ilL able Mr. Brewster, one morning re- cently, to a large party of guests assembled u~on a memorable occasion, has developed a talent in his profession as rare as it is com- mendable, a patience and originality in re- search, an independence and reticence inac- tion, which evince the highest capability for the pursuit of our noble calling. I have al- ways entertained for him the warmest aspi- rations, and I now predict for him a brilliant future ! Then followed a burst of applause and ac- clamation, in the midst of which the honor- able gentleman wiped his gold-ribbed spec- tacles and sat down. There may have been tears upon those pebbles; probably the emi- nent barrister meant every word that he said. When he got upon his legs in re- sponse to the toast in his nephews honor, and cast that beaming, refulgent look to his side of the table, he considered him probably at that moment not only the light of his ex- istence, but a planet of no ordinary magni- tude to a benighted world. Nevertheless, candor compels me to state that only a short period previous he had called him a disreputable young scoundrel, an idle, unprincipled dog, a disgrace to his name, and a blight to his profession. And he had not had recourse to these strong expressions to relieve a momentary outburst of wrath, but Tom was assailed with them upon all the occasions in which he was unfortunate or stupid enough to al- low himself to be left alone with his uncle. Mr. Brewster had too much respect for him- self and the tie between them to descend to this abuse in the presence of others; he then maintained a cold and severe silence, eying Tom with the malignity of a basilisk, and asking him if hed have a bit of mutton in the same tone he desired of a hardened culprit the reason why he should not be hanged. The fact was, the uncle and nephew didnt get on together. The qualities that had descended in a direct line from the remote branches of a respectable genealogical tree were altogether wanting in Toms composi- tion. The mantle of dignity, eloquence, re- search, etc., had not fallen gracefully upon his shoulders, but was rather given to lop- ping aside, and not long since had been nearly trampled under his feet. It was not Toms fault that the women- folks had been out late at a festivity the night before, had come down to the morn- ing meal in a rather chaotic state, had sipped their chocolate, dallied with their steak, and gone back comfortably to bed. Mr. Brew- ster insisted that his household should arise at a certain hour, and assemble together at breakfast. His feminines, who had inherit-

42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. suiting a citizens daughter; or of the tron- l)les of Sexton Brower, of. the old Dutch church that stood in the middle of State Street, near the river. Poor old bell-ringer! It was his duty to pull its rope every even- ing at eight oclock, to ring out the sup- paan bellthe curfew bell of the Dutch when it was the duty of all good citizens to eat their snppaan, or hasty-pudding, and go to bed. The old bell-ringer was faithful and superstitious. The horrid boys of those days teased him dreadfully. While he was ringing the bell, by the light of a dim lan- tern, they would steal into the church, un- fasten a side door, and remain hidden until his departure. When the old man was quiet- ly seated at home, taking his last smoke be- fore going to bed, they would ring the bell furiously. The old sexton would hasten down to the church, and the boys would slip out of the side door, leaving him puzzled and half frightened with the idea that invisible hands were pulling at his ropethose peopleali, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone; And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the hnman heart a stone: They are neither man nor woman, They are neither hrnte nor human They are ghonls. We might tell of the adventures of that queer old bachelor, Balthazar Lydius, tall, 1)ullet-headed, and so ugly in featnres and manners that the boys would shuu him in the streets as they would an ogre of a fairy tale. He was a Lothario in his young man- hood. Jilted at Greenbush, he became a misanthrope. He loved his pipe and apple- jack better than human kind. He lived in a fine house, with mahogany partitions, the beams carved into pictures of vines and fruit, and a dresser that glittered with pew- ter plates so long as his mother lived, whom he loved tenderly. When she died, his locks were thin and white. He had no one to sew on his buttons, and so, to show his contempt for womenkind, he bought a squaw for a pint of giu, and lived with her as his wife the remainder of his life. Not far up the street from Balthazars dwelling was the grand Van der Heyden Palace, where sumptuous hospitality was dispensed. The owner figures iu Irvings charming story of Doiph Heyliger in Brace- bridge Halt, and the iron vane from his dou- ble-fronted mansion now swings over the pinnacle of the cottage at Sunnyside. But we must here bring to a close our record of romance. The valley of the Hud- son above Albany is associated with stirring events in our Revolutionary history. These, however, would not have full justice done them within the limit which we have as- signed to ourselves in these pages. THE PURSUIT OF A HERITAGE. ]~f Y beloved nephew, said the Honor- ilL able Mr. Brewster, one morning re- cently, to a large party of guests assembled u~on a memorable occasion, has developed a talent in his profession as rare as it is com- mendable, a patience and originality in re- search, an independence and reticence inac- tion, which evince the highest capability for the pursuit of our noble calling. I have al- ways entertained for him the warmest aspi- rations, and I now predict for him a brilliant future ! Then followed a burst of applause and ac- clamation, in the midst of which the honor- able gentleman wiped his gold-ribbed spec- tacles and sat down. There may have been tears upon those pebbles; probably the emi- nent barrister meant every word that he said. When he got upon his legs in re- sponse to the toast in his nephews honor, and cast that beaming, refulgent look to his side of the table, he considered him probably at that moment not only the light of his ex- istence, but a planet of no ordinary magni- tude to a benighted world. Nevertheless, candor compels me to state that only a short period previous he had called him a disreputable young scoundrel, an idle, unprincipled dog, a disgrace to his name, and a blight to his profession. And he had not had recourse to these strong expressions to relieve a momentary outburst of wrath, but Tom was assailed with them upon all the occasions in which he was unfortunate or stupid enough to al- low himself to be left alone with his uncle. Mr. Brewster had too much respect for him- self and the tie between them to descend to this abuse in the presence of others; he then maintained a cold and severe silence, eying Tom with the malignity of a basilisk, and asking him if hed have a bit of mutton in the same tone he desired of a hardened culprit the reason why he should not be hanged. The fact was, the uncle and nephew didnt get on together. The qualities that had descended in a direct line from the remote branches of a respectable genealogical tree were altogether wanting in Toms composi- tion. The mantle of dignity, eloquence, re- search, etc., had not fallen gracefully upon his shoulders, but was rather given to lop- ping aside, and not long since had been nearly trampled under his feet. It was not Toms fault that the women- folks had been out late at a festivity the night before, had come down to the morn- ing meal in a rather chaotic state, had sipped their chocolate, dallied with their steak, and gone back comfortably to bed. Mr. Brew- ster insisted that his household should arise at a certain hour, and assemble together at breakfast. His feminines, who had inherit- THE PURSUIT OF A HERITAGE. 43 ed considerable tact that way, complied with the legal form, but shifted its practical re- quirements; and the worthy barrister, who ought to have been the last man in the world to find fault with any thing in his own line of business, nevertheless attacked Tom the moment his cousin Emilys skirts had whisked out the door. Have you done any thing with those papers of Brown versus Smith, Sir? There were some points there to be elucidated. If youll point me the points, Sir be- gan Tom, meekly. Hah ! snarled his uncle; thats your business, Sir. But the fact is, where talent and inclination are both wanting in the pur- suit of a profession, it had better be aban- doned. I recommend to you the vocation of a mountebank, or strolling musician, or a master of dancing. Yah ! And,impelled from the tip of his uncles boot, there sped across the room to Toms feet a ragged mop of a Skye terrier. If that dog isnt out of the house this very day, roared his uncle, Ill have Wil- kins pound out his brains. What with your dogs and your women Sir! cried Tom, indignantly. Would you rather Id call them ladies? In truth, the honorable name of woman- hood is disgraced by these belaced and furbelowed puppets of fashion with whom you squander your time, with whom you go round and round on tiptoe, contracting your muscles and bending your spine, whose skeins of wool you hold npon your idle hands, with whom you drum and thrum, making the air hideous with your wretched rhymes and discordant song. But I warn you, SirI warn you, not one penny of your fortune shall be yours unless you comply with the decrees of your fathers will. Hang my fortune ~ cried Tom, choked with indignation. Youre welcome to it, Sir. He went over to his uncle and extended his hand, severely and sadly. His voice trembled, for at that moment he felt he should perhaps never see him again. Good - by, Sir, said Tom. We may never meet again. It is possible I may be driven to embrace one of the vocations you have mentioned, and in that case, Sir In that case, Tom, said his uncle, calm- ly, youd better take your dog along. He will, no doubt, prove a valuable accessory. Tom lifted his terrier Tag by his head from the floor, put him in his overcoat pock- et, and went ont without another word. Shortly after, he sang plaintively, twang- ing the air upon the strings of a rusty guitar, The only one thats left me is this little dog of mine. Tom was sitting upon the top of a cage filled with white mice; at his side was the stronghold of a celebrated ferret; a profane and vindictive parrot clawed and shrieked upon a brass ring over his head; some mild- eyed doves clung together upon a still high- er shelf; and around and about him quar- reled and chatted various specimens of the animal creation. A litt]e old man, not unlike the terrier at Toms knee, whose bushy eyebrows over- hung two sharp ferrety eyes, his projecting forehead fringed with hair of a rusty brown and gray, his long thin arms and legs clad in a leathery material that defied the wrath of ages, ingeniously mended the broken wires of a trap, and nodded his head as Tom run on, sometimes approvingly, sometimes warningly, but principally with the air of one who humored while he deplored. This old man was a celebrated dog-fan- cier, and kept a queer old mart for the sale and exchange of fancies in ornithology, the canine tribe, and even the rarer specimens of reptiles. It was situated pretty well on the east side of town, at the confluence of a labyrinth of streets, a ad occupied the whole lower part of a structure that had held its own in the old days of colonial grandeur. A Corinthian order of architecture prevailed on this ground-floor, which facilitated the arranging and housing of his large family comfortably and securely, yet with an eye to the picturesque and the striking. Tom had strolled for many a year through the colonnades of this subterranean retreat, and had grown to be extravagantly fond of the tumult, the strife, and even the peculiar odor that permeated the premises. When particularly tired of the prim opu- lence and mathematical splendor at his un- cles domain, he would plunge dow~e into the very bowels of Joe Comstocks lair, and ramificate there for half a day. The fact is, Joe,~~ he said, upon the morn- ing in question, this poring over a musty old page and sifting out the chicaneries of dead and gone sinners is not in my line. I decline to set further by the ears an already distracted world. Wherever money is, it is pretty sure to be enjoyed, and he only knows its loss who has been once its pos- sessor. What does it matter if somebody somewhere is reveling in the enjoyment of a handsome income, and perhaps walking over our heads, in blissful unconsciousness thereof is the rightful owner of the same? But all this causes my uncle sleepless nights. Tons and tons of documents are poured in to him by malevolent pursuers of these differ- ent heritages, and he demands of me the la- bor of a Hercules in their behalf. Now I have a constitutional objection to labor of any kind, particularly to looking for any tIming. I always wait till it turns up. Bu~ hark, Joe ! Down from some unknown heights, be- coming fainter as it ascended the stone 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. staircase, came the clear virginal voice of a young girl: Lons, ions 1~ ! it sang. Les jours se passent, Videsmisirablement Tom listened in vain for moreeven the sad sweet echo was lost. He sighed, and said, in conclusion, there were more enchant- ing sounds came to him in one half hour in Joe Comstocks cellar than would reach him in half a century at his uncles domain. Its that French gal, Valry, said Joe. She sings that way sometimes till she gets my people down here to screechin their pret- tiest. There was a mocking-bird over there in that square cage that usedto know enough to come in at the choruses. I believe he was in league with the devil, for how otherwise did he know that French jargon I But I got a nice little penny for him by that gal~s voice. I bore it in mind when mounseer was a little behindhand with his rent. Is she pretty, Joe ? Well, as them furriners go, she may be. I wouldnt like to say, boy. Ef she hed good wholesome food to fill her out a little and take that hungry look out of her eyes, she might be a fairish-lookin young woman, as them furriners go; but her shoulder-blades are too sharp, her heads too little: shes all hair and eyelashes. No, added Joe, with impartial severity, she aint pretty. Im afeerd shes ugly. And poor ~ As church mice, Tom. It must come kind o tough to mounseer to make up the loss o that dimond. You see, he works at them precious stonespecks at em day in and day out; makes quite a decent penny at it too. Before they had that bad luck, it wasnt so bad. Mamselle looked better then, and sang, Tom, like a thrush in a coun- try hedge. But one day, however it came about, one o them dimonds got lost. The old woman was worse than usual, and fuss- in about between his work-bench and her bed in the corner that little bit of a jewel got lost. Lord! how they did go on up there! I thought the house was afire. It beat the Jews where that stone went to. We hunted high and low for it; the old woman screechin and moanin like mad, and he goin over to her, callin her his angel, beggin her not to fret. Talk about French- men! Theres plenty of our country people, Tom Brewster, d think nothin, when they were put about like that, of shyin a boot- jack at her head; but blessed if he didnt get down on his knees and coddle that old piece of parchment to sleep! Well, we couldnt find it. It did beat the Jews where that mite of a sparkle went to: took the whole room to bits, looked in every crack in the boards and every crevice in the wall, shook out every rag on the premises. Couldnt find it; had to give it up; and mounseer he had to make it up. Yes, he had, Tom Brewster; he wouldnt ask for mercy, nor take it if it was offered to him. It all comes of somebody belongin to him losin his head on the same plank with the French king. Hes that set up about it, he says hes obliged to do what other folks wouldnt think of. And he has to make up the loss of the diamond ? Every penny of it, boy. There he sits, day in and day out, with that hungry eye of his glued to the glass, his stomach as empty as a drum, and mamselles song get- tin that low and solemn like it gives me the rickets to listen to em. Talk about Frenchmen! Many a one of our country people d walk off and leave the whole kit and boodle of em to shift for themselves. But what shall I do with this ere tarrier ? Keep him, Joe, for a while. He breeds too many rows up at the housechews the tassels on the furniture, bites my uncles heels. Playing with the cat the other day, he accidentally broke her spine. Just keep him a while, Joe. And Tom Brewster, finding it was nearly time for his uncle to get down to the office, put the guitar down, took a fond farewell of Tag, and fled up the stone steps. As he reached the top, he thought he felt some- thing touch his boot, but hurried along. Three steps further on, he felt something touch his hand, which was swinging along at his side. This time he paused, for it was the touch of a woman, and to this Tom was always susceptible. His hat was off in a minute, and although the young girl was poorly clad, wretchedly thin and pale, and altogether rather a pitiable-looking creat- ure, there was something about her that won Toms attention. She extended to him the plethoric pock- et-book, which had fallen upon his boot un- heeded, and in the first sound of her voice he recognized the haunting sweetness that had reached him in Joe Comstocks cellar. He took the pocket-book without a word, devouring her wistful face with a zeal and persistency that brought a fleeting blush to her cheek, and caused her to hurry away, leaving Tom gazing after her for a fall min- ute and a half. Then he went on meditatively, once in a while his lips shaping themselves into their accustomed whistle, but no sound issuing therefrom; and all that day at the office it was noticeable that young Brewsters mu- sical efforts were singularly abortive. He had been wont to favor his business friends daily with scraps from the opera or the ball of the night before, and had even volunteer- ed,in an under-tone, an entire ballad. As Toms voice was a fine barytone, these effort were encouraged, and in the absence of his uncle, the senior member of the law firm, vociferously applauded. THE PURSUIT OF A HERITAGE. 45 But all that day Tom was silent and pre- occupied, absorbed in a reverie in which shadows came and went. He saw a bare, barren room; an old Frenchman with one hungry eye glued to the glass, working his heart out to redeem the malevolence of a stone which lay blinking wickedly, perhaps, close by; an old woman, helpless and bed- ridden, on a pallet in the corner; a young girl, with a face from which an exquisite Ii Penseroso might be modeled; and all through the reverie Tom heard from afar, faint and sweet as a mountain echo, that enchanting voice telling him of how passed the fleet, sad, miserable days. Early in the day Tom went into the dress- ing closet, put on the oldest coat he could find, a hat of shabby felt, and went out. He met his uncle coming in. Mr. Brewster constantly found fault with the dandyism of his nephew, but grew pur- ple with rage upon seeing his present shab- biness. What what means this disgraceful masquerading, Sir? he shouted. I will tell you, Sir, later on,~ said Tom, in a tone that his uncle afterward remeni- bered. Then Tom went on in the direction of Joe Comstocks cellar; but instead of plunging down the stone steps, he mounted the high stoop and wandered along through the cor- ridors. Searching each floor, he found the people he sought on the third, in a large room back, and stood for a moment trem- bling on the threshold. He, who entered boldly, as with an inher- ited right, the boudoirs of the fair daughters of fashion, chatted with them for hours to- gether upon the mysteries and rites of the toilet; who matched for them with skillful accuracy worsted, silk, chenille, even in rare cases the human hair; whose advice was waited for impatiently and accepted with enthusiasm; whose word was authority upon the fine arts, music, the dramaTom Brewster, the oracle of fashion, pulled hither and thither by rosy hands, coaxed and scold- ed by ruby lips, happy, irresistible, impreg- nable Tom Brewster, here in this wind-swept corridor, outeide this crumbling and dilap- idated wall, on this dingy threshold, Tom Brewster trembled! The door opened, and he found before him the old Frenchman, his tasseled cap upon his head, his red and inflamed eye bent severely down, his gray hair and whis- kers shaggy and disheveled; but Toms eyes wandered in and rested upon Yal6rie. Her face seemed to him indescribably lovely. She was pale, but her pallor was divine. Her exquisite and frail form seemed to Tom like that of some beautiful phantom. The old Frenchman drew the door closer and looked sternly interrogative. Your daughter found a pocket-book this morning, began Tom, that contained con- siderable money; it is only fair that a prop- er reward should be given Here the Frenchman intervened. He waved his thin hand, through which the blue veins were strongly marked. With that we have nothing to do, he said; we are happy to have rendered the service.~~ At this moment an emaciated form raised itself from a bed in the corner of the room; two hollow greedy eyes rested upon Tom. Be tranquil, ma mie, said the French- man, soothingly, to the sick woman. It was a simple courtesy of Val6riesthy daughter and mine. To take money for that which was so simple and requisiteimpos- sible, quite impossible. The sick woman fell back upon the bed, and turned her face to the wall. It occurred to Tom that perhaps she had often wished her husbands ancestor had not lost his head upon the same scaffold with Louis the Six- teenth. Tom was compelled to apologize for his intention of benefiting these people: nothing could be done with Monsieur Jou~t positively nothing. In five minutes he found himself bowed outside by the severe Frenchman, who shut the door so suddenly that Tom almost stumbled down the stone staircase. It aint no use, boy, said Joe; theres them that d rather die than take bite or sup at any bodys hands. Then you see, his grandfathers head happenin to tumble the way it did makes it all the harder. Theres nothin can be done, boy. Well, I havent given it up, said Tom, and in the mean while, you know, my name is Tom Brown. Im a mechanic of some. kind out of work; the only passport up there is irremediable poverty and wretched- ness. I cant get work, you see, Joe. Nor wouldnt if you could, grinned the dog-fancier. This passport of misfortune seemed to serve Toms purpose well. From that day a large portion of his time was spent in the big bare room where the old Frenchman, his eye glued to the glass, took a feverish de- light in divulging to Tom the mysteries of this malevolent stone, its attributes and value. We know beyond doubt, my good Tom,~ he would say, that the diamond consists of pure carbon, that its material is contained in all coal and charcoal. The trouble is to make the compound crystallize; and if that were easy, it would then be valueless. ff6- las! such are mankind: they find only the exquisite in that which is rare. And Tom, echoing his sigh, looks over at Val6rie, who, bending over her embroidery, puts many a charming thought therein, giv- ing a new grace to the tendrils and vines that shape themselves under her deft little 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fingers. This pale, still, demure Yal6rie be- gins to dream, and the warm blood, fresh from her heart, sometimes dyes her cheek. A strange sweet joy mingles itself with her songsajoy the sweetness of which she can not yet understand; and so the tender fra- grance of unconsciousness seasons her love- liness to Tom with a still higher charm. Even the poor sick lady pours into Toms ears the one wretched yearning of her heart to die within the walls of Paris. Oh, the grace, the color there, my best Tom ! she would gasp; oh, the wide white squares, the palaces, the shining roofs and steeples, the warm golden eagles gleaming in the sunt Oh,to see it once again, my good lad, if only with eyes that faint as they look I For Tom had won her favor by bringing her many a bottle of generous wine, which he declared to monsieur were given to him by a friend in the business, and papers of bonbons and delicate confections slipped from Toms hands to the shaking ones of the poor invalid. Her pillows he cooled and changed, her hot brow he bathed with tenderness and care; and ValAries eyes grew tenderer then, those of the old Frenchman sometimes blind with tears. And so the days go by. Tom has disap- peared from the haunts of fashion; the ket- tle-drums, the tea fights, the balls and recep- tions, know him not. He leads the German no more, and in vain are his favorite dances held in w.ait for him by the sighing and im- patient sirens of Terpsichore. His few hours at the office are spent sternly with law pa- pers, and his uncle, baffled and bewildered, would fain lure him back again, a enlprit at his mercy. He fears, from Toms woful vis- age, from the melancholy that has begun to be a part of his nephews bearing, that he is the perpetrator of some hidden crime, and the old gentleman spends many a sleepless night anticipating the deaouement of Tonis disgrace and infamy. The face of poor Tom becomes more and more lugubrious. In truth, he knows not how to extricate the family that has become so near and dear to him from a poverty that partakes of priva- tion and want. He dares not succor them from his own purse, as it is supposed to be empty. The tie that binds them together is that of mutual misfortune: to betray his position would be to stamp him as an im- postor, and place between this proud old Frenchman and himself an impassable bar- rier. And so the days go by, shortening per- ceptibly, and becoming more and more cold and grim. The depth of a hard winter is upon them. The golden sunshine has lost its warmth, and seems only the mocking shadow of its former self. One evening Monsieur Jou~t was forced reluctantly to leave his bench. Twilight deepened so suddenly about him that he feared to trust further his already impaired sight. A bitter wind rattled at the win- dows, forcing its ~vay through every crack in the wainscoting, defying the poor efforts of heat from the miserable stove, lifting the scant gray hairs from the Frenchmans fore- head, and stirring Tom Brewsters curling locks. YalArie had gone to take her em- broidery home, and these two men sat there silently and sadly awaiting her return. It seemed to Tom he had never found the place so gloomy and forbidding. It was peopled with shadows, the most appalling of which was that upon the bed. A fugitive ray of light had fallen upon the sick womans face, illumining a ghastly countenance, as gray, fallow, and decayed as that of an exhumed Egyptian. Deeper and deeper grew the darkness. The old Frenchmans face took also a rigid contour to Toms nervous gaze. His heart thumped beneath his workmans jacket. He wished he was safe down among the beasts in Joe Comstocks lair, the shaggy head of Tag upon his breast, the genial heat of Joes furnace dispelling this cow- ardly chill from the marrow of his bones. He could not take his eyes from the form of the old Frenchman, which was as iinmov- able as that of a statue. A sigh of relief escaped him when the thin white hand of Monsieur Jou~t sought the shelter of the worsted jacket which he had worn ever since Tom had known him; and as the well- worn lapel flew back, something flashed upon the retina of Toms eye with light- ning-like velocity. What was it? A gleam, a sparkle, a mocking phantom of his excited brain? There it shone, the pure white scin- tillating unmistakable brilliancy! Tom plunged forward and clutched a corner of the Frenchmans coat. What is it? cried Monsieur Jou~t, start- ing up what is it? What hast thou, my poor Tom? Toms eyes were wild; his breath came short. Be tranquil, I beg of thee, Tom, cried the Frenchman, soothingly. XVhat new misfortune is this? Art mad?, What hast thou? I have, stammered Tom, taking his penknife from his pocket, and, despite the struggles of the now alarmed Frenchman, cutting out the portion of the well-worn jacket I haveO most merciful God ! I have that accursed diamond. And firmly between his two fingers Tom held up to the astonished gaze of Monsieur Jou~t his long-lost jewel. In the darkness it shone like a star. Monsieur Jou~t sank upon his knees. From the bed in the corner arose a shout of thanksgiving; sobs and benedictions melted the freezing air of that grim garret. THE PURSUIT OF A HERITAGE. 47 Pearls were Toms favorite stones; he had never cared for diamonds; but to his dying day he will recognize their value and power. The miserable little demon must have slipped down into the braid of your coat, said Tom, and lain hid there all this time. I should never have seen it but for the cold and the darkness; and pardon me, mon- sieur, but you have no idea how confound- edly still you were. I thought, I feared upon my honor I was afraid; I could not take my eyes off you, and all at once I caught a gleam of light It was the will of God, said Monsieur Jou~t. I had borne enough; it was hard, it was terrible, to make up the loss of this little bit of carbon which lies in the hollow of my hand. It was likeseest thou, my Tom? it was like the Danaides, who fill ever vainly the sieve; it was like Sisyphus, who rolls ever vainly the stone; and sometimes my heart was like to burst; my head was filled with a fiery flame; my hands shook; I could no longer see. I feared sometimes I should fall dead from my bench; and then, miserable that I wasp who would have saved my name from dishonor? who would have cared for my poor wife, my sweet Val6rie ? I! I ! cried Tom. I would have cared for your name, your wife, your daughter. And suddenly a warm little hand slipped into his own; the slim shadow of a woman was beside him. Dost thou know, deuce arnie? hast thou heard ? began the old Frenchman, who could not see his daughter, but felt her presence. I know; I have heard,~~ she faltered. Her hand trembled in Toms; her sweet breath touched his hair, his forehead. Val6rie ! Tom! And for one little moment in the dark- ness she rested upon his heart; their lips met. Oh~ how divinely sweet was that lit- tle moment! Then Mousieur Jou~mt lighted the lamp, and Tom repeated, still exalted to rapture: Yes, monsieur, I, I claim the right, next to you, to care for madame your wife, for mademoiselle your daughter. But the hollow voice of madame fell upon Toms ear with a melancholy cadence. And now,~~ she said, we shall go back to France. To France ! murmured Tom, in conster- nation. Oh no, that must not be ! But, yes ! cried Monsieur Jou~mt. I will strive no longer for that which is im- possible, in a strange country, without mon- ey or friends. I think I have told you, my good Tom, of AIf Jou~t, who was martyred upon the same scaffold with The king, said Tom. Yes, you have told me, monsieurat least two hundred times, he added, hi an under-tone. But that which I have not told, you, pursued the Frenchman, is that one of his remaining family fled to America, and there became the proprietor of a large estate. He died unmarried. The property is in alien hands. I thoughtI hoped; but, alas! with- out money or friends one can do nothing. For the first time in his life Tom began to be interested in a heritage. But, my dear Monsieur Jou~t, he stam- mered,it is wrong to neglect so important a matter. Why did you not tell me before? There are people who undertake these tImings without money, if you have any documents. Plenty of them, said Monsieur Jou~t. Then the matter is easy, said Tom, who wished to gain time. Oh, for the love of Heaven, Tom,~~ cried the sick woman, do not tempt him further in the pursuit of that miserable phantom which has already almost cost me my life! Oh, my good boy, I beg of thee, let us go at once! Thou wilt follow I do not like that word ~ said Tom, rushing out of the room and down into the street. He went direct to his uncle. Plunging into the private office, he closed the door behind him. I would like to see you alone, Sir, he sai(l. The barrister trembled. He wiped from his forehead some drops of cold perspiration which had started there. It has come, he murmured. The blow has come. May God be merciful to me! Speak, Sir, he said, with severity. What is it that you have to say to me I would implore your interest in a mat- ter which nearly concerns me. Oh, Sir, pursued Tom, warmly, despite the ominous brow of his uncle, I beseech of you, help me to gain time ! To gain time ! repeated the wretched lawyer; is this, then, your only hope ? Yes, yes, said Toni; either this or to cross the ocean at once. Gracious Heaven, has it come to this ? cried Mr. Brewster. To hide, or to fly? Go on, go on ! he groaned. Tell me all; I am prepared! Its very kind of you, said Tom. Im obliged, Im sure. I dont suppose theres a ghost of a chance Go on ! roared his uncle; do you want to drive me mad, Sir ? Im coming to it, said Tom. Theres a French gentleman in this city by the name of Jou~mt Jou~t ? repeated the lawyer, eagerly. Jou~mt ? Yes, Sir; a very respectable gentleman, I assure you, though not at present in afflu- ent circumstances. Very highly connected indeed. One of his ancestors had the honor to lose his head On the same scaffold with Louis the Six- 45 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. teenth, cried the lawyer, getting upon his feet and approaching Tom. Just so, Sir, exactly, said Tom. Are you acquainted with the family, Sir? Theres some property somewhere to which they claim a right. The nearest relative of Al- fred Alphonse Jou~t came to this country in the year Hush ! said Mr. Brewster; and, with beaming eyes, he placed his lips close to Toms ear. Do you mean to say, he whispered, that you have found the heirs to the Jon~t estate ? I dont know, Sir, said Tom, modestly. Monsieur Jou~t has a trunkful of docu- nients. The barrister dropped his hands affection- ately upon Tonis shoulders. I have always predicted for you, my (lear boy, said the Honorable Mr. Brew- ster, a distinguished name. And you say, Tom, theres a trnnkful of documents I I believe so, Sir.~~ Lets go at once, Tom, and have a look at them. Every one of those papers is worth a fortune. Is there so much money in it ? said Tom. Theres millions in ~ said the Honor- able Mr. Brewster. And at the wedding breakfast alluded to in the beginning of this history, the emi- ient barrister was no doubt sincere in his panegyric upon his nephew. To have not only found the heirs to this great estate, but secured one of them immediately for his own, was to the distinguished lawyer a crowning evidence of his nephews talent, and entitled him to the highest position in his regard and that of an admiring world. As he wiped his glasses and sat down, he remarked to one of the guests near him a rather extraordinary personage, indeed that his nephew had always been noted for his perspicacity of intellect; and seeing a blank look upon the leathery countenance of the individual addressed, he added, Quick to catch the points in a subject, you know. Hes got a werry good eye for a dog, re- plied this party; and he aint fur out the way with a pigeon ; and having drained his glass in response to the toast in Toms be- half; this wedding guest made his way to the door, followed by the petrified gaze of the Honorable Mr. Brewster. Tom hurried after him. Why, Joe, he said, going already ? Yes, Sir, said Joe. I aint had a col- lar on afore since I was a baby; and between you and me,Tom, it dont agree with my jugular vein. Ill slip out o this toggery, and be down at the ship to bid that tarrier of ours good-by. Then Tom fled to an upper room, and went tenderly over to a bundle of fine laces and silks that lay upon a sofa before the grate. The deed is done, maman, he whispered, with a caress and kiss upon the brown and wasted cheek. I belong to Val6rie and to you. Courage, dear, we sail at noon At last ! she sighed. Oh, my best Tom, shall I live to see France ? Live 1 cried Tom. Upon our wedding voyage, with Val6rie and monsieur and me? Oh, I promise you, yes ! And she did, in truth, live. And no hap- pier people breathe the soft balmy air of Southern France to-day than the heirs to the Jou~t estate. QUATRAINS. MAPLE LEAVES. OcTonaR turned my maples leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers: Soon those will slip from out the twigs weak bold; Like coins between a dying misers fingers. HUMAN IGNORANcE. What mortal knows Whence come the tint and odor of the rose? What probing deep Has ever solved the mystery of sleep? PESSIMIST AND OPTIMIST. This one sits shivering in Fortunes smile, Taking his joy with bated, doubtful breath: This other, gnawed by hunger, all the while Laughs in the teeth of Death. POET. He sings because he needs must sing, As birds do in the May, Not caring wholl be listening, Nor who may turn away. FROM EASTERN SOURCES. I. No wonder Sajib wrote such verses, when He had the bill of nightingale for pen; Or that his lyrics were divine Whose only ink was tears and wine. II. A poor dwarfs figure, looming through the dense Mists of the mountain, seemed a shape immense; On seeing which, a giant, in dismay, Took to his heels and ran away. III. In youth my hair was black as night, My life as uhite as driven snow: As white as snow my hair is now, And that is black which once was white. MASKS. Black Tragedy lets slip her grim disguise, And shows you laughing lips and roguish eyes; But when, unmasked, gay Comedy appears, Tis ten to one you find the girl in tears. THE PARCAI. In their dark House of Cloud The three weird sisters toil till time be sped: One unwinds life; one ever weaves the shroud; One waits to cut the thread. T. B. AI~naeon. MODERN DWELLINGS. 49 MODERN DWELLINGS: THEIR CONSTRUCTION, DECORATION, AND FURNITURE. Br H. HUDSON HOLLY. DESIGN FOR FRIEZE FROM THE LADY 01 SJIALOTT. 11.COLOR DECORATION. TN all good architecture, from the earliest ages color has been recognized as an important accessory. In the stupendous monuments of Egypt and Assyria, the grace- ful remaius of Pompeii, aud the more elab- orate buildings of Athens and Rome, color was universally employed; and never do we strip the desecrating coats of Puritan white- wash from the walls of a venerable church without finding traces of tbe admirable mu- ral painting which once so greatly enhanced it~ beauty. Even among nations that we have been accustomed to consider as almost 1)arbarous the Hindoo, Persian, Chinese, and particularly the Arab we find the most exquisite designs and choice of color. The sister arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting go hand in hand; and unless they are combined, a monumental structure Can hardly be called complete. Just as a steel engraving can give us but a partial idea of a fine painting, all the warm tone and harmonious depth of blending hues he- ing wanting, so the building is but a mere architectural outline, however good the ma- sonry and rich the detail, unless the soul of the painter has animated its sombre masses through the spirituello and enliven- ing influence of color. It has been said that the author of the outside of a house should also design the aterior. I would go a step farther, and claim that, in order to secure harmony, the same mind that conceived the original structure should guide the arrangement of 11 its details, even to the extciit of color (lecoration, furniture, carpets, etc. T his, however, is seldom the case. It is true that iu building our dwellings the assistance of an architect is called in, but when the work of the carpenter and plasterer i finished, his services frequently are no longer re- (mired, and an artist, in the shape of an up- bolsterer, of entirely different feeling,is sii- ployed to complete the work, which mny be done in utter contrast with th~ original spirit of the design. The details, perhaps intended to be emphasized by certain dis- vo,.. LilLNo. 313.4 tinction of color, become subdued by being treated in a subordinate manner. A high wall, intended to he broken up with frieze and dado, appears in disproportion, in con- sequence of being continuously colored;~ and if one style of architecture is intended, in the construction, an entirely different idea may he carried out in the decoration. I have in mind a very beautiful church which has been deplorably marred in this manner. The style is of the late Gothic, vigorously and spiritedly rendered, and the stained glass is some of the finest of this school. After it was finished, it remained one or two years with its interior waljs un- colored, when the trustees, in order to be in fashion, concluded to have their walls deco- rated, and a committee of solid men, and, as it frequently happens, uneducated, were ap- pointed for the husiness, and they did it in a thoroughly business-like way. They argued that as color was not architecture, why then go to the architect? Their ob- ject was to decorate the walls in color, so it was natural to ~onclnde that the color decorator was the one whose services were required. Now one of them knew such an artist, an Italian of some renown, who had recently embellished a bank, of which our solid man was a director. The contract consequently was awarded to him. He arranged Corinthian columns around the walls, with painted mouldings, which were considered mastenpieces of chiaro - oscuro. The ceiling was~paneled in the Italian style, and a~ there was no chancel in the church,. it was considered necessary to design one in perspective; he therefore wondrously con- structed in color a receding niche, worthy the se ne-painter, of our provincial theatre and the committee thought it was beau- tiful! How oau we wonder then, that in the face of faults like these, many sensible people object to color altogether, and prefer their w lls plain white? Now the only way to ovprcomo the errors of these so-called decorators is by the ed~1-, cation of fife people themselves, Englaxud, prior to the International Exhibition of

MODERN DWELLINGS. 49 MODERN DWELLINGS: THEIR CONSTRUCTION, DECORATION, AND FURNITURE. Br H. HUDSON HOLLY. DESIGN FOR FRIEZE FROM THE LADY 01 SJIALOTT. 11.COLOR DECORATION. TN all good architecture, from the earliest ages color has been recognized as an important accessory. In the stupendous monuments of Egypt and Assyria, the grace- ful remaius of Pompeii, aud the more elab- orate buildings of Athens and Rome, color was universally employed; and never do we strip the desecrating coats of Puritan white- wash from the walls of a venerable church without finding traces of tbe admirable mu- ral painting which once so greatly enhanced it~ beauty. Even among nations that we have been accustomed to consider as almost 1)arbarous the Hindoo, Persian, Chinese, and particularly the Arab we find the most exquisite designs and choice of color. The sister arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting go hand in hand; and unless they are combined, a monumental structure Can hardly be called complete. Just as a steel engraving can give us but a partial idea of a fine painting, all the warm tone and harmonious depth of blending hues he- ing wanting, so the building is but a mere architectural outline, however good the ma- sonry and rich the detail, unless the soul of the painter has animated its sombre masses through the spirituello and enliven- ing influence of color. It has been said that the author of the outside of a house should also design the aterior. I would go a step farther, and claim that, in order to secure harmony, the same mind that conceived the original structure should guide the arrangement of 11 its details, even to the extciit of color (lecoration, furniture, carpets, etc. T his, however, is seldom the case. It is true that iu building our dwellings the assistance of an architect is called in, but when the work of the carpenter and plasterer i finished, his services frequently are no longer re- (mired, and an artist, in the shape of an up- bolsterer, of entirely different feeling,is sii- ployed to complete the work, which mny be done in utter contrast with th~ original spirit of the design. The details, perhaps intended to be emphasized by certain dis- vo,.. LilLNo. 313.4 tinction of color, become subdued by being treated in a subordinate manner. A high wall, intended to he broken up with frieze and dado, appears in disproportion, in con- sequence of being continuously colored;~ and if one style of architecture is intended, in the construction, an entirely different idea may he carried out in the decoration. I have in mind a very beautiful church which has been deplorably marred in this manner. The style is of the late Gothic, vigorously and spiritedly rendered, and the stained glass is some of the finest of this school. After it was finished, it remained one or two years with its interior waljs un- colored, when the trustees, in order to be in fashion, concluded to have their walls deco- rated, and a committee of solid men, and, as it frequently happens, uneducated, were ap- pointed for the husiness, and they did it in a thoroughly business-like way. They argued that as color was not architecture, why then go to the architect? Their ob- ject was to decorate the walls in color, so it was natural to ~onclnde that the color decorator was the one whose services were required. Now one of them knew such an artist, an Italian of some renown, who had recently embellished a bank, of which our solid man was a director. The contract consequently was awarded to him. He arranged Corinthian columns around the walls, with painted mouldings, which were considered mastenpieces of chiaro - oscuro. The ceiling was~paneled in the Italian style, and a~ there was no chancel in the church,. it was considered necessary to design one in perspective; he therefore wondrously con- structed in color a receding niche, worthy the se ne-painter, of our provincial theatre and the committee thought it was beau- tiful! How oau we wonder then, that in the face of faults like these, many sensible people object to color altogether, and prefer their w lls plain white? Now the only way to ovprcomo the errors of these so-called decorators is by the ed~1-, cation of fife people themselves, Englaxud, prior to the International Exhibition of 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 1851 was almost in a state of barbarism as to the industrial arts. Seeing then and there how inferior her works appeared in compar- ison with those of her contemporaries, she began seriously to reflect upon the cause, and concluded that it must be the fault of the English system of education~ From this -~onviction resulted the determination to afford all classes the opportunity for im- provement in design, by establishing schools of art and educating the rising generation. The consequences have been so apparent that England at the present time stands equal to, if not in advance of her rivals. Now, unpopular as may he the reflection, can we be considered as in any way in ad- vance of what England was in 1851? If not, it is certainly high time that we, rec- ognizing our deficiencies should arouse from our lethargy and take up this subject in a serious manner. Such a school as the South Kensington Museum is needed in this country. Color decoration in particular offers a broad field for the crude attempts of the tyro, and the unmeaning forms and less harmonious tints, instead of gratifying, are likely to become an outrage to good taste. Now, in order to overcome this, one of the first principles which it would be desirable for us to establish is the theory of comple- mentary colors. Although we do not pro- pose to make this a technical paper, per- haps a few remarks upon the subject would not come amiss. We know almost in- stinctively that blue will not harmonize with green, and that red will, but the the- ory upon which this contrast is based is but vaguely understood. We remember learn- ing in our natural philosophy that white is the reflection of all colors, that is, that all the primary colors comhined produce it. It is the general impression that there are sev- en primary colors, viz., those seen in the rainbow, whereas in reality there are but threeblue, red, and yellow. Green, orange, and purple are secondary colors, produced by the admixture of the pri- maries. Thus blue and yellow make green; red and yellow produce orange; and blue and red, purple. The mixture of these again produces what are called tertiary colorscitrine, russet, and olive: orange and green forming cit- rine; purple and orange, russet~ and green and purple, olive. A knowledge, also, of the quantities in which these colors harmonize is requisite, the whole system being to combine them in the proportions which produce white, which in the primaries are five of red, three of yel- low, and eight of blue; iii the secondaries, thirteen of purple, eleven of green, and eight of orange; and in the tertiaries, twenty-four of olive, twenty-one of russet, and n incteen of citrine. A primary colorsay, redjuxtaposed to the secondary green, which is its comple- mentary (being composed of the two re- maining primary colors, blue and yellow), arranged in the above proportions, produces the harmony required. It is also a fact that in looking at any color, its complementary is reflected. Thus green reflects red, and when placed in juxtaposition with it, makes the green greener and the red more intense, whereby richness of effect is produced ; and to complete the formula, blue and orange, also yellow and purple, are harmonious, for in each case all the colors producing white when mixed in the right proportions are present. We would here state that when sever- al primary colors are placed together, the contrast is apt to become too violent, pro- ducing, we might say, something of ~ swim- ming sensation. If these, however, are sep- arated by small members or lines of white, this dazzling effect may be obviated. By certain combinations, colors may have an enlivening or depressing effect. For ex- ample, blue is a cold, quieting color, while red is warm and exciting, and they can be made to affect the mind in any manner de- sired. Again, prominence or subordination may be given by their employment. For instance, blue produces the effect of dis- tance, and if.placed upon the ceiling, causes it to appear higher, or if in a recess, will deepen it; yellow, on the contrary, appears to advance toward the eye, and if used upon the ceiling, will seem to lower it, or if upon a projecting moulding, will exaggerate its prominence; while red is the only color that remains stationary.* It is as painful to the eye to see hues inharmoniously disposed as are discordant sound to the musical ear. A frequent method of decorating our rooms is by the employment of wall-papers. These possess the advantage of being cheap, easily hung, and highly finishing in their effectcertainly great recommendations, if only some taste be exercised in their selec- tion. As I have said before, the architect is seldom consulted in these matters, and people generally use their own judgment, or that of their upholsterer, whose main object is to hit upon something pretty or stylish,~~ as if this were the ultimatum of art, quite regardless of the peculiarities or needs of the apartment. One may choose a light-tinted paper for a dark room, or a small pattern for a small one, but farther than this no rules whatever are likely to be observed in the selection; the height, size, lighting, furniture, and purposes of the apartment, instead of being carefully stud- ied, are left very much to accident. * This subject of complementary colors, under the title of The Law of chromatic Contrast, was some- what elaborately treated aud illustrated with diagrams in Ilerpers Megezine for April, I5~4. MODERN DWELLINGS. 51 is that of natural foliage, and here it be- comes important to study the principles upon which nature works. The walls be :. .R * * * * * * * ~ in~ nerpendicular, it is necessary that the should be viewed from the side, and an upward direction, as in Fig. 1. This, however, in a carpet pattern would not ap- ply, as on a floor surface it would not be in character to represent the flower vertically. Fig. I is one of Mr. Dressers designs, show- For a room in which convivial conversa- tion, wines, and viands are enjoyed, the col- ors should never be bright, but of a neutral or complementary tint. In reception-rooms or parlors the eye should be gratified, the senses of the palate not being brought into competition, and hence floral designs and gay colorssomething of an enlivening na- turewould be appropriate. The late Owen Jones remarks that the flatness of the walls of an apartment should be left undisturbed, and the decoration as little obtrusive as possible. But in how few instances is this rule observed! Instead of the flat diaper in imitation of stencil de- sign, an attempt is made to show figures in relief, with shades and shadows, with bad taste and still worse effect. These vulgar- isnis are happily passing away, yet the pub- lic taste is far from being cultivated in these matters; and paper, instead of forming a mere backgrouad to sculpture, pictures, and articles of vi rtu, is apt to assert itself far be- yond its due importance. A wall surface can not be beautiful unless the forms upon it be of good design, as well as the colors applied harmonious; yet, even in good houses, we find walls rendered offen- sive rather than pleasing by the decorations they bear, and which would often be more effective if treated simply in plain tint. It is not our province here to give especial rules for the designing of wall-paper, yet one or two suggestions on this subject may not be inappropriate. A favorite treatment of wall surface, either in paper or painting, ing the guelder-rose as seen from the side, appropriate as a wall diaper. Fig. 2 is the same spray as seen from above, or, to use the same form of expression, when seen as a floor pattern. It has been said that dark walls are best rio. 2.GUELDER-RosE roa FLOOR PATTERN. WALL DECORATION. FIG. 1.GLTRLnRR-RoSR FOR WALL DIAPER. 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to set off furniture and costume, but light backgrounds for pictures. It is in order to accomplish both these results in the same apartment that the dado, or lower three feet of the wall, should be dark, the picture sur- face between this and the cornice neutral, while the gold and brilliant colors be re- served for the cornice and ceiling. This produces a gradation of color which it would be well always to observe; that is, that the dark or sombre tints be at the floor, and the positive and brilliant colors at the ceiling, while the central or wall tints remain neu- tral. A dark color, also, when applied to a skirt- ing or dado, gives the effect of strength, which idea it is always desirable to suggest in members bearing sul)erincumbent weight. Brown, rich maroon, dull bronze-green, or, even black, may be used here to advantage. A skirting or margin having in any way the effect of a frame should be emphmized by a stronger color, including cornices- and trimmings of doors and windows.. These trimmin~s, or architraves, as they arecalledr should invariably be of a more pronounced color than that of the wall, but not as dark as the surbase, unless black be introduced, in which case one or two narrow lines of bright color or gold may often be added with good effect. When black is used, it would be well to have a portion of it pol- ished, the remainder flat, thus producing DI) ~ FIG. 4.GARDEN sbmz FOE FRIEZE. contrast between a bright and dead sur- face. Doors should invariably be treated darker than the walls, something in tone between them and the trimmings. Thus if a wall is citrine, the door may be low-toned Antwerp blue, or dark bronze-green; bnt in either case a line of red, being complementary to both, should be run around the trimmings. The. usnal mode of treating sashes is in white, or at least some light color, but they may obtrude themselves less against fine landscape or stained glass if painted black. Then with architraves the same, and the jambs bronze-green or olive, a very cozy ef- fect is produced. In this case we would ad- vise the stop beads being of Indian reda very beautiful color, formed by the admix- ture of vermilion and ultramarine blue;. then if amber instead of white shades are used, no curtains will seem necessary. If the walls are of cream-color, with maroon and black surbase, the effect will lend a completeness eminently satisfactory. The dado of a room need not be plain; on the contrary, it may be embellished to any extent. It may simply have a rich border, or be covered with geometric or floriated designs. If the dado and ceiling be orna- mented and the cornice colored, the walls can well be plain, or they may be covered. with a simple powdering, known ~s the all-over pattern, of a subdued character. Awali maybe tinted with a dis- temper color, or oil flatted., The flattening, which is simply. removing the gloss by means of stippling, is a great improve-; ment, as shiny walls, like var-, nished furniture, are objection- able. Oil-color, on account of its durability, seems prefera- bl and has the advantage of being susceptible to cleansing without damage; though, so. far- as delicacy of tint is con- cerned,, water-colors are more beautiful. A good effect may be attained by the introduc- tion of a gold background, and placing on it a small bln~k fig- FIG. 3.uu~rmNe 5CEI~E FOR FRIEZE. MODERN DWELLINGS. 53 iixe or running pattern. In such cases more gold than black should be visible. On this ground, pictures in ebony and gilt frames appear to great advantage. Ceilings are especially adapted for orna- inentation, for the reason that their entire surface may be seei~ at once. If we wish to limit the decoration of our room, let us ex- pind our efforts here, as the walls and floor can be relieved by pictures and furniture. We would recommend the avoidance of structural members, and especially that chef-dceuvre of plaster art, the centre piece, with its impossible flowers and feeble orna- ments, and substitute some flat design in color, making it the prhtcipal feature of the ceiling, reaching, if you choose, to within a few inches of the border: I say border, as the cornice, unless broad, is much benefited by being extended with a margin of color. Now these borders on the ceiling are like the dado on the wall, and have the effect of breaking up their broad surfaces. The same rule applies to floors. By surrounding them with a margin of darker color a simi- lar advantage is attained. Friezes may be treated as elaborately as desired; they maybe powdered,or, if di- vided into panels, richly colored either in flat or in relief. If this system is adopt- ed, subjects appropriate to the apartmetit should be chosen. If, for instance, the frieze of a dining-room is paneled, fruits and game would be in keeping; if continuously treat- ed, some convivial assemblage, or perhaps a hunting scene, would be proper. In a par- lor, flowers would appear well in panels, or some mythological scene, such as the Muses, if unpaneled. In a library, portraits of au- thors would do, or, if continuous, scenes from some historical or poetical work. A li- brary by Messrs. Cox and Son has the follow- ing lines from Tennysons Lady of Shalott carried along the under side of the frieze: And there the surly village-churis, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott. Fine. 5.nAaaoa 5CxNE roa FLIEZE. Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An ahhot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-haird page in crimson clad, Goes by to towerd Camelot; And sometimes thro the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two each line filling a section, which is illus- trated, and the whole forming a pictorial text, reaching entirely around the room. Fig. 3 represents a hunting scene intend- ed for a dining-room frieze, by Mr. Rossiter, and is one of his many happy attempts in wall design. There is a style of quaint decoration, suit- able for panels and stained glass, being something of the Albert Dilrer school, of which we give two illustrations. The gar- den scene (Fig. 4) is by the celebrated J. Moyr Smith, the well-known artist of many of Marcus Wards publications; and the harbor. scene (Fig. 5), showing ships and fortress, is by Mr. B. J. Talbert. Both are striking illustrations of this style. A great deal of feeling as well as effect may be shown by what is known as legendary decoration, that is, working up texts and proverbs along our walls. Friezes offer a special opportunity for this. Sentences may also be placed over door- ways in such a manner as not only to express a sentiment, but denote the purpose of the apart- ment; as~ for example, Wel- come, over a reception-room; Hospitality,, over a living- room. Some very appropriate devices for fire-places have heen employed with significance and Fine. 6.~uzzz AKNz rANaL. 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. f effect, such as, Well befall hearth and hail. This would not be inappropriate for our country mansion described further on in this chapter. Norman Shaw has over his grand fire-place at Cragside the following: East or west, hames best. I have re- cently fitted up two dining-rooms in which this style of decoration is worked into the stained glass. Among others, I selected the following mottoes: Hunger is the best sauce, Welcome is the best cheer, Eat at pleasure, drink by measure. Upon the walls of dwelling-houses of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries a sys- tern of wood paneling was introduced with very genuine results. The mouldi~igs sel- dom projected beyond the surface, but were cut in the solid wood, and the projection confined to the l)anel itself; as illustrated in the diagram on page 53 (Fig. 6).~ The stiles were frequently moulded by sunken grooves upon their surface. These, how- ever, seldom returned, hut were continued to the end of the member. The ceilings were occasionally treated in a similar man- ner, but more frequently the rafters were left exposed, the edges being moulded and embellished with color. After the introduc- tion of plastered walls, this paneling was * This is intended as a panel over a fire-place similar to that shown in tile parlor view. The centre orna- ment may be either carved in wood or modeled in plas- ter, or even stenciled npon its snrface. Shonid a mir- ror be placed below this, it would be in keeping to have the edges of tile glass beveled like the panels. This might also serve as the upper half of a Queen Anne door. simply applied as a wainscot, being from one-thira to one-half their height. Anoth- er system also much in vogue was hanging the walls witll tapestry. Haddon Hall, one of the finest baronial mansions of that pe- riod, was treated in this manner, a peculiar- ity being the absence of wood-work around the openings, so that when the doors were closed, they, being covered with the same material, did not produce a break in the pattern. Another favorite custoln of the Queen Anne period, hefore paper-hawring was in- vented, was to cover the walls above the wainscot with stamped leather. This sys- tem of decoration was productive of some of the best results, the ground being fre- quently of silver or gold, upon the surface of which scroll-work of the period was in- troduced in relief. This was frequently treated with some of the richest effects of color, the whole producing an exquisite re- sult which our modern paper-stainers have failed to achieve. Perhaps a slight description of some of the late English works, as developed by the Queen Anne revival, might serve to illus- trate a few of the principles of modern dec- oration. In this years exhibition of the Royal Academy there is a view of Mr. Henry Taylors dining-room, taken from his resi- dence in Avenue Road, Regents Park, which has been recently remodeled from the de- sign of Mr. J. W. Brydon. The whole of the paneling around the room, in eluding bay- windows, the front of the sunken fire-place, - I V I l)E5ICN NO. 7.TIlE COUNTRY MANSION. MODERN DWELLINGS. 55 etc., is of oak, stained dark, and wax polish- The green parlor at Doune Lodge, by Mr. ed, while the walls above the paneling are J. Moyr Smith, before mentioned, is well covered with stamped leather. The oak worth noticing. The chimney-piece is in furniture, also, in the room, a quaint book- unpolished oak, with illustrated tiles of case in one corner, and a table for the bay- bntf and brown; the subjects are selected window are especially worthy of notice. from the industrial and historical sets de- The style throughout is an adaptation of signed by this celebrated artist. The tiles old English work, which seems to lend it- nearest the grate are of Dutch manufacture, self very easily to modern requirements. and have a floral decoration of a dark blue In this style, also, is the picturesque gate ground. The subjects of the stained glass lodge recently completed, which is built of in this room are of Egyptiau, Greek, and red brick and half-timbered work, present- Gothic art, the actual painting on the glass ing a carefully designed gable window to- being done by Mr. Smith himself. The wood- ward Avenue Road. work of the windows, doors, etc., is painted Another of Mr. Brydons designs at the a bluish-green. The dado is of rich dark Academy is the hall and staircase of a house color, chiefly composed of carmine and brown at Salna, the residence of Thorston Nor- pink. The upper part of the wall is of a denfelt, Esq., one of the commissioners for color that partakes of a citrine-green and Sweden, which is also a good study of sev- drab, the pattern being a lighter tint of the entecuth century work, adapted to the re- same. quirements of a modern country residence, The following remarks are taken front and is another indication of the revival of some of the leading English anthorities. this art as applied to household taste. The Wherever pictures are hung, the hang- staircase and p.aneling of the hall are exe- ings shonld be of one or two tones of the cuted in pine, stained dark or rich brown same color. Another important rule is, if color, and xvaxed. The chimney-piece is of one large picture forms the decoration, the American walnut; the coping around the dominant color of the paper should be coni- hearth, which takes the place plementary to that of the of the fender, and the jambs painting. For gilt frames are of fossil marble, the fire- olive-gray and deep green place having the sides and are appropriate. It has been hearth of tile. The floor of laid down by Chevrenl that the hall is of oak, stained engravings or lithographs dark, with parquetry border, should never be placed be- and the whole of the internal side colored pictures. The fittings, furniture, anddecora- same rule holds good with tion has been most carefully worked out from drawings by the architect. Another Academy drawing illustrates a dining-room de- signed by Mr. B. J. Talbert, showing a screen in which stained glass panels are in- troduced, the principal fram- ing of which is of oak with ebony mouldingt~. The effect of this I have considered so pleasing that I have adopted it as the motive of a dining- room illustrated in this chap- ter. The oak, instead of be- ing stained in the usual way, is treated by fumigation, so as to get a dark brown color from the wood itself, and this is not merely on the surface, but penetrated. The dado is of waxed pine; the walls are GitOUND PLAN FOlt DESTON NO. T. of neutral green color, with a ~ veranda.2. Entrance Lobhy.3. Lavatory.4. PassageS. Hat small stenciled diaper of yel- Closet.6. Lift.T. Billiard-Room, 16x22.5. Conservatory, 12x45.9. low and red separatedby gold Tea-Room, 13x16.1O. Hall, 22x40.11. Hall Fire-Place, Tx9.12. Re- lines. Above this the frieze ception-Room, 11x21.13. Parlor, flX54.14. Dining-Room, 11x28. has alternate black and gold 15. China ClosetIS. Butlers Pantry.17. Lihrary, 16X22.15. Office, 13X16 19. Kitchen, 15X17..20. Laundry, 13x11.21. Servants Hall, grounded panels, with fish, 14x1L22. Servants Porch.23. Back Hall.24. Housekeep rs Room, fowl, fruit, etc., painted. 14x16.25. Store-Room.26. Boots.27. Scnllery.28. Gun-Room. 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. regard to all monochromes, such a~pho- tographs, though we may ofteu see the mixture in drawing-rooms whose occupants would scoru to be told of their want of taste. A light gray or neutral tint or dark maroon is, perhaps, best adapted for en- gravings. The predominant color of the furniture should be studied after that of the pictures and other works of art. A har- mony of analogy in which the colors of both walls and furniture enter may be adopted, or at least a contrast befween them. If mahogany is the prevailing material, the wall as well as the carpet should be devoid of reddish or orange tints. The walls and floors should agree by approximation of color, though of different tones, with that of the furniture; or, if a, contrast be de- sired, the walls and floor may be of some color complementary to the furniture. For old china, if the prevailing color is blue, the wall tints should be complementary (or composed of red and yellow). Citrine and orange grays are best adapted. Greens par- take too. much of the color to afford a du~ contrast. Where objects of high art do not intrude, our walls and rooms should be studied solely to architectural propriety, lighting, etc. For example, a suit of rooms communicating .by folding - doors or open- ings should harmonize as much as possible. Thus the dining and billiard rooms may, in. many houses, if en 8uite, be treated in the same manner. They may have the walls painted or stuccoed of a gray-drab or choc- olate hue, or they may be paneled through- out. For wood-paneled walls, parquetry or wooden floors are more agreeable than tiles. Woven wall-hangings and stuffs for seats and curtains need equal care in the assort- ment of the colors. The wood-work of the room or the furniture should present a pleas- ing contrast with the stuffs, so that each may be enhanced. Thus violet and blue stuffs contrast best with yellow or orange colored woods; and green stuffs with red- colored woods, like rose-wood and mahogany. The same applfrs to grays in which either of these hues predominates. But depth of tone is another consideration. A deep-col- ored stuff is contrasted best with a wood- color of the same depth. If the tones are very different, the same color for both stuff and wood is desirable, or a harmony of anal- ogy becomes best. The same with wood paneling. DESIGN NO. 7. The mansion, as compared with the cot- tage, is like the full-grown man to the child, not only in respect of size, but of general comprehensiveness and refinement. In the former we expect to find all that can min- ister both to convenience and comfort, as well as express the artistic and hospitable tastes of the cultivated family. Here the spacious porch seems to give, as we enter, assurance of welcome, while the broad veranda, with its hundred feet of walk, and connected with the various rooms along its path by wii~dows reaching to the floor, serves as a fitting medium between the beauties of nature without and the charms of art within. At the right of the entran~e STAIRCASE AND HALL. MODERN DWELLINGS. ~57 lobby is a commodious dress- ing - room with hat closet. Farther on is a lift or hand elevator running from base- ruent to attic, used for do- inestic purposes, and, being near the front entrance, can be utilized for transporting trunks and other lnggage. It might be well if divided into two stories, the upper for the accommodation of old people and invalids. This is one of the modern improvements which have become regard- ed as almost indispensable in first-class houses. On the left is a reception-room, and be- yond this the parlor, which, including the bay-window, is thirty-five feet long. In the rear of the parlor is the dining-room. This con- tains china closet and butlers pantry communicating with the kitchen. Beyond and opening into the back hall (which is entirely cut off from the main house) are the laun- I dry, servants hail, housekeep- ers room, store-room, scullery, boot and gun rooms. The li- brary and office are separated either by cur- tains or folding-doors. The principal feature of tbis liouse is the grand or staircase hall, from which all the living-rooms are accessible, as the entrance vestibule communicates directly with the reception-room. The main hail is so retired that it may be used for family gatherings. Its great attraction is the generous old fire- place, ten feet wide and seven deep, forming a spacious alcove, in which settles may be placed, accommodating a party of six or eight persons. Here we realize the poetical idea of the chimney-corner, around which so many tender memories of early days are centred. There in our childhood our first Bible lessons were impressed vividly upon our minds from the texts and more remark- able events illustrated upon the old Dutch tiles around its margin. There we listened to eudless ghost stories, which made each particular hair to stand on end, while we drew imaginary portraits of the goblins in the burning embers; and the legend of San- ta Claus seemed not improbable while we peered up that great chimney. It is pleas- ant, too, to recall the holiday games played without check in the hall, ~vhile the yule- log burned merrily upon the fire-dogs. Another striking feature is the grand staircase running up to a low landing where * On this subject of fire-places I shall speak more at length in another chapter. VI(INETTE, SHOWING GABLE OVER BILLIARD ROOM. there is a stained glass window sufficiently large to light the halls of both stories. The tea-room, conservatory, and billiar room complete the arrangement of this floor. The second and third stories together con- tain twenty bedrooms, liberally supplied with closets, bath and dressing roo~ns. The attic is a full story, and has a loft over the entire floor. The external walls are of hard burned brick,~ and should be laid in either red or black mortar, as white pointing is apt to produce a raw and inharmonious effect. The angles and opcnings shou~u be trimmed with Philadelphia or pressed brick; the string conrses of vitrified moulded brick. Black or colored brick, and even illuminated tiles, may be worked in with pleasing re- sults. If thought desirable, tile-hanging might be introduced on the third or attic story, which would serve in a measure to relieve the height of the wall. As a good contrast, the main and veranda roofs might be of green slate without pattern; and if the wood-work could be of pitch-pine, oiled, it would also harmonize; while the ceilings of the veranda, porch, and balcony might be of ultramarine bine, picked out in ei- ther bnff or red. On the kitchen chimney panel I have designed a sun-dial. This was quite common on old buildings, and is both useful and ornamental. A favorite custom in Gothic architecture HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is placing a series of windows near togeth- er, divided simply by lines or mullions, which is objectionable, inasmuch as they cut up the wall surface, leaving no place for furniture; in bedrooms especially, where we require broad piers, with windows on each side, for the accommodation of dressing tables; and unless we resort to the system shown in the chamber illustration, where the windows are elevated above the furni- ture, considerable difficulty is experienced. There is a similar objection on the outside, as here, by cutting up the broad surface on which we rely for dignity and repose, the (lesiga seems attenuated and frittered away. This difficulty, however, is happily overcome by a very picturesque feature peculiar to this style, known as the corner mullion, which consists in placing the division immediate- ly in the angle, and arranging the windows on each side instead of grouping them along the walls. The vignette (page 57) showing gable over billiard-room illustrates the method by which this is accomplished. Frequently in living-roorhs where two sides of the room are taken up with fire- place and sliding doors, and the other two have windows, from the fact of these being in the centre there is absolutely no place for piano, book-case, sideboard, or, in fact, any large piece of furniture; but by this system of placing the windows in the an- ,.,les the entire surface of the external walls becomes available. DESIGN NO. 8. In city houses, where we are elbowed in by lots of 25 by 100, and have to niake the best of it, the requirements are necessarily very different from those of a cottage or country maflsion, where the broad acres coumprising the estate afford the dimensions of a five-story house all on one floor. We have previously attempted to illustrate the Queen Anne style as applied to country work, and now offer a design showing its adaptability to city architecture, in which Philadelphia brick and Ohio stone trim- mings form tIme constructive color of the walls. This building is five stories above the basement, and might be permitted still another without marring its proportions, which shows how admirably adapted this treatment is to buildings requiring great heighta virtue that the Gothic style does not possess. As a twenty-five-foot lot is in- sufficient for a building of this class, it is proposed that the owner should purchase five feet of the adjoining lot, making his thirty feet in width, and leaving a twenty- foot lot, on which might be built a smaller house in the same style, rendering by this means the avenue or bay-window front the more imposing. Ascending the entrance porch, which is some sixteen feet wide, ~ve enter a hallway of the same width, terminating with the grand staircase. On time left of this hall is a drawing-room running entirely across nmmsme~ NO. 5.ciry MANSIONS QUEEN ANNE STYLE. MODERN DWELLINGS. 59 the house. This is twenty feet wide, in- dependent of the two bay-windows. This room, the interior of ~vhich we have illus- trated, has its wood-work of hard maple, stained black to represent ebony, its lines being picked out in gold. The chimney- piece is paneled the height of the frieze, and is embellished with a bracketed cano- py, over which is a shelf for old china. The cove under this is covered with stamped leather, and a low beveled mirror occupies the space between it and the mantel. Be- tween the bay-windows is shown a cabinet, in the same style as the mantel, for contain- ing bric4t-brac. In these interior views, iu order the more fully to display their architectnral propor- tions, I have oniitted showing most of the furniture, which I propose describing in a future article. Opposite the parlor is a reception-room, 18 by 20, including bay-window. This con- PLAN OF SECOND STORY. 15. Bondoir.16. Bedroomil. Passage.15. Dress- ing -Room. 19. Dressing -Room. 20. Library. 21. Billiard-Room.22. Lavatory.23. Linen Closet.24. Back Stairs.25. Lift.26. Broom Closet. nects with the dining-room, 16 by 20, in- cluding a niche for sideboard. It is pro- posed not to separate these rooms by sliding doors, but in their place I have shown a narrow screen standing out from the walls, which may serve as a frame for curtains. These always seem to add an air of coziness to an apartment. Sliding doors, on the con- trary, look stiff, arid give the room a barren GROUND PLAN FOR DE5IGN NO. 8. appearance, and, like an awkward persons 1. Main Entrance.2. vestibnle.3. 1%lain Hall.4. hands, are always in the way. I would pre- Staircase.5. Parlor.8. Reception-Room.7. Dining- fer abolishing all doors where security does RoomS. Bntlers Pantry, with Store-Room over. not require them, and substituting curtains 9. Dumb-Waiter. 10. Broom Closet. 11. Lift. 12 Private Staircase. 18. Sky - Light arid in their place. In like manner, rooms di- Ventilating Shaft.14. Lavatory. vided by screens, about two-thirds of the HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. height of the room, have an immense ad- j tion with the reception-room. By simply vaiitage over partitions, inasmuch as each withdrawing the curtains the table may be room seems larger, has a freer circulation of extended so as to occupy both rooms; or, if air, and the screens may be made so as to thought desirable, the screens may be port- appear pieces of furniture. Then if, as in able, so as to be removed altogether. tbe present instance, the dining-room be Stained glass performs a prominent part small, it can readily be thrown into counec- in tbe decoration of this room, for, as there ____~ 4 ___ Io __ __ KiK ___ ___ _________ ___ ___~71~ A _ ~, K ~HL~ ____ _ ~ H 4-;& ~ffiJ __ _________ ~ ~ - 7 / / / ~ ~z/_, / ~ ____ XNTFE{OR OF 1)INING-ROOM. ElO r FARLOL~. 61 MODERN DWELLINGS. is no particular view from the dining-room windows, the middle section alone is left clear, and by introducing stained glass into the panels of the screen, the whole presents a light and brilliant effect. As we ascend the grand staircase, we find the second story devoted exclusively to the lady and gentleman of the house. The bou- doir is situated on the avenue front. This being a ladys apartment, is fitted up in light woods, and the colors selected are of cheer- ful and transparent tints. One of its pecul- iarities is the cove on each side of the ceil- ing, without returning across the ends. This has something the effect of a canopy over the walls, apparently lowering their height, and giving an air of snugness to the apart- ment. Adjoining this there is a private passage connecting with the bed and two dressing rooms, for the gentleman and his wife re- spectively. Both are well lighted, and are accommodated with closets, bath and toilet rooms; and in order to carry out the healthy and certainly comfortable idea of sleeping in a cool room and dressing in a warm one, I have shown a small fire-place in each. Beyond, and connecting with the gentle- mans dressing-room, is the library. This is a cozy little apartment, containing a bay- window and an alcove for books, separated from the main room by a transom, beneath which curtains may be hung, shutting off the alceve entirely when the proprietor, supposed to be somewhat of a literary man, desires seclusion. This has an open timber celling and parquetry floor, covered here and there with rugs. The wall is paneled to the height of the door with old English wainscot, and the mantel and fire-place are of Sienna marble, with opening and hearth of illuminated tile. The library has also the use of the toilet adjacent to the dress- ing room, and adjoins the billiard-room in the rear. On the floor above there are two bed- rooms, each containing a bay-window. They have large closets, and are convenient to the bath-room. The remainder of this story is devoted to the children. The nurseries for day and night are separated by dress- ing-rooms, and the nurses room communi- cates with the childrens sleeping apartment. The story above has a bath-room and seven chambers, all well lighted. The serv- ants apartments re in the attic, which is accessible by private stairs, the main stairs not extending to this floor. Here, again, we have the advantage of utterly excluding the servants from the family portion of the house, by simply locking one door on each floor. Owing to the extreme height of the ceiling on the first story, it may not be nec- essary to carry up the butlers pantry all the way, as over this an cntre8ol. may be constructed serving the purpose of a gener- al store-room, and can be approached by a landing from the private staircase. The housekeeper, whose chief duties lie upon the lower part of the establishment; the bettet IlounoIR. 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. $Z~ ~ ~3 iii m 71 Li Li ULWL _____ ~ _____ LIBRARY. to superintend, has her apartments on the basement floor. Her accommodations are not stinted, but are worthy the dignity of a lady necessarily possessed of refinement and intelligence in order properly to fill her po- sition of responsibility and trust. Her little parlor, which is on the avenue front, and has both fire-place and bay-window, communi- cates directly with a small bedroom, closed off during the day with folding-doors. This opens into a spacious pantry, amply supplied with closets for hanging on one side, and dresser with drawers on the other. Passing through this, we come to her bath-room. At the right of the housekeepers apart- ments is the laundry, with stationary tubs and a steam drying-room. The servants hall is roomy; the kitchen contains a large pantry and well-lighted scullery. In this design also there is a lift which runs from cellar to attic. The main hall is lighted from the roof and a spacious well on each story serves to convey the light to the first floor. In addi- tion to this, it will be observed that there is a sky-light and shaft between the main and private stairs, open from roof to cellar. Be- sides the benefit of light, it also procures good ventilation. HEATING AN!) VENTILATION. My remarks in last months number on the subject of ventilation were intended for a more moderate class of houses; but in build- ings of this character, which are erected with that niceness of workmanship that not a seam or crevice is supposed to be open for the admission of fresh air, a more elaborate system of heating and ventilation is re- quired. A fire-place in a small room does its part, but one is not sufficient for an apart- ment the size of our present p rlor; in this, therefore, I have placed two. It would also seem necessary to have especial provision made for the halls and staircase, as other- wise the air from them must be drawn through the living-rooms. The shaft in this instance serves the purpose. There is much difficulty experienced in this matter of ventilation. The foul gases which are produced in a measure from the exhalations of our lungs, in the shape of carbonic acid gas, being heavier than the air, sink to the floor, and to induce them to rise through the ventilating flue has been the trouble under which our engineers have labored. Many complicated contrivances have, been devised for this purpose. The introduction of some system of heating this flue, by which the air is rarefied, has proved the most sim- ple means of accomplishing this. Now, in order to do it economically as well as effect- nally, I propose putting an iron flue through the centre of this shaft, which may serve the purpose of a smoke flue for the furnace, radiating enough heat in the shaft to cans a strong upward draught sufficient to draw off these gases,to facilitate which it would MODERN DWELLINGS. 63 be well to place the ventilating opening at the floor. In this shaft, too, the plumbing pipes of the house should be placed, where any offensive odors would be carried off, and where, in case of any leak, no damage would be done, and where they would be accessible in case of repairs. It is generally considered that direct ra- diation in a living apartment is undesirable, as it simply warms the air, and, producing no circulation, consumes the oxygen with- out renewing this vital property; hence the drum, the gas stove, and even steam heating pipes are objectionable unless some auxil- iary system of ventilation be employed. It appears that the systems of heuting and ventilating depend so much upon each other for their mutual success that it seems reasonable that they should come under one head and be treated in connection; for as it is evident that the flues are useless to carry off the foul air of the house unless fresh air be introduced to take its place, so, too, it is obvious that a current of cold air being admitted directly upon our backs is in. no way agreeable. It should, therefore, be warmed before entering the apartment. And now it remains to be determined which of the many devices for accomplish~ ing this is best. We have frequently seen two pipes placed under the sash for the admission of the outer air, furnished with dampers by which to regulate the supply. This is a clever means of introducing fresh air into the room, and, when accompanied by proper exhaust flues, performs its work effectually. Yet this does not overcome the unpleasantness before mentioned of cold air being introduced directly into the room, and although the inventor has ingeniously con- trived a quarter turn in the pipe in order to prevent its blowing immediately upon the occupants, by carrying the air upward, it does not fulfill its mission, as the cold air, being heavier than the warm, naturally seeks a downward channel the moment they come in contact. I wrote to the patentee some time ago, bringing this fact to his no- tice, and suggested that if the air could be conveyed into the room slightly warmed, as from the register of a hot-water furnace, I believed his system would be perfect. He stated, in reply, that this would involve a complication beyond the scope of his inven- tion, and gave the matter no further atten- tion. The method of accomplishing this, however, is very simple. Let the steam ra- diator be placed directly under the window, then the air entering in passing over it be- comes warm, and rises naturally of itself. This system accomplishes in the most satis- factory manner the desired result. In the matter of the ventilator, which we were de- scribing, we would say that it is unnecessa- ry to adopt these awkward-looking pipes, filling up, as they do, some eight or ten inch- es of the window, excluding the light, and obstructing the view. A simple quarter- turn moulding, say, two inches high, placed at the bottom of the sash, to the top of which the window may be raised, secures equally good ventilation, with these objectionable features avoided. Ilere the sash itself acti as a damper, and any carpenter can fit up this moulding, on which, owing to its sim- plicity, there is no patent right. We would not have our readers imagine that we consider it advisable to abandon open fires, for these are necessary to accel- erate the draught of the chimney fine, upon which we mainly depend for ventilation; PLAN OF ~man BTOUY. 30. Bedroom. 31. Bedroom. 32. Bath - Room. 33. Nurs& s Bedroom. 34. Day Nursery. 35. BathL Room.36. Night Nursery.37. Nursery Closet.3$. Woolen Closet. 32. Private Stairs. 40. Lift. 41.~ Broom Closet. 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. nor is an open fire sufficient to perfectly warni the room; but the two together seem to accomplish results most satisfactorily. Perhaps one of the worst effects from the w nt of proper ventilation is that resulting from the escape of sewer gases from the (Irains and sinks of our dwellings. The (langer of these foul emanations, carrying the germs of typhoid and diphtheria, can not be too forcibly impressed upon the pub- lic; and siuce of late numerous severe cases of disease directly traceable to this miasma not forgetting the sickness of the Prince of Wales, occasioned by defective sewer pipes at Lownesborougli Lodgehave been prominently brought to notice, it is time that some active measures should be taken to prevent their entrance. Traps in a meas- ure check the escape of these odors from cess-pools and sewers, but these are likely to dry up. Often, too, there is pressure from l)elow, and it has been found that the gases force themselves through the water in the traps, passing into our apartments, and are consequently absorbed into our systems. The only way effectually to prevent this is to have a vent in the soil pipe to allow the gases to pass off; by means of a small pipe conducted iuto the ventilating flue, or, if such is not at hand, in to the smoke flue of the chimney. The leader pipes, when not coanected with a cistern, would do for this purpose. They cau either be joined to the soil pipe, in which case they would he thor- oughly cleansed by a flow of rain, or, if con- nected with cess-pool or sewer, they may act as direct ventilators from these. It is hupor- taut, however, that their termination be not. directly ur~der an attic window, through which the odors might enter the house. An excellent method of ventilating rooms in which there is no fire-place is hy means of a tin flue extending nearly to the floor and running out above the roof, termina- ting with sufficient bend to avoid leakage. If within the l)iI)e a light be kept continu- ally burning, it will so rarefy the air as to insure a constant draught. There may be arranged in front of this light a glass, through which the room may be lighted. It very often happens, especially ia city houses, that the bath-rooms, water-closets, and butlers pantries must be in a part of the house where no daylight can be obtain- ed; this is a ready means of supplying that deficiency. Frequently, too, particularly in houses built upon the flat system, where ev- ery inch of room must be economized, small bedrooms are necessarily situated in the sanme position. Here this system could be adopted with especial advantage. These may be made ornamental by having a frame- work containing transparencies iu relief or color before the light, obviating the uii- sightly appearance which they ordinarily present. imEummooM. / III ___ GARTH. 65 GARTH:* CHAPTER XIY.( Continued.) LOVE-MAKING AND FLIRTATION. C ARTH and Elinor, meanwhile, on emer- ging from their respective brown-stud- ies and looking about them, had fonnd them- selves virtually alone together. Garth raised himself on one elbow, stared at Elinor until she was forced to return his glance, and then threw himself to his feet and walked toward her with a snperflne set grin on his face, the cynical grotesqueness of which would have made her laugh had she not been both irritated and secretly startled. What did he want with her? She could not doubt that she must be as disagreeable to him as he to her; and the last thing she would have anticipated was a malice - prepense conversation between. them. It is true that she did not despise him quite so much as before Golightleys explanation: and the discovery that she had wronged him on one score, perhaps mitigated her sternness on. another. On the other hand, she might have reflected that previous to his artistic self-degradation the charge against him of indolent dependence had not disturbed her in the least. Probably all she did think of at this moment was that his approach was unwelcome, and that she would be rid of him as soon as circumstances would admit. We must not appear singular, Miss Go- lightley, began Garth, bowing with punctil- ious politeness. We arent asleep, so we must take a stroll. Ill help you down jump ! I dont care to walk, thank you, said Elinor; but she had already jumped at his bidding, and now, in spite of her dis- claimer, kept beside him as he sauntered toward the brook on the right. She meant to turn back after a few steps; but it did not appear necessary, or even very easy, di- reetlyto withstand a man of this kind. Since were in different walks of art, he resumed, I may safely praise your proficien- cy. Such genius certainly should be pub- lished. There was an nuder-current in that tune you played which might have sold at a high price. I dont look forward to playing in pub- lic, replied Elinor, coloring high with in- dignationatwhat seemed to her, fresh from a dream, a most ungenerous and injurious speech. No? Well, selfishness is pleasant when 2~IObd. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. you can afford it. But wheres your vanity? Think of enrapturing thousands: of people! Art, you know, has three recommendations: it can minister to your private, seifish~ en- joyment, and it can get you money,~ and flattery. But I should soon be tired of painting pictures merely for my own amuse- ment. I need admiration and good pay to keep me going.~~ I have no right to suppose you are not in earnest in what, you say, Mr. Urntson; but I. must say it seems to me strange that Art should reveal, so much of her beauty to one holding your opinions. And its hard to understand, ,too, how any one who can see so much, of her divinity should find it possible to speak of her as a drudge ,and a convenience. I su~tpose this is meant for praise con- cealed jinder a thin veil of reRyo9f. Between your praise and my uncles moiney, I, ought to be very happy. Do you2 ~~ollect,our profound conversation in the studio ~few days ago? Ive been afraid you misunder- stood something I said then. I fully agreed with your criticism on the picture, but of course the alteration suggested was out of the question. My uncle had already offered a large price for the picture as it stood. Highly as I honor art, Miss Golightley, a check for a thousand pounds is worth all the ideal scruples in the world. You are really very frank. But how have I deserved this confidence ? No confidence at all; only its pleasant to feel you are understood., Theres a sort of inverted analogy between your case and mine, thanks to one and the same individu- althat is, if I may construe your remark about not playing in public as hinting at your betrothal to my beloved uncle. I con- gratulate you: His affection for you, you see has freed you from the necessity of do- ing that to which his affection for me com- pels me. There could never possibly be any like- ness or sympathy between you and me, Mr. Urmson. Excuse me, I must turn back now. No; you can do more good here than any where, returned Garth,his sardonic ex- pression darkening into something less un- natural but more lowering. Come, come, Miss Golightley, youll have to put up with me sooner or later; and theres something I wish to find in these woods. Besides, you were an old friend of mine long before you knew of my existence. After that first meet- ing in the Green Vaults I followed youin- advertently, of courseall over Europe. At last, to break the spell, I took your portrait. * Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18Th, by JULIAN HAWTHORNE, in the office of the Li- brarian of Congress, at Washington. VOL. LIILNo. 313.5

GARTH. 65 GARTH:* CHAPTER XIY.( Continued.) LOVE-MAKING AND FLIRTATION. C ARTH and Elinor, meanwhile, on emer- ging from their respective brown-stud- ies and looking about them, had fonnd them- selves virtually alone together. Garth raised himself on one elbow, stared at Elinor until she was forced to return his glance, and then threw himself to his feet and walked toward her with a snperflne set grin on his face, the cynical grotesqueness of which would have made her laugh had she not been both irritated and secretly startled. What did he want with her? She could not doubt that she must be as disagreeable to him as he to her; and the last thing she would have anticipated was a malice - prepense conversation between. them. It is true that she did not despise him quite so much as before Golightleys explanation: and the discovery that she had wronged him on one score, perhaps mitigated her sternness on. another. On the other hand, she might have reflected that previous to his artistic self-degradation the charge against him of indolent dependence had not disturbed her in the least. Probably all she did think of at this moment was that his approach was unwelcome, and that she would be rid of him as soon as circumstances would admit. We must not appear singular, Miss Go- lightley, began Garth, bowing with punctil- ious politeness. We arent asleep, so we must take a stroll. Ill help you down jump ! I dont care to walk, thank you, said Elinor; but she had already jumped at his bidding, and now, in spite of her dis- claimer, kept beside him as he sauntered toward the brook on the right. She meant to turn back after a few steps; but it did not appear necessary, or even very easy, di- reetlyto withstand a man of this kind. Since were in different walks of art, he resumed, I may safely praise your proficien- cy. Such genius certainly should be pub- lished. There was an nuder-current in that tune you played which might have sold at a high price. I dont look forward to playing in pub- lic, replied Elinor, coloring high with in- dignationatwhat seemed to her, fresh from a dream, a most ungenerous and injurious speech. No? Well, selfishness is pleasant when 2~IObd. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. you can afford it. But wheres your vanity? Think of enrapturing thousands: of people! Art, you know, has three recommendations: it can minister to your private, seifish~ en- joyment, and it can get you money,~ and flattery. But I should soon be tired of painting pictures merely for my own amuse- ment. I need admiration and good pay to keep me going.~~ I have no right to suppose you are not in earnest in what, you say, Mr. Urntson; but I. must say it seems to me strange that Art should reveal, so much of her beauty to one holding your opinions. And its hard to understand, ,too, how any one who can see so much, of her divinity should find it possible to speak of her as a drudge ,and a convenience. I su~tpose this is meant for praise con- cealed jinder a thin veil of reRyo9f. Between your praise and my uncles moiney, I, ought to be very happy. Do you2 ~~ollect,our profound conversation in the studio ~few days ago? Ive been afraid you misunder- stood something I said then. I fully agreed with your criticism on the picture, but of course the alteration suggested was out of the question. My uncle had already offered a large price for the picture as it stood. Highly as I honor art, Miss Golightley, a check for a thousand pounds is worth all the ideal scruples in the world. You are really very frank. But how have I deserved this confidence ? No confidence at all; only its pleasant to feel you are understood., Theres a sort of inverted analogy between your case and mine, thanks to one and the same individu- althat is, if I may construe your remark about not playing in public as hinting at your betrothal to my beloved uncle. I con- gratulate you: His affection for you, you see has freed you from the necessity of do- ing that to which his affection for me com- pels me. There could never possibly be any like- ness or sympathy between you and me, Mr. Urmson. Excuse me, I must turn back now. No; you can do more good here than any where, returned Garth,his sardonic ex- pression darkening into something less un- natural but more lowering. Come, come, Miss Golightley, youll have to put up with me sooner or later; and theres something I wish to find in these woods. Besides, you were an old friend of mine long before you knew of my existence. After that first meet- ing in the Green Vaults I followed youin- advertently, of courseall over Europe. At last, to break the spell, I took your portrait. * Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18Th, by JULIAN HAWTHORNE, in the office of the Li- brarian of Congress, at Washington. VOL. LIILNo. 313.5 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. That answered for a time; but here we. are again, you see. It is easier to take snch a liberty than to resent it, Sir; but Garth laughed. Liberty? A cat may look at a king; and, to be honest, I put your face on canvas only to free my memory of it. A liberty! Why do you wear a face? If there be a liberty, it is on your part. I am glad you can speak to a lady in this way, said Elinor, with her iciest haugh- tiness; I may have been mistaken in think- ing well of your pictures; but after this I can never be mistaken in you. Say more like that ! exclaimed Garth, grinning with a kind of savage delight. I like to hear you say what lam. Consistent, am I not? a charlatan in art and a charla- tan in character! I told you you could do more good here than any where. I must consider myself as well as you, Mr. Urmson, said she, stopping short in her walk, and turning her face aside. Yes; but dont go backdont ! he re- peated, in a tone of such strange entreaty as made Elinors heart beat quicker in spite of her best resolution. Half involuntarily she moved on. Think what a dramatic situa- tion ! he went on, with a certain dark im- petuosity of utterance. You detest me for what I am, and I hate you for what Im not, and we are saying what we think! Appre- ciate your privileges, Miss Golightley: you might search the world for charlatans, and not find another like me. Let me go ! said Elinor, speaking low lest her voice should tremble. Do you know why ? he continued, not heeding her. Because I was meant for a gentleman. Im no common man. My mother was a most pure and sweet woman; and theres no nobler, gentler, braver man than my father. You understand that ? he demanded, suddenly, frowning at her with glowing eyes. Elinor drew her breath and said, Yes, meeting his look steadily. Yes. Well, theyre in me, both of them, he said, motioning toward himself with his chin. And against that, Ive made my- self what I am. You mustnt forget, either, that Im an only son, and the last ~f the Urmsons; and that all the honor of the race, and all the life-long hopes and prayers of my fatherhe has devoted his whole life to meend in me. It seemed to Elinor that the last three words were as if he had struck so many blows on her heart. She drooped inwardly, and kept her body erect only by a conscious physical effort. She no longer thought of turning back, however, though to go for- ward was now even more painful than irk- some. Hear more, since youre so condescend- ing, resumed her companion, after a short silence. You must excuse my egotism, but I have reason to be proud of myself. To re- alize my merit, you should have heard what my father said to me when he sent me to college, and once before when I was a boy, and you should have known the fine reso- lutions I made after my mothers death. I tell you Im no common man. Then you should know in what a religious, reverential way I have talked and thought about art. You neednt trouble yourself to disparage the good in my pictures. There is good in them, and power in me, but that I choose to be a charlatan, to paint pictures as great as any in the world. Excuse my laughing; but when I remember the doubts and anxie- ties I used to suffer as to my genius But I recognize my genius now, and Ive no doub.t I can make myself rich by it. It was only while I thought of consecrating it to lofty ideal ends that I had any misgivings about it. Such a blessed peace and security as I enjoy now, Miss Golightley ! Oh, what are you throwing away ! mut- tered Elinor. It weighs me down. Not that tone, after my pains to be ex- plicit. With all my bomplaisanceno sen- timental sympathy, if you please. Show me how bitter you can be. You could not be so bitter if you were what you would have me believe. Think of the girl who is to be your wife, Mr. Urmson. I care only to talk of myself~ Miss Go- lightley. I havent talked so much in ten years as I have talked to you. Im dumb enough to people who love me, but detesta- tion loosens my tongue. You bring the worst in me to the surface, and soputmeat my ease; but my admirers misunderstand me, and torture me by probing after iruag- mary good. Our relation can be of great mutual benefit. Love is sugar, but hate is salt. Havent I made out my case yet? Think again of a man knowing the good that I know, and having such reasons to be honorable as I have, who nevertheless gives it all up for a paltry thousand pounds! lad- mire your gravity: in your place, I should laugh till I cried. Mr. Urmson, began Elinor, hurriedly, lam alone in the world, with no father or mother, or brothers or sisters. Seems to me it would be safer to die than to believe what you ask me to. Your uncle wishes to marry me, and I think him a good and noble man; but he could not help the harm this would do me. But if you are so base, how can you wish to marry a girl without money like Margaret? There is a contradiction some- wherean impossibility. I used to think my life had been sad in some ways, but how am I to endure this ? Take care! theres danger of my hating you in a different waya worse way. Nothing is worse than this, she said, with a slight shudder. GARTH. 67 Come, let us be wise, and make the best of our position, said Garth, smiling. I like recognition for my sins even better than for my virtues; and you happen to be the only person qualified to give me full measure. Ive taken special pains to bring my moral state clearly before you, and you have natu- rally less charity and tenderness than any woman I know of. Let me feel secure of your constant and thorough detestationif you would be so kind. Put all your available contempt and venom into every word you say to me, and then I shall have a real pleas- ure in meeting you. In the natural course of things, we must often meet; but I tell you fairly, if you try any other method with me, youll be sorry for it. I wont put up with any gentleness or relenting from you, Miss Golightley. If you falter, you may stir up seven devils in the place of one. The latter sentences came in a growl, with latent fierceness underlying it; but any thing like a threat kindled Elinors courage. You ask me to become a devil myself ~ she exclaimed, vibrating with excitement. What have I done that gives you the right to speak to me so You would not like to hear. You have played on your violin there, for one thing, and Ive heard your voice in singing. Why did you stay to talk with me in the studio? What have you done with the violet I gave you down by the lake? it was not meant for you. Oh ! cried Garth, with an impet- uous gesture of his arms, dont refuse my request on any plea of conscience! Keep your conscience for something else. For I solemnly assure you, whatever might ap- pear, you would be doing an angels work, not a devils. Elinor made no reply. All this time they were pressing onward through the woven forest, hurriedly, as though driven by some swift necessity; he mechanically putting aside the branches for her to pass, and aid- ing her to protect her violin from a chance blow or scratch. After this silence between them had continued for a few moments, he looked at her, and saw tears running down her face. She herself hardly seemed con- scious of them, so intense was her painful preoccupation. He continued to fix his eyes upon her, until she felt them, and their glances met. Almost immediately lie spoke, in a quiet, indifferent tone, We must not get lost, Miss Golightley. Keep to the right. I think the lane is not far off. There are some strange things in these woods; but I have not found what I came out for, and I beg your pardon for bringing you. Selfish people like myself are always getting into such scrapes. I beg your pardon for leading you so far out of your way. Im not used to the woods, returned Elinor, who had hastily wiped her eyes. I like some sort of path; this seems a wil- derness. It is a wilderness; even the paths dont go far; the longest only lead from one wil- derness to another. However, the lane is not far off. Hark ! They stopped and listened, each with a sensation oddly compounded of chagrin and relief. In a moment it came againthe sound of voices, a mans and a womans, easily recognizable, though the speakers were still too distant to be descried between the trees. This is the end,~~ muttered Garth, with the mingled smile and frown that some- times appeared on his darksome visage. Were in the world again, Miss Goligbt- ley. Doesnt it seem to you, now that civ- ilization is within hail, that weve been making a great ado abmit nothing? My dear uncle, I guess, would poke fun at us without mercy. After all, how can we do better than to adopt the worlds views? Kindly oblige me by looking upon me as an upright, sensible young gentleman, with too just a perception of what is due to him- self and to those connected with him to throw away fortune for what really is, when you come to examine it rationally, the most purely fanciful crotchet imaginary. Recol- lect, too, that even if circumstances force me to go a little beyond my conscience in one instance~I can,and no doubt will, pay back debt and interest on the very next opportunity. You wouldnt give a man up for one trumpery little genial venial fault? I beg to take back all my morbid and ill- tempered self-abuse. Im a very nice per- son. Im not sorry we took this walk, Mr. Urmson, said Elinor, glancing at him with a timid humility in the expression of her eyes and mouth, which lent them a new charm. We seem to have come to noth- ing; but I dont think I shall ever feel so so much in the right again. How should I judge? how can you, even ? Oh, let it go ! growled Garth, with a gritting of his teeth. What are judgments to me? Ive insulted you with a lot of weak rubbish, and you fitly punish me by taking it kindly. Bat Im in such a per- verted fix, Miss Elinor, that the kindest kindness helps me less than none at all. Ill hail those two people. Please wait a moment ! said she, hur- riedly, coming in front of him as he was on the point of raising a halloo. Just let me say that I know you will do right, whatever happens. As she spoke, flushing and pal- ing almost at the same instant, she held out her hand as a pledge of her sincerity. As Garth faced her, she fancied that from his short, massive figure, his shaggy head and dark brows, his glowing eyes and grim 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mouth, suddenly came forth an influence of and two or three leaves swam like great tenderness and manly sweetness so power- drops of blood on the surface of the spring. ful that it affected her almost as a physical By George ! exclaimed Uncle Golight- touch. He also made a motion to take her ley, as he caught sight of this refreshing hand in his own; but ere he had done so, spectacle, I didnt know till now how dey- the gentle impression vanished as abruptly ilish tired and thirsty I am! Lets play as it had come; he thrust his hand dogged- were four little children, and all lie down ly into his coat pocket, and turned aside. on our stomachs and have a good drink. Be offended or not, as you choose, he Come ! said, gruffly; I cant touch your hand, nor They sat down on the smooth stones, and justify your expectation: its as foolish as every one of them owned to being more it is well meant ! With this, and without weary than they had supposed. Elinor took again looking at Elinor, he hollowed one off her hat to arrange the veil, which had hand beside his mouth and gave a whoop got torn from its fastenings during her pas- which instantly put an end to all confiden- sage through the wood. While hunting for tial disclosures on the part either of him- a pin, she laid the veil on a stone by her self and Elinor, or Uncle Golightley and side; and being a light, gossamer thing, the Madge. In another minute all the four southwesterly breeze caught it, and wafted friends and lovers were standing together it upward. Garth saw it go, and sprang for in the lane. it, but was too late. It floated and swung Its fortunate that our respective moral through the air, now sinking, now rising, and social reputations are without spot or and at length, just as it seemed on the point blemish, remarked Uncle Golightley, with of starting on a long flight northward, it a humorous glance and smile; otherwise was caught and held by a forked twig on this might be an awkward meeting for all the tiptop of the very maple at whose base of useh, Garth? Ha! ha ! the party were seated. They walked onward in a group at first, Nows our chance to prove whos the as if shy of pairing off again; but soon a best climber, Garth, exclaimed Uncle Go- sort of neutral division was effected, Garth lightley, intrepidly rising to his feet and and his uncle .going in advance, while Eli- advancing upon the tree. nor and Madge foliowed on behind. Golight- Garth laughed, threw off his coat, and ley alone, however, seemed to be in the vein measured the maple with his eye. Give to talk. He was in a most affable humor, me the first chance, said he; if I fail, your and did his best to make the others as pleas- success will be the brighter. ant as himself. Please dont either of you go up, said I say, old fellow, he cried, banteringly Elinor. No one needs a veil in the Indian addressing his nephew, but talking over his summer; it is more trouble than use. shoulder for the benefit of the ladies, Im Oh yes, do let him go ! Madge exclaim- afraid youre a gallant gay Lothariot You ed, clapping her hands; I want you to see must look after him, Miss Margaret. If I how beautifully he climbs. were in your place, I wouldnt be letting Uncle Golightley retired, laughing, while my young man receive mysterious epistles Garth clasped the trunk with his arms and in the morning, and go off on secret expe- knees, and prepared to swarm upward. In ditions with young ladies in the afternoon, so doing he found himself face to face with without instituting a pretty strict inquiry, a rude inscription, or perhaps it was a nat- Eh / ural irregularity in the surface of the bark; Why, then, I think you must be his con- at all events, it bore a distorted resemblance federate, Uncle Golightley,retorted Madge, to four letters, M. D., G. U., the last two in- cleverly; for it was you who carried me ofl~, scribed below the first two, and all four sur- and left him free to do what he liked. But rounded by a circular incision. In a mo- I shant be anxious about him so long as he ment he both recognized the inscription and chooses you for a companion, she added, the occasion on which it had been made. with affectionate diplomacy, to Elinor. It was on that day, ten or a dozen years ago After proceeding a little further, the par- the day of his first picnic, when he had ty came to a fork of the path, marked by a paused here to drink and to muse over his clear woodland spring, which bubbled up at untold love, and to dream of a temple built the base of a large rock-maple, and so slipped on this spot to Love and Peace. Yet here, sparkling and tinkling away into the heart a few hours later on that same day, he had of the golden forest. The source was set in half murdered Sam Kineo, and hence had a margin of large rounded stones and peb- fled with the terror of blood-guiltiness upon bles; but the bottom of the little busin was him. It was a spot, therefore, where the strewn with soft white sand, which the eb- evil omens overpowered the good. Even ullition of the crystal water caused to curl these letters, straight and shapely as they and gyrate in curious palpitations. The had once been, had now grown into distort- maple had already lost most of its foliage, ed ugliness and malproportion. the earth round about was strewn with it, Dear me, Garth, are you never going to GARTH. 69 move ? exclaimed Madge, impatient for tlie exhibition to begin. All right ! he responded; and forthwith began the ascent in earnest. Oh, you careless boy ! cried the young lady, the next moment; look, if he hasnt thrown his coat right into the water ! The careless boy was by this time too far on his way to remedy the mishap, nor was it necessary he should do so, for Madge her- self had snatched up the garment, and aft- er giving it a good shake, threw it cloak- like over her own pretty shoulders. The whole action was very graceful and femi- nine. In many girls, lacking the requisite ingenuous artlessness, it might have seemed in slightly doubtful taste to put on a lovers coat; but there was such an unaffected, child-like spontaneity about Madge as trans- formed the slight impropriety into a refined and charming, because innocent and impul- sive, act of affection. All eyes were now fixed upon the climber, who made his way uninterruptedly to the lower branches, from which point his prog- ress was too easy a matter to excite much interest. As ill luck would have it, how- ever, at the very moment when he was bal- ancing among the topmost boughs and reaching upward for the veil, an eddy of the breeze lifted it lightly from the forked twig and bore it once more aloft, amidst a general wail from the on-lookers. This time it did not linger aimlessly about, but set off at a steady, business-like rate, and in less than a minute was hopelessly out of sight. Garth retraced his steps, and swinging from the lower branch, dropped to the ground. Your efforts were well meant,but of no avail ~aid incorrigible Uncle Golightley. If you hadnt waited so long just at the beginning, observed Madge, youd have caught it before the wind did. Youre not so light as a zephyr, poor boy ! she added, with a half-mischievous, wholly admiring glance at his sturdy shoulders. Come, let me help you on with your coat. It didnt get very wet, after all; only the sleeve a little. The party now resumed their walk, and about a quarter of an hour later arrived at the picnic ground. They must have been absent much longer than they had supposed, for the picnic, so far as the meat and drink part of it was concerned, was over. Nor were they destined even to partake of the broken remnants; for poor Mrs. Tenterden, shortly before their arrival, had been seized with a bilious attack, con sequent in part upon 1~ier exertions in the dance, and partly from having eaten a little too much omelette aux fines herbes, exquisitely prepared by Mrs. Danver, and was now reclining in the shad- ow of Hiawathas throne, surrounded by a sympathetic throng, while the gigantic par- son tenderly supported her head and fanned her with his hat. Meantime her groans and sighs were distressingly audible, and sever- al of the less experienced of the spectators had already made up their minds that she was about to breathe her last. Oh, Elinor, child, where have you been ? gasped the good lady, as the girl hastened up. I thought you were lost. Ah! I de- clare I believe Im going to die! I declare I think you mightnt have left me all alone here. Oh dear! I never was so sick in my life! You must get me back home some- how. I wont die out here in the woods, you mark my ~ Can we have one of the wagons to go back in ? asked Elinor of Garth. Im very sorry, she added, looking around at the group, but we cant stay, Im afraid. Theres no danger, you know, but she is so seldom ill that any thing makes her think she will die. The wagon was soon ready, and Mrs. Ten- terden was liftel into it and made as com- fortable as possible on a couch of shawls and wraps. Elinor, Madge, and Golightley got aboard with her, while Garth drove as before, the minister and Mrs. Danver re- maining behind to see that the rest of the picnickers got into no mischief. It was now late in the afternoon, the dry golden haze which had more or less pervaded the land- scape all day began imperceptibly to in- crease, and the sun sank earthward slowly like a great red fire balloon or Chinese lan- tern. There was little or no conversation among the party, all efforts in that direction being resented by Mrs. Tenter4en as a heart- less disregard of the solemn fact of her ap- proaching dissolution, and she accordingly bemoaned herself with very slight interrup- tion, during the whole journey. At last, after driving for what the inva- lid declared to be hundreds of miles, the Danvers cottage was reached, and she was safely disembarked. Garth and Golightley gave her each an arm into the house, and afterward lingered a while on the steps with Madge, Golightley delivering himself of his parting pleasantries, while Garth stood by silent, with his hands in his coat pockets, and a rather unamiable smile on his face. But all at once his expression changed; he felt in all his pockets one after another, and finallydemanded, in a disturbed tone, wheth- er either Golightley or Madge had seen him drop a letter. How now? the billet-doux lost ? cried the former. Ah, my dear boy, see the impru- dence of carrying such treasures to picnics and forest walks! By George! it serves him right, Miss Margaret; and I shouldnt blame you if youd picked his pocket of it. It was a letter of importance, growled Garth, impatiently, still searching his pock- ets. Have you seen it, Madge ? I was trying to think, said she, with 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her finger on lier lip, and her dark eyes fixed apprehensively on liis face. Oh, my dear Garth, dont be angry! Im afraid I do know where it might possibly be; at least__ You have seen it? Where? Dear me! you know, when you threw down your coat, I picked it up and shook it to get the water off; and Im afraid, dear, it must have got shaken out of the pocket. Which pocket was it in? In this side pocket. That was up by the spring. I shall find it there. Ill go back at once, if youll take the horses rouud, uncle. Im sure I hope you will find it, dear; but Im afraid Oh, Garth, had it au en- velope? Yesno; I left the envelope at home. Well, I believe I saw somethingl thought must be a leaf, but I guess now it must have been the letter, floating off down the little rivulet from the spring. I was so excited in your climbing the tree that I only just glanced at it, and then forgot all about it. You dont think that could have been. it, dear, do you? Im afraid it was; and it may be in the brook, or even in the lake, by this time. Well, I must look for it. Luckily theres a moon. Tell father not to sit up for me, Un- cle Golightley. Good-by. He walked away, but in a few moments heard a swift rustling step behind him, and there was Madge, rosy and panting. Say youll forgive me, dear Garthand kiss me, wont you? Im so sorry! Good- by, dear. I do hope youll find it. He kissed her, and left her standing in the twilight road, rosy, sparkling, and love- ly. There never was such a woman ! he said to himself: and am not I the luckiest and happiest of men? THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. [~ueteentD ~)ajer.] MEDICAL AND SANITARY PROGRESS. WHAT has been done in these United States ofAmerica since the declara- tion of their independence in the way of medical and sanitary progress? To answer this question fully it would be necessary to write the history of American medicine, for which at least a volume would be required. In undertaking to review the past centen- nial period, with reference to this question, within the limits of a few pages, I must be content with a large outline and certain representative facts. Evidence of progress is to be sought for in educational institutions. At the close of the colonial .government there were two American medical colleges, one in Philadel- phia, the other in New York; the former es- tablished in 1765, and the latter in 1768. The operations of both were suspended during the Revolutionary war. Up to that time they had conferred medical degrees upon less than fifty candidates. The great ma- jority of the physicians and surgeons in the colonies had obtained what education they possessed in commencing practice by having served for a period of from three to seven years as apprentices to medical practition- ers, the duties of apprenticeship embracing certain menial offices as well as study and the compounding of medicines. A favored few were able to resort to the celebrated schools of London, Edinburgh, and Leyden. At the close of the war the two American colleges resumed operations, and three others came into existence before the end of the eight- eenth century, namely, the medical depart- ment of Harvard University, of Dartmouth College, and of Rutgers College, of New Jer sey. The number of graduates from all these institutions at the beginning of the nine- teenth century had not much exceeded two hundred. During the first half of the pres- ent century medical colleges were multi- plied nearly at the rate of a new college annually, distributed among . the different States, and many of them established in small villages. This multiplication and dis- tribution met the requirements of medical education at that time, in view of the rapid settlement of distant parts of our vast coun- try, stage - coaches being the only .public mode of traveling by land, and the great ma- jority of students and practitioners in med- icine having limited pecuniary resources. After the extension of railway communica- tions and the developmeat of the material resources of newly settled States and Terri- tories, the increase in the number of col- leges was less, and for the most part it has been confined to metropolitan or large towns, many of those in villages having been discontinued. At the present time about seven thousand medical students at- tend annually the various colleges, and the annual number of graduates exceeds two thousand.5 During the last quarter of a century there has been progressive improve- ment in collegiate and extra-collegiate in- struction by means of extension of the terms of lectures, subdivisions of the different de- partments, the institution of special courses, combining more and more illustrations with didactic teaching, the systematic regulation ~ Vide Toners Annals of Medical Progress for these and other statistics. For the dates of the establish- ment of different schools and other details,vide History of Aliedical Education, etc., by N. S. Davis, N~.D.

70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her finger on lier lip, and her dark eyes fixed apprehensively on liis face. Oh, my dear Garth, dont be angry! Im afraid I do know where it might possibly be; at least__ You have seen it? Where? Dear me! you know, when you threw down your coat, I picked it up and shook it to get the water off; and Im afraid, dear, it must have got shaken out of the pocket. Which pocket was it in? In this side pocket. That was up by the spring. I shall find it there. Ill go back at once, if youll take the horses rouud, uncle. Im sure I hope you will find it, dear; but Im afraid Oh, Garth, had it au en- velope? Yesno; I left the envelope at home. Well, I believe I saw somethingl thought must be a leaf, but I guess now it must have been the letter, floating off down the little rivulet from the spring. I was so excited in your climbing the tree that I only just glanced at it, and then forgot all about it. You dont think that could have been. it, dear, do you? Im afraid it was; and it may be in the brook, or even in the lake, by this time. Well, I must look for it. Luckily theres a moon. Tell father not to sit up for me, Un- cle Golightley. Good-by. He walked away, but in a few moments heard a swift rustling step behind him, and there was Madge, rosy and panting. Say youll forgive me, dear Garthand kiss me, wont you? Im so sorry! Good- by, dear. I do hope youll find it. He kissed her, and left her standing in the twilight road, rosy, sparkling, and love- ly. There never was such a woman ! he said to himself: and am not I the luckiest and happiest of men? THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. [~ueteentD ~)ajer.] MEDICAL AND SANITARY PROGRESS. WHAT has been done in these United States ofAmerica since the declara- tion of their independence in the way of medical and sanitary progress? To answer this question fully it would be necessary to write the history of American medicine, for which at least a volume would be required. In undertaking to review the past centen- nial period, with reference to this question, within the limits of a few pages, I must be content with a large outline and certain representative facts. Evidence of progress is to be sought for in educational institutions. At the close of the colonial .government there were two American medical colleges, one in Philadel- phia, the other in New York; the former es- tablished in 1765, and the latter in 1768. The operations of both were suspended during the Revolutionary war. Up to that time they had conferred medical degrees upon less than fifty candidates. The great ma- jority of the physicians and surgeons in the colonies had obtained what education they possessed in commencing practice by having served for a period of from three to seven years as apprentices to medical practition- ers, the duties of apprenticeship embracing certain menial offices as well as study and the compounding of medicines. A favored few were able to resort to the celebrated schools of London, Edinburgh, and Leyden. At the close of the war the two American colleges resumed operations, and three others came into existence before the end of the eight- eenth century, namely, the medical depart- ment of Harvard University, of Dartmouth College, and of Rutgers College, of New Jer sey. The number of graduates from all these institutions at the beginning of the nine- teenth century had not much exceeded two hundred. During the first half of the pres- ent century medical colleges were multi- plied nearly at the rate of a new college annually, distributed among . the different States, and many of them established in small villages. This multiplication and dis- tribution met the requirements of medical education at that time, in view of the rapid settlement of distant parts of our vast coun- try, stage - coaches being the only .public mode of traveling by land, and the great ma- jority of students and practitioners in med- icine having limited pecuniary resources. After the extension of railway communica- tions and the developmeat of the material resources of newly settled States and Terri- tories, the increase in the number of col- leges was less, and for the most part it has been confined to metropolitan or large towns, many of those in villages having been discontinued. At the present time about seven thousand medical students at- tend annually the various colleges, and the annual number of graduates exceeds two thousand.5 During the last quarter of a century there has been progressive improve- ment in collegiate and extra-collegiate in- struction by means of extension of the terms of lectures, subdivisions of the different de- partments, the institution of special courses, combining more and more illustrations with didactic teaching, the systematic regulation ~ Vide Toners Annals of Medical Progress for these and other statistics. For the dates of the establish- ment of different schools and other details,vide History of Aliedical Education, etc., by N. S. Davis, N~.D. THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 71 of study with recitations, and private lect- ures or demonstrations in various branches. Without presumption, it may be claimed in behalf of the leading American medical schools that especially, although not exclu- sively, as regards practical instruction, they compare favorably with the long- distin- guished schools in Great Britain, France, and Germany. In connection with this sketch of educa- tional institutions it is but just to the med- ical profession of this country to present certain facts. To this profession belongs chiefly whatever credit may pertain to the rise and progress of these institutions now and in the past. Our State Legislatures in- corporate medical colleges, and generally charters are obtained without difficulty. Legislative aid in the way of money is the exception, not the rule, albeit it is very evi- dent that well-educated physicians and sur- geons are literally of vitaZ importance to the public weal. As a rule, with some notable exceptions, the pecuniary means for the es- tablishment of a medical school are not largely furnished either by municipal ap- propriations or private contributions from other than members of the medical profes- sion. After having been established, the revenue of the colleges is derived commonly from the fees of students: few colleges have any endowment. A certain measure of suc- cess in a medical school, as regards the size of its classes, is therefore essential to its continuance, and its prosperity depends on the number of students attracted to it. The primary organization and the management in all respects, including the appointment of professors, are usually, either directly or indirectly, under the control of the faculties of the schools. These facts involve some objections which are plausible, and in a measure veritable, namely, a medical col- lege can not, without risk of its prosperity, require a higher grade of preliminary edu- cation or of the qualifications for a degree than those institutions with which it is in immediate competition, and professional po- sitions are exposed to insecurity from the action of colleagues. On the other hand, there are advantages which more than out- weigh these objections. An active, honor- able competition enforces the best exertions, the selection of the ablest teachers, and the largest available facilities for instruction. Another fact, in justice to the profession, should be presented, namely, there are prac- tically no legal restrictions on the practice of medicine in most of the States of the Un- ion. Not only are licenses to practice easily obtained, but rarely, if ever, are legal pen- alties, if they exist, enforced for practicing without a diploma or a license. The desire for instruction is therefore the leading mo- tive impelling medical students to resort to medical schools. Moreover, the classes, es pecially in metropolitan medical schools, consist in part of licentiates or graduates who have been for a greater or less period engaged in practice. Again, in the schools which are considered as offering the largest advantages the classes preponderate greatly in numbers over those in other schools. At the present time more than a thousand stu- dents and practitioners are in attendance at the schools in the city of New York during the winter, and the winter classes in Phila- delphia are not much smaller. A consider- able proportion of the members of the class- es in these two cities is from distant parts of our country, the fees are considerably higher than in provincial schools, and the expenses incident to city life and long jour- neys are not smalL Herein is exemplified the strength of the impelling motive, name- ly, the desire for instruction; and these facts certainly denote a spirit of progress among those who are already, and those who are about to become, members of the medical profession. We are to look for evidence of progress in the number and character of associa- tions for the promotion and diffusion of medical knowledge. Prior to the Revolu- tionary war there was but one State med- ical society. This was formed in New Jer- sey in 1766, but not regularly incorporated until 1790. Shortly before the war closed, the Massachusetts Medical Society was in- corporated. After the national independ- ence was achieved, associations were speed- ily organized in several of the States. At the beginning of the present century they existed in Pennsylvania, Delaware, New Hampshire, South Carolina, Connecticut, and Maryland. Following these were local associations in different counties and large towns. At the present time probably ev- ery State in the Union has its society, and there are few situations so remote or iso- lated as not to be embraced within the area of some local association. In 1846 a convention of representatives of medical so- cieties, hospitals, and colleges throughout the United States was held in the city of New York, and the result was the estab- lishment, in 1847, of the American Medical Association, which, excepting during the late war of the rebellion, has ever since held annual meetings in different parts of the Union. Quite recently (1872) an asso- ciation has been formed for the promotion and diffusion of knowledge relating to the prevention of disease. This, entitled the Public Health Association, gives promise of much usefulness. National societies within late years have been formed for the promo- tion and diffusion of knowledge relating to special departments of medicinefor exam- ple, insanity, and diseases of the eye and earand local societies of this character exist in most of the larger cities. All of the 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. numerous associations originated with med- ical men, and have been kept up by their ef- forts. Many publish Transactions at stated intervals. The American Medical Associa- tion has published twenty-five large vol- umes, and the New York State Medical So- ciety nearly or quite as many. Collective- ly, the Transactions of the societies in vari- ous States constitute not an inconsiderable portion of our periodical medical literature. The associations are all voluntary; mem- bership is not rendered obligatory by legal requirement, but in many, if not in most, parts of the country it is considered essen- tial to an unequivocal professional status to become a member of some regularly organ- ized association. This arises from the fact that in certain associations are vested, by general agreement, the right to take cog- nizance of violations of medical ethics by any of their members, and to reprimand, suspend, or expel for unprofessional con- duct. Passing by further details, it may be said of our medical associations that in number and character they denote a gener- al and active co-operation of the practi- tioners of medicine for the promotion and diffusion of knowledge, to which may be added the maintenance and elevation of the honor and usefulness of the profession. The associations thus furnish evidence, while they are also important means, of medical sanitary progress. The literature of a particular province of science and art, for a given period, offers a good criterion of the progress made during that period. This statement is as applica- ble to medicine as to any department of knowledge. Comparing the present with the past, in this aspect, as in other points of contrast,due consideration is to be given to the difference in population, which at the time independence was declared was not much over 3,000,000, while at the present time it is estimated to be about 40,000,000. During the colonial government there was not entire absence of an American med- ical literature. Davis gives a list of twen- ty-eight publications, most of which were works of small or moderate size, but several of them possessing much merit on the score of originality and ability. There was no American medical periodical during this pe- riod, the first being the Medical Repository, the publication of which was commenced in the city of New York in 1797. This was a quar- terly of about 150 pages, ably conducted, and its publication ceased with the twenty-third volume. In 1804 the publication of two medical journals was commenced in Phila- delphia. The subsequent multiplication of medical periodicals and their publication in different parts of the Union constitute strik- ing evidence of progress. At the present * Toner, op. cit. time there are between thirty and forty med- ical journals published in the United States, not including the Transactions of societies, hospital reports, and other publicationsprop- erly belonging to periodical literature. The history of medical journalism in this country during the last half century would show many changes, but it is noteworthy that a quarterly journal, The American Journal of Medical Sciences, established in 1827, succeed- ing the Philadelphia Journal of the Medical and Physical Sciences, established in 1820, still lives, the arrangement of contents never having been changed, the present publisher the successor of the house which from the first issued this, as also the preceding work, and conducted now by the same able editor as over forty years ago. The Boston Medic-- al and Surgical Journal, with divers changes,. has been in existence for about the same length of time. The bibliography of the first quarter of the present century embraces not a few able works, among which the voluminous writ- ,ings of Rush are prominent. The standard works and text-books, however, were chiefly of foreign authorship. During the second quarter the number of works by American authors had largely increased, the list em- bracing acceptable text-books in anatomy, physiology, surgery, midwifery, the practice of medicine, and the materia medica. Then, as now, the absence of any international copyright restrictions favored the republi- cation of works by British in preference to those by native authors, the former having the advantage of a success already acquired, and the reprint requiring no royalty. Here is an obstacle in the way of the develop- ment and progress of a national literature which, injustice to American authors, should be borne in mind. Notwithstanding this obstacle, and a prevailing sentiment that exotics transplanted from the older coun- tries, as a matter of course, are superior to native productions, the increase of original books has been progressive during the last twenty-five years. At this moment the ma- jority of the works recognized by medical schools and the profession as text-books in- the different departments of medical educa-- tion are by American authors, and there are few topics within the range of the science and art of medicine which are not credita-- bly represented in our own literature. At the same time, foreign books and periodical publications now, as heretofore, have a large circulation in this country. Our native productions do not displace exotics, but both flourish together, competing with a fair ri-- valry. Medical progress, as evidenced in the lit-- erature of medicine, is more especially mark- ed in works of a practical character. This is owing to the fact that the vast majority of those who pursue medical studies in this THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 73 country have chiefly in view the duties and responsibilities of tlie practitioner. The prosecution of researches of a purely scien- tific character, having no immediate prac- tical bearing, is comparatively rare. It is easy to explain the lack of progress in this direction, as shown by comparison with oth- er countries. The rapid increase of our pop- ulation and its extension over new territory have involved a large demand for practi- tioners, a large proportion of whom are, to a greater or less extent, isolated as regards much intercourse with each other, and therefore obliged to depend greatly on their own resources in medical and surgical practice. Hence a predominant desire for knowledge which is plainly and directly practical. Another and more potential rea- son is the absence of inducements or even encouragement for purely scientific research- es beyond their intrinsic attractions. Our collegiate institutions, from want of endow- ment, are unable to make adequate provis- ions for investigations which have no ap- preciable relations to practical teaching; the policy of our State governments, al- ready referred to, is to leave the cultivation of all the departments of medicine in the hands of the medical profession, without offering incitements or rewards, and the spirit of emulation is not what it would be were there a larger number in the field of original scientific investigations. These are the reasons for the fact that the med- ical literature of this country up to the present time, as compared with that of oth- er countries, is deficient in what may be distinguished as scientific in contrast with practical medicine. A list of American pub- lications relating to medicine and sanitary science during the last hundred years would show a steadily increasing progress in this direction, and such a list would include not an inconsiderable number of works of a purely scientific character. The reader who may desire information concerning the med- ical bibliography of our country is referred to a late publication, entitled History of American Medical Literature from 1776 to the Present Time, by Professor S. D. Gross, of Philadelphia. Within the past few years subjects relat- ing to sanitary knowledge have entered into our literature more largely than heretofore. The publications by Health Boards have been of much interest and value. These subjects have also occupied a considerable share of medical journals a~id the Transac- tions of medical associations, and at the present time there is at least one journal devoted specially to this department of knowledge. It is fair to acknowledge that the recent activity in this direction is in a great measure due to the labors prosecuted under governmental co-operation and sup- port in Great Britain and other countries. The attention now given to what has been called preventive medicine may be espe- cially referred to as evidence of progress. To promote public health by removing or lessening the causes of disease, to forestall epidemics and endemics or arrest their course, are objects of medical science high- er in importance than therapeutics. The truth of this statement is recognized by the philosophic and philanthropic physician; and there is ground for the belief that al- ready the study of sanitary science has led to the saving of much life. Were it con- sistent with the limits of this article, I might cite the facts in the history of epi- demic cholera in the city of New York in 1866 and 1867 as proof that by prompt and efficient preventive measures this disease may be effectually stamped out.~ Sani- tary science and medical science are to a great extent convertible terms, as implied in the name, preventive medicine. The prevention of diseaseS is the practical re- sult of our knowledge of their character and causes. Our knowledge of the causes of diseases, more especially of the special causes which give rise to epidemics and en- demics, is confessedly defective; thus far in the history of medical and sanitary prog- ress we have been obliged to content our- selves with the investigation of their laws without being able to determine with pos- itiveness their essential nature and mode of production. Conceding this, it is, per- haps, not an extravagant assertion to say that, with our present knowledge and ex- perience, by means of the skillful employ- ment of disinfecting agents, together with other sanitary measures, the prevalence of certain diseasesepid~mic cholera and yel- low feveris within the power of scien- tific control. In this direction of progress there is reason to hope that much will be accomplished by continued investigations. For carrying on these investigations and enforcing sanitary measures the co-opera- tion of the public and legal powers is es- sential; hence the importance of awakening public interest on the subject, and diffusing as far as practicable popular information. In this connection may be mentioned im- provement in quarantine regulations. The problem in the department of sanitary sci- ence relating to quarantine is to provide to the utmost extent for the public health, with the least interference with personal freedom and the interests of commerce. A review of the history of quarantine laws would show how great bas been the progress toward the solution of this problem, as a result of the increase of knowledge of the causes of disease and of preventive meas- ures. From the necessity of resisting a * Vide reports of the Metropolitan Board of Health,. New York, for these years. 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. temptation to enter into details, I must be interference with the ordinances of Provi- content with the general statement that the dence, so that many years elapsed before qnarantine regulations of our large commer- the importance of the discovery was prac- cial cities at the present time exemplify the tically recognized in the country so much progress made within late years in this most honored by the nativity of the discoverer. important matter.* We have a right to take credit for the Medical and sanitary progress, as evi- promptness with which vaccination was denced by important discoveries or improve- adopted in this country, and for its being ments, next claims attention. Of course popularized with comparatively small oppo- those originating in this country are more sition. In 1799 Professor Benjamin Water- especially characteristic of American prog- house, in Boston, having obtained the virus ress, yet the ready adoption of discoveries from Jenner, vaccinated four of his own and improvements which have originated in children. In 1801 Dr. Valentine Seaman other countries is significant of a progress- procured virus from the arm of a paftent ive spirit, who had been vaccinated by Dr. Water- The greatest event in the medical history house, and performed the first vaccination of the last centennial period, the whole in the city of New York; and in 1802 an in- world included, was the announcement of stitution was established in New York for the discovery of vaccination. Jenner an- the purpose of vaccinating the poor gratni- nounced his discovery in a paper printed tously and keeping up a supply of the virus. for the author in 1798. He had desired Not going into further details, may not the that the paper should appear under the au- introduction of vaccination in this country spices of the Royal Society of London, but be cited as indicating at that day a spirit it was declined by that learned body on the of medical and sanitary progress? ground that its publication would damage Numerous examples of the ready adoption the reputation which the author had al- in this country of discoveries and improve- ready acquired by some observations on the ments of lesser magnitude than the discov- cuckoo! If we recognize as a criterion of ery of vaccination might be cited in illus- the importance of a discovery the saving of tration of a spirit of progress. I will human life, that of Jenner far transcends mention but two of these, namely, the dis- any other in the history of the world. A covery of auscultation, and the employment medical writer in 1849 represents the num- of the thermometer in the study of diseases. ber of lives saved as follows: In England Laennecs discovery of auscultation was an alone the absolute mortality from small-pox event of great importance in the history of is less by 20,000 a year than it was half a medicine. By means of the physical signs century ago. If a similar rate of reduction determined by listening to sounds within in the number of deaths from small-pox the chest, the different affections of the holds good, as we have every reason to be- lungs and heart are now readily distin- lieve is the case, in the other kingdoms of guished from each other, and our knowl- Europe, then, out of the 220,000,000 of peo- edge of the symptoms and laws of these af- ple that inhabit this quarter of the globe, fections has been brought to great perfec- 400,000 or 500,000 fewer now die of small- tion. The great work by Laennec on aus- pox than, with a similar population, would cultation was published in Paris in 1819. have died from this malady fifty years ago. It was translated into English by Dr. During the long European wars con- Forbes, of London, in 1821. The impor- nected with and following the French Rev- tance of this new method of examination olution it has been calculated that five or was not at once appreciated either in France six millions of human lives, were lost. In or other countries in Europe. It met with Europe vaccination has already preserved indifference, skepticism, and ridicule. At from death a greater number of human be- that time crossing the Atlantic for medical ings than were sacrificed during the course improvement was a great undertaking. of these wars. The lancet of Jenner has Nevertheless, not a few of the young mcd- saved far more human lives than tlie sword ical men of this country resorted to Paris, of Napoleon destroyed.t London, and Edinburgh with that pnrpose. The introduction of vaccination met with The stethoscope of Laennec, through their virulent opposition in England. It was agency, was speedily in nse on this side of scouted by many as entailing on man dis- the Atlantic. The writer can testify that, eases of inferior animals, as likely to cause as far back as ,1532, the facts of ausculta- a physical and mental deterioration of the tion entered largely into medical teaching. human race, and as an impious attempt at At this time an important physical sign had been discovered by a most promising Amer * The reader interested in this matter is referred to ican physician, who died as he was just en- a paper entitled Quarantine: General Principle8 a!- tering upon an active professional life.* ,fecting its Organization, by S. Oakley Vanderpoel, In 1836 a prize was offered for competitive M.D., Health Officer of the port of New York, etc., _____________________________________________ t Sir James Simpson on annsthesia, etc., 1S4~. * James Jackson, Jun., of Boston. THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 75 dissertations on this together with other methods of exploration, the successful com- petitor being Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose early labors in medicine were of a character to occasion in the minds of those devoted to this department of knowledge a feeling of regret that his talents have been diverted to the pursuits of literature, in which he has achieved such great distinction. The employment of the thermometer in practical medicine is of recent date. Al- though advocated and to some extent ex- emplified by previous medical observers, it is chiefly owing to the labors of Wun- derlich, in Germany, that this instrument is now in common use in the practice of medicine. Simple as seems the proposi- tion to determine the heat of the body in diseases by e~act measurement, in place of the fallacious evidence afforded by the sen- sations of the patient or the physicians touch, its importance has only heen appre- ciated within the last ten. or fifteen years. Wunderlichs labors have established cer- tain thermometric laws in disease which a-re now considered as of great value in es- timating danger and in discriminating dis- eases from each other. The promptness with which medical thermometry was adopted in this country, and the very general use of the thermometer, may be mentioned as evi- dence of a spirit of progress.* Passing now to discoveries- and improve- ments originated in this country, I must re- strict myself to certain of those which are prominent, overlooking much that it would be culpable to omit in a history of American medicine. Adopting a chronological ar- rangement, the formidable surgical opera- tion known as ovariotomy is the first in the series. This operation was performed for the first time by Ephraim MDowell, of Danville, Kentucky, in 1809. After having performed it in two other instances, he reported very briefly the three cases in the Eclectic Reper- tory and Analytical Review, in 1816. The op- eration was successful in each of the three cases. He subsequently performed it ten times, making the whole number of cases thirteen, of which eight, at least, were suc- cessful. Although never before performed, the possibility and propriety of the opera- tion had been advocated, especially by John Bell, a distinguished teacher of anatomy and surgery in Edinburgh. MDowell was a private pupil of Bell in 1793 and 1794, and it is probable that the determination was then formed to undertake the operation whenever the opportunity offered. MDowells report of cases was received with incredulity, and the operation was not repeated by any other surgeon until the year 1821, when it was performed by Nathan Smith, Professor of Surgery in Yale College. It was performed by the latter surgeon with- out the knowledge of MDowells previous operations. For more than twenty years it was practically almost ignored in this coun- try, and during the next twenty years it en- countered much opposition from members of the medical profession. Within the last fifteen years this opposition has in a great measure ceased, and the number of opera- tions has progressively increased, so that in 1871 the number of reported cases amounted to 739, an analysis of 660 of the cases giving a success of sixty-eight per cent.~ MDowelPs report of his first three cases was published in Great Britain in 1824. Here too it was received with incredulity. The editor of the most influential of the English medical journals at that time, the Medical and Chirurgical Review, applied the quotation, Credat Judeens, non ego. Subse- quently he used this language: In despite of all that has been written respecting this cruel operation, we entirely disbelieve that it has ever been performed with success, nor do we think it ever will. Having quoted this extract, another should be added, taken from the same journal of the following year (1826): A back settlement of America Kentuckyhas beaten the mother country, nay, Europe itself, with all the boasted sur- geons thereof in the fearful and formidable operation of gastrotomy with extraction of diseased ovaries. In the second volume of this series we adverted to the cases of Dr. MDowell, of Kentucky, published by Mr. Lizars, of Edinburgh, and expressed our- selves as skeptical respecting their authen- ticity. Dr. Coates, however, has now given us much more cause for wonder at the suc- cess of Dr. MDowell; for it appears that out of five cases operated on in Kentucky by Dr. MDowell, four recovered after the operation, and only one died. There were circumstances in the narratives of the first three cases that caused misgivings in our minds, for which uncharitableness we ask pardon of God and Dr. MDowell of Dan- ville. The first cases in Scotland proving unsuccessful, the operation was not repeat- ed for twenty years. In England it was first successfully performed in 1836. Here, as in America, under considerable violent opposition, operations within the last twen- ty years have multiplied rapidly, so that in 1863, 377 cases had been reported, sixty per -cent. of which had been successful. In 1870 the number of operations performed in En- gland had increased to 1000 or 1100, more than 300 having been performed by one sur- geon. In France ovariotomy was first per- - Pea8lee on ovarian tumors, 1872. * The remarks in relation to the thermometer are equally applicable to two still more recent improve- ments in the means of investigating the phenomena of disease, namely, the ophthalmo~cope and the laryn- goscope. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. formed in 1844, and was successful. The operation was here denounced by distin- guished surgeons. In 1870 there had been reports of 190 operations, all but seven aft- er 1862, the percentage of success being less than in England and America. In Germany in 1870 there had been 180 operations, with a percentage of only forty-one per cent. of recoveries.* I have cited the foregoing historical facts in order that the non-medical reader may to some extent appreciate the importance of this operation. That it has saved many lives can not be doubted; and if in some instances life might not have been destroy- ed by the disease, the successful perform- ance of the operation has relieved patients from a distressing burden and deformity. Its origination, therefore, is one of the prominent events illustrative of American medical progress. When the large size of the ovarian tumors is considered, together with the nature of the operationopening the abdomen by a long incision, and expos- ing the contained visceraone can not but admire the boldness, self-confidence, and philanthropy which led to this great surgic- al achievement. Other important surgical operations were performed in this country for the first time not long after the operations of MDowell. Early in the past centennial period the great John Hunter introduced a new oper- ation for the cure of popliteal aneurism. Previously the operation had been opening the aneurismal sac, rem oval of the fibrinous or bloody clots contained within it, and ty- ing the artery above and below itan op- eration attended with not a little risk of life from loss of blood and subsequent dan- gers, rendering it often. unsuccessful. The Hunterian operation, as it was termed, con- sisted in tying the femoral artery at a dis- tance from the tumor, leaving the latter to diminish or disappear from the gradual ab- sorption of its contents. An account of this great improvement in surgery was first published in 1787. Hunters operation opened up a new field in practical surgery, namely, the ligation of arteries of a still larger size, not only in cases of aneurism, but to arrest hemorrhages, and for the relief or cure of certain local affec- tions. Successive operations in this new field are among the most striking of the events denoting progress during the next thirty years. American surgeons took a prominent part in these operations. Aber- nethy tied the external iliac artery, in the groin, for aneurism in 1802. Stevens in San- ta Cruz and Atkinson in England had tied the internal iliac artery, the former with and the latter without success,when the operation was successfully performed by S. * For further details ride Feaslee, op. cit. Pomeroy White, of Hudson, New York, in 1827. lathe same year Valentine Mott suc- cessfully tied the common iliac artery in a case of aneurism. This artery had been tied but once previously, and in that in- stance the operator was an American sur- geon, Gibson, then of Maryland, afterward of Philadelphia. In the latter case the op- eration was to arrest hemorrhage after a wound in the abdomen. The carotid artery on one side was first tied by Sir Astley Cooper in 1808. At that time probably no surgeon would have ventured to tie the common carotid artery on both sides. This was done in 1829, by Mussey, an American surgeon, twelve days intervening between the two operations. The disease was anen- rism by anastomosis; the aneurismal tumor was afterward removed, and the patient re- covered. Tying the subelavian artery above the collar-bone had been attempted by Sir Ast- ley Cooper, and the operation abandoned, in 1809. Subsequently the operation had been performed in Great Britain four times, but in each case without success, when it was for the first time successfully perform- ed by Wright Post, of New York, in 1817. In 1818 Valentine Mott performed the diffi- cult and bold operation of tying the in- nominate artery. This operation, in the language of his biographer, Professor Gross, gave him a world-wide reputation, and placed him in the very foremost rank of the illustrious surgeons of his day. To appre- ciate the operation, some knowledge of an- atomy and physiology is requisite. Suffice it to say that the innominate artery, situ- ated in fearful proximity to the heart, is the vessel which distributes the blood to the right side of the head and the right upper extremity. Cutting off suddenly with a ligature the flow of blood through this ves- sel, the reliance for the circulation of blood in the parts just mentioned is upon the com- munications between its branches and those of other arteries. Appreciating the sense of responsibility which the surgeon must have felt in venturing on such an operation for the first time, we can sympathize in the intense anxiety as thus described byhis biog- rapher: Doubtful whether so large a quan- tity of blood could suddenly be intercepted so near the heart without very serious ef- fects upon the brain, he drew the cord very gradually, with his eyes intently fixed upon the patients countenance, determined to withdraw it instantly if any alarming symp- toms should arise. His feelings had been wrought to the highest pitch, and we may therefore easily imagine the relief he expe- rienced when he perceived, to use his own language, no change of feature or agita- tion of body. The operation was not suc- cessful, the patient dying from secondary hemorrhage twenty-two days after its per- THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 77 formance; the fact, however, that so large a vessel may be tied with impunity was dem- onstrated. The operation was afterward repeatedly performed, without success, ow- ing to the occurrence of hemorrhage. It was reserved for an American surgeon at length to perform it with complete success. In 1864 this artery was tied by A. W. Smyth, of New Orleans. Repeated hemorrhages having taken place, as in the other cases, Smyth, fifty-four days after the operation, tied another of the arteries carrying blood to the brainthe vertebral arteryand by this second operation the loss of blood was controlled. The patient recovered. I have referred to the tying of large ar- teries with some detail, because these suc- cessive operations represent important dis- coveries and improvements. It has been seen that with these operations the sur- geons of this country were in no small meas- nre identified. I do not refer to other great surgical operations performed by Mott and others, showing knowledge, skill, and bold- ness in the operations. It would be an in- ~justice to distinguished members of the profession to omit doing this were I writing a history of American medicine; but the ob- ject of this sketch, it is to be borne in mind, is not to do honor to the individuals by whose attainments and labors the profession has been honored, but to cite representative facts as illustrative of progress. The next important event belonging in this series pertains to physiology, namely, the remarkable observations of Beaumont in relation to digestion. A Canadian boat- man, named Alexis San Martin, from an ac- cidental discharge of a musket loaded with bnckshot, was wounded in the abdomen, and recoveredwith a permanent opening into the stomach. He was under the care of Beau- mont, a surgeon of the United States army, who at once recognized the opportunity of making important observations and experi- ments, the opening enabling him to with- draw the contents of the stomach at will without any injury to the patient. Prior to this time it had been ascertained that the processes of digestion in the stomach were dependent on the presence of a se- creted liquidthe gastricjuice. Thisliquid, however, had never been obtained in so large quantity and in such a state of purity as was now practicable. Beaumont, secur- ing the co-operation of the patient, and keeping him daily under observation from the year 1825 to 1832, studied with great patience and ability the character of this liquid when withdrawn from the stomach, and the successive changes taking place in the aliment during digestion. The effects of the gastric juice upon different kinds of nutriment out of the body were carefully observed; the relative digestibility of the various articles of food within the stomach was accurately determined, and the effects of disturbing extrinsic influences were noted. Beaumont published an account of his ex- periments and observations in 1834. This event was one of great importance in the progress of physiology. The facts contain- ed in his publication at this day are to be found in the physiological text-books of all countries. Within late years experimental physiologists have been accustomed to pro- duce, in inferior animals, especially in the dog, an artificial communication with the interior of the stomach such as was occa- sioned by accident in the case of the Cana- dian boatman, in order to obtain the gastric juice, and to demonstrate its effect upon food both within and without the organ. It is obvious, however, that the results of these experiments and observations could not be considered as representing, in all re- gards, facts pertaining to digestion in man, and hence, as furnishing a standard for com- parison, those made by Beaumont are in- valuable. I come now to the crowning event in the history of American medical and sanitary progress during the last centennial period. If it be admitted that every thing pertain- ing to the physical universe and to living beings is in conformity with an infinitely intelligent and wise government, diseases exist for certain purposes, and the means of preventing, controlling, and ameliorating them acquired by human knowledge are not left to chance. The history of medical and sanitary progress in the past shows that epochs characterized by great discoveries do not occur in rapid succession. Jenners discovery at the end of the last century con- stituted a great epoch. The discovery of the useful application of amesthetics may be considered as constituting the second great epoch within the last centennial pe- riod. Had it been announced a century ago that ere long surgical operations were to be divested of suffering, that the law of distress in child-birth imposed upon woman in the primeval curse was to be abrogated, and that pain need no longer be an element in manSr diseases, would not such an an- nouncement have seemed as marvelous, to say the least, as that, by means of steam, the Atlantic Ocean might be traversed in less than ten days, the American continent in a still less number of days, and that, through the agency of the electrical cur- rent, a communication could be sent around the globe in the space of a few minutes I The successful application of anaesthesia by the inhalation of ether, or etherization in surgery, was first demonstrated in Boston, in 1846. The first application in operative midwifery was also made in Boston, in 1847. Chloroform, which was speedily to a con- siderable extent substituted for sulphuric ether as the a~a~esthetic agent, was intro- 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. duced by Simpson, of Edinburgh, shortly of the saving of human life. Moreover, iij after the discovery of etherization. It is has had this effect in another mode. Pa- needless to dilate on the inestimable boon tients heretofore sometimes preferred death which ana~sthesia, in its various useful ap- to the terrible trial of painful operations. plications, has conferred on mankind. The which now have no terrors. There is still annihilation of pain was so obviously such another application in which ana~sthesia is a great blessing that almost the only ques- of incalculable benefit. It enables the sur- tions ever raised in opposition have relat- geon or physician to make careful and thor- ed to the impossibility of absolute security ough examinations after injuries, and to ex- against the occasional loss of life from the plore by appropriate means internal pai~ts,. an,esthetic agent. Of the two ana,sthetic the requisite manipulations heretofore cans- agents, ether and chloroform, the latter has ing so much suffering that they were there- been generally employed in Europe, and by impracticable or hazardous. also to a considerable extent in this coun- It would be pleasant to connect the dis- try. A combination of the two agents is covery of the useful applications of an~s- sometimes employed. The danger to life is thesia with the name of a discoverer hold- undoubtedly greater from chloroform than ing a position as a benefactor of mankind from ether, but the administration of the like that of Jenner. While we claim for latter is more difficult, and the inhalation our country the honor of the discovery, the is often disagreeable: these are the reasons circumstances connected with it are not in for the preference given so largely to the all respects agreeable or creditable. The former. The danger from ether is almost merit of the discovery seems due to the late nil, and that from chloroform is exceeding- Horace Wells, a practicing dentist in Hart- ly small. Thus, at Guys Hospital, London, ford, Connecticut. He first made the appli- chloroform had been used in more than cation to himself, inhaling the nitrous oxide 12,000 cases before any serious accident oc- gas, and having a tooth extracted while in- curred, and in the Crimean war it was ad- sensible from this an~esthetic. Afterward ~ministered more than 25,000 times without he employed this agent for the same pur- a single death.* pose in several instances. He attempted to It is difficult to appreciate blessings with- bring the matter before the profession by a out taking as a stand-point a period when public demonstration at the medical college they were not enjoyed. Events with which in Boston, but his experiments not proving we become familiar cease after a time to ex- successful on that occasion, he met with rid- cite wonder or admiration; and when the icule instead of encouragement. Driven to mind becomes accustomed to extraordinary despondency and insanity, he subsequently acquisitions, they seem to have come as a committed suicide. His successful applica- matter of course. If we go back to the tions of the nitrous oxide gas were made in time when severe, tedious surgical opera- 1844. Morton, a dentist in Boston, who had tions were performed without amesthesia, been a pupil of Wells, subsequently made recalling the prolonged agony of the suffer- experiments upon himself and others, using er, the strongest endurance tasked to the as the amesthetic agent sulphuric ether. In utmost, the patient sometimes requiring to the selection of this agent and in th~ man- be forcibly restrained by powerful assist- ner of using it he was guided by C. T. Jack- ants, or confined by straps to the operating son, a distinguished chemist in Boston. It table, one can form an adequate estimate was by Mortons solicitation that John C. of the precious discovery of a prompt, effi- Warren was induced to perform, at the cient, and safe method of annihilating pain. Massachusetts General Hospital, an opera- Contrast with the picture just presented tion for the removal of a tumor of the neck the severest of operations at the present on a patient rendered insensible by the in- day, the patient falling easily and quickly halation of ether. The ana~sthesia in this into a quiet sleep, and awakening to find, instance was not complete, but the suffer- to his astonishment, that all is over! This ing from the operation was evidently dimin- contrast might be extended to cases of se- ished. On the following day an operation vere, protracted confinements, and also to was performed by George Hayward on a pa- certain diseases characterized by intense tient etherized by Morton and rendered en- suffering. But the advantages of ana~sthe- tirely insensible. This was the first com- sia are not limited to the relief of suffering. pletely successful application to a surgical The annihilation of pain often contributes operation, exclusive of the previous experi- to recovery; for the shock and exhaustion ments for the extraction of teeth. From caused by pain may do much toward an un- that date the employment of amesthesia favorable termination after surgical opera- rapidly extended. To Morton is due the tions, or in cases of confinement and disease, credit of accomplishing the practical appli- and may even be the immediate cause of cation of amesthesia to surgical operations, death. Ana,sthesia thus has been the means but he probably derived the idea from his preceptor, Wells. Jackson suggested ether * Grosss System of Surgery. in place of the nitrous oxide gas, and aided THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 79 Morton by his chemical knowledge. Un.. happily Morton and Jackson were led to declare the ana,sthetic agent a compound which they kept a secret, calling it letheon, and obtaining a patent for it as a joint dis- covery. Such a procedure is in violation of medical ethics, and was in no wise cred- itable. Afterward each claimed to be the discoverer. These circumstances, together with the conflicting statements and acrimo- nious discussions which followed, are pain- ful to think of in connection with a discov- ery which has rendered such great service to mankind. In referring to the extraction of teeth in connection with anLesthesia, I have not con- sidered this in the light of a surgical oper- ation, but inasmuch as most persons have had more or less practical acquaintance with it, to describe the painfulness of the process were superfluous. It is worthy of note that the inhalation of the nitrous oxide gas, the amesthetic agent with which Wells experi- mented, is now largely used to render pain- less the extraction of teeth.. The ana~sthe- sia induced thereby is not sufficiently lasting for most surgical operations, but it answers for this purpose; and thus far, having been administered many thousand times, it has not been followed by any serious conse- quences. In this regard the dentists chair is now deprived of all its terrors: after a moment of pleasant dreams, its occupants awaken to find the offending members gone. Passing from the foregoing brief account of the more notable of the discoveries and improvements exemplifying medical and sanitary progress, I must be satisfied with a cursory notice of some of those of lesser importance, belonging, for the most part, to the history of the last forty years. I desire to premise distinctly that I by no means un- dertake to include in the following list all, or even the greater part, of the minor con- tributions which have been made during this period to the science and art of medicine using the term medicine here, as hitherto, in its comprehensive sense, which embraces ev- ery thing relating directly or indirectly to surgery and obstetrics, as well as to the study of the human organism in health and in disease. My object is simply, as already noted, to cite illustrations of the co-opera- tion of our country in medical progress, and the facts cited are those which suggest them- selves in my own retrospection. The substitution of simple manual efforts for pulleys and other mechanical appliances in the reduction of dislocations of the hip joint is an American improvement. It had been taught by Nathan Smitt and practiced by Physic, but for its complete exposition and popularization the profession is indebt- ed to the lateW. W. Reid, of Rochester, New York. By means of the improvement, quot- ing the words of an eminent surgeon, the reduction of this dislocation is no longer, as it once was, the dread of the surgeon and the terror of the patient. Reid published his experiments and observations in 1851. In 1848 Gurdon Buck reported a series of cases in which the rare and fatal affection known as (edema of the glottis had been successfully treated by scarifications of the glottis and epiglottis. This affection in some instances destroys life very suddenly, and the only resource is in prompt surgical in-- terference. Bucks simple operation was a substitute for opening the larynx, or laryn- gotomy. The operation was original with him, although it was afterward ascertained that it had been performed by Lisfranc, of Paris, but without having attracted atten- tion. In 1850 H. I. Bowditch resorted to punc- ture with a small-sized instrument and the employment of suction for the purpose of withdrawing morbid liquids from the chest. I~Ie subsequently employed this method in cases of pleurisy in a very large number of cases, and also applied it to the removal of puruleut liquid in other situations. The method has been since employed by others in this country and in Europe with great success. Latterly, under the name of aspi- ration, it has become popularized, and it is one of the most important of the improve- ments in practical medicine within the last quarter of a century. In 1846 Horace Green published a work on diseases of the air passages, in which he asserted that it was practicable to introduce an instrument through the mouth into the larnyx, and in this way to make topical ap- plications in the treatment of diseases here seated. The assertion was at first received with much incredulity and distrust,the fea- sibility of the operation being by many de- nied. On this point, however, at the pres- ent time few, if any, are skeptical. In 1848 Jonathan Knight, of New Haven, Connecticut, reported the first successful case in which recovery from aneurism was effected by means of digital compressiona method of treatment which has since been resorted to successfully in a considerable number of cases. Of American surgeons now living or re- cently deceased a considerable number have rendered valuable service by either origina- ting or modifying operations, and by con- tributions to surgical literature. In this list are Gross, who most appropriately heads it, and whose voluminous writings are held in the highest estimation not only in this country but abroad; Hamilton, whose trea- tise on fractures and dislocations is recog- nized as a standard work in all countries; Sayre, whose original operations on diseases. of joints and ingenious improvements in or- thopa~dic surgery have secured for him transatlantic honors; Brainard, John C. SO HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Warren, liis son, J. Mason Warren, George Hayward, Henry I. Bigelow, James R. Wood, Van Buren, Parker, Markoe, Eve, Moore,and many others whose names would not be omitted in a full history of the progress of American surgery. To all justice will doubt- less be done in papers to be presented at the Centennial International Medical Congress to be held in Philadelphia in September next. Important improvements in certain oper- ations for the treatment of the accidents incident to confinement and the diseases of women have been contributed within the last quarter of a century by J. Marion Sims, James P. White, T. G. Thomas, Emmet, Peas- lee, Barker, and others whose names are identified with the literature of this depart- ment of medicine. To notice these contri- butions more specifically would in this arti- cle be out of place. The foregoing improvements relate to practical surgery, and, for obvious reason~, they are more easily characterized than those relating to the remedial or other meas- ures of treatment in cases of disease. An improvement pertaining to the physical di- agnosis of the diseases of the chest may be mentioned, namely, the binaural stethoscope invented by Canmann in 1854. The advan- tages of this acoustic instrument in the prac- tice of auscultation are such that, unless it be superseded by further improvements, it must take the place of the various stetho- scopes devised since the time of Laennec. Let it not be inferred, from the omission to specify original views and improvements relating to the treatment of diseases, that progress in the latter within late years has been less marked than in surgery. The writings and oral teachings of such men as James Jackson, John Ware, Bowditch, and Shattuck, of Boston; George B. Wood, Dick- son, Still6, J. R. Mitchell, Da Costa, and La Roche, of Philadelphia; Davis and Allen, of Chicago; Elisha Bartlett, Swett, and Alonzo Clark, of New York; and Daniel Drake,of Ohio, have rendered the science and art of medicine in this conntry steadily progress- ive. In this connection reference should be made to a discourse, published in 1835, on self-limited diseases,~ by Jacob Bigelow, of Boston, which led physicians in this country to recognize more fully than before the im- portant fact that many diseases tend intrin- sically to recovery, and to appreciate the importance of the study of the natural his- tory of diseases. Important contributions to the materia medica have not been wanting. As long ago as 1807 the remedy known as ergot was brought to the notice of the profession by Dr. Stearns, and named by him puivis partu- ri 8~ a term expressive of its peculiar oper- ation in cases of confinement. Its potency in the application denoted by this term has since been every where recognized, and of late it has been found to have a much wider range of usefulness, being now regarded by many as possessing mnch efficiency in ar- resting hemorrhages in different situations. The veratrum viride was employed as a med- icine by Tully, Osgood, and other physicians in New England as far back as 1835; but it was brought forward more recently (1850) as a remedy of great power in producing a sedative operation on the heart, by Nor- wood, of South Carolina. The lobelia, or Indian tobacco, is also an American remedy, introduced to the notice of the profession by the Rev. Dr. Cutter, of Massachusetts, for the relief of asthma, and afterward much used as a palliative in that disease both here and abroad. The use of the anthel- mintic remedy, chenopodium or worm-seed, originated in Virginia in the early part of the present century. The amusthetic agent, chloroform, so extensively used since its em- ployment by Simpson in 1848, was discovered by Guthrie, of Sacketts Harbor, New York, at about the same time that it was also dis- covered by Soubeiran, at Paris, in 1831. The medical history of our country with- in the last quarter of a century is not alto- gether barren in contributions to anatomy and physiology, albeit the tendency to stud- ies having a dfrect and obvious practical bearing is predominant. The researches of Isaacs in relation to the structure of the kidneys were characterized by great minute- ness, completeness, and accuracy. They have been so considered and adopted in Europe as well as in America. Brown-S6quard, al- though not a native of this country, is of American paternity, his father having been born in Philadelphia. Moreover, a consid- erable part of his anatomical, physiological, and pathological labors have been prose- cuted and the results originally published here. He has contributed largely toward our knowledge of the structure, functions, and morbid conditions of the nervous sys- tem; also important facts relating to other organs and functions of the body. Bennett Douler, of New Orleans, had made valuable contributions to our knowledge of the tem- perature of the body in anticipation of re- cent researches in that direction, and he has also made interesting contributions to the study of the nervous system. John C. Dal- ton has published original and valuable ob- servations relating to the nervous system, digestion, the functions of glands, and oth- er physiological subjects. To him is due the credit of the introduction of vivisec- tions into physiological teaching, which im- portant mode of illustration is probably practiced in certain of our medical schools more largely than in those of Europe. S. Weir Mitchell has developed important facts in relation to the nervous system. Austin Flint, Jun., has contributed new views re THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 81 specting circulation and respiration, togeth- er with experimental researches relating to a new function of the liver. The latter re- ceived honorable mention by the French Academy of Sciences, with a recompense of 1500 francs. Brown-S~quard, Dalton, and Flint junior have contributed largely to physiological literature. It remains to consider briefly medical and sanitary progress as exemplified by muta- tions in the practice of medicine. It is a curious fact that, according to a wide-spread popular belief; physicians of the present day hold strictly to doctrines handed down by Hippocrates, Galen, and others of the early fathers in medicine. These ancient doc- trines, it is by many supposed, have with the medical profession somewhat of the force exerted by theological dogmas on their ad- herents. The practice of medicine is thought to embrace a binding creed, from which phy- sicians are expected not to swerve under the penalty of being repudiated by their breth- ren. Hence it is common to speak of a med- ical man as belonging to the old school. I say this is a curious fact, for quite the re- verse is the truth. The past history of med- icine shows a series of mutations in its prin- ciples and practice. It is far more open to attack on the score of successive changes than of fixedness. The illegitimate systems which from time to time have sprung up are distinguisbed by being based on particular dogmas. Their followers are truly secta- rians. There is no other standard for med- ical orthodoxy than the opinions held by the reputable physicians and inculcated in the accredited works. As regards individ- ual opinions and modes of practice, so long as they are not maintained in a sectarian spirit nor adopted for unworthy ends, there are no restrictions in the way of profession- al fellowship. The views of a physician, theoretical or practical, may be never so eccentric or absurd without interference with his fraternal relations, provided he conforms to the established principles of medical ethics, and does not place himself in an attitude of antagonism toward the honor and dignity of the profession. A comparison of the early and latter part of the last centennial period furnishes many striking points of contrast. Of course it can not be expected in this paper to go into details; I must confine myself to leading characteristics. A very marked contrast re- lates to the use of certain potential meas- ures of treatment, such as blood-letting, ca- thartics, emetics, blisters, or other methods of counter-irritation, the use of mercurial remedies, etc. Comparatively these are but little employed at the present time. This therapeutical change is by no means proof that these measures are not useful. Their usefulness has heretofore undoubtedly in many instances been overestimated, and it is VOL. LIJT.No. 313.6 not improbable that further progress in med- ical experience will show that they are now underestimated. One reason for their being used with more circumspection and reserve is, the ends for which they were employed, owing to improvements in materia nmedica and pharmacy, are now accomplished by remedies which involve less repugnance on the part of the patient, and which are less liable to do harm if injudiciously employed. In this point of view, therefore, the change denotes progress in knowledge. Perhaps nowhere more than in this country is the practice of medicine characterized by the change just adverted to. Potential drugs of all kinds are less used now than heretofore. This is due in a meas- ure to a better knowledge than formerly of their operation, acquired by accumulated clinical experience and experiments on the lower animals. But it is in a great measure attributable to the results of the study with- in late years of the natural history of dis- eases. This term embraces the laws regu- lating the termination, the duration, the phenomena, and the complications of dis- eases, irrespective of the operation of active measures of treatment. The importance of this study has been for the past half century more appreciated than formerly. As oppor- tunities have offered, it has been prosecuted with much zeal and patience. Physicians in this country have taken not an insignifi- cant part in the prosecution of this study. The results have shown that many diseases are self-limited in duration, and pursue a favorable course without active medicinal interference, and, as a consequence, there is a greater reserve now than heretofore in the use of potential drugs. And in proportion to this reserve a greater importance has been attached to what maybe distinguished as sanitary measures of treatment, such as ventilation, regulation of temperature, etc. It is undoubtedly true that many diseases are more successfully managed on account of these changes. In the dietetic manage- ment of the sick there has been great im- provement. The recognition of the impor- tance of supporting the powers of life by an adequate ahimentation, together with the judicious use of alcoholic stimulants, is one of the striking characteristics of progress in the practice of medicine during the last half century. In all these mutations indicative of progress, it may be claimed, in behalf of the medical profession of this country, that they have not been backward in conforming to them nor in promoting them. The Amer- ican medical mind may be said to be emi- nently cosmopolitan and eclectic. With perhaps some undue readiness in accepting opinions emanating from abroad, the pre- vailing disposition is to seek every where for new developments of knowledge, espe- cially in the practical departments of mcd- 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. icine. In this country, as elsewhere, one point of contrast between the present and the past is the diminished power of indi- vidual authority in medical doctrines. At this day, much less~ than in former times, is the phrase, Jwrare is verba magistri, appli- cable to the medical profession. In the preparation of remedies there is a notable contrast between the earlier and later portions of the last centennial period. The improvements in pharmacy have been very great. Concentrated forms of medi- cine have largely supplanted infusions or decoctions and bulky medicinal substances. The discovery of the alkaloid quinia was in 1820. Previously malarial fevers were treat- ed with the powdered cinchona bark, the quantity requisite for a cure being so large that, on this account, the treatment was very often unsuccessful. Let it be consid- ered that pounds of the bark are represent- ed by a few grains of the alkaloid. Quinia was speedily after its discovery in use in America, where malarial fevers were a great obstacle in the way of the settlement of our vast national domain. As early as 1841 it had been employed in doses which had not been ventured upon in Europe, but which since that time have been found es- sential to secure its full remedial power, not only in malarial fevers, but in other dis- eases. The experience in ou~r country did much toward developing knowledge re- specting the curative power of this great antiperiodic remedy. In the manufacture and employment of other isolated medicinal principles from veg- etable remedies, and of extracts, the phar- maceutists and physicians in this country have not been far behind those of Europe. To appreciate the progress in this regard, from the stand-point of the patient, one must be able to recall the time when the nauseousness of physic could not fail to tempt many to throw it to the dogs. Thanks to pharmaceutical improvements, doses of medicine are now rarely disagree- able, and not unfrequently they are even rendered palatable. Passing from this brief reference to mu- tations in practice to the character of the medical profession, as represented by the average of the professional attainnients, to- gether with the intellectual and moral quali- fications of its members, it isneedless to say that the progress has been marked. In these respects the medical profession in the United States to-day will compa1~e favora- bly with the profession in any part of the world. This may be asserted without pre- sumption. It would be easy to cite the tes- timony to that effect of competent observers from abroad who have been among us. No- where in civilized countries do medical men hold a higher social position than here. No- where, as a class, do they exert a stronger influence upon other members of society. la our democratic form of government no body of men are more influential. Were the physicians of any of the States in the Union to combine together to form a polit- ical party, their power would be irresisti- ble. With such a combination, the election of officers and law-makers would be under their control. Fortunately, or unfortunate- ly, this is not likely to happen, for, as a rule, physicians are not inclined to take an. active part in politics. By those who might dep- recate a political party composed of doc- tors it will doubtless be said, such a union is rendered impossible by their proverbial tendency to disagree. The disagreement of doctors has long been a proverb. They are considered fair game for jests in this re- gard. Were the charge made in earnest, it would be out of place in this article to un- dertake to refute it. Of the three profes- sions, the imputation, even in jest, would hardly come with a good grace from the clergy. Our legal friends are sometimes fond of comparing, in this point of view, the medical profession with their own. If any of these should honor this article by a perusal, I am sure they will not take offense if I introduce an anecdote which, as I hope, will not be considered frivolous or out of taste in treating of so sober a subject as medical an& sanitary progress. The anec- dote was told by an eminent member of the bar iu Connecticut, who was a party in the colloquy, and who related it, by-the-way, as evidence that a talent for humor which formerly was possessed by not a few physi- cians had nearly become extinct, the pro- fession in this respect having retrograded rather than advanced. This distinguished lawyer, meeting one day an old physician of the humoristical school, in order to elicit a witty rejoinder attacked him on the score of the disagreement of doctors, referring, in contrast, to the habitual agreement of law- yers, no matter how violently they opposed each other in their pro1~essional antagonism. He asked his friend the doctor to explain this contrast. Oh, said the doctor, Mil- ton has given the explanation of the differ- ence between us in this respect in the fol- lowing quotation: Devils with devils damnd firm concord hold; Men only disagree. The proper scope of this article takes in only the past; but anticipations naturally follow retrospections. After a review of the progress made during the last hundred years, one can hardly forbear to ask, what will have taken place at the end of the next centennial period? A few thoughts sug- gested by this question may be permitted in concluding the article. It is quite certain that medical and sanitary progress will con- tinue. This is a fair inference from the continued progress hitherto up to this time. THE FIRST CENTURY OF THE REPUBLIC. 83 It is also a logical conclusion, from the facts ting the body in health and disease. With- in the past history of medicine, that future in the present century the different organs progress in this direction will be by slow were resolved into their component tissues advances. As it has been heretofore, so it by dilThrences mainly in sensible properties. will be hereafter: great discoveries or im- ln this way Bichat created the department provements will not follow in rapid succes- of general anatomy, that is, the description sion. The great event in the seventeenth of the elementary tissues into which the or- century was the discovery of the circulation gans are resolvable. Next came the appli- of the blood, in the eighteenth century the cation of analytical chemistry to the study discovery of vaccination, and in the present of the solids and fluids, by means of which century the discoveryofamesthesia. Events the department of general anatomy was ex- like these are not to be expected to recur at tended. Then followed the employment of much shorter intervals. What is to be the the microscope, giving rise to a new prov- next great event? It would, of course, be ince in anatomy and pathology, namely, his. absurd to attempt to answer this inquiry. tology. Meanwhile the investigation of the Sometimes, however, preliminary circum- heart and lungs by means of the conduction stances, as we can see afterward, have point- of sounds engaged attention, and ausculta- ed distinctly to the direction in which a tion became a branch of medicine. Still great discovery was to be looked for. If I later the exploration of the interior of the were to indulge a prophetic fancy, it would eye and of the air passages by nieans of lead me to prejlict that, ere long, the nature optical instruments has given rise to oph- of what are called the special or specific thalmoscopy and laryngoscopy. To these causes of disease will be demonstrated. By might be added nnmerous improved meth- special causes I mean those which produce ods of examining internal parts by manual certain diseases, such as the continued, the instruments. periodical, and the eruptive fevers. That The improved and added means of inves- these and some other diseases have each tigation which are in the future can not be its own special cause, never occurring with- foreseen, but it may be hoped that thereby, out the action of its own cause, and the before the Lapse of another hundred years, latter producing only that particular dis- will be gained an insight into the moleen- ease, is rationally almost certain. We are lar processes involved in nutrition, secre- acquainted with many of the c6nditions un- tion, and excretion. At present our knowl- der which these causes are developed, and edge of these processes is limited to the we know many of the laws of their opera- conditions under which they take place, tion; but their nature has not been ascer- with certain of their laws and their effects. tamed. It is easy to imagine that were In proportion ns they are more fully under- these causes fully known, a great impetus stood, the processes involved in inflamma- would be given to the progress of medicine. tion, the various morbid alterations of strtic- The discovery of the nature of one special ture, and the disorders of glandular organs cause would probably lead, by analogy, to a may be expected to be better comprehend- similar knowledge of the other causes. It ed, contributing, moreover, to the progress may reasonably be supposed that the knowi- of therapeutics as well as of pathology, and edge of their essential nature would lead to changing materially the principles and prac- the means of destroying them, or of neutral- tice of medicine. izing their morbific operation, and in this If as regards new remedies and improve- way the most destructive to human life of ments in pharmacy, progress continue as it the acute diseases would be prevented or has taken place in the past, the present may arrested. Many circumstances combine to very imperfectly represent the future treat- render it probable that these special causes ment of diseases. It is but a little over are either vegetable or animal organisms. half a century since the great antiperiodic On these circumstances are based the germ remedy, quinia, was discovered. It is not theory of disease. It is, indeed, claimed improbable that before the end of another by some that the causation of certain dis- half century a remedy, or remedies, may be eases by specific organisms of microscopical discovered which will arrest other fevers or minuteness has been demonstrated; by the acute inflammatory affections as quinia ar- majority of medical thinkers, however, the rests malarial diseases. If such an event demonstrative evidence is not considered as take place, how great will be the change complete. It is an interesting fact that a in practical medicine! New modes of in- quarter of a century ago the cryptogamic troducing remedies into the system may be origin of many diseases was advocated with ascertained more effective than the recently cogent evidence and argument by a distin- employed method of injecting medicated so- guislied medical teacher in this country lutions beneath the skin. the late .J. R.~Mitchell. The extent to which abnormal conditions Judging from the past, the future prog- of the mind are dependent on morbid states ress of medicine will involve improvements of the body is hardly yet fully recognized, of and additions to the means of investiga- though it has been the subject of much 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thought. Mental disorders failing short of insanity have hitherto entered too little into pathological study. The time may come when, with a better knowledge of the mutual relations of the mental and vital functions, disorders of the former, now in a great measure left for the patient to min- ister to himself will be prevented or suc- cessfully treated, and the development of insanity thereby often forestalled. With future progress in this direction, it may be that not a little of the abnormities and enor- mities which the law considers and punishes as crimes will be recognized as more proper- ly belonging to pathology, claiming the ju- dicious management of the physician rather than judicial treatment. Finally, the spirit of imaginary foresight which has led to the few foregoing thoughts suggests the question, how will the coming physician differ from the physician of to- day? The question gives rise to a train of speculation which it would be pleasant enough on the part of the writer to pursue; but this I must forego. Suffice it to say that the coming physician will not he re- garded even as much as now in the light of a mere prescriber of drags. I would by no means be thought to underrate the impor- tance of this function. Diseases will al- ways claim medicinal treatment, and doubt- less medicines will he prescribed a hundred years hence with more efficacy than in the present stage of medical progress. But the coming physician will he regarded in a high- er point of view, as one on whose judgment people will be content to rely in the inter- diction as well as in the prescribing of drugs. It will be more and more considered that one of the most important of his profession- al functions is to determine, by skilled in- terrogation of the different organs of the body, their freedom from disease, as well as, on the other hand, to detect accurately and early deviations from health. He will him- self appreciate more and more the fact that prophylaxisthe prevention of diseaseis a higher and more useful hranch of medicine than therapeutics. The prevention of crime and the proper treatment of criminals will be recognized as embraced within the scope of medical knowledge and pr~sctice. His of- fices as a hygienic adviser in matters per- taining to mind and body will hecome equal, if not superior, to his duties as a therapen- tist; and the future enlightened lawgiver, with others in authority, will co-operate in devising and carrying out measures for medical education, the promotion of med- ical knowledge, and those having reference to public health. AUSTIN FLINT, M.D. Nzw Yozz. THE POET. THE mute gods sent him hither; But had he been untrue, Or was he banished thither Before his beauty grew, Afeared their own should wither, Only the mute gods knew. Earth sent her June to meet him; And what could Earth do more? The daisies sprang to greet him Upon her threshold floor, And the star-shine did entreat him When Day had given o er. She set her fountains springing To lull him from desire; Sea winds and waltzes ringing, The Lorelei with her lyrc, And the sea winds and the singing Forbade him to aspire. But the whitest, sweetest daisies Grow in remembered bowers, And in the moonlight mazes He dreamed of hills and towers, Seen dimly through these hazes, Of bolder reach than ours. Pleasure bent low to woo him, In beauty unconflued; Fame, looking backward, threw him Her smile of hitter kind; And Power did stoop to sue him With eyes th~t loose or bind. But what were Power or Pleasure To him whose memory heard The throbbings of a measure By which the gods are stirred Whose longing left no leisure For Fames supremest word? Our Life was but a dreaming That bound his eager eyes; And all Earths glorious seeming, Her waves and tender skies, Veiled sadly, to his deemng, Some more divine surprise, Till one unhoped-for dawning Love caught the veil away. Above the grand mouths scorning She set her smile for aye, And the evening and the morning Shut in a perfect day. The meaning of the roses, And the harmony of rain, Which but to Love uncloses, Grew sudden sweet and plain. No god, he said, deposes Whom Love bath crowned again. But the mute gods, all unfrowning, Loosed down through worlds ajar A jewel for the crowning Immortals call a star; Tis Pain in mortal owning And the mute gods smile afar.

84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thought. Mental disorders failing short of insanity have hitherto entered too little into pathological study. The time may come when, with a better knowledge of the mutual relations of the mental and vital functions, disorders of the former, now in a great measure left for the patient to min- ister to himself will be prevented or suc- cessfully treated, and the development of insanity thereby often forestalled. With future progress in this direction, it may be that not a little of the abnormities and enor- mities which the law considers and punishes as crimes will be recognized as more proper- ly belonging to pathology, claiming the ju- dicious management of the physician rather than judicial treatment. Finally, the spirit of imaginary foresight which has led to the few foregoing thoughts suggests the question, how will the coming physician differ from the physician of to- day? The question gives rise to a train of speculation which it would be pleasant enough on the part of the writer to pursue; but this I must forego. Suffice it to say that the coming physician will not he re- garded even as much as now in the light of a mere prescriber of drags. I would by no means be thought to underrate the impor- tance of this function. Diseases will al- ways claim medicinal treatment, and doubt- less medicines will he prescribed a hundred years hence with more efficacy than in the present stage of medical progress. But the coming physician will he regarded in a high- er point of view, as one on whose judgment people will be content to rely in the inter- diction as well as in the prescribing of drugs. It will be more and more considered that one of the most important of his profession- al functions is to determine, by skilled in- terrogation of the different organs of the body, their freedom from disease, as well as, on the other hand, to detect accurately and early deviations from health. He will him- self appreciate more and more the fact that prophylaxisthe prevention of diseaseis a higher and more useful hranch of medicine than therapeutics. The prevention of crime and the proper treatment of criminals will be recognized as embraced within the scope of medical knowledge and pr~sctice. His of- fices as a hygienic adviser in matters per- taining to mind and body will hecome equal, if not superior, to his duties as a therapen- tist; and the future enlightened lawgiver, with others in authority, will co-operate in devising and carrying out measures for medical education, the promotion of med- ical knowledge, and those having reference to public health. AUSTIN FLINT, M.D. Nzw Yozz. THE POET. THE mute gods sent him hither; But had he been untrue, Or was he banished thither Before his beauty grew, Afeared their own should wither, Only the mute gods knew. Earth sent her June to meet him; And what could Earth do more? The daisies sprang to greet him Upon her threshold floor, And the star-shine did entreat him When Day had given o er. She set her fountains springing To lull him from desire; Sea winds and waltzes ringing, The Lorelei with her lyrc, And the sea winds and the singing Forbade him to aspire. But the whitest, sweetest daisies Grow in remembered bowers, And in the moonlight mazes He dreamed of hills and towers, Seen dimly through these hazes, Of bolder reach than ours. Pleasure bent low to woo him, In beauty unconflued; Fame, looking backward, threw him Her smile of hitter kind; And Power did stoop to sue him With eyes th~t loose or bind. But what were Power or Pleasure To him whose memory heard The throbbings of a measure By which the gods are stirred Whose longing left no leisure For Fames supremest word? Our Life was but a dreaming That bound his eager eyes; And all Earths glorious seeming, Her waves and tender skies, Veiled sadly, to his deemng, Some more divine surprise, Till one unhoped-for dawning Love caught the veil away. Above the grand mouths scorning She set her smile for aye, And the evening and the morning Shut in a perfect day. The meaning of the roses, And the harmony of rain, Which but to Love uncloses, Grew sudden sweet and plain. No god, he said, deposes Whom Love bath crowned again. But the mute gods, all unfrowning, Loosed down through worlds ajar A jewel for the crowning Immortals call a star; Tis Pain in mortal owning And the mute gods smile afar. LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. 85 LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS.* WHEN that great Luminary of Learn- ing, the English Lexiphanes, Dr. Sam- uel Johnson, was making a tour in the Heb- rides with his parasite, the impertinent and incomparable Boswell, lie encountered the grandfather and granduncle of Lord Mac- aulay. He had contemplated this tour for five or six years, and in his conversations with Boswell about it had mentioned this granduncle, the Rev. Kenneth Macunlay, who had written a History of St. J& ilda, and who,he said,had set out with a prejudice against prejudice, and wanted to be a smart modern thinker. Three or four years later he said the history was well written, except some foppery about liberty and slavery, and praised him for his magnaniniity. They started on their tour in the summer of 1773, this elderly Ursa Major and his keeper, a complacent youth of thirty-three, and mov- ing by easy stages, came at last, on the 27th of August, to Nairn, where Boswell expected to meet Mr. Macaulay, who was the minister of Calder. He was not there, for a good clerical reason, but he requested the gentle- men to call at the manse. Well go, said the great Chain; and they went. He was thanked, was the historian of St. Kilda, for his book. It was a very pretty piece of topography.? He did not seem much to mind the compliment, Bozzy informs us, naIvely, and adds that, judging from his * The L?fe and Letters of Lord Macaulay. By his nephew, G. OTTO TRICVELYAN, Member of Parliament for Hawick District of Burghs. In two volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers. conversation, Dr. Johnson was per- suaded that he did not write the book at all. He, the laird of Auch- inleck, had always had a suspicion that it was the work of the learned Dr. John Macpherson, of Skye, who, of course, could do a pretty piece of topography. Dr. Macaulay was ex- ceedingly hospitable, and they agreed to stay all night with him. After dinner they went to Calder Castle, which was called Cawdor Castle, and was the seat of the once prosperous gentleman, the Thane of Cawdor. Dr. Macaulay spoke rather slight- ingly of the lower English clergy, whereat the great moralist frown- e(l, and made a stupid remark. The cloud passed over, but gathered again in the evening, when the minister of Calder began a rhapsody against creeds and confessions; whereupon the great Defender of the Faith as established exclaimed, with his usual urbanity of intellect, moderation of opinion, and suavity of manners, Sir, you are a bigot to laxness. While the bigot was good-naturedly study- ing out on a map the route they should take, his liberal-minded critic went into the li- brary, and of course criticised it. When the evening prayer was in order, his obse- quious toady hinted to their host that per- haps his scrupulosity might not like to hear a Presbyterian prayer.. The obliging host offered to omit it. He was allowed to re- peat it, however; his greatness had no objection. His condescension delighted Bozzy, for he remembered that his highness had refused to sanction by his presence a Presbyterian assembly by hearing Dr. Rob- ertson preach. I will hear him, he ex- claimed, in a burst of generosity, thinking, no doubt, of Zaccheus I will hear him if he will get up into a tree and preach. He made some amends for his rudeness, how- ever, by giving Dr. Macaulays son, a smart lad of eleven, a copy of Sallust which he had brought in his pocket from Edinburgh. Va- lete, puer. Two months later, lacking two days, our travelers reached Inverary, where the Rev. John Macaulay, the grandfather of Lord Mac- aulay, came to the inn to meet them. They proceeded together to the castle, where they were introduced to the duke and duchess and other gentle people, and where they dined, and one, at least, did some talking. Dr. Macaulay passed the evening with the travelers at their inn, and was put down be- cause he could not understand how people could be earnest in their good professions whose practice was not suitable to them. THOMAS BABINOTON MAcAULAY.

LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. 85 LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS.* WHEN that great Luminary of Learn- ing, the English Lexiphanes, Dr. Sam- uel Johnson, was making a tour in the Heb- rides with his parasite, the impertinent and incomparable Boswell, lie encountered the grandfather and granduncle of Lord Mac- aulay. He had contemplated this tour for five or six years, and in his conversations with Boswell about it had mentioned this granduncle, the Rev. Kenneth Macunlay, who had written a History of St. J& ilda, and who,he said,had set out with a prejudice against prejudice, and wanted to be a smart modern thinker. Three or four years later he said the history was well written, except some foppery about liberty and slavery, and praised him for his magnaniniity. They started on their tour in the summer of 1773, this elderly Ursa Major and his keeper, a complacent youth of thirty-three, and mov- ing by easy stages, came at last, on the 27th of August, to Nairn, where Boswell expected to meet Mr. Macaulay, who was the minister of Calder. He was not there, for a good clerical reason, but he requested the gentle- men to call at the manse. Well go, said the great Chain; and they went. He was thanked, was the historian of St. Kilda, for his book. It was a very pretty piece of topography.? He did not seem much to mind the compliment, Bozzy informs us, naIvely, and adds that, judging from his * The L?fe and Letters of Lord Macaulay. By his nephew, G. OTTO TRICVELYAN, Member of Parliament for Hawick District of Burghs. In two volumes. New York: Harper and Brothers. conversation, Dr. Johnson was per- suaded that he did not write the book at all. He, the laird of Auch- inleck, had always had a suspicion that it was the work of the learned Dr. John Macpherson, of Skye, who, of course, could do a pretty piece of topography. Dr. Macaulay was ex- ceedingly hospitable, and they agreed to stay all night with him. After dinner they went to Calder Castle, which was called Cawdor Castle, and was the seat of the once prosperous gentleman, the Thane of Cawdor. Dr. Macaulay spoke rather slight- ingly of the lower English clergy, whereat the great moralist frown- e(l, and made a stupid remark. The cloud passed over, but gathered again in the evening, when the minister of Calder began a rhapsody against creeds and confessions; whereupon the great Defender of the Faith as established exclaimed, with his usual urbanity of intellect, moderation of opinion, and suavity of manners, Sir, you are a bigot to laxness. While the bigot was good-naturedly study- ing out on a map the route they should take, his liberal-minded critic went into the li- brary, and of course criticised it. When the evening prayer was in order, his obse- quious toady hinted to their host that per- haps his scrupulosity might not like to hear a Presbyterian prayer.. The obliging host offered to omit it. He was allowed to re- peat it, however; his greatness had no objection. His condescension delighted Bozzy, for he remembered that his highness had refused to sanction by his presence a Presbyterian assembly by hearing Dr. Rob- ertson preach. I will hear him, he ex- claimed, in a burst of generosity, thinking, no doubt, of Zaccheus I will hear him if he will get up into a tree and preach. He made some amends for his rudeness, how- ever, by giving Dr. Macaulays son, a smart lad of eleven, a copy of Sallust which he had brought in his pocket from Edinburgh. Va- lete, puer. Two months later, lacking two days, our travelers reached Inverary, where the Rev. John Macaulay, the grandfather of Lord Mac- aulay, came to the inn to meet them. They proceeded together to the castle, where they were introduced to the duke and duchess and other gentle people, and where they dined, and one, at least, did some talking. Dr. Macaulay passed the evening with the travelers at their inn, and was put down be- cause he could not understand how people could be earnest in their good professions whose practice was not suitable to them. THOMAS BABINOTON MAcAULAY. 86 HARPERS NEW M& NTHLY MAGAZINE. Sir, are you so grossly ignorant of human nature as not to know that a man may be very sincere in good principles without hav- ing good practice I The hard-headed old Scotchman breakfasted with them next morning, nothing hurt or dismayed by his last nights correction. He was a man of good sense, you see, and had a just admi- ration of Dr. Johnson. He had a high rep- utation as a preacher, and was remarkable for his fluency. Twice married, he had by his second wife the patriarchal number of twelve children, one of whom, young Master Zachary, was a boy of five when the great tourist of the Hebrides was bullying his fa- ther at the inn of Inverary. This branch of the Macaulays removed during the next year to Cardross, in Dumbartonshire, where Zachary Macaulay, the father of Lord Mac- aulay, received his education, and whence he was sent, a lad of sixteen, to a Scotch house of business in Jamaica. He corn- meMced as book-keeper, and soon rose to be soIl manager. It would require a skillful pencil to delineate this painstaking, plileg- matic young Scotchman, who was now brought into the closest possible contact with negro slavery. If he had thought about it before, he was not prepossessed against it. His old father saw nothing to condemn in an institution recognized in Scripture. That burning and shining light, John Newton, could reconcile the business of a slave-trader with the duties of a Chris- tian, and his disciples, who were all aboli- tionists, were scandalized by him to the end of his days. Zachary Macaulay was slow in thinking, but he was honest and earnest, and before long he found himself shocked at the sight of a population who were delib- erately kept in ignorance and heathenism. His heart was wounded at the cruelties practiced around him. He did what he could to render the bitter cup of servitude as palatable as possible, but finally becom- ing tired of trying to find a compromise be- tween right and wrong, he refused great offers from the people with whom he was connected, and throwing up his position at the age of twenty-four, he returned to his native country. What to do next? for his father was dead, and the family were in moderate. circumstances. While he was in Jamaica, his brother Aulay, who was a min- ister of the Established Church, and was set- tled in England, made a tour to Scotland in company with Mr. Thomas Babington, the owner of Rothley Temple, in Leicestershire. The travelers paid a visit to the old manse at Cardross, where Mr. Babington fell in love with one of the daughters of the house, Miss Jean Macaulay, and married her. Jean was interested in the fortunes of her brother Zachary, as was also her husband, who now stepped forward and assisted him as only a man of position could. Zachary Macaulay was not alone in his detestation of slavery, for before his departure for Jamaica the freedom of all whose feet touched the soil of England had been vindicated before the courts at Westminster, and not a few ne- groes had become their o~vn masters in con- sequence of that memorable decision. What to do with the expatriated freedmen was growing a serious question to their patrons, and a scheme was matured for their colo- nization. Sierra Leone was selected as a proper place for a colony. A company was organized with a charter, and a board which included the name~ of Granville Sharpe and Wilberforce. Alarge capital was subscribed, and the chair was accepted by Mr. Henry Thornton, banker and member of Parlia- ment. Mr. Thornton heard the story of Zachary from Mr. Babington, with whom lie was intimate, and the board by his advice appointed the young man Second Member of the Council of Sierra Leone. He sailed thither, and soon after his arrival succeeded to the position and duties of Governor. The story of Governor Macaulays administration at Sierra Leone is curious reading, if we only had time to read it. The colony was hated by merchants whose trade the company had spoiled, and by slave-dealers with whoni it interfered; it was hated by the native tribes, who could no longer obtain all the rum and gunpowder they wanted by selling their neighbors at the nearest barracoon; and it was not loved by the freed negroes, who pos- sessed no language but an acquired jargon, and no hankering for civilization. Things went smoothly as long as the provisions which had been brought in the ship lasted, but when commons ran short, and real work began, they were in a state of chronic muti- ny. Zachary Macaulay was the man for the crisis. Patient and persevering, his courage was equal to any trial. Incapable of fear and fatigue, he stood as a centre of order and authority amidst the seething chaos of in- experience and insubordination. He was in the counting-house, the law court,the school, even the pulpit. He was his own secretary, his own paymaster, his own envoy. The colony was beginning to prosper, when, one Sunday morning in September, 1794, eight French sail appeared off the coast. The squadron moved near the quay, and swept the streets for two hours with grape and bullets. The invaders landed, and the cap- tain of an American slaver led a party of 8~zn8-culottes to Governor Macaulays house. The confusion that followed may be imag- ined. The town was completely gutted. They remained at Freetown about a month, and set sail again, with fever-stricken crews. There was nothing to tempt them to return. The houses had been carefully burned to the ground, and the live stock killed. Lib- eral assistance from home and a hard years work set the colony on its feet once more, LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. 87 and enabled its Governor to return to En- gland and recruit his health, which had broken down under an ttack of low fever. When Dr. Johnson ilublished his Journey to the Hebrides, there was residing in Lon- don a lady of thirty, whom Zachary Mac- aulay was now to meet, and who was to help him to a wife. She was the youngest but one of five sisters who kept a ladies board- ing-school at Bristol when Chatterton was a blue-coat boy at Colstons Hospital a scholarly young person, who had written a pretty pastoral drama and made creditable translations from the Spanish, Italian, and Latin poets. In her first letter from Lon- don sise mentions the great success of the Journey to the Hebrides, and says she has not yet been able to pay her devoirs to dear Dr. Johnson, though Miss Reynolds has offered to accompany her. She also mentions the new comedy of young Sheridan, The Rivals, which was very unfavorably received the first night, chiefly on account of the bad acting of Lee as Sir Lucius OTrigger. She thought the author ought to be treated with great indulgence: he was only three-and- twenty, and his genius was likely to be his principal inheritance. I love him for the sake of his amiable and ingenious mother. A night or two later she went to Drury Lane, where she saw and thought well of The Maid of the Oaks, the writer of which, General Burgoyne, was soon to seek and lose laurels in the revolting colonies. Gar- rick embellished the play, but was not well enough to act or see companyhow morti- fying! Garrick, Sheridan, Dr. Johnson these are famous names to figure in a single letter. If we run through the correspond- ence of this young lady, to which this let- ter is merely the prologue, we are among the notabilities of the period. She receives the most encouraging compliments from a large party of literary persons assembled at Sir Joshua Reynoldss. Miss Reynolds re- peats by heart a little poem of her , with which the great Johnson is much pleased. Dr. Percy visits her and her sisters (Percys collectionnow you know him), a spright- ly modern instead of a rusty antique; and when he leaves, Miss Reynolds orders a coach, and the young ladies are driven to Dr. Johnsons very own house: yes, Abys- sinias Johnson, Dictionary Johnson, Ram- biers, Idlers, and Irenes Johnson! Can we picture to ourselves the palpitation of those hearts as they approach the mansion? They are introduced to Mrs. Williams, the blind poetess, who is Dr. Johnsons housekeeper. The great man is not in his little parlor; so the genius of the i)arty seats herself in his chair, hoping to catch a ray of his genius. When he hears of it, he laughs heartily, and tells her it is a chair in which he never sat. This reminds him that when he and Boswell were making their memorable tour, they stopped night at the spot where they im- agined the Weird Sisters met Macbeth, and were so excited that they could not rest. In the morning they were mortified to learn that they were d ceived, and were in quite another part of the country. (This was in the inn at Pores, the night before Johnson met Dr. Kenneth Macaulay, and charged him with being a lax bigot.) When the visit of the ladies ended, the eminent tour- ist called for his hat, as it rained, and at- tended them down a very long alley to the coach, and not Rasselas, one of them wrote, could have acquitted himself more en cava- lier. The social and literary success of this much - corresponding lady was marvelous. She moved in the most famous circles of the time, and was received as an equal by the highest. Ursa Major treated her with such distinguished consideration that it is curious to compare his portrait as drawn by her with his portrait as drawn by Bos- well. They take tea together at Sir Josh- uas, and try to see who can pepper the highest. She wrote a poem about Sir El- dred of the Bower, and it kindled a flame /1 c~o~yak DR. JOHNSON IN ass LWHRID AN COSTUMF. 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in his cold bosom. He praised the elegant turn of the dedication, and said the com- pliment was without precedent. Mrs. Mon- tagu declared that she did not think it pru- dent to leave these lovers by themselves, lest there should be a Scotch elopement. He read Sir Eldred to her and her sister, and also another poem about a Bleeding Rock, made some alterations in the first, and did her the honor to write a whole stan- za for it. They called each other pet names child, little fool,~~ love,~~ dearest, and the like. His heart grew expansive to- ward the sisters. I lov.e you both, cried the inamorato. I love you all five. I nev- er was at Bristol. I will come on purpose to see you. I have spent a happy evening. I am glad I came. God forever bless you! You live lives to shame duchesses. Once he was angry with her because she flip- pantly alluded to Tom Jones. She sat cor- rected and grateful, and expressed her ab- horrence of Joseph Andrews. He reproved her for reading Pascal, but relented enough to say, Child, I am heartily glad that you read pious books, by whomsoever they may be written. (The child, by-the-way, had seen thirty-six summers.) He was her cice- rone to Oxford, where he showed her Pem- broke College. This was my room, he said; this Shenstones. He pointed out the rooms of other Pembrokean poets. We were a nest of singing birds. They went into the commons-room, where they spied a fine large print portrait of the singing bird (a youth of seventy-three), under which was a complimentary motto And is not Johnson ours, himself a host ? She smiled, for the line was from her en- gaging poem, Sympathy. Later in their acquaintance, in the last year of his life, she wrote another poem, and he told her that there was no name in poetry that might not be giad to own it. He died enfeebled by disease, but resigned and pious, and Boz- zy announced his intention of publishing an- ecdotes about himnot his life, he said, but his pyramid. I besought his tenderness for our virtuous and most revered friend, she wrote, and begged he would mitigate some of his asperities. He said, roughly, he would not cut off his claws, nor make a tiger a cat to please any body. Bozzy published his pyramid, and Burke remarked to her, in allusion to the innumerable lives, anecdotes, remains, and what not that fol- lowed, How many maggots have crawled out of this great man This well-liked woman of letters had an- other friend, who was devotedly attached to her from her first coming up to London. Something that she had written about a part she had seen him perform interested him, and he called upon her. She pleased him amazingly, as she did his wife, who im mediately contracted a great friendship for her. He read her Sir Eldred so super- latively that she cried like a child. She wrote a tragedy, and he wrote a prologue and epilogue for it. He thinks of noth- ing, talks-of nothing, writes of nothing, but Percy. P cy was produced at Covent Gar- den, and was a brilliant success. What-. ever he touches he turns into gold, Kitty Clive wrote. Her authors nights amounted to about six hundred pounds, which he laid out for her on the best security. No man of his time was more famous than he, and no one was treated with less respect by Johnson, whose pupil he had been, and who was jealous of his greatness. Our tragic poetess had no sincerer friend, and she re- paid his friendship by her hearty admi- ration of all that was good and generous and beautiful in his genius. Her pages, 50 widely read once, have not had the immor- tality of Boswells, or we should all know this gentleman as she knew him. When he died, and eclipsed the gayety of nations, sbe rose from a bed of sickness, at the desire of his widow, and hastened to her side. I have this moment embraced his coffin, and you come next. Such a friend to Mrs. Han- nah More was the great Garrick. Another good friend was the ingenions Mr. Horace Walpole, whom she visited, and who paid her the prettiest compliments. She wrote a poem, Bas Blen, which was considered the finest thing in the world. Handed round in manuscript, the treasure reached the elegant master of Strawberry Hill. He thanked her a thousand times for the privilege of reading her charming and very genteel poem, and promised it should not go out of his hands. Its reputation reached the ears of his bucolic Majesty, George the Third, and she made a copy for him. Was there any body in London that was worth knowing that Hannah More did not know? The list of her friends is like a page in a directory. Mrs. Montagu, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Chapone, Soame Jenyns, Mrs. Barbauld, Miss Burney, Mrs. Thrale, and no end of famous bishops, deans, and other cleric people. She grew serious under the influence of these reverend big-wigs; had her Thoughts about the Manners of the Great, and her Estimate of the Religion of tIle Fashionable World. These solid sub- jects and a poem on Slavery endeared her to the evangelical and emancipatory circles, and when Zachary Macaulay returned from Sierra Leone, his friends, Wilberforce, Thorn- ton, and the rest, sent him down to Cowslip Green to be introduced to the great and good Hannah More. Visiting Mrs. More at the time was Miss Selina Mills, who had been a pupil of the Misses More at Bristol. She was the daughter of a bookseller of that city, who had built there a small street that was called Mills Place, and who was a LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. 89 member of the Society of Friends. Miss Selina was pretty and attract- ive, and Mr. Zachary fell in love with her, and obtained her affection in return. He encountered the op- position of her relatives, who were set upon her making another and a better match, and of Mrs. Patty More, who wished her never to marry at all, but to domesticate herself as a younger sister in the household at Cowslip Green. They were growing elderly, those virginal cowslips, and felt, perhaps, the need of a fresher flower among them. Mrs. Hannah had known what love was, having had a little affair of her own some twenty or thirty years before (she was now fifty), and she advocated Mr. Macaulays cause with firmness and good feeling. By her help he carried his point in so far that an engagement was made and recog- nized by the friends of Miss Mills, who, however, would not allow her to accompany him to Africa, to which he returned early in 1796, she spend- ing much of her time with his sister, Mrs. Babin~ton, in Leicestershire. We shall not follow Governor Mac- aulay through his second adminis- tration at Sierra Leone, further than to say that it was of a piece with the firstan- noying and discouraging. He remained until the colony had begun to thrive and the company almost begun to pay, and then, in 1799, gave up his appointment. He returned to England, and at Bristol, on the 26th of August of that year, Miss Selina Mills was made Mrs. Zachary Mac- anlay. They took a sniall house in Lambeth for a twelvemouth, and Mrs. Macaulay, be- coming as ladies wish to be who love their lords, was invited by her sister-in-law to Rothicy Temple; and there, in a room pan- eled from ceiling to floor, like every corner of the old mansion, with oak almost black from age, looking eastward across the park, and southward through an ivy-shaded win- dow into a little gardenthere Lord Mac- aulay was born. It was on the 25th of October, 1800, a historic daythe day that Chaucer died, four hundred years before, and the day that Hogarth died, the day of St. Crispin (as lie liked to say), and the anni- versary of Agincourt. Oh, when shall English men With such acts fill a pen, Or England hreed again Such a King Harry ? His father was as pleased as a father could he, but his cup of happiness had a dash of bitter in it the i~ext day, when his horse ran away and threw him; both arms were broken, and he spent in a sick-room the re- mainder of the only holiday be ever took HANNAH MORE. during his married life. The hoy thrived, and on the 26th of November was haptized, in a private chapel which formed part of the house, by the names of Thomas Bahington, his uncle Aulay, of whom we have heard, and Mr. and Mrs. Babington acting as his spom~sors. The Sierra Leone Company had an office in a house in Birelila Lane, and to this house the Macaulays removed the following win- ter. The only place where the child could be taken for exercise and air was Drapers Garden, which was within a hundred yards of the Stock Exchange. To this dismal yard, which contained as much gravel as grass, the fond mother used to convey her nurse and the little boy through the crowds that toward noon swarmed along Coruhihl and Threadneedle Street and thither she would return to escort them back to Birchin Lane. And thither, in after-years, Lord Mac- aulay used to resort, so strong was the pow- er of association upon his mind. Baby as he was when he quitted it, he retained some impressions of his earliest home. He remem- bered standing up at the nursery window by his fathers side and looking at a cloud of smoke pouring out of a tall chimiiey; he asked if that was hell. From Birchin Lane the familyremoved to a house on High Street, Clapham a roomy, comfortable dwelling, with a little garden in the front and rear. Here the boy passed a quiet and happy childhood. From the time he was three years old he read incessantly, lying for the 90 HARPERS NEW. MONTHLY MAGAZINE. most part on a rug before the fire, with his book on the floor, and a piece of bread-and- butter in his hand. He is remembered by the then parlor-maid as sitting in his nan- keen frock, perched on the table by her as she was cleaning the plate, and expounding to her out of a volume as big as himself. He did not care for toys, but was fond of walking and talking, telling his mother or the nurse intermii~able stories out of his own head, or repeating what he had been read- ing in language above his years. He re- membered the very words of the book he was last engaged in, and he talked, as the maid said, quite printed words. Mrs. Hannah More called at Mr. Macaulays one day, and was met by a fair, pretty, slight boy, about four years old, with a profusion of light hair, who canie to the door and re- ceived her. He told her that his parents were out,but that if she would be good enough to come in,he would bring her a glass of old spirits. He startled the good old mistress of Barley Wood, who never as- pired above cowslip wine. When question- ed as to what he knew about old spirits, he could only say that Robinson Crusoe often had some. About this time his father took him on a visit to Lady Waldegrave, at Straw- berry Hill, proud to exhibit to his old friend the fair bright boy, dressed in a green coat, with red collar and cuffs, a frill at the throat, and white trowsers. After he had spent some time among the wonders of the Orford Collection, catalogue in hand, a servant, who was waiting upon the company, spilled some hot coffee on his legs. The hostess was all compassion, and when she asked him, after a while, how he was feeling, he answered, Thank you, madam, the agony is abated. When the merest child, he was sent as a day scholar to a Yorkshire school-master, and his mother explained to him that he must learn to study without the solace of bread- and-butter. Yes, mamma, lie said, in- dustry shall be my bread, and attention my butter. He crept like snail, unwillingly to school, and every afternoon entreated to be excused from returning after dinner. No, Tom; if it rains cats and dogs, you shall go. Master Macaulay was the most precocious little boy of whom we have any account in English literature. There is extant a letter from his mother dated in his eighth year, and narrating his literary doings. He had written a compendium of universal history from the creation down; he had written three cantos of The Battle of Cheviot, a metrical romance; and two cantos of a hero- ic poem, entitled, Glans the Great; or, the Conquest of Mona ; and he had composed she knew not how many hymns. Good Mrs. Hannah More, who was a judge of that sta- ple, pronounced these hymns to be quite extraordinary for such a baby. He was a constant visitor at Barley Wood, where he was encouraged, and not spoiled. All the Misses More made a companion of him and relished his conversation. Mrs. Hannah, who was in her sixties, superintended his stud- ies, his pleasures, aiid his health. She kept him with her for weeks, listening to him as he read prose by the ell and declatmed po- etry by the yard. She discussed and com- pared with him his favorite heroes, ancient, modern, and fictitious; coaxed him into the garden walks under the pretense of a lect- ure on botany; and sent him from his books to run about the grounds, or into the kitch- en to play cooking. She gave him Bible lessons, which al~vays ended with theological arguments. When the conversation turned on her more dramatic days, she could tell him of the great English Roscius, who was her dear friend; of that singular coxcomb, James Boswell, who died about twelve years before; of the great Dr. Johnson (who bull- ied your grandfather so, Tom, at Inverary, as you read last week in Boswellthe doc- tor was a good Christian, but he was rather rough at times, mores the pity); of Sir Josh- ua, Miss Burney, Mrs. Thrale, now Mrs. Pioz- zi, who is seventy, if she is a day, Miss Patty declares. She could tell him of old Lord Bathurst, who had known Pope and Swift and the wits of Queen Annes time. When he was six she wrote him Though you are a little boy now, you will one day, if it please God, be a man; but long before you are a man, I hope you will be a scholar. I therefore wish you to purchase such books as will be useful to you then, and that you employ this very small sum in laying a little tiny corner-stone for your future library. A year or two afterward she thanks him for two letters, which were neatly written and free from blots, and says he is entitled to another book. He is to go to Hatchards and choose it. As epics were nearly ex- hausted, what did he say to a little good prose ? Johnsons Hebrides, or Waltons Lives, unless he would like a neat edition of Cowpers poems, or Paradise Lost, for his own eating. She wanted him to become a complete Frenchman, that shemightgive him Racine, the only dramatic poet in any modern language that is perfectly pure and good. (Had she forgotten the author of Percy and The Search after Happiness?) She thought well of an ode which he sent, and was much obliged to him for a dedication. Happy young poet! kindly old patron! The circumstances of the Macaulay fam- ily were improving. Its head had received for some time a salary of 500 a year as the secretary of the Sierra Leone Compa- ny, and had entered into a partnership with a nephew. The firm of Macaulay and Babington did a large b~isiness as African merchants, and had need to, for before Lord Macaulay was thirteen, he had three broth- ers and five sisters. They were a prolific LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. 91 set, those Mac aulays. John, the grandfa- ther, had twelve children, and Aulay, the great-grandfather, fourteen. When Master Thomas reached the age of twelve, he had outgrown the school-masters of Clapham, and his father thought of removing to Lon- don, iii order to place him as a day scholar at Westminster. He ultimately fixed upon Little Shelford, a village near Cambridge. Its master, the Rev. Mr. Preston, was an ex- fellow of Trinity, and his scholars were pen- etrated with Cambridge ambitions and ways of thought, and frequent visitors brought the freshest Cambridge gossip to the table where master and pupils dined in common. Master Thomas was treated with great kind- ness by the famous Dean Milman, the pres- ident of Queens College, who wrote to his father after one of these visits: Your lad is a fine fellow. He shall stand before kings. He shall not stand before mean men. The letters that Lord Macaulay wrote to his par- ents during his school days are curious read- ing now. He is doing Xenophon every day, and the Odyssey twice a week with young Wilberforce. He is also doing Latin verses. He is writing tbemes, and belongs to a debat- ing society. He has been to Dean Milmans on apony, has slept there, and is invited to come again. He is reading Plutarchs Lives, and ia French F6nelons Dialogres of the Dead. He wishes to come home before the holidays, he writes to his mother, and, if he can gain papas leave, would select his birthday as the time he would wish to spend with his family. I think I see you sitting by papa, just after his dinner, reading my letter, and turning to him with an inquisitive glance at the end of the paragraph. I think, too, that I see his expressive shake of the head at it. Oh, may I be mistak- en ! When be had been a year at Shelford the school was re- moved to Aspenden Hall, in Hert- fordshire, where he spent four most industrious years. He read widely, unceasingly, and more than rapidly. He had an unerr- ing memory, and the capacity of taking in a page at a glance. What caught his fancy as a child he remembered without getting it by heart. He accompanied his father one afternoon on a call, and found on a table The Lay of the Last Minstrel. While the elders were talking, he read it, and on his return repeated as many cantos as his mother had the patience to listen to. One day at Cambridge, while waiting in a coffee-room for a post-chaise, he picked up a news- paper, and to pass the time, cast his eyes over two poems in the Poets Corner. He never gave them a thought, but could re- peat them forty years afterward without missing or changing a word. He used to say that if every copy of Paradise ~Lost and Pilgrims Progress were destroyed, he would undertake to i~eproduce them from recollec- tion. He always read books faster than others skimmed them, and skimmed them as fast as others turned the leaves. He seemed to read through the skin. The boys letters, which at first were pretty and natural, soon begaa to smack of the library. Before he is fifteen he writes to his good mother that he has read Boccaccios Deca- meron, a tale of one hundred cantos, and that he prefers the writer thereofto Chaucer. Jane will find some translations from Boc- caccio in Dryden. He has read Gil Bias and Thalaba ; also the History of James I., and a great deal of Gibbon. He concluded h~ sending his love to papa, Selina, Jane, John (but he is not there), Henry, Fanny, Han- nah, Margaret, and Charles. Valete. His brothers and sisters worshiped him. His sweetness of temper and unfailing flow of 4 ~ ~ A e4~ ~ FAa-SIMILE OF MACAULAY 5 IIANDWEITINe. 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spirits made his presence so delightful that his wishes and tastes were their law. His notion of happiness was to have them work- ing round him while he read a novel aloud, and then to walk with all of them on the Conimon, or, if it rained, to have a noisy game of hide-and-seek. When he was at home on his holidays, there were no lessons; nothing hut fun and merriment for the whole six weeks. He read Sir Charles Grandison to them, and such solid works as Clarendon and Burnet. Poetry and novels were for- hidden during the daytime, save when he was at home, and. stigmatized as drinking drains in the morning. Papa Macaulay disapproved of novels, except, perhaps, snch excellent ones as Cailebs (which had netted 2000 for his good friend, Mrs. More, in a twelvemonth); hut he was indulgent, nev- ertheless, and lived to see himself the head of a family in which novels were niore read and better remembered than in any other household in England. Thomas had his joke on this point. He wrote an anony- mous communication to his father, who was editor of the Christian Observer, defending fiction, and praising Fielding and Smollett. This comninunic ion, which the incautious editor published, raised a storm among its evangelical readers, one of whom informed the public that he had burned the obuox- ions number, and should take the magazine no more. Clearly the article was a hitit hit papa. Such was Thomas Babington Macaulay at Clapham, that queer serious neighborhood which Thackeray has painted for us, and from which Master Thomas Newconie ran away. In October, 1818, Lord Macaulay went into residence at Trinity Col- lege, Cambridge, with the eldest son of his fathers friend, Mr. Thornton. Among his contemporaries were Der- went Coleridge, a son of Coleridge the poet, and Henry Nelson Coleridge, his cousin, both of whom were born in the same year as Macanlay. These young men were an honor to the name they bore, sound scholars, first- rate Grecians, thoughtful, earnest minds, who in afteryears were to edit the writings and care for the fame of their great relative. Henry Nelson, who was a scholar of Kings, had given indications of great abil- ity by winning two of Sir William Browns medals, one for the Greek ode, and one for the Latin ode. Oth- er contemh)oraries were the erratic William Sydney Walker; Charles Austin, of great legal f~~me; John Moultrie, the poet, who, in his Dream of Life, has sketched the portraits of his fellow-students; and Winthrop Mackworth Praed, who was the youngest of all. The name of Praed is an interesting one to us, in that his mothers family was a branch of the stout trunk that came over to Massachu- setts in the person of John Winthrop; and it is pleasant to remember that he was fa- mous here as a poet thirty years before his poems were collected in England. His fa- ther, who was a sergeant-at-law, was a man of cultivation and refinement, and he de- tected the brilliant l)romise of his little son. He criticised his boyish writings, especially his verses, with an unsparing hand, greatly to the advantage of the juvenile poet, who, in acquiring accuracy, acquired at the same time distinctness of thought and felicity of expression. After the loss of his mother his education was attended to by an elder sister, until his eighth year, when he was sent to Langley Broom School, where he re- mained four years. A delicate lad, his va- cations were spent at home in rest and rec- reation and mental culture. He preferred in - door amusements and employments to vigorous sports, and, like Macaulay, delight- ed in reading to his sisters. Plutarch and Sliakspeare were his favorite authors. He was a good chess-player, and he wrote lit- tle dramas, which were noticeable for their drollery. Before he was twelve he was sent to Eton, where his father had been, a pale, slight scholar, of a studious and retirino dis- position. His progress was so rapid that in little more than a year he was sent up for good, as the saying is, for a copy of Latin verses. He had a ready pen, and wrote with equal ease in prose and verse. The Eton WiNTuiiOP MAcKWOiiTii PRAED. LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. 93 boys printed a selection from the pages of two school periodicals, and the reputation it gained stimulated Praed to start another, Apis 91Iatiaa, which was very cleverly conducted. One day in September, 1820, two young gentlemen presented them- selves at the cottage of Mr. Charles Knight, printer and publisher. One of them, a pale young person, was Mr. Winthrop Mackworth Praed. Would Mr. Knight print an Eton miscellany for them? He would, if the expenses were met; and he did. The first number of The Etoaian ap- peared on the 1st of November. The Etonian was edited by Praed and his friend Walter Blunt. Its staff of contributors were Henry Nelson Coleridge, John Moultrie, Sydney Walker, and others of less note, who afterward rose to distinction. Praed wrote nuder the si~ nature of Peregrine Courtenay, and aston- ished Mr. Knight by the unbound- ed fertility of his mind and the readiness of his pen. His handwriting was perfect. No printer could mistake a word or a letter. Such, in brief, was Win- throp Mackworth Praed when, in his twen- tieth year, he entered Trinity College, bring- ing with him a higher reputation than any young man siuce the days of Canning. We were a nest of singing birds, said Dr. John- son at Oxford, speaking for himself and Shea- stone; but not such singing birds, revered moralist, as were now nestling at Cambridge. The room in which Macanlay lived in the Old Court of Trinity is still shown, and the flagged pathway along which, as a Bachelor of Arts, he walked, morning after morning, through the long vacation, book in band, reading as eagerly and rapidly as ever. Here is his portrait by his friend Moultrie: Grave, sedate, And (if the looks may indicate the age) Our senior some few years: no keener wit, No intellect more subtle, none more bold, Was found in all our bust. Day and night together were too short for him. As long as a door was open or a light burning in any of the courts, he was always in the niood for conversation and compan- ionship. They nsedthose gay youn~ rois- terersto sup on milk punch and cold tur- key; they drained floods of tea to keep themselves awake, and sat over the fire till the bell rang for morning chapel. In the summer vacations they poured out into the moonlight, and rambled mile after mile in the country, the noise of their talk min- gling with the twittering of the bird in the hedges. There was a debating clnb there called the Cambridge Union, and Macaulay and Praed were its foremost orators. They were frequently opposed to each other, and recol- lections of one contest between them have come down to ns. Macaulay took it into his head that he helieved that George the Third, then lately deceased, was a model king. Who kept England tranquil, prosper- ous, and secure, when Europe was desolated with war? The Good Old King. Why was it that when neighboring capitals were per- ishing in flames, our own was illuminated only for triumphs? You may find the canse in the same three wordsthe Good Old King. Whereupon Praed replied: A good man! If he had been a plain country gen- tleman, with no wider opportunities for mis- chief; he wonid at least have bullied his foot- man and cheated his steward. They said sharp things, but they were taken in good humor. The unfortunate Sydney Walker, who was always in trouble, had a great admiration for feminine beauty, and o ce when a gifted and beautiful woman appear- ed at a ball in Cambridge he peered in her face and clapped his hands with delight. It was the joy of the savage, Macanlay said, when he first sees a tenpenny nail. These ambitions young wits and orators thirsted for distinction, and two of them obtained it by taking the Chancellors med- als for prize poems, Macaulay in 1819 and 1821, and Praed in 1823 and 1824. Macanlays poems were called Pompeii and Even- ing ; Pineds, Anstralasia and Athens. Praeds effusions may b~ found in the col- lected edition of his poems, but in order to find Macanlays heroics one must go outside of his works to the volume entitled Cam- bridge Prize Poems, where he will see the name of E. G. L. Bnlwer following Praed the next year with fourteen pages of verse SYDNEY aMlYn. 94 HARPEIVS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. on Sculpture ; and five years later the name of Alfred Tennyson, also of Trinity, prefixed to nine pages of blank verse about Timbuctoo. Young Arthur Hallani took a shy for this prize with the friend who has immortalized hi~ memory, and missed it bad ly. Macaulay detested the manufacture of Greek and Latin verses in cold blood as an exercise. His hexameters and iambics were never up to the mark, and his translations were charged with being ungracefully bald and inornate. He could and did take a prize for Latin declamation, however, and he established his classical reputation by winning a Craven University scholarship. To think of Macaulay at this time is to as- sociate him with Praed, who was now a Browns medalist for the Greek ode and for epigrams, and with Mr. Charles Knight, who at the suggestion of Praed came to Cambridge one December day to talk over a new mag- azine. He was introduced to Derwent Cole- ridge andtoMacaulay; andwhat with break- fasts and luncheons and cheerful evening wine parties, the inspiration of the famous milk punch of Trinity and of Kings, the gen- eral plaa of Knights Quarterly Magazine was settled. Mr. Knight was the editor, and his contributors were Praed, who was Peregrine Courtenay, as in The Etonian, with an alter ego named Vyvyan Joyeuse; Derweut Coleridge, who was Davenant Cecil; Moultrie, who was Qerard Montgomery; Sydney Walker, who was Edward Haselfoot; Nelson Coleridge, who was Joseph HaIler; and Macaulay, who was Tristram Merton. Praed wrote the opening article, Castle Vernon, in which lie introduced a pen portrait of his illustrious friend: There came up a short FRKNOI5 JzFFImIiY. manly figure, marvelously upright, with a bad neckclothi, and one hand in his waist- coat pocket. Of regular beauty he had lit- tle to boast; but in faces where there is an expression of great power or of great good humor, or of both, you do not regret its ab- sence. Mr. Knight is enthusiastic in his autobiography over Lord Macaulays con- tributions to his magazine. He had three papers in the first number, only one of which, Fragments of a Roman Tale, has been reprinted. One of these papers, on West Indian Slavery, was writteii to please his father, and seemed likely to in- terest the Clapham set in the magazine. The elder Macaulay was cranky about his sons literature, and letters passed between them. Tristram Merton had written love verses. What did it mean? I have a strong curiosity to know who Rosamond is, wrote Pined; and added, Tristram, I hope Rosamond and your fair girl of France will riot pull caps. Finding that his father was pained, Macaulay wrote a letter to Mr. Knight, in which he stated that his father entertained to their u.tmost evangelical opin- ions, and that some of the articles in the magazine gave him great uneasiness. I need not say that I do not in the slightest degree partake of his scruples. Gratitude, duty, and prudence comnl)elled him to re- spect prejudices that he did not share, and he must desist writing for the present. The second number of the magazine was so dull and decorous, so much on the moral level of the Christian Observer, that Papa Macanhay withdrew his objections, and his son took up his pen. Mr. Knight opened his next letter from Macaulay with no common pleasure. It contained two manuscripts, which scarcely filled two sheets of paper, but they were as precious as fine gold. They were the noble poems Mon- contour and The Battle of Ivry. Bcsides these son gs of the Hugue- nots, the third number of the maga- zine was enriched from the sanie hand with Scenes from Athenian Revels, and a paper on Dante. Of all his early writings, Lord Mnc- unlay preferred the Conversation be- tween Mr. Abraham Cowley and Mr. .John Milton touching the great Civil War. On the 1st of October, twenty- five days before the completion of his twenty-fourth year, he wrote to his fa- tluer, from Cambridge: I was elected fellow this morning, and hope to leave Cambridge on Tuesday for Rothley Temple. The examiners speak highly of the manner in which I acquitted my- self, and I have reason to believe that I stood first of the candidates. He added that until he became a Master of Arts the following July his pecuniary emolument would not be great, but for LORD MACAULAY AND HIS FRIENDS. seven years from that time it would make him almost an independent man. Lord Macaulay valued highly his college honors and privileges, and diligently impressed upon a nephew, years after, that if he minded his syntax he might eventually hope to reach a position which would give him three hundred pounds a year, a stable for his horse, six (lozen of audit ale every Christmas, a loaf and two pats of butter every morning, and a good dinner for nothing, with as many almonds and raisins as he could eat at dessert. Macanlay was called to the bar in 1826, and joined the Northeru Circuit at Leeds. When the company were retiring for the night on his first ap- pearance at mess, he picked out the largest candle. An old Kings Coun- sel, seeing a book under his arm, re- monstrated with him on the danger of reading in bed. I always read in bed at home, he answered, with immense rapidity of utterance, and if I am not afraid of committing parricide and matricide and fratricide, I can hardly be expected to pay any special regard to the lives of the bagmen of Leeds. He did not seriously look upou the law as a profession, and could never be persuaded to return to his chambers in the evening, as was the custom then. After a year or two he gave up the pretense of reading law, and spent more hours under the gallery of the House of Commons than in all the courts of law. Throughout his life, said one who knew hima best, he never really applied himself to any pursuit that was against the grain. About three months be- fore leaving college he had taken part la a meeting of the Antislavery Society, with the Duke of Gloucester in the chair, and made a speech that was greeted with a whirlwind of cheers, the eloquence of which, the Edinburgh Renew declared, was so signal for rare and matured excellence that tile most practiced orator might well admire how it should have come from one who then for the first time addressed a public assem- bly. His father sat by and heard him. When it came the turn of Wilberforce to speak, lie said that his old friend Macaulay would no doubt bear willingly with all the base falsehoods, all the vile calumnies, all the detestable artifices, that had been aimed against him to render him the martyr and victim of their cause, for the gratification of hearing one so dear to him l)lead such a cause in such a manner. He was right; but keen as was his pleasure, Zachary Macaulay took it in his own sad way. From the first moment to tile last he never moved a inns- cle, but sat with his eyes fixed on a piece of paper on which he seemed to be writing with a pencil. When referring that even- ing to wilat had passed, lie remarked to his son that it was ungraceful in so young a man to speak with folded arms in the pres- ence of royalty, meaning the Duke of Gloucester, Silly Billy. Macaulay had heard too much in his youth to entertain eIlthusiastic anticipations of the future of the African race. He might have said then, as he wrote thirty-four years later: I hate slavery from the bottom of my soul; and yet I am made sick by the cant and silly mock reasons of the Abolitionists. The nig- ger driver and the negrophile are two odious things to me. When Macunlay first went to college, his father believed himself worth a hundred thousand pounds, and stating his intention of making him an eldest son, he told him that by distinguishing himself at the uni- versity, he should shape his career as lie would. In his eighteenth year the family removed to London, and set up an establish- ment in Cadogan Place, suited to their im- proved circumstances. Tile prosperity of the house of Macunlay and Babington was short- lived; for what with time senior members devoting his whole heart and five-sixths of his time to pursuits unconnected with the business, and the juniors being no business man, indications of disaster appeared within a year, and young Macaulay was glad to make a hundred guineas by taking pupils. The house in Cadogan Place was given up the year before he left coihege, and the family settled in Great Ormond Street, which runs east and west through the region bounded by Grays Ian Road, the Foundling Hospi- tal, and the British Museum. When the young fellow of Triuity left Cambridge he SAMUEL ROGERS. 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. went to Rothley Temple, whence, six days mar and dictionary, enough Italian to ena- after his election, he addressed a note to his ble him to verify the parallel between Mil- father, in which, after referring to Knights ton and Dante. But what pleased him most, Qactrterly, he intimated that when he saw and it was the only commendation of his him in London, he would mention to him a literary talent that he was ever heard to piece of secret history which would show repeat even in the innermost domestic cir- him how important his connection with that cle, was the sentence with which Jeffrey work might become. A greater editor than acknowledged the receipt of his manuscript Charles Knight had his eye on one of his The more I think the less I can conceive writers. Can you lay your hands on some where you picked up that style. Crabb clever young man who will write for us? he Robinson gives us a glimpse of Lord Mac- inquired of a friend in London about three aulay in 1826: A dinner party. I had a months after Macaulays letter to his father. most interesting companion in young Mac- The original supporters of the work are aulay, one of the most promising of the ris- getting old, and are either too busy or too ing generation I have seen for a long time. stupid, and here the young men are mostly He has a good face: not the delicate feat- for the Tories. So wrote Francis Jeffrey in ures of a man of genius and sensibility, but re the Edinburgh Review. The clever young the strong lines and well-knit limbs of a man sturdy in body and mind. Very ci- oqnent and cheerful, overflowing with words, and not poor in thought. Liberal in opinion, but no radical. He seems a correct as well as a full man. He showed a minute knowl- edge of subjects not introduced by himself. Before many years were over, Lord Macaulay was famous enough to draw upon himself the hostility of Blackwoods Magazine. He was bespattered with such epi- thets as stnff and nonsense, ma- lign ant trasl~~ impertinent puppy, and similar choice expressions of es- teem on the part of the gentlenman who filled the chair of moral philos- ophy at Edinburgh, Professor John Wilson. Hes but a lad, James, said North to the Shepherd. Evi- dently, replied the Shepherd, who was the mouth-piece of Wilson (the voice was Jacobs, but the hand was Esaus), and a clever lad hell re- main, depend upon that, to the end of his days. To his family, his mother, and his loving brothers and sisters, Lord M acaulay was more than the great magazinist, the ~M MOORE. brilliant talker; he was the affec tionate son, the dear brother, the man was found; hands were laid upon him; kindest, cheeriest friend and companion. and a few months after he wrote for it a There was some pretense of work in the paper on Milton. His name was Macaulay, morning, but in the afternoon he took his and, like Lord Byron, he awoke one morn- sisters a long walk, traversing every por- in~ and found himself famous. His lord- tion of time city, Islington, Clerkenwell, the ships publisher, Murray, declared it would parks, pouring out anecdotes about every be worth the copyright of Childe Harold to street and square and court arid alley. have him on the staff of the Qearterly. The They would reach home just in time for din- family breakfast table in Blooinsbury Square ncr, and after diviner he would walk up and was covered with cards of invitation to din- down the drawing-room, chatting with them ncr from every quarter of London, and his till tea-time. Then noisy mirth and wretch- father groaned in spirit over the conviction ad puns, so many a minute, so many aii hour. that the L xv would be less to him than ever. They sang, having nO voices, he least of all, Macauhay heard with pride that the great but the old nursery songs were set to music preacher, Robert Hall, of whom he was an and chanted. Papa, sitting at his own ta- admirer, was discovered hying on the floor, ble, would look up and push back his spec- employed in learning, by the aid of grain- tacles, arid wonder how they could waste THE LAUREL BUSH. 97 their time so. After tea, the book they were reading was produced. Macaulay seldom read himself, but walked about, listening and commenting and drinking water. Sun- day was a trying day to him. Papa read them all a long sermon in the afternoon, and, after evening service, read at prayer-time to the servants. Sunday walking for walk- ings sake was not allowed, and going to a distant church was discouraged. This rule was not applied to Macaulay, for while he went to church with his sisters in the morn- THE LAUREL ing, he went whithersoever he would in the afternooi~, generally walking out of town alone or with a friend. Breakfast was the pleasantest part of the day to the elder Macaulay, for his spirits were then at their best, and he delighted in discussing the newspaper with his son long after the meal was finished. He loved him in his way, and told his wife when he went to live in chambers that the change had taken the sunlight out of his day. (TO aT CoaTI1~UED.J BUSH: ~u ~Ib4asli(oueb Jiobe ~torp. BY THE AUTHOR OF JOHN HALIFAX~ GENTLEMAN. PART L ITwasaveryuglybushindeed;thatis, so far as any thing in nature can be real- ly ugly. It was lopsidedhaving on the one hand a stunted stump or two, while on the other a huge heavy branch swept down to the gravel-walk. It had a crooked gnarl- ed trunk or stem, hollow enough to entice any weak-minded bird to build a nest there only it was so near to the ground, and also to the garden gate. Besides, the own- ers of the garden, evidently of practical mind, had made use of it to place between a fork in its branches a sort of letter-box not the government regulation one, for twen- ty years ago this had not been thought of; but a rough receptacle, where, the house be- ing a good way off letters might be deposit- ed, instead of, as hitherto, in a hole in the trunknear the foot of the tree, and under shelter of its mass of evergreen leaves. This letter-box, made by the boys of the family at the instigation and with the as- sistance of their tutor, had proved so attract- ive to some exceedingly incautious spar- row that during the intervals of the post she had begun a nest there, which was found by the boys. Exceedingly wild boys they were, and a great trouble to their old grandmother, with whom they were staying the summer, and their young governess Misfortune,~~ as they called her, her real name being Miss WilliamsFortune Will- iams. The nickname was a little too near the truth, as a keener observer than mischiev- ous boys would have read in her quiet, some- times sad, face; and it had been stopped rather severely by the tutor of the elder boys, a young man whom the grandmother had been forced to get, to keep them in or- der. He was a Mr. Robert Roy, once a stu- dent, now a teacher of the humanities,~~ from the neighboring townI beg its par- doncity; and a lovely old city it is !of vOL. LIILNo. 313.7 St. Andrews. Thence he was in the habit of coming to them three and often four days in the week, teaching of mornings and walk- ing of afternoons. They had expected him this afternoon, but their grandmother had carried them off on some pleasure excursion; and being a lady of inexact habitsone, too, to whom tutors were tutors and nothing moreshe Ead merely said to Miss Williams, as the carriage drove away, When Mr. Roy comes, tell him he is not wanted till to- morrow. And so Miss Williams had waited at the gate, not wisiring him to have the addition- al trouble of walking up to the house, for she knew every minute of his time was pre- cious. The poor and the hard-working can understand and sympathize with one anoth- er. Only a tutor, and only a governess: Mrs. Dalziel drove away and never thought of them again. They were mere machines servants to whom she paid their wages, and so that they did sufficient service to de- serve these wages, she never interfered with them, nor, indeed, wasted a moments consid- eration upon them or their concerns. Consequently they were in the somewhat rare and peculiar position of a young man and young woman (perhaps Mrs. Dalziel would have taken exception to the words young lady and young geatleman) thrown together day after day, week after week nay, it had now become month after month to all intents and purposes quite alone, except for the children. They taught to- gether, there being but one school - room; walked out together, for the two younger boys refused to be separated from their elder brothers; and, in short, spent two- thirds of their existence together, without let or hinderance, comment or observation, from any mortal soul. I do not wish to make any mystery in

THE LAUREL BUSH. 97 their time so. After tea, the book they were reading was produced. Macaulay seldom read himself, but walked about, listening and commenting and drinking water. Sun- day was a trying day to him. Papa read them all a long sermon in the afternoon, and, after evening service, read at prayer-time to the servants. Sunday walking for walk- ings sake was not allowed, and going to a distant church was discouraged. This rule was not applied to Macaulay, for while he went to church with his sisters in the morn- THE LAUREL ing, he went whithersoever he would in the afternooi~, generally walking out of town alone or with a friend. Breakfast was the pleasantest part of the day to the elder Macaulay, for his spirits were then at their best, and he delighted in discussing the newspaper with his son long after the meal was finished. He loved him in his way, and told his wife when he went to live in chambers that the change had taken the sunlight out of his day. (TO aT CoaTI1~UED.J BUSH: ~u ~Ib4asli(oueb Jiobe ~torp. BY THE AUTHOR OF JOHN HALIFAX~ GENTLEMAN. PART L ITwasaveryuglybushindeed;thatis, so far as any thing in nature can be real- ly ugly. It was lopsidedhaving on the one hand a stunted stump or two, while on the other a huge heavy branch swept down to the gravel-walk. It had a crooked gnarl- ed trunk or stem, hollow enough to entice any weak-minded bird to build a nest there only it was so near to the ground, and also to the garden gate. Besides, the own- ers of the garden, evidently of practical mind, had made use of it to place between a fork in its branches a sort of letter-box not the government regulation one, for twen- ty years ago this had not been thought of; but a rough receptacle, where, the house be- ing a good way off letters might be deposit- ed, instead of, as hitherto, in a hole in the trunknear the foot of the tree, and under shelter of its mass of evergreen leaves. This letter-box, made by the boys of the family at the instigation and with the as- sistance of their tutor, had proved so attract- ive to some exceedingly incautious spar- row that during the intervals of the post she had begun a nest there, which was found by the boys. Exceedingly wild boys they were, and a great trouble to their old grandmother, with whom they were staying the summer, and their young governess Misfortune,~~ as they called her, her real name being Miss WilliamsFortune Will- iams. The nickname was a little too near the truth, as a keener observer than mischiev- ous boys would have read in her quiet, some- times sad, face; and it had been stopped rather severely by the tutor of the elder boys, a young man whom the grandmother had been forced to get, to keep them in or- der. He was a Mr. Robert Roy, once a stu- dent, now a teacher of the humanities,~~ from the neighboring townI beg its par- doncity; and a lovely old city it is !of vOL. LIILNo. 313.7 St. Andrews. Thence he was in the habit of coming to them three and often four days in the week, teaching of mornings and walk- ing of afternoons. They had expected him this afternoon, but their grandmother had carried them off on some pleasure excursion; and being a lady of inexact habitsone, too, to whom tutors were tutors and nothing moreshe Ead merely said to Miss Williams, as the carriage drove away, When Mr. Roy comes, tell him he is not wanted till to- morrow. And so Miss Williams had waited at the gate, not wisiring him to have the addition- al trouble of walking up to the house, for she knew every minute of his time was pre- cious. The poor and the hard-working can understand and sympathize with one anoth- er. Only a tutor, and only a governess: Mrs. Dalziel drove away and never thought of them again. They were mere machines servants to whom she paid their wages, and so that they did sufficient service to de- serve these wages, she never interfered with them, nor, indeed, wasted a moments consid- eration upon them or their concerns. Consequently they were in the somewhat rare and peculiar position of a young man and young woman (perhaps Mrs. Dalziel would have taken exception to the words young lady and young geatleman) thrown together day after day, week after week nay, it had now become month after month to all intents and purposes quite alone, except for the children. They taught to- gether, there being but one school - room; walked out together, for the two younger boys refused to be separated from their elder brothers; and, in short, spent two- thirds of their existence together, without let or hinderance, comment or observation, from any mortal soul. I do not wish to make any mystery in 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. this story. A young woman of twenty-five and a young man of thirty, both perfectly alone in the worldorphans, without broth- er or sisterhaving to earn their own bread, and earn it hardly, and being placed in cir- cumstances where they had every opportu- nity of intimate friendship, sympathy, what- ever you like to call it: who could doubt what would happen? The more so, as there was no one to suggest that it might hap- pen; no one to watch them or warn them, or waken them with worldly - minded hints; or else to rise up, after the fashion of so many wise parents and guardians and well- intentioned friends, and indignantly shut the stable door after the steed is stolen. No. That something which was so sure to happen had happened; you might have seen it in their eyes, have heard it in the very tone of their voices, though they still talked in a very commonplace way, and still called each other Miss Williams and Mr. Roy. In fact, their whole demeanor to one another was characterized by the grave and even formal decorum which was natural to very reserved people, just trem- bling on the verge of that discovery which will unlock the heart of each to the other, and annihilate reserve forever between the two whom Heaven has designed and meant to become one; a completed existence. If by any mischance this does not come about, each may lead a very creditable and not unhappy life; but it will be a locked-up life, one to which no third person is ever likely to find the key. Whether such natures are to be envied or pitied is more than I can say; but at least they are more to be respected than the peo- ple who wear their hearts upon their sleeves for daws to peck at, and very often are all the prouder the more they are pecked at, and the more elegantly they bleed; which was not likely to be the case with either of these young folks, young as they were. They were young, and youth is always in- teresting and even comely; but beyond that there was nothing remarkable about either. He was Scotch; she English, or rather Welsh. She had the clear blue Welsh eye, the funny retrousse Welsh nose~ but with the prettiest little mouth underneath itfirm, close, and sweet; full of sensitiveness, but a sensitive- ness that was controlled and guided by that best possession to either man or woman, a good strong wilL No one could doubt that the young governess had, what was a very useful thing to a governess, a will of her own ~ but not a domineering or obnoxious will, which indeed is seldom will at all, but merely obstinacy. For the rest, Miss Williams was a little woman, or gave the impression of being so, from her slight figure and delicate hands and feet. I doubt if any one would have called her pretty, until he or she had learned to love her. For there are two distinct kinds of love, one in which the eye instructs the heart, and the other in which the heart informs and guides the eye. There have been men who, seeing an unknown beauti- ful face, have felt sure it implied the most beautiful soul in the world, pursued it, wor- shiped it, wooed and won it, found the fancy true, and loved the woman forever. Other men there are who would simply say, I dont know if such a one is handsome or not; I only know she is herselfand mine. Both loves are good; nay, it is difficult to say which is best. But the latter would be the most likely to any one who became at- tached to Fortune Williams. Also, perhaps, to Robert Roy, though no one expects good looks in his sex; indeed, they are mostly rather objectionable. Wom- en do not usually care for a very handsome man; and men are prone to set him down as conceited. No one could lay either charge to Mr. Roy. He was only an honest-looking Scotchman, tall and strong and manly. Not red, in spite of his name but darkskinned and dark-haired; in no way resembling his great namesake, Rob Roy Macgregor, as the boys sometimes called him behind his back never to his face. Gentle as the young man was, there was something about him which effectually prevented any ones tak- ing the smallest liberty with him. Though he had been a teacher of boys ever since he was seventeenand I have heard one of the fraternity confess that it is almost impossi- ble to be a school-master for ten years with- out becoming a tyrantstill it was a pleas- ant and sweet-tempered face. Very far from a weak face, though: when Mr. Roy said a thing must be done, every one of his boys knew it must be done, and there was no use saying any more about it. He had unquestionably that rare gift, the power of authority; though this did not necessarily imply self-control; for some peo-. ple can rule every body except themselves. But Robert Roys clear, calm, rather sad eye, and a certain patient expression about the mouth, implied that he too had had enough of the hard training of life to be able to gov- ern himself. And that is more difficult te a man than to a woman. All thy passions, matched with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine. A truth which even Fortunes tender heart did not fully take in, deep as was her sym- pathy for him; for his toilsome, lonely life, livedmoreinshadowthaninsunshine,and with every temptation to the selfishness which is so apt to follow self-dependence, and the bitterness that to a proud spirit so often makes the sting of poverty. Yet he was neither selfish nor bitter; only a little reserved, silent, andexcept with children rather grave. THE LAUREL BUSH. 99 She stood watching him now, for she could see him a long way off across the lev- el Links, and noticed that he stopped more than once to look at the golf-players. He was a capital golfer himseli; but had never any time to play. Between his own studies and the teaching by whicli he earned the money to prosecute them, every hour was filled up. So he turned his back on the pleasant pastime, which seems to have such an extraordinary fascination for those who pursue it, and came on to his daily work, with that resolute deliberate step, bent on going direct to his point and turning aside for nothing. Fortune knew it well by this time; had learned to distinguish it from all others in the world. There are some footsteps which, by a pardonable poetical license, we say we should hear in our graves, and though this girl did not think of that,for death looked far off, and she was scarcely a poet- ical person, still, many a morning, when, sit- ting at her school-room window, she heard Mr. Roy coming steadily down the grav- el-walk, she was conscious ofsomething which people can not feel twice in a life- time. And now, when he approached with that kind smile of his, which brightened into double pleasure when he saw who was wait- ing for him, she was aware of a wild heart- beat, a sense of exceeding joy, and then of relief and rest. He was comfortable to her. She could express it in no other way. At sight of his face and at sound of his voice all worldly cares and troubles, of which she had a good many, seemed to fall off. To be with him was like having an arm to lean on, a light to walk by; and she had walked alone so long. Good-afternoon, Miss Williams. Good-afternoon, Mr. Roy. They said no more than that, but the stu- pidest person in the world might have seen that they were glad to meet, glad to be to- gether. Though neither they nor any one else could have explained the mysterious fact, the foundation of all love stories in books or in lifeand which the present au- thor owns, after having written many books and seen a great deal of life, is to her also as great a mystery as everWhy do certain people like to be together? What is the inexplicable attraction which makes them seek one another, suit one another, put up with one anothers weaknesses, condone one anothers faults (when neither are too great to lessen love), and to the last day of life find a charm in one anothers society which extends to no other human being? Happy love or lost love, a full world or an empty world, life with joy or life without itthat is all the difference. Which some people think very small, and that it does not mat- ter; and perhaps it does notto many peo pie. But it does to some, and I incline to put among that category Miss Williams and Mr. Roy. They stood by the laurel bush, having just shaken hands rather more hastily than they usually did; but the absence of the children, and the very unusual fact of their being quite alone, gave to both a certain shyness, and she had drawn her hand away, saying, with a slight blush: Mrs. Daiziel desired me to meet you and tell you that you might have a holiday to- day. She has taken the boys with her to Elie. I dare say you will not be sorry to gain an hour or two for yourself; though I am sorry you should have the trouble of the walk for nothing. For nothing ?with the least shadow of a smile, not of annoyance, certainly. Indeed, I would have let you know if I could, but she decided at the very last min- ute; and if I had proposed that a messen- ger should have been sent to stop you, I am afraidit would not have answered. Of course not ; and they interchanged an amused lookthese fellow-victims to the well-known ways of the householdwhich, however, neither grumbled at; it was mere- ly an outside thing, this treatment of both as mere tutor and governess. After all (as he sometimes said, when some special rudeness not to himself, but to hervexed him), theyweretutor and governess; but theywere something else besides; something which, the instant their chains were lifted oft made them feel free and young and strong, and comforted them with a comfort unspeakable. She bade me apologize. No, I am afraid, if I tell the absolute truth, she did not bid me, but I do apologize. What for, Miss Williams? For your having been brought out all this way just to go back again. I do not mind it, I assure you.~~ And as for the lost lesson The boys will not mourn over it,I dare say. In fact, their term with me is so soon coming to an end that it does not signify much. They told me they are going back to England to school next week. Do you go back too? Not just yetnot till next Christmas. Mrs. Dalziel talks of wintering in London; but she is so vague in her plans that I am never sure from one week to another what she will do. And what are your plans? You always know what you intend to do. Yes, I think so, answered Miss Williams, smiling. One of the few things I remem- ber of my mother was hearing her say of me, that her little girl was a little girl who always knew her own mind. I think I do. I may not be always able to carry it out, but ithink I know it. Of course, said Mr. Roy, absently and 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. somewhat vaguely, as lie stood beside the laurel bush, pulling one of its shiny leaves to pieces, and looking right ahead, across the sunshiny Links, the long shore of yellow sands, where the mermaids might well de- light to come and take handsto the smooth, dazzling, far-away sea. No sea is more beautiful than that at St. Andrews. Its sleepy glitter seemed to have lulled Robert Roy into a sudden meditation, from which no word of his companion came to rouse him. In truth, she, never given much to talking, simply stood, as she often did, silently beside him, quite satisfied with the mere comfort of his presence. I am afraid this Fortune Williams will be considered a very weak-minded young wom- an. She was not a bit of a coquette, she had not the slightest wish to flirt with any man. Nor was she a proud beauty desirous to subjugate the other sex, and drag them triumphantly at her chariot wheels. She did not see the credit, or the use, or the pleasure of any such proceeding. She was a self-con- tained, self-dependent woman. Thoroughly a woman; not indifferent at all to woman- hoods best blessing; still, she could live without it if necessary, as she could have lived without a~ny thing which it had pleased God to deny her. She was not a creature likely to die for love, or do wrong for love, which some people think the only test of loves strength, instead of being its utmost weakness; but that she was capable of love, for all her composure and quietness, capable of it, and ready for it, in its intensest, most passionate, and most enduring form, the God who made her knew, if no one else did. Her time would come; indeed, had come already. She had too much self-respect to let him guess it, but I am afraid she was very fond ofor, if that is a foolish phrase, deeply attached toRobert Roy. He had been so good to her, at once strong and ten- der, chivalrous, respectful, and kind; and she had no father, no brother, no other man at all to judge him by, except the accident- al men whom she had met in society, creat- ures on two legs who wore coats and trow- sers, who had been civil to her, as she to them, but who had never interested her in the smallest degree, perhaps because she knew so little of them. But no; it woold have been just the same had she known them a thousand years. She was not a man~s woman,~~ that is, one of those women who feel interested in any thing in the shape of a man, and make men interested in them accordingly, for the root of much masculine affection is pure vanity. That celebrated Scotch song, Come deaf, or come blind, or come cripple, o come, ony ane o them a! Far better be married to something, Than no to be married ava, was a rhyme that would never have touched: the stony heart of Fortune Williams. And yet, let me own it once more, she was very, very fond of Robert Roy. He had never spoken to her one word of love, actual love, no more than he spoke now, as they stood side by side, looking with the same eyes upon the same scene. I say the same eyes, for they were exceedingly alike in their tastes. There was no need eve~r to go into long explanations about this or that; a glance sufficed, or a word, to show each what the other enjoyed; and both had the quiet conviction that they were enjoying it together. Now as that sweet, still, sun- shiny view met their mutual gaze, they fell into no poetical raptures, but just stood and looked, taking it all in with exceeding pleas- ure, as they had done many and many a time, but never, it seemed, so perfectly as now. What a lovely afternoon ! she said at last. Yes. It is a pity to waste it. Have you any thing special to do? What did you mean to employ yourself~ with, now your birds are flown ? Oh, I can always find something to do. But need you find it? We both work so hard. If we could only now and then have a little bit of pleasure ! He put it so simply, yet almost with a sigh. This poor girls heart responded to it suddenly, wildly. She was only twenty- five, yet sometimes she felt quite old, or rather as if she had never been young. The constant teaching, teaching of rough boys, toofor she had had the whole four till Mr. Roy took the two elder off her handsthe necessity of grinding hard out of school hours to keep herself np in Latin, Euclid, and other branches which do not usually form part of a feminine education, only having a great natural love of work, she had taught herselfall these things com- bined to make her life a dull life, a hard life, till Robert Roy came into ft. And sometimes even now the desperate craving to enjoynot only to endure, but to enjoy to take a little of the natural pleasures of her agecame to the poor governess very sorely, especially on days such as this, when all the outward world looked so gay, so idle, and she worked so hard. So did Robert Roy. Life was not easier to him than to herself; she knewthat; and when he said, half joking, as if he wanted to feel his way, Let us imitate our boys, and take a half holiday, she only laughed, but did not refuse. How could she refuse? There were the long smooth sands on either side the Eden, stretching away into indefinite distance, with not a human being upon them to break their loneliness, or, if there was, he or she looked a mere dot, not human at all. Even if these two had been afraid of being seen THE LAUREL BUSH. 101 walking togetherwhich they hardly were, being too unimportant for any one to care whether they were friends or lovers, or what notthere was nobody to see them, except in the character of two black dots on the yellow sands. It is low water; suppose we go and look for sea-anemones. One of my pupils wants some, and I promised to try and find one the first spare hour I had. But we shall not find anemones on the sands. Shells, then, you practical woman! Well gather shells. It will be all the same to that poor invalid boyand to me, added he, with that involuntary sigh which she had noticed more than once, and which had be- gun to strike on her ears not quite painful ly. Sighs, when we are young, mean dif- ferently to what they do in after-years. I dont care very much where I go, or what I do; I only wantwell, to be happy for an hour, if Providence will let me. Why should not Providence let you ? said Fortune, gently. Few people deserve it more. You are kind to think so; but you are always kind to every body. By this time they had left thein position by the laurel bush, and were walking along side by side, according as he had suggested. This silent, instinctive acquiescence in what he wished doneit had happened once or twice before, startling her a little at her- self; for, as I have said, Miss Williams was not at all the kind of person to do every thing that every body asked her, without considering wli~ther it was right, or wrong. She could obey, but it would depend entire- ly upon whom she had to obey, which, in- deed, makes the sole difference between lov- ing disciples and slavish fools. It was a lovely day, one of those serene autumn days peculiar to ScotlandI was going to say to St. Andrews; and any one who knows the ancient city will know ex- actly how it looks in the still, strongly spir- itualized light of such an afternoon, with the ruins, the castle, cathedral, and St. Reg- uluss tower standing out sharply against the intensely blue sky, and on the other side on both sidesthe yeliow sweep of sand curving away into distance, and melting into the sunshiny sea. Many a time, in their prescribed walks with their young tribe, Miss Williams and Mr. Roy had taken this stroll across the Links and round by the sands to the mouth of the Eden, leaving behind them a long and sinuous track of many footsteps, little and large; but now there were only two lines footprints on the sands of Time,~~ as he jestingly called them, turning round and pointing to the marks of the dainty feet that walked so steadily and straightlybeside his own. They seem made to go together, those two tracks, said he. Why did he say it I Was he the kind of man to talk thus without meaning it? If so, alast she was not exactly the woman to be thus talked to. Nothing fell on her light ly. Perhaps it was her misfortune, perhaps even her fault,but so it was. Robert Roy did not make love ~ not at all. Possibly he never could have done it in the ordinary way. Sweet things, polite things, were very difficult to him either to do or to say. Even the tenderness that was in him came out as if by accident; but, oh! how infinitely tender he could be! Enough to make any one who loved him die easily, quietly, contentedly, if only just holding his hand. There is an incident in Dickenss touch- ing Tale of Two Gitie8, where a young man going innocent to the guiliotine, and riding on the death-cart with a young girl whom he had never before seen, is able to sustain and comfort her, even to the last awful mo- ment, by the look of his face and the clasp of his hand. That man,I have often thought, must have been something not unlike Rob- ert Roy. Such men are rare, but they do exist; and it was Fortunes lot, or she believed it was, to have found one. That was enough. She went along the shining sands in a dream of perfect content, perfect happiness, think- ingand was it strange or wrong that she should so think ithat if it were Gods wili she should thus walk through life, the thorn- iest path would seem smooth, the hardest road easy. She had no fear of life, if lived beside him; or of deathlove is stronger than death; at least this sort of love, of which only strong natures are capable, and out of which are made, not the lyrics, per- haps, but the epics, the psalms, or the trage- dies of our mortal existence. I have explained thus mucli about these two friendslovers that may be, or might have beenbecause they never would have done it themselves. Neither was given to much speaking. Indeed, I fear their con- versation this day, if recorded, would have been of the most feeble kindbrief, frag- mentary, mere comments on the things about them, or abstract remarks not particularly clever or brilliant. They were neither of them what you would call brilliant people; yet they were happy, and the hours flew by like a few minutes, until they found them- selves back again beside the laurel bush at the gate, when Mr. Roy suddenly said: Do not go in yet. I mean, need you go in? It is scarcely past sunset; the boys will not be home for an hour yet; they dont want you, and II want you so. In your English sense, he added, with a laugh, refer- ring to one of their many arguments, scho- lastic or otherwise, wherein she had insisted 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that to want meant, Anglic~, to wish or to crave, whereas in Scotland it was always used like the French manquer, to miss or to need. Shall we begin that fight over again ? asked she, smiling; for every thing, even fighting, seemed pleasant to-day. No, Ihave no wish to fight; I want to consult you seriously on a purely personal matter, if you would not mind taking that trouble. Fortune looked sorry. That was one of the bad things in him (the best men alive have their bad things), the pride which apes humility, the self-distrust which often wounds another so keenly. Her answer was given with a grave and simple sincerity that ought to have been reproach enough. Mr. Roy, I would not mind any amount of trouble if I could be of use to you; you know that. Forgive met Yes, I do know it. I be- lieve in you and your goodness to the very bottomof my heart. She tried to say, Thank you, but her lips refused to utter a word. It was so dif- ficult to go on talking like ordinary friends, when she knew, and he must know she knew, that one word more would make themnot friends at allsomething infi- nitely better, closer, dearer; bnt that word was his to speak, not hers. There are wom- en who will help a man on~~propose to him, marry him indeedwLile he is under the pleasing delusion that he does it all himself; but Fortune Williams was not one of these. She remained silent and passive, waiting for the next thing he should say. It came: something the shock of which she never forgot as long as she lived; and he said it with his eyes on her face, so that,if it killed her, she must keep quiet and com- posed, as she did. You know the boys lessons end next week. The week after I gothat is, I have almost decided to goto India. To India ! Yes. For which, no doubt, you think me very changeable, having said so often thatlmeanttokeepto a scholarslife,and be a professor one day, perhaps, if by any means I could get salt to my porridge. Well,now lam not satisfied with salt to my porridge; I wish to get rich. She did not say, Why ? She thought she had not looked it; but he answered: Never mind why. I do wish it, and I will be rich yet, if I can. Are you very much surprised ? Surprised she certainly was; but she an- swered, honestly, Indeed, you are the last person I should suspect of being worldly- minded. Thank you; that is kind. No, just; merely just. One ought to have faith in people; it does one good. I am afraid my own deficiency is want of faith. It takes so much to make me believe for a moment that any one cares for me. How hard it was to be silentharder still to speak! But she did speak. I can understand that; I have often felt the same. It is the natural consequence of a very lonely life. If you and I had had fa- thers and mothers and brothers and sisters, we might have been different. Perhaps so. But about India. For a long timethat is, for many weeksI have been casting about inmymind how to change my way of life, to look out for something that would help me to earn money, and quickly, but there seemed no chance what- ever. Until suddenly one has opened. And then he explained how the father of one of his pupils, grateful for certain bene- fits, which Mr. Roy did not specify, and no- ticing certain business qualities in him which I suppose I have, though I didnt know it, added he, with a smilehad offer- ed him a situation in a merchants office at Calcutta: a position of great trust and re- sponsibility, for three years certain, with the option of then giving it up or continu- ing it. And continuing means making a fortune. Even three years means making something, with my stingy habits. Only I must ~o at once. Nor is there any time left me for my decision; it must be yes or no. Which shall it be ~ The sudden appealmade, too, as if he thought it was nothingthat terrible yes or no, which to her made ali the difference of living or only half living, of feeling the sun in or out of the world. What could she answer ~ Trembling violently, she yet an- swered, in a steady voice, You must decide for yourself. A woman can not understand a man. Nor a man a woman, thoroughly. There is only one thing which helps both to com- prehend one another. One thing! she knew what it was. Surely so did he. Bnt that strange distrustfulness of which he had spoken, or the hesitation which the strongest and bravest men have at times, came between. Oh, the little more, and how much it is! Oh, the little less, and what worlds away I If instead of looking vaguely out upon the sea, he had looked into this poor girls face; if, instead of keeping silence, he had only spoken one word! But he neither looked nor spoke, and the moment passed by. And there are moments which people would sometimes give a whole lifetime to recall and use differently; but in vain. My engagement is only for three years, he resumed; and then, if alive, I mean to come back. Dead or alive, I was going to say, but you would not care to see my LOVES SERVICE. 103 ghost, I presume? I beg your pardon: I ought not to make a joke of such serious things. No, you ought not. She felt herself almost speechless, that in another minute she might burst into sobs. He saw itat least he saw a very little of it, and misinterpreted the rest. I have tired you. Take my arm. You will soon be at home now. Then, after a pause, You will not be displeased at any thing I have said? We part friends? No, we do not part; I shall see you every day for a week, and be able to tell you all par- ticulars of my journey, if you care to hear. Thank you, yesI do care. They stood together, arm in arm. The dews were falling; a sweet, soft, lilac haze had begun to creep over the seathe sol- emn, far-away sea that he was so soon to cross. Involuntarily she clung to his arm. So near, yet so apart! Why must it be? She could have borne his going away, if it was for his good, if he wished it; and some- thing whispered to her that this sudden de- sire to get rich was not for himself alone. But,oh! ifhe would only speak! One word one little word! After that, any thing might comethe separation of life, the bit- terness of death. To the two hearts that had once opened each to each, in the full recognition of mutual love, there could nev- er more be any real parting. But that one word he did not say. He only took the little hand that lay on his arm, pressed it, and held ityears after, the feeling of that clasp was as fresh on her fingers as yesterdaythen, hearing the foot of some accidental passer-by, he let it go, and did not take it again. Just at this moment the sound of distant carriage wheels was heard. That must be Mrs. Dalziel and the boys.~~ Then I had better go. Good-by. The day-dream was over. It had all come back againthe forlorn, dreary, hard-work- ing world. Good-by, Mr. Roy. And they shook hands. One word, he said, hastily. I shall write to youyou will allow me ?and I shall see you several times, a good many times,before I go? I hope so. Then, for the present, good-by. That means, he added, earnestly, God be with you! And I know He always will. In another minute Fortune found herself standing beside the laurel bush, alone, list- ening to the sound of Mr. Roys footsteps down the roadlistening, listening, as if:, with the exceeding tension, her brain would burst. The carriage came, passed; it was not Mrs. Dalziels, after all. She thought he might discover this, and come back again; so she waited a littlefive minutes, ten beside the laurel bush. But he did not come. No footstep, no voice; nothing but the faint, far-away sound of the long waves washing in upon the sands. It was not the brain that felt like to burst now, but the heart. She clasped her hands above her head. It did not matter; there was no creature to see or hear that appeal was it to man or God ?that wild, broken sob, so contrary to her usual self-controlled and self-contained nature. And then she leaned her forehead against the gate, just where Robert Roy had accidentally laid his hand in opening it, and wept bitterly. LOVES SERVICE. WHO has not a touch of the porcelain mania? It is a fashionable epidemic, hard for the female mind to resist. We may not be extensive collectors, with our side- boards covered with Henri II. plates, Dres- den-ware, antique Venice glass, and Palissy platters filled with reptilian forms, needing only to be filled with water to simulate the floor of an aquarium. We may not even be connoisseurs in the secret marks of S~vres- ware. But we are all lovers of pretty tea things, and have been ever since we dis- played our first set of dolis dishes on grand- mothers footstooL Each one of us has a tea-cup that our granduncle, the sea-captain, brought from China, a plate which was one of a set that a French officer gave to a re- mote ancestress during the Revolution, a silver-riveted punch-bowl used at grandfa- thers ordination, or a majolica monkey so ludicrous that to possess it we were beguiled into denying ourselves new neck-ties for a month. While in Econen, near Paris, a friend who knew something of this fancy of mine said to me, If you wish to see some curiosities in porcelain, some realiy rare bits of old fa- ience, do not fail, before you go, to visit the M~re Boulette. The giving of nicknames is a common habit among the Ecouen peas- antry, and I felt sure that Bouletto (meaning little ball) must be one, and asked why it had been given. Because she is small and round, replied my friend; and on seeing her, I recognized its appropriateness. Does she sell brie-tI -brac ? I next asked. No, was the reply; but her house is a museum in its way. She allows the art- ists to paint there whenever they wish, and many of the charming interiors of the Econ- en school were arranged there. Often has she lighted a fire in one of heir unoccupied chambers, that admiring artists might paint the faded rose-colored hangings of the old- fashioned bed; or the curious fire-place, with the sphinx-head andirons half buried in the ashes, as though sunken in drifts of desert sand; or the ugly Virgin of the Renais

LOVES SERVICE. 103 ghost, I presume? I beg your pardon: I ought not to make a joke of such serious things. No, you ought not. She felt herself almost speechless, that in another minute she might burst into sobs. He saw itat least he saw a very little of it, and misinterpreted the rest. I have tired you. Take my arm. You will soon be at home now. Then, after a pause, You will not be displeased at any thing I have said? We part friends? No, we do not part; I shall see you every day for a week, and be able to tell you all par- ticulars of my journey, if you care to hear. Thank you, yesI do care. They stood together, arm in arm. The dews were falling; a sweet, soft, lilac haze had begun to creep over the seathe sol- emn, far-away sea that he was so soon to cross. Involuntarily she clung to his arm. So near, yet so apart! Why must it be? She could have borne his going away, if it was for his good, if he wished it; and some- thing whispered to her that this sudden de- sire to get rich was not for himself alone. But,oh! ifhe would only speak! One word one little word! After that, any thing might comethe separation of life, the bit- terness of death. To the two hearts that had once opened each to each, in the full recognition of mutual love, there could nev- er more be any real parting. But that one word he did not say. He only took the little hand that lay on his arm, pressed it, and held ityears after, the feeling of that clasp was as fresh on her fingers as yesterdaythen, hearing the foot of some accidental passer-by, he let it go, and did not take it again. Just at this moment the sound of distant carriage wheels was heard. That must be Mrs. Dalziel and the boys.~~ Then I had better go. Good-by. The day-dream was over. It had all come back againthe forlorn, dreary, hard-work- ing world. Good-by, Mr. Roy. And they shook hands. One word, he said, hastily. I shall write to youyou will allow me ?and I shall see you several times, a good many times,before I go? I hope so. Then, for the present, good-by. That means, he added, earnestly, God be with you! And I know He always will. In another minute Fortune found herself standing beside the laurel bush, alone, list- ening to the sound of Mr. Roys footsteps down the roadlistening, listening, as if:, with the exceeding tension, her brain would burst. The carriage came, passed; it was not Mrs. Dalziels, after all. She thought he might discover this, and come back again; so she waited a littlefive minutes, ten beside the laurel bush. But he did not come. No footstep, no voice; nothing but the faint, far-away sound of the long waves washing in upon the sands. It was not the brain that felt like to burst now, but the heart. She clasped her hands above her head. It did not matter; there was no creature to see or hear that appeal was it to man or God ?that wild, broken sob, so contrary to her usual self-controlled and self-contained nature. A