IIARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINES No. C CCXLIII. DEC EMI} ER, 1878. VOL. LVIII. I SING the birth was born to-nitTht The Author both of life and light The angels so dId sound it And like the ravishd shepherds said, Who saw the light, and were afraid, Yet searchd, and true they found it. The Son of God, the Eternal King, rfhat did us all salvation briuo And freed the soul from dan~er; He whom the whole world could not take, The Word, which heaven and earth did make, Was now laid in a manger. The Fathers wisdom willd it so, The Sons ohelienee knew no No, Both wills were one in stature HYMN ON TIlE NATIVITY. I Entered accordhi~ to Act of Con~ress, in the year 1878, by harper and Brothere, in the Office of the Libra- nan of con~ress, at Wa~hington. VOL. LYIILNo. 343.i 2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was no~v made Flesh indeed, And took on Him our nature. What comfort by Him do we win, Who made Himself the price of sin To make us heirs of glory To see this Babe, all innocence, A martyr born in our defense: Can man forget this story ? CHRISTMAS-DAY. As on the night before this bless~d morn A troop of angels unto shepherds told, Where, in a stable, He was poorly born Whom aol the earth nor heavn of heavns can hold 2 Through Bethiem rung This ne~vs of their return Yea, angels sung That God with us was born; And they made mirth because we should not mourn. His love, therefore, 0 let us all confess, And to the sons of men his work express! This favor Christ vouchsaThd for our sake rro buy us thrones, He in a manger lay Our ~veakness took, that we His strength might take And was disrobd that He mi~ht us array. Our flesh He wore, Our sins to wear away; Our curse lie boi~e, That we escape it may, And wept for us, that we might sing for aye. His love, therefore, 0 let us all confess, And to the sons of men His work express A CHRISTMAS CAROL. TJIIE shepherds xvent their hasty way, And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, A mothers song the Virgin-Mother sung. They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night, While sweeter than a mothers song Blest angels heralded the Saviours birth, Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth. She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she pmest;

2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was no~v made Flesh indeed, And took on Him our nature. What comfort by Him do we win, Who made Himself the price of sin To make us heirs of glory To see this Babe, all innocence, A martyr born in our defense: Can man forget this story ? CHRISTMAS-DAY. As on the night before this bless~d morn A troop of angels unto shepherds told, Where, in a stable, He was poorly born Whom aol the earth nor heavn of heavns can hold 2 Through Bethiem rung This ne~vs of their return Yea, angels sung That God with us was born; And they made mirth because we should not mourn. His love, therefore, 0 let us all confess, And to the sons of men his work express! This favor Christ vouchsaThd for our sake rro buy us thrones, He in a manger lay Our ~veakness took, that we His strength might take And was disrobd that He mi~ht us array. Our flesh He wore, Our sins to wear away; Our curse lie boi~e, That we escape it may, And wept for us, that we might sing for aye. His love, therefore, 0 let us all confess, And to the sons of men His work express A CHRISTMAS CAROL. TJIIE shepherds xvent their hasty way, And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, A mothers song the Virgin-Mother sung. They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night, While sweeter than a mothers song Blest angels heralded the Saviours birth, Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth. She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she pmest;

2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And as that wisdom had decreed, The Word was no~v made Flesh indeed, And took on Him our nature. What comfort by Him do we win, Who made Himself the price of sin To make us heirs of glory To see this Babe, all innocence, A martyr born in our defense: Can man forget this story ? CHRISTMAS-DAY. As on the night before this bless~d morn A troop of angels unto shepherds told, Where, in a stable, He was poorly born Whom aol the earth nor heavn of heavns can hold 2 Through Bethiem rung This ne~vs of their return Yea, angels sung That God with us was born; And they made mirth because we should not mourn. His love, therefore, 0 let us all confess, And to the sons of men his work express! This favor Christ vouchsaThd for our sake rro buy us thrones, He in a manger lay Our ~veakness took, that we His strength might take And was disrobd that He mi~ht us array. Our flesh He wore, Our sins to wear away; Our curse lie boi~e, That we escape it may, And wept for us, that we might sing for aye. His love, therefore, 0 let us all confess, And to the sons of men His work express A CHRISTMAS CAROL. TJIIE shepherds xvent their hasty way, And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager tread, For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung, A mothers song the Virgin-Mother sung. They told her how a glorious light, Streaming from a heavenly throng, Around them shone, suspending night, While sweeter than a mothers song Blest angels heralded the Saviours birth, Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth. She listened to the tale divine, And closer still the Babe she pmest; And while she cried, The Babe is mine! The milk rnshed faster to her breast; Joy rose within her like a summers morn Peace, peace on earth I the Prince of Peace is born. Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace, Poor, simple, and of low estate I That strife should vanish, battle cease, 0 why should this thy soul elate? THE SHEPIL 111)5 WENT THEIR HASTY WAY. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Sweet musics loudest note, the poets story Didst thou neer love to hear of fame and glory? And is not war a youthful king, A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; him earths majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate; and his hold bright eye Compels the maidens love-confessing sigh. Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state I am a woman poor and mean, And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child. A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his ~vidows toil had won; Plunders Gods world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. Then wisely is my soul elate That strife should vanish, battle cease; Im l)OO~ and of a low estate, The mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me like a summers morn Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of Peace is born. MERCYS APPEAL TO GOD FOR MAN. Wuo can forgetnever to be forgot The time that all the wom.ld in slumber lies, When, like the stars, the singing angels shot rro earth, and Heavn awak~d all his eyes To see another sun at midnight rise On earth? Was never sight of pareil fame; For God before, man like Himself did frame, But God Himself now like a mortal man becaume. A Child lie was, and had not learnt to speak, That with His word the world before did make; his mothers arms Him bore, He was so weak, That with one hand the vaults of heavn could shake; See how small room my infant Lord doth take, Whom all the world is not enough to hold Who of His years or of His age hath told? Never such age so young, never a child so old. And yet bitt newly h-he was infanted, And yet already lie was sought to die; Yet scameely born, already banish~d; Not able vet to go, and forct to fly But scarcely fled away, ~vhen, by-and-by

4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Sweet musics loudest note, the poets story Didst thou neer love to hear of fame and glory? And is not war a youthful king, A stately hero clad in mail? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring; him earths majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate; and his hold bright eye Compels the maidens love-confessing sigh. Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state I am a woman poor and mean, And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, That from the aged father tears his child. A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his ~vidows toil had won; Plunders Gods world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. Then wisely is my soul elate That strife should vanish, battle cease; Im l)OO~ and of a low estate, The mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me like a summers morn Peace, peace on earth! the Prince of Peace is born. MERCYS APPEAL TO GOD FOR MAN. Wuo can forgetnever to be forgot The time that all the wom.ld in slumber lies, When, like the stars, the singing angels shot rro earth, and Heavn awak~d all his eyes To see another sun at midnight rise On earth? Was never sight of pareil fame; For God before, man like Himself did frame, But God Himself now like a mortal man becaume. A Child lie was, and had not learnt to speak, That with His word the world before did make; his mothers arms Him bore, He was so weak, That with one hand the vaults of heavn could shake; See how small room my infant Lord doth take, Whom all the world is not enough to hold Who of His years or of His age hath told? Never such age so young, never a child so old. And yet bitt newly h-he was infanted, And yet already lie was sought to die; Yet scameely born, already banish~d; Not able vet to go, and forct to fly But scarcely fled away, ~vhen, by-and-by The tyrants sword with blood is all defiled, And Rachel, for her sons, with fury wild, Cries, 0 thou cruel king I and 0 my sweetest child ! Thrypt His nurse became, where Nuns springs, Who, straight t6 entertain the rising sun, The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; But now for drieth the fields were all undone, And now with waters all is overrun AND FOUND THE LOWLY STABLE-SHED. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. So fast the Cyiithian mountains pouid their snow, When once they felt the sun so near them glow, That Nihis Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. The angels carolld loud their song of peace; rlihe curse(l oracles were strucken dumb; To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press; To see their King the kingly Sophies come; And them to guide unto his Masters home A star comes (lancing up the Orient, That springs for joy over the stra~vy tent, Where oold to make their Prince a cro~vn, they all pieseit. Young John, glad child! before he could be born, Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy; Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, Proclaims her Saviour to posterity; And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. Oh, ho~v the b1ess~d souls about Him trace It is the Sire of Heavn thou dost embrace: Sing, Sitneon, singsing, Simeon, sing apace TWO HUNDRED AND TWO. r HE town of Telephone is ten miles from I Boston. It is comfortably situated on the Break~vater Branch of the Happiness and Energy Railroad, whose trains leave the Boston and Mexico D~p6t at all incon veil- ient hours of the day all(l evening, reaching Telephone when they feel like it, and de- partimig at the same time, the half or eveim the whole of a minute in advance of their time-tables being looked upon, perhaps, by the corporation as a delicate atonement for avoidable (lelays in arrival, and as tending in the long-run to exhibit the law of corn- punsation and the equality of things. No one was ever heard, however, to crit- icise the railway communication of Tele- l)llone with the outer world except the house-hunters; and as this long-suffering class of society formed time larger part of the passengers, naturally little attentloim was paid to their preferences. So at least a luau was thinking, sonic- what sulkily, one bitter day last Noveniber, ashaving lost his dinimer, gained a sore throat, and paid Telephones most aspiring price for carriage hire to prospect the town in forty-five minutes, amid find a home for a lifetime before the two oclock train went he fouimd himnselfgaping:at the empty track, whose conscious rails trembled yet with the thrill of departed force. He had not only lost his train; he had failed to find his house. Any nuder-graduate in hunman cx- perielice will comprehend how heavily the annoyance of the one circumstance was heightened by the existence of the other. Didnt lose the train, -did you now The station-mistress said this. She spoke in a tone of cautions sympathy, not unlike that with which we al)l)roacll the threshold where we are uncertain whether death has recentlypreceded us. She came omit fromim her little parlor imito the deserted waiting-room. Beyond the swimi ging and uncertain (loor one could per- ceive the colors of a very modern carpet, a paper dado, German ivies, an air-tight stove, (lecorated blacking bottles, a child framin chromos in colored straws, a girl in a 1)1111- back and imitation lace frill thrumming polkas at a piano with its legs iii calico l)antaloomms, rag umats, a cat, and time odors of beefsteak and domigilunts. As the woman stood in the doorway a baby crawled after 11cr, pushing asimle her flounced alpaca skirts, amid fromim hemmeath them regarded thIe pas- senger with the marble calmn Ileculiar to a ellild of the railway, to whoni immeim, macimin ery, amid other sources of distllrbance are as ulmimuportant as a daily lullaby. Tile Imlothers ankle, which tile child first gemmerously revealed, and thlen obligimingly called attelltioll to by claspiimg it ~vith omme hand amid pounding it with time other in a pmmrticmilarly abseim tmmmimmded waythe muoth er s ammkle was imicased imi a silapely Balbrig- gnu stockimig of striped red aimd ~vhite, wllich lost itself in tile outhimle of a welt-littimig Newport tie. Beg pardomi, madam ? said the passen- ger. He was wondering if he had s~vorn a little about tile traill. He did Ilot know that there were women ahomit. Wllat a cousmlmmllately American scene it was iii there behind thlat self-comiscions, superior, jealous door! Comfortable emmommglm, too.

6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. So fast the Cyiithian mountains pouid their snow, When once they felt the sun so near them glow, That Nihis Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. The angels carolld loud their song of peace; rlihe curse(l oracles were strucken dumb; To see their Shepherd the poor shepherds press; To see their King the kingly Sophies come; And them to guide unto his Masters home A star comes (lancing up the Orient, That springs for joy over the stra~vy tent, Where oold to make their Prince a cro~vn, they all pieseit. Young John, glad child! before he could be born, Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy; Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, Proclaims her Saviour to posterity; And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. Oh, ho~v the b1ess~d souls about Him trace It is the Sire of Heavn thou dost embrace: Sing, Sitneon, singsing, Simeon, sing apace TWO HUNDRED AND TWO. r HE town of Telephone is ten miles from I Boston. It is comfortably situated on the Break~vater Branch of the Happiness and Energy Railroad, whose trains leave the Boston and Mexico D~p6t at all incon veil- ient hours of the day all(l evening, reaching Telephone when they feel like it, and de- partimig at the same time, the half or eveim the whole of a minute in advance of their time-tables being looked upon, perhaps, by the corporation as a delicate atonement for avoidable (lelays in arrival, and as tending in the long-run to exhibit the law of corn- punsation and the equality of things. No one was ever heard, however, to crit- icise the railway communication of Tele- l)llone with the outer world except the house-hunters; and as this long-suffering class of society formed time larger part of the passengers, naturally little attentloim was paid to their preferences. So at least a luau was thinking, sonic- what sulkily, one bitter day last Noveniber, ashaving lost his dinimer, gained a sore throat, and paid Telephones most aspiring price for carriage hire to prospect the town in forty-five minutes, amid find a home for a lifetime before the two oclock train went he fouimd himnselfgaping:at the empty track, whose conscious rails trembled yet with the thrill of departed force. He had not only lost his train; he had failed to find his house. Any nuder-graduate in hunman cx- perielice will comprehend how heavily the annoyance of the one circumstance was heightened by the existence of the other. Didnt lose the train, -did you now The station-mistress said this. She spoke in a tone of cautions sympathy, not unlike that with which we al)l)roacll the threshold where we are uncertain whether death has recentlypreceded us. She came omit fromim her little parlor imito the deserted waiting-room. Beyond the swimi ging and uncertain (loor one could per- ceive the colors of a very modern carpet, a paper dado, German ivies, an air-tight stove, (lecorated blacking bottles, a child framin chromos in colored straws, a girl in a 1)1111- back and imitation lace frill thrumming polkas at a piano with its legs iii calico l)antaloomms, rag umats, a cat, and time odors of beefsteak and domigilunts. As the woman stood in the doorway a baby crawled after 11cr, pushing asimle her flounced alpaca skirts, amid fromim hemmeath them regarded thIe pas- senger with the marble calmn Ileculiar to a ellild of the railway, to whoni immeim, macimin ery, amid other sources of distllrbance are as ulmimuportant as a daily lullaby. Tile Imlothers ankle, which tile child first gemmerously revealed, and thlen obligimingly called attelltioll to by claspiimg it ~vith omme hand amid pounding it with time other in a pmmrticmilarly abseim tmmmimmded waythe muoth er s ammkle was imicased imi a silapely Balbrig- gnu stockimig of striped red aimd ~vhite, wllich lost itself in tile outhimle of a welt-littimig Newport tie. Beg pardomi, madam ? said the passen- ger. He was wondering if he had s~vorn a little about tile traill. He did Ilot know that there were women ahomit. Wllat a cousmlmmllately American scene it was iii there behind thlat self-comiscions, superior, jealous door! Comfortable emmommglm, too. They had a right to feel superior, these peo- somethingpocket-books and parasols and pie with houses. He would have accepted arctics; we have one man always leave sas- five rooms in a railway station hiniseif then singers. They come from Boston dead beat not ungratefuily. It might well be jealous, out, and so they drop thingsbutter, and the door that creaked guard upon the black- silk dresses, and no end of neck-ties and that. ing bottles and the kitten and the baby. Ill wait till she gits along. It seemed a He felt to the full at that moment the in- pity to have her salary spile. She cant af- definable eternal aristocracy of home, won- ford salary none too often. dering if he had ever felt it before. She It is cold, as you say, suggested the might put her piano in calico trousers to passenger, idly, and the mud is not yet the end of her days, this higli-cheeked woin- frozen stiff. Allow me; I will hand the an; but she did not invite strange gentle- package to tIme lady. Oblige me by staying men into the room where her little (laugh- in-doors with the babyas you should, be ter sat practicing in the pull-back and the added, with unconscious autocracy. It frill, seemed to him unnatural that a woman with Im sorry you lost it, pursued the sta- a baby should go out of doors. It usually tion-mistress, with sonme vain effort to dis- did, he thought, but he had never, perhaps, uimite the baby and time Balbriggan stock- recognized this essentially mascnhine train ing; and your dimmer too, Ill dare say? of logic in himself before. Shine should. sit Next one goes at quarter to five. Hope (lown, in the clean red and white striped youll set do~vn and make yerself as com- stockings, under time German ivies. and fortable as you can. Ill turn on the draught watch those patient frainnes go fitting them- a mite; its growing cold. There! Theres selves under impatient little fingers, colored a lady Ive got to speak to. She left a bun- straw to colored straw. die of salary here. They nmost always leave It was not until lie got out into time keen DmnzT LOSE THE TRAINS nmn YOU 1~OW ? HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. air that he remembered how much beefsteak and doughnuts this picturesque course of action involved breathing. This la(Iy now who bad lost her salary. As he explained his erraiid in a word, stand- lug before her with lifted bat, lie caught himself wondering incoherently whether she liked it, facing the full east wind. She stood with her face to the marshes, beyond whose pale gray tides the other tides of the sea could be neither seen nor heard. Yet the air was salt with them; be could taste them with his dinnerless lips. But the lady was protected with a veil of heavily figured old-fashioned lace; perhaps she did not taste the salt. At all eveiits, she had her celery, probably her dinner too, and a house. MISS VESTA lIOLLINSTALL. The passenger put on his hat again, and dreamily returned to the station. As the celery lady walked on, with rather a bound- ing step for a woman who could have beeui 110 longer in her first youth (he should judge by tile gravity of her dress and the repose of her carriage), lie bluntly wished he had some more women to think about before five oclock. Probably the station-mistress had shut her Baibriggan stockings away with the piano legs by this time. He lund a great mind to knock, and ask her to let time cat come out and stay with luhn. Not the baby. He wouldmut ask for the baby. It would probably a.ttack the heum of his pantaloons to humut for striped stockingsand his were a pale gray. Then it would be disappointed, and perhaps cry. Besides, he was muddy. But the h)aby was already there before him; the mother held it deftly under one arumi ~vhile she poked the fire in tIme sad cyl- inder stove with a cheerful muscle. How large is this metropolis l asked time passenger, abruptly, coming to warm his hands before the burning heart of the coals, which acquired a I)reternatulral homelike- ness from the fact that it was the only spot of comfort or of color iii time bare room; it was clean, though, that room: they always were when your station-master was a woman. Sir l How many people are there in this town ? Two thousand. How old is it? Two years. T~vo years! And all these houses I There aint a house in this town, Sir, haint been built within two yearsonly on e. And how old, pray, is that ? Two hundred. F This is not a common state of things, saimi the passenger, after a pause. XVe wouldnt have that, pursued the station-mistress, in the regretful toime of one who is explaimmimig away a blemish omi a frieiids character, but for the bundry hue. Thewhat kiuid of hue ? Well, yes. When they laid us omit they emit the bmindry line acrost Palestiume, amid cut this lady right thuromugh; and so we lied to take her. Amud thats how she happens to be so old; for Palestine is full of that kind of folks, aumd tIme rest of ns so young, Sir. Theres three first-rate cluamuces up thuat waytwo sales and one remmt, besides a barn armd not too near the steam-shovel. The steani-shiovel l echoed time passen- ger. Why, yes, said time station-mistress, chosi mug thue stove door with a smuap of superior imutehhigeimee. Dommt you know ? They muse it for buihdimmg time aqueduct, and for gravel traimms, and all those things. Folks dont I I ~i1 I / ii: TWO HUNDRED AND TWO. 9 always like it, because it shovels all night. Sonie take it to heart so, they move away. But you hey to pay higher as you get off from it. Theres a good many things to con- sider in buying house lots in Telephoiie. So it seems, said the passenger. I think Ill run out, if Ive got three hours to wait, and look at those places opposite the house from Palestine. I surely have seen none such. I would if I was you, said the station- mistress. She seemed to have chauged her mind about something she was going to say to the passenger, speaking with a slight re- serve, as to a possible neighbor of whom one knew nothing. She gathered the baby into her neck and turned away. She shut the door npon her sacred little daughter and the pnll-back and the polka. She was at home, thought the passen- ger, as lie turned ont into the now fast-ris- ing wind, and smacked his hungry lips again, to taste the salt from the unseen sea. Miss Vesta Rollinstall came and looked at the clouds with a gentle sigh. Stand- ing in tl~e street below, one could almost have seen her sigh. She was not a sighing woman either. Her wooden house was gray, but not with paint; gray, too, was the sleeve of her cashmere dress which thrust the gray blind back, and held an ashes-of-roses cur- tain h]alf drawn, as if reluctant to shut ont the bleached grass in the front yard, the black trunks and branches of the few and faithful elms that the biindry line had left her, tbe colorless gravel heaps in the empty corner lot, the dull outline of the aqneduct, the gray paint (mixed with ker- osene) of the opposite empty house, and the grayer hue of the bending and more empty heavens. She was reluctant. She stood longer than nsual on these pallid Novem- ber nights takin her last look at the out- er world, dreading to light die old lamps which bad not yet yielded the field to that puffy and expensive suburban gas; slow to acknowledge that iiight had come; unready to admit by this mute leave-taking of her neighbors that it was time to turn the old- fashioned bolt in the uneven front-door, and to know that there would be no occa- sion to open it again till she peered out shivering in her dressing-gown, at six oclock iiext morning, to pull in the little pint can that the milk-man would leave at three. She did not even keep a dog. The Rolhin- stalls never had. The Rollinstalls, it is needless to say, were a very old family; none older in Palestine. Miss Vesta prided herself upon l)eilig too goo(l an American to remember this fact and accordinoly seldom forgot it. She had acceded cheerfully to the geographical aiid political fate which had expatriated her into this trimly representative American com- munity with the absurd name and the ab- surder asI)irations, feeling it to be her duty; parted even with the ancestral elms and the apple orchard, to umake way for the Happi- ness and Energy Railroad, withont an audi- ble groan. Many of her Palestiiie friends had moved to town; Miss Vesta somethues wondered why. Now and then they caine out to lumich with her. Othme~s had died; for Miss Vesta was no longer young. Some had married, whi cli amounted to the same thing. Miss Vesta lived very much alone. As years went on she sometimes felt as if that bundry him]e, invisible, iimtaimgible, unassailable thing as it was, ha din deed and truth cut her oft from her old familiar life into this new and unnatural one, in which she felt herself as solitary among the bus- thimmg young couples who gossiped and laugh- ed and trusted their way along, with unpaid debts and uncoimiited babies, as the gambrel- roofed, unpainted house itself, set wistfully down among its pert and peaked neighbors. In pleasant weather she had a theory that she did not think about these things. But when it was stormy, as to-night, she could not deny that she hated it allyes, all; the whole new, shiny, vulgar sight ; the little square lots with the turned-np turf, in which no tree nor shrub had found a shelter, not even a make-shift of an arbor-vita~, fresh from time nursery, and shivering to a stake, like a baby learnimig to walk in a baby jumper; where the human babies played about in the mud, while tlmeir fathers paint- ed the fences and put on silver (loor-plates, and their mothers wore traihimmg calico wrap- pers on week-days and velveteen suits on Sundays, amid kept time blinds of the parlor shut. She hated the ro~vs of cheap houses, all alike; she hated time signs put oumt, For Sale & r To Let ; the shabby paint peeling off; time smell of the concrete sidewalks; the barbaroums steam-shovel; the gangs of laborers pimttiimg water-works immto streets whose existemice she had not heard of a umonthi ago; the Ii mines of hank men pommrimmg every day to amid from the business trains; the serenity of their uncimitivated and un- thoughtful faces: why, time half of them were mortgaged over time depth of souml and body for those square little showy homes of theirs! Miss Vesta felt very lonely wimenever she began to hate any timing. So now, as she stood reluctantly clinging to the ashes-of- loses cmmrtains, casting her eyes mmp and down the empty streets, they slowly darkened and blurred; oime quiet tear rolled and fell upon her gray dress. Nonseuise ! said Miss Vesta, with a start. Salt spoils cashmere! and shine went for the hmartshorn bottle to rub off the spot. Miss Vesta did not often cry. When she canine back, resolutely this time, 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to draw the curtain close, she saw, across the gloom of the rapidly darkeniug street, and throngh the drizzle of the rain which now fell steadily, that lights were astir ia the opposite house. She stood for a minute looking over. It was Mr. Jobbs, with ten- ants possible, or perhaps eveu actual. It often happened. She was used to itrath- er liked to see it. Of all these people who came out house-hunting on the afternoon traiiis, Jobbs would decoy one some day to sign the lease of his leaky house; the fani- ily would have the iljieumatism, but she wonld have neighbors. Possibly who knew ?pleasant neighbors like the dear 01(1 lady Church who had pneumonia there last year; or the young Pettiwinkler, with the very clean baby, on the corner; or even the Purchases, whom she liked so much when she helped theia through with the scarlet fever; or the Adamses, who sub- scribed to her mission Sunday-school. It was noticeable how perceptibly Miss Vestas opinion of Telephone rose as she stood looking at the cheerful flicker of Mr. Jobbss kerosene lamp from empty room to empty room across there in the dusk, and the bro- ken outline of the shadows that the two men made, seen through the nncurtained windows as Jobbs threw back the blinds. The Jobbs shadow was short, square, and fanuiliar. The tenant shado~v was tall and strange, yet, after the moments glance, seemed not umufamniliar either. This struck Miss Vesta pleasantly as she drew her cur- taiui in good faith at last, shrinkin~ sndden- ly back, as if she had herself been visible behind the small green panes of her old window. Perhaps it would be a gentle- manly person with a nice wife. MissVesta felt starved sometimes for awomnana wom- an one would care to see, perhaps, twice a week. In Palestine hoxv she and Susy Hemlock used to mn in every day! There seemed no place to run in to in Tele- phone. And Susy was dead. And it was time to light the astral lamp and the kitch- en lamp, and to put on the kettle. She must wash the celery too, which would not keep till to-morrow. It was scarcely a Palestine custom, eating celery for supper. Miss Vesta crushed it delicately and doubtfully. She liked to do things as she was brought up to do them. She washed her solitary tea-cup and her two silver spoons and her lonely goblet daintily by themselves in the Dresdemi bowl upon the table, just as she used to (10 when she kept help, before her Michigan Cen- tral stock went down and she had no one to tell her that it was time to sell. Aft- er she had wiped the silver and glass with delicate fingers upon a fine old red and blue fruit doyley by the light of the astral, she went into the kitchen,tnrned up her sleeves, turned up her dress, put on an apron, and (lid the rest of the dishes by the little brass kitchen lamp. ~After this she turned down her sleeves, with darned Valenciennes at the wrist, turned down the skirt of the cashmere (which had been her afternoon d~ress for sevemi years), went into the silent parlor and lighted the fire in the fire-place, and sat down alone. She did not light that fire often. Open fires are expensive company. When it stormed, she sometimes allowed herself the luxury. She sat in a low cushi- ioiied rocking-chair, in the irregular light. She had a pink ribbon a.t her throat, over her gray dress; it was of the old-fashioned rose pimik now so hard to find, imot a scorch of Magenta in it, pnre as a blush-bud on a June day, deepening as one looked at it. Stiff little roses were painted on it in water- colors. Susy Hemlock paimuted that ribbon for her oime (lay; she had a coldcouldnt comecouldnt waitJared brought it over. Miss Vesta rose and walked about the room two or three timnes. The Rollinstahl ladies often had that trick of pacing the roomn-a Imabit wlmich ommly women~of inde- pendent chmaracter and circumstance are apt to have, I believe. The Rolhinstalls had al- ways felt at liberty to do as they chose. Usually, however, they chose to do largely the same things. XVhen they married, they married clergymen or lawyers; brouurht lip their children to have the measles under allopathic treatmemmt, to brush their teeth three times a day, and never to go to church twice a Sunday before they were five years old. Whmen they did mmot marry, they kept house; no femnale Rohhimmstall went to live with her relatives unless it were a very clear case that she was the giver, not the receiver, of benefits by so doimug; they never quartered themselves on yommng niarried brothers or struggling niale cousimis: a Rol- hinstall preferred her own homisehold, if it were in an attic. No one ever questioned the suitability of any such arrangement which muembers of her family nmight make. Miss Vesta herself wa~ but thirty-five when her mother died, and there was a second cousin who took a flat alone at twenty-six. But hers died. Jamme Rolhinstahl bore forever about her the sacred aimd sweet shield of mauden widowhood. Happy Jane! Miss Vesta said Happy Jane ! aloud, pacing bitterly to and fro. The storm hind now come on heavily, and she could hear the wind beat up amid doivn the level, lomme- ly street. Miss Vestas hma~1 not died. Now and then Miss Vesta remembered this. It was a luxury to thmimmk about hiimu at all, like time opeii fire, only to be indulged in on stormy imights. He had not died. 0 that he had! 0 that he had! Sometimes, if it stormned very hard, Miss Vesta said this too aloud, cryimig passionately out. Some- TWO HUNDRED AND TWO. 11 times she thought if this bad been so, how blessed. she would be. Bitt he did not die; he only got tired of waiting. Why was it that men could not wait ~ Women did. And they could not marry then. Jared himself adniitted it after a while. But it was a good while before Miss Vesta stopped remembering on stormy nights how he look- ed the day she told himblazing, white, taking her face between his shaking hands her face, young then, and not uncomely: there was never a Rollinstall who was not comely. They used that sweet, decorous word when they spoke of it even in their own hearts; it seemed more reserved, Miss Vesta thought, more modest, thau pretty or good-lookimig. Miss Vestas thought had diverged just here, like my sentence. Site did not like to keep it where it was; it took her breath. I never will endure it ! Jared Hemlock said. I caim not live without you. Nei- ther heaven nor hell shall come between us. Ill have you somehow, Vesta. Miss Vestas pale face scorched as she sat alone there by her o~vn fire, with no one else in all the empty bonse. She looked at her withering hiamids, the prim, pure colors of her dress. It seemed to her a kiud of rudeness that aiiy man should ever have been in the world talking so to her, it was so far off now. And titemi lie had not had her somehow. He had lived without her. He had endured it. Nor was it heaven or hell that had come between them. It was nothing so romantic or profane as that, thought poor Miss Vesta. It was only that her mother had the paralytic stroke, and that her father, as every body knew, grew bliiid. Some omie must take care of them. There was nobody but Miss Vesta. And timemi there was not much to live on. There were rich Rollinstallsrich enough to have bought up the Michigan Central Railroadbut that was the Rhode Island branch. And Jared was the ministers soil. Ministers, of course, were poor. Jared said he never would be a minister. He studied law. And they had waited aiid waited. Jared used to come to tea every Thursday nioht. And then there came a time when Jared would wait no longer. He went to Ger- many. Jared went to Germany, to study law or si)metliing. He ~vent partly for his health, h)OO~ fellow. He had a touch of rheumatism, or what was it? At first they wrote to one another. But her moth- er lived on, and on, and on, poor moth- er! quite changed, and with broken mind and petulant ways. And when her father grew so helpless Miss Vesta sat down one day, in a fever of worry and weariness, and wrote to Jared that since her duty was at home, and was likely to be there till she was old and ill herself; since God had willed it so, and since they could not help it, she or lie, and since he was so far away, and in strange scenes and among straiigc people, perhaps they had better call themselves (lear friends only to each other, knowing so little as they did what the future had iii store for 1dm especially. Amid Jured wrote that perhaps they had, but that no one else could be so dear as shenot even in Germnamiy; which was a great comfort to Miss Vesta for a little while. She had nev- er been in Germany. She felt as if that mmiysterious country bounded in pleasant ladies with no invalid paremits to take care of. And so by-aiid-by Jared did not ~vrite so often. And so omie day she saw it in the Puritan Recorder that he was married, and that his wifes first name was Berta, amid that she lived in Leipsic. Amid Jare(l semit cards to tIme famimily. And then he wrote mmo niore. And he had never comue home. Jane Rollinstahl had a theory that lie was dead. Once she hind expressed it to Miss Vesta. Bmit Miss Vesta commid not talk about it. She did not answer Jane. Her father died that year. When she was thirty-five her mimother followed him. TIme old lady complained a great deal to the neighbors of her daughter tIme last year of her life; said that Vesta had not got married, and ~vas a bmmrdemm to the family. Miss Vesta haitI her away in the Holhimistahl hot of the Palestine Cemnetery,withm a sickemiimig grief which mione of the occasional friends uvho came fromn Boston to lumuichi with her seemued to nuder- stand~ evemi Jamie Rolhimistall herself sai(l it was not like losimmg ones hmmsband or lover, buit invited Miss Vesta to spemid a mouth with her. Miss Vesta cried when nobody saw her, and then cried because there was muobody to see her; amid so, for ecommomy, gave up cry- ing by-and-by, except on stormny nights, as I sahh. She had lived a hard life of devotion to a hard duty for a great while. Every nerve in her body and sdul quivered tense now like a breaking thmim~g. She could not afford to become hysterical. If she did, souiethming would snap. Youth dies hard, and hope harder. Miss Vesta comuld not umiderstamid at first, ~vhen at thirty-five she was left alone in the tin- painted house, where two hundred years of human joy and anguish kept her nimite coin patty, that doimig ones clefiumite duty brave- ly and patiently to the emid (hoes not brimig omie defimiite hmappimmess. SIte had really felt sometimes as if God must umean to surprise her now that the duity was doiie, as if He had kept somne good thing waiting till she could take it. At first she thought it must be the mis- sion Summiday-sehmool He rneaiit, for to the Sunday-school she hind turned devoutly and devotedly as soon as her lonely hands were free. All the Rohhinstall ladies taught in 1~2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mission schools; usually stopped when they married a to some iid gave the class well- connected young lady who was actively de- sirous for religious usefulness. It was with as much surprise as pain that Miss Vesta discovered by-and-by that there were fierce clamors and wide wastes in her nature which even her twelve big, red, freckled boys in the vestry could not fill. They were flue fellows; and when the su- perintendent said that each class might give itself a name for use at the concert, he suggested that they should he called Lilies- of-the-Valley. But ab! if hope dies hard, perhaps, after all, youth dies harder. Miss Vesta was still comely, and the old people were gone. Palestine bachelors and widowers began to think of this. On week-days, between the returning excitements of themission school, Miss Vestas life vibrated now with strange confusions. The minister himself paid his decorous distinct addresses at the ancient house, and Miss Vesta had all the weakness of a woman of the olden time (to say noth- ing of the a(lded family predilections in this direction) for iiministers. At least two law- yers came, sa~v, and were conquered; and Jane Rolhinstall herself wrote, advising her to think seriously of the shoe-and-leather umerchant who did business in Boston. But Miss Vesta watched them all come and go with pure and puzzled eyes. She had loved one man. Sue had promised to be his wife. His hand had held her; his kiss had touch- ed her. What did they mean, these other men h What did they expect h Could a woman do that thing again h How dcne you l she cried, to the shoe- and-leather lover, when he urged his suit a little on a moonlight evening, coming from the preparatory lecture; and then had fled from him, aghast, sobbing, like an insulted girl. But if youth and hope die hard, the ca- pacity for love dies harder. Here in Tele- phone, in this unfamiliar life, with silence for her lover, with solitude for her husband, with lonely hours for her children, Miss Vesta had been, perhaps, most sorely bested. There was a minister, too, in Telephone. He presided over the Union Church, that tow- ered literally opposite the Telephone Bowl- ing-Alley. Miss Vesta disapproved of Union churches on general principles; thought them not apt to be sound; her family had always thought so. But since her old Pal- estine pastor, Dr. Conserve, h d accepted a call to Boston, there was little to do but to subumit gracefully to the march of circmn- stances. Miss Vesta waited on the Union gentlemans preaching, and time Union gen- tleman waited on her. Miss Vesta was lonely: that can not be denied. And every week she thought she grew loneliera little. She tried hard to like the Union minister. For a whole week she kept him waiting for his answer. She ~vent alone into her room, amid sat down in her gray dress and pink ribbon that Smisy Hemlock painted, and folded her hands, and sai(l, Let me see if I can not love this good luau. But when the week was over, she went to him and gravely said, When I was young I promised to be some ones wife. I can not do that t~vice. A woman can not But other women re not so fastidious, interrupted the minister, with a flash of temper. He had never had a woman refuse him before. Then I am not like other women,~ said Miss Vesta, simjily. So now she sat alone in the November storm, in the solitary house, thinking about these things. Her thoughts were sad enough, as those of the solitary may be must be, we sometimes say; but they were not disquiet or perplexed. Miss Vesta was not a great, or wise, or exceptional woman; she had lived a plain and comnumouplace life ; no heroic chance had opened before her; usefulness and honor had spoken to her in lowly language; her story had been all prose. But one poem Miss Vesta knew by heart the long, sweet, saime poem of a pure and permanent love. She was a delicate and tender woman; she had felt as if her deli- cacy and tenderness both demaiided of her that she should be true to time best and highest side of her nature, so far, at least, as she understood it: Miss Vesta was an old- fashioned woman, and did not think much about nature. All she knew was that God had given her one right love for one right man, and that solitude was a sniahl cross to count agaiiist the weariimg of such a crown. It was tIme only ideal she had; of reforms, causes, missions, and careers she knew little. She did not care much even about Boston culture, and sat puz- zied when the ladies talked about it at lunch. It was differemit soniehmow from what she was taught at the Palestine Female Seuminary. Her unreasoning amid unswerv- lug love, I say, was time omily ideal she had. She cherished it in purity and peace; she served it in honor and fidelity. Nobody called her a great woman. But that does not muatter. God understood. Miss Vesta went to bed early that stormy night; put away Smmsys paimitedl ribbon in a little olive-wood box where she kept a few other precious, useless things (her thin old betrothal ring amnong thcmn) ; foldied her gray cashinmere skirt carefully; screwed out time lonely astral; kimelt amid said her prayers; asked the Lord, as usual, to bless Jared Hemimlock, without the least doubt in time world as to whether that awful and imifi- nite Will could be shaken by a thing so slight as the request of a solitary 01(1 mai(1 shivering in her niolit dress on her knees, asking the same thing in the same way ev- ery night for tifteen years. Theology was not Miss Vestas specialty. It was one s (inty to say ones prayers. And see when they are sai(l, and the light of the economic- al street gas, which Telephone will put out at half past eleven, falls in through the parted ashes - of- roses eurtain upon the smooth white hed-spread, and the inereas- ingrain drives against the smallpaned win (low and the sunken piazza roof, how peace- fully one falls asleep! 1 was twenty minutes past five oclock an angry storm. Miss Vesta waked ten miii- utes before her usual time, wondering why, above the raging of the win(i and ~vet, the milk-man stood making such a racket at the door below. She got herself hurriedly iiito her wrapper; then, filled with a dini consciousness of the unusual, antieipatiig 1)Ossihl e parleys with unknown tradesmen on uliguesse(l themes, mo(1estly slipped in stead into the gray cashnuere, ali(l throwin~ u.n 01(1 lace handkerchief round her eollar~ less neck, went simiverimig (lown an(l confid- ingly drew the bolt without question or (leumlir. She peered omit iiito the breakinr (larkuess through the curtain of the rain. Jerry, is that you ? Madam ? excuse Inc. It was imot Jerry. Miss Vesta pushed the door a trifle closer, hut stood seremie, lookiuo through tIme crack. A man was out there, (lripping; (lazeLl, it seemed. I thought it was tIme milk-man, she said, placidly. Would you be good enough to call your hmushand ? gaspeLl the visitor. II did IN TilE LIGhT OF TILE LAMP AN]) FLEE LIE TULINEIL ILLS LACE. [SEE PAGE 14.1 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. not mean to disturb a lady at this untimely hour; but the fact is, Im suffering. Step in, then, out of the rain, said Miss Vesta, decidedly. Miss Vesta was not tim- id. And this was no tramp. Besides, why tell stran~e men that she had no husbamid? It was far easier to let this person come into the front entry. He stepped in. Miss Vesta had left one of her hirass kitchen minus linriming on the stairway landing. The feeble glimmer sting- gled halfway down, fainted, and fell into the mysterious half light in which her vis- itor stood facing her. He had taken off his hat. I l)omlght that confounded house oppo- site yesterday, began the maii at once your pardoii, madam: I mean that very unpleasant house. I took the whim to stay in it; sent in town for my things. Dont think me crazy. Ive nobody hut myself to think of. As well there as in hotels. That Jobbs built up a furnace fire. There was a sofa and an empty pillow-case left by the last tenamitsdecoys, I suppose. Madam, that honse leaked like aii umbrella turned wrong side out; spattered into my face; trickled lip my sleeve; tickled my feet; crawled down my iieck; ran in streams down the register; put out the furmiace fire almost did as much for me. I am smil)ject to rheumatism at the heart. I stood it till I thought somebody would lie stirring. I Ill not come in to anmioy a lady umiless there are gentlemen here; butexcuse me, mad- am; I ani in great pain. He staggered slightly, leaning against the half-shut door through which the pur- suing storm beat in. Come ! said Miss Vesta.. She shut the front-door, and herself led the way into tile (lull and silent sitting-room, where time em- bers of last nights fire l)eered winking sleepily through the ashes. The intruder followed her without speak- ing, groanimig now and then. Miss Vesta started the fire promptly, and went out to get the little lamp from the landing. She did not look at her visitor as she went. He might murder her if lie chose. She would not turn a man with rheumatism at the heart out into the storm. The coim- ventional propriety of her hospitality it never occurred to Miss Vestas mind to question, or to question if any body else -would question it. The Rollinstalls were ladies. They never did what was not proper. Every body knew that. If Miss Vesta chose to turn her house into a hospi- tal for tramps at six oclock in the morning, her so doing would in itself be the only explanation that the eccentricity would re- quire. While Miss Vesta was gone for the brass lamp time fire begami to burn. She came in, looking very pale and sweet and assured jim her colorless dress, c~ rrying the lamp with one thin hand curved to shmel ter time tiimy flame. It was a delicate and faithfmml umotiomilike Miss Vesta. Crouched over the waximig fire, haggard, with omie humid on his heart, she foumid her man. She ~vent directly mip, and begaim with the busimiess-like sympathy of voice that she reserved for wateimimig and fumier- als aiid all the old-time neighborly services to tIme suffering. Now wlmat is the first thmimig to be done for you? Let me see your puilse. No, your face first. Iii the light of time lamp and fire lie turn- ed his face, and they looked at omme aimothier. You are the manyou are time gentle- man who handed me time celery, sai(l Miss Vesta, after a pamise. Timen slme began to treumble. Tiieii sime Ilmimmg away his lmaiid, which she had lifted with cold fa.r fiimgers to feel the pulse. She retreated froni him suspiciomisly. I dont know who you are ! she shrilly cried. Forgive me, Vesta! line said, stretehmimi g out his simakimig arm. Before God I did not kimow! Every tIming is so chimuged But where is Mrs. Hemlock ? asked Miss Vesta. We nmust forgive her. Rhmen- matism at time heart is a passing paiim, soon over. That other pain of Miss Vestas had lasted fifteen years. Aimd Jared was warm now and conifortable; had tasted of the coffee she had cooked; Miss Vesta ate amid drank nothiin(r Sue took care of hiinm, with comimpressed aiid colorless lips, dutiful- ly, as of an old neighbor; the trarmip would have been treated as coimscientiously, more temiderly. She had asked no (Immestiomis. His eye had followed her. They had both been silent and constralumed. Now that lie was out of sufferiumg, Miss Vesta began to woimder what Jane Rollinstall would say. So she asked: Where is Mrs. Hemlock? Where is your wife ?primmily, with the sharpest twang Jared hind ever heard in her voice. Miss Vesta had a soft voice. I have no wife, lie said, not more gen- tly. Whemi did she die? I douit know, said Jared, meekly, with a dash of his 01(1 sauciness. Doimt know ? exelainmed Miss Vesta, with great propriety of umaimimer. I never had any, pursued Jared. He began to whistle; then said, Excuse me, Vesta. You are perfectly excuisable, said Miss Vesta, still with mmmdi Rollinstall digimity. But we had the cards. I do not ummider- stand youm, Jared Hemlock. I do not umi- stamid aiiy tImingany thing in this world. She broke down with an unexpected little womammisli wail. TWO HUNDRED AND TWO. Berta jilted me, said Jared, shortly. Perhaps you can understand that. She foui~cl a German baron she liked better. She jilted nie at the very last moment. I deserved it. Oh ! said Miss Vesta. She did not say he (lid iiot. And Im glad of it, added Jared. Oh! said Miss Vesta again. She did not say sl]e was sorry. But, of course, observed Jared, stirring his coffee, ~vith a touch of embarrassment I thought you were married long ago. I was ashamed to come back to you, Vesta. To think how I did come in the enda beg- gara trampdrowned-a rata dying rat ! continued Jared, with t~vinkling eyes. And to think of your sayiug, Is that yon, Jerry l He laughed. Despite herself the sensitive, suspicions, womuans self that was stung and be~vildered in every nerve Miss Vesta laughed too. It was fuiinuy, said Miss Vesta. Very well, then, said Jared; suppose you eat your breakfast. There is the celery, said Miss Vesta. She brought the celery, and Jared ate some of it. She looked on. Jared said it was frozen, and she said she did not won- der; and then neither of them said any thiug. The clear day drew on; the wind was shifting; through the curtain of the raiii a soft gray light began to stir. Jared sat by the fire, and Miss Vesta put away the breakfast-things. The wiud went down. Scant drops trickled and twinkled from the piazza roof. People went by to the busiumess train; they left their umubrel- las, and nodded at each other merrily. The gray light sweetened; a warm color lay upon the gravel heaps in the corner lot. By-amid-by there came the sun-burst. Miss Vesta was standing by the wiudow, and it broke full against her facethe shriuking, womanly face, pale and pinched and perplexed. Jared Hemlock wondered what it was like to be a woman; to be treated as lie had treated her; to staimd there waitiming, not able to say what she thought, or felt, or wanted ; wounded, wrung, amid dumb, yet so tender! And true so true! He went abruptly over to her, and said: Vesta, Im not fit to touch the hem of your (lress. But he put out one finger and tim- idly stroked the old gray cashmere sleeve. I never felt about any body as I didas I doabout you, said Jared Hemlock. He did not whistle now, nor laugh. Miss Vesta looked at him piercingly. She did not un- derstand that. Perhaps it was because she was not a luau. Men were so different. The Rollinstalls had always held that meii were very differeut. It wont do for me to stay on this way, said Jared, awkwardly. I ought to take the next train, you know, andclear omit, and all that. Yes, said Miss Vesta. It sounds mean, said Jared, but I dont mean to be mean. If I supposed youd ever take me now, Vesta, after allperhaps by- and-by, when youve got used to methere isnt ninuch to take, Vesta dearan old fel- low with rhemnatism. Its endocarditis, added Jared, with a scientific air, if youd like to know. Im glad you didnt marry her, said Miss Vesta, trembling. But She stopped; she could not say what she was thinking. She looked at him her delicate face shone. So the priestess might have looked, tending the white fire in that older, ruder age which cherished its own share of delicate ideals. She lifted her head with a certaimi haughti- ness. meyer kissed any oneany man but you. She had not meant to say it, but it was said. He had not meant to do it, but it was dome. All the more reason, Vesta, why you should do it again. I wonder, said Miss Vesta, presently, what Jane Rollinstall will say h Why, really, said Jared, in a comforta- ble, commonplace tone, what with my com- ing in the rain and all, audi time fuss it would be to explainI hate a fuss, Vesta. Sup- pose we onmit that stanzasuppose we go somewhere amid get married? I dont see but one times as well as another: and the sun is out. The Rolhinstalls never have done such a thmimig, said Miss Vesta, hastily. I doubt if they ever had the opportuni- ty, observed the lover, irreveremitly. He began to whistle again ; but Miss Vesta, looking up, saw that his eyes were full~ the hamid with which he held her shook. The amnoimmit of it is, lie said, less dis- tinctly, Ive beaten about the world so long alone, and youyouyoumy poor girl! Come, we aimit yoummg any more, Vesta! Weve tried being lonesome long enough. I dont feel as if we had a min- ute to lose. If Im fit to be taken at all, Im fit to be taken at once. Besides, added Jared, chearimig. his voice, youll haie to take me in for charity. I cant go back to that confounded house (I paid five thiousamid dollars for it); I havent any place to go. If youre goimig to keep me, I think its more proper we should be married. I suppose it is, suggested Miss Vesta, after some thought. We mimight go to Jamme Rohhinstahls; she womild send for Dr. Con- serve. I should have preferred to wait till I had thought more about it. But if you should have another of those attacks, I should prefer to take care of you. Its no- 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. bodys business but ours, pursued Miss Yes- ta, with a touch of the family dignity. The sun caine out, and came out. It seemed as if there never was so ranch sun to come out l)efore. The fickle wind turned south, and there staid faithfully. They went into Boston on the noon train. Half Telephone went too. Telephone al- ways went to Boston after a storm. Miss Yesta would not take his arm; she said, Wait till we come home ; but she walked beside him with delicately lifted bead. She drew the old - fashioned lace veil, and under her cloak she wore Susys painted pink ribbon and the cashmere dress. She thought of puttin~ on her silk; but it was black. She had brought down the thin engagement ring, and Jared had put it on again. She said she should have plenty of time to get some gloves in town. The sun came out, and came out, and canie out. The turned-ni) turf in the square lots took on warm shades of brown and scanty green. People opened the blinds of the shut parlors (on account of the moths) to let in the air. The rows of cheap houses looked fresh and clean; the gangs of labor- ers whistled at their work; the smell of the concrete sidewalk caine up pleasantly, as if to remind one of summer, when the air would be full of it; the signs put out read cheer- fully. How many happy homes there were For Sale or To Let in Telephone! All the business men Miss Vesta and Jared met had paid for their houses; their faces shone; they did not seem lank at all. Miss Vesta thought how many intelligent-looking peo- ple lived in Telephone. She told Jared she thought the place was rapidly becoming cul- tivated. The ladies of the neighborhood passed them; only one had on velveteen; they were going in shopping; they wore pretty, mod- est clothes. The Pettiwinkle baby trundled by in its carriage, holding out its hands to Vesta. The Purchases nodded at her, smnil- lug through the window. One of the Adamses stopped and told her that the old lady Church had sent in five dollars from Boston for the mission school. In time dis- tance the steam-shovel sighed softly. They looked back as they turned the con- crete corner to the station. On an old gray house with little panes of glass and some elm -trees two hundred years breathed a pure and patriarchal benediction. Heaven bless it ! said Miss Vesta. On a saucy, shabby cottage with a sus- piciously wet roof the morning sun winked warily. It was only two years old, after all, said Jared, forgivingly. Too young to know better. Ill turn it into a mission school. The station-mistress came out to see them when they got to the station. Jared went to telegraph to Jane Rolhinstall and Dr. Conserve. The station-umistress told Miss Vesta she didnt know it was an acquaint- ance of hers, and asked her if she was goin in to Cousin Janes. The station-mistress had on a clean white apron over the alpaca (iress. The baby sat on time floor and held the door openthe stockings were blue that day. The sun lay distinctly on time modern carpet; it was so warm thati there was no fire in time air-tight stove, and the German ivy jar stood upon it; the paper dado glittered hike old mosaic varnished; time chromos were framed in the colored straw and hung over tIme piano. The girl in the pull-back was ornamenting the cali- co pantaloons with stripes of deep i)rick- colored worsted braid; as she sewed she sang. There was a red geranium in one of the decorated blacking bottles. The sta- tion-muistress said it was one of the days every body went to Boston. She said folks looked so happy aftcr it had rained. Then she asked Jared if he found a house to suit him, amid lie said he had. Then she asked him if he minded the steam-shovel, and lie said no, he didnt mind any thing; and the station-mistress said that was kind of queer. Then she asked Miss Vesta if her salary was frozen, and thmen she asked But just then time whistle sounded down the narrow, sunny Iemmgthm of the Happiness arid Energy Railroad. The two-oclock was pronipt to an instant. Jared noticed this with approval. Every body pushed and hurried gently, laughing, to get in. Miss Vesta felt it very strange not to have to pmmsh and hurry for herself. She sat by Jared silently; she looked very sumart and young behind her veil. Now and then she wondered if she had let Jared win her too easily this second time. But then she re- membered those attacks. If lie had not had rheumatism at the heart, of course it would have been very different. And thien, as he said, they had been lonesome so long. So whien they got to Jane Rohhinstahis (Jane had a fiat iii the Boswick Hotel) they found her at houme, sittin0 in her black dress. She was writing invitations to a course of parlor lectures, by aim unpopular but consci- entious critic, on the Miimor Nova Zemublan Poets. Sime put do~vn her pen, aiid said, with much Rolhimistahl independence and decision: You did perfectly right, my dear, to come directly to mae. Dr. Conserve has semit wordhe boards herethat he can not commie here till quarter of five. So take it easily. Timere are a few 01(1 Palestine friemindsboard here ;I tlmought youm would hike to have theum presemmt. I have invited Herman and Dorothea Roll installboard- iuig herethey belong to time Rhode Island branch. ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVERSITY. OUR inoderia age sometimes brings the mood when the song of Paracelsus staites the heart as the wail of the Nine- teeuth Ceittury. The voyagers from afar lantliiig on their rock in mid-sea, there build shrines for their beautiful gods, then sit to- gether on the beach and sing because their task is donewhen, lo! the raft with its gentle islanders floats near, and they tell thens of their isles jnst at hand, with tern- l)les and olive groves all waiting for their majestic forms. Then the voyagers awoke irons their dream, and realized the desola- tion on which their homes and i(lGals had been lixed; but they bade the happy isl- anders depart. They had no heart to mar their work, they said; their gifts once giv- en most there abide! This is, accord big to Browning, Tine sad rhyme of the men wino proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride. But since the poet wrote that he has left off taking views of this fog-veiled lump of chalk called Eungland from amid Florentine Voc. LYIIIKo. 3432 sunshine: moreover, he has made friends with Oxford and received of its honors, and I laave a notion that if he had tiac romance to write over again now, there would be another conclusion. Tiac voyagers having planted thacir little colony annid barren rock and saud, unwilling to leave flue spot coin- secrated by their deities and their toil, worked on to inaprove things; slowly but steadily thacy pualverized the rock, and grad- ually saw it spring np isa the stems of trees; they watered the faintly struggling weeds amid the sand, and made a soil; they sowed a little and reaped a little; they died; oth- er generations carried foravard their labors, iantil at last their descendants could visit the isle they anissed, with its teniples and olive groves, witlaout pain or envy, and re- tuarn to their own, happy and contesated. There is an outer and a mystical sense in whicla the fable so ending might be told of Oxford. St. Frideswide, who once took ref- uge frona her persecutors in a pig-sty, may be supposed to have been thankful for small favors in the way of a locality; at any rate, the site fixed upon for her monastery more MAIii)ALEN JQLLEGIi, oxFORn.

ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVERSITY. OUR inoderia age sometimes brings the mood when the song of Paracelsus staites the heart as the wail of the Nine- teeuth Ceittury. The voyagers from afar lantliiig on their rock in mid-sea, there build shrines for their beautiful gods, then sit to- gether on the beach and sing because their task is donewhen, lo! the raft with its gentle islanders floats near, and they tell thens of their isles jnst at hand, with tern- l)les and olive groves all waiting for their majestic forms. Then the voyagers awoke irons their dream, and realized the desola- tion on which their homes and i(lGals had been lixed; but they bade the happy isl- anders depart. They had no heart to mar their work, they said; their gifts once giv- en most there abide! This is, accord big to Browning, Tine sad rhyme of the men wino proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride. But since the poet wrote that he has left off taking views of this fog-veiled lump of chalk called Eungland from amid Florentine Voc. LYIIIKo. 3432 sunshine: moreover, he has made friends with Oxford and received of its honors, and I laave a notion that if he had tiac romance to write over again now, there would be another conclusion. Tiac voyagers having planted thacir little colony annid barren rock and saud, unwilling to leave flue spot coin- secrated by their deities and their toil, worked on to inaprove things; slowly but steadily thacy pualverized the rock, and grad- ually saw it spring np isa the stems of trees; they watered the faintly struggling weeds amid the sand, and made a soil; they sowed a little and reaped a little; they died; oth- er generations carried foravard their labors, iantil at last their descendants could visit the isle they anissed, with its teniples and olive groves, witlaout pain or envy, and re- tuarn to their own, happy and contesated. There is an outer and a mystical sense in whicla the fable so ending might be told of Oxford. St. Frideswide, who once took ref- uge frona her persecutors in a pig-sty, may be supposed to have been thankful for small favors in the way of a locality; at any rate, the site fixed upon for her monastery more MAIii)ALEN JQLLEGIi, oxFORn. 18 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAOAZINE. than eleven centuries ago could hardly have lieen selected from worldly motives or a taste for the picturesque. Low,liat, mead- owy, marshy, bushy, wasto a laroe cx tent still isOxford, with no hill to he seen. Nevertheless, it was in this unat- tractive place that the seekers of another country fixe(l their habitations and loiilt their shrines, and it is hardly too much to say that they have turned it to a little pam- dise in its way. Even three hundred years ago Ralph ~~ggas waxed emotional about the place Ancient Oxford noble narse of skill A cilie seated riclie in ever e thing Girt with wood and water. The wood is no longer visi ide, but about t lie water there can l)e 110 mistake. How, with so much 111ea(low a11(l various ulloisture aronaul it, Oxford has ulaulagell to secure so fihir a sanitary record (though this is not the very best) is a luobleni that may ~ Ac a visitor, till lie (liscovers that the first lesson taught aLi(l inastere(l in the nni ver sity is the art (If becoming amphibious. Like the saintly baptismal (luck of Attars fable, the Oxonian leads a clean and mare life so far as water can make it so. lie is an aqulatic evolution. Creatures that like not water have here no habitat. There is something fluid even al)oult Oxonian relig- ion. Matthew Ariiobl must have stiadied (lilt on the Isis his famous generalization about the universal stream of tendency that makes for righteousness. That md- (lyelleeked HighChurchman von hear in toulilIg the liturgy is the same man you sa~v ata hunt before s~lasl1iug along thte river edge flannel-fleshed, bare-legged, cheeriuig his college crew, regar(lless of all the luret ty dames on shore waving their handker- chiefs, hilt presently to reslIollhl (levolatly to his intonings. It were perilouas to tear a black gown or a surplice in Oxford, lest soane crews colors slicuald peep through. Thus the voyagers who settled 011 this marsh have for ages becia turning the water iiite roses, such as bloom cii healthy cheeks null if the rock arouln(l theni has hot criluit I bled off into stately steumis and trees, it has risen iii statelier steeples and towers, which any otlacr islaii(lers wouh(l P11(1 it hard to match with their olive groves. These tulle and liatuime have adolited, and the eye easily follows their exattilule so that other nat lIral a(Ivantagcs muly be regarded as those least for which Oxomiiaai la~v cares not-ex- cept, ill(leed, they he smachi as Shialispeare in clulded when lie persoiiahly reminded heat that lintulme is Ilelped by aio tileahi, butt na- ture makes flint mean. There wouald seem to he soumuethilug sP~- cially appropriate iii the fact flint this tiut ciciat seat of Culture should luave demnoul stmatc(I the power of culture luy cretil hg out (if muld, marsh, and stouic its luerfect form auiil physiogmiomy. The hnriuiomiies to which this lumnidredgated city of the 1110(1 emma world arose are still heard amid felt. There is every where presemit the feehimig and spirit of art amid of artistic lifo. Masters, professors, denmus, whether residimug itt the colleges or ill seltamate luitlhisi(uuis, have gemi ca-ally a beauatifmd cli vitomimuiemit though ~~hien you look aroumud as a semmutimucer, the orunitiemitatioui is all very simuuple. Tite fimiest decorative tomachues here ale smachi as cama iaot be itiade to order, amid umumicy cami miot buay thueni. Fifteemi yeats ago I saw iii his rooutus at Bahiol tlte pritfessot of Creek Bemujamuuimu Joweft, who ~vns I lien by odium IhCOlOgicell( couIlluelhe(l to (10 moore work thiaui nmiy scholar iii Oxford, oui a stillemi(l of 40 I thieii rnarvelle(l at the elegamiec amid evemi beamaty luy which Ite was siummoumided in a study without nmuy fhiimtg costly ; humat flue other day, whueii I hind the homior of visiting thIe sanue luau, miow luotht professor of (heck ail(l hiead-uiuaster of that great college, it was evi(hemit thlat iii flue limier rooutis flue elegance nuid beamaty were essemufially the samethe refimued scitohar reflected iii his cia viromimemit. The professors of flue mimuiversitv. muot beimug officers (If flue colleges, gemierally reside imi detached houses, most of whicla appear new, TiLE cOLlEGE eovElINOa, IN MACnALEN cOlLEGE QiJAIlEANetE. ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVERSITY. and the play of individual taste iii an4 around tlieni vests a nornial fullness in the l)rofeSsiollal exchequer which the catalogue of sala ijes does not sustain, inaiiy of these gentlemen being really niideip 0(1 1 hiest res ideiices, which generally have l)ellind. them i Ii 1t icie of greensward PU fectl~ trim- nle(l, ailorijeil W itli tloi ii ilal terres, trees n ith se ts he- neatli tlieiii lie l)lllIt ot heel) re(l brick iii the hter Gothic style. Witliiui i~ fonnd that rare kiiid (If order that is free trout ancointortable sa gges tiolis of geometry or aiensu ration. The interiors of the students quarters often in- dicate fiuniliarity with re fluted homes. Their rooms are considerably larger, as a rule, thaii the rooill5 ot nll(lergra(l- nates at Harvar(l or Yale, and having much fewer books in them than are usual in sim- ilar rooms in America, i~p pear like conifortahle sitting looms rather than studies. And, finally, all these rest (lelices inside and outside the colleges have the appearance (If being apartments of the city itself. That, too, is or- (lered like a household. The streets are nearly as clean as the college halls and quadrangles, also near- ly as quiet. Not only their quiltint home steads, but their very shops, ale a syltlpa- thetic constituency around the university walls aul(l towers. If ones imagination should start out to track the archi tee tural evolution of Oxford, every step would have its illustration. Tile ~ ~ slept in groups together, and collse(~uetltly the stullents study s spacious. The thatched shelter under which the pil- grim pupils shared their itontely com lllOli5~ has become rich with laced archi- trave, cohered ceiling, atd rose- wiuidow but the young lord, the t.ra(lesullalls 5011, and their accollll)lished teacher still sit there togetller On wooden benches, and guests are not tiurned empty away. Washington Irv- lug has told the legend of the Alhainbra in Spain, that it was origimially a hierniita.ge. Its pio~is occupant worked nuiracles for the king, and was asked to name his o~vu ic ward. The hermit repliell that his wants were simple, lie urterely (lesire(l to have his poor abode furnished. In the elid, Ilowever, it took half the imperial treasures to fur- nish that hermitage. It has not taken less to gradually furnish the monastery which St. Frideswide founded at Oxford. It has requuite(I niuch nuore to tutu the friar into a lIrotessor. Yet amid all this beauty aui(l flute society the ancient simplicity lingers in many ways; it is easy hy a few staps to miss fromut the ninetectith ceuttury to the thirtecuithi. Far from lucid were the images which the shrineimilders of Oxford set up. Au cuithumisiast ill arebreology might experience keen regrets in walking aroulud Oxford nuid encouuuterimi g its iumscruutahle-I was ahouit to 5llV idols: that is what we should call such forms if we lund dug them np ut India, but here we tumust say symbolical ligmures. I-low ouia would like to iuiterview the maui who ilesiguied, the sculptor who execuited, the statuies that stauu(l on pillaus alouig the sides (If Magdaleut College (~nallraulgle Their (late seems to be 1509, aumd IV. Reeks a fellow of 167187tried to solve their uuleauliuIg hi a MS., still lIleser~~e(l, called (Edipus Mag(lalensis. But his explamia tioii of soune (lf the tiguures when read beside thicuit are quite as cuilgunatical is thienuselves. The figmires on time virtuorus side mire of com- paratively easy iuuterpretation. Beuieatlu the t~vo windows of the Presidents rooun are the riiormusoii BENJAMIN JOWIITT, MASTEII OF ilALtOl clILIFOt. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Lion anti the Pelican, which clearly indicate that this 5110111(1 nnite conrare hili official with that selfdevoting teIi(lernesS winch is fabled in the bird that feeds its young with its own blood. Then we have the stern Schoolmaster, who hears a roll of paper in one hand, and in the other a ferule. Next conies the Lawyer embracing his Client the jinniediate jewel of his soul. Follows the Physician scrutinizing the contents ofa bottle. The Divine is symbolized in Moses opening the tahles of the Law. In unpleas- ant proximity to the professional group stan(ls a iFN)ol with his cap and bells. Sam- son conquering the lion Goliatli with the small stone ~n his forehead, iimcli astonish e(l David with a short sword sllccee(l. Then we have a big Hippopotamus with a little one on his back, in which is (hiscover alile the office of a Tutor to hear the under gin diiate through resl)onsions an(l mod- erations. But now here come two strange towns a plump and nude woman amid a man in much time same condition, both partly an malized, and with long tails, in which our tEdipus Reeks tumids 5vmnhol5 01 sol)riety and gluttommy Which meamis which, it seemiis un possible to say. l3oth seem to imnid~ l)1d7( mm impudence. The next is one ot the queci- est liures and our 01(1 mmmtell)lettl sm~s it means Drumikenia ss It is tm nine of a maim with three iiecks mud herds Out of th st is a himmaiiized lioim s herd mother r sheep, the third (apparently) m goose 11 this thud were a pgs head time liloustlosith mmoht be takemi to rellresemit the ral)bmnmcal table of druiikemmiiess. There is a rabbimilcal fable to tlme elThct that when Noah beau his first work after time deluge ~mlamitimig a vineyard __Satan approached amid offered to be his partner iii iiumsbaiidry, amid his offer beimig accel)te(l, lie (the devil) proceeded to sacri lice or slay 0mm the vimieyard successively a liomi, a sheep, and a hog. Thereafter lie who (Iramik the fruit (it time vimme was emidowed first with tIme hiomis liercemiess, iiext witim sheep isimimess, and thimally with the grossuiess of the hog. This amid other rabbinical fables float- about Europe hum tIme Middle Ages, and it is possible that the sculptor of this figure had it iii his nuimi(I, limit substituted a goo5e for time hog, limit this is iiot tIme most p~- zlimmg of time figuires: the mmext Mr. Reeks calls similly Lycaim thropyno (louibt iii despair. Time head bears as imimich reseumblamice to that of a wolf as of ammy oIlier ammimimal, amid that is very little ; tIme body is male, sommiewimat hmuiummami, aiid sits like a kaiioainoo ; iii omme hand it holds a chilIls imead, and beside it is aim owl. TIme next tigiume is siumilar, hut it has a frogs head h)esi(le it is a little cow in place of aim owl, amid above its womnaiis breast is i ftmmmale faceat time bottom of the mieck Ilmis piobably represemits time medi- icyal notuomi (If time Lanmia. The remnaiumimig figuire~ are umiore clear: Lust is displayed iii repuuisux e fom ins timere is a griffiumdragoim free nid r suumiul in oiue ehmaimied ; amid lastly we hmix c thic s( m mes conipleted by time mmmcdi- nvah Dcx il hmimmiself. Whatever nia.y have beoum time particular sigimiticaumee of time vari- ous forums timere caum 110 miS a be (lIOiht timain series they were meamit to iumupress oii tIme youithmfuil ummiumIl the excellemmee ot time Virtues and horrors of time Vices. Here iii Maudlemi Q uiadrauigle went oum still the umighity war between Orumimizif amid Almniumman, Light amid Darkimess, Good and Evil aumd every stum- (lOut wimo imassed bemmeatim these forms had to rime Di~AGON, iN IIIAGALEN COLLEGE QUAIiIiANGLu. lie a soldier on one siile or the other. They contrast between Lamia and the admirable who here set up these figures little dreamed, Smoke-jack near by, where the fire is cook- perhaps, the form that strnggle would. as- ing a score of sirloins which its own smoke siime ten centnries later, but their notion of it will probably remain after many a delnsive all(l transient controversy 1) as l~asse~l away, and hot theologians are succeeded l)y cooler and wiser teachers, ~vho shall recognize as true comrades all who are bringing courage, love and learning to conquer the animalism of moan and chain his dragons. I thuex it may have been after meilitatiimg on some of these mon- sters that young William, Duke ot Gloncester, wrote in his Latimi Exer- cise-Book (preserved in the library) certain stroimo simnihitudes for A Tyrant. A Tyrant is a savage hideous Beast. Imagine that you saw a certain Monster arme(1 on all sides with 500 horns, on all sides (lreadtuhl fatnd with humane in trails drunken with hnmane blood this is the fatal misehiefe whoni they call A Tyrant. Wihliani. Jumme ~ 1700., TIme lads tutor, Bishop Burnet, has niade sun(lry corrections in the Latin, but it is to be hoped he rewarded the sentiment. These antiquities appear ineffably curious when one sees them side by side with so many things that rep- resent the latest improvements in physical environmnen ts. What a I)IiUNIiENNESS, IN MAAiI)ALF.N QUAI)IIAN(iLE. iNTEIiloim OF SIUIiENI ~ wov, csi-uuuu (IOLIE(41i. 22 hARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. turns upon their respective spits! What iiovelties of art, ornament, comfort, fiui(l themselves still surroii li(le(i by these funny 01(1 frames! And yet as to the Orrnuzd- Ahriman battle, as to the Promotion of virtne aiid rei)ression of vice, it wolliLl seeni that Oxtbrd (lel)en(1s mainly OIL the nicient weal)ons. The statues represent- nig the two are spiritualized, but to raise liirh the licauti ful staii(lard of 5, the Good iiid deoTilde that of the Evil, is a plan not vet aiiti(iiiate(l in tile old nniversity. Ox lord is unique in tile (legree to which it uses the ancient Greek aii(l Roman philoso- Illiers for moral enils. The professors stil(ly Aristotle aiid Plato with the students, ajid, iiis~eai1 of falling to fisticuffli over the rela- tive merits of the two, as their predecessors lid, they believe that human ferocity may lie curbed by such study; therein giving 1~ a mystical interpretation to t e legend of Queens College, that its ann ua~1 hoarshead feast dates from the kiihiii of a monster hoar by a stii(lelit armed only with a volnme of Aristotle lie ,which thrust (lown its throat. It might appear, antecedently, a hopeless iiiiilertakiiig to attack the aiiimualism of Yoiiuig England with volumes of Aristotle, Plato, Platareb, Seneca, Anton iiie ; but it is certaiii that the studies of these philoso- pliers at Oxford bear far lieyoiid their liii- giiistic value an(l this sort of culture would hardly contiiiue to be depen(led oii so largely were it iiiipr(i(hiicti ye Iii ancient tiiiies all who camc to Ox ford were religious people, otteii coiiiiiiti froni afar aii(l iiiakiuig sacriticts to (Jilt in knowledge. Alt hioiigh (hiscilihili ii~ cliii Ks auid regulatioiis have gradii ills ii Ca, they are so few aiid appareiitl~ P tide thi it it is plain the 01(1 assumption ~us to thu pions character ofthie students still lirge ly characterizes the niiiversity Lieu is trcate(l as a seeker of kiuowledre aii(1 vii tue. His room is as sacred fi oni iiiti usuomi as was the iiioiiks cell (if e iuhiei d i~ s No master or proctor caii iiisist oii eiitci 5, N iii a stiideiits roomii, wliitex ci miv his suspicious as to Procee(hiii(rs uiisude The exteiit to which this immuiiiiiit~ us c~u neil may be judgeil by the ta( t thi it e~ iil youth is ahiowed to order (if tha colic e stores as ninch wiiie or spirits is lie de sires, amid his oider is Tilled xu itliont in~ special limitation, amid without my ques tioui beiiig asked as to its dispos d I lie possibility of a youuuig maii duuiikiui~ lind in his u-oonu is iio moie euitertiiiied thiin it lie were still a pilgrim at the shHiic of St Fmideswide. it is true that sonie of time collegesamid each has its own reoulatuoums ___provide agaiiist extrivi ~ince by fix iuig a hiiiiit (it wei El ~ xp iidituii aiid if the stndeiits pun hi uses Iroiii Tin collcge stoies exceed tin hiiiiit his ~ith iitioui is called to it, actioii beiii ~ tmh ii iii case (if frequcuit repetitions of thu excess lImit iii iio case that I can duscox ci is this hiuiiut smith as could prove a iestiictuoii oui diuiikinr w imie auiils~)initsbeiuigatc() o~iei tixepiics Ihue stuihent nmav diiiik 1 ieii~ ii 01 Gei ni~ui w uuics at tlic pi~es hut w ouuld mi.~ iii Yriiiice aiid Gerni ~ (lii ui t of hi only costs a dollni, auiil of w himske~ em~hity tour cents. The niiu versity iegulmtuomms meant to dis couiuage (hissipituomi ~ummd imuuuoiality nue mainh~ diue t il in iuuist the sednctioims of the tow mm outsidc cohiege ix ills. Thie stum dents uie rmooiousl~ ri sti imiied friuni fcc qneiitu ii a pn lii mc hionses oi sahoomis whicie ever they go they niuist wear their gowiis, iindei- peiialty of flume, so that they amay be re~ogumized. As Oxforil citytechumically a city hiecanse it has a cathedralexists cluietly to supply the demum~umds of time muiii versity, the severe proiiihitiomis of ages The university statutes are piumited in siurprisiiug Latiii, hut ire siufficienily exlilicit. F. g. Statuuteun est quod scimolares cuijuiscuuuuquue cunditionis a diver soriis caiupouiis enopoiis ac domibuus qiuiuaiscauuqiie unira civitatem vel jir cimictamn uuiiversitutis in quuiluuis vinuuiu unit quivis altius Pots nut imerlie nicotiauma (sive tobacco) orillimaria vendituur ulistineant; nisi ex caiisa necessaria et argenti per Xlcecancellarium aiut Proca- ratores apl)robuiida; quiodque si yiis secius fecerit pro uirt)uirio vicecuui.ellarii aui I. Procuir toriurn puiniatuuu. Elsewhere gladiatorial combats are foihidilemi, a1ou~ with hilliarils, hut mao offense seems 5(i feart iii as go- ing about after sunset, or before 1 CM., without cap and ~,own. 9 iYiJANTiiiiOiY, IN MACiALEN QUNiOIANGIE. ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVEI?SJTY. 23 against low illaceS ot resort have had their eftbct in clearing the town ot such. No prostitute is ever seen on the streets and it is pretty certain that even covert inunoral- I ty has been reduced to a minimum. On the other hand, the students can generally tin(l ways of getting peinhissioi to visit oth- er townsit is but fourteen shillings, see- oiidclass, to London an(l back all(l they are sai(1 to possess generally great iiigeiiiiity iii craininin g into a fi~v hours the excesses which students w itli more opportunities spread over a week. But after all allow- ulces are iiiade for (lel)ancheries elsewhere, there are good grounds for believing that the moral character of Oxford is exception- ally high, and chiefly imecamise of the dig tance to which most temptations have been removed. It requires a degree of cool vi- ciousness which happily few of these healthy youths caii have, to set on tdeliberately upon an exl)e(litioil of self-indulgence and sensu- ality. Impulse of the moment checked, the whole youth is checked. Solitary tippling, too, is little to the taste of the young; and their guardians quietly provide tha.t the gathering tonether of nuder-grad nates in one room shall not l)e presse(l too far. Yet with all this, the freedom ~ilo~vecl youths who have iio intellectual or moral partic illation in tIme mud life of Oxford might ~ Pe~o~5 w cit it miot that their animal simirits and then enema find vent and relief in cricket, bortmior and other sports for which such miple IHOX usioum is ma(le. The methods of duscillhine and punish- ment at Oxtoud hv~ e never been quite sat- isfactory. lime pmmnuslu meats consist (1) of pecuniary tines at w hichi wealthy students smile (2) ot rusticuhon, or bauishumneut from the university for a definite period, which is costly to the college; (3) expul- siouin. Offenses of the graver class, involv- big guilt cognizable by law, are dealt with by the Chancellors Court, whose jumris(lic tion by virtue of ancient privilege imas been ackilo~vle(lged by all Enrhislm courts. The Vice-Cimnuicellor is justice of the I)eace for time couimities of Oxfbrd and Berks amid all cases imm which a resident meniber of time university is concerned are first brought be- fore him, to be dealt with summarily, or by hiinm be renmitted to the ordinary courts. But offeumses against college or mimmiversity regulationssuch as sumoking ill time streets, stayimig out after the college gate is closed (9.15 m~r. to l() P.M., as (hiflereult colleges umy lirescribe), gohig gowuless iim time pre- scribed imoursare nuore (lifficuuit to deal within. Time shmrewd mn~ster of Bahiol (Jow- ett) not long ago utilized an 01(1 provisioll, bug neglected, b~. which a stmmdeumts sums l)hies at time Buttery mighmt hue stoppe(l at discretion. Fauicy time emotion caused hum the hearty uuumder-gradumnte breast amid stoum- ach when, awaitimmg his beef ammd beer amud tart, line is told timat Imis Battels (0. Emig., bat, to imiclease, aul(l dad, huoutioll) are withuhield by orders. Biut it ouihy umicaums that aim iii tervie~v witlm hmiimm is desired by time ummaster hue oumly coummes a little later thmnim time rest to diumimer, and has a geumtle adimmonitioum to di- gest doug within hue pumd(hiimg. I believe Master Jowett has snve(1 imis college auminh stumolemits 5(in mmmcli troumble by timis qumiet, umum- observe(l appeal to thme youtim fimi appetite timat otimer colleges are adoptimig the linlaul. Bumt, after all, time sovereigum morah force in Oxford is time hmiglm stamidard of persommal imomuor smmstaimmeol from of 01(1, t15 we have seemi by time study of auiciemut pimihosophy, umow fixed imi its traditioums, amid felt by ev- ery ameumber of time umumiversity in thie (higulity it besto~vs umpon hmium. Time most timomughut less youth is mupt to be sobered wimemi lie fluids imiuuiself gemi eralh y trusted by profess- ors to his owim seuise of hioumor, aumd whmeum wherever lie goes lie ohiscovers that some thiuug more is expected of an Oxoniaui thmnum of otluer youuulg mmmdii. Sonue oume has smu(l that in Emuglamud every fifty imemucefuml years are equmal to a mevohum tiomin. It may be added thmmmt such revohum- tioums are rarely rec(mguiized by thmose who pass through thiemmi, aui(l flint they umever go backward. But surely fifty years is a bug tiumme to allot f(mr a revohuitioui iii this tele- phonic mmge. Perhaps it (lepemids oum the place. After readiuig articles about Ox ford written only a qimarter (if a ceuitmury ago, it TUE TUTOR, IN imAem)AmEN QuAmumANeumi. seems to me that the place must have un- (lergone a revolution since then. About that time a very distinguished and acute American wrote honie froni Oxford about its conservatism he Sai(1, Whatever auy Massachnsetts to~vu unanimously affirms, Oxford demmies. Not long after the late war for the Uuiou an eminent scholar ail(l soldier of Massachusetts was walking along the ancient avenue of limes at Oxford, an(l all the antiquity of the place seemed ex- pressed in that seiltence just quoted. But just theii a college l)and, behind the hedge, struck up Marching throngh Georgia The soldier felt as lie listened soluewhat as time scholar felt soon after, in Merton Libra- ry, whien,.after noting the 01(1 books chained to the wall, lie discovered that the last two vohulnes issued to a stmnlent were tllose of the most sweeping radical of our tine. These little things are simificant of large things. Time aiiciemmt frauie of Oxford re- ulaills from age to age, but tile portrait is always challgillg. Of the thirty or more young Aulericans now at Oxford, it is prob- able that a moiety have been semit witll the intention tllat in om~e directiomi or another tiley slioul(l imhibe such views as are now called reactionary, and agabi oldlash iommed, ac cording to the describers atti- tll(le. Others may he sent imecause their parents or timeir own imaginations have Imeen fired by time heroics of Torn Brown at Oxford; while it is equally probable that a la,r(ver mmumber are iiot semit because of time l)r~saics of the same book. But it is to be feared that all of these imarties are con- celvillg of Oxford as far more stereotype(l and statiommary than it is, aml(1 of its illfin- ence as more uniformui tlmami it is. For omie thmimmg, that little cosmos has got too large for vie~vs of any omie set to iumpress themmmselves upomi it exclusively. For ammother thiin~, time antiquity about themmi being secure is taken for grallte(l, aimd Oxoniamis imot uimfre- quently exhibit an Athenian eagerness to hear somrme new thing. It seeumis limit a lit- tle time since we were all readimmg Torn Bmown, amm(l it is likely that Amnericamm imn pressions ai)ont life at this pmmiversity are mammily derived fronm its graphic pages ; but I have already sai(1 enomighi on a previomms page to smiggest to my reader time fact thmat the Oxford of to-day is by no umeaums that whmichi Tlmorimas II mighes saw. No douhmt time samne fammlts survive to some extemit, but they are no h(mmm~er elmaracteristic. The purse- proud meyoae has been redmiced, the taml(lenl driving lords aimd snobs are unknown ; tIme liqmieurs at a guinea a imottle and wine at five guimmeas a dozen, the startlimmg cigars and the ganubhimig, which were familiar to IiNTIIANCE GATE, MAG1)ALEN COLLEGE. ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVERSiTY. 25 the young gentlemen of St. Ambrose, are now nearly as mythical as the name of that col- lege. You niay hear I)rofessors or clergymen complaining of this or that set in some college as fast, but when the examples are quoted, they are likely to as- tonish by their moderation any one who has drawn his ideas of Oxon ian fastness from Tact Brown. The Town and Gown row is a thing of the past, so is that un- appeasal)le thirst for beer by which time youth of that time seemed to have been impelled. Although there is still such a sinoular devree of freedoum al lowed the young mcii in their rooms in the matter of spirits, a student who should any where be seen tipsy would lose caste eiitirely amolig his fellows; and this is true of any college in Ox- ford, It is impossible to name all the causes which li~ ye brought about these changes main one certainly is the largely increased severity of the examinations, as compared with what they were thirty years ago. Tandems can 110 longer drive through the lit- tle-go. Wine parties are imiconipatible with moderations. Gladstone won honors at Oxford with half the efforts that would now be required. 1mm one sense the advantaoe of this increased severity may bc questioned: it leaves the student little time for general reading; but morally tIme effect has been to do away with that unpleasant tendency to imitate London club life which was once so nianifest. But there have been influences (if other kinds at work also. What would the dons of the last gene ration, who could not tolerate Shelleys fondness for cheinis- try, have said could they have foreseeii that crc the next had closed a Board of Studies would include iii their list the works of Gib- boa, Hume,Voltaire, Goethe, Lessin g, Carl~~le, LyclI, Mill, Darwin, Huxley, Tyndall, Hook- er, Draper, Gray, amid Sterry Hunt! It is, however, perilous to generalize con- cerning Oxford, for, notwithstanding a cer- tain unity about the place, the colleges have strikiiig dilkrcnces. One is rich, another poor: one Liberal, another Tory; and any ol fellow you umeet will display you their respective characteristics as if they were so many medals with legends. A slightly cyn- ical one read them off to me veiny easily. One consisted of tradesmens soils fond of dash aii(l stil1)id practical jokes ; another, the refuge of abuses ; a third is a boat club ; a fourth, iniot exactly fast, but easy ; fifth, Cr~sus ; and so on, sonic, of course, having pleasauter labels. Within a sufficient nunuber of salt graimus in each case, the de- scriptive phrases have their truth. Sonic- times time hunmorousjumdginents sd passed by the stmideuits on each others colleocs have the startlimig effect of beiiig echoes of their history. Thus the college said to be over- fomid of stupid jokes is (lear old Merton and it is odd to reflect that just there Duns Scotus devoted himself to those subtill quiddities whiclm emabalrmied his uminie iii time word dance. Time first notc(l maim con- imected ~vithm Mertoum was Roger Bacoui, as- trologer; time last wmm.s Henry Tanning, cardi- nal. Trinity College, time ancient nursery of tIme mmmoiiks of Durhammi, bears time repute of being dull and respectable. What else should we expect from time college wimich cx- pelled Laudor amid fostered Bamptomi, foiiimd- er of the lectures l Bahiol is sonmetimes called time nest of heresies. Beside it the heretics of thmeir timne, Craniner, Ridhey, Lati- umer, mouiit guard on their inommummuent. Near tlmeimi still Imovers time spirit of Shirley, which san Only the actions of time just Smell sweet cud blossom in the dust. The stories of these colleges are romnamitic; there is an aimeedote for every carved stone (if them; but I must leave such aimtiquariami seduetloims. Eachm college had its special reasomi to rise, amid each has put forthin its strengthm in time great race after truth, and also, it umuist lie confessed, after power. Aft- er I hind listened to a rreat deal of sensihP MERTON coLLemie emmAmmu. 26 HARPERS NEW MONThLY MAGAZINE. persiflage about the various co1le~e ~ 5, and then witnesse(l a splell(lid regatta on the meditating iii the Clarendon Ho- I sat, usell to flirt with pretty Mrs. l)aveiiantmore anxious to win her smiles than the graud compliments of Professor Butler, who listened to his pLys an(l set him above Teremi ceseemneol 110w to re-appear null spreall the scenery of the pnst before me. All Oxford ~vas part of the great stream of Time, a 11(1 the colleges were 51) niaiiy weli-lllanlle(1 boats starting on their coin petition of centuries h)r an unknown goal Each represents some special party, belief, teiiileucy, ot its time an(l each will hump tile other, as tile phrase goes, if it can. Some oars wax weary amiol faint by the way, and give up their place to otilers some, again, that began feebly unfold nll(lreanle(1 ener- gies. Perhaps if some that started on time granli course could have foreseen just where they ~voubl ilave been anno 1578, their oars would all have stopped togethernot an- other stroke! We sometimes think of those who lived and searched for truth in the ccii- tunes before the Reformation as reposing in a blissful harmony because they were not (lividell on the particul ir quesi ions flint (livide us. But whleil th~~t host dawn of freedom seilt its 1110) nin(F breath over Oxfbrd it found dl thu colors of siil)se(lneilt coiltiovem sines awn iti ng the signal ot Ii hI ration each floated out over its tomlmn~ crew aiid so each passed on to onim OW ii tulle which sees the stueuii hued w itim l)ar{~es represeilti ilg e very va- riety of ideal and every de~rce of en- thusiasni in its pursuit. And now among the many start- ers ill my mystical regatta, one swift boat rivets attention. It is marked Liiicolii. I asked a fellow ofBaliol, What sort of college is Lincoln 1 Small, scholarly, rather poor, was the reply. But in the Ilistoric p~~ specti ye it 1001110(1 up large and rich for there a~)peare(l to) Oxford its h)rol)llet, wIlose warilimigs have iiever been olitlivell. Ilavi ming j nsf listeiied to a lectnre by Max Muller 011 fetich worsiup, I foiiiid nil cxcii better cx planatioti of that h)1i1i1iti~e ciiltiis iii the feeling with whichi I presently stood beibre an 01(1 oaken pulpit in au ciltrailce 11:111 at Lincoln. Iii that illil pit Jobmi Wesley preached his first sermon. it has ilot been used for a long time ; it is not in the chapel, yet stalIlls where it generally stood iii 0)1(1 times, reinindillg us of the pericol when the chapel or church was for services beibre altars preaching was only occasional, the plilhlit he ing l)ronghit in wlleil it was wanted. Tllis pulpit has iiot been wanted for some time, in oiie seiis( but it m~y be doimbted if tile Oxonians (If to (I 1~ cum hear from any other piul Pit (liscoili S( lilOi 0 iiiipmessi ye thiaii that which may still sti lie iii attentive ear from that sileiit pulpit 111 the ilall. Passimig up the st lii w a~ , iiil(her guidance of aii accomplished fchlo~v of Lincoln, who well represeilts the reverence thiu felt Pu the memory of Wesley, I ciitered fli lOOlliS where rosided tIle first Metllo(hist sonic time fbllow of Lincolil College md wms tllere welcomed hy a llaiidsomlle voiiii gen tleinaii of the Church of Eiiglmuid Bo liitl fiil roonis they are, their large qunut wimi dows looking out, both front ililOl hi u k ox em velvet greeilsw1ir(l (if qimiet coin ts bound ed by wall mmml turret, carveli by reverent art, aild softened lullIler toimehi of tile mOOS Never, perhaps, to aiiy yoiithi mio lit 511(10 chiarmeli scenery have hicemi more emblem atie (If the fair outlooks aii(l hopes that stretched hiefoi-e the eves (If flint illeilliler of the house of Wellesley. Why should he ilot sit here as sereiiehy as this clear-eyed youth Ivhlo welcomes us into Ills neat and tasteful a.partnieiits 1 Bunyaii, the tiilker m(liht easily dream of his lowly amid poor roof as TIll) Wi15~i1Y rmLPmT. ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVERSITY. 27 incliatled iii the City of Destroction, but it alipirs strange that the coltured Joint Wesley, amid all this qojet beauty and maid these ~)ictnresq11e walls, shonid groan in spirit atter any city ot other fonndatioiis. The few pathetic traces of hint that retoat it in Lincoln College tell plainly how little lie conid tind there atty continuing rest. How slight in in iportance may have seemed to the st n(leltts an(l 1)rofessors the absences accorded to Mr. Wesley on every chapter day front 1739 to 1751 how pregnant they are in the light of history A~v. 6, 1739. Leave of Absence was ~ranled till the next Chapter Day to Mr. Wesley. Rica nut huTch INS, SttbJtector. Then there is the following entry lrcy 6, 1743. At a Chapter held this day, Mr. 11cc- br took iijtOti hint In Ileacit opon the Feast of All Saints as eseal. Mr. Wesley and Mr. Fenton were ap pullet by Ito Sbllectoi to peach, the former on the Dedication of A il-Saints, and the latter on tite Feast of St. Michael. May 6, 1749, the same entry. Finally we have in John Wesleys own itand tiac follow in g resign atit)tt Elo Joliannes \Xesley, Colleeli Lincolniensis, in Aca(lelnta Oxontensi Soctits, quicqntd niht joits est in ltimtticttt Societate, ejes(lea7t Itectore et Soctis sponte ac Itbere resieno Illis neiversis et sinynhis perpetnim jacein ac oiniitinodain in Citristo felteitarein exoptans. JoittaNet Wrsiey. LoNnixi, Kalendia Jeeji. Atme Salutis jllitlesiaue, Sejatoigeetesioe, Quiequagesitaea prime. After this spontaneous resignation of his fellowsltip aittl all its rights- wishing thent all and each iterpetnal l)eace anti all ltai)pittess in Christby Wesley, there fol- low these eittries: Jene 21, 1751. It was ordered that the Lincoln- shire Fellowship void by tite Resigitation of Mt. Was 113 sltotdd renatit void till tiext Cltapter Day. Rrcmtatm iluTeitaNs, Salt-Rector. May 10, 1753. Robert. Kirke, A.B., born at North- orpe, in I lie Coo ily of Liiicoln, tras uttatlinotasly elect- ed a perpetnal Fellorv of Li icoin College, into a Fellow slit ii helongitie to the ciatitity of Lincoln, voLt by the resigitalioti of Mr. Wesley. Macit. ROBiNsON, Sitla-Rector. Lincoln Cohere xvas fonuded expressly to wine wir agaittst the itleas of~Xycliffe. its Ittef It tea try treasiare itow is the MS. of W tIthe s l3ible; its eltief fame is to have ptotlncetl the great man tat whtolta the morn 3111 stat 13 as forernititer JoInt Wesley. I hete ts in old 1)hlt still flourisltittg gra~)e- ~ itte ait the courtyard ot Liitcolu Collene ~ litch It is a etarious story. The colleice had becoanta I ititer poor, atid titfli(l its stritroles the uchbisltop chanced to visit it. Tue (lean of the college was appoittted to pa~eac1t before ititta ota tlte occasi(tta ~tittl seli ctel tbr Itis text Psalms, lxxx. 14 I~etuan we be- seecha thee 0 God of hosts look tiow t froitt heaven, ahi(1 behold, atid ~ out thts ~ toe. It iteeti itardly be sai(t that in the tltscottrse Lincoln College was symbol tZ( d by the vine, and its needs disclosed ihe archbishop tever forgot it, aitd rettietithiered Liticolti hiattdsontely itt his avill. Ott receivilie the l)e(~laest this vine was plait ted as a otentorial ot tlte iitcideitt. Ho~v titaity eveit itiore tell inc sertatoits thirot tItat ot the witty deait niay that viitelastiitg tlirottgh gcnerations e Sw ci tl~ pleacltr(l to the youilt avhto clterislte(l it I ilittost fatitched I cotild see tlte ntc(ltt itt e hlcrvey avithi itis latillil Yes Icy pansiitg beside it to dreniat of i hit lie tat seeds, seenilug little atid lowly , that act take deep root and chinib ott impi t sit abl lire heart of Wesley took root md cliutbi d ott at Liticohi. It wats ott acclttlit tint at ti riage that lie resigited Itis fellow ship , bttt StibRector Hotehtitis, whose it attic appears in the atbove etitries, was a devout Method ist, mad lie left a kitidly bcqnest it moitcx ttt stl~)~thy the poorer sttideitts ot Liticohti avitht letter dititit is I hits foitti still does gooti service, and it is hat-re ettotighi to lilt vole also the minuil Iltitehtitis Dititter, which all members tt the cohlt ge etijoy. I ~a-a5 somcwhtrtt sot p~ iseti to ttiid thirst the college is uird patroitizcd b~ Mcthodistsor Wesicyans, as thea ma c tIled in Etigh attd there beitig tao stinacuit thit ac of that de itoittirtatiout. Uttit sit ins niti other Noiteon tortriists tavor it, aitd t Itbu il spirit hoe vraihs around thic spot where a tidrhtty move ttaeitt hnerait sitelt a spirit as would aviti the appio~ ~sh of the great mcii whose faith wris sit pt itt ct thirit it coithil ferirlessly set forthi the hitd~ lift ot Thiotians Firoti it, a Utti tariait itid say I urn sick of ol)iiiioits ; give tile the life M3 belief as that tire thmtainrr out of \Vcs- lcymtsiaa at Oxtoati was characteristic, that the tittix ersuty iii vet had a truer sout thimi its fonndci It wris really a moral move tititTilti (F air, vestry. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ruenta volcame tongue 1ea~)iIig forth amid frivolity, intellectual dilettanteisin, and self- isliness, pretending to represent relvuon sittiig in the seat of Moses aiid Christ. And if the Tractarian movement be examined, and tbe moral condition of Oxford, as de- scribed by Mr. Froude in his novels, be con- si(lere(l. it will be foumid that it too was far inure moral than theolooical. When Theo (lore Parker first came to England lie wrote fiomn Oxford ((late October 18, 1843) to Dr. Francis, at Cambridge, United States: Re- ally the rise of this party is one of the most enconraoing signs of time times. The old Clmrch is not so dead as mcii faimcied. Sonic are fonnd who say to the fat bishops and easy deaiis, Go to tIme devil with your liv- imings and your reiits, your tithes and your (listrainings; let us put life into these old Thriniis which you are lmmmmbu0ging the l)CO linle withal. Here is Dr. Newmangivcs up a rich hiviimg ont of conscientious scru- pies! Dr. Pusey, bormi of omie of the oldest tamnilies in the kimngdomn, which, at Pusey Hall, keeps a horn of gold given t hem by Cnnutca iiian bred in all tendcrness ri(les on thic outside of coaches, and submits to all umaummer of hard fare, to save m omicy to give to tIme poor ami(l promote e(lmlcatioil, Christianity, and the like of that. He says a man in good circumstances ought to rive up a fourth part of his incomiie for benevo- lent purposesand does it. In his study at Edgebaston Oratory, Pa- timer Newman 1mm a picture of Oxford, be- neath which lie has written, iii Latiii, the words: Son of man, can these boimes live? Lord, Thou kmmowest. Father Newmnainm left Oxford for the Church of Ronie in 1845. This yearat time close of omie geucration froni that sad J)artinghc visitcd time place again, and for time first time since lie left it. I was told that while lie was sitting at diii miner in his college (Oriel) lie asked an 01(1 friend, a clergyman, seated beside him, what chamiges that gemmeration had brought to Ox- ford. Time reply was that they were so vast that they could not be told, but time nmaimi change was time disappearance of time ec- clesiastical spirit. XVhmichm means that, in Father Newnians sense, Oxonian bommes are (Irier now thami ever. Simuce Tractariami breath ceased to stir them, all questiomis con- cerniming the amitiquarian authority of time Church amid priestly powers have failed in interest. Time recemint expulsion of a youth from the mmcxv Puscyite college, Keble, be- cause lie turimed Catlmohic,is emmough to in- dicate the horror with which even High- Chinurchmmuen view any possible recurremi cc of ecclesiastical controversy. Time questiomi of Nexviaamms tinme is nearly fossilized. The principle of Amughican supremacy in tIme Christian Church has been settled, amid in time way which English prideto name time lowest forcefrom the first, made its settle- memit certain. Time motion that the great English Church could be induced by any ammtiq mmarian commsi(leratioims to ackmmowledge a forcigmmeramid a foreigner who does not shineak Emighishas its supreme head, is a phami tasy whose hum dumigemice 5ii ggests dii hi in l)ehievimmo thmiim they 0 gs because are imupos- sible. There is imo umman that looks down more defiamitly on time Catholic thmamin the cx- tremne HighiClmurchinmaui. Rome is time Au olic aims rival. The tramisicinit comithict has left its sorrowfully picturcsq mue ummemorials in time famous brothiers parted to extrenmes of right and left : a Catholic Newuman ,a theistic Newmaum; Froude, the captive of Ronme, Frouide, time skeptic ainind bitterest emieummy of Rommie ; Matthew Arumold, whose God is a stream of tcn(iency, aum(l Timoimmas Armuohi, who has lately, amid funr tIme seemmud time, eimtere(l the Papal Cimurchi. But these all beloim~ to thme past. Time Tractari aim con- troversy has beqiucatimed to Oxford a coin- flict not almouit churches, but commecriuing time fimmidammmemital principles of faith. Ratiommal isma and Christianity have taken up time sxvords, amid if Belief can nmammage to survive the thiruists of Disbelief; it finds comnl)ara- tively easy time task of adjuistimig itself to sonic existimug Aininghicauin phase of faith amid worslin i P. The competition at Oxford just now seems to lie betwecinm time Broad or ratiominalistic party amid time High-Chmuurch party. They are both equally active amid flomurisluimig. Wimat, perhaps, is chmiethy remminarkable is time readiminess within which time Auighicauins, or Pu- scyites, take on the armor of progress in thucir methiods, and time facility within which they adapt thieniseives to mew needs: A striking imistamuce of this has juist conic withmimi my personal knowledge. A lady of wealth, deeply imiterested in time hmighmer cdii cation of her sex, receumthy gave 1000 to forum time umucleums of a suibseriptiomi to Iommmin(l at Oxford a college for youmumg wonmen siummi har to timat (Girtoum) whmichin is doiumg suchn ~ood worh( at Camminbridge. Those who were untrusted within time matter natuirahly pro- ceeded to comisumit with time Broad-Ciinurchin professors amud teachuers of Oxford. Frommi amoung these a co ummittee of gentleumeum amud ladies was fornied to consuilt abouut thue unmat- ter. It was cominchuded that time mumomuastic atnmosl)hmere still hiumgercd in Oxford suiffi- cieinutly to make it a hiazardoums mindertakiming to start there a regumlar feinmmale college, but thinat it was practicable to start sonic such uinmstitutioim in time forum of a boardiumrschmool for yonuig ladies. Meaminwhmihe, huowever, time Higim - Cli urchin peolule timere heard of the scincumme, aun(l imistead of prepariining, as was expecteul, to coumbat it, they heid a nincetimug amid comnstitmuted a conmunittee to take time lead in it ! Thnrowiming immonastic imotioums of womneum to the wiIinds, thucy semut word to the Broad - Church comninittee timat they were ENGLANDS GREAT UNiVERSITY. 29 prepared. to coalesce with them for the purpose of I)ractica.lly inaugurating fe male e(iucation in Oxford of a kind. which would. train girls for the university cx- animations, already opened to them; and the result was the formation of a strong committeewhich is at work while I writecoml)osed. of prominent amembers of both 1)nrties, nlI(l agreed. that the new institution shall be free from bias from either 5i(le. The teachiiu, shall be purely secular, each party reserving to itself the right to found. siLbsequently a school iii its o ~vmm interest. This determi- miatmon ot time Hiob Cinircim scholais not to be behind. the limes ma ineetiiio the grow mo demnamid. for female cdii c~ tmon not to leive women to piescrx e iii time school they uie sine to hvxe iu~ ti iditioii that it Wi5 cniied monust Iii hi Chumiclm hostihmt1 , Lii(li ates a flexibility and. comir- age in that wing of the Es- tablish amen t for whi cli its opponents had. not giveiiit credit, mmd. a progressi xe spirit which forbids time BroadChurch to amiticihmate aim easy victory im.m the future. The near prospect of this iiiuovatiou upon the ancient habits of Oxford already far a(lvance(1 in the umany lectures sa as c1 those of iRusk iii, Rolleston, Max Muller, and others, whic Tm have bug beeii crowded. with womenrecalls the honorable Ii istoric con- miectiomi of that sex xvithm the a.nciemmt nimi- versity. The coruer-stomie of the whole city and. nimiversity w~ s time umommastery founded by Frideswide ; and iii the cathedral, which is her monument, time most beautiful of tIme wiimdows is tlmat which records her legend, 1mm which she is seen takimig refuge from her h)ersecmltors in a pig - sty. Iii Deceunber, 1141, the Emmipress Mauide held Oxford Castle when it was besieged. by Kimig Stephen for a long timime. She was forced at last to fly, mnakimig liner way over time ice on foot amid. in a snow-storam, she and her maideims escaping (letectiomin by beimig clothed in wimite. In 1646, while Lord. Armindel was defemidimig Oxford. agaimmst tIme Pail iamnentary forces, his lady (lefeuided Wardouir Castle like an- other Mau(le. Whmemi Sir Edward Hummiger- ford amid his 1300 Roummudlmeads suinmumomied hiur to sumrremmder, she replied. that she had time or(lcrs of her lord to keep time castle amid those ornhers sue was deterruiumed. to obey ; ammini though evemitumahly she lmad to capitulate, it was on honorable tennis. omumi. caLrrem:, oxvoan. Though Bahiol College bears time name of Johum Bahiol, father of a Kiuig of Scotlamid, time statutes of its foniudatioum bear tIme seal amm(l umanme of his wife Devoroilda, time date being 1282, thmirteemi years after liner hums- bmmmm ds death. Dcv orgilda cariied about within her time embalamed heart of liner humus- baud iii a silver casket; aimd mo doubt it was imi pmmrsuiaimce of his wishes tlmat she foummmded the college; yet I was glad to fimud timat time stiudemits of Bahiol imave maimed timeir debatimig cliii) Time Devoigilda Socie- ty. Miss Haummahin Bmackemmbmmry recemifly built a new front for Bahiol, and. foumndcd sciemintilic schuolarshmips. Qumeemins College gets its name froma its fonmider, Qucemm Pimi- hippa (1340), and mimumumy quecims hm~ ye simmee befriemided it. Yet for many ages Oxford commfimmed. its homage so strictly to time Vir- gum Mary aumd St. Cathmerimme, to wlmoum De- voroilda dedicated Tier cohleoe as to take little interest in terrestrial woiminemi ; and hum 1779 an Oxford wonman was taken by her husband. to thc market-place within a rope arouiuid. her waist amid solnl to a nian for few shihhimigs. There is still a sort of dreaul amnomig many hood men in Oxford lest time admission of women to tIme university may do away with time ammtiqmie flavor of its life amid thmat whiemi tIme Bachelor is in proximity to a Bachmelette, time Aits they pmimsuc will be of a kimid not exclusively scholastic. 30 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. If ladies are admitted to studies at Ox- ford, one anomaly is likely to disappear, that is, the waste of educational ineatis and force. An indication of this waste is the va- cancy of the libraries, but that is only one symptom among many of the fact that Ox- ford is leaving l1Il(lone much that it might (10, while it is (loing macli that mnioht as well or better be done elsewhere. If the large miutuber of youths ~vho come to Ox- ford because it is time tiling were replaced by young womeu who hunger and. thirst tor its real a(lvantages, one would not find so many graul(1 institutions almost empty and idle. But no replacement is required; Ox- ford could as easily be educating Thur thou- sand, as two. Here, for instance, is time nuag- nificent Taylor Institution, erected. at a cost of some 50,000, and. ~vi tIm an elL(lowmeult of over ~000. It has a tine art gallery, con- taining the original drawings of Michael An- gelo andiRaphacl, and the School ofAtheuts (~vhich cost 3000 guineas), forty sketches by Turner, preseuited. by John Ruskin, and tine specimens of Vandyck, Teniers, Ca naletti, Hogarth, aIi(l Reynolds. It contains a spa- cious liimrary, six lecture-rooms, and a fine reading-room with the leading lieriod icals of the world. In it, also, is the art school, with its fine collection of stullies, en(lo\ve(l and supervised by Huskin. This great in- stitution is not half utilized, an(l more than half of those who do now use it are ladies, mostly time families of l)rofessors. In Eng- land time excess of the female over the male J)opulation iu number is bet~veen 800 000 amid 900,000. Until these, for whom statistics show mio possible husbands, are taught and emuabled to ~uumrsue some art or career which will yield them both pliysicmul amid immtellectu- al resources, a large proportioum of them nmust still, fluid their way, like the Oxford wife of a hundred. years ago, to the market-place, though the sale of her may not be so coarse, and. time l)rice paid. may often be disguised by the marriage ring alm(l orange blossoms which too often hide the haul of bartered affections. Social life at Oxford. is by no means what it should be. The professors have often bitt small salaries, auud the nuiniber of students is so large that time difficulty of lookimig aft- er their pru~ate entertainment is enormous. Time town has no theatre; the college an- thori ties, hax lug the right to veto any amuse- mument, have stea(hily opposed. tue establish- muent of a theatre, thouigh they encoura~e concerts. TIme studemuts are liummited. to out- door sports aiuul such society as tlmey caum fluid among theuiuselves. The Sunday is largely utilized. for social intercourse; on that (lay they unammage to breakfast and dine amid take bug walks in groups, and somne of their de- bating climbs meet on Suundayevenimug. Their Uumion Reading-Room is also open and well tilled omi Sundays, so that they may keep up with time miews of time world. and h)erio(hical literature. Yet there is a xvnumt of more fe- mmiale society for yommmug men, who sorely miss time charams of Emuglisim hmommies. Sonme coin pemisatiumui, however, is foummid imi the friemi(l ships ami(1 imitiuiuacies which these youths forum with each other, leadimug to pleasant imitroductioums to each others homes, amid cx- chamuges of chiarimuimig visits duirimug the va- cations. An Amimericaum studeumt told me that he amid. lmis yoummg coumitrymneui at Oxford were rarely witimouit cordial himvitatioims to the best Emmglislm coumitry residemuces for the vacatiomis, anul these visits to timeir fellouv- stuidemuts xvere immade time occasioum of a de- higimtfumh roummud. of dam ices, picnics, exemirsi oums, amm(l all mnanmier of festivities. It is pri)b- able that wheum the large additmomis now pro posed. to tIme hurofessors salaries are uia(he the social relatioums of Oxford itself will be- conme mome satisfactory ; but it would. lie imimpriudemit at hiresemit to wlmisper even imi America that a feimmale college there mmmiglmt possibly comitrilmute to that emid. Like the British Comistitutioui, thue organic law of Oxford is comisiderably mmmixe(l. It rehireseults ami imiterummimi able series (if adapta- tiomms t(m chamiging needs and demnands grow hug omit of different social epochs. 1mm this way it amiswers to mimammy hiumes of social evo- hutioum. Iii time mmmatter of resideuice every variety of circumustamuce is comisidered amid muet. Time nimder-graduate may lodge imm the colle~e or imm omme of the Imalls (hmuubhic or un vate), or may board iii a lodgiumg-house hi- cemmsed hmy time college autimorities; amid. tlmis inuplies a large ramuge of prices, to sumit thme ricim amid time poor. Every year a list of time I icemmsed lo(lgiuig-lioimses is pmimmted, wi tim tlmei r prices, whmicim vary fromum sevemi to sixty-tive slmilhimugs per xveek. Time nun of time colleges is for time ummder-graduates, wlmemi thmey first cuter, to reside withmimm college gates, and for timose wimo have beeui tlmere souume tiumme to adjoumrmm to lodgimugs ouutside, mumakimig way for thme youmiger. After ihme coumpletioum of eiolmtiui souuue colleges twelve termmms, aim 0 nudergraduate is uusumahly required to re move to hodgiuigs, but mmli timose who so re- side outside niay at their optioum (hue ammd battel ium college. The 10(1 gimugs are sub- ject to the sammue regumlatiomus as time colleges am)d halls. Timese Imalls, by-thue-xvay, are iii- stitum tiomus ~vlmich Im ave probaluly growmm out of auicient louigi muglmouuses, luaviuig gradually takeum on sommie (it the edumeatioumal apphiammces of colleges. It xvill be readily uimiderstood, thuerefore, thmat gemierahizatiomis as to time cost of residemuce amud study at Oxford are apt to be iwisheadimig, yet I have fonmud umo reasoum to doumbt tIme suibstamutial accuracy of time following stateumemut in the Studeuuts Hammd- B,Qok: It is a matter uif experiemuce that a stui(lemmt wimo resides within a cohlege or hall can,withm econoumy, obtaimm tIme degree of B.A. for a total expemiditmire of 300. Timis esti ENOLAND~S GREAT UNIVERSITY. 31 mate includes board, roomrent or lodging, and washing, for twelve terms of residence, tuition and miscellaneous college cli arges, atlniissioi~,examination, an d degree fees; the necessary expenses which it does not iiiclnde are clothes, books, railway fares, and the cost of living in the vacations. Maiiy students have beeii known to obtain their degree for less than the sum above mentioned, but this has reqnired a more than ordinary amount of thrift and self-denial, and possibly, also, a forfeiture of sonic collateral advantages which university life brings. Yet it immust be added to this that there is a general and constant temudency among the colleges to a(lapt themselves still fnrther to the increasing (lemauld for their advamutages resulting from extension of them to Non- coimforimmists, by reducing tIme charges. And it is a notable fact that the lead in such reduction has beemi taken by time newest of time colleges, fonuided on HighChurch pnmm- ciples. Keble College has underbid all the rest by fixing an annual charge of 81, payable iii advance in three instailnients this including all or(liLlary battels, i. e., the rent of furnished rooms, board, college dues, tuition, amid servants. It (loes not iiiclnule w~slmino lb , or beer. A few but ~hts extras, not required, are provided at a fixed tariff, mit are muot allowed to exceed 3 per term. Although time three i ustalluments would i mu ~)ly three terms, there are really four in time year; and since twelve terminus reach the B.A., it follows that the whole cost to a stmi- (leult there would not exceed ~75 for time three years. Keble College, built by sill)- scription as a memorial to time author of Time Cioislian Year, was incorporated by royal charter (June 6, 1870), which declares it to be foummided amid constituted with the especial object amid imitent of provi(himmg per- sons desirous of academical education, amid willing to live ecommonilcally, with a college wherein sober living aumd high culture of mmmd may be commibiumed with Christian traimming based IlhiOli thie primicilmies of time Church of Emmgland. Time ehmeapumess ~vhmich Keble has immstitnted miiust imot be smipposeci to immiply ammy discommmfort. It is a mumagnifi- cent bum ihdimmg, ammd has excehlemmt rooms amid though there is observable a plaimmumess iii time fare as coumpareul within sommie other col- leges, it is whiohesomume amid abummuulant. It cami hardly be doubted that its simple amm(l defi mini te arrangememit, emmabl lug every stn- (lelit or his parents to estimnate precisely the expense to be incurred, will have an ef- fect iil)Oii other colleges. It will hardly do fur Broad or Evangelical cohheres to allow the primiciples of Pmmse~- amid Liuldon amid they are both oum the coummucil umf Keble to be tamighit less expeuisivehy than their own. There was a natural iampres~ion abroad timat Keble was to be a ritualistic nest, where young umen were to moult their Amuglicami feathers amid presemuthy immigrate iii scarlet Iuhilmuage to Roumme. l3umt Keble has juist hind tIme lumeky opportumumity already re- terreul to of reversimig thmat iii ipression: a voumth who turned Romaim Catholic theie time other day was imistamithy expelled, ammul was takeim iii at Hertford College. it is likely, therefore, to becoumme a veiny popular college anmomug time Church folk, amid time fact that time fmmhher extemusiomin of educatiomi to the poor should comume fromum that directiomi is, to the mini versi ty, of a q iii etly revol mu tioum ary importamince in this whole mininatter of expemmuhi tuire. Evemin more immulinortamit thiami time smumahi umess of thue special amminmumal charge fixed by Keble College is time stamindarul it linus raiseul of plain hivimig amid high thihum kimig. For twenty-five years mioiv there imas been a sihemut struiggle goimug oum to hay low time standard of lavish exl)emi(liture which youmng swehls of thue aristocracy lund set up, amid smuiubbishi parvemmums raiseul higher, ammnl oii e ninny hope that Keble has giveum it time coup de grace by ruakimug ecoiiomy compulsory omi alltime rich as mvehl as time poor. It may here be renmarkeul that it is tIme steadtast aimum of mull thie colleoe s to ~ prevemut ammy distimuction beimug drawmm or recogumizeul betiveemi rich amid juoor in ammy way ~vhmatev DR. imENILY PAmmmm LIiThON. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. er. It is remarkable that in a country where caste 1)revails with a strength only less than that it maintains in India, the an- cient seat of learning realizes the high equality of minds which the Hindoos de- dared in their sacred books. The Padina (Lotos) Purana says: Learning shonhi be rescued from every consideration of high rank or lowa consideration which can not for a moment l)e cornpatil)le with instruc- tion; and the heart shonid he kept free from all such in fatnation. Unquestion a- bly Oxford has its swelAs and snobs, bnt whatever they may import in that way is absolutely unrecognized by nniversity and college law and administration. There is one example of the determination that no line shall l)e drawn bet~veen wealth and poverty which Harvard wonld do well to follow: Oxford scholarships are bestowed for knowledge alone. Such peenniary aids to the stndent are thins by no means signs of his poverty, but may he and are songht as earnestly by the sons of the wealthy as by the poor. Were these scholarships and exhiibitioasuiore thaii 700 in nuniber, and bringing an aggregate of 60,000 annually to successful competitors bestowed only for the easy qualification of poverty, or were that even considered, each would be- come a sti~iaa. Man y a poor hnt prou(l youth would, in such case, fear to apply for the aid lie really needs, aiid which lie nia~y now earn by efforts which involve no loss of self- resliect, but the reverse. These scholarshuips average about 65 annually, the tenure being generally for five years; and there is no subject of study to whelm a stndent may iuucline to devote himself where lie will iiot find at least ouue or t~vo, oftener many, emudo~vnients of this kind, nucaut to reward aiid assist persons like himself, so that all the competitors need muot couucen- trate themselves upoii tIme same vrize, auud the chances of success fi)r each are general- ly fmiir enough to inspire effort. There are some anomalies still surrounding sonic of the fellowships, bit eveum those that mire ~vluat is called closei. e., open only to iinersou~s iii holy orilers, from a l)artiduilar coumuty, etc.are yet iuidepeuideuit of all consideratiomus of either rank, wealth, or 1)0 verty. Admission to Oxford is easysome think too easy in sonme of time colleges. T lie appli- cant is exanuined iii same Greek play, gener- ally Euripides, or in Homer nuud Thincydides, in Virgil or some otluer of the Latin classics; must translate a short English passage iiito Latiii prose, answer some (lulestiouls 011 gram- mar, shmow fair familiarity ~vithm an thinetic, and know something of Euclid or alrebra But if he is found to possess special iiiter- est in aiud excellence him any one of these studies, lie is pretty certain to be a(hluitted to matriculation even though lie be weak in the rest. Amid this care taken at Oxford to respect aiid cherish every special ability accouiil)auiies tIme student through all his exanuin ati ons, though these, indeed, become very severe whicum schiol arshmi ps, still more whicim honors, are applied for. The candi ihate for time degree of BA. is allowed a conscience clmnuse with regard to examni- natiomi in matters of faith ami rehigiomi, for which he may substitute soiuie period of ec- clesiastical history, or somue sciemutific or l)huilosol)hmical work; amid for examuuluintioui iii the Gospels hue may substitute some oth- er Greek work froni a list provihed by the Board of Studies. Between muintriculatiomi amid passing hie three years and three chief exmimiuiatiouusl, respomisioums 2, first public exanuimiatioum ; 3, secouud public cx aminatiouu. The suhujects for those who (ho uuot seek huouuors are divided in three groups: A. (1) Two books, Greek amud Latimi, ouue being historical or phuihosolduical. (2) Sonic periud of Greek amid. Roman history. (3) Euughishu couuih)ositioul. B. (1) Emughish history, or a period of English literatmure, or a period of moilerum European history. (2) Political and de- scriptive geography. (3) Frenchi or Ger- uuuauu, includhuig counpositioui iii the hamugumage and a period of its literature. (4) Ehenucuits of political ecomuoummy. (5) A brauuclm of law. C. (1) Elenucuits of geometry, imucludiuug ocommuetrical trigouiouuietry. (2) Elements of mcchuauuics. (3) Elcuuucats of cheuuuistry. (4) Eleumuemuts of physics. Time cauudidate is examined iuu three of these subjects, of which muot muore than two can be takeim froni amuy one of the groulis, amid of which ouue nurust be cithuer A (1) or B (2). If time candidate applies to lie examimued for honors, hue is expecteuh to have mu much more matured kmuowledge of the class of subjects in which lie chaimuis luonor. For iii this case thue subjects are divided iuuto Homi- or Schools : these are Litermn Huuuuma.muiores, iuudlmu(limug Greek amid Latiuu, thucir language arid histories, logic, and the outhiuues of nuoral alu(l pohiticah history. This may be passed by aimy omue who has mastered Honuer, Herodotums, Thuncydides, Xciuopluoui, Cicero, Pol ybi us, Ph utarchi, PImuto, Aristotle, Locke, Buitler, Hunme, Kauut, Pamisaumias, Plimmy, anul a few such hooks as Bergks Poeta~ Lyuici Gre?ci. But this exauuuiumatiouu will relate to thue arts and a.uuti(huuities mud peculiarities of Greece and Rommue, amid involves some gemi- umimue philosophical culture, amid it can not lie passed by cram. The samne umay be sai(l of tIme honor schools of uuuathucumuatics amid of natural sciemuce. The exaauiuuations are muot exteuuded amid cumunulative, but they are by mcmi who kuuow thoroughly the crucial poimuts to deal ivithi, and ouue who has gained these luomiors would be pretty sure to possess the power to teach them. There are honor schools of jurisprudence, modern history, that may excite snijies for the moment, yet and theology, hut to enter further into these mean eventual fulfillment of the whole cir details here would carry me al)art from my cult of kuowledoe Hitherto if a ~ present purpose. Enough has been said to man became interested in the Oriental and illustrate the character of Oxford to which phib)1~ical an(l mythological studies which I have before referred its tendency to fos combine to make such men as Bopp, Von ter special abilities, and its concentration Weber, Hang, Whitney, Curtius, he must upon the work of cultivating leading minds oo to Germany. But at this vcry time time for the world of thought and learnimmg. University Comumissioners are establishing If Oxford comitinnes that steady develop- three new chairsone of Zend ainl Persian, meut of its educational resources which has a secou(l of Enmamince or Neo-Latiim Ian- gone on so vigorously ever since Parhiamiient guages, a third of classical archtvology. began to investigate its pecummiary resources, Again, now that tlmere has been formed in it will, at no (listamit (lay, be possilde for a London a Yolk-lore Society, it is to lie man to go there and learu thoroughly any hoped that scholars will arise to (10 for Brit- thing amid every thimig kno~vable on any ish legemid ami(l ninythmology what such mcmi as subject wimatever. This is not quite so now, Grimam, Mamdiardt, XVnttke, and Sinirock but it must be so in the end. Some lersrn~ have done for German fairylore, imlytims, and smiled when the professorship of Chilmiese, Aberglamibe. 1mm that case such will fimind, iii filled by the learned translator of Confrmcimis addition to the tlmree new chairs just muen and Mencins, was established, and the umi- tioned, a professor of Celtic, Mommier Will- der-graduates have already a legend that its hams, Max Mull er, and Sayce represent- one scholarship has been awarded to a youth hag every region of Sammskrit and comn- on the ground that lie was the least igmioramit parative mythology, and a powerful school of the candidatesbeing the omily one; bat of Arabic, Syriac, and Chaldee, which, as I Dr. Legges clmair is the predecessor of others write, is beimig consohidated out (if soimme Vom. LYIILNo. 343.3 MAx MULlER. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. smaller professorships, one being that which Professor Chenery has just left on assuming editorship of the London Times. The immense progress, activity, and en- largement of scope which have character- ized Oxford in recent as compared with former years have beeii the result of two strong causes. The first of these is the op- eration of the University Tests Abolition Act. This act abolished subscription to any and all forniularies of faith as a condition of admission, or taking lay degrees and lay academical or collegiate offices; freed stu- dents from obligation to atteimd any lectures to which they, or their parents or guardians if they were minors, should object on relig- ions gromln(ls; and enabled persons of all creeds, or none, to hold offices, to teach and to establish halls or schools in connection with the university. All professorships and fellowships were thus left open to the whole nation, with certain exceptions, these l)ein~ such offices or fellowships as at the tinie the act was passed were held under the condi- tion that their beneficiaries should be in holy orders. This restriction was consider- al)le, but it still left the college doors open to a very large number previously excluded. Not less important was the tendency the act inangum ratedthe tendency to inclusive- ness. Toleration was announced as the fu- ture fashion at Oxford. Unhappily this new fashion has just received a check. A wealthy Baring, a rigid Churchman, having oftered a large sum of money to endow fel- lowships on condition that they should be restricted to members of the Church of Eng- land, Hertford College agreed to accept the same, and to defend the restriction on the ground that the Act of Parliament did not apply to foundations that should be made in future, but only to such as were in exist- ence when it was passed. A Nonconfornmist student having sued that college to compel the examiners to exaumine him for one of the fello~vships so restricted, time court (lecided against him. This has brought much wealth to Hertford College, which was previously poor, and more surprise and disappointment to the country. The London Times and the journals generally have been severe upon Lord Coleridge, who gave the decision, which allows the Church to build up again in the university a close system wimich Par- liamnent has emphatically discredited and condemned. Such a result nuight have been prevented had Parlianment inserted in its act the prospective word hereafter ; but none tIme less has Hertford obtained its Bar- ing fellowships by a quibble, and none the less is tIme disgust of the nation that its Par- liameuitary work should have to be (lone over again. For it is certain that England is resolved that its entire system of educa- tioum, froum the public school to tIme univer- sity, shall be free to all the Queens subjects, whatever their religious opimmions, and this resolution will not be reversed. The other force which has brought about the new activity of Oxford has been the commission which Mr. Gladstone set to work (1877) to estimate the resomirces and income of the colleges, and report how they are used. Now Oxford University is really a mine of wealth. Some of time colleges have little, but others have vast possessiouus, and estates from which a vast accession of money is just about to comne in. TIme clamor of sciemutific men that this mommey, having been bequeath- ed for national educatiomi, should be all uutil- ized, and that what the colleges did not need should be utilized in pronmoting scientific research, set the Oxford folk to devising immeans for using it themselves. Thus col- leges were repaired, chairs made stromuger, ammul time emitire umachinery furbished up ; and there being yet a large surplus, time Oxford men are making arrangenments for greatly extending its usefulness. The Commuission- ers have just reported timat time improve- ments thmey desigmi for Oxford have two primucipal objects hum view: (1) the dime repre- semmtation at Oxford of every considerable branch of kmmowhedge; and (2) time dime par- ticipation of time university itself, as distimmet from its colleges, in tlme direction and ham- provemnemut of the studies of the studemmts. Tlmey propose to increase tIme stipends of nearly all the professors, soume to 500, still umore to 700, and otlmers to 900. TIme Bodleiamm Library is to be lumproved; a Muse- umun of Classical Art and Archmeology to be established, and umaintained by an annual grauut of 500. A system of pensions for retired professors is proposed; open selmolar- ships to emucomurage special bramuches of stuudy are to be founded; and research is to be en- couraged by time emmiploymument of properly (hulalihed pem~~uus on defimmite work and inves- tigatioums. Occasioum al lecturers on branches of learning umot fully provided for are to be employed. Thmere is also to be a fumud cre- ated thme disposal of wlmich is to be left to time discretion of the umniversity authorities in meeting emergemucies or umuforeseen wauuts. The great advammtage to be gained by all this is timat time anummial income of Oxford will all be set to work, turumed to culture, and nothmimmg left to be a temptation to any body who mummy imdmmlge private views con- ceruming the proper direction of an idle smur- plums. After all tlmis has been done a great deal will still renmaimm to lie effected before Oxford cami fuilly amid immupartially fumifill its diuties to the world. The selmolarshuips are not in- cluded in the relief given to persons umucon- nected with tIme Established Church, amid thomugh, fortummuately, thme great umajority of them are open, too many still reumain as bribes to thought, on time one hand, amid stimulants to sectarian jealoumsy amid bitter- ENGLANDS GREAT UNIVERSITY. 35 ness in those who find themselves deprived of such aids and rewards solely on account of conscientious c6nvictions. Now that Dis- senters are admitted, the preservation of such ancient partition walls can hardly sur- vive much longer. The Church is quite strong eiio ugh at Oxford to dispense with theta. After all, I can not look without some misgivings upon some of the present tend- encies of this great nniversity. Unques- tionably most of the chauges that have superveued thus far were structural and beneficial; the methods of the nuiversity and its colleges grew np of old in obedieimce to definite ends, and their development has mainly been along the lines of Englands highest characterthe eternal parallels of Conduct and Culture. The colleges, with all their varieties of flavor, if not fruits of one (warden are flora of one clime. Bitt this is not the clime of other universitiesnot even of Cambridge, the one most like it. Ox- ford, as we have seen, has but little appa- ratus for making a student behave himself if he is not so inclineil; its discipline is di- rected chiefly to protecting itself from being compromised by any student, and for the rest it (leals with its two thousand as if they were as sensitive to the admonitions of Plato an(l Plutarch as their predecessors were to saintly meditations. That this method has been attended with a notable success is cer- tain. But correspon(Iing with this there is a method of intellectual training strikingly different from any found in other seats of learning. This I have already intimated in saying that a student is very apt to pass~~ if he is found to be excellent in any one branch, though he may be weak in others. Almost as much as when it was devoted to the training of monks, the finest appliances of Oxford are for those who aspire to some particular and ninvoridly aim. It is, indeed, not now an otherworldly aim that is spe- cially aided, nor is it one specialty alone; but its peculiar value, as it appears to me, is for those who are consecrated to the pure- ly intellectual life. If a young maim aspires to devote himself to a chosen branch of cul- tmmre for life; if he aims, with true love for his selected study, to be a historian, arch~- ologist, philologist, comparative mytholo- gist, literary essayist, critic, art critic, pro- fessor (especially in the Liter~e Humaniores), or poet, tlten he will find Oxford above all other places his land of milk and honey. But he will find many universities more helpful if he seeks to be trained for success in the commonplace work of the worldthe every-day tasks of money-making, book- making, paper-editing, preaching, legisl a- ting. That Oxford is making strenuous ef- forts to include the popular objects along ~vith those more legitimately following its origitmal aims seems plain; but whether it shall ultimately succeed in this or not, it has not yet succeeded, and still its best ~vork is done in teaching time teachers. And for the time being it is umifortunate both for tIme univ ersity amid multitudes of young men that the fact just stated is not more widely recognized. It has become the fashion to send young men to Oxford, for it is a door- way into good society, so that this is mmmi- merically the larovst of the universities; but omme umay almost say it should be one of the smallest. Of time two thousand youths now at Oxford, one-third is a large proportion for whom to anticipate the Imigliesttlme unique-bemmefits which Oxford can supply. It is to be feared that another third is but too sumall a l)roportion for whom harm even may be apprehended from what to the oth- ers are the very excellemucies of the institu- tion. Thomas Carlyle, in his famous rectoral oration at Eclinbmmrghi Umi iversi ty, spoke of the changes which the art of prititing had smiperimiduiced on the conditions to meet which the 01(1 universities arose in Europe. Seven centuries ago the yoummg meum sought out famous scholars to listen to their teach- in gs, whereas for a long titne such teachers umay find omit their studemits in their homes by macaims of books. Yet, added the Lord Rector, universities still haveamid for a homing time will commtinue to havetheir high uses. Amid this is certaimmly trmie. TIme best teaching is personal, amid it is not more likely to be smiperseded by books than high art by photography. The teacimimig at Ox- ford illustrates this reniarkably. Oxford not only has its great Bodleiaa Library, but each college has a timme library of its owim; yet in visiting foumr or five of thmese omi a pleasamit day I found not one reader emin- gaged in theum. Nor are mammy books found in stmmdemmts roonts. Here are the reasoums: the examninatiomis are too severe to adunit of mmmdi various reading; amid thme teaching which gaitis time best success is too immtimate to be carried on by booksas a main methm- od. In silent (written) exaumi mmatiomins cram accomplislmes coumparati vehy little. The youmng men who rumake time most of Oxford who wimi its unsectarian fellowships and honors, are those who by a genuimme devo- tion to their studies have gained the friemmd- ship and iuitimacy of their tutors. Thie greatest care is taken of such. Time diffi- cumlties which are umot comisidered in books, time quiestions which can mmot be dealt with generally, tIme individumahities of time finest minds, all render the work of time oral teacher of time lmighmest importammee, and coim- stanthy iuuterestimig to himself. Tue Oxford tuitor is musumahly a huigluly accomplished scimol- ar, wimo has hininsehf passed through the umui- versity drill with thoroughness amud suiccess; he is yoummg enough to enter into the feel- imugs or even tlte sports of the youth hue teaches, is their familiar friend, often enter- tamed by them at their special social gath- erings, and entertaining them in return. His care of his pupil is not limited to offi- cial hours, but is often special, and givea with personal interest in every case where slid) interest is desired or individual talent discerned. It is obvious that where such is the gen- eral character of the teaching and learning, it cnn not be fully entered into by boys who go to Oxford for conventional reasons, whose ideal is the aristocratic idleness they have learned at home, and who can he stim- ulated to toil only by the ambition to be- come the chief oar of their college. To be incapable of literary enthusiasm is to be out of place at Oxford. Such youths are still school-boys, and their case is better met by colleges which assign lessons and hear recitations. At Oxford, where every young man, so far as he is attended to at all, is treated as one absorbed in the pursuit of learning, the career of many a youth brings such disappointment to his friends as was lately expresse(l by a parent who wrote to the Times newspaper that his son had got from Oxford very expensively what he might have obtained cheaply had lie been apprenticed to a Thames waterman. Any Oxford tutor might have added to that complaint that the careers of such youths at Oxford are equally expensive to the uni- versity; for they are generally given too much money to spend, and, having little to do but to spend it, they set the fashion of lavish outlay, and make the average ex- penditure of a student at Oxford still great- er than it need be, even after recent re- forms. However, Oxford is only sharing universal tendencies, and to stand still would have to go backward. Were the colleges to unite in raising the standard of examinations for matriculation, now singularly far below those of the further examinations, and also a(hmuit none beneath a fair muininmuni average of age, they would probably find a full com- pensatiomi for diminution of numbers in the more perfect culture secured in any amid ev- ery special direction. It appears to me that the very saddest fault of the English scholar in all varieties is his mimosalike shrinking from his due part in leading the popular mind. The men of science, philosophers, essayists, of Euglamid are brilliant enough, but they h)~55 their time in writing to and for each other, amid rung- nificently teach the already taught. The steady secularization of Oxford, which has been going on for thirty years, has added some tIh)re to the rising generation of schol- ars, but it is still much needed that they shall shrink less from coming face to face with the common people, over whom their influence is rarely folt. The university men and time lo~ver classes in England are almost as much detached from each other as if they spoke in different languages; amid beyomm(l this there is a painful impressioui left that the cause of this is that time head has said to time lman(l and the foot, I need you not. If the tendencies to cheapness and inclusiveness at Oxford, uniting with its undenominational basison which is slow- ly building its more secular character shall bring the thiminkers and authors into the bracing air of h)nh)hic life, shah endow theni with mnore sympathy with the peoI)le, none need muourmi over the cost of it in mere self- culture. The suffering masses of England are not to be saved from their many hells by s~veetness and light till they ~vhmo dwell in those flue elememuts beconme public souls, and their tim oumnhttheir life-blood- beat from every college as from a heart to transfuse every vein of the nation and sup- ply health to the people. nODLELAN LmnmmAmmY. KNO WARE. fl a-sailing and a~sailino as ~was song goes, in the three-master Maria Jane, of Salema-sailing to the Mcdi- terranean Sea with a cargo of Western lar(l, to be biled down and bottled into olive-oil. I had some notions aboard with which I reckoned to take the Eyetalian folks down, and niake a dollar or so, but about two weeks out we got catched in a storm. Didnt it blow sonie? You better believe it did! In less a five niinnits the ships boom stood on its beam ends, the topmast got sle~ved round and tangled in the rudder chains, the binnacle riz lip and tore round, and the tlying-jib was keelhanled three times to leeward; they double-reefed the transoms and unshipped the j ibbcr-j ib 00111 nnder water ninety feet, more or less, every time. Finally they let the boats down, arid every body tumbled into em head fist, anil tumbled out agaiu putty everlastin i1iiick. I was orfully seasick, so I didnt know nothing under the canopy where we was, and I wasnt no great hand anyway to tell latitude and longitude the best of times. Anyway, I was kinder slopped ashore after a while onto a sandy beach: I knew, after a spell, it was an island, hut then I only knowed it was dry land. All time rest was drowaded; and if it ivas to be, its jest as well, it appears to me; for if somebody else had comime ashore and had undertook to write travils there too, mebbe we shouldnt have tol(l jest the same story; taimmt ofteii two folks do see things alike, and then the papers would have took it up and jawed back and forth about it, aiid called names: thered have beeii a dreadful stir made ev- ery where to find out which feller lied and which didmmt, and all about both on cia. Id have seen moreii four diiThrent stories about where I was born and brought np, who married my great-grandfather, and how her fust himisbaimd~s brother told a lie sot was certain I onohter and I dare say some folks would ha had the cheek to say there want no sechi island as Knoware (lowli on any map; jest as if you could strain the Atlantic ocean through a colami der and pick out all the islands, like Ihics outen a pan of milk. Inm glad I was alone: twould have saved lots of trouble in the world if there hadnt never but one man wrote history: who cares if he did lie about theum old times? twonldnt ha hurt nobody: and theres lots of dusty, musty, ridichous rubbish folks quarrel about all their days, and snatch up into big li I TilE BINNACLE LEIZ UP AND TORE OUNI).

KNO WARE. fl a-sailing and a~sailino as ~was song goes, in the three-master Maria Jane, of Salema-sailing to the Mcdi- terranean Sea with a cargo of Western lar(l, to be biled down and bottled into olive-oil. I had some notions aboard with which I reckoned to take the Eyetalian folks down, and niake a dollar or so, but about two weeks out we got catched in a storm. Didnt it blow sonie? You better believe it did! In less a five niinnits the ships boom stood on its beam ends, the topmast got sle~ved round and tangled in the rudder chains, the binnacle riz lip and tore round, and the tlying-jib was keelhanled three times to leeward; they double-reefed the transoms and unshipped the j ibbcr-j ib 00111 nnder water ninety feet, more or less, every time. Finally they let the boats down, arid every body tumbled into em head fist, anil tumbled out agaiu putty everlastin i1iiick. I was orfully seasick, so I didnt know nothing under the canopy where we was, and I wasnt no great hand anyway to tell latitude and longitude the best of times. Anyway, I was kinder slopped ashore after a while onto a sandy beach: I knew, after a spell, it was an island, hut then I only knowed it was dry land. All time rest was drowaded; and if it ivas to be, its jest as well, it appears to me; for if somebody else had comime ashore and had undertook to write travils there too, mebbe we shouldnt have tol(l jest the same story; taimmt ofteii two folks do see things alike, and then the papers would have took it up and jawed back and forth about it, aiid called names: thered have beeii a dreadful stir made ev- ery where to find out which feller lied and which didmmt, and all about both on cia. Id have seen moreii four diiThrent stories about where I was born and brought np, who married my great-grandfather, and how her fust himisbaimd~s brother told a lie sot was certain I onohter and I dare say some folks would ha had the cheek to say there want no sechi island as Knoware (lowli on any map; jest as if you could strain the Atlantic ocean through a colami der and pick out all the islands, like Ihics outen a pan of milk. Inm glad I was alone: twould have saved lots of trouble in the world if there hadnt never but one man wrote history: who cares if he did lie about theum old times? twonldnt ha hurt nobody: and theres lots of dusty, musty, ridichous rubbish folks quarrel about all their days, and snatch up into big li I TilE BINNACLE LEIZ UP AND TORE OUNI). 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. brary-rooms, and pay good money for, that wouldnt have never ben round if thered ben just one man to tell about it, and when he died another had took it up right there, and fetched it along. However, inebbe theres a Providence in it; there is in most things. Theres got to he somnethin for lazy folks to do, and they may jest as well fight over them ol(1 battles as get into new ones, to my way of thinkin. Well, to come hack, there I was: and fust I knew, a man picked me np, bundled me over his shonl(ler, and in a wink I was put to bed, and dosed good with hot soup and sherry wine, and warmed up with a good fire blazin away on the hearth. There was a woman settin by the fire, and when she see I was comm round she up and ask- ed if I wanted any thing, in respectable English. That tickled rime. I never could see tIme use of forrin tongues. I thanked her polite enough, and said Id kinder like the mornin paper. She stared, and liol- lered John ! Well, he come in, and twas the very fel- ler who fetched me up out of the water. I knew him by his all-fired red hair. I sup- pose Id oughter have got imp and fell on his neck, or tumbled onto my knees and said sometlmin hifalutin to him; but I was real stiff; so I said Hullo. He larfed right out. Yotire pretty lively, aint ye ? he said, for all the world like a Dedhanm man : that sounded good. I come from Dedhamn nmy- self. Id hen in the tin trade, peddlin ont round the country quite a spell before I took to tradin in notions. You better blieve Im lively, sez I. But say, look here! I want time mornin paper. He larfed right out again. No such institootions here, Sir. Aint permitted. Jeerusalem! no mornin paper in a free country ?~ Thanks be to praise, this aint a free country, sez he; not by a long shot. We were all dead sick of liberty, free speech, and all that eagle-o-freedom talk afore we come here and settled. No, Sir! Weve got a real, old-fashioned, six-foot, big, smart, respectable, cut-your-bead-off-in-a- wink king; a real fatlmerly despot, miow I tell ye ! I should tlmink so ! sez I. No mornin paper ! Not a paper. No report of all tIme dirt and wickedness in the country comm in to disagree with your breakfast, aimd lie around for the children to read and find out how they do it. No big scandal skippin about from lie to lie like a bee on a balni patch, makin folks talk about tImings they hadnt never ought to think of, and the wicked ones smack their lips over timeir own sort o stuff glorified, so to speak, in print. No adver- tisin lies nbommt cure-all mediciiies, and cloth tlmats jest give away. No railroad ac- cidents to give you the thumps jest readin of em, amid scare your wife to death hearin about emim. Amid no politics l I put in. Not a darned politic, as old Joe Bowers said; we dont have em here. I tell you, aman, weve got a king, and we have to be- have ourselves. Dear ne! dear me! amid dont you nev- er hanker for the immortal imistitootiomis of your native land, time everlastin freedom of a democratic govermeiit, the power of the ballot-box, the peoples choice of them timat umakes the peoples laws, tli e liberty of speech, the free eddoocation, the voluntary church system, the He broke in quite sudden, jest as though he sort o surmised I was (luotin Squire Smiless FommrthmoJmmly oration Freedoni! Sho! Freedom of every body to do what theyve a mind to, to lie about every body else, to gamble amid spekerlate with their own money ammd other peoples; to fall in love with other folkss wives, aiid shoot theimi that makes love to tlmeirmm power of a ballot-box ~vhere tIme most has their way, not the best; and tIme nmost are an awful bad lot iii a free coumitry, I tell ye, ef they aint elsewberes, amid they hick omit their own sort to make laws to suit eni. Ive seen it work. Whats liberty of speech and free press but licemise to say and linrint all sorts of vile tImings about folks in omme days paper and take em back in time mmext, when theyve done the miselmief I Whats l)ublic eddoocation but puttin a power to do evil into hands that domit know no bet- ter than to up an do it I Starvin their bodies to swell their poor miserble conceit- ed braimis; onfittin of em to do real work that calls for thews and sinners; spihin their stonmachms till timey cant eat decemit vittles, and tlmeir stomachs take revenge omi time exasperatin brains, and they grimid in an out like a set o cog-wheels, amid grind each other to achmimi bits. I swan! it nmakes me suveat to think ont. Ohm, keel) cool ! sez I, and feteim me a drink. Well, sez he, passin Imis hand acrost his face, as though to clear somnething away, I did get considerble woke imp, didnt I~ You see this island is settled l)y a parcel o folks from America wimo sort o mistrusted that th eagle o freedom was sliowin crow feathers; so we set mip hmere, and things are run km a little different shape frommi whmat they was there. As soon as you get spry, Ill take ye roummd. Well, whilst I do lie here, cammt you give me somethin to read I Tinme hangs heavy. What II you Imave I 39 KNO WARE. Oh, a real rousin sensation iiovel 11 (10. John grinned, an said, Are by law for- bidden. Theres a few fust-class stories by them fellers acrost the water, and now and theu one in Aineriky, but there aint no blood-an-thunder printed or imported here, Sir. But how do the women folks stand that 1 Bless your soul! we dont teach our women to read. You oucivilized lot ! sez I. Not much; its accordin to reason. You dont catch our people sqnabbliu about womens rights, and w oman suffrage, and all sorts of trash and stuff; the women stay to home and take care of their houses after the old-fashioned way. We dont have no monotonous existence here; if theyre dull, why, they can slap the children wheu theyre naughty, and hug em when theyre good. We have real live boys and girls round, I tell ye; none o them little memoir fellers that die out of pure goodness, nor no infant prodigies. The women dont have novels, nor poetry, nor sewiu-machines, nor news- papers, so they havent got nerves to speak of, and their hands are kept out o mischief. I groaned inwardly to think of the supe- rior female Id left to Dedhaum, who ficiated as my wife, and had neurology, speritooal- ism, somethin on time braimi, amid hated men. She knows Latin an German, and plays on the pianny to kill; but we buy our bread an things to the bakery: she dont think rich vittles is good for time human system any- how. I think lots of Cynthiy Minervys in- tellect an smartness in that line. Im whim to support such a ormiament to the sex. I dont stay to home much, and I dont thimik our Freddie 11 live long: hes got a spine in his back, and lung difficulty, and stomach trouble, though he was fetched imp on what she calls strict hygienic princi- plesfed on bran bread, beans, turnips, raw apples, amid sech like; soused into cold water every day of his life, winter an summer, practiced in them gymnastic tricks till it made me crawly to see him throwed onto the chandelier aim left hangin by one little hand, set on his head in time corner, hung imp / by one leg to the bed post, and lots of other / timings to strengthen his muscles that nigh about scared himan me tooto death. Cynthy Minervy means to take to lecturin when he dies; she knows how; but ef he dont die a-doin ont, she calculates to cure him by a winch and pulley riggin attached to his bed, which goes by clock-work, and ~. I ~ I/u 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hem fastened to his hair and great toes, gently but firmly hauls at him all night, sost lies as much as an inch taller in the mornin. She expects to straighten his l)ack out that way, but things doiit always fadge in this world, specially inventions, and you see this pullin pulls out the urns- des putty thin, and, C. M. says, destroys the ca~)illary attraction of the coats of the stomach from extension and attenuation. (I guess thats it. Ive said it over consid- erble often.) Freddie cries some under treatment, aiid then she detaches him, lays him over her knee, and reverses the mug- netic currents, as they say in Boston. Mother didnt call it that, but it amounts to the same timing in time end. I think Freddie will die, though. Perhaps hed better; its quite a chore for himmi to live. And somehow Im weak-minded about the little feller; seems a~s if hed ought to be took in somebodys arms an(l blessed. Cyn- thy Mimmervy dont know how; but shes a very superior woman. I expect she ~vill make an amnazin smart lecturer. I dont really think shell live long in my house; I aint up to her lofty sphere, and she pears to be look-in round for a spirit mate. She talks a good deal about a par(l- ncr of tIme soul, a congenial mind, and all that; so, kno~vin her sort, Im prepared and resigned for whats comm. It 11 seem kind- er comfortable to get back onto my own level again, I declare fort. But I seeni to he wanderin away from the subject. John fetched me a novel, one ~ Scottsnot Commentary Scott, but an- other manand I dont know when Ive relished a book so nuich: it was full as good us Jenison Demmnett or Urbanus Bobbs great work-s. I larfed right ont the fust thing when I woke up next day, a-think-in how that old Antiquary got coumme up with about his Roman camp. I see by daylight that Johns house was dreadfnl comfortable and pleasant: big rooms, with soft sofys and comfortable chairs all round, warm-look-in carpets, open tire-places, bright picturs, amid lots of flowers set about. There want no real reglar shut- up parlor; they jest used time hull house to live iii. I bhieve iii ask-imm ~vhat you want to know: questions is cheap; hnt John wouldnt talk till after breakfast. He said hed got to get strengthened up to talk to a Dedhuni man that sold tin. Lund! what a breakfast ~ve had! My wife kimows hmow to ~ sez lie and I guess she did. There was four childern to time table, all girls, rosy as apples, and happy as chammis at Imighi timle. They talk-ed and larfed amid ate all they wamited good tImings to eat, too: juicy l)eefsteak, muealy potatoes, shilelidid bread and butter amid tIme best of umilk. By-mm-by Jolmn and I went to walk. His nanie was Jolmim Smimithm: every body imi his street was namned Jolmim Smnitlm. In tIme mmext street they was all Peter Gray; 1mm ammother, Samn Clark. Why, it umust mimake orful confusion, sez I. Not at all, sez John. Its tIme best of ways. We want to k-ill out scamidal, ef so be we can; amid you know women is womimen every where, amid talk they will; but it mimmikes it pecoohiar hard to fix their talk omi any oiie simmimer when theres a imumiderd or umore of the same name; and tIme women dommt Imave no otimer imammie to the end of time chapter. My wife 11 be Mrs. Jolmmi Sumitli till shes a widder. But time ehmildern I Oh, theyre immimimbered in every family just as they cormie. But the letters I We dommt have any. Nobody knows how to write here but time Public Secretary. We dont have foreign rimails, and we all live ri(rlmt here. Theres a few farmers rommuid in tIme conmitry, but tIme P.S. stan(Is ready to write a note for ammy body; theim line makes a copy of it, and posts it on tlme to~vn pumminp for three weeks. Youve no idee what a siglmt of trouble it saves: nobuidy gets in a passion amid says what lie cammt get back; nobody writes lctters that get twisted to umean two things; amid there aint no old squabbles laid up on paper to rake omit and fetch in evidence sonic future time. We go in for peace here. As we walked abroad I see a great ninny pleasant-look-mi houses, but iio public build. mu 5. RLVFii5UNC mii~ uAeI~FTic (]iJRRENTS. KNO WARE. 41 Wheres your Jusane Asylum 1 sez I. Havent got any. But what do you do with your crazy fo1k~ ? Hang em. For mercys sakes! you must be kep busy, sez I, real horrified with sech talk. My. no. You kno~v, iii the States, when any body does any thing real bad, they prove em by course of law to be insane; we think an ounce o prevention is worth ten ponn(1 of cure, so we hang em before they do auy thing. The idee ruther keeps folks in their senses, too. As for the women, what with no tea, no novels, no readin or wri tin, they dont lose their minds, as they call em. It they up and have the hysterics, why, theres the sea; ~ve jest pitch ens in at a ropes end, and pull em out when theyve got corul)osed. Its a sure cure. And wheres your hospital ? \Ve dont need one. We havent got a doctor around, Sir. People dont get sick much here. If they (10, we nurse em up at home with herbs and things, and if they cant be cured, they die; weve all got to die some time, and we think its easier to (lie off nateral like than be plagued to death with drugs and doctors. By this time I was real thirsty, so I said I wanted a drink. All right ; heres the town pump. Oh, I dont mean water; a julep or a sling would be about right. Cant have it, sez he, as positive as thunder; no sech in this kingdom. Why, you gave me sherry yesterday. Out o your own flask, and you see the bottom of that. But what do von (10 in sickness ? Do without; our folks think its a heal) better to (lie of a decent fever or a respectable cliolery thami to learn the tnste of liquor and live to be drunk- miids. XVhy, how you do talk ! sez I. Supposin, now, one of your own cimildern was took sick, and you see cal dvin for want of a little stimun- latin t They wont do it; besides, Id ruther have enin (lie of any thing than time trenmens. I see twant no use to argue with him. When a man is sot on a thing, words is no use; so I took a drink of water and went along. The streets were clean as a new pin, and mortal still, though you could hear little folks laughin and cacklimin in the cool gar- dens and pleasant honsemin by the side of the way. Where air your public schools ? sez I. Here, sez he, stoppin before a long low house, like a shied some, that seemed to be fixed up with rows o hogs- heads, among which several men was step- pin round and talkin out loud, one at a time theres the ~ But I (lout see no childern. No; you cant see through a millstone TREATMENT OF INSANITY. TUE TOWN rcnr LETTER POSTER. ~, 1/ [~4 1/ T~ ~ ~ 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. no moren the next man. We head up the boyS at six year old in big barrels, and feed an eddoocate em through the bong-hole till the age of twenty. Theyre extension barrels, sost the boys can grow. I was took aback. I was kinder riled. What ! sez I, all your boys in barrels! None o them things folks lay sech stress on in teachers conventionsno home in- fluences, no manly sports, no everlastin friendships, no Sunday-schools, no Here I sort o give in; breath seemed to peter out. But he took np the talk: No, Sir! Cats and pigs and chickens live out all their days in peace here; no- bodys a tyrant over mother and the girls from (lawn to dark; no broken bones nor cracked skulls. Our boys dont never get drownded, blowed up with powder, tangled up in burr sa~vs, split with hatchets, spilled offn horses, run over in the streets, nor jammed to bits under fire-engines. We dont have boys swearin and spittin on every street corner; strainin their backs a-boat-racin and their tempers bettin; no colleges to upset their manners and morals, and let em herd together like swine, and then turnin of em loose oii a world lyin in wickedness, as on r old parson used to call it. Nobody heres killed at base-ball, nor mangled nuther. Marbles, peanuts, and fire - crackers never pester us. We have l)eace. How delightful ! sez I, kinder involun- tary. Moren all that, we dont never have no divorces. Them boys come out at twenty year old so orful meek and pleasant and grateful, their wives dont have no trouble ~vith em at all. Good gracious, Smith, you dont give in to petticoat govment here, (10 ye ? SWell, why not? The women want some- thin to do to make em feel mighty; why TIlE Prilale scnooa. CURE FOE hYSTERICS. KNO WARE. 43 shouldnt they govern the men? It pleases them an dont hurt us. But its degradin to a man. Never, Sir, would I pnt up with that. I will lie mas- ter, I tell ye, in my own house. I will be minded rioht off in the faialy. Man is the nateral head of all things, and must he give up to. I said this real fierce, and John give me the queerest look you ever see. Ef I aint mistook he actooally winked at me. What could lie mean? He patted my shoulder sorter friendly, and said, There! there! I know how tis with ye. You no need to demonstrate here; were all used to it; its a matter of course, ns you might say. Dont say no more; I under- stand. I declare fort, I scurce could guess what he was up to ; hut lie went on Girls, you see, dont need no schoolin. They dont learii nothin but house-work, sewin, takin care of childern and sick folks, singin, and fussin in the garden; their inns teach eni all that. But wheres your jail? your prison? your court-house ? Nowhere, thanks be to praise! If a man kills anybody, we give him a spade and a bag of potatoes, and take and ro~v hium off to a desolate island, and leave him there to farm it. I tell ye, he puts to and (ligs! But farmin for a hivin is capital punishment wussn haugin, a long sighta real state of sin an misery. I hope youve got plenty of islands, sez I, kinder sneerin. Plenty for that puppus, Sir. There aint no great of murderin (bile here, for we dont allow no fire-arms of no kind around in this place. No guns nor pistols? How ia the world do you shoot mad dogs ? We dommt have no dogs, so there aint no mad ones. No dogs! Why, dont ye know theyre the faithful friend of man, as the readin- book sez We kimow they bite folks and make em die in torters, ravin mad. That aint our kind of faithful friends. Besides, we have fust-rate nmutton here, and thats bettern hydrophoby. Dear me! what a cmiss-tomner this feller was! He met ye at every turim jest as pat! Twas exasperatin; so sez I, Wheres time bamik ? Haw! haw ! laughed John. Thats Yankee all over. Money, Sir, the Scripter sez, is the root of all evil It dont say that, now I tell ye ! I put in, direct, glad enough to trump his trick. Well, it doos in my Bible. What 11 von bet ? Bet! there aint no bettin permitted here. I should be set to pumpin at the town pmiump three hours a day for three weeks if I should bet you a peanut. Well! xvehh! well! I wommt stick to it; but I tell ye what Scripter doos say: The lore o moneys the root of all evil ! Oh,pshaw! whats the difiernce? Well, we think the love ont cant be without the critter itself: so we dont have imo money; therefore no banks, no notes, no checks, nor renewals, nor imiterest, nor nothiu. But how (10 ye buy things ? We change round, jest as folks used to before muoney was made: taint always a close fit, but its bettern all the wear aim tear of bills and credit, defaultin and em- bezzlin. I tell ye it conies hard for a feller to embezzle sheep and cows and sech: they wont pocket. But supposin, as you say, things dont fit? say you want suthimin totlmer mumamis got, and he dont hanker after what youve got: how about that ? Oh, I can go without, I guess; food ami cbothmin we always manage to have a ~--- Kh~ - - WUSSN nANGIN, A LONG SIGhT. plenty; we live right along, an dont wor- ry about the futur. Jest you notice the folks in the street; do they look like Ded- haui folks? Not much. Sure enough they di(lnt. The men was easy-goiu, pleasant, sinilia, l)ron(l - shoul dered fellers as ever you see; and the worn- eii~racions! they was as rosy and fair- coinlilected as a posy bed, al)(l straightern l)ea.n poles; but dressed dreadful queer. You dont pan out no great on clothes here, (10 ye ? sez I, kiud of smilin like. Well , sez lie, we have enough to keep good and warm, and we call em good- lookin. I niiist own the worneu folks looked sort of sliiiipsy folks was weariu hoops when I left Dedliain all but Cyntlty Minervy, aud she had on a Bloomer rig. Twas handy; I doiit deny but what twas handy; but it (liii icok mortal curious. But she said the needs of hygieuic science, and the true nurture of the physical, demand freedom of the osseous structure and hounding space for vital pul- sation, lest the divine Me be incarcerated in effete human bonds. I guess thats it; its quite a spell sence Ive seeu Cynthy; shes found liberty, aud I dont follow her round a sight. Well, the ~voinen here did look considerble like statooary females, but I (lidnt say so, an he went on No fashions here, Sir, I tell ye. Them kind o gowns was ordered to begin with, and kep right along; they can have em any color theyre a mind to, and they can wear any kind of flowers an(1 leaves that grow in their hair or their bunnets, and some of em do fix up amazing smart, now I tell ye. Law, yes. I know the kind; there is some women has it hard; theyll begin to priiik and smirk and fix up like lightiiin from the time theyre three year old till they die, even if they be 01(1 maids. Thats another blessing in disguise we dispense with iii this country, said John, a-larfin. No old maids? (10 tell! Why, how do ye prevent it ? Why, its thought best, for the sake of peace, that every body should be miiarrie(l; so folks keep an eye out, and ~v lien one man sees a young feller thats suitable like for his girl to marry, he goes an(h talks to his folks about it, private. If theyre wilhin, he goes ami tells the king ; if they aint wihhiii, why, thimits the emid oiit ; but if they he, the king he jest sends his head man to tell that young feller lie aint on no acconut to marry that particular girl; he can make love to aiiy body else hes a mind to, but that girl is forbid. Then the head man he goes to the girls mother an says lies heerd that girl is muakin eyes at that young inaii, and the king dont approve of it, so shed better be looking elsewberes. Its reckon ing on natur, you see: theres lots ofhnmiian miatiir in every body. Why, the very mimi nit thieum two youiig folks hear how that they aint on no account to have nothin to (10 with each other, they pitch rhrht in. I never knowd it to fail, not one time. Aiid then, when theyre ready to tie the knot sonic of their pas or muas thats up to time advises of em to petition the king, and aft- er a spell he gives in and theyre married. Aint that cute ? It doos beat all. But how do you come out even, Id like to know ? Oh, theres mostly a chance for every TilE PEESIuING winnEr. SETTLES TuE MATTEr.. KNO WARE. 45 body, what with widowers; if there is ally surplus, why, we colonize em on Garden Island, and set em to raising small fruits and poultry. That keeps them busy, you see; there aint any men folks to quarrel about, nobody elses affairs to gossip over; and if a man happens to want a wife, why, he can go over there, if lie (gets a permit, and look abont him, and the presiding wid- der settles the matter. Well! well! well! I never did see sech a place; no strong-miiided females, no littery women, no votin, nO logrollin, no lobby in! But look a-here, how did ye start your kiiig? Its as great a wonderment to me how they start kings as how they start yeast. Why, you see, there want but about thirty of ns at first, all picked iiien and friends; aiid we didnt any of us want to run the thingwe was dead tired of hem sovereign people; so ~ve looked rouiid a spell, here and there, and finally lilt on a real sniart, honest, capable fellow, with a good healthy wife, and nia(ie him an offer, and he took it up. We swore to hold hirii up, and have his clilidern come after him, and we give him power enough to keel) folks straioht. After we got runuin, why, sonie of ns fixed up a ship and went back for a few more picked hands; perhaps we fetched away, take em big and little, fmist au last, a couple o hunderd: weve lived here twenty year now; nobodys hen this way befoie you; were out o the tracks entirely, and were well off and happy. I tell you, this is livia. But ~vheres your meetinhouse l He turned round a sharp cor- ner, and we come to a large low house without aiiy steeple, opened a door, and stel)l)ed right in it was a real lug rooi~i, with pleasant red carpets and kind of creani-col- ored walls, easy cushioned chairs standin thick on the floor, and a kind of a readiu-desk behind a long table that had a dark red cloth on it, and soiiie low wide white vases onto each end, fairly drippi a with flowers. There was little recesses betwixt the whim- dows, with curtains to em, here and there drawed together. Themii is for folks that want to coitue here daytimes and say their prayers. Its private like aiid still, you see, in them little alcoves, and we never keep the doors locked. All the wall was hung with pictures; I couldnt begin to tell eum all; but the house was bright alm(l pleasaimt aiid sweet and wariii beyommd any thing I ever see. Seemed jest as if it was home. I could ha set there all day. Got a good preacher l sez I. We doiit have preachin. Our minister he jest reads the Bible, whiitever hart lie thinks best; then we have singinevery body singsamid lie prays once or twice. Well, if hes like some folks to home, hell (10 more preach in in one prayer than 11 last ye a week. My! Ive heerd Parsoii Styles tell the Lord as munch about other folks and the fairs of the iiatioim as though He was a perfect stranger to eni. We dont have nO sech prayin here, for we have prayers out of a book, tIme best out of all the good old books, and a good many rioht omit of the Bible. Once in a great while lie reads a sermoim out of somebodys primited oiies, but not very frequent. What on airtli (hoes he do week-days l Why, lie goes round visitin folks, L 1km to eni frienmily, and tryin to straighten cia omit, or seem to the sick. We all see lie doiit want for clothes and food for his faimi- ily, and so thats off his iniiid. This is a curious place enough, sez I. But Im fairly hungry with so many idees ~~ommrii1 in omm inc. Aint there a place round here where you can get thmimigs to eat ? Yes, the bakerys over in the square. So we come arommnd a ways, and got to a real clean, light store in a big white build- iii. There was two or three sniahi tables near to the windows, and as we set dowim a iiice waiter-boy come up to tend to us. What will you have i~ 5~Z Johni. Well, a piece o pie and cheese, I guess, sez I. Pie ! hollered John. iAiIocnIAL iIUSINiISS. / 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. PIE ! shrieked the waiter-boy. They couldnt have looked more thunder- struck if Id asked for prussic acid or a drink of strychnine tincture. Well, sez I, stri viii to speak calm, whats to pay now? I sai(l pie. Why, its a penal offense to make a pie in this country, and a hangin matter to eat it, sez John, in real sober earliest. Thunder ! sez I; whats that for ? Oh, my deluded friend, dont you know that pie is at the bottoni of our former coun- trys (leilioralization? Dont you know that pie was tile germ of the Revolution, the in- stigator of the war of 1812, the inspirer of the rebellion? Dont you know that pie is a concretion of riginal sin and actual trans- gression? tilat pie and prison are cause and effect? that this se(luctive but fatal vian(l has destroyed the American stomach and disintegrated the American brain, till the whole country is a mass of political corrup- tion an(l moral decay? Dont you know pie is 01], stop! (10 stop ! sez I. Ive eat pie sence I was born, and I aiat a jail-bird or a fool yet. But jest timink what you might have been on better and huilsomer tkod: you might have heen a Solon, an Aristides, a Homer, a George Washington. Id a sight ruther he a till peddler. Do drop pie, and give me somethin to eat, if youve got any tIming short o corim fodder; I cant stomach that. Well, they fetched in hrcadfresh bread, jest as white and light and sweet as you want to see, a hat o blitter hard and yel- 1cr as wax, a big glass Ilitcher of cream, a dish of white stra~vl)erries, a hasket of red cherries, and a comb of honey clear as water. I aint goin to go back on l)ieId jest as soon think of sassing my graudmotli- erhut I tell you, a dish of white strawber- ries, with a leetl e mite of clover honey jest trickled round amongst em, and thick cream poured clean up to the top of the saucer, and sechm bread crumbled in, comes putty near to bein good eatin. John laughed to see nie pile in. Most as good as pie U sez lie. Pretty near, sez I, bet~vixt the molrt.h- fuls. Well, Sir, I cant have no time nor room to say more, for I aint oiie that holds tIme pen of a ready writerit comes hard. But ef I was to take tinie, I could tell voirnuis about that coimmitry. I hind to come away, for I had settlill up to do in Dedhiam; but its my purpose to go back, wimid an ~veatlier permittimi, some tinme or notlier. Cynthy Mimiervys gomme out to Illinois for a THE RED RIVER COLONY. 47 spell. Dedham folks do say theres ben a speritooal here lecturin, who seemed to be ronnd considerble, long of her; and Parson Styles kinder hinted to me t Id better fob ler her up, for she sort o let on to him that Id lip and left her, and twas good cause for tlivorce aii( Illinois n~~ But T said, I ye sez I, Let her went, parson. Ef Cynthy Minervys tired o me, ~vli y, I aint the man to bender her hem happy her own fashion. I shant never interfere; and Ill take Fred- die long o me. The parson sai(l I was a remarkable generous man, a seif-denyin feller as ever was. Parsons dont know every thing. But ef Cynthy Minervy doos git a divorce, ns sure as gnus I shall put for Knoware as quick as I can charter a fishin smack. I see Ive all along dropped into Dedharn kind o talk; it come so viateral, I suppose. Ive ben and traded off my Unabridired for a copper tea-kettle and Tuppers Proverbs, so that I havent had no help about words; but then that book of Phiosophy doos heat all, and Dedham water is death on tin ket- tles. And when alls said and done, them wortls is the best that tells what you mean to say the easiest, short hem better than long, jest as quick blo~vs is betteru slow ones. Ef any body d like to go to Kuoware along o me, passage and outfits can l)e ob- tained at the lowest prices, very reasonable, by applyiu right off to B. MUNN CHOWSON, Dedham, Mass. AFTER DARK. WheN Twilight gathers in her sheaves, And wheeling swallows skim the flume, The plonghmau, turning homeward, leaves His plough midfurrow in time hroom, And through the melancholy eves Time orange drops its milk-white bloom. The old delights that go and come Through sorrow, in time falling dew, Like waves that wore a wreath of foam The tiarker that the waters grew, Flow round my solitary home At evening, when time stars are few. So, sad and sweet as bridal tears For broken homes, to see withdraw The child we love, have gone the years We climbed the frosty hills, and sa~v Descend on all the frozen meres The sunlight breakimig through the thaw. Like one who in the driving snow, When all the untrodden paths are dim, Hears far-off voices, faint and lou, Across the woodland calling him, I hear the loved of long ago Singing among the seraphim. And as time soft, dissembling light Falls, shadowing into dusky red, I think how beautiful the night With gathering stars is overspread, Like seeds of many aim 01(1 delight Through sheaves of sorrow harvested. THE RED RD/ER COLONY. THE exhaustion of material forces by the Napoleonic wars, which at their close at Waterloo bad enfeebled almost to thp last gasp all time po~vers that had been en- gaged in them, had effects equally powerful upon time social conditions of Europe. In this last phase, indeed, the most deplorable results are seen. The populatiomis which had been reduced by losses in battle and by disease were disheartened, disorganized, im- poverished. Successful business enterprises, Itublic amid private, which alone can restore confidence and happimmess in such a con- juncture, were impossible and nuattempted. Manufacturimmg industries at first languish- ed, then ceased to exist. To crown all these miseries, the untimely and excessive rains in time summer of 1816 had so damaged the crops that a general flinmine was appre- hended. The expense and difficulty of transportatiomi enhanced the cost of all nec- essaries of life. The price of grain rose to an unprecedented height, and time poorer classes suffered for the want of bread. In Switzerland the distress was greater thami in any other part of Central Europe, and the people, wearied of struggles which resulted in their own impoverishment, listened ea- gerly to time story of a peaceful and more prosperous country beyond time sea. A few years earlier Thomas Dundas, Earl of Selkirk, a distimm~nished Scotch nolile- man of great wealth, had purchased from the Hmmdsomm Bay Commipany a large tract of land in British Anmerica, exteml(hing from LOUIS enaTLAIN.

THE RED RIVER COLONY. 47 spell. Dedham folks do say theres ben a speritooal here lecturin, who seemed to be ronnd considerble, long of her; and Parson Styles kinder hinted to me t Id better fob ler her up, for she sort o let on to him that Id lip and left her, and twas good cause for tlivorce aii( Illinois n~~ But T said, I ye sez I, Let her went, parson. Ef Cynthy Minervys tired o me, ~vli y, I aint the man to bender her hem happy her own fashion. I shant never interfere; and Ill take Fred- die long o me. The parson sai(l I was a remarkable generous man, a seif-denyin feller as ever was. Parsons dont know every thing. But ef Cynthy Minervy doos git a divorce, ns sure as gnus I shall put for Knoware as quick as I can charter a fishin smack. I see Ive all along dropped into Dedharn kind o talk; it come so viateral, I suppose. Ive ben and traded off my Unabridired for a copper tea-kettle and Tuppers Proverbs, so that I havent had no help about words; but then that book of Phiosophy doos heat all, and Dedham water is death on tin ket- tles. And when alls said and done, them wortls is the best that tells what you mean to say the easiest, short hem better than long, jest as quick blo~vs is betteru slow ones. Ef any body d like to go to Kuoware along o me, passage and outfits can l)e ob- tained at the lowest prices, very reasonable, by applyiu right off to B. MUNN CHOWSON, Dedham, Mass. AFTER DARK. WheN Twilight gathers in her sheaves, And wheeling swallows skim the flume, The plonghmau, turning homeward, leaves His plough midfurrow in time hroom, And through the melancholy eves Time orange drops its milk-white bloom. The old delights that go and come Through sorrow, in time falling dew, Like waves that wore a wreath of foam The tiarker that the waters grew, Flow round my solitary home At evening, when time stars are few. So, sad and sweet as bridal tears For broken homes, to see withdraw The child we love, have gone the years We climbed the frosty hills, and sa~v Descend on all the frozen meres The sunlight breakimig through the thaw. Like one who in the driving snow, When all the untrodden paths are dim, Hears far-off voices, faint and lou, Across the woodland calling him, I hear the loved of long ago Singing among the seraphim. And as time soft, dissembling light Falls, shadowing into dusky red, I think how beautiful the night With gathering stars is overspread, Like seeds of many aim 01(1 delight Through sheaves of sorrow harvested. THE RED RD/ER COLONY. THE exhaustion of material forces by the Napoleonic wars, which at their close at Waterloo bad enfeebled almost to thp last gasp all time po~vers that had been en- gaged in them, had effects equally powerful upon time social conditions of Europe. In this last phase, indeed, the most deplorable results are seen. The populatiomis which had been reduced by losses in battle and by disease were disheartened, disorganized, im- poverished. Successful business enterprises, Itublic amid private, which alone can restore confidence and happimmess in such a con- juncture, were impossible and nuattempted. Manufacturimmg industries at first languish- ed, then ceased to exist. To crown all these miseries, the untimely and excessive rains in time summer of 1816 had so damaged the crops that a general flinmine was appre- hended. The expense and difficulty of transportatiomi enhanced the cost of all nec- essaries of life. The price of grain rose to an unprecedented height, and time poorer classes suffered for the want of bread. In Switzerland the distress was greater thami in any other part of Central Europe, and the people, wearied of struggles which resulted in their own impoverishment, listened ea- gerly to time story of a peaceful and more prosperous country beyond time sea. A few years earlier Thomas Dundas, Earl of Selkirk, a distimm~nished Scotch nolile- man of great wealth, had purchased from the Hmmdsomm Bay Commipany a large tract of land in British Anmerica, exteml(hing from LOUIS enaTLAIN.

THE RED RIVER COLONY. 47 spell. Dedham folks do say theres ben a speritooal here lecturin, who seemed to be ronnd considerble, long of her; and Parson Styles kinder hinted to me t Id better fob ler her up, for she sort o let on to him that Id lip and left her, and twas good cause for tlivorce aii( Illinois n~~ But T said, I ye sez I, Let her went, parson. Ef Cynthy Minervys tired o me, ~vli y, I aint the man to bender her hem happy her own fashion. I shant never interfere; and Ill take Fred- die long o me. The parson sai(l I was a remarkable generous man, a seif-denyin feller as ever was. Parsons dont know every thing. But ef Cynthy Minervy doos git a divorce, ns sure as gnus I shall put for Knoware as quick as I can charter a fishin smack. I see Ive all along dropped into Dedharn kind o talk; it come so viateral, I suppose. Ive ben and traded off my Unabridired for a copper tea-kettle and Tuppers Proverbs, so that I havent had no help about words; but then that book of Phiosophy doos heat all, and Dedham water is death on tin ket- tles. And when alls said and done, them wortls is the best that tells what you mean to say the easiest, short hem better than long, jest as quick blo~vs is betteru slow ones. Ef any body d like to go to Kuoware along o me, passage and outfits can l)e ob- tained at the lowest prices, very reasonable, by applyiu right off to B. MUNN CHOWSON, Dedham, Mass. AFTER DARK. WheN Twilight gathers in her sheaves, And wheeling swallows skim the flume, The plonghmau, turning homeward, leaves His plough midfurrow in time hroom, And through the melancholy eves Time orange drops its milk-white bloom. The old delights that go and come Through sorrow, in time falling dew, Like waves that wore a wreath of foam The tiarker that the waters grew, Flow round my solitary home At evening, when time stars are few. So, sad and sweet as bridal tears For broken homes, to see withdraw The child we love, have gone the years We climbed the frosty hills, and sa~v Descend on all the frozen meres The sunlight breakimig through the thaw. Like one who in the driving snow, When all the untrodden paths are dim, Hears far-off voices, faint and lou, Across the woodland calling him, I hear the loved of long ago Singing among the seraphim. And as time soft, dissembling light Falls, shadowing into dusky red, I think how beautiful the night With gathering stars is overspread, Like seeds of many aim 01(1 delight Through sheaves of sorrow harvested. THE RED RD/ER COLONY. THE exhaustion of material forces by the Napoleonic wars, which at their close at Waterloo bad enfeebled almost to thp last gasp all time po~vers that had been en- gaged in them, had effects equally powerful upon time social conditions of Europe. In this last phase, indeed, the most deplorable results are seen. The populatiomis which had been reduced by losses in battle and by disease were disheartened, disorganized, im- poverished. Successful business enterprises, Itublic amid private, which alone can restore confidence and happimmess in such a con- juncture, were impossible and nuattempted. Manufacturimmg industries at first languish- ed, then ceased to exist. To crown all these miseries, the untimely and excessive rains in time summer of 1816 had so damaged the crops that a general flinmine was appre- hended. The expense and difficulty of transportatiomi enhanced the cost of all nec- essaries of life. The price of grain rose to an unprecedented height, and time poorer classes suffered for the want of bread. In Switzerland the distress was greater thami in any other part of Central Europe, and the people, wearied of struggles which resulted in their own impoverishment, listened ea- gerly to time story of a peaceful and more prosperous country beyond time sea. A few years earlier Thomas Dundas, Earl of Selkirk, a distimm~nished Scotch nolile- man of great wealth, had purchased from the Hmmdsomm Bay Commipany a large tract of land in British Anmerica, exteml(hing from LOUIS enaTLAIN. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the Lake of the Woods and. the Winnipeg River westward for nearly 200 miles, and from Lakes Winnipeg and. Manitoba to the United States boundary, part of which tract is now embraced in the province of Manito- ba, and in which are the fertile lands bor- dering on the Red. and Assiniboine rivers. It formed a part of Rupert Land, named in honor of Prince Rupert, or Robert, of Ba- varia, a consin of King Charles II. of Eng- land, and. one of the fonndeis and chief nianagers of the Hudson Bay Company. Rupert Land was somewhat indefinite in extent, embracing all that portion of Brit- ish America that poured its waters into Hndsois Bay, and was drained. chiefly by the Great- Whale, Rupert, Abbitibbe, Al- bany, Severn, Winnipeg, Red, Assiniboine, Saskatchewan, and. Churchill rivers. In extent it was almost equal to the United States prior to its accessions after the close of the Mexican war. It was the original pnrpose of Lord Selkirk to settle these lands with colonists from Scotland.. In the year 1811 he had. succeeded. in planting a large colony of Presbyterians from the north of Scotland. on the Red River, near its junction with the Assiniboine. This was followed, fonr years later, by another but smaller col- onv from the same section of Scotland. In consequence of the stubborn competition alI(l the bitter dissensions between the Hud.- son Bay Company and. the Northwest Corn- Paiy of Montreal, these colonists were corn- l)elle(l to abandon their new hionies, nearly MAP OF nunsoa BAY AN]) Ta T EMITOBY WENTWAUJ). all of them removing to Lower Canada where they believed. they could. live in greater peace and security. Lord. Selkirk entertained. great admira- tion for the ctiaracter of the Swiss, and. hay- lug failed in his emigration schemes with his own countrymen, turned his attention to S~vitzerla.nd. He prepared. and. caused. to be published. in the French and German languages a pamphlet giving a full but somewhat exaggerated. description of the new country, its climate, soil, and. produc- tions, and. offered. to all heads of families, or those who were unmarried. and. over twen- ty-one years of age, land. free of cost, with seeds, cattle, and farming implements, all on a credit of three years. It was the poli- cy of the British government to favor these emigration schemes, the statesmen of that day believing that the region in question could. successfully be colonized and. settled. by way of the north route, viz., Hudson Bay, Nelson River, and. Lake Winnipeg. The pamphlet alluded. to was freely (us- trilimited. by Lord. Selkirks agents in the French - speaking cantons of Neuch~ltel, Vamid, and. Geneva, and in the German- speaking canton of Berne. Many yonn~ ai)d. middle-aged. men in those cantons, hay- ing become weary of the condition of affairs at home, d.ecid.ed. to emigrate to British America under time auspices of Lord Sel- kirk, and forumed a colony for that i)iiri)ose. It was agreed to set out for America in the spring of 1821. The colony numbered. over ~U0 persons, near lv three-fourths of whom were of French origin and speaking that lan- guage. They were Protestants in faith, and belonged. to the Reforumed. Lutheran Church. Some of the fami- lies were descend- ants of the lingue- nots of Eastern France; all were healthy, robust, and. well fitted. for the labor and pri- vations incident to a life in a new country; most of them were liber- ally educated. and. possessed. of con- siderable means. Anmong the more prominent heads of families were Mo- nier and. Rindes- bacher (the seniors of the colony in age, THE RED RIVER COLONY. 49 and men of culture and of influence in their respective localities), Dr. Ostertag, Chet- lain, and Desconibes; and of the unmarried Schirnier (afterward for a score of years the leading jeweller at Galena, Ilhnois),Qninche, and Langet. In the families there were, as it happened, but few children nuder twelve years of age, except infants in arms. In the month of May, 182~, the prelim- inaries havitig been completed, the colonists asseml)led at a small village on the Rhine near Basle. Why they did not rendezvous at Basica city of considerable coirnnercial importanceseems a little strange. The impression afterward prevailed among the colonists that the managers feared to take them to a large city, lest some unfavorable facts connected with the conutry to which they were goilir mi(rht conic to light, espe- cially the important circumstance that Lord Selkirk had failed to settle the country with his own countrymen. Be this as it may, two laige flat-boats or barges were pro- vided for their use at the rendezvous and in these they floated down the Rhine, with its numerous cities and villages and its vume-clad hills and ruined castles on either hand. But with hearts elate with hope, anil their huaginations filled with visions of a distant land, it may be donbted if the storie(l scenes of that beautifnl river re- ceived from these hardy adventurers more than a passing thought. At the end of ten (lays they reached a small village iicar Rot- terdam, where a stanch ship, the Lord Well- inyton, was in readiness to take them to the New XVorld. VOL. LVIII.No. 343.4 After setting sail their course lay north of Great Britain and jnst south of Green- land to Hudson Strait. Sooii after their de- parture from Holland it was found that the quality of the food issued ~vas greatly iiiP~- nor to that promised them befhre their de- parture from Switzerland, and complaint was made to the captain of time shipa stern but kind-hearted old seaman, who ac- knowledged the wrong, but claimed that lie was not responsible for it, which was 110 iloubt tine. Time water also was lund, and issued in insufficient quantities. Arri vi uig at Hudson Strait, latitude 620 north, the Lord Wellington overtook t~vo English ship~ hound for Fort York, or York Factory, sitna- ted at the month of tIme Nelson River, laden with Indian goo(ls and supplies for the gar- risons at Forts York and Douglas, and for thin employ6s of thin Hudson Bay Compaimy. The strait was filled with floes amid bergs (if ice, amid the ships were thereby detained over three weeks. Omie of the sum~i~)ly ships was seriously daniaged and nearly lost by collis- ion with an iceherg. Fimially, with macli (liffiemilty and no little peril, Hudson Bay was entered, aiid after a long amid tedious voyage of nearly four nionthis they lauded at Fort York. Thin coloiiists were at omice embarked in luateaiix, and cu)nimenced thin ascent of the Nelson River. Propelhiming their heavy- laden boats by rowing, ofteum agaiiist a strouig current, at tIme cud oftwenty days Lake Wimi- miipeg was reached and here imew troubles a~vaited them. The season was advanced, thin fall storms hind set in, and their progress along the west shore of thin lake, 260 miles in hemmgthi, was slow amid laborious. After a days hard rowing, often against hicad-wimids, PETER RmNi)zsBAduER. iIuILLP SUiILIIMEIL. the little fleet of boats would put into some J~ed River, whew to theil disurny they learn- sheltered spot, where the weary -~oyageiirs, ed that the locusts or u issliOlipels had perhaps drenched with rain or henniobed passe(l through the eouiiti the sunliner he w th cold, wonbi kindle fires, and all he h)re, literally d ~sti ox in all the crops. W itli niade as comfortable as possible for the heavy hearts they proceed( d up the river night. In addition to these discourage- sonic thirty-fix e wiles to Ii ort 1)ou~l is, sit- ineuts and disconifoits then supply of pro nated oh the west hank of tin. rix (i, near visious (vxve out, and the fexx fish they xvere the site of the presexit Fort Garry, then the able to catch were birely siifheient to keep prine ipal tradiiig post aud lieaqnaiters of tlieni from starving At the end of three the IIil(150u Bay Company. Governor Alex- xxeeks, much time lixx iu~ been lost by ander MDowell and the (ithier officers of reason of high winds and stoxms, they ar- the compaily, by their cordial welcome and rived, half famished at the month of the eariiest efforts to supply their wants and TuE VOYACEUPS IN CAMP. THE RED RIVER COLONY. 51 make them comfortable, not only gk ddened their hearts, bat did much to make them forget the hardships of their long voyage. It is worthy of note, in passing, that a few months before their arrival the Hudson Bay Comp~ ny and. the Northwest Company had settled their long-standin g difficulties anti- cably, and merged their interests in a new corporation, retaimiin~ the miame of time for- nier company. Governor MDowell could not promise the colonists snihicient j)rovis- ions to carry them through time approachmng winter, for it was evident that time supl)lies received from England would be inadequate for the wants of all. After a full delibera- tion upon a question scarcely less Inoment- otis than th~ t of life or death, it was resolved to send some seventy-five of the younger and more hardy of the colonists to Pembina, up time river, near time United States boundary, sixty miles distant, where it was believed the buffalo, elk, and (leer were umore abun- (lamit, and where jerked buffalo me t an(I peinumican could be obtained from time mdi- nus of that locality. Just as time winter closed in the arrived at party Peunbina, and at once set bout constructing hints and pro- curing fuel for the winter. The succeeding winter was Ion and in- tensely cold, the thermometer often falling to forty-five degrees below zero, and the through holes cut in tIme ice, with what buf- falo meat could be bought from the Indians, was scarcely sufficient to l)revent starva- tion. Sometimes an Indiami dog was killed and eaten, an(l relished by most of tIm mum. The parties who occasionally ventured out with (logs and sledges obtained from the In- diaLs to hunt for the buffalo, met with in- different success, owing to the scarcity of the animals that winter, amid lack of expe- riemmee. Several of theta were mnaitne(l for life by time freeziming of their hands and feet. In the spring, after the show had disappear- ed, time wonien would gather acorns und time seed-balls of time wild-rose bush timat grew rank on time margimi of the river, which, when cooked with a little buffalo fat, made imutri- tions if not palatable food, and served to re- lieve time hardship and nuonotony of the al- umost exclusively fish diet of time precedimig wimiter. Five years prior to time dvemmt of the S~viss colony the emaployds of time North- west Company, lit their bitter oppesitiomi to Lord Selkirks schienme to colommize timat comimitry with Emiropemmims, opeumly resisted the settlers, amid wemut so far as to make an armed attack on a settlemtient of Scotelt- mnen nemtr Fort Douglas, killimmg some tweitty of them, incluidiuug Governor Roluert Semple, who had received his appointment as Coy- romir CAR Y. smiox uinusu~ Ily deep. Time colonists winter- ernor of Huidsomt Bay Company five years ing at Pemhin~ fared badly enough. With previous. Lord Selkirk, ort leariming of time the advance of winter the scanty supply of massacre, left England at ommee for Canada. h)rovisions hroumght from Fort Douglas di- There he obtaimmed from time authorities a utinished rapidly, and, when exhausted, the hundred or more soldiers from the Rflgi- fish, obtained with difficulty from the river ment ~ies Meuiromms, and a few volunteers. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Placing himself at their head, lie proceeded falo fat and salt. There was also the music to the Red River Settlement, where, after of the violin, and the P~et of the dancers seizing several of their trading posts, lie ic kept time to the airs of Switzerland. Store(l lenm and tranquillity. Two years The health of all the colonists that win- after, the troops hronght from Canada ~vere ter was good, despite the severity of the (hisclmarge(l, amid the greater part of them winter and the insnfficiency of food. Time were imm(lnc.ed by Lord Selkirk to settle in opening of spring foUu(l theux ready to elm- that - coontry. L~nmd was donated them imear Fort I)onglns, and. cattle and. other supplies fnrnished them on a long cre(lit. Fortune favored. these settlers, nial at time time of time arrival of tIme Swiss colony they were venerallv well-to-do farmers; and had it not beemi for the ravages of time grasshop ~ the summer before, the crops of these flirmuers wonid have fmi rimislied ample food for tIme ~mew-comers (inring their first years stay. Tlmese Canadian settlers, or meu- roims, as they were called, were all unmar- ried, except a few who had taken In(liamm or half-breed wives. Among the colommists were several families in which u-crc mar- riageahie daughters, amid it ~vas natural that offers of marriage should be made by time bachelor farmers. Durimig time winter several such umarriages were consummated. The colonists, althongli disappointe(l amid almost starvi mm g, were nevertheless cheer- ful, and disposed to make time most of the unfortunate circumstances in which they found. themselves. It ~vas (leemed imeces- sary to celebrate the nuptials iii a becom- imig umann er, and to (10 honor to time occasiomi a luarty would be given, to which tIme rel- atives and friends were bidden. Weddimig oake was made of coarse flour obtnimmed from wheat ground in time or(linary rotary coffee-mill, to which were added. a little buf ter on tlme lands allotted tlmenm at La burdine, at time jummetion of time Red amid Assimmihoimme rivers, amm(l SOOli after time 1st of May the emmtire colommy was agaimm ummited. Lord Selkirk Imad died at Paum, Fmammce, time antimimmim bellnre tlmeii departuire froma S~v itz erlamid, buit time t~ict had hiceim witimimeid froiim timeum nmmtih after their arrival at Fort Doug- las. Comisequmemitly imo proviSinomi had beeui inade to sui)l)hy tlmemmi with seenis mmd tarmim hug imupleniemits, as jiromimised timemim lu toie their departure frouim time Old XX omid rimey were timerefome couimlielled, with t u ( xcep- tions, to use time or(limmary hoc ~nnl ~pmde mini tuirmilmig over time sod amid iii pre~ir1mmg the soil for plamitimig alm(l sowimig flit St uls ob- tained in limited qimauitities tiommi time Cm nadian famimmers. However, as time resnit of a har(l sunmnmers work, time wemmicim assistimir time mimeum, amid time soil hei mm ~ reummimkii dy pro(lumcti~ e time crops m-aised, with whmat they out mimmed tioni time (miller settlems, carried theuim flironim time suicceedimig winter cotim- fortihml~ I n1 mum the fall of 1821 a herd of cattle, mostlN cow s, airive(l froum time State (if Mis- souri imi elm irre of a marty of armimed drovers, and were dm~trmbuted imi time sprimig of 1822 amnomir time Sn iss settlers. This distribu- tion of cattle, which had becum comitracted for b~ Loid Scikirk before his death, was all AmniEmi EScOIIT. that had. l)eell dona for the colonists in ful- fillinent of the pledges made them hefore their departure from Europe. As a coitse- onence (lissatisfactioll l)ecame general, aiid. a. deterinniation was made ivy a liroc part of the colonists to (lepart, the first practicalle moment, for the United. Statesa country of which they ha(l learned macit since their arrival at the Red River. On the return of the drovers in tie autumn of 1821, five fain- ilics i)eo~ed. pernussion to accompany them, which was or i~itcd Ia the month of No vemher the parts an i d in sifet~ it Fort St. Anthoax (snhseqneatl~ Ii oi t Snelling), situated. at the luaction of the Mississippi and St. Peter s rex ~rs then in piocess of cmi struction, and. gnnsoned b~ United. States troops in command of Colonel Josiih Such lag of the Fifth United States mi n~trx With the consent of the coininain1iii~ ofti cer, the party of emigrants reminied at thi( fort (luring the sliccee(liag w utter .1 hi next spring they settled oi th inib I a reservation near the fort, euihx it d land and sold the products to the gall isuui Iii the spri ig of 1823 thirteen tunic ot thi colonists, with their families ilci mdiii to go to the United States, with the inteii- tion of settlin~ in the State of Missoari, of xx 111(11 5( etmon of tic Union they had heard glowinr descriptions front the party of di ox ers ta o years hetere. They hiire(l sonic hill (107111 1 irtsali that could he ob- tained. in the settlementto carry their et ON GUAI~D.[iEE PAGE 54.] 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fects to the head waters of the St. Peters (now the Minnesota) River at Lake Trav- erse, some 200 xiiiles above Fort St. An- thony by the course of the river. These carts were constructed, without iron the tires being of rawhide drawn tightly around the wheel. They are still known as the Red River cart, and until the opening of the North Pacific Railroad. were frequently seei at St. Paul. The Sioux Indians found on their route after entering the United States were unfriendly, if ii ot openly hostile, and. the little company were often in con- si(lerable peril. By judicious mann remnent ho~vever, lln(Ierstallding as they well did the character of the Indian, they escaped open conflict. The chiefs of the roving bands en countered were gemmerafly appeased., and. their apparent goodwill gained. by Iresen ts of amnmui~ition, food, and. trinkets. Before the end of their journey, however, the Indians succeeded in stealing a part of their cooking utensils and. provisn~s. The inadequate number of carts, heavily laden as they were with their effects, prevemited any except the older children from riding and. often a mother would. walk twenty miles in a day with a babe in her arms. The men were all armed, and. acted. as an escort to the train. After a bug and. at times perilous journey of 400 miles, they reached. Lake Traverse, and ~vent into camp, the carts returni mug with time mneim to whoum they belomuged. Preparations were at once begun to descend. the St. Peters River. Cottonwood-trees were felled, aumd. canoes or dug-outs were made, one for every two a(lults of the ~)arty. Time work was slow and (hifhcult for the want of proper tools. Being in a country through which roanmed hunting parties of unfriendly and thieving Indians, it was imecessary to keep a guard sver the camp at iuight. runt d.nty (he- volved. on the women, for the macn needed the sleep of imight in order to be aide to work by day on the canoes. An 01(1 lady, now in her sevemmtymmiumthu year, and the only surviving member of the colony; who was t~venty years of age or ummore at the time of the departure of the colony from S~vitzer- land, told time writer umot lommg since, with cv i(lemmt l)ri(he, that she Imad. umore than once stood. guard. over that little canmp, arumed ~vithu a gumum, from nimme oclock at imighit uimtil sunrise time mmext nmormmimmg. Time canoes lmav- immg beeum finished, time party launelmed. thmem, ammd. lmeadimmg timem do~vn time strearmm, float- ed ~vithu time curremmt time greater part of the time. Time river, as is usual at that season of time year, was low, ammul some portions of it filled. witlm simoals and. sammd-bars, over ~vlmichm they were often compelled. to drag their hueavy-ladeu crafts. Abomit time nmi(ldhe of tIme umouth of Sep- teummber they arrived at Fort St. Autlmoimy, amud. were kimudhy received. by tIme officers of time garrisoum, aumd warmly welconmed. by their countrynmen whmo had preceded tlmem two years before. After a few weeks rest they prepared to descemud. the Mississippi River to St. Lommis, thucir destiumatioum. Two smimalh barges or keel boats whuich had. heemi used to traumsport supplies from St. Louis for time use of flue troops were generomisly placed at timeir disposal by Colonel Snellimug (whmo also suipplied timemum within provisioums for time voy- age), ammd. imu these thiney leisurely floated (lowum the river, mmmeetimmg with little or no dif- ficumlty. The exposume ammd luardsluips of the snummuer aimd. early fall brouglut ouin cluills aumd fevers aimd otimer mualarial diseases. Mr. Mo- nier, the semmior of tlme party iuu age, fell sick ammd died, and. was buried. near Prairie dmu Chmien, ammd. soon after his eldest dauinghuter followed himu. Before reachmimmg Rock Islamud Mr. Cimetlain hecamume (lelirions within fever, and it was decided. to leave hmimuu within luis wife ammd chuild at Fort Armstromug, wlmere he was placed. hum time post luospital, nuind. cared for within kindness niud skill. Time rest pro- ceeded on tlmcir way, reacluing St. Lomuis late mm tIme uumommtlu of Noveumber. Mr. Chuetlaimin and. fanuily joiinmed. thucum time imcxt sprimmg. 0mm thue arrival of tlmc enuigrainuts at St. Louis, timen a city of 6000 immlmabitants, timey were welcoumued. amud. hospitably treated by time Cimouteaus, Soulards, amud. Gratiots (tIme latter of Frammco-S xv iss on gium), amud. othuer Freum clm-speaki mug citizens, wluo had becoumme faumiliar within thineir pecumliar luistory. Thue greater l)art of the emnigramuts heased lamuds mucar time city niud cultivated timemim. Thucy proved. i mudmustri oius, teunperate, amid tiurifty citizeums. Time climate of thuat regioum, Imow- ever, was eviulen tly umufavorable for tlmeni, and time larger part fell sick. Time process of acelimumatizatiomin was slow nuind difficult, au(l by the end of time second smiunminmer ummost of tlmem (lecided. to remmuove to a cooler and. more lmealtlmfuml clinuate. The opeidug of the lead nuimmes of time Northinwest gave time xvi shinedfor opportum mu ity. Mr. Chuetlni mu and a few otimers, within tlineir faninihies, joimmed. Col- ommel Heinury Gratiot, time newly appoimuted a(~eumt for time XViumnebago Imudians, ainud took passage on tIme steamboat Mexico, one of tlue first boats timat aseciuded time Mississippi above time momuth of tIme Illimmois River for La Poi mute, omin Fever River, wlmerc noxv stamuds time city of Galena, arrivimug thuere time l4thu dumy of April, 1526. Sonme moutims later Messrs. Schirumer, Langet, amid othuers follow- ed. In the amutmimum of timat year time greater part of timem removed to time Imudian agency at Gratiots Grove, fifteen miles nortimeast frominin La Poimute, and engaged mm miming ammd smuelting lead. ore amud. in farmuimug. Time sprimug of 1826 was noted. for tlue great rmse.of water in time Mississippi and its trib- mutarics and imi the Red. amid Assimuiboimme riv- ers, caused by time unmisumal deep snow of time precedimug wimuter, which lund. melted. within URANIA. 55 warm and heavy rains. The Red and As- siniboine rivers rose so high that the laimds at La Fourelme were completely inundated, and the settlers compelled to seek safoty by flight to higher ground several miles distant, taking ~vith them their cattle and household effects. The losses sustained by the flood were very great, and no efforts were made to repair theni. Nearly all time Swiss settlers remaining at La Fourche, in- cludimig a part of the Canadian settlers, hay- ing become thoroughly discouraged, decid- ed to leave at once for the United States. Abandoning their lands, amid selling their cattle and farmuiming ininplements for what they could, they lured carts to transport their effects and provisiomis, and started in a body for Fort St. Anthony, following the route taken by the first ~)arty, three years before, to Lake Traverse, and from thence by land to their destination, arriving there early in the autumn of that year. Governor MDo~vell and the other officers of the Hud- son Bay Company deeply regretted their mleparture, and generously supplied them with provisions fou~ the journey free of cost, an imiterpreter, and aim armed escort of forty- five men. A fe~v weeks after their arrival at Fort St. Anthony they were fortunate emmonoli to find a small steamboat that had been used to transport supplies for the troops at that point, in which they took pasfage for the lead mimes, to which place they decided to go after they had reached Fort St. Antimony. On their arrival at La Poimite they ~vere warmly welcomed imy their countrymen who had preceded tlmenm. Some of them settled at La Poimite, while time greater part ~vent out to the agemmey at Gratiots Grove, and engaged in ndning and farnmimmg. Six years later, when the Indian troubles begami which culminated imm a war kno~vn as tIme Black Hawk ~var, aimd volmmnteers were called for, nearly all the umen, without regard to age, emilisted, and having beema acenstommi- ed to the misc of fire-arms, rendered tIme coun- try of their adoptiomi valuable service. Time descendants of these colommists are na- meromis, amid are fomnmd scattered throughomit the Northwest, the greater part beimig in tIme regiomi of the lead nmimmes. Most of timemim are. thrifty farnmers and stock-breemlers. A few have entered the professiomis and trade. All, as far as is knowmm, are teimiperate, immdmms- trions, and la~v-abiding citizens. URANIA. FROM what superior star, Gazimig, emmiramiced, afar, Didst thou first look on earth when earth was yommmig? Thou wimomo time simm~ers of all days have sumig, Spirit of Somig! by moany miamnes adored, Whose deep, sweet speecim, time music of time soul, Our immimami utteramuce cami imot yet. comutrol, Upon whose dmmzzlimmg simrine are ceaseless offerimigs pm)ured. When first thy sun-shod feet Pressed time mmew verdumre, sweet Witim timid violet, and virgimi rose; ~Vimen first thy rainbow plumage passimig by, rime simepimerd bards discermied, aim! rapturously Timey somight thy inspiratiomi to disclose. Witim bumming heart amid glances raised above, Speech overfioived in somig, amid all their timemne was love. Nor didst thou linger homing In vales of pastoral somig. Jmmdeas harp thy fervid fimugers strummig. Time groves of paluim, the sacred rivers, Imeard, The cedars upon Leimanon were stirred When Davids lips lumimortal imicasares snug. Amid smoke of costliest odors rose to imeavemi With chorus amid respomise by Hebreinv voices givemi. On Orpimens glowimig lyre Was laid I hy toucim of fire; By thine own lips on Sappho5 brow was pressed Time mystic kiss which woke icr sommis miminrest. Unveiled by thee, imm thy most radiant mood, The palaces timat on Olyumipus stood, Frona whose charuied portumis camiie, at thy decree, Time gods of earth and hmeavemm, time minyimmimims of air amid sea. Then was the age of gold, Wimemm bards liermuic told Heroic legemids of prinieval days. Then mad the sin~er his fall meed of praise, For tlmomm didst touch time laurel with timy inmamid, And primmce amid ivarrior witim eximliamut imamid Wove time brigimt bays armommumi time mimiuustrels imaumie. rimeir valor ivas Imis timemmue his sommg timeir simmesi fanie. Yet not by mimese was seen Time splemidor of timy mmmiemu, The full, mumiclouided glory of timy face. These caurhit lint ghiummpses of time light divimie, Amid, coumitimig thmee ummnomug time sacred millie, Groped in time darkimess fumr thy dwelhimug-phace. Miltmmma alomme oer elder bards prevailed Upomi time st.arry heights lie saw thy bromv umiveiled. Dearer tlurouighm ages growmu, Tinuum wilt limit lemuve alouue The worhul thy imresemmce has muuade malt 4ivine; Still coimmitless votmmries bow before thy shirimue. 1mme Norsemamis rhmugimug ballad, time soft chime Of Spaumishm imute tim silver samidaled rhynie, lime hmymimum of freedom by time smmmuset sea, Or Persias passioum lays, all suicred are to thee. Some are contemmt to reach lhme still, immauudihile speech Of ivimids amid woods amid wuiters rimytimumiic flow. Timese kuioiv thee best in natures whispers low, And vuitii time hem of thy rich garuuiemut pressed To tunefumi hips, they are sumpreniely blest. Others have caught a more trumnscemideuut gleammi, Amid greet thee omi the heights of prophecy amid dreaumi. Stay, thou resplendent one! Not yet tiny iask is done, Not yet the perfect song of ages siung! A rose inumiblown it sleeps upon thuy hireast, Waiting to mmiake some hater Edemi hihest. Still he the halo of thy beaumuy fiummig Over dark days, dark years, mmmiii afar Above the New Somigs bhithi thou smilest like a star!

URANIA. 55 warm and heavy rains. The Red and As- siniboine rivers rose so high that the laimds at La Fourelme were completely inundated, and the settlers compelled to seek safoty by flight to higher ground several miles distant, taking ~vith them their cattle and household effects. The losses sustained by the flood were very great, and no efforts were made to repair theni. Nearly all time Swiss settlers remaining at La Fourche, in- cludimig a part of the Canadian settlers, hay- ing become thoroughly discouraged, decid- ed to leave at once for the United States. Abandoning their lands, amid selling their cattle and farmuiming ininplements for what they could, they lured carts to transport their effects and provisiomis, and started in a body for Fort St. Anthony, following the route taken by the first ~)arty, three years before, to Lake Traverse, and from thence by land to their destination, arriving there early in the autumn of that year. Governor MDo~vell and the other officers of the Hud- son Bay Company deeply regretted their mleparture, and generously supplied them with provisions fou~ the journey free of cost, an imiterpreter, and aim armed escort of forty- five men. A fe~v weeks after their arrival at Fort St. Anthony they were fortunate emmonoli to find a small steamboat that had been used to transport supplies for the troops at that point, in which they took pasfage for the lead mimes, to which place they decided to go after they had reached Fort St. Antimony. On their arrival at La Poimite they ~vere warmly welcomed imy their countrymen who had preceded tlmenm. Some of them settled at La Poimite, while time greater part ~vent out to the agemmey at Gratiots Grove, and engaged in ndning and farnmimmg. Six years later, when the Indian troubles begami which culminated imm a war kno~vn as tIme Black Hawk ~var, aimd volmmnteers were called for, nearly all the umen, without regard to age, emilisted, and having beema acenstommi- ed to the misc of fire-arms, rendered tIme coun- try of their adoptiomi valuable service. Time descendants of these colommists are na- meromis, amid are fomnmd scattered throughomit the Northwest, the greater part beimig in tIme regiomi of the lead nmimmes. Most of timemim are. thrifty farnmers and stock-breemlers. A few have entered the professiomis and trade. All, as far as is knowmm, are teimiperate, immdmms- trions, and la~v-abiding citizens. URANIA. FROM what superior star, Gazimig, emmiramiced, afar, Didst thou first look on earth when earth was yommmig? Thou wimomo time simm~ers of all days have sumig, Spirit of Somig! by moany miamnes adored, Whose deep, sweet speecim, time music of time soul, Our immimami utteramuce cami imot yet. comutrol, Upon whose dmmzzlimmg simrine are ceaseless offerimigs pm)ured. When first thy sun-shod feet Pressed time mmew verdumre, sweet Witim timid violet, and virgimi rose; ~Vimen first thy rainbow plumage passimig by, rime simepimerd bards discermied, aim! rapturously Timey somight thy inspiratiomi to disclose. Witim bumming heart amid glances raised above, Speech overfioived in somig, amid all their timemne was love. Nor didst thou linger homing In vales of pastoral somig. Jmmdeas harp thy fervid fimugers strummig. Time groves of paluim, the sacred rivers, Imeard, The cedars upon Leimanon were stirred When Davids lips lumimortal imicasares snug. Amid smoke of costliest odors rose to imeavemi With chorus amid respomise by Hebreinv voices givemi. On Orpimens glowimig lyre Was laid I hy toucim of fire; By thine own lips on Sappho5 brow was pressed Time mystic kiss which woke icr sommis miminrest. Unveiled by thee, imm thy most radiant mood, The palaces timat on Olyumipus stood, Frona whose charuied portumis camiie, at thy decree, Time gods of earth and hmeavemm, time minyimmimims of air amid sea. Then was the age of gold, Wimemm bards liermuic told Heroic legemids of prinieval days. Then mad the sin~er his fall meed of praise, For tlmomm didst touch time laurel with timy inmamid, And primmce amid ivarrior witim eximliamut imamid Wove time brigimt bays armommumi time mimiuustrels imaumie. rimeir valor ivas Imis timemmue his sommg timeir simmesi fanie. Yet not by mimese was seen Time splemidor of timy mmmiemu, The full, mumiclouided glory of timy face. These caurhit lint ghiummpses of time light divimie, Amid, coumitimig thmee ummnomug time sacred millie, Groped in time darkimess fumr thy dwelhimug-phace. Miltmmma alomme oer elder bards prevailed Upomi time st.arry heights lie saw thy bromv umiveiled. Dearer tlurouighm ages growmu, Tinuum wilt limit lemuve alouue The worhul thy imresemmce has muuade malt 4ivine; Still coimmitless votmmries bow before thy shirimue. 1mme Norsemamis rhmugimug ballad, time soft chime Of Spaumishm imute tim silver samidaled rhynie, lime hmymimum of freedom by time smmmuset sea, Or Persias passioum lays, all suicred are to thee. Some are contemmt to reach lhme still, immauudihile speech Of ivimids amid woods amid wuiters rimytimumiic flow. Timese kuioiv thee best in natures whispers low, And vuitii time hem of thy rich garuuiemut pressed To tunefumi hips, they are sumpreniely blest. Others have caught a more trumnscemideuut gleammi, Amid greet thee omi the heights of prophecy amid dreaumi. Stay, thou resplendent one! Not yet tiny iask is done, Not yet the perfect song of ages siung! A rose inumiblown it sleeps upon thuy hireast, Waiting to mmiake some hater Edemi hihest. Still he the halo of thy beaumuy fiummig Over dark days, dark years, mmmiii afar Above the New Somigs bhithi thou smilest like a star! MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCUELES. XITHEN Ignatz Moseheles, the musician, was a Very young man, stu(lying in Vienna, he went one (lay to the house of old Salieri. Beethoven had just been there; and Moseheles found, written on a sheet of paper, the following words: The pupil Bee- thoven has been here. Moseheles in his di- ary records this fact, and that it set him thinking a Beethoven acknowledge he had yet to learn of a Salieri! And at the same time he adds, with the sudden touch of sadness and regret retrospection brings: Ab, those were happy. busy days in dear old Vienna ! This was in 181416. Moseheles, the son of an estimable merchant in Pragne, had re- ceived a good musical education, ajid had gone to Vienna to promote his interests and acquire fresh knowled~e and incentive. Beethoven wa~ in Vienna in those days. Music, if not understood, was at least fash- ionable. The Viennese ladies, at their soi- r& s, would smilingly perform the great mas ters works, while he sat, grim and silent, listening. Moseheles marvelled at their te- inerity. The story of the Vienna of that time is like a series of pictures toned, tint- e(l by associations, names, figures, which reach us warm an(l life-like in hue. Th~ spirit of Haydn and Glilek coming to them from yesterday with some faint echo; an evening of social converse and music from the old-fashioned harpsichord instrumeuits; pretty women, with l)owdered heads and jewelled fingers, and fans and frivolity; a genius like Beethoven-divinest impulses struggling with the narrow boundaries of its surroun(lingssitting in judgment on the crude performances. The quaint pianos and violins tinkle out the wonderful music; the vibrations go on, impossible to silence, though the listeners fail to catch their mean- lug. Here and there we see a spirit like Moseheles drawing in strength for the fmu- ture, divining in these faint interpretations the ~)O55ibiIity of the great to-morrow in the musical universe. Meanwhile, in an mincer- tam sort of way, ~oscheles composed at this F 1IX MENDEL5SOII~-BART1IOLDY.

MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCUELES. XITHEN Ignatz Moseheles, the musician, was a Very young man, stu(lying in Vienna, he went one (lay to the house of old Salieri. Beethoven had just been there; and Moseheles found, written on a sheet of paper, the following words: The pupil Bee- thoven has been here. Moseheles in his di- ary records this fact, and that it set him thinking a Beethoven acknowledge he had yet to learn of a Salieri! And at the same time he adds, with the sudden touch of sadness and regret retrospection brings: Ab, those were happy. busy days in dear old Vienna ! This was in 181416. Moseheles, the son of an estimable merchant in Pragne, had re- ceived a good musical education, ajid had gone to Vienna to promote his interests and acquire fresh knowled~e and incentive. Beethoven wa~ in Vienna in those days. Music, if not understood, was at least fash- ionable. The Viennese ladies, at their soi- r& s, would smilingly perform the great mas ters works, while he sat, grim and silent, listening. Moseheles marvelled at their te- inerity. The story of the Vienna of that time is like a series of pictures toned, tint- e(l by associations, names, figures, which reach us warm an(l life-like in hue. Th~ spirit of Haydn and Glilek coming to them from yesterday with some faint echo; an evening of social converse and music from the old-fashioned harpsichord instrumeuits; pretty women, with l)owdered heads and jewelled fingers, and fans and frivolity; a genius like Beethoven-divinest impulses struggling with the narrow boundaries of its surroun(lingssitting in judgment on the crude performances. The quaint pianos and violins tinkle out the wonderful music; the vibrations go on, impossible to silence, though the listeners fail to catch their mean- lug. Here and there we see a spirit like Moseheles drawing in strength for the fmu- ture, divining in these faint interpretations the ~)O55ibiIity of the great to-morrow in the musical universe. Meanwhile, in an mincer- tam sort of way, ~oscheles composed at this F 1IX MENDEL5SOII~-BART1IOLDY. MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCHELES. time (1uartettes, sympliommies, variations, and his youthful ardor gained new stimulus ev- ery day. He was associated with Meyer- beer an(l Hmnmmniel at that time. Later lie visited London and Paris, and formed his first English ties ; but it was ~vhen the happy, busy days in Vienna ~vere at an end that the friendship, later so celebrated and from its outset so beautiful, l)egall. Moscheles had already acquired some fame when be visited Berlin in 1824. Literary and musical associations clustered about half a dozen centres in that city, with a slight affectation possibly, but lunch that was soundly artistic and genuine. The fa- mous Frau Rahel von Hengen gave recep- tions; in one or two households fine musical instincts were developing; two youn gpeo- pie, the son and daughter of M. Abram Men- deissoha-Bartholdy, attracted great atten- tion from their marvellous musical genius. Zelter, time arrogant, wonderful master who gui(led so many imupulses stirring in the Berlinese coterie, was their teacher, and Moseheles was speedily introduced to them. Felix, the boy, was fifteen; the girl, Fanny, was a few years his senior, her genius being scarcely lass remarkable than her brothers, though he had composed quantities of mu- sic, had conducted an orchestra, and was now puzzling his young brain about the best theme for an opera. Moseheles was taken to the house of the father of these young I)eoplea gen tlernan of dis ti uctioli, cultivated, refined, an(l wealthy. It was a visit of singular. pregnant import. Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn were playing when the young maestro was ushered in; and in those first notes Moscheles read the possi- bilities of the boys future, the career man- hood was to develop, the legacy that was to be lavished widely upon all generations to come. They were performing one of Felixs own compositions, and there were visible no traces of crudeness, nor lack of every senti- ment necessary for expression. Moseheles played himself for them. The young Felix was enchanted, and Moseheles was speedily introduced to all time household. This is a family, he writes, the like of which I have never seen. Felix is a phenomenon. What are all prodigies as compared with bun ~ His elder sister Fanny is also extraordinarily gifted. Both parents give one the impression of be- ing people of time highest refinement I attested my conscientious conviction that Felix would ultimately become a great mas- terthat I had not the slightest doubt of his genius. How little Moseheles guessed at the full meaning of his prophecy, or lmo~v much mutual happiness was to ensue from this first meeting! During his stay in Berlin he was constantly with Felix, who united to his boyish gayety of spirits a fund of thought- fmml immtelli~ence, which put hium even then upon a level with older men. His education had been strictly supervised by his father; and he and his sisters, to whom lie was pas- sion ately attached, had pursued their classic- al studies together. Every possible advan- tage that wealth ami comusideration could procure had beemi lavished umpon tlmemim. Add- ed to this was aii atmosphere of tenderness and love such as few fanmilies poss~s~ What wonder that tIme hospitable fireside of tIme Memidelssohus was the centre around which all that was refineul and artistic imi Berlin asseumbled? There were half a doz- en intiummate associates of tlme yommng Men- delssolmus, froum all of wimom, by chance records, letters, or evemm connected Recol- lections, we gaimi impressiomms of wlmat the circle and its centre, Felix, must have been. There was Edward Devrient, time young tenor at the Royal Opera., mmot only a singer of ummeomunmon mimerit, but a man of general cultivatioum and a fineness alm(l gemmtleness of natmmre wimich (Irew Felix to imimim at once. Though some years Imis senior, amid a young married man, they becamne almnost imisepa- ruble companions. To Devriemmt time paint- er Hensel comifided his love for Fammimy Men- delssohmn. Hensel, though devoid of immusical ear, was one of time coterie. Edward Rietz, the violinista sensitive, retirimmg young manjoined thmeum when nmusic ~vas the or- der of the homir. Sometimes 01(1 Zelter con- descemmded to growl at thmemn, or with tlmemn. Poets, artists, nuen of variomms professions, and the mnost brilliant literary women in Berlin flocked to time huomise of M. Mcmi- dehssohmum ; wlmile Felix, in time flush of boy- ish favor amid popularity, within a wide capac- ity for friendship, a hmighm-st.rming, intensely nervous organization, and something hi imis natuire which umagumetized all whmo canine within Imis presemmee, turned to Devrient, Hiller, and, above all, to Moselmeles, for thue companioinushmip lie craved, amid ~vhmichm iii tlme latter case outlived every change of chance or time, lingering to the very muomnemmt of his early death, and ennobling amid devel- oping the natures of both men. Mosehi- eles brought his calm, analytical judgumment to bear upon the almost boyish impulsive- ness of time youminger man. TIme one shad- ow upon Felixs loving, tender imature was hnis tendency to nervous irritability, evi- dent only oum rare occasions; but this was never manifested toward Moschmeles, whose attitude was always that of lovimug precep- tor as well as friend. It was a friemindship brotherly in love and mimasterfuml iii couinpre- hensiomi amid enduirance. It would have been impossible for Moseheles to have writ- ten the Midsummaer Niqlmts Dream unusic; but what critic could better have discermued its subtlest beamuties? When Felix would brimug Fauminy his music, wet from his pen, hue mused to long for Mosehehes to see and criticise it 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as well. Beyond all the pettinesses which so often cramp the bonnd- aries of friend- ship, their love and sympathy lasted unbroken to the end. The great event of this period for Moscheles was his marriage. Jour- neying from Ber- liii to Hanibnrg, he played glori- ously one night at the Apollo - Snal. In the audience was a Miss Char- lotte Einbden, a yonno lady of rare musical culture, and distiuiguiish- ed for her refined loveliness of char- acter. She listen- e(l, enraptured by the genius of the young musician, who came fresh from such incen- tiveall(ltnitionas / - association with Beethoven, We- leN ATZ MOSCHFLFS ber, Hummel, Zel- ter, could give. Soon after he was present- ed to her, and there was no donbt from the outset of their euutii~e con geniality. In three months she became his wife, and the entry npon his wedding (lay in his diary hears testimony to the character of the man a~ well as to that of the bride he had chosen, and may be taken as prophetic of the hap- piness to come. My Ehrentag [day of hon- or]. With the fullest sense of happiness, with purity of heart and intention, and full of gratitude to the Almighty, I entered this holy state, and pray God to bless me. Singularly alike in many of the exterior circunistances of life and their effect npon inner happiness, he and Mendelssohn were destined to an ideal joy in their niarried lives. It is to Charlotte, the loving friend, the appreciative listeiier, the wise co tinsel- br, we find Moseheles always turning. Her interest in his public career was only second to that which made her watch tenderly over his domestic happiness. There was that even balance of public and private triumph in his life which was, perhaps, the secret of his calm, gentle, and persevering nature. The Moscheleses settled in London, where he begaii his ronud of concerts, lessons, recep- tions, etc. Mnsic was gaining a new stim- ulus in England. It was not so very long a time since the art was meagre and iinde- vehoped, and, according to Pepys, music to which the king [Charles II.] could beat tune was the only kind tolerated. And when young Johuu Jenkins caine home from the Continent, full of ideas and vanities, he scoffed at the Kings Chapel music, though Pepys thought his royal masters mode of keepin~ tune indicated a most apprecia- tive sense of the science of the art as well as its growth. It was only in 1703 that at Liii- cohtis Inn Theatre a Mrs. Champion perform- ed a piece on the harpsichord for a bene- fit. How long ago, judging by the strides made in benefits, harpsichorcls, and pieces ! yet it is only the other day in point of time, and many are now hiving who can reuiember when a queer little rambling piece on a tiiikhing, jingling piano-forte was considered chiarming, and quite a nmusical treat. At Drury Lane, in those old days we have just quoted, Dr. Pepusch used to preside over the harpsichord ; at that time Handel, a ni ere boy, was in Germany. The old (lays of Schlitz, who has been called the Father of German Oratorio, do not seem so very remote when we consider that Keiser, to whom the origin of German opera is really due, was his immediate successor, and it was in Keisers orchestra time young MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCHELES. 59 Handel was content to serve an apprentice- of analysis, but felt with the first tonch of siiip as an obscure fiddler. The arrival of that obi-time ballad music; but tenors sang handel in England gave the necessary sUm- songs descriptive of storms at sea, and soI)ra- 111 us to (iralnatic music and composition; but 1108 warbled away at the pretty though ratim- efforts were so crude, and musical tnste so er meaningless concert music written for governed by fashion and faction, that what them, and which they sang to fashionable wonder poor old. Handel, never too amia- but scarcely musically cultivated audiences. ble, lost patience, wept angry, hitter tears, Classical music was attempted, but it may and cried out to many an orchestra fiddling justly be said of Mosebeles that be intro- away with laugmli(l in(lifferemlce: Vot the (bleed it in its true meaning to England. devil do you Engleesh call music ?, Coming fresh from the heart of Germammy, Ia the early days of Moseheless life in his musical feeling deepened by his earliest England musical instincts were very slow, and constant association with the great and the condition of matters some~vhat dma.- masters of the day, he brought with him a otic. In Germany the school of profound knowledge and education which authorized classical writers was growing steadily. It- tIme success and reception which he found. aly and France, although they absorbed I-his coumpositions were full of traces of the imumich of the lighter element lim operatic mu- school of Beethoven, though clmaracterized sic, had not monopolized melody. Ballad oftemm by a flow of melody amul brightimess mimusic xvas pol)ular in England tlmen, as it i~ which was from the nature of the luau. now, though time songs most in vogue were In 1826 poor WeberCarl Maria von We- (lescriptive, ammd accompanied in a ratimer bercaume to Lommdomm and conducted his own too exaggerated style. It was imot quite time operas, Eumyaalhe and Der Frcisdlhiltz, at Din- pretty, quaimlt day of She wore a wreath of ry Lane. Mrs. Keumble Butler speaks of time roses, about which hangs a charm, difficult furor over Weber at that time. Audiemmee C ORC FmiLmu)R[dll hANDEL. 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When I visited the great man to-day he talked very conhdcntly of his return to Germany, but the freqnen attacks of a (lrea4lfIil COP vulsive congh, which left him conipletely T)r~strate(1, tille(i our nnn(1s with the mit- most anxiety He hoped to see me a~aiu to-morrow. I never suspected that I was looking on him for the last time as a living man. We- liner, thou gim really ainrining- ly ill, wonid not allow aux one to remnaiu with him at night, and used, on retiring, to lock the (loor of his room. He was staying with Sir George Smart, and early on the 5th of June Moselieles was summoned thither. Sir George told himn that Weher had retired as usual; that they had been to his room, vainly kubeking for admi s sion. So, with some other friends, the door was broken open. The noise dul not disturb the sleeper, says Moscheles. It was the sleep of death. His head, resting on his left arm, was lying fhliictly on his pillo~v Ammy attempt to (lescrilue time depth of umy sorrow would line profanation. I thought Weber a conmposer quite sui amid orchestra used to greet him tumultn- genemis-one who huid the imperishmable glory ously. He was a strange mankimmdly, af- of leadiming hack to our Germinman music a fectionate, but sa(l amid of ~ nervous tema- lic vacillatimig hetweemm Mozart Beetimovem m, peramemmt, of which there are mammy traces and Rossimmi. Webers funeral was comin- evemin in his clearest, most brihhiammt coumpo- dmicted with sad solemmuity on Jinimme 21, whmemin sitiomins. Wimen line came to Lommdon imi time he ~vas bmiried ia tIme Catholic chapel at sprimmg of 1826 lie ~vemmt freqmmemmtly to tlme Moorfields. Moseheleses. They ivere living thiemi at 77 XVlmeu Mosclmeles retmirinmed to Berhimi imi Norton Street, where they had already be- 1826, a imew umminisical smmrprise was prepare(l gmin to gather about timeinn a cirele, which for him. Felix had pm155C(l beyommd all hun- widened hater, inclmidiimg all time most dis its of boyislummess imin compositiomi. Wimemin timing aishine d mcii amid woimmen iii the mumusical Mosehmeles wemint to hinima he prodminced a MS., amid literary world. One day Weber wemut which lie amid Fmuminmy played iii dminet. It to dine within thieminm. He was hi wretched was time since worid-faniomins overtmire to tIme health. When lie arrived it was with dif- Midsuauner Nights Dream. He Imad failed fiemmity that lie innounted the stairs to the with ami operetta, mad experiemmced sommie drawimugroom, bmit later lie romised hminmsehf, wuinolesomime criticisnm, amid imi a bmirst of gem ammd becamne the most delightful amid ge mis iiot destimied to be tramisiemint had pro- unial of the guests at Moseheless hospitable (lmice(l time work which is of all others tIme l)oar(l. His puibhic triumphs crowded omie permammemit association with his miammie. The mipomi the other; stramugehy exultamint chords Memindelssohinmm, wroto time lovimug Devriemmt strmick before the last note was somninded. later, we possess amid elmerislin dates frommi this While Weber was daily growiuig weaker conmpositiomi. His idiomn is coninpietely clinar- aini(h weaker, concerts aiid applamise amid the acterized imin this work. Later efforts seemini excitemnemit of the season went olin. Oume day a broademiniuing omit of the fomiudatiomi laid imi oumly there was a failure at a concert, amid these days. TIme muimind of time master devel- tunis led to sommine thinomighits of goimug hiome. oped within timat first rush of minmuisical immipuilse, On the 4th of June Moseheles wrote: amid the Meimdelssohinn ~vhiose pemi rested on CARL MARiA VON WEllER. MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCUELES. 61 the triumphal score of the Elijah was only unfolded their plan. Zelter stormed at the the Mendelssohn whose l)oyish genius broke i(lea, an(l growing positively al)iisive, Men- forth in the overture to Shakspeares poem, delssohn tried to draw Devrient from the in a wider, completer sense. room. But Edward luckily understood time The charmed circle which lent its tender 01(1 maestro too well. After mn(lulgiug his sympathy to Felix and his friend still con- rage at their audacityto think 1/wy, two tinned unbroken. On Sunday evenings an young donkeys, could interest Berlin in that msembly met always at the Mendelssolmns. buried music the 01(1 man gave way, and Devrient and his charming wife still were actually proluise(l assistance. So the re- intimate with Felix and Fanny, and a great hearsals began. The principal opera-singers desire now arose to revive Bachs splendid were ready to help; an orchestra and chorns Passion music. Mendelssohn and Devrient were provided, and for the Iirst time Mcmi- combined to resurrect it, but Zelter was the delssohus rare faculty as a con(luctor was great obstacle to snccess. Devrient gives shown. Edward Rietz assisted in the con- an amusing picture of their visit to the 01(1 ducting; Devrient sang the part of Christ tyrant to enlist his sympathies, without Zelter lent his grave dirnitmed presence; \vhicli nothing from chorus or orchestra while Felix, his whole soul lifted into exul- could be hoped. Much had to be done tatiomi by the spirit of the great composer, which was real labor, but this they felt I held together the great mass of singers, in- they could carry through if Zelters ________ ap~iroval was oh- tamed. From one of his quaint da- prices Mendelssohn iiisiste(l that he and Devrient should be (Imessed precisely alike when they called at old Zel- ters ; and accord- ingly two young men in blue coats, white waistcoats, black neck - ties, black trousers, au(l chamois leather gloves started out, Theresa Deyrient having given them a cup of her deli- cious chocolate, for which Felix had a childish fondness. It was one hundred years since the notes of time Passion music had last (lied away. Mendelssohns gay spirits were sub- (lued, as they ~vent do~vn the Opern Platz, by this reflec- tion. He stood still, and exclaimed: To think that it should be an actor au(l a Jew that give back to the people tIme sliiiAsrLAN ereatest of Chris- tian works !~ Zelter was found in a cloud strumeuts, musicians, the magnetism of his of smoke, from which lie emuer~ed with gruff presence and leadership affecting them all greeting to time young musicians. Devrient with one common impulse. Zelters reman- ______________________________________________ strances were silenced. The amusic, after a * Memmdelssohn was educated a Christian. lie re- few rehearsals, was pronounced revived. torrid to his ancestry. Edward Rietz was singularly capable of HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. (fliotioll. When the performance finally took place, a transcendent power seemed to IM)SS~S5 him. Von Schiitzel sang the aria Eharme Dicli ! to hjs obligato accompani- meat. Men(lelssohns face lighted with an earnest glow before them. The immense andience were thrilled into an enthusiasm rarely experienced liefore. When Devrients part came I sang, he says, with my whole soul an(l voice, and believed that the thrills of devotion which ran through my veins were also felt by the rapt hearers. Not only those engaged in the great work, but later critics, have averred that to this successful endeavor of the two young men we owe the later permanent interest in the uuuusc of Sebastian Bach. Since the doors of that musical honse were closed, writes Chorlev, in the Atheaw em speaking of the Moseheleses, there has been nothing of the kind in this city except luring the short time Adelaide Kemble was on the oI)er~ttic stage. Social relaxations were always welcomed l)y Moseheles, in spite of his numerous (laily lessons and increasing work of composition. In the eveniuug, ~vlueuu friends came in in formally, he would sometimes have to sit by, correcting proof, revisiug MS., etc., but al ~vays cheerful, interested, and attentive. The generous, cor(lial hospitality of the Moseheleses was felt far aini wide, claime(l by many (listinguished as well as obscure friends. Heine the poet spent much of his tinue (luring his English visit with them. Sonuetimes Sontag woul(l come to them, (lin- ing e farnille, or making one of their even lug guests, when she not only sung, but charmed all by her grace amid the loveliness of her mmd and pe~~son. At the opera her box was always at the Moseheleses service. To-day, writes Moseheles, I was present at the full - (Iress rehearsal of Ii Berbieme. MIme emichuanted every one with her Rosina. Again The Duke of Devonshire (lanced with her at his own ball, where her beauty au(l grace made a great seuinsation. Omice whemin she could not suing at Mosch- chess benefit, l)ecause of tIme tyranity of a director, she gave out that she was hoarse, auud went to the concert with Madame Moseheles, and when Mosehueles spoke of it she aumswered, sweetly, but Sfettl imuner umochm Sfettl. All London went mad over the beautiful lnriuma donna. Musical motes of that (lay are full of enthusiasm, but in private within such friends as the Moseheleses, on an occasion when shine met Walter Scott at their house, for examuuple, her sweetness and beauty were seem to best advaiutage. Pagammini, with his woumderfuil (lark face amid stramuge air; La- luhache, the inimitable basso; Schriider-Dev- rient, the prima donna; Khlugeman; Meyer- beerall these miames recur frequently as guests at tIme Moseheleses, while f lie inns- tems hand amid hraiuu are rarely idle ; compo sitiomms were proulmuceul rapidly; every day his playing was growing more and more famoums. A noted critic of that day, recalling later Mosehmeless playing, speaks of it as surpass- ing iii teelmuique aumy tIming lie had ever heard, his wonderful execuitiomi, the certaiuu- ty within which line passed from oume imiterval to another, the nicety imi expressiomi, so that the ear was never shocked or ruidely jarred, ammd, above all, tIme ihepth of fiiehimmg with wlmichm hue treate(l time immuisic of his beloved (ummesBeethoveim, Handel, 113aclm. He seemmm- e(l to feel thmat a special legacy was left Iminin to make their works better knowmm, appre- ciate(l with a truer l(ceint feeling. Omme day Memindelssohmmi arrived in London, going (lureetly to the Moselmeleses, in No. lI Chester Place, Regents Park, where they hived. He was welcomed royally, mind aft- er (limmmmer tIme youiug innmisician produced luis mew innusme, six Liedem dome Womte----mmusmc mmow so famous, Tommehied for the first timmue by time young niasters Imamid, what wommder that Mosehmehes, inipressed by its shuirit ami(I life, its ten(ieruess and deep feeling, said that ut it lie read tIme germ of his friends imnuuortal- ity! Mendelssohimm staid only a short time imi London, but lie created a profoumid sensa- tiomi, amid his namne aund music spread whhe- hy through public aim(l private circles. He came to tIme Mosehineleses umorumimig, minooim, a.im(l night, his boyish good spirits lumfectimig all time hiouselmold, just as his nmmusic vibrated to their (leepest heart pumhsatiorms. We have a good pictuire of hmiam in these liguint-Imearted days of twentya youing minmamm of niniddle height, rather slender iii build, limit within a free (finmick stein which demioted Imis flume rums emular develolnmmment a young main wIno coumld ri(Ie amid walk an(l swinmin, anm(l hinamindle a foil as easily as line comild play tIme Sprimig Song ~vhmichi has conic down to mis full of his sonils (leel)est mwiamm imug. Jut featurre line showed slightly mis Oriemutal descent ; in the lurow amid eyes, the emit of tIme uinmourthin anini elmium thine deep thinonohitfimlnmess of his ehmainacter was shinown. his laugh was peculiarly sweet. Thine tonics of his voice, said omine, writing of therm whinerm they were echinoes only, weme a little lmesitatht g at tiutmes, but hind mm titemmi a toumehin hike time voice of a dear friend. Thinere was felt by all who alulnronelmed hmimmin his pe- cumhiar magnetic power; imo omme ~vhino kumew or even talked within limit couild resist it. Anal it was thus persomual faseimmatioum which, add- ed to Imis flume appreciative semise, nuade Imiun so wonderfuml a conuduinctor. Evemt imi thiese days of ummuelouided good spirits line was finull of excitability, buit against timis evil imi a mumaim of geumiums hue mad ant ever-ready hal- anince. lie c(uumld sheep at any timemm 1(11mg duean:iess rest of twelve hours frequnemutly sumccee(limig anmy prolonged mental effort, ammd thus thine overstimumlated lurain was pre MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCHELES. 63 served and calm restoreil. During this London visit lie went out con- stantly, making friends and admir- ers every where. [)evrient, in the calmer Berlin at niospliere, was a little anxions for hint, and wrote in half serious re monstraitee. He feared he wonid lose sight of the loftier purpose of his art in the glit- ter of fashionable London drawing rooms. What xxot1l(l von say to inc xvrote Mendels suit]], ill hal fjest ing annoyance, if I were to hn plore you not to he carried away h the glitter of Spontini, but to remain true to goo(l music Life and art are tiot to he sepa- rated ; and if YOU have no fears of lily goiiig over to Rossini and to .Johii Bull, you niust also have none that the life here is ulraggi ig iiie (hown Upoii my wOr(h, Dcv rieiit, witeit I ittiprove or deteriorate I shall let you kitow hy express You wish, niy lear friend, that I should make some noise and (clet here. For the sake of my In title piospeets, I tin glad to P It you that I hiixe ilnady done so. Ihie Ii mulish re ix c ni , and are kind md ph is nit with inc 1 or this year niiisit is in ifl x ox ci, the ~t isomi is drawitig to an end bitt for comi ~ciciict sake I am goinr in r few days to p1 iy Bcethoven s coiicerto in IL flit Mu smci~nis tliiiik it iinpractn ~ble nid s my the pithhte xx ill eat tile hut I don t tliiiik So, aiid sIt ill ph ix it. Ott the s nut d ix my Mid s,oenwi Nights Dmeanm is to be ix en Wtite sOoii, atid love rite. Mosciteless pleasure iii the yonu~ matis society was ititense, aiitl Meitdtlssolin as usual looked to htitti iii cx erx xx v~ for syin- patlty ait(l comiiiseh. It xx is ceit tutlx a very happy Iteriod of mutual mtit( reoni s Mendelssohn caine iii xvrttes Moschteles. We had such a niortittig of music Think (if xvhat it tituist husx e becit to have Meitdehssohiu conic iii, to have a nxorn imig of his mimmisic ! These xvere idensamit days, and there xvas a great charm aluout a Ittilsicians life even itt that period of sloxx utiderstatidimigs atid aph)hiiuisc that xvas iiot intl xvays appreci atioti. Great people xvere to be scemi daily iii illiCOtisCiOtiS Lomt(lt)ii. Faii cy crossing Piccadilly ali(l titeetitig Mendels- 51)11 it amid Mosehieles att(l Thtalherg cotitity xvitlt rolls of mitusie iii their hands from tite Pitilliartitoitic rehearsal! The Pitihit tituottic haul imot reached the Niiith Syitipliotix bitt their i uistimmets were qinticketuttig Some xvhtere iii bmisy Lomidoti a youttw ittati xvas preparitig the fit ture of the El~yuhu Moscht des nscd to talk hopefully to ltts d am Felix (if the tomitorroxy eveti in Etiolatid mmd in the circle at Chester Pha e ill utusic a,l imupressiotis amid imitineitees xx eme comdu ii ly, earnestly received. The txv() friends xvonlul coitte liomime from rehearsal to timid Malihratt xvaitimtg, reauly, as sIte mused to say, to simig jusqna lextimiction de ha voix. SIte xvas alxvays a xvchcoaie visitor, deliglmt- in~ eveit the little ehtihhremi of the house It old. SiCiSMONI) TtiAi,ttni(i. 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Men (lelssollll performed at the Phil h or mon ic Comm cert, playimig the MidsemomeriViyh ts D ream. The audience were more thamin en- thusiastic. Many years later one who was a boy in that company recorded how crowds ilocked imito the anteroomus to see the yonug musician. He was stan(ling a little almart the (ireanmilmess of his gaze inteusitied by time enmotiomi lie had gone through in play 111g. The little boy, who had listened in awe and wonder, now Ibund himself abashed in the preseiice of the niaster. Sir Ocorge Smart l)reseutcd liiui, amid Memideissolmn gave his usual sweet, cor(lial greetiii g. Is this to be a musical boy ? asked Mendelssohn. The chil(l said no. Au replied the youue master, with a quick sigh, so much the better for him here, touchimig his brow as lie spoke. With all the buoy- amicy alm(l freedoum of his spirit, somewhat of time shadow of his death seemed to lie upon him. Time Berlin coterie was agreeably widen- ed hy Famuiy Mendelssohns marriage to the distiim giiishied paimiter Hemisel. When Felix retllrlme(l from his sensational Lomidon visit lie found the Devrients in tIme Garden house on the Meiidelssolmn grounds, and Fanny Hemisel amid her luisband occupying a suite (If apartments in the family abode. It wus a charimihig arrangement for Felix, whose time was divided between his work 011(1 social intercourse with his beloved Irieiids, and the friendly harmony which prevailed was expresse(l iii aim operetta he au(l Fanumy coumposed together to celebrate time silver weddiug day of their beloved par- emits. Time affair was to be purely (hollies- tic, very few outsiders beiug admitted; the Devrieuts, of course, shiare(l in the work, amid time rehearsals were provocative of inch pleasure and amusement, particular- ly as Hensels lmart was very ridiculomus. Owimmg to his imaviug no umusical ear, Felix had writteim a part for hini which was en- tirely omi one note, amid time amateur troupe were tiirowmm imito convulsiomis of laughter even durimig time rehearsals by his soniewhat gloonmy muomiotone. Au evidence of Felixs excitahihity occurred during time prepara- tion of this fdte. It suddemily becanme known timat Devrient would have to sing at court time very evenimig of the perforamamuce. All Felixs joy was damped. It seemned to imimim cruel amid umireasoumably exacting. He stormed amid raged omi hearing (If it; imis fa timer timmahly imiterferiug, with a firm comim miiaui(l to hmium to go to his room. He obeyed, amid foumiml a refmmge in his miever-faihimig coim- solatiomi of a imrohomiged sleep, and time next inlay his calm sweetmiess (If temimper was re- storeinh. Devriemit nianaged, omi time ni(rht in (Imiestion, to leave court early enough for time operetta, which proved a (leci(he(l suc- cessFelix leadimig iii time orchestra, all parts heimig charninimigly snug except poor Hemisels, whmo started off upon a wrouig note, carrie(l it through thus, milthmoughi the right omme was shiowmm, wimispered, sliming at imimim, while Felixs laughter inecamime so nimme- straimmed lie wa~ forced to bend do~vn over the score to comiceal it. Time extreme delicacy of Memmdelssohns imature was shiowim imi his refusal to pmubhish time little work, iv hmichm lie felt purely a hmonie associatioum ; comimmected as it was with those so (lear to imimim, hue comuhd not give it to time world. As misual his search for aim operatic hiluretto contimmued ; hmut a ibtahity seemc(l to attemm(l all efforts iii this (hirectiomi thomuvh imis amnbitioum amid imiterest remained un chmamuged, even ivhmile lie vented his (lramnatic fervor anul imimpulse in sumehi oratorios as Eli- jab and St. Paul. Thiese ivere chumming days with time Hen- sels and Devriemmts. They mused to read aloud Jeami Pummil amid Hebel; they pahuited togeth- er; Felix wrote mnmusic to Devriemmts verses, and Theresa sang for thiemmi while thmey work ed. Somnetimes they were absorhed in chess or Fremich declamnation ; happily there was (Teat versatihity iii time little coterie,ammd time very huiterchiange of political opimmiomis had its huiterest from time stromig individimailty of all time party. Meaim while Memudeissoimmi work- eil at time Reforumatiomi Syamphiony. Thue p~- cuuhiarjoyomusmmess of parts of this great ~vork sceums like an expression ofthme yomummg masters happy life at time timne. Time dewy freshmiess wimicim imm time scherzo is like time smuddeum sweet imess of May hmlossommms, time look of greeui fields ivhmemi a smummuer raimi has lightly touched thicum and tIme sun mumiveils itsehf. seems to line as aim uitteramice of time trammqmuil, buisy life, the umood wiuichi fouummd its reflectiomi not omily iii his work at time timime but imin time very faces elmustered about luau. Hemisel was ivork ing oum his portraits iii linemucil, and 1\heumdels 5(inhumm (lelighmted iii wahkimur mup amid down, talkimmg to hmium w hue ime worked. He was fommd of talkimug amid wumiking together. There was a sort of covered gallery ouutside the hmoumse ; lie amid IDevriemmt used to ivaik there torethmer ~vhmemu it raiuued. Once, ivimemi his yomumiger sister, Rebecca, was takemi iii, as hue was about to start for the Comitluiemit, Devriemit speuit an hour hi thus fashmion try- ing to reasomi Felix omit of his superstitious fears at heaving her. He pouurcd hmiuiuseif oumt, says Devrieuit, iii ahummost imifauutihe hammuentatiomus. Time resmult was that Felix cauvrhmt time disease hmiumuseif but botlm recov- ered speedily. Time Coutiuental tomur was productive of muichm pleasuire and imustruuctioum fom 1 clix and for time circle at hiomue 1mm time cimammummmm~ let ters simuce published in inook formum lit wrote Devrient comustaumt little muotes, chiamacterustic imm timeir teumdermuess amid siummimhicmth Write nine a homing letter, hue ~mh s to hum, frommi Viemumma, four sheets, within gossmp pine tuires, and notes; iii fact, chiat ~imthm nine I MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCUELES. (35 should think you sometimes longed to do I tie with a view to becoming fatuous as of so; it is not a thing one longs for singly, becoming a Kapelimeister I look upon it and I do so very often. Let nie kiiow what as my duty to compose just how and what and how you are singing, how your white my heart indites, and to leave the effect to morning jacket is, an(l whether you are Hint who takes heed of greater and better painting In a word, say good-day to me. things. As time goes on, I think more deep- Am I strange hecause I am far away h I ly and sincerely of that. certaitdy am far away, and it is a long while since we saw each other. When I sing any thing out of the llieimk-clo,it sounds sadly like a remembrance of the past. In the choral you will receive as soou as it is done you will find an aria for your voice. Have the goodness to sing it iu a state of anguish. I have become so lazy with my i~eum ,an(l write so badly, that I may be forgiven, but you know what I mean. When the head is giddy with thinking of the Styrian Hills, Venice, ~~lie Assumption of the Virgin, by Titian, etc., writiiig and many other thinos are forgotten. The main things, however, are iiot ; an(l so ~oodnioht. Later, in miswering some half-jesting ob- servation of Devrients as to his indifference to fame, he writes If it had beemi time will of 00(1 that at twenty-two I should be famous, then fonious I most likely should b I compose as lit- Voa. LVIII.No. 3B.5 Meanwhile lie writes tenderly to tIme Moselieleses in London. Music was progress- ing pleasantly for the master there ,aiid new stars were a(lded to the social artistic firma- riment. Paganini had beeit making a great sensation. TIme Phihimarumonics had included Mosehehes as a director, and concerts were h)eiug constantly aix-en in which lie took leading parts, but his citief happiness was with his wife and children. On his wifes birthday lie always had the habit of hegiii- ning some special composition. So his work h ad the cii (hmirili g association with her be- loved name an(l presence. When his soii was born, great rejoicing was felt among sym~iatlietic friends Ii ke tIme Mcii delssohns. Time l)oy was named Felix, and the godfa- tImer wrote in characteristic strain, comigrat- ulating aii(l appreciating the honor done * Now an artist of distinction. itOi3ERT SOiiUMANN. 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZiNE. him. He drew a sketch of a chaotic-look- mo collection of musical instruments SliT) posed to be perfoiming in the boys honor. Later, when Mendelssohn caine to London there was a christening fete. for which Men- delssohn ~vrote the cradle song. Nenkomnin and Barry Coruiwall were of the ~)arty, and wrote verses appropriate to the occasion. Durino the same visit Mendelssohn and Mosch des appeared constantly together in concerts, the fame of the former steadily in- creasil ug; but it was in Moscheless happy home circle the sweetness and charm of his character were shown to best advantage. He delighted in taking the children off for a holiday. They would go to the Zoo togeth- er, his enjoyment dependent npoa theirs or sometimes when he came to Chester Place freighted with the heavy cares of orchestra or piano concerts, he would cheerfully give an hour to improvising for their benefit on nnrsery themes, or amanse theni with all man- ner of childish nonsense and joking. Occa- siomnmllv a weariness overcame him in the midst of his work, when he would go to Mrs. Moseheles for womanly sympathy and connsel. She nsed to make him lie dowmi quietly npon the sofa in a darkened room, or would sit talking to him upon indifferent topicscurrent questions of interest which had no hearing on the baton or piano. Men- delssolins ever-active, earnest mind fonnd room for innnamerable interests, and beneath the boyish gayety and apparent carelessness of sl)irits was a calm, enduring Christian thith a desire to make his life the complete whole designed by a Higher \Yill than his owim. Mosehel es accompanied Mendelssohn when lie retnrned to the Contimment. The latter had just undertaken the direction of the Gewnadhaus comicerts in Leipsic, where, in 1843, lie founded ihe Conservatory since so famous. From Leipsic Moschmehes wrote back tender greetings, descriptions, etc., to the loving friend at honie who was ever presemit in his thoughts. I hegimi time day, lie says once, as I like ii est, by asking after you and the children. Is Emily comimposing Serena learning an epic poem by heart? Felix storming a fortress somewhere ? Mendelssohii used to scribble off postscripts to Moscimeless letters. Let me slip in, lie ~vrites, between the envelope., and, wafer. He was full of friendly je t~ with those whom lie loved. Chmorley, IL thmluuk it iv as, said he Imad a way of sumiling gemitly as lie jested, givimig time words, thiommghi full of frun, a tomichi of loving emidearnient. He had a fasimion of strokimi g Devriemmts shm omilder, and proimouncing his naume within a little temi- (icr drawl. These fanmiliar gestures, tommes, and ivords seeni to recnr to those whom lie lovedi, ammd ivhio lost him, with a sharp pang of regret, showing hmoiv imitemisely line influ- enced themim while lie ivas aniomig thmeum. Dmmrimmg thmis tomir the two friemmds used to go oftemi to time Wiecks, where there ivere immipromimptu mmmusica~l parties, Papa Wieck, as lie was called, sittimmg imi somewhat arro- oant judgumment. Clara Wieck, later tIme fa- mumomis Madamume Sehmumumammim, was a niere girl timemi, but her playimig emmelmauited the two Ms. At that tinme a tiuumi(h, retiring youmig maim, uvith a large face, absorbed amid mel- ammehioly in expressioum, used to be omme of time little circle. We think instimictively of tIme tenderumess of sunuinner-time, time gemithe fall of rain, time pulsation of some sad heart, uvhiemm the music lie has left ~is fills tIme air. He ivas not quite understoodi them, except by so appreciative a coterie. It was later that time name of Robert Sehmummaun was widely kmmouvn, whiemin lie left it to time wonman who was his devoted wife. I wemut within Felix to the rehearsal, writes Mosehineles. His aduuirable comi- ductium g, speeches, observatioimi mm fact, hi is geimeral belmavior to the orchestra filled inc with affection amid respect. It is sai(l that evemi iii that highly coloreuzi roumance Cluarics Auchmcstem, whinere time part of Seraphmnel is imuteminded for Mendehssohmn, his power as a comidmictor audi his innagminetic iminflum- ence over the orchestra are muot exaggerated. Thine death of time elder Memidelssohn turn- euzi Felixs thoughts imito a graver chumminch. His future seemumedi to shape itself with mimore of definite purpose. His grief was imintemuse; but happily Fanny Ilemisels presemmee was a bahinim to him, for liner marriage hiadi iii mo way ahiemiated her from their comivion synipathmies and tastes. She ahnpreciated, as did Felix, what they hind host in so loving and symupa- thmetic a paremint. Do you reinininember, she wrote Mr. Moseheles, how Felix, omme aim- tumum evenimug you spemit with us, played the exquisite adagio in F sharp mumajor, fromum omme of Haydns quartettes? My fathiner hind a spe- cial love for Ilaydmins miiusic. The moveumment was mew to him, amid so powerfully affected hminm line wept as lie listened My anxiety for Felix is mit ami cud; lie has collected all his energies, amid deep thmomighi his sorrow be, it is natural He inninist recover if lie wish- es to live imp to his fathers stamidard, as hue never failed to do while they were together. Felix, somnewhiat omit of health, johumedi his friend Ferdinamm uzi Hiller imi Frammkfort, amid there his fate awaited him. He was iuitro- ducedi to a chmarnmin~ fammmihy, that of MI. Soum- ehmay, whose widowed daughter, Maduummie Jeamiremmamh, amid her daughter C6cile were living with hmiuim TIme hiomisehmold couinuh)imiedl those omfts whininch ~ppeahedi to Memindelssohumis keemmcst aitinstine -mud austhietic seminse. More- over, Mile Jc mureinmamid was exceedhihugh y beau- tifuil, ~mnd lox eh~ ma lhispositiuzmm. Iii ~ she wus slemudidi mmmd gracefully formed, within a comphexuoum of dazzhiming fairness, thie punk color mini hem checks varyiming with every pass- lug emotion. Her eyes, Devrient, Moseheles, Huller, declare, were beautifulof a sap- phire bluewhule her nose, slightly inclined to retrousse md the arch of her irettv mouth gave an irresistible piquancy to her expres- sion. Fastidious as was Felixs taste, over- sensitive as he was in regard to his ideal of woman, he succumbed at once to Mile. Jeaurenauds fascinations. Hiller says his infatuation was remarkable from the outset. The good-natured friend was greatly inter- ested in Felixs outponrings. He used to go to Huller s rooms, unable even to give his mind to music while his heart was so full of C6cile. Singularly enough, the heat iou of Frankfort regarded his attentions with rather disdainful criticism Mendelssohns fame and genius scarcely compensating in their eyes for Mlle. Jeaurenauds patrician hirth. His untouched fancy was complete- ly captivated, his affection full of ardor arni romance. The acquaintance ripened (illicli- ly; but such was the strength of his char- acter that he subjected himself to a severe test of absence hefore he allowed himself to declare his affection, wishing to profess a nobler sentiment than infatuation. Mean- while his oratorio of St. Peal had been giv en with magnificent success. Mendelssohn was twenty-eight years of age, and already crowned by every public honor, every pri- vate hal)piness save the one in store for lihn. Fortune surely favored him in destiny. On his return to Frankfort, Mile. Jeaurennud accepted his love, and the engagement met with hearty congratulations on all sides. The marriage took place in 1837. It was a very pretty wedding. The extraordinary fascination of the young cOllIde was never forgotten by those present. Fer(linand Hil- icr composed a marriage choral, and when bride and groom returned from the church, a baud of young girls in white were sta- tioned on either side of the entrance to M. Souchays house, singing the joyous notes of greeting. Mendelssohn and his youthful bride were touched extremely by this ten- (icr tril)ute of Hihlers friendship and genius. They went away for their honey-moon to a quaint littie German town, Freiburg-im- Breisgan, whence Mendelssohn wrote in ex- ultant strain to Moseheles, Devrient, Hiiler, and his own home circle. Under the new inspiration of his wedded happiness lie wrote his music to the Forty-second Psalm. What more beautiful expression of the dec11 MAnAME cLAmiA SCmIMANE. G8 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. peace and thankfulness within him could he have uttered 1 You know, he wrote Devrient, that I am here with my wife, my dear C& ile, and that it is our wedding tour, that we are al- ready an 01(1 married couple of six weeks stan(li ii g. There is so much to say and to tell that I dont know how to make a begin- ning. Picture to yourself. I can only say that I am too happy, too glad; and yet not at all beside myself, as I should have cx- pected to be, but calm and accustomed, as though it could not be otherwise . But lie adds, tenderly, you should know my C& ile No journey that we can make will ever be more lovely and happy than this one. Cdcile drew and painted skillfully, and during their journey in Arcadia the young couple kept a journal which is full of ill us- trations of her pen or pencil. Later they came back to a home in Leipsic, whence Felix wrote enthusiastically to Hiller and Moscheles. Just tell me, he says to the former on one occasion, if I onaht not to be satisfied, living with C6cile in a new, comfortable house, with an open view over time gardens and the fields and the city towers, feeling so serenely happy, so calmly joyful. A recent critic has complained that Men- (leIssohims letters bear slight testhuony to the all-absorbing character of his love for C& ile; but to those in whom lie confided. the tenderer sentiments of his life he certainly wrote with all the freedommi of a young lover. Happily these youthful tral)sl)orts were lasting. Devrient says they had often Pic- tured what kind of wife their spoiled fa- vorite would choose. When they saw her they realized that Felix had received the highest gift of companionship oim earth. Sue was quiet mmd gentle in manner, but observant aimd thoughtful for the happiness of all around her. Her beauty gained new character as the time passed on. Wheu time first flush of girlish loveliness had passed, the high-bred, noble type seemed only dig- nified, ~mnd the tenderness of her eyes, her sumile, time sweet tones of her voice, time ever-ready greeting and kindly outstretch- ed hand, were all recalled with sad fondness by those who had shared time hospitality of Mendelssolmims happy home. No marriage could have heen nmore congenial in every way. Beautiful ali(l gentle as Cdcile bad appeared to him in time May-flower days of his love, she proved all amid more than his dearest hopes. The spirit of the man, time reverential, exalted character of his mimmd, showed itself in all his donmestic relations. He was his wifes lover to tIme day of his death; but be- yommd this was a feelimig of chivalrous devo- tion, a touch of a spirit almost mcdfreval iii character, wlmiclm makes us understamid how lie could write those temider, soft- breathmimig Lieder, amid a~t time saimme timime lift tIme voice of his hmumnammity up to time Di- vine in such works as Ebjoh amid St. Paul. XVhmeim Mendelssohn next visited Lomidomi he had, of course, nmnch to tell the Mosch- eleses of his wife. He was unchiamiged in his framik, honest friemidhimi css. Our dear Memideissohmn, wrote Mrs. Mosclmeles at the tinmeI can call hmini by no other imamne arrived at 4 P.M. omi time 5th. At 7 lie was with us, the same hearty, cheerful, deli ghmtfn 1 01(1 friend as ever. Iii a wor(l, lie is a niodel nmamm. At diimner amid time whole evening we talked over memo- ries of hy-gone, happy hours, and then lie drew- Moseliehes to the piano Cimorley ammd Klingeumamm caIne to diummer, and iii time eveumimig little Felix emmjoyed such a gaimme of romimps with his fanmoums godpapa We did hot go to time evemming comm cert, but sat at hionme chmattimig with Meumdelssohmn, who had mumch to tell us about lmis wife. Time portrait line showed ums makes hier very hiret- ty, amid accordimig to him she must be an amigel. I see hum, Mosehehes wrote at the sanme tinme, in varioums characters, as a brother, somm, lover, but chiefly as a fiery muisical en- thmumsiast whmo appears buint dimly cominscioums to whimit a height lie hinas already attained. He kmmows so well how to adapt hmimmmsehf to tIm is commonplace world While Biruming- Imamim prided herself on brimigiming oumt his mew est work [St. Paul], lie still foumuid timmie to make a pemin-and-ink drawiuig of Binning- ham for oumi- cimildi-eui 1mm thme evemmimig I ~valked hmonme with him. Our clint was so delightful Yesterday at an early hour tIme town-hall agaimi hooked iniposimig. Time secomid part of time perforamamince was devoted to Meuidelssoha. He was received with ring- ing cheers, l)umt seemed all anxiety to ninake his bow to time pumbhic and get time whole thing over His conduictimig of the l)amm(h in this perforumamice of thine Lobgesammg ef- fected a mimarvellous umimity nuind precisioum, amid omme of thie chorals of this gloriouis work told so powerfully thinat tIme whole audiemmee rose involmmntarilv fromim thicir seats. Chmorley joimmed Meinideissoimim and Moseb- des when they departed for time Conti- mieuit, Chmorleys habitual gravity amid re- serve thuawimig conipletely umum(ler time gemuial influence of tIme two Ms. He was time wellkmmowum critic of time Athcuuwuurna qui- et, observamit mmmn, not altogether happy imin temperaumment, bumt lull of kindhimmess for those whiomn lie felt to be hiis friends. In sh)ite of imis wholesale condemminatiomin of such writers as Scimumammum, his m umsical perceptions were umsumally kecum, amid his criticisum good emmommghm to be desired or feared. He adummired in- temmsely timese two fricuids. Iii hater years lie could hmarllv speak of whmat Meumdeissohmn had been to himmi. Omi this trip they all MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCHELES. 69 made merry over every trithug a(lveuture. Oiice, in a railway carriage, they discovered a fourth traveller sound. asleep. What shall we do with him when lie wakes up l exclaimed Moseheles. Kill him ; thats the only way, said Mendelssohn, with mock tragedy. Upon tins the sleeper started up. A mo- mentary confusion ensued, terminated by Moscheles saying, in an easy conversational way, Amid afterward she said she never would have that man for a husband ; at which Chorley and Mendelssohn laughed uproariously, and the stranger appeared. to think he had awakened just at the concin- sion of an entertaining anec(lote; but from that hour the sentence passed as a proven) among the party. In any comvversational dilemma Mendelssohn used to say, Amid afterward she said, etc. In the winter of 18:38 Mendelssohns do- muestie hapl)iness was made complete hy the birth of a son. I feel so happy, he wrote Hiller, and yet not a bit philistem1oft. Yon may laugh as much as you like; I dont care. It is loo delightful and lovely to see a wee, little fel low like that, who has brought his mothers blue eyes and snubnose iimto the mvorld with him, and knows her so well that lie laughs whenever she commies into the room In a few days we go to Berlin, so that Cdcile may get to know my youngest sister [Rebecca] and the whole finnily. And from Berlin where Cdcile and her boy were welcome(l with all tenderiiess, he wrote Our family life here has been most pleasant. Yesterday eveniuW when I went over to tea and found them all assembled, I read theni a good deal out of your letter We were together that way every evening, talking politics, arguing, or making music, and it was so nice and pleasant. As usual, Fanny Hensels pres- ence an(l sympathy were an unspeakable de- liIht to him. Her musicals on Sunday mornings were quite famous. Felix used to play sometimes. Cdcihes beauty and lovely character added a special charm to the gatli- cnn gs. Devrient could hi ardly sufficiently express his emm,joyment of Felixs domestic happiness. Omme evening, at a social comicert organized by Mendehssolmmi in Liszts honor, an hour was occupied by the yommmmg couple in eutertainimug their friends, a (lainty cohla LUDWIG VON ~iiETIiOVEN. 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tion having been provided. One who was present, writin~ to a friend, described. Ma- (lame Mendelssohn uboving about among her guests ill a dress of pure white silk lookin as beautiful as an angel. The eyes of her husband. followed. her with proud. admi- ration; occasionally she would. return his glance with a pretty blush and. her iueffa- bly sweet smile. In London Moscheles had been making an effort to produce Beethovens great Ninth Symphony. Though we could not have our fair battlements of to-day if such as lie had. not laid. the corner-stones, there must always be a regret that his work was often a dreary effort from lack of sympathy. When lie wanted. to produce the Ninth Symphony there was a general outcry at the Plilihar- monic. In 1824 an attempt had. been made, but it had failed. dismally. Moscheless en- ergy and. ambition knew no bounds. He was determined. to produce the great work, und. in a proper manner. After labor such as only a musiciaii and. a man of his calibre would. go through, the concert and. the sym- phony were at last announced. Imagine any excitement, he wrote, before and d.ur- ing the concert All the newspapers are in raptures, and. unanimously insist on its remamniuw a fixture in the rdpertoire, and. being performed. on a graud.er scale either hi Exeter Hall or at the Birmingham Festi- val. The newspapers of that day announced. and criticised in a manner somewhat differ- ent from the elaborate programmes and. care- ful critiques of the American and. English press of to-day. Here is an ad.vertisement of one of Moscheless concerts: Mr. Moscheles has the honor to annonuce that his moruin~ concert will talce place on Wednesday, May 11 [1836], when he will be assisted by Mine. Ginlia Grisi, Mine. Caradori-Allan, Miss C. Novello, Miss Mas- son, Sig. Lablache, Mr. Balfe, and Mr. Parry, Jun. Mr. T. Wright ivill perform a Fantasia on the Harp. Mr. Moscimeles will play his aesv MS. Concerto Pathitiqne, composed expressly for the occasion, a posthumons Concerto by Bach, and an extempore Fantasia. To- gether with Mr. Sndris elucidation of his newly in. vented universal musical language. Leader, Mr. F. Cramer. Conductor, Sir George Smart. And again, there is the concert criticism, interesting from comparison with those of to-day: Ma. Moscumirass CoNcmmnr.Mendelssohns new overtnre of the Calm and Prosperons Voyage open- ed the concert. This was sncceeded by the Ave Maria of Cherublul, by Miss Clara Novello, with clarionet obli~ato by Mr. Wiliman, both snn~ and played in a manlier which few if any mnsiciaus could surpass. A manuscript concerto pathitique by Mr. Moseheles followeda charming composition. Miss Clara Novello supplied Miss Massons place (for whom an apology was made) in a duet s~it,lm Balfe. Lahiache san~ the Largo Alfactotum. Mr. Wright was much and deservedly applauded for his perform- amince (if a fantasia on the harp, and Madame lIe Boriot (Malibran) for the five-hundredth time delight- ed her hearers by executing some extraordinary pas- sages of difficulty amid compass iii a song from the Iner di Castro by Persiani. Between the first and second acts Mr. Sudri exhibited his plan for a new mu versal language, with examples. We were, however, so far removed from the performers that ~ve could not catch his explanatiomis. He will repeat his scheme omi Monday at Mr. Sedlazeks concert. The Chev. Nun- komms popular Septetto Concertante opened the sec- omid act, amid which was delightfully played by Messrs. Sediazek, Wilimami, G. Cooke, etc. One ~reat charm of the concert was the production of a MS. posthumous concerto by Selmastiami Bach, a composition of wonder- ful accomuplishimment and elegance [!]....No one could have played the piece iii finer style. Madame Be Be- riot, amid Lablacime made capital fun witum Domiizeltis 0 quarvate die figura.. . We presume time following pieces concluded time programme: a duet by Messrs. Moscheles and lIe Beriot, the Taramitella by Liblache, amid an imistrumental fiummie by Mozart. Time room was crowderi witim high fasimiomi. Mr. F. Cramer led Sir George Smart comiducted. Mendelssohn had. made no satisfactory step toward. an opera, but in 1846 he comma- pleted the Elijah, and it was performed at Birmingham, Mendelssohn coming over for the presentation. It was a brilliant tri- ummmph; eleven numbers had. to be repeate(l; the applause was positively stormlmy, amid. time Moscimeleses shared in the exultant enthmmsi- asmum. During the comirse of this festival Meamdelssolan gave fresh evidemice of his won- derful genius. At omie of time comicerts the orchestral parts of a certaiti niovement were fonaid wanting. It was discovered an hour in advance of time tiumme set for time Imerformmm- ance of time piece, atid Mendelssohn quietly went imito an adjoimming room, composed. time recitative, scored amid copied. all time parts hminiseif, and. these were played while the imuk was yet wet, the audience beimig equal- ly ignorant of time emergency andimis prompt rescue. Mendelssohn, now established at the Leip- sic Cominservatory, after repeated efforts in- duced. Moschmeles to leave Emigland perma- nently, arid. accept a chair in his company. Mmmcli as it was to Moschehes to be with him, lie fomimid it difficult enough to leave his be- loved Emighisim public. Not only were they his friemuds, bait in his tweminty-one years among them he had. had. time happiness of elevati mig and. imistruicting theuiof gi vimig fresh impetus and zeal to their work. Ihere was, however, no semisatiomial farewell. Such a one wormid. have been contrary to Moscim- dess instinctive delicacy; but at his last concert the emotiomi shown and. felt was genuine, and. the master was completely overcome. But Gerniany was, after all, fa- tliet-lmtuid, and. turumimig eyes aiim] steps to- ward Leipsic meant toward the most be- loved of his associates. They reached Leipsic in October, amid were met by Felix amid. Cdcile, who had. already prepared their house for them in Gerhardt Garden. Every thing was dehighatfmahly ar- ramiged. They had. supper at the Mendels- sohums, and witmiessed time charmimig circle over which C6chhe presided with such dig- A historic site. MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCHELES. 71 nity an(l grace. Speaking of his first out- look, Moscheles wrote: It has begun, with Gods help, nuder the best auspices; and if you ask who is the mainspring of our pres- ent happiness, we say, Mendelssohn, au(l al- ways Mendelssohnauy more than brother. The work at the Gewaudhaus and Conser- vatorium was speedily organized, and for our two professors was responsible but not cx- hansting; though Mendelssohns busy brain, alas! was never idle. Mendelssohn headed the list of professors at the Conservatory, while Moscheles was down as head of the department for piano-forte playing and com- position. David, Plaidy, Brendel, etc., were among the number. The greatest zeal and earnestness were thrown into the work. With what lingering pleasure we read all records of those Leipsic days! The coterie included the Sch umauns, Davids, Scheucks, Joachirn (the prototype of Charles Auches- ter), the celebrated violinist, and many ob- scurer presences who lent their charm and al)l)reciation to the little circle. The Mosch- eleses and Mendelssohns in quartette used to be constantly together. After an arduous days work at the Couservatorium, or in preparation for a Gewandluans concert, the two professors would start out for a long walk, and talk about many things. Dev- rient, who paid them a flying visit about this time, fancied Mendelssohn was altered grown older and more care-woru than his years and occupation warranted. But at that time Moscheles seems to have found his companionship fresh and interesting as ever. They used to come back to one draw- ing-room or the other, and have happy twi- light hours of converse or music. Mendels- sohn used to play in a half-desultory fashion at such times fragments of the Lieder, dreamy improvisations of their favorite themes. Sometimes, when David or Joa- chim would come in with their violins, he played magnificently, the Kreuzer ring- ing out upon the air, the vibrations widen- ing, the andante softening with a tremulous thrill, which those who listened never could forget. Once, when Moscheles and Felix were improvising on two pianos, Mefidels- sohn seemed, he says, to grow like one in- spired. The home lives of both men were pictures of tranquil content. Family festivals used to be celebrated with a spirit of childish gayety and hileasure. On Mendelssohns birthday the coterie arranged a delightful entertainment a burlesque charade on Gewaudhaus, in which Joachim, iu gro- tesque costume, performed a hare-brained impromptu on the G strimug, Moscheles en- acted the part of a stout German cook, and the whole ended in a concert ~ Ia Jullien, the orchestra being of toy instruments, Joachim performing wildly on a miniature violin. Mendelssohn, sa.ys Moseheles, was sit- ting ou a large straw arm-chair, which creaked un(ler his weight as lie rocked to and fro, and the room echoed ~vith his peals of laughter.~ Impromptu supper parties used to be (fiveui anion~ them. Devrient says the Mendelssohus lived at that time in opu- lent comfort ; the calni, beautiful Cdcile surrounded by her bright, pretty children, whose in(lividmlal developments announced themselves at an early age. C6cile, when acting as hostess or friend, was charming as ever, and lent a sort of ideal grace to her husbands fireside. He was, as ever, watch- fiul of her comfort and her happiness. Hap- idly she was a woman of rare appreciative qualities. In their wives Mendelssohn and Moscheles found. truest companionship, and the qumartette certainly combined singular gifts of mind and nature. In the spring Felix amid C~cile went away to Frauikfort and Dresden, and then Men- delssolun left his wife to go over to England nn(l supcrinten(l the perforaunuce of flue Elijah. Suddenly, while there, time great blow of his life fell upon him. Fanny Hen- sel had been suuperintendiuug a rehearsal of somume of her own nmusic for a Smmnday morn- in g ; suddenly she felt her hands giving way uiuon flue keys of her beloved imistra- ment, and she stood imp, asking a frieuud to take her place. She hurried imuto an adjoin- ing roemum, where she feniented her hammds imm Imot vineoar. Fe cling better, sue paused to listen to the chorus which cunie from the other rooni. It was the Walpurgis Night. How beautifmml it sounds ! she exclaimed amid almost in utteriuig tIme words lost coum sciousness, and in a short time breathed her last. Thme blow fell impon Felix with the swift- ness of highutniuug. Those who were within. him when time umews was bnoumghit say flint lie uttered a hmeart-remudimug cry of angmmish they never could forget. Much of hinis life seenued to go omit with flint of the beloved sister whose compauuionshuip amid sym pathiny lund been lifebug. He rejoimued his family in Frnnkfort, amid they went am to S~vitzer- land, where hue forced himself to be calmmm, ammd resummed work. Strickemi as lie was, flue natural swcctmmess ami(l activity of flue ninas nature roumscd him to some omit ward show of calm ammd interest in life. His work was re- doubled, but tlmommgh a cheerful iumtercoumrsc was renewe(l with his friends, flue shadow hmnmmg upomu lminu. At times lie labored with feverish zeal, and C~cile, who watelued huima with daily imucreasiuug anxiety, would temuder ly renmonstrate. I have work to fimuishi, he once said to her, with his gentle smile; flue time for me to rest will soon be here. Omue might there was a large reumnion of friemmds to hear Mendelssohn play. Mndmmuie Schummmuanmi was amnoumg the crowd of intense listeners. Mendelssohn began Beethovens 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. great F Minor Sonata (Appassionata). His whole being was fired with eniotion. Never had he seemed so to gain inspiration, forget- ting all around him. On finishing the an- dante he gave the final chord, like a passion- ate cry to those who listened, but suddenly moving his hands, he rose and crossed to the corner to Madame Schumann. Finish, he whispered; I can not. His look, his air, were so inipressive she mechanically obeyed. Meanwhile the listeners sat spell-bound, the vibrations of Mendelssohns playin~ ringing in their ears. There is a tragic pathos about the story of this last year, although with his friends, with the Moseheleses, to whom as ever he went daily, lie seemed at times light-hearted and happy as in the days divided from the pres- ent by his one great grief. A presentiment had always hung over him that he could not long survive his sister Fanny. Moseheles and his wife and Cdcile tried to shut out from their eyes and hearts the fact that lie was daily losing his hold apon life. But indeed the fair hours of that happy friendship be- gull in such youthful days were fast draw- ing to a close. His conscientiousness in his work never lessened; the smallest effort was marked with his usual ambition toward perfection. It is marvellous how, in the midst of wealth and luxury, he never failed in his daily work, believing his gifts were divinely ordained-to be worked out for the honor and glory of the Giver. To Devrient lie wrote last in the summer of 1~4d, ending his letter with characteristic tenderness: Thanks, thanks, thou true, good, faithful friend! Thy Fummx. Early in October the quartette had many happy hours together, in spite of Felixs failing strength. Delightful afternoon at the Mendelssohns, Moseheles records. Had macli friendly talk about art matters. He played me his last quartette, all fonr movements in F minor. The passionate character of the whole and the mournful key seem to me an expression of his (leeply agitated state of nuind~ he is still snfferin~ and in sorrow for the loss of his sister. He also showed me some of her MSS. A day or two later the two friends went out for a long walk together; they talked earnestly, happily, for the last time alone. They traversed half the town, not heeding time in their friendly, sympathetic converse, thicunghi it was raining steadily. Iii the evening a congenial party nmiitecl at Men- delssohns. Rietz was there, and he and Felix played for an hour. On the 9th of Oc- tober lie caine as a guest to Moselieles for the last time. Although so much of the fine Imilysique, the master-mind, remained untouched, they could not but iuote the changes growing hourly upon him. Mrs. Mosc heles watched his somewh at languid step as lie crossed the garden, and when he canie hi she asked himmi, anxiously, how lie felt. He smiled, but answered: How do i feel ? Well, rather shady. Moscheles insisted on their goiiig out to walk, and so they startedCharlotte, Felix Mosehehes, and the two M.s. Mendels- sohns spirits revived imm the bracing air; lie talked qumite brightly, tehhimug theam more de- tails of his Emiglish visit, especially his moriiing with the Queen, when she sang for hun, and then took him through the roy- al nurseries, explaining all the domestic ar- rangenments of the palace. Auid then lie told thieni of the birthday gifts lie had in store for C6cile, anmong them his and Khinge- man s Scotch diary, which he had been il- lustrating and haviumg bound to present to Cinicile oui her coaling anniversary. The friemids parted, macli cheered amid invigor- ated. Mendelssohn on his way home called at tIme house of his friend Fran Frege, one of their kiiidred spirits, a lady who had agreed to slug in the next perforniance of the ElUoh. You umust help me put together a book of solugs, lie said to her, goluig in. The Hiirtels are pressimig inc so to publish it. They arranged them fromii the loose sheets on the piano, amid Frau Frege sang them for him. He was deeply moved, and began talking to her about Fanny. He had beeii to Berlin. I cant tell you, lie said, how melancholy Fannys miuichmanged roonus made me. I3umt, lie added, I have so munch to be thankful to God for. C~cihe is so well. He made Madamne Frege sing over maiamiy of tlme songs. They decided to exclude time Spring Song from this book, as lackimig iii sufticiemithy serious an elemncuit for the rest. When they hind talked them over, hue salil, Ifyomm are not tired, let us try over tIme last qumartette of the Elijah. But the twilight was deepenimug; amid Madame Frege fommuid the piano and music imm such closing shad ows she could not read, and so left Felix to go for lights. Comhuig back, she fomamid him, pale amid cold, umpon the sofa. With difficual ty lie nmade his way home, where at seveum oclock C6cile found hint very ill. By umorn- ing all Leipsic was filled with amixiety. Mosehmeless conditiomi of fear and sumspeumse was iumtemise; and only when, after a few days, Mendelssohn rallied, and talked hiolue- fully of conuhucting again time Elijah, he breathed freely. 0mm the 25th Meumdelssohuum wrote, with forced cheerfulness, to his broth- ci Paul: Write me a couple of lines sooui again (he says), and line sure you agree to come. My love to you all, and conlimimme your love for FELix. Buat on tIme morning of time 30th Paul was suimmommed hastily. Time valley of time shad- ow was closimig out all earthly sounds anti interests: Meuidclssohu was (lying. How teuudcr, how gemithe, was time love be. MENDELSSOHN AND MOSCHELES. 73 tween Moseheles and Felix since those sweet boyish days we can never better understand than now, when the parting was at hand. Retrospection makes so traoic a hackoround for such final moments, when every look, or word, or tone hecomes the last with which one feels his memory may he stored! Day and night Moscheles watched. heside him, but no human ministration could. avail. All musical proceedings were silenced. A grand concert had. been in preparation, but who could. be found to tonch one note while the master was passiug sileimtly into eternity h In Moseheless diary we fiumd hini breaking oat into a passionate prayer to the Almighty that the life so precious to him may be spared. The evening of the same day tinds him, with Charlotte and C6cile and. oth. ers. at Felixs bedside. Tbere was no con- sciousness. The friendsthe beloved wife knelt, watching the light gradually fade in that peaceful, seraphic countenance they had seen touched. by every passing cloud or joy. It was a little after nine oclock wild], without a sign, saying only, in ans~ver to C6ciles inquiry, he was tired, very tired, the end came. Moseheles tells us that he knelt some time in prayer beside the form of his beloved Felix. What an hour, what a struggle, for the generous-hearted frieimd! What tender memories must have risen in the shadow of that long farewell! Devrient had. been waiting in Dresden for news of Felixs recovery. Instead of this, Clara Schumann came to him in tears, and with a fatal letter in her hand. Amono all who had known and loved him every personal concern was forgotten in the sor- row, the desolation, of his death. When Devrient reached Leipsic the town seemed dumb with anguish. He went at once to the saddened household to look upon his friend in his tranquil sleep. Whea lie was dead. they laid. him 111)011 what seemed to he a bank of flowers. Palum branches were strewn about the hier; the fairest white blossoms lay scattered where he slept. All look of care Ii ad. vanished from his face, recalling the singular beauty of his boyish daystIme days which poor Devrient thought so full of joyousness and song, when Mendelssohns genius and presence were like a happy holiday to theum all. His lano~h the tones of his sweet, endearing voice the touch of his now quiet hands upon the keysall silenced. The span of time iii my remembrance, writes this tender friend, ineloses tIme whole happy youth in one perfect and. indelible thought. C& ile talked to him the following day of his old-time friendship with Felix. She was calm with the (lead calmness of grief that can not find its way to tears. During the day a tlmrong of people visited the dead nmaster. The offerimug of Leipsic, palam branch- es, covered his pall. It looked, says Dcv- rient, like aim Isle of Peace. The fmumeral processloim led all through time town, past windows and squares full of sor- ro~ving people. In the chmmrch of time uni- versity the burial services were read, time umusic being from Ammtigomme, and the cimoral Jesums, ameine Juversiclmt, and choruses fromim St. Peel, and from time Passion music of Bach, wimich he had so imobly helped to re- vive. Did it not recall to Devrient the hap- py summer day when the two young mcii, in timeir gay dress, nmade their way to Zel- ters house? Had not the intervening years been omme prolonged effort to do the noblest in the work allotted to him, to fulfill the gramid design of his Creator? Wimen nearly all had left the church C6- dIe approached the coffin, and took her last farewell in a long, silent prayer. Moseheless earnest nature is shown in his perseverimmg at tile Conservatory, with no outward show of listlessness in time en- terprise, after time death of his beloved. col- league. He invited me, wrote Moseheles, to take part in an institution timat was so dear to him. To have labored. timere with imini would have been a daily joy and satis- faction; to work on there without him is my duty, which I regard as a sacred trust coin- mitted by him to my keeping. I must now work for us both. And again: In spirit, though not im presence, Mendelssohn is with us tllroughomit this dreary whiter. Time con- stant visits to C~cile and tile dear clmildren, the readimmg over of imis beautiful letters to us both, time perusal of ilis muisic from time Hindemstiicke Clara learns, to tile duets I play with Serena, and his great works wimich I study myselfsuch are the consointions xvhich ile has bequeathed to sorrowing friends. In spite of wars and political disasters, Moseheless public and. domestic life went on evenly. The Gewaimdlmaus concerts were enrielmed by time music of Clara Schumann amud her husband. Mosehmeless spirit knew no daimntiimg ; his immterest in pupils and. work continued ummabated. The hospitable fireside at which his wife was such a sweet presidimig gemmius welcomed friemids and new- coiners as of yore. New developments were interesting the musical world. Back into the shadowy past were the days wlmen time yoummg Moseheles visited. Sullen and played on his tinkhimig little instmumnemut, when Felix performed the minuet from Don Gioromnmi for Goethes ten-drimiking friends. Zelter tells timis story of Felixs first triumuhihl at tile pianO. Om]e niglmt Goethe hind assem- bled a party of muuisical amid literary people for tea ami(l criticismn and. social converse. Zeiter was to bring omme of his most prouim- ising pupils to perforni; amid presently the door opemied, amid there aimpeared. the gruff old. master and a little boy of eleven, with 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. what Sir Julius Benedict says was so- too boldly a(lventlirons spirits lie writes: pernatnrally beautiful face fair and re- My chief objection to the innovators is fined in outline, yet with the linsh of good that they aspire to go beyond Beethoven, health and gay spirits on it. Germany was and altogether dethrone Mozart and I-Iay(ln, foil of Goethes greatness, and the little boy hitherto acknowledged key-stones to the stood la some wondering shyness before foundation of music. the great nian. Goethe, however, tenderly One (lay, at the old house, 3 Leipsiger- stroked his hair and bade him play. strasse, in Berlin, lie records a day with \Yhat shall it he ? said Goethe, indol- gently. Shall I play you the loveliest thing hi all the world ? cried the little boy, with childish enthusiasm. Aiid. the el(ler genius assenting, Felix Mendelssohn is seated be- fore the piano, wax lights are place(l on ei- ther side of him, the 1) eantifol boyish brow, the clostering brown curls, the eyes, even then full of thoughtful lostre, are touched by the glow of light, and the minuet from Don Gioienni fills the air. Now Lohen grin was exciting the minds of the musically inclined; Liszt was famous; Ilubinstein, a young man, was beginning to excite adniiratiou and attention, his face and hair recalling to Moseheles those of his liehoved Beethoven. All strides forward Moseheles cordially encouraged, hut of some C6eile Mendelssohn and the children. Fe- lixs wi(low was living in calni retirenient, nobly devoting herself to her children, try big, as she told Devrient, to make thieni worthy of their father. She asked Moseb- des to play on Felixs piammothie Erard which had so often responded to the mas- ters touch. He pla e(l many thilmigs for her, an(i a.t last t(imlchicd tIme delicate arpeggios of the Spring Song, which brings Men (leIssohin iii his tenderest umood so suddenly to life. It was too niuch, says Mosehehes, fbr poor C(cile. In September of 1853 Ilihler called at the house of Madanie Jeaurenaud, in Frank- fort, to see C6cile, who was with her niothi- er. 1-le rang time bell, which, lie says, pa- tlmetically, so often answered to his touch in happy days. Madanie Jeanrenaud her JonAm(N n WOLFGANG AMA1)ICUS iiOZAiir. SILVER. 75 self admitted him. Oh, Mr. Huller, she cried out, is it you? I have just lost my (lauhter. The death of Cdcile Mendelssohn seemed to end one phase in the life of Moseheles, to make one period a complete tender mem- ory. Music was still his deepest enthusi- asm; but in these later years are happy, peaceful pictures of the niusician surround- ed by his friends, his wife and children. One night he had a strange dream of Bee- thoven. A few days later there was a final effort at the Gewandhaus, and hefore an- other week had passed away, on the 10th of March, 1870, having, we may say truly, fought his good tight, finished his course, death came. \Xritino of the end of such lives as Men- delssohus and Moseheless, how can we, who live among their echoes, say finis? Spring and summer time come hack crowded with pictures which the music they have left us brings to mind. There is the cheerful house in Chester Place; the hospitable rooms at Leipsic. The windows are open wide; June sunshine fills the air. Mendelssohn has conie in with a new Lied. Charlotte, C~cile, the genial host Moseheles, stand about; the music goes on life, youth, as- sociation stretching out in those tender chords, making to themselves aim immortal- ity in whose glory we of to-day stand with reverence and love. What scenes, what days, of happy, idle work ! TIme records reach us with a sort of awe, that, out of 50 much fortune and prosperous circunistan cc, the Divine ordinances, the tasks so difficult to ncconll)lish, were all fulfilled, and a wide- spread, growing legacy lavished on the world. From one generation to the other, from one master to the other, such work goes on, joining hands, speaking from heart to heart of diviner impulses, harmonies more perfect, battlements more fairwhen the Day hreaks, ,nmd the last great meanings of the art become our own. SILVER. Y~T HEN, in 1850, adventurous explorers in Nevada found among the barren, .9 stony mountains masses of gray quartz with browim veimms shot through the stoaes, they passed them by in ignorant neglect. They looked for gold, and the stones were only a hiuderammee in their work. They threw them aside unheeded, an(l toiled on iu their search for the ommlv treasure they knew. Even iii these later and seemingly wiser days pros- pecters looking for gohil have thrown away as useless black ores of lead, thinkimig theum of no value, whmemi they were worth niore than all the graimis of golden dust they could~ find. They kimew umothimm~ of the stramige loves of the precious metals, and, couteut withu the little gold they could find, heft greater wealth in wasteful heaps up~u the naked imill-sides. It seemims a law in nature that the most useful shall be time last foumid, the umost val- uable the most neghected till its worth be kmmown. Coal was omily a stone of tIme fields till intelligence discovered its brotherhood with time diamond. Flakes of gold and scraps of native silver were found before history begaim, ammd by the tinme tradithoims crystallized into Imistory these metals were in use as coimms and ornaments, yet their re- covery in great qimantities is wholly a mod- - em experience. Of time two, silver is the muore widely distributed and the more use- fuml. It mingles amid conubimmes with nearly every element, and yet, with all its wimle affimmities and ready loves for timings coum- mon amid uncleam] silver is wife of its lover gold. In spite of its universal appearaumee in every imagimmable shape and form, it has truly a noble soul. The search for silver has in its story sonic- thing deeply pathetic and melammelmohy. The history of its winning has beeui nmarked by wars, by slavery, cruel tasks, and immense disasters to whole states and nations. It slmines, white aumd brilliant, on the table, hut it has cost tIme blood of whole peoples. A TON OF SILVEF..

SILVER. 75 self admitted him. Oh, Mr. Huller, she cried out, is it you? I have just lost my (lauhter. The death of Cdcile Mendelssohn seemed to end one phase in the life of Moseheles, to make one period a complete tender mem- ory. Music was still his deepest enthusi- asm; but in these later years are happy, peaceful pictures of the niusician surround- ed by his friends, his wife and children. One night he had a strange dream of Bee- thoven. A few days later there was a final effort at the Gewandhaus, and hefore an- other week had passed away, on the 10th of March, 1870, having, we may say truly, fought his good tight, finished his course, death came. \Xritino of the end of such lives as Men- delssohus and Moseheless, how can we, who live among their echoes, say finis? Spring and summer time come hack crowded with pictures which the music they have left us brings to mind. There is the cheerful house in Chester Place; the hospitable rooms at Leipsic. The windows are open wide; June sunshine fills the air. Mendelssohn has conie in with a new Lied. Charlotte, C~cile, the genial host Moseheles, stand about; the music goes on life, youth, as- sociation stretching out in those tender chords, making to themselves aim immortal- ity in whose glory we of to-day stand with reverence and love. What scenes, what days, of happy, idle work ! TIme records reach us with a sort of awe, that, out of 50 much fortune and prosperous circunistan cc, the Divine ordinances, the tasks so difficult to ncconll)lish, were all fulfilled, and a wide- spread, growing legacy lavished on the world. From one generation to the other, from one master to the other, such work goes on, joining hands, speaking from heart to heart of diviner impulses, harmonies more perfect, battlements more fairwhen the Day hreaks, ,nmd the last great meanings of the art become our own. SILVER. Y~T HEN, in 1850, adventurous explorers in Nevada found among the barren, .9 stony mountains masses of gray quartz with browim veimms shot through the stoaes, they passed them by in ignorant neglect. They looked for gold, and the stones were only a hiuderammee in their work. They threw them aside unheeded, an(l toiled on iu their search for the ommlv treasure they knew. Even iii these later and seemingly wiser days pros- pecters looking for gohil have thrown away as useless black ores of lead, thinkimig theum of no value, whmemi they were worth niore than all the graimis of golden dust they could~ find. They kimew umothimm~ of the stramige loves of the precious metals, and, couteut withu the little gold they could find, heft greater wealth in wasteful heaps up~u the naked imill-sides. It seemims a law in nature that the most useful shall be time last foumid, the umost val- uable the most neghected till its worth be kmmown. Coal was omily a stone of tIme fields till intelligence discovered its brotherhood with time diamond. Flakes of gold and scraps of native silver were found before history begaim, ammd by the tinme tradithoims crystallized into Imistory these metals were in use as coimms and ornaments, yet their re- covery in great qimantities is wholly a mod- - em experience. Of time two, silver is the muore widely distributed and the more use- fuml. It mingles amid conubimmes with nearly every element, and yet, with all its wimle affimmities and ready loves for timings coum- mon amid uncleam] silver is wife of its lover gold. In spite of its universal appearaumee in every imagimmable shape and form, it has truly a noble soul. The search for silver has in its story sonic- thing deeply pathetic and melammelmohy. The history of its winning has beeui nmarked by wars, by slavery, cruel tasks, and immense disasters to whole states and nations. It slmines, white aumd brilliant, on the table, hut it has cost tIme blood of whole peoples. A TON OF SILVEF.. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Small wonder that it will turn black in the face in pure sunshine, for thinking of its price. It is only now that science and liii- inane skill have come to us aid that silver mining is more than a grievous burden. Useful as silver has been in the arts and trades, it may still be doubted if, in a broad and humanitarian sense, it has been worth the price that has been paid for it up to the beginning of this century, or the price still paid for it in some countries. Certainly those countries that have had the most of it have been the most unhappy, and are to this day bearing the burden of its posses- sion. Generations of slaves have died in toil, that the silver mines of old Europe might be worked. Mexico an(l South Amer- A TIMBERED GALLEIiY. ica have been ruined by ceaseless cix ii wars for the sole right to gnther their wealth of silver. The greed for silver hns compelled whole peoples to toil in the midst of dangers that the modern mhmer would resent as inhuman selfishness. To break out the stnbhorn rocks hundreds of feet below the ground with the most wretch- ed tools and in insufficient light; to load the ores in hugs and baskets on the backs of men and women, and to bear them up ron gh timbers rudely hacked into the scm- hhance of a ladder; to be in constant dan- ger of falling walls and rising water; to hear grievous burdens from place to I)lace among cold mountains; to break up the stones with the hands, and mix time crushed ores with the naked feetthese things have l)eelm the lot of the silver winner. Silver is called a precious metal: at least it has cost blood and tears, and these are precious. The Sierra Nevada Mountains, extending nearly north and south throngh Mexico and part of California and Nevada, look east- ward over a vast basin, a waste and hungry land, treeless, stony, rumpled up here and there into mountain folds, or stretched out into naked plains and ghastly sinks, glis- tening u ith sand or white alkali. These mountains that stan(l in parallel rows, rough md fantastic in shape, stare in blank vacan- cy at the intense hlue sky, and over the plains whirl spirals of alkali dust, uncanny ghosts in the bright sunshine. One of these mountain ranges, looking west to the snow-capped Sierras, with their zones of black pimes, and gazing at the ghis- tening deserts on the east, split and torn eLM METLIOI) OF (IILU5JiLNC THE OEm. SILVER. 77 with deep ciPlons. 1~itteil with the traces of volcanic disease, alike valueless to herder or faruier, has hecome famous the worl(l over, and has ma(le the nation rich. Other ranges, still to the east, have won a lesser fame and smaller wealth. Here iii this waste and stricken lan(l and among these inountaiims, are cities, active popnlations, and vast works; nature gone minmad in stony despair that woods and fields and smiling meadows are not ; civilization living in spite of nature, and wholly giv- en up day an(l night to a more insane toil, knowing no Sah haths, no rest, no night. The exhaust steam from hundreds of engines waves its white han- ncr iii sunlight and starlight alike; the respiration ofa giant hy day, the fluttering ghost of toil hy night. These cities, with e very appliance of in Od- erii science with hotels, the- atres, water-works, schools, gas mains, and every luxury have not sprung up here hecause of the beauty or convenience of the situation. There is no river, no sea, to i)ring commerce and the arts; 110 springs of health, nor even farms. These towns live and grow on the most illusive au(l unstal)le of foundations. They were built on a hope, and live on an expectation. Their hopes have been real- ized hi a measure past (lreaul- ing or expression. Their ex- l)ectatious may collapse iu a night. The very foundation beneath the houses is shifty and unstable. The gas mains in tile streets Imeud and snap under-ground, for time very mnountaimis groan and travail l)ecause of the greed of men. V Some (lay the town will sink into the umave that lies so deep beneath its streels, W 01 the people will flee away to more rca- sonable lands, leaving hotels, halls, and d~ ellings empty in the wilderness. All thisthese cities, this science and emigmnery, this gigantic cal)ital spent in constructions more smn)ular more com te(1 and mome effectm~ e than any ma- plica of a like wmtume mu time world cinnely one excuse time nictal hid in time heart of the niountamns I hese men live then w oiL, and dal s for a metal at out once ___ the most ummix cisal the most singu u mu its nianifestation, aim(l time mimost useful These great engumes and x inst works are for the winnimig of a metal that swiums in very gal ~ loim of sea 2l~ K~ If 4 It IDEAL SECTION OF A MINE. water; that may liaiig invisible and dissolved in a glass of acid; that be- conies black at the muerest glance of time suim ; timat is now hlmmck,n ow white, miow a mirror, amind timemi a pictmmm-ea fit clmam-nm to wind almomit less stable clinariris, amid tlmemi wedded to bmmse met- als in niemmial duties. Every where silver is found asseci- ate(1 with the imiost commurmon things iromm, cop~)er, simiphum-, antimomiy, 1(11(1 lead. It is scattered widely over time world, amid is mmiined in Saxony, Belie aim, in Hummgary and Transylvania, mit Kommgshei-g in Nom-way, in Spain, iii Mexico, aioimg the Cordillermis in Soutlm Amuericmm, and in parts of this coumitry, notably un Neva(la, California, ltmdm, Montana, and Colorado. To show his peculiar affiuiity for a variety of elements aiid the forimis it often tmmkes in its imative imeds, we imiay observe soume of its more coummomm ores. Surer ylouuce, or the vitreous suiphide of silver, consists of 87.04 pmirts of silver and 12.96 parts of sumlphiimr. SI(plmooite, or the brittle simiphide of silver, is a doumble suiphide of silver, amitiummony, alm(1 smmlh)liulr, and is composed of 70 parts of silver, 14 parts of antimmie- Ily, amind 16 parts of siilplimmi. Iii ruby silver time umaterials are tlme same, bunt time proportions vary, thus silver, 58.98; amitiummony, 23.46; smmi phumr, 17.56 parts. Chloride of shire,-, or horn silver, comisists of 73 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 75.33 parts of silver, 24.67 parts of chlorine. Besides these are other corn- hhiations of silver with other materials in greater or less degree, as in galena; but these are only called ores of silver when the silver, as in these ores, is largely in excess. Sea water contaii.is silver; but so little is there in a gallon that it is unworthy of iuotice save as a enrions fact showing the wide difinsion of the metal, for only when the combination contains eiioiuoh silver to make it worth while to extract it from the matter with which it is nuited can the combined materials he called an ore. Besides the ores of silver, are the native alloys, combinations of silver with gold or lead. Gold and silver are ofteuu combined in natural al- loys, or silver with lead in close wedded nnions, so that they ma.y he called lead with silver and gold, or silver with gold. To examine and define these alloys is the work of the geologist. The ignorant prospecter w an- dering over the monntain-sides knew nothing of these things, and it was the geologist and metallurgist who discovered OUV wealth, and made flue nation rich. Silver, whether appearing in combination with snlpluur, antimony, or chlorine, or alloyed with gold or lead, is said to occur in veins (snrely there is a vein for the silver)deep flssnres varying iii width from mere films between the rocks to vast lodes, yards wide and thuonsands of feet long. Here hrown and yellow, there black amud biuuish-hiack or red, rarely appearing in its metallic colou, so flint it is not surprisimug that igulorant prospecters seeking fuur gold. threw the black stnfr aside in mm- thinking wastefniness, neglectimug tomus of silver for a fhw ounces of gold. These veins, where the s ulpluides and chlorides (If silver are scat- tered through the stony uumass of tIme lode, have every inma~iuuable pitch downmvar(I into the earth. The ores may be oxidized and stained at the suirface, while below they may be in their native colors. Time staiuuing on time surface may trace flue fop of flue mass; luelow, all is a blind guess. There is nothing to be done but to bore imuto flue vein to find its path below. Having found somethuimig concerning the position of time ore vein, flue next step is to simuk a shaft-a hinge hole sniuk vertically imuto tire muounut- nun. The ~roumud about the toil of the shaft may be richm imi ores, but it amuist muot be touched, as it is needed for a roof over flue mnimue, aui(l as a reserve when the treasnre below is exhausted. Perhaps fire boring has shown that the vein is near the side of flue nuomuntain, and flint flue sluort- est road to flue lower masses of ore will be found by openimug a funnel horizontally into flue hill-side. Tue most comnuoum method is to sink a shaft on or near the vein, amid this (lecided upon, flue imnuense outlay of labor and money begins. First, there nmust be powera battery of steam-boilers brought at vast expeuuse from distaumt cities into flue wil- derness. Thea follow engines for hoisting and puirupimug, for sawing humarber and turnimug ventilating fans. There must be houses and shops, umOuSTING ANI) PUMPING ENGINES. I I I I II Ii L __ V ri THE ShAFT. mills and offices furnaces, retorts, store - houses for chemicals, and homes tor man and imeastin short, a town. There are often no trees in all the land, and distant moantains nm,mst be striliped of tiumber, and rail road5 must he laiti to move it, that huge beams and logs be ready to line the shafts anti deel) galleries he- low. There must be gathered en- gineers, miners, carpenters, track - layers, surveyors, and clerks, ami(1 all these must l)e sheltered from the weather while at work. A comprehen- sive plan of the mining plant nmst be (lrawil, showino the position of the shaft, the en gilies, pumlps, timber-yards, railways, count- ing-rooms, and mills in brief, there must be a city in the wil(ierness. The shaft having been snuk to the re- (hmiire(i depth, be it 500, 1000, or 1500 feet, and seenrely lined with timbers the next step is to exteii(l level galleries through the rock into what seem the most promising ores. Every yard of the passages must be propped with timbers, or the loosened rocks ivill fall in and block the way; tracks are laid along the levels, and on either side must be ways for the ever-flowing water. Then comes the winning, the digging out of the ore. This work is pushed upward from one level to another, the miner throwing the loosened material down ward through wood- en soonts or directly into the cars on the SECTION or RETORT FURNAcE. SILVER. 79 tracks below. Every variety of rocknow soft and powdery, like crushed sugar, and now so flinty that it must 1)0 idasted omit with powder is met: nseless clays, barren rock, and rich ores umingled iii endless con- fusion, amid each rnnst be separated, the ore sent np to daylight, and the ivaste ma- terial left to fill up time empty galleries be- loiv. The miner (ligs out a cave by tearing down the rocks above him, and inimediatel~~ behind him conic the carpenters with ins- mense timbers already squared and fitted, so that a gigantic franie or honse, piled floor above floor, may lie erected to keep the Pro sides of time outrmred vein from falling to- getlier in revemmgefmil nun. Imitricate gal- leries, inclined planes from level to level, and coumplicated comistrimetiomis fill all the space robbed of time ore, till whole forests are snuk in time ground. 1mm umarrower veins the mimier abandomis time emimpty cave to its fate~, the moumitaims closes iii cii his work, the timbers simink immto dusty powder nuder tIme awful pressmire, and time startled land above gapes amid yawns in mysterious seams amid strange sinkings, as if its heart had brokemi. Even while time mimier works, time mnomimntain groans in paiii. There are sighs and gasps, cries from time dumb rocks cheat- ed of their treasures. If he stops and list- emis, time deep protest of time mountain against his theft will till his cam-s with terrible sounds, and should lie linger after the work is done, tIme eager rocks would grimid liinm to ihuist, as they do time abandoned timbers. Time treas- mire woim, time caves fall iii, mmmore levels are nm omit, mimome caves are made, omily to hill in at last, when tIme tale of time mine is told. Time character of the ore amid time rocks in which it may be bedded vary greatly, limit tIme system iif muimmimig is essemitially time sanie every where. [lie shaft with its various comimimartumemits, the iv indimig en- gine, time pimmupimig engimmes, time tram-way system ahmove amid beloiv, amid time ventila TUNNELLINC Wilil A rOWER i)RiLL. 80 HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ting appliances must be employed in every case, and they must be at once safe, effi- cient, and economic. The cost of a min- ing plant is enormous, and nuless it is the best of the kind, unless it saves labor and lives, it will never pay, even if the mine be a bonanza. The cheap and wasteful meth- ods, neglectful alike of time, labor, and hu- nian life, so long in use, and still employed in s-me countries, will not answer for this country. Improved elevators, with every appliance for securing speed and safety, the most perfect ventilation, ample light, and even ice-water for thirsty laborers, are all good investments. The life below is, at best, full of toil and danger. It is but just that the barbaric methods of other times should give place to the more humane prac- tice of Nevada. Having with infinite labor won the ore from the lo~ver deeps, then comes the wrench- lug apart of the metals, the divorce of silver from its base union with sulphur, lead, au- timony, and useless stone. The character and value of the ores and alloys determine the process that must be employed, and may serve to illustrate the great variety of forms which silver may assume. Suppose it is an ore of silver containing a percentage of gold: the cars containing the mingled stone and metals rise swiftly in the shaft and roll out on a platform at the top of the sil- ver mill and are there dumped into bins or spouts leading directly to the stone-crush- ers that with iron jaws grind them to small gravel. Then by spouts the crushed material slides down to the stamps, and beneath the inipact of hammers deliv- ering a blow of 900 pounds, stone, gold, and silver are crushed to dust. Water flows over the powder, and AMALGAMATING PAN. sweeps it away in a stream heavy with the white sediment. The water, with the crushed material in mechanical suspension, tiows into huge tanks, there to settle, so that the surplus water may be drawn off leaving the suspended matter to gather in ~vhite slime in the tanks. The next step in the process is the grinding and amalga- mating in circular tanks. Iron pans with movable bottoms revolve swiftly by steam- power, and grind the slime to still finer powder. Qn icksilver, salt, and sulph ate of copper are added to the slime as it is grinding. Hot steam comes to add heat and turmoil to the boiling mass, and the stranm loves of the metals beoin. The silver and gold part with their original forms, and in chemic union with the nier- cury are lost to sight and touch. Then the white sirnl)-like material flows on down~vard to other tanks, there to settle and cool, the water to flow a~vay, taking with it tIme light flour-like quartz, the mm- gled metals to sink to the bottom by their own gravity. At last the product may be gathered up in canvas bags, and, on submit- ting these to pressure, a portion of the quicksilver trickles throngh the fabric in silvery tearsliterally a quick or live metal. The rest, still stubbornly clinging to its treasures, remains behind: a curious pasty mass, resembling neither gold, silver, nor mercury. How can we win back the silver and gold to their metallic state? Let them be torn by fire. The mingled quicksilver and met- als are placed in retorts, and under the influ- ence of a cherry-red heat the quicksilver springs up as vapor and flies away through pipes on invisible wings, till it meets cold water, when it freezes again to its normal shapea liquid metal. The precious metals, unheeding the fire, remain behind till, in a fiercer heat, they flow together in solid bars. The figure at top of next page is an ideal section of a silver mill where ores and alloys are treated by this process, and shows Ihe posi- tion of the crushing machin- ery, the stnml)s, the amal- gamating and settling pans, and all the steps of the proc- ess np to the retorting of the quicksilver. The figure on this page gives one of the amalganma- ting palms, and aptly shows the perfection of the mnaclmin- ery emnployed in this work. This process, as it uses water, is known as the wet process. Other ores and al- loys containing sulphur de- mand time use of fire to drive out the sulphur, and the SILVER. 81 figure below nives a section of a silver mill using what is called the dry process. Here the crude ore is given to the crusher (shown at the left), where it is reduced to a coarse gravel. It then falls through the floor to the kilns below, where, over the brick flues, it is gently roasted; salt is at the same time added, and, when properly roasted, the mingled salt and ores are raked away to the automatic feeders that supply it to the stamps. The fine dust that comes from the stamps is raised by the elevators to the top of the furnace, or stack, and is there sifted downward through the up- springing flames, and at last raked out be- low in a new form. Sometimes, in place of the upright stack, a revolving furnace is employed, but in either case the object is the same. In the furnace or stack appears one of those mystic divorces and remar- riages which the elenments so readily assume when provoked by fire. The sulphur wed- ded to the silver seeks the salt. The chlo- rine that, joined to the sodium, made the salt, deserts its lover, nud seeks the more precious silver. The double parting and remarriage is consummated in a salt of silver or chlo- rate of silver, while sulphate of soda repre- sents the other pair. Both pass out of the fire that has separated and rcunited theni in new bonds, and in the amalgamating pans the silver loses itself in a new embrace with the mercury, and the baser couple are cast outa degenerate pair, fit only to be trodden under foot of men. At last, in the retort, fire again separates the silver from the mercury, and it resumes the virgin shape that it had before the mountains were brought forth. In contrast with all this science, this use of enormous capital in power and machinery, are the wasteful and cruel methods of the past. When from a rude hole in the ground the ores were brought up in sacks on the backs of men and women, convicts nuder the stress of ever-loaded cannon, or slavcs in fear of the lash, broke up the ore by hand with rude hammers in the remorseless sun- shine or freezing wind from the mountains. Then, in bags, the broken material was again carried on the backs of half-na- ked creatures to the stamps. The dust from the stamps was gath- __ ered in sacks, and carried away to a clumsy mill driven by mule- power; then one more laborious carriage to vast shallow heaps spread in the open air, where, / i ~i _____ _____________________________ ~~ NAutornatiC \ \ SECTION OF SILVEIC MILLDRY PROCESS. Voa. LYIIINo. 343.6 -Amnalganlator _____ Separator Settler SECTION OF SILVER MILLWET PROCESS. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. after salt, magistral, and quicksilver had been added, mules blinded for the work, or men with naked feet, tramped over the crushed ore day after day for weeks, till the silver had united with the mercury. At last the slow process came to an end, and with still greater toil the amalgam was washed in tubs to free it from the useless quartz; then came the straining in canvas bags to extract the free quicksilver, and the amalgam was ready for the retort. This was merely a capella, or bell of iron, that with niuch labor was placed over a heap of the amalgam. About the capella was built a brick furnace iu which a fire could be maintained, and the mercury, vaporized in the heat, trickled down the inside of the bell into a basin of water, where it was con- densed, leaving the silver in a frosty, glis- tening mass under the capella. If our im- proved processes with all the aids of science and skill still let slip a lar~e percentage of the metals, how wasteful was this older process, not only in precious metals, but in time, labor, and human lives! The records of the United States Patent- office show more than two hundred patent- ed processes for recovering silver and gold from their ores and alloys. These that have been briefly described are among the most important. In separating silver from its alloys of lead or gold still other methods are employed, equally intricate and equally expensive. When silver is wedded to lead, the smelting-works must he employ- ed. Fluxes must be mingled with the al- loy, that, when fire comes to test them, new forms shall arise. The useless oxides and snlphides unite with the flux to make glassy slags, and the lead and silver form a metal- lic combination, the lead greedily absorb- ing every grain and speck of silver scatter- ed through the crushed ore, and gathering it in a mass below the slag. Then comes one of those strange partings that even the ancient poets caught up as brilliant meta- phors. The mingled lead and silver are placed on a porous bed of bone ash called a cupel, where fire and air may play upon them; and in the rosy glow the baser lead steals away in ruddy shame, leaving its sil- ver heart behind. As the lead oxidizes it sinks into the porous cupel on which it rests, till suddenly the mass brightens, grows brilliant in prismatic colors, and the silver shines more glorious in native purity. Another divorce of the alloys shows a sharper trial a~d more poetic parting, as when gold and silver beaten by hammers into a sheet are plunged in boiling acid. The silver dissolves in the limpid acid seeks apparent extinction in the embrace of its fiercer lover; and the gold, resisting the onset of the acid, remains behind, a colder virgin, torn, distracted, but abso- lutely pure. The acid, clear and limpid, holds the silver fast till in new reactions the silver escapes and re-appears, first as a filmy dust, and finally as solid metal. Mexico, British Columbia, and the United States produced in 1877 precious metals to the value of 98,421,754. Of this grand to- tal our share was $95,811,563. The sole and only sources of wealth are the ground and the sea. In the immense activities of our commerce and manufactures it often hap- pens that we forget that it is the fisherman, the farmer, and the miner who create wealth. These millions, won with such magnificent skill from the treasure-house of the monuP ains, are new millions. The nation is so much the richer, so much the better able to pay its debts, and to buy books, the prod- ucts of the arts, and all goodly things which the older nations may have to sell. All the people share in these fresh millions. The first hands that hold the prizes may excite envy by reason of their foolish pride; but a higher power holds them in derision, for they are but the wardens of the peoples wealth, and in the feebler hands of their childrens children it slips away with the nimble speed of quicksilver. In pride they call them- selves the honanza kings, but their sons and grandsons scatter their wealth among the people, where it belongs. These mill- ions, won so splendidly, are quickly spent. The mines are Gods dower to the nation. Let us see that it be wisely used. THE CHILDREN! THE children! ah, the children! Your innocent, joyous ones; Your daughters, with souls of sunshine; Your buoyant and laughing sons. Look long in their happy faces, Drink love from their sparklin,.~ eyes, For the wonderful charm of childhood, How soon it withers and dies! A few fast-vanishing summers, A season or t aiu of frost, And you suddenly ask, bewildered, What is it my heart hath lost ? Perchance you see by the hearth-stone Some Juno, stately and proud, Or a fiche, whose softly ambushed eyes Flash out from the golden cloud Of lavish and beautiful tresses That, wantonly floating, stray Oer the white of a throat and bosom More fair than blossoms in May. And perchance you mark their brothers. Young heroes who spurn the sod With the fervor of antique knighthood, And the air of a Grecian god. But where, ah, where are the children, Your household fairies of yore? Alack! they are dead, and their grace has fled For ever and evermore!

82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. after salt, magistral, and quicksilver had been added, mules blinded for the work, or men with naked feet, tramped over the crushed ore day after day for weeks, till the silver had united with the mercury. At last the slow process came to an end, and with still greater toil the amalgam was washed in tubs to free it from the useless quartz; then came the straining in canvas bags to extract the free quicksilver, and the amalgam was ready for the retort. This was merely a capella, or bell of iron, that with niuch labor was placed over a heap of the amalgam. About the capella was built a brick furnace iu which a fire could be maintained, and the mercury, vaporized in the heat, trickled down the inside of the bell into a basin of water, where it was con- densed, leaving the silver in a frosty, glis- tening mass under the capella. If our im- proved processes with all the aids of science and skill still let slip a lar~e percentage of the metals, how wasteful was this older process, not only in precious metals, but in time, labor, and human lives! The records of the United States Patent- office show more than two hundred patent- ed processes for recovering silver and gold from their ores and alloys. These that have been briefly described are among the most important. In separating silver from its alloys of lead or gold still other methods are employed, equally intricate and equally expensive. When silver is wedded to lead, the smelting-works must he employ- ed. Fluxes must be mingled with the al- loy, that, when fire comes to test them, new forms shall arise. The useless oxides and snlphides unite with the flux to make glassy slags, and the lead and silver form a metal- lic combination, the lead greedily absorb- ing every grain and speck of silver scatter- ed through the crushed ore, and gathering it in a mass below the slag. Then comes one of those strange partings that even the ancient poets caught up as brilliant meta- phors. The mingled lead and silver are placed on a porous bed of bone ash called a cupel, where fire and air may play upon them; and in the rosy glow the baser lead steals away in ruddy shame, leaving its sil- ver heart behind. As the lead oxidizes it sinks into the porous cupel on which it rests, till suddenly the mass brightens, grows brilliant in prismatic colors, and the silver shines more glorious in native purity. Another divorce of the alloys shows a sharper trial a~d more poetic parting, as when gold and silver beaten by hammers into a sheet are plunged in boiling acid. The silver dissolves in the limpid acid seeks apparent extinction in the embrace of its fiercer lover; and the gold, resisting the onset of the acid, remains behind, a colder virgin, torn, distracted, but abso- lutely pure. The acid, clear and limpid, holds the silver fast till in new reactions the silver escapes and re-appears, first as a filmy dust, and finally as solid metal. Mexico, British Columbia, and the United States produced in 1877 precious metals to the value of 98,421,754. Of this grand to- tal our share was $95,811,563. The sole and only sources of wealth are the ground and the sea. In the immense activities of our commerce and manufactures it often hap- pens that we forget that it is the fisherman, the farmer, and the miner who create wealth. These millions, won with such magnificent skill from the treasure-house of the monuP ains, are new millions. The nation is so much the richer, so much the better able to pay its debts, and to buy books, the prod- ucts of the arts, and all goodly things which the older nations may have to sell. All the people share in these fresh millions. The first hands that hold the prizes may excite envy by reason of their foolish pride; but a higher power holds them in derision, for they are but the wardens of the peoples wealth, and in the feebler hands of their childrens children it slips away with the nimble speed of quicksilver. In pride they call them- selves the honanza kings, but their sons and grandsons scatter their wealth among the people, where it belongs. These mill- ions, won so splendidly, are quickly spent. The mines are Gods dower to the nation. Let us see that it be wisely used. THE CHILDREN! THE children! ah, the children! Your innocent, joyous ones; Your daughters, with souls of sunshine; Your buoyant and laughing sons. Look long in their happy faces, Drink love from their sparklin,.~ eyes, For the wonderful charm of childhood, How soon it withers and dies! A few fast-vanishing summers, A season or t aiu of frost, And you suddenly ask, bewildered, What is it my heart hath lost ? Perchance you see by the hearth-stone Some Juno, stately and proud, Or a fiche, whose softly ambushed eyes Flash out from the golden cloud Of lavish and beautiful tresses That, wantonly floating, stray Oer the white of a throat and bosom More fair than blossoms in May. And perchance you mark their brothers. Young heroes who spurn the sod With the fervor of antique knighthood, And the air of a Grecian god. But where, ah, where are the children, Your household fairies of yore? Alack! they are dead, and their grace has fled For ever and evermore! THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 83 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. BOOK FIFTH. Contains the natural effects of the foregoing misadventure, namely, contrition in one quarter; in another, an awakening to harrowing discoveries; hasty action thereupon; and what ensued before milder intentions could take effect. CHAPTER V. AN OLD MOVE INADVERTENTLY REPEATED. C HARLEYS attentions to his former mis- tress were unbounded. The only solace to his own trouble lay in his attempts to re- lieve hers. Hour after hour he considered her wants: he thought of her presence there with a sort of gratitude, and, while uttering imprecations on the canse of her unhappi- ness, in some measure blessed the result. Perhaps she would always remain there, he thought, and then he would be as happy as he had been before. His dread was lest she should think fit to return to Alderworth, and in that dread his eyes, with all the in- quisitiveness of affection,~ frequently sought her face when she was not observing him, s he would have watched the head of a stock-dove to learn if it contemplated flight. Having once really succored her, and possi- bly preserved her from the rashest of acts, he mentally assumed in addition a guard- ians responsibility for her welfare. For this reason he busily endeavored to provide her with pleasant distractions, bringing home curious objects which he found in the heath, such as white trumpet- shaped mosses, red-headed lichens, stone arrow-heads used by the old tribes on Eg- don, and faceted crystals from the hollows of flints. These he deposited on the prem- ises in such positions that she should see them as if by accident. A week passed, Eustacia never going out of the house. Then she walked into the in- closed plot and looked through her grand- fathers spy-glass as she had been in the habit of doing before her marriage. One day she saw, at a place where the high-road crossed the distant valley, a heavily laden wagon passing along. It was piled with household furniture. She looked again and again, and recognized it to be her own. In the evening her grandfather came in-doors with a rumor that Yeobright had removed that day from Alderworth to the old house at Blooms End. On another occasion when reconnoitring thus she beheld two female figures walking in the vale. The day was fine and clear, and the persons being not more than half a mile off, she could see their every detail with the telescope. The woman walking in front carried a white bundle in her arms, from one end of which hung a long appendage of drapery; and when the walkers turned, so that the sun fell more directly upon them, Eustacia could see that the object was a baby. She called Chancy, and asked him if he knew who they were, though she well guessed. Mrs. Wildeve and the nurse-girl, said Chancy. The nurse is carrying the baby ~ said Eustacia. No, tis Mrs. Wildeve carrying that, he answered, and the nurse walks behind, car- rying nothing. The lad was in good spirits that day, for the fifth of November had again come round, and he was planning yet another scheme to divert her from her too absorbing thoughts. For two successive years his mistress had seemed to take pleasure in lighting a bon- fire on the bank overlooking the valley; but this year she had apparently quite forgotten the day and the customary deed. He was careful not to remind her, and went on with his secret preparations for a cheerful sur- prise, the more zealously that lie had been absent last time and unable to assist. At every vacant minute he hastened to gather furze stumps, thorn-tree roots, and other solid materials from the adjacent slopes, hiding them from cursory view. The evening came, and Eustacia was still seemingly unconscious of the anniversary. She had gone in-doors after her survey through the glass, and had not been visible since. As soon as it was quite dark Charley began to build the bonfire, choosing precise- ly that spot on the hank which Eustacia had chosen at previous times. When all the surrounding bonfires had burst into existence Chancy kindled his, and arranged its fuel so that it should not require tending for some time. He then went back to the house, and lingered round the door and windows till she should by some means or other learn of his achieve- ment, and come out to witness it. But the shutters were closed, the door remained shut, and no heed whatever seemed to be taken of his performance. Not liking to call her, he went back and replenished the fire, continuing to do this for more than half an hour. It was not till his stock of fuel had greatly diminished that he went to the back-door and sent in to beg that Mrs. Yeobright would open the window- shutters and see the sight outside. Eustacia, who had been sitting listlessly in the parlor, started up at the intelligence,

THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 83 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. BOOK FIFTH. Contains the natural effects of the foregoing misadventure, namely, contrition in one quarter; in another, an awakening to harrowing discoveries; hasty action thereupon; and what ensued before milder intentions could take effect. CHAPTER V. AN OLD MOVE INADVERTENTLY REPEATED. C HARLEYS attentions to his former mis- tress were unbounded. The only solace to his own trouble lay in his attempts to re- lieve hers. Hour after hour he considered her wants: he thought of her presence there with a sort of gratitude, and, while uttering imprecations on the canse of her unhappi- ness, in some measure blessed the result. Perhaps she would always remain there, he thought, and then he would be as happy as he had been before. His dread was lest she should think fit to return to Alderworth, and in that dread his eyes, with all the in- quisitiveness of affection,~ frequently sought her face when she was not observing him, s he would have watched the head of a stock-dove to learn if it contemplated flight. Having once really succored her, and possi- bly preserved her from the rashest of acts, he mentally assumed in addition a guard- ians responsibility for her welfare. For this reason he busily endeavored to provide her with pleasant distractions, bringing home curious objects which he found in the heath, such as white trumpet- shaped mosses, red-headed lichens, stone arrow-heads used by the old tribes on Eg- don, and faceted crystals from the hollows of flints. These he deposited on the prem- ises in such positions that she should see them as if by accident. A week passed, Eustacia never going out of the house. Then she walked into the in- closed plot and looked through her grand- fathers spy-glass as she had been in the habit of doing before her marriage. One day she saw, at a place where the high-road crossed the distant valley, a heavily laden wagon passing along. It was piled with household furniture. She looked again and again, and recognized it to be her own. In the evening her grandfather came in-doors with a rumor that Yeobright had removed that day from Alderworth to the old house at Blooms End. On another occasion when reconnoitring thus she beheld two female figures walking in the vale. The day was fine and clear, and the persons being not more than half a mile off, she could see their every detail with the telescope. The woman walking in front carried a white bundle in her arms, from one end of which hung a long appendage of drapery; and when the walkers turned, so that the sun fell more directly upon them, Eustacia could see that the object was a baby. She called Chancy, and asked him if he knew who they were, though she well guessed. Mrs. Wildeve and the nurse-girl, said Chancy. The nurse is carrying the baby ~ said Eustacia. No, tis Mrs. Wildeve carrying that, he answered, and the nurse walks behind, car- rying nothing. The lad was in good spirits that day, for the fifth of November had again come round, and he was planning yet another scheme to divert her from her too absorbing thoughts. For two successive years his mistress had seemed to take pleasure in lighting a bon- fire on the bank overlooking the valley; but this year she had apparently quite forgotten the day and the customary deed. He was careful not to remind her, and went on with his secret preparations for a cheerful sur- prise, the more zealously that lie had been absent last time and unable to assist. At every vacant minute he hastened to gather furze stumps, thorn-tree roots, and other solid materials from the adjacent slopes, hiding them from cursory view. The evening came, and Eustacia was still seemingly unconscious of the anniversary. She had gone in-doors after her survey through the glass, and had not been visible since. As soon as it was quite dark Charley began to build the bonfire, choosing precise- ly that spot on the hank which Eustacia had chosen at previous times. When all the surrounding bonfires had burst into existence Chancy kindled his, and arranged its fuel so that it should not require tending for some time. He then went back to the house, and lingered round the door and windows till she should by some means or other learn of his achieve- ment, and come out to witness it. But the shutters were closed, the door remained shut, and no heed whatever seemed to be taken of his performance. Not liking to call her, he went back and replenished the fire, continuing to do this for more than half an hour. It was not till his stock of fuel had greatly diminished that he went to the back-door and sent in to beg that Mrs. Yeobright would open the window- shutters and see the sight outside. Eustacia, who had been sitting listlessly in the parlor, started up at the intelligence, 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and flung open the shutters. Facing her on the bank blazed the fire, which at once sent a ruddy glare into the room where she was, and overpowered the candles. Well done, Chancy ! said Captain Drew, from the chimney-corner. But I hope it is not my wood that hes burning.... Ah, it was this time last year that I met with that man Yeun, bringing home Thomasin Yeobrightto be sure it was! Well, who would h~ ye thought that girls trouble~ would have ended so well? What a snipe you were in that matter, Eustacia! Has yonr husband written to you yet? No, said Eustacia, looking vaguely through the window at the fire, which just then so much engaged her mind that she did not resent her grandfathers blunt opin- ion. She could see Charleys form on the bank, shovelling and stirring the fire; and there flashed upon her imagination some other form which that fire might call up. She left the room, put on lien garden bon- net and cloak, and went out. Reaching the bank, she looked over with a mild curiosity, when Chancy said to her, with a pleased sense of himself, I made it o purpose for you, maauL Thank you, she said, hastily. But I wish you to put it out now. It will soon burn down, said Charley, rather disappointed. Is it not a pity to knock it out? I dont know, she musingly answered. They stood in silence, broken only by the crackling of the flames, till Charley, per- ceiving that she did not want to talk to him, moved reluctantly away. Eustacia remained within the bank, look- ing at the fire, intending to go in-doors, yet lingering still. Had she not by her situa- tion been inclined to hold in indifference all things honored of the gods and of men, she would probably have come away. But her state was so hopeless that she could pl~ y with it. To have lost is less disturbing than to wonder if we may possibly have won; and Eustacia could now, like other people at such a stage, take a standing- point outside herself, observe herself as a disinterested spectator, and think what a sport for Heaven this woman Eustacia was. While she stood she heard a sound. It was the splash of a stone in the pond. Had Eustacia received the stone full in the bosom, her heart could not have given a more decided thump. She bad thought of the possibility of such a signal in answer to that which had been unwittingly given by Charley, but she had not expected it yet. How prompt Wildeve was! Yet how could he think her capable of deliberately wish- ing to renew their assignations now? An impulse to leave the spot, a desire to stay, struggled within her; and the desire held its own. More than that it did not do, for she refrained even from ascending the bank and looking over. She remained motion- less, not disturbing a muscle of her face or raising her eyes; for were she to turn up her face, the fire on the bank would shine upon it. and Wildeve might be looking down. There was a second splash into the pond. Why did he stay so long without advan- cing and looking over? Curiosity had its way: she ascended one or two of the earth stel)s in the bank, and glanced out. Wildeve was before her. He had come forward after throwing the last pebble, and the fire now shone into each of their faces from the bank stretching breast-high be- tween them. I did not light it ! cried Eustacia, quick- ly. It was lit without my knowledge. Dont, dont come over to me. Why have you been living here all these days without telling me? You have left your home. I fear I am something to blame in this. I did not let in his mother; thats how it is. You do not deserve what you have got, Eustacia. You are in great misery; I see it in your eyes, your mouth, and all over you. My poor, poor girl ! He stepped over the bank. You are beyond every thing un- happy. No, no! not exactly It has been pushed too farit is killing you; I do think it. Her usually quiet breathing had grown quicker with his words. II she be- gan, and then burst into quivering sobs, shaken to the heart by the unexpected voice of pitya sentiment whose existence in relation to herself she had almost for- gotten. This outbreak of weeping took Eustacia herself so much by surprise that she could not leave off; and she turned aside from him in some shame, tbough turning hid nothing from him. She sobbed on desperately; then the outpour lessened, and she became quiet- er. Wildeve bad stood without speaking. Are you not ashamed of me, who used never to be a crying animal? she asked, in a weak whisper, as she wiped her eyes. Why didnt you go away? I wish you had not seen quite all that; it reveals too much by half. You might have wished it because it makes me as sad as you, he said, with emotion and with deference. As for re- vealing, the word is impossible between us two. I did not send for youdont forget it, Damon; I am in pain, but I did not send for you.~~ Never mindI caine. Oh, Eustacia, forgive me for the harm I have done you in these two past years! I see more and more that I have been your ruin. THE RETURN OP THE NATIVE. 56 Not you. This place I live in. Ali, your generosity may naturally make you say that. But I am the culprit. I should either have done more, or nothing at all. In what way ~ I ought never to have hunted you out; or, having done it, I ought to have persist- ed in marrying you. But of course I have no right to talk of that now. I will only ask this: Can I do any thing for you? Is there any thing on the face of the earth that a man can do to make you happier than you are at present? If there is, I will do it. You may command me, Eustacia, to the limit of my influence; and dont forget that I am richer now. Surely something can be done to save you from this! Such a rare plant in such a wild place it grieves me to see. Do you want any thing bought? Do you want to go any where? Do you want to escape the place altogether? Only say it, and Ill do any thing to put an end to those tears, which but for me would nev- er have been at all. ~ are each married to another person,~~ she said, faintly; and assistance from you, however correct, would have an evil sound. Well, theres no preventing slanderers from having their fill at any time; but as there will be no evil in it, you need not be afraid. I believe I am now a sobered man, and whatever I may feel, I promise you on my word of honor never to speak to you aboutwhat might have been. Thomasin is helplessly dependent on me now, and I know my duty to her quite as well as I know my duty to you as a woman unfairly treated. I will assist you without preju- dice to her. What shall I assist you in? In getting away from here. Where do you wish to go? I huve a place in my mind. If you could help me as far as Budmouth, I can do all the rest. Steamers sail from there. Yes, she pleaded, earnestly; help me to get to Budmouth Harbor without my grand- fathers or my husbands knowledge, and I can do all the rest. Will it be safe to leave you there alone? Yes, yes. I know Budmouth well. Then let me know when you wish to go. We shall be at our present house till De- cember; after that we remove to Southerton. Command me in any thin~ till that time.~~ I will think of this, she said, hurriedly. Whether I can honestly make use of you as a friendthat is what I must ask my- self. If I wish to go, and decide to accept your assistance, I will signal to you some evening at eight oclock punctually, and this will mean that you are to be ready with a horse and trap at twelve oclock the same night to drive me to Budmouth Har- bor in time for the morning boat. I will look out every night at eight, and no signal shall escape me. Now please go away. I can only meet you once niore under any circumstances, and that will be if I decide on this escape. Aft- er that I shall never see you again; and you must do your best to forget an unhap- py exile. GoI can not bear it longer. Gogo.~~ Wildeve slowly went up the steps, and descended on the other side; and as lie walked he glanced back, till the bank blot- ted out her form from his further view. CHAPTER VI. THOMASIN ARGUES WITH HER COUSIN, AND HE WRITES A LETTER. YEonEIGHT was at this time at Blooms End, hoping that Eustacia would return to him. The removal of furniture had been accomplished only that day, though Clym had lived in the old house for more than a week. He had spent the time in working about the premises, sweeping leaves from the garden paths, cutting dead stalks froni the flower beds, and nailing up creepers which had been displaced by the autumn winds. He took no particular pleasure in these deeds, but they formed a screen be- tween himself and despair. Moreover, it had become a religion with him to preserve in good condition all that had lapsed from his mothers hands to his own. During these operations he was constant- ly on the watch for Eustacia. That there should be no mistake about her knowing where to fluid him, he had ordered a notice board to be affixed to the garden gate at Alderworth, signifying in white letters whither he had removed. When a leaf floated to the earth lie turned his head, thinking it might be her footfall. A bird searching for worms in the mould of the flower beds sounded like her hand on the latch of the gate; and at dusk, when soft strange ventriloquisms come from holes in the ground, hollow stalks, curled dead leaves, and other crannies wherein breezes, worms, and insects can work their will, he fancied that they were Eustacia, standing without and breathing wishes of reconcilia- tion. Up to this time he had persevered in his resolve not to invite her back. At the same time the severity with which he had treated her lulled the sharpness of his re- gret for his mother, and awoke some of his old solicitude for his mothers supplanter. Harsh feelings produce harsh usage, and this by reaction quenches the sentiments that gave it birth. The more he reflected, the more he softened. But to look upOn his wife as innocence in distress was impossi 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ble, though he could ask himself whether he had given her quite time enoughif he had not come a little too suddenly upon her on that sombre morning. Now that the first flush of his anger had paled, he was disinclined to ascribe to her more than an indiscreet friendship with Wildeve, for there had not appeared in her manner the sigus of dishonor; so that the absolutely dark character of her deed could scarcely he maintained after making such an admission as this. On the evening of the fifth of November his thoughts of Eustacia were intense. Echoes from those past times when they had exchanged tender words all the day long came like the diffused murmur of a sea- shore left a mile behind. Surely, he said, she might have brought herself to coinmu- nicate with me before now. Instead of remaining at home that night, he determined to go and see Thomasin and her husband. If lie found opportunity, he would allude to the chief cause of the sepa- ration between Eustacia and himself, keep- ing silence on the fact that there was a third person in the house when his mother was turned away. If it proved that Wildeve was innocently there, he would doubtless openly mention it. If he were there with unjust intentions, Wildeve, being a man of quick feeling, might possibly say something to reveal the extent to which Eustacia was compromised. But on reaching his cousins house he found that only Thomasin was at home, Wildeve being at that time on his way to- ward the bonfire unwittingly lit by Chancy at Mistover. Thomasin, then as al~~ays, was glad to see Clym, and took him to in- spect the sleeping baby, carefully screening the candle-light from the infants eyes with her hand. Tamsin, have you heard that Eustacia is not with me now I he said, when they had sat down again. No, said Thomasin, alarmed. And not that I have left Alderworth ~ No. I never hear tidings from Alder- worth unless you bring them. What is the matter ? Clym in a disturbed voice related to her his visit to Susan Nunsuchs boy, the revela- tion he had made, and what had resulted from his charging Eustacia with having willfully and heartlessly done the deed. He suppressed all mention of Wildeves pres- ence with her. All this, and I not knowing it ! murmur- ed Thomasin, in an awe-struck tone. Ter- rible! What could have made heroh, Eu- stacia! And when you found it out you went in hot haste to hed Were you too cruel? or is she really so wicked as she seems ? Can a man be too cruel to his mothers enemy ? I can fancy so. Very well, thenIll admit that he can. But now what is to be done ? Make it up againif a quarrel so deadly can ever be made up. I almost wish you had not told me. But do try to be reconciled. There are ways, after all, if you both wish to. I dont know that we do both wish to make it up, said Clym. If she had wish- ed it, would she not have sent to me by this time ? You seem to wish to, and yet you have not sent to her. True; but I have been tossed to and fro in doubt if I ought, after such strong prov- ocation. To see me now, Thomasin, gives you no idea of what I have been; of what depths I have descended to in these few last days. Oh, it was a bitter shame to shut out my mother like that! Can I ever forget it, or even agree to see her again ? She might not have known that any thin~ serious would come of it, and perhaps she did not mean to keep aunt out alto- gether. She says herself that she did not. But the fact remains that keep her ont she did. Believe her sorry, and send for her. How if she will not come ~ It will prove her guilty, by showing that it is her habit to nourish enmity. But I do not think that for a moment. I will do this: I will wait a day or two longernot longer than two days certainly and if she does not send to me in that time, I will indeed send to her. I thought to have seen Wildeve here to-night. Is he from home ? Thomasin blushed a little. No, she said; he is merely gone out for a walk. Why didnt he take you with himthe evening is fine? You want fresh air as well as he. Oh, I dont care for going any where; besides, there is baby. Yes, yes. Well, I have been thinking whether I should not consult yonr husband about this as well as you, said Clym, stead- ily. I fancy I would not, she quickly an- swered. It can do no good. Her cousin looked her in the face. No doubt Thomasin was ignorant that her hus- band had any share in the events of that tragical afternoon ; but her countenance seemed to signify that she concealed some suspicion or thought of the reputed tender relations between Wildeve and Eustacia in days gone by. Clym, however, could make nothing of it, and he rose to depart more in doubt than when he came. You will write to her in a day or two ? said the young woman, earnestly. I do so hope the wretched separation may come to an end. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 57 I will, said Clym: I dont rejoice in my present state at all. And he left her, and climbed the hills to Blooms End. Before going to bed he sat down and wrot& the following letter: My DEAR WIFE EusrAcIA,I must obey my heart without consulting my reason too closely. Will yon come back to me i Do so, and the past shall never be mentioned. I was too severe; bnt, oh, Enstacia, the prov- ocation! Yon dont know, you never will know, what those words of anger cost me which you drew down upon yourself. All that an honest man can promise you I promise now, which is that from me you shall never suffer any thing on this score again. After all the vows we have made, Eustacia, I think we had better pass the remainder of our lives in trying to keep them. Come to me, then, even if you re- proach me. I have thought of your suffer- ings that morning on which I parted from you; I know they were genuine, and they are as much as you ought to bear. Our love must still continue. Such hearts as ours would never have been given us but to be concerned with each other. I could not ask you back at first, Eustacia, for I was unable to persuade myself that he who was with you was not there as a lover. But if you will come, and explain distracting ap- pearances, I do not question that you can show your honesty to me. Why have you not come before 0? Do you think I will not listen to you? Surely not, when you re- member the kisses and vows we exchanged under the summer moon. Return, then, and you shall be warmly welcomed. I can no longer think of you to your prejudice; I am but too much absorbed in justifying you. Your husband as ever, CLYM. There, he said, as he laid it in his desk, thats a good thing done. If she does not come before to-morrow night, I will send it to her. Meanwhile at the house he had just left Thomasin sat sighing uneasily. Fidelity to her husband had that evening induced her to conceal all suspicion that Wildeves in- terest in Eustacia had not ended with his marriage. But she knew nothing positive; and though Clym was her well-beloved cousin, there was one nearer to her still. When, a little later, Wildeve returned from his walk to Mistover, Thomasin said, Damon, where have you been? I was get- ting quite frightened, and thought you had fallen into the river. I dislike being in the house by myself. Frightened 0? he said, touching her cheek as if she were some domestic animal. Why, I thought nothing could frighten you. It is that you are getting proud, I am sure, and dont like living here since we have risen above onr business. Well, it is a tedious matter this getting a new house; but I couldnt have set about it sooner, un- less our ten thousand pounds had been a hundred thousand, when we could have afforded to despise caution. No, I dont mind waiting. I would rath- er stay here twelve months longer than run any risk with baby. But I dont like your vanishing so in the evenings. Theres sonic- thing on your mindI know there is, Da- mon. You go about so gloomily, and look at the heath as if it were somebodys jail instead of a nice wild place to walk in. He looked toward her with pitying sur- prise. What, do you like Egdon Heath 0? he said. I like what I was born near to; I ad- mire its grim old face. Pooh, my dear. You dont know what you like. I am sure I do. Theres only one thing unpleasant about Egdon. Whats that? You never take me with you when you walk there. Why do you wander so much in it yourself if you so dislike it? The inquiry, though a simple one, was plainly disconcerting, and he sat down be- fore replying. I dont think you often see me there. Give an instance. I will, she answered, triumphantly. When you went out this evening, I thought that as baby was asleep I would see where you were going to so mysteriously without telling me. So I ran out, and followed be- hind you. You stopped at the place where the road forks, looked round at the bonfires, and then said, Damn it, Ill go! And you went quickly up the left-hand road. Then I stood and watched you. Wildeve frowned, afterward saying, with a forced smile, Well, what wonderful dis- covery did you make 0? There, now you are angry, and we wont talk of this any more. She went across to him, sat on a footstool, and looked up in his face. Nonsense ! he said; thats how you always back out. We will go on with it now we have begun. What did you next see 0?I particularly want to know. Dont be like that, Damon, she mur- mured. I didnt see any thing. You van- ished out of sight, and then I looked round at the bonfires and came Perhaps this is not the only time you have dogged my steps. Are you trying to find out something bad about me 0? Not at all. I have never done such a thing before, and I shouldnt have done it now if words bad not sometimes been dropped about you. What do you mean? he impatiently asked. 83 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They saythey say you used to go to Alderwortli in the evenings, and it puts into my mind what I have heard about Wildeve turned angrily, and stood up in front of her. Now, lie said~ ilou rishing his hand in the air, just out with it, mad- am. I demand to know what remarks you have heard. WTell, I heard that you used to be very fond of Eustacianothing more than that~ though told more in a bit-by-bit way. You ought not to be angry. He observed that her eyes were brim- ming with tears. Well, he said, there is nothing new in that, and of course I dont mean to be rough toward you, so you need not cry. Now dont let us speak of the subject any more. And no more was said, Thomasin being glad enough of a reason for not mentionin Clyms visit to her that evening, and his story. CHAPTER VII. A NIGHT WHICH BROUGHT NO REST. HAYING resolved on flight, Eustacia at times seemed anxious that something should happen to thwart her own intention. The only event that could really change her po- sition was the appearance of Clym. The glory which had encircled him as her lover was departed now; yet some good simple quality of his would occasionally return to her memory, and stir a momentary throb of hope that he would again present himself before her. But, calmly considered, it was not likely that such a severance as now ex- isted would ever close up: she would have to live on as a painful object, isolated, and out of place. She had used to think of the heath alone as an uncongenial environment; she felt it now of the whole world. Toward evening her determination to go away again revived. About four oclock she packed up anew the few small articles she had brought in her flight from Alder- worth, and also some belonging to her which had been left there: the whole formed a bun- dle not too large to be carried in her hand for a distance of a mile or two. The scene without grew darker; mud-colored clouds bellied downward from the sky like vast hammocks slung across it, and with the in- crease of night a stormy wind arose; but as yet there was no rain. Eustacia could not rest in-doors, having nothing more to do, and she wandered to and fro on the hill, not far from the house that she was soon to leave. In these des- ultory ramblings she passed the cottage of Susan Nunsuch, a little lo~ver down than her grandfathers. The door was ajar, and a ribbon of bright fire-light fell across the ground without. As Eustacia crossed the tire-beams she appeared for an instant as distinct as a tigure in a phantasmagoriaa creature of light surrounded by an area of darkness: the moment passed, and she was absorbed in night again. A woman who was sitting inside the cot- tage had seen and recognized her in that momentary irradiation. This was Susan herseig occupied in preparing a posset for her little boy, who, often ailing, was now seriously unwell. Susan dropped the spoon, shook her fist at the vanished figure, and then proceeded with her work in a musing, absent way. At eight oclock, the hour at which Ens- tacia had promised to signal to Wildeve, if ever she signaled at all, she looked around the premises to learn if the coast was clear, went to the furze rick, and pulled thence a long-stemmed bough of that fuel. This she carried to the corner of the bank, and, glancing behind to see if the shutters were all closed, she struck a light and kindled the furze. When it was thoroughly ablaze Eustacia took it by the stem, and waved it in the air above her head till it had burned~ itself out. She was gratified, if gratification were possible to such a mood, by seeing a similar light in the vicinity of Wildeves residence a minute or two later. Having agreed to keep watch at this hour every night in case she should require assistance, this prompt- ness proved how strictly he had held to his word. Four hours after the present time that is, at midnighthe was to be ready to drive her to Budmouth as pre-arranged. Eustacia returned to the house. Supper having been got over, she retired early, and sat in her room waiting for the time to go by. The night being dark and threaten- inc,, Captain Drew had not strolled out to gossip in any cotta~e, or to call at the inn, as was sometimes his custom on these long autumn nights; and he sat sipping grog alone down stairs. About ten oclock there was a knock at the door. When the serv- ant opened it, the rays of the candle fefl upon the form of Fairway. I was a-forced to go to Lower Mistover to-night, he said, and Mr. Yeobright ask- ed me to leave this here on my way; but, faith, I put it in the lining of my hat, and thought no more about it till I got back and was hasping my gate before going to bed. So I have run back with it at once. He handed in a letter, and went his way. The girl brought it to the captain, who found that it was directed to Eustacia. He turned it over and overt and fancied that the writing was her husbands, though he could not be sure. However, he decided to let her have it at once if possible, and took it up stairs for that purpose; but on reach- lug the door of her room and looking in at the key-hole, he found there was no light THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 89 within, the fact being that Eustacia, with- out undressing, had flung herself upon the bed, to rest and gather a little strength for her coming journey. Her grandfather con- cluded from what he saw that he ought not to disturb her, and descending again to the parlor, he placed the letter on the mantel- piece, to give it her in the morning. At eleven oclock he went to bed him- self; smoked some time in his bedroom, put out his light at half past eleven, and then, as was his invariable custom, pulled np the blind before getting into bed, that he might see which way the wind blew on opening his eyes in the morning, his bedroom win- dow commanding a view of the flag-staff and vane. Just as he had lain down he was surprised to observe the white pole of the staff flash into existence like a streak of phosphorus drawn downward across the shade of night without. Only one expla- nation met thisa light had been suddenly thrown upon the pole from the direction of the house. As every body had retired to rest, the old man felt it necessary to get out of bed, open the window softly, and look to the right and left. Eustacias bedroom was lighted np, and it was the shine from her window which had lighted the pole. Won- dering what had aroused her, he remained undecided at the window, and was thinking of fetching the letter to slip it under her door, when he heard a slight brushing of garments on the partition dividing his room from the passage. The captain concluded that Eustacia was rather unwell, and would have dismissed the matter as not remarkable, had he not also heard her distinctly weeping. She is thinking ofthat husband of hers, he said to himself. Ab, the silly goose! she had no business to niarry him. I wonder if that letter is really his l He arose, threw his boatcloak round him, openedthe door, andsaid, Eustacia! There was no answer. Eustacia ! he repeated, louder, there is a letter on the mantel-piece for you. But no response was made to this state- ment save an imaginary one from the wind, which seemed to gnaw at the corners of the house, and the stroke of a few drops of rain upon the windows. He went into the passage, and stood wait- ing nearly five minutes. Still she did not return. I-Ic went back for a light, and pre- pared to follow her, but first he looked into her bedroom. There, on the outside of the quilt, was the impression of her form, show- ing that the bed had not been opened; and, what was more significant, she had not tak- en her candlestick down stairs. He was now thoroughly alarmed, and hastily put- ting on his clothes, he descended to the front- door, which he himself had bolted and lock- ed. It was now unfastened. There was no longer any doubt that Eustacia had left the house at this midnight hour; and whither could she have gone l To follow her was almost impossible. Had the dwelliu~ stood in an ordinary road, two persons settin ont, one in each direction, might have made sure of overtaking her; but it was a hopeless task to seek for any body on a heath in the dark, the practicable directions for flight across it from any point being as numerous as the meridians rudiating from the pole. Perplexed what to do, he looked into the parlor, and ~vas vexed to find that the let- ter still lay there untouched. At half past eleven, finding that the house was silent, Eustacia lit her candle, put on some warm outer wrappings, took her bag in her hand, and descended the staircase. When she got into the outer air she found that it had begun to rain, and as she stood pausing at the door it increased, threaten- ing to come on heavily. But having com- mitted herself to this line of action, there was no retreating for bad weather, since Wildeve had been communicated with, and was probably even then waiting for her. The gloom of the night was funereal; all nature seemed clothed in crape. The spiky points of the fir-trees behind the house rose into the sky like the turrets and pinnacles of an abbey. Nothing below the horizon was visible save a light which was still burning in the cottage of Susan Nunsuch. Eustacia opened her umbrella and went out from the inclosure by the steps over the bank, after which she was beyond all dan- ger of being perceived. Skirting the pool, she followed the path to ard Blackbarrow, occasionally stumbling over twisted furze roots, tufts of rushes, or oozing lumps of fleshy fungi, which at this season lay scat- tered about the heath like the rotting liver and lungs of some colossal animal. The moon and stars were closed up by cloud and rain, the density amounting to a lunar and sidereal extinction. It was a night which led the travellers thoughts instinct- ively to dwell on nocturnal scenes of disas- ter in the chronicles of the world, and on all that is terrible and dark in history and legendthe last plague of Egypt, the de- struction of Sennacheribs host, the agony in Gethsemane. Eustacia at length reached Blackbarrow, and stood still there to think. Never was harmony more perfect than that between the chaos of her mind and the chaos of the world without. A sudden recollection had flashed on her this moment: she had not money enough for undertaking a long jour- ney. Amid the fluctuating sentiments of the day her unpractical mind had not dwelt on the necessity of being well provided, and now that she thoroughly realized the condi- tions, she sighed bitterly, and ceased to stand 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. erect, gradually crouching down under the umbrella as if she were drawn into the har- row by a hand from beneath. Could it he that she was to remain a captive still? Money: she had never felt its value before. Even to efface herself from the country, means were required. To ask Wildeve for pecuniary aid was impossible for a woman with the shadow of pride left in her: his assistance in driving her to Budmouth had hecome almost distasteful to her during the last few hours, and was of the nature of humiliation. Had he not eagerly offered to do it, she could never have employed him. Any one who had stood by now would have pitied her, not so much on account of her exposure to weather, and isolation from all of humanity except the mouldered re- mains inside the barrow, hut for that other form of misery which was denoted by the slightly rocking movement that her feelings imparted to her person. Extreme unhap- piness weighed visibly upon her. Between the drippings of the rain from her nmbrella to her mantle, from her mantle to the heath- er, from the heather to the earth, very sim- ilar sounds could be heard coming from her lips; and the teurfuluess of the outer scene was repeated upon her face. The wings of her soul were broken by the cruel obstruct- iveness of all about her; and even had she seen herself in a promising way of getting to Budmouth, entering a coaster, and sailing to some northern or western port, she would have been but little more buoyant, so fear- fully malignant were other things. She ut- tered words aloud. When a woman in such a situation, neither old, deaf, crazed, nor whimsical, takes upon herself to sob and soliloquize aloud, there is something griev- ous the matter. I caut go! I cant go! she moaned. No money: I cant go! And if I could, what comfort to me? I must drag on next year as I have dragged on this year, and the year after that as before. How I have tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been against me I do not deserve my lot ! she cried, in a frenzy of hitter revolt. Oh, the cruelty of putting me into this bad, ignorant, stupid world! I was capable of much; but I have been in- jured and blighted and crushed by things beyond my control. Oh, what wicked meanness it is of Heaven to devise such tortures for me, who have done no harm to Heaven at all ! The distant light which Eustacia curso- rily observed in leaving the house came, as she had divined, from the cottage window of Susan Nunsuch. What Eustacia did not divine was the occupation of the woman within at that moment. Susans sight of her passing figure earlier in the evening, not five minutes after the sick boys ex clamation, Mother, I do feel so bad, per- suaded the matron that an evil influence was certainly exercised by Eustacias pro- pinquity. On this account Susan did not go to bed as soon as the evenings work was over, as she would have done at ordinary times. To counteract the malign spell which she imagined poor Eustacia to be working, the boys mother busied herself with a ghastly invention of superstition, calculated to bring powerlessness, atrophy, and annihilation on any human being against whom it was di- rected. It was a practice well known on Egdon at that date, and one that is not quite extinct at the present day. She passed with her candle into an inner room where, among other utensils, were two large brown pans, containing together per- haps a hundred-weight of liquid honey, the produce of the bees during the foregoing summer. On a shelf over the pans was a smooth and solid yellow mass of a hemi- spherical form, consisting of bees-wax from the same take of honey. Susan took down the lump, and cutting off several thin slices heaped them in an iron ladle, with which she returned to the living-room, and placed the vessel in the hot ashes of the fire-place. As soon as the wax had softened to the plasticity of dongh she kneaded the pieces together. And now her face became more in- tent. She began moulding the wax; and it was evident from her manner of manipula- tion that she was endeavoring to give it some preconceived form. The form was human. By warming and kneading, cutting and twisting, dismembering and rejoining the incipient image, she had in about a quarter of an hour produced a shape which toler- ably well resembled a woman, and was about six inches high. She laid it on the table to get cold and hard. Meanwhile she had taken the candle and gone np stairs to where the little boy was lying. Did you notice, my dear, what Mrs. Ens- tacia wore this afternoon besides the dark dress ? A red ribhon round her neck. Any thing else I Noexcept sandal shoes. A red ribbon and sandal shoes,~~ she said to herself. Mrs. Nunsuch went and searched till she found a fragment of the narrowest red rib- bon, which she took down stairs and tied round the neck of the image. Then fetch- ing ink and a quill from the rickety bureau by the window, she hlackened the feet of the image to the extent presumably covered by shoes; and on the instep of each foot marked cross lines in the shape taken hy the sandal strings of those days. Finally she tied a hit of black thread round the upper part of the head, in faint resemblance to a fillet worn for confining the hafr. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 91 Susan held the object at arms-length, and contemplated it with a satisfaction in which there was no smile. To any body acquainted with the inhabitants of Egdon Heath the image would have suggested Eustacia Yeobright. From her work-basket in the window- seat the woman took a paper of pins, of the old long and yellow sort, whose heads were made to come off at their first usage. These she began to thrust into the image in all directions, with apparently excruciating energy. Probably as many as fifty were thus inserted, some into the head of the wax model, some into the shoulders, some into the trunk, some upward through the soles of the feet, till the figure was com- pletely permeated with pins. She turned to the fire. It had been of turf, and though the high heap of ashes which turf fires produce was somewhat dark and dead on the outside, upon raking it abroad with the shovel the inside of the mass showed a glow of red heat. She took a few pieces of fresh turf from the chim- ney-corner, and built them together over the glow, upon which the fire brightened. Seizing with the tongs the image that she had made of Eustacia, she held it in the heat, and watched it as it began to waste slowly away. And while she stood thus engaged, there came from between her lips a murmur of words. It was a strange jargon the Lords prayer repeated backwardthe incanta- tion usual in proceedings for obtaining unhallowed assistance a~ainst an enemy. Mrs. Susan uttered the lugubrious discourse three times slowly, and when it had been completed the image had considerably di- minished. As the wax dropped into the fire a long flame arose from the spot, and curling its tongue round the figure, ate still further into its substance. A pin occasion- ally dropped with the wax, and the embers heated it red as it lay. CHAPTER VIII. IN SPITE OF RAIN AND DARKNESS SEVERAL WALK ABROAD. WmLE the effigy of Eustacia was melting to nothing, and the fair woman herself wa.s standing on Blackbarrow, her soul in an abyss of desolation seldom plumbed by one so young, Yeobright sat lonely at Blooms End. He had fulfilled his word to Thoma- sin by sending off Fairway with the letter to his wife, and now waited with increased im- patience for some sound or signal of her re- turn. Were Eustacia still at Mistover the very least to be expected was that she would send him back a reply to-night by the same hand; thouo to leave all to her inclina tion, he had cautioned Fairway not to ask for an answer. If one were told or handed to him, he was to bring it imn~edlately; if not, he was to go straight home without troubling to come round to Blooms End again that night. But secretly Clym had a more pleasing hope. Eustacia might possibly decline to use her penit was rather her way to work silentlyand surprise him by appearing at his door. To Clyms regret it began to rain and blow hard as the evening advanced. The wind rasped and scraped at the corners of the house, and filliped the eavesdroppings like peas against the panes. He walked restlessly about the untenanted rooms, stop- ping strange noises in windows and doors by jamming splinters of wood into the case- ments and crevices, and pressing together the lead-work of the quarries where it had become loosened from the glass. It was one of the nights when cracks in the walls of old churches widen, when ancient stains on the ceilings of decayed manor-houses are renewed and enlarged from the size of a mans hand to an area of many feet. The little gate in the paliugs before his dwell- ing continually opened and clicked together again, but when he looked out eagerly, no- body was there; it was as if the invisible shapes of the dead were passing in on their way to visit him. Between ten and eleven oclock, finding that neither Fairway nor any body else came to him, he retired to rest, and despite his anxieties soon fell asleep. His sleep, however, was not very sound, by reason of the expectancy he had given way to, and he was easily awakened by a knocking which began at the door about an hour aft- er. Clym arose and looked out of the win- dow. Rain was still falling heavily, the whole expanse of heath before him emitting a subdued hiss under the down-pour. It was too dark to see any thing at all. Whos there ~ he cried. Light footsteps shifted their position in the porch, and he could just distinguish in a plaintive female voice the words, Oh, Clym, come down and let me in ! He flushed hot with agitation. Surely it is Eustacia ! he murmured. If so, she had indeed come to him unawares. He hastily got a light, dressed himself, and went down. On his flinging open the door, the rays of the candle fell upon a wom- an closely wrapped up, who at once came forward. Thomasin ~ he exclaimed, in an inde- scribable tone of disappointment. It is Thomasin, and on such a night as this! Oh, where is Eustacia ~ Thomasin it was, wet, frightened, and panting. Eustacia? I dont know, Clym; but I 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. can think, she said, with much perturba- tion. Let me come in and rest; I will ex- plain this. There is a great trouble brew- inginy husband and Enstacia. What, what ? I think my husband is going to leave me, or do something dreadfulI dont know what. Clym, will you go and see? I have nobody to help me but you. Eustacia has not come homes? She went on breathlessly: Then they are going to run off together! He came in- doors to-night about eight oclock, and said, in an off-hand way, Tamsie, I have just found that I must go a journey. When? I said. To-night, he said. Where? I asked him. I can not tell you at present, be said; I shall be back again to-morrow. He then went and bnsied himself in looking up his things, and took no notice o me at all. I expected to see him start, but he did not, and then it came to be ten oclock, when he said, You had better go to bed. I didnt know what to do, and I went to bed. I believe he thought I fell asleep, for half an hour after that he came up and unlocked the oak chest we keep money in when we have much in the house, and took out a roll o something which I believe was bank- notes, though I was not aware that he had em there. These he must have got from the bank when he went the other day. What does he want bank-notes for, if he is only going off for a day? When he had gone down I thought of Eustacia, and how he had met her the night beforeI know lie did meet her, Clym, for I followed him part of the way, but I did not like to tell you when you called, and so make you think ill of him, as I did not know it was so sen- ens. Then I could not stay in bed: I got up and dressed myself, and when I beard him out in the stable I thought I would come and tell you. So I came down stairs without any noise, and slipped out. Then he was not absolutely gone when you left ? No. Will you, dear Cousin Clym ,go and try to persuade him not to go? He takes no notice of what I say, and puts me off with the story of his going on a journey, and will be home to-morrow, and all that; but I dont believe it. I think you could influ- ence him. Ill go, said Clym. Oh, Eustacia ! Thomasin carried in her arms a large bun- die, and having by this time seated herself, she began to unroll it, when a baby appear- ed as the kernel to the husksdry, warm, and unconscious of travel or rough weather. Thomasin briefly kissed the baby, and then found time to commence crying, as she said, I brought baby, for I was afraid what might happen to her. I suppose it will be her death. Clym hastily put together the logs on the hearth, raked abroad the embers, which were scarcely yet extinct, and blew up a flame with the bellows. Dry yourself, he said. Ill go and get some more wood. No, riodont stay for that. Ill make up the tire. Will you go at onceplease will you . Yeobright ran up stairs to finish dressing himself. While he was gone another rap- ping came at the door. This time there was no delusion that it might be Enstacias: the footsteps just preceding it had been heavy and slow. Yeobright, thinking it might possibly be Fairway with a note in answer, descended again and opened the door. Captain Drew ? he said, to a dripping figure. Is my granddaughter here ? said the captain. Then where is she ~ I dont know. But you ought to knowyou are her husband. Only in name, apparently, said Clym, with rising excitement. I believe she means to elope to-night with Wildeve. I am just going to look to it. Well, she has left my house; she left about half an hour ago. Whos sitting there ? My cousin Thomasin. The captain bowed in a preoccupied way to her. I only hope it is no worse than an elopement, he said. Worse? whats worse than the worst a wife can do ? Well, I have been told a strange tale. Before starting in search of her I called up Charley, my stable lad. I missed my pistols the other day. Pistols ? He said at the time that he took them down to clean. He has now owned that he took them because he saw Eustacia looking curiously at them; and she afterward owned to him that she was thinking of taking her life, but bound him to secrecy, and prom- ised never to think of such a thing again. I hardly suppose she will ever have brava- do enough to use one of them; but it shows what has been lurking in her mind; and people who think of that sort of thing onee, think of it again. Where are tire pistols ? Safely locked up. Oh no, she wont touch them a~ ala. But there are more ways of letting out life than through a bul- let-hole. What did you quarrel about so bitterly with her to drive her to all this? You must have treated her badly indeed. Well, I was always against the marriage, and I was right. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 93 Are you going with me ? sai(l Yeobright, paying no attention to the captains latter remark. If so, I can tell you what we quarrelled about as we walk along. Where to? To Wildevesthat was her destination, depend upon it. Tliomasin here broke in, still weeping: He said he was only going on a sudden short journey; but if so, why did he want so much money? Oh, Clym, what do you think will happen? I am afraid that you, my poor baby, will soon have no father left to you. I am off now, said Yeobright, stepping into the porch. I would fain go with ye, said the old man, doubtfully; but I be0in to be afraid that my legs will hardly carry me there such a night as this. I am not so young as I was. If they are interrupted in their flight, she will be sure to come back to me, and I ought to be at the house to receive her. But be it as twill, I cant walk to the Quiet Wom- an, and thats an end ont. Ill go strahrht home. It will perhaps he best, said Clym. Thomasin, dry yourself, and be as comfort- able as you can. With this he closed the door upon her, and left the house in company with the old man, who parted from him outside the gate, taking the middle path, which led to Mist- over. Clym ascended by the right-hand track toward the inn. Thomasin, being left alone, took off some of her wet garments, carried the baby up stairs to Clyins bed, and then came down to the sitting-room again, where she made a larger fire, and began drying herself. The fire soon flared up the chimney, giving the room an appearance of comfort that was doubled by contrast with the drumming of the storm without, which snapped at the window-panes and breathed into the chim- ney strange low utterances that seemed to be the prologue to some tragedy. But the least part of Thomasin was in the house, for her soul being at ease about the little girl up stairs, she was mentally following Clyni on his journey. Having in- dulged in this ima0inary peregrination for some considerable interval, she became im- pressed with a sense of the intolerable slow- ness of time. But she sat on. The mo- ment then came when she could scarcely sit longer; and it was like a satire ou her pa- tience to remember that Clym could hardly have reached the inn as yet. At last she went to the babys bedside. The child was sleeping soundly; but her imagination of possibly disastrous events at her home, the predominance within her of the unseen over the seen, agitated her beyond endurance. She could not refrain from going down and opening the door. The rain still continued, the candle-light falling upon the nearest drops and making glistening darts of them as they descended across the throng of in- visible ones behind. To plunge into that medium was to plunge into water slightly diluted with air. But the difficulty of re- turnin~, to her house at this moment made her all the more desirous of doing so: any thing was better than suspense. I have come here well enough, she said, and why shouldnt I go back again? It is a mistake for me to be away. She hastily fetched the infant, wrapped it up, cloaked herself as before, and shovel- ling the ashes over the fire to prevent acci- dents, went into the open air. Pausing first to put the door key in its old place behind the shutter, she resolutely turned her face to the confronting pile of firmamental dark- ness beyond the palings, and stepped into its midst. But Thomasins imagination be- in0 so actively engaged elsewhere, the night and the weather had for her no terror be- yond that of their actual discomfort and difficulty. She was soon out of Blooms End valley and traversing the undulations on the oth- er side of the hill. The noise of the wind over the heath was shrill, as if it whistled for joy at finding a night so congenial as this. Sometimes the path led her to hollows between thickets of tall and dripping brack- en, dend, though not yet prostrate, which inclosed her like a pooi. When they were more than usually tall, she lifted the baby to the top of her head, that it might be out of the reach of their drenehin0 fronds. On higher ground, where the wind was brisk and sustained, the rain flew in a level flight without appreciable descent, so that it was beyond all power to imagine the re- moteness of the point at which it left the bosoms of the clouds. Here self-defense was impossible, and individual drops stuck into her like the arrows into Saint Sebastian. She was enabled to avoid pools by the neb- ulous paleness which signified their pres- ence, though beside any thing less dark than the heath they themselves would have ap- peared as blackness. Yet in spite of all this Thomasin was not sorry that she had started. To her there were not, as to Eust ada, demons in the air, and malice in every hush and bough. The drops which lashed her face were not scor- pions, but prosy rain; Egdon in the mass was no monster whatever, but impersonal open ground. Her fears of the place were ration- al, her dislikes of its worst moods reason- able. At this time it was in her view a windy wet place, in which a person might experience much discomfort, lose the path without care, and possibly catch cold. If the path is well known, the difficulty at such times of keeping therein is not alto- gether great, from its familiar feel to the 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. feet; but once lost it is irrecoverable. Ow- ing to her baby, who somewhat impeded Thomasins view forward and distracted her mind, she did at 1a4 lose the track. This mishap occurred when she was descending an open plateau about half way home. In- stead of attempting, by wandering hither and thither, the hopeless task of finding such a mere thread, she went straight on, trnsting for guidance to her general knowl- edge of the district, which was scarcely sur- passed by Clyms or by that of the heath- croppers themselves. At length Thomasin reached a hollow, and began to discern through the rain a faint blotted radiance, which presently nssumed the oblong form of an open door. She in- stantly knew that no house stood here- abouts, and was soon aware of the nature of the door by its height above the ground. Why, it is Diggory Yenns van, surely ? she said. A certain secluded spot near Blackbarrow was, she knew, often Veuns chosen centre when staying in this neighborhood; and she guessed at once that she had stumbled upon this mysterious retreat. The question arose in her mind whether or not she should ask him to guide her into the path. In her anx- iety to reach home she decided that she would appeal to him, notwithstanding the strangeness of appearing before his eyes at this place and season. But when, in pur- suance of this resolve, Thomasin reached the van and looked in, she found it to be untenanted, though there was no doubt that it wa~s the reddlemans. The fire was burning in the stove, the lantern hung from the nail. Round the doorway the floor was merely sprinkled with rain, and not satura- ted, which told her that the door had not long been opened. While she stood uncertainly looking in, Thomasin heard a footstep advancing from the darkness behind her; and turning be- held a well-known form in corduroy, lurid from head to foot, the lantern-beams falling upon him through an intervening gauze of rain-drops which descended in front. I thought you went down the slope, he said, without noticing her face. How do you come back here again ? Diggory ? said Thomasin, faintly. Who are you ? said Veun, still unper- ceiving. And why were you crying so just now Oh, Diggory! dont you know me ? said she. But of course you dont, wrapped up like this. What do you mean? I have not been crying, and Ihave not been here before. Veun then came nearer, till he could see the illuminated side of her form. Mrs. Wildeve ! he exclaimed, starting. What a time for us to meet! And the baby too? What dreadful thing can have brought you out on such a night as this I She could not immediately answer; and without asking her permission he hopped into his van, took her by the arm, and drew her up after him. What is it I he continued, when they stood within. I have lost my way coming from Blooms End, andlamin a great hurry to get home. Please show me as quickly as you can. It is so silly of me not to know Egdon better, and I can not think how I came to lose the path. Show me quickly, Diggory, please. Yes, of course. I will go with ye. But you came to me before this, Mrs. Wildeve ? I only came this minute. Thats strange. I was lying down here asleep about five minutes ago, with the door shut to keep out the weather, when the brushing of a womans clothes over the heath bushes just outside woke me up (for I dont sleep heavy), and at the same time I heard a sobbing or crying from the same woman. I opened my door and held out my lantern, and just as far as the light would reach I saw the woman: she turned her head when the light sheened on her, and then hurried on down hill. I hung up the lantern, and was curious enough to pull on my things and dog her a few steps, but I could see nothing of her any more. That was where I had been when you came up; and when I saw you I thought you were the same one. Perhaps it was one of the heth folk go- ing home ? No, it couldnt. Tis too late. The noise of her gown over the heth was of a whis- tling sort that nothing but silk will make. It wasnt I, then. My dress is not silk, you see. . . . Are we any where in a line between Mistover and the inn ? Well, yes; not far out. Ah, I wonder! Diggory, I must go at once. She jumped down from the van before he was aware, when Veun unhooked the lan- tern and leaped down after her. Ill take the baby, maam, he said. You must be tired out by the weight. Thomasin hesitated a moment, and then delivered the baby into Veuns hands. Dont squeeze her, Diggory, she said, or hurt her little arm; and keep the cloak close over her like this, so that the rain may not drop in her face. I will, said Yenn, earnestly. As if I could hurt any thing belonging to you ! I only meant accidentally, said Thom- asin. The baby is dry enough, but you are pretty wet, said the reddleman, when, in closing the door of his cart to padlock it, he noticed on the floor a ring of water drops where her cloak had hung from her. Thomasin followed him as he wended right and left to avoid the larger bushes, THE MARINERS CAUTIONARY SIGNAL. 95 stopping occasionally and coverin~ the lan- tern while he looked over his shoulder to gain some idea of the position of Blackbar- row above them, which it was necessary to keep directly behiad their backs to preserve a proper course. You are sure the rain does not fall upon baby ? Quite sure. May I ask how old he is, maam ? He! said Thomasin, reproachfully. Any body can see better than that in a moment. She is nearly two months old. How far is it now to the inn l A little over a quarter of a mile. Will you walk a little faster ? I was afraid you could not keep up. I am very anxious to get there. Ah, there is a light from the window ! Tis not from the window. Thats a gig lamp, to the best of my belief. Oh ! sahil Thomasin, in despair. I wish I had been there sooner. Give me the baby, Diggoryyou can go back now. I must go all the way, said ~/enn. There is a quag between us and that light, and you will walk into it up to your neck unless I take you round. But the light is at the inn, and there is no quag in front of that. No, the light is below the inn some hun- dred yards. Never mind, said Thomasin, hurriedly. Go toward the light, and not toward the inn Yes, answered Venn, swerving round in obedience; and, after a pause I wish you would tell me what this great trouble is. I think you have proved that I can be trusted. There are some things that can not be can not be told to And then her heart rose into her throat, and she could say no more. TIlE MARINERS CAUTIONARY SIGNAL. (A ENERAL readers have verylittle knowl- ~ijW edge as to the system of cautionary sig- nals displayed at variOus parts of the At- lantic and lake coasts to warn shippers and skippers of approaching storms. The cherub wio sits up aloft is Gener- al A. J. Myer, wifli assistants Captain H. W. Howgate, Lieutenant Robert Craig, Lieuten- ant H. H. C. Dunwoody, and Lieutenant C. E. Kilbourne. It is just as well to know who are taking care of the life of poor Jack. It is not designed to give in this paper a full account of the system or instruments of the office, nor to enter into the scientific, agricultural, or marine aspects of the work, further than to explain in a few words the distribution of the signal stations and the mode of signaling. A total of 145 stations was maintained in 1876, includlug those from which reports are deemed necessary and those at which other action is required, to enable warnings to be given of the ap- proach and force of storms and of meteoric changes, for the benefit of commercial and agricultural interests. The average yearly cost of a station, exclusive of the pay and maintenance of the enlisted men on dnty at each, is $424 03. The average force at each station is 1.4 men. The duties of the men at each station forwarding telegraphic reports are to put in cipher and transmit tn-daily the results of observations, embracing the readings of the barometer, thermometer, the wind ve- locity and direction, the rain gauge, the relative humidity, the character, quantity, and movement of upper and lower clouds, and the condition of the weather. The same moment of absolute time is adopted at all the stations for these observations, so that they occnr at various local times at the stations. Each observation is recorded at its own station. Three other observa- tions are taken at the local times 7 A. M., 2 P.M., and 9 P.M., and recorded at the station. A seventh and special observation is taken at noon each day. At the cautionary signal stations an ob- server is constantly on duty to show a sig- nal which may be ordered at any moment. At stations from which river reports are furnished, an observation of the depth and temperature of the water is made and re- porte4 at 3 P.M., local time, each day. In case of threatening storms or danger- ous freshets, any station may be called upon to make hourly reports. The data thns gathered at a station are consolidated first in weekly and then in monthly reports, and transmitted to the central office in Washington, where they are collated, elaborated, and made of prac- tical value. At this office are also concen- trated reports from 626 places at which voluntary observations are taken on this continent, and from 272 places where simul- taneous reports are had in foreign coun- tries. From this great mass of data are continually elaborated the results which appear in the different issues and publica- tions of the office, the daily forecasts tele- graphed to the press throughout the coun- try, orders for display of cautionary signals on the coast line, the charts, and the week- ly and monthly publications. The work of the office is steadily increas- ing in accuracy, and the percentage of veri- fications of forecasts had risen from 76.8 in 1872 to 88.3 in 1876. It is believed that an average of 90 per cent. of accuracy is at- tainable. During the year 1876, 1577 cau- tionary signals were orifered, counting each separate display at each port a separate sig- nal, in anticipation of seventy dangerous

THE MARINERS CAUTIONARY SIGNAL. 95 stopping occasionally and coverin~ the lan- tern while he looked over his shoulder to gain some idea of the position of Blackbar- row above them, which it was necessary to keep directly behiad their backs to preserve a proper course. You are sure the rain does not fall upon baby ? Quite sure. May I ask how old he is, maam ? He! said Thomasin, reproachfully. Any body can see better than that in a moment. She is nearly two months old. How far is it now to the inn l A little over a quarter of a mile. Will you walk a little faster ? I was afraid you could not keep up. I am very anxious to get there. Ah, there is a light from the window ! Tis not from the window. Thats a gig lamp, to the best of my belief. Oh ! sahil Thomasin, in despair. I wish I had been there sooner. Give me the baby, Diggoryyou can go back now. I must go all the way, said ~/enn. There is a quag between us and that light, and you will walk into it up to your neck unless I take you round. But the light is at the inn, and there is no quag in front of that. No, the light is below the inn some hun- dred yards. Never mind, said Thomasin, hurriedly. Go toward the light, and not toward the inn Yes, answered Venn, swerving round in obedience; and, after a pause I wish you would tell me what this great trouble is. I think you have proved that I can be trusted. There are some things that can not be can not be told to And then her heart rose into her throat, and she could say no more. TIlE MARINERS CAUTIONARY SIGNAL. (A ENERAL readers have verylittle knowl- ~ijW edge as to the system of cautionary sig- nals displayed at variOus parts of the At- lantic and lake coasts to warn shippers and skippers of approaching storms. The cherub wio sits up aloft is Gener- al A. J. Myer, wifli assistants Captain H. W. Howgate, Lieutenant Robert Craig, Lieuten- ant H. H. C. Dunwoody, and Lieutenant C. E. Kilbourne. It is just as well to know who are taking care of the life of poor Jack. It is not designed to give in this paper a full account of the system or instruments of the office, nor to enter into the scientific, agricultural, or marine aspects of the work, further than to explain in a few words the distribution of the signal stations and the mode of signaling. A total of 145 stations was maintained in 1876, includlug those from which reports are deemed necessary and those at which other action is required, to enable warnings to be given of the ap- proach and force of storms and of meteoric changes, for the benefit of commercial and agricultural interests. The average yearly cost of a station, exclusive of the pay and maintenance of the enlisted men on dnty at each, is $424 03. The average force at each station is 1.4 men. The duties of the men at each station forwarding telegraphic reports are to put in cipher and transmit tn-daily the results of observations, embracing the readings of the barometer, thermometer, the wind ve- locity and direction, the rain gauge, the relative humidity, the character, quantity, and movement of upper and lower clouds, and the condition of the weather. The same moment of absolute time is adopted at all the stations for these observations, so that they occnr at various local times at the stations. Each observation is recorded at its own station. Three other observa- tions are taken at the local times 7 A. M., 2 P.M., and 9 P.M., and recorded at the station. A seventh and special observation is taken at noon each day. At the cautionary signal stations an ob- server is constantly on duty to show a sig- nal which may be ordered at any moment. At stations from which river reports are furnished, an observation of the depth and temperature of the water is made and re- porte4 at 3 P.M., local time, each day. In case of threatening storms or danger- ous freshets, any station may be called upon to make hourly reports. The data thns gathered at a station are consolidated first in weekly and then in monthly reports, and transmitted to the central office in Washington, where they are collated, elaborated, and made of prac- tical value. At this office are also concen- trated reports from 626 places at which voluntary observations are taken on this continent, and from 272 places where simul- taneous reports are had in foreign coun- tries. From this great mass of data are continually elaborated the results which appear in the different issues and publica- tions of the office, the daily forecasts tele- graphed to the press throughout the coun- try, orders for display of cautionary signals on the coast line, the charts, and the week- ly and monthly publications. The work of the office is steadily increas- ing in accuracy, and the percentage of veri- fications of forecasts had risen from 76.8 in 1872 to 88.3 in 1876. It is believed that an average of 90 per cent. of accuracy is at- tainable. During the year 1876, 1577 cau- tionary signals were orifered, counting each separate display at each port a separate sig- nal, in anticipation of seventy dangerous 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. storms. Of the total number of signals thus displayed, 77.3 per cent. were afterward reported as justified by the occurrence of winds having a velocity of twenty-five miles per hour. In the cases reported as failures of justificatiou the winds did not attain the prescribed degree of violence. It is difficult to determine beforehand the exact rate which the wind may have at a given point in advance of its theu position, and the office has to carefully steer its way between the considerations of loss occa- sioned by delay of shipping, owing to warn- ings unnecessarily given, and the far more serious matter of damage inflicted by winds unannounced. The cautionary signals for shipping are upon the coast, sea-board, or lake, and in view of the mariner. Each is under the charge of a sergeant and assistant, whose duty may be described as pickets of warn- ing on the fringe of the country. The ob- servations from the observing stations hav- ing converged upon Washington, and the general and special predications arrived at, the announcements radiate from the central officethe brainalong the wires, or nerves, to the remotest digits upon the signal hal- yards. When, as is sometimes the case, the signal station is placed in the Life-saving Service station, a farther advan- tage is gained, as the two work well together, and the Life-saving Service has I the benefit of the wires of the sister enterprise. The cautionary signal of the United States Signal Service is a square red flag I with a black square in the centre by day; a red light is used by night. The flags are of two sizes15 X 15 feet and 8 X 8 feet, the black square being one-ninth of the area of the flag. The larger flag is used for important stations, about ten in num- ber, and the smaller flag for the other stations. The stations on the Atlantic are from Maine to Texas, and on the lakes from Oswego to Duluth. The number of stations on the Atlantic proper is twen- ty-four, counting Key West; and on the Gulf of Mexico, six, omitting Key West, already enumerated. The lakes have fifteen stations. Warning notices are also The number ladle ted by a series of succes- seat by telegraph to the Canadian meteor- sive displays is referred to in a code hook ological service when any disturbance oc- of some 60,000 possible messa~ es. curs which is likely to affect them, and is Admiral Fitzroys (English) storm signal distributed to the points interested, consists of a hollow cylinder and cone, either The purport of the signal is this: A wind of which, or both simultaneously, may be having a velocity of twenty-five miles an suspended from a mast or staff so as to be hour may shortly be expected at this place. visible to ships in port or in a roadstea.d. That is all that the flag professes to say; Their positions and grouping denote the the probable excess over twenty-five miles an hour, and the direction of the wind, are not given by the flag. The time may short- ly arrive when, by an extension of the sys- tem, the additional data, such as severe storm expected, may be embodied in the signal; but at present the notice is just what it is called and professes to be cau- tionary. It is then the duty of the mari- ner, shipper, or hoever else is interested, to consult the weather report for farther information, and to make frequent exam- inations of local barometers and other in- struments, and study the local signs of the weather. When the time shall arrive that the Sig- nal Service shall have sufficient confidence in its data to make more detailed display of warning, affording more explicit notice of the expected disturbance, the signals will have a more elaborate reading. The au- thorities will then determine upon a method and code, and perhaps may find it desirable to use objects which are not subject to change of apparent shape according to the position from which they are viewed. One or two modes have been adopted in Europe, and may be noticed. Iledis system of cones for telegraphy was particularly designed to construct the indi- vidual portions which were associated to form a signal so that they could be read wherever they could be seen; not liable, like a flag, to be blown toward or away from the observer, so as to be illegible to him, nor liable in a calm to hang down the mast, and be therefore useless. RedIs sys- tem consists of four cones attached to a mast, and norm ally in a collapsed state. Either may be spread, umbrella fashion, by pulling on a cord, and the group shows the mode of indication of the numerals from 1 to 0. A cone of three feet base is ordinarily visible in daylight at five miles distance, and the code may be used by means of black and white flags in the absence of cones. 1 mat s co~z smm CAUTIONA Y SIGNAL FLAG. HELEN. 97 probable direction of the wind in an ap- proaching storm. Thus: cone point upward to the right of the staffnortherly gale; cone point downward to the left of the staff southerly gale; cylinder aboveexpect dangerous winds from both quarters succes- sively; upright cone above cylinderdan- gerous wind expected from the north; re- versed cone below cylinderdangerous wind expected from the south; and so on. It took some time to inspire the British sailor with confidence in the storm signals of Admiral Fitzroy, but in 1864 it was found I j ADMVIXI FIT7POY5 SIGNALS in England that 50 per cent of the storm warnings had proved correct ~nd in 1865 that 73 per cent had been verified. In France, during the year 1865, seventy-one warnings were realized, and seventy-six in the following year; 89 per cent. of the storms which occurred were signaled in the first winter, and 94 per cent. during the second. The North German Seewarte mentions that out of the storm warnings hoisted at Ham- burg in a given period 94 per cent. were cor- rect. The forecasts of the weather are de- rived in Europe more largely than in the United States from local observations, and less relatively from observed movements at distant points. The extent of territory of the United States is peculiarly favorable in allowing the movements of a storm to be traced from point to point, and to be antic- ipated in regions to which it is trending. The United States mariner has not alone the benefit of observations and deductions from local instruments, but also of predic- tions from the head-quarters of the govern- ment service, derived from the tn-daily re- ports of all the atmospheric conditions at widely separated points of observation, tak- en at the same instant of absolute time observatory time at Washington. As a storm from the Gulf or the Northwest drifts into the area of observation, its course, force, and extent are obtained from colla- tion of the data from various points, and the time of its arrival at any point within its sweep is fore-announced with substantial accuracy. VOL. LYIILNo. 343.7 HELEN. ~I 185 LAURESTON was standing at her study window in brown-study. She was na elderly lady of~ sonie forty years, with handsome, severe features, and a fig- ure so straight that it seemed never to have unbent since the days of babyhood. The room, with its sombre tints, was handsome and dignified like its owner, its floor soft with dark Smyrna carpets, and its walls im- posing with row upon row of soberly bound volumes. The distant fire-light executed a sort of -witches dance over the dark fore- ground and the motionless figure at the window. It was Christmas night through the world, and a robins snow was falling softly outside. Miss Laureston watched the snow-flakes dropping silently into the circle of faint light, until the gathering darkness changed the glass to a mirror which showed her nothin~ but a tall ghostly form answering to her own. She looked at this form curi- ously at first, and then uneasily. Even as it stood between her and the outer world, and set before her eyes the room that lay behind her, so it seemed to stand between her and the onward-coming life, and to set before her thoughts the life that lay behind her. It was a large, lonely house she lived in, with no friends, no guests, no Christ- mas cheer. She remembered another house, many miles away, that used to be lighted from top to bottom when Christmas came round. And on dark winter nights the glass used to throw back another figure be- side her owna delicate girlish figure that was sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes merry, sometimes reproachful, but in all its myriad moods never other than loving and innocentthe figure of her young sister. And in all the world no stranger was less likely to know of its present abiding-place than she herself this Christmas night. CamillaMillyMilly Laureston. The name was in her thoughts oftener to-night than it had been on her lips for twelve long years. One picture came back very bright- ly: the old homestead, with its quaint slop- ing no of, from whose highest window one could see the spire of the village church, and hear the noon bell when the day was still. Itwas on one of those still days that she had taken the little one from the arms that folded it so quietly, and carried it to her own room, knowing that she at ten and Milly at two were both alone in the world. Alone, except for an old uncle, who, hear- ing of his sister-in-laws death, came back to settle himself at the homestead, and to give to the two children a care more affec- tionate than wise during the few remaining years of his life.

HELEN. 97 probable direction of the wind in an ap- proaching storm. Thus: cone point upward to the right of the staffnortherly gale; cone point downward to the left of the staff southerly gale; cylinder aboveexpect dangerous winds from both quarters succes- sively; upright cone above cylinderdan- gerous wind expected from the north; re- versed cone below cylinderdangerous wind expected from the south; and so on. It took some time to inspire the British sailor with confidence in the storm signals of Admiral Fitzroy, but in 1864 it was found I j ADMVIXI FIT7POY5 SIGNALS in England that 50 per cent of the storm warnings had proved correct ~nd in 1865 that 73 per cent had been verified. In France, during the year 1865, seventy-one warnings were realized, and seventy-six in the following year; 89 per cent. of the storms which occurred were signaled in the first winter, and 94 per cent. during the second. The North German Seewarte mentions that out of the storm warnings hoisted at Ham- burg in a given period 94 per cent. were cor- rect. The forecasts of the weather are de- rived in Europe more largely than in the United States from local observations, and less relatively from observed movements at distant points. The extent of territory of the United States is peculiarly favorable in allowing the movements of a storm to be traced from point to point, and to be antic- ipated in regions to which it is trending. The United States mariner has not alone the benefit of observations and deductions from local instruments, but also of predic- tions from the head-quarters of the govern- ment service, derived from the tn-daily re- ports of all the atmospheric conditions at widely separated points of observation, tak- en at the same instant of absolute time observatory time at Washington. As a storm from the Gulf or the Northwest drifts into the area of observation, its course, force, and extent are obtained from colla- tion of the data from various points, and the time of its arrival at any point within its sweep is fore-announced with substantial accuracy. VOL. LYIILNo. 343.7 HELEN. ~I 185 LAURESTON was standing at her study window in brown-study. She was na elderly lady of~ sonie forty years, with handsome, severe features, and a fig- ure so straight that it seemed never to have unbent since the days of babyhood. The room, with its sombre tints, was handsome and dignified like its owner, its floor soft with dark Smyrna carpets, and its walls im- posing with row upon row of soberly bound volumes. The distant fire-light executed a sort of -witches dance over the dark fore- ground and the motionless figure at the window. It was Christmas night through the world, and a robins snow was falling softly outside. Miss Laureston watched the snow-flakes dropping silently into the circle of faint light, until the gathering darkness changed the glass to a mirror which showed her nothin~ but a tall ghostly form answering to her own. She looked at this form curi- ously at first, and then uneasily. Even as it stood between her and the outer world, and set before her eyes the room that lay behind her, so it seemed to stand between her and the onward-coming life, and to set before her thoughts the life that lay behind her. It was a large, lonely house she lived in, with no friends, no guests, no Christ- mas cheer. She remembered another house, many miles away, that used to be lighted from top to bottom when Christmas came round. And on dark winter nights the glass used to throw back another figure be- side her owna delicate girlish figure that was sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes merry, sometimes reproachful, but in all its myriad moods never other than loving and innocentthe figure of her young sister. And in all the world no stranger was less likely to know of its present abiding-place than she herself this Christmas night. CamillaMillyMilly Laureston. The name was in her thoughts oftener to-night than it had been on her lips for twelve long years. One picture came back very bright- ly: the old homestead, with its quaint slop- ing no of, from whose highest window one could see the spire of the village church, and hear the noon bell when the day was still. Itwas on one of those still days that she had taken the little one from the arms that folded it so quietly, and carried it to her own room, knowing that she at ten and Milly at two were both alone in the world. Alone, except for an old uncle, who, hear- ing of his sister-in-laws death, came back to settle himself at the homestead, and to give to the two children a care more affec- tionate than wise during the few remaining years of his life. 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. From the first, Agnes was his favorite. He was an infirm man, withdrawn from all the active affairs of life, and with some- thing of the old alchemists spirit in his blood; most happy when left nndistnrbed to his library and his laboratory. Miss Lan- reston remembered as if it were but yester- day that weird room fitted up under the sloping eaves, with the pale blue light from the spirit-lamps shining over retorts and mysterious bottles. The curious noises and explosions never terrified her as they did her sister. While Milly would throw her apron over her head, and hide in the farthest cor- ner of the house, she would creep up the at- tic stairs, and, with her face pressed close to the laboratory door, would listen in breath- less expectation for the next developments from within. One day her uncle found her there, ~nd after that the mysterious room was made free to her, though prohibited to the rest of the household. She never dis- arranged his implements or meddled with his dangerous reagents. No mouse could be quieter than she was, or more unlike a child. With her noiseless ways, her love of books, her dislike of every thing that was not decorous and quiet, her hatred of weak- ness and demonstration, she grew iuto the old maus life just in proportion as she grew farther away from her sisters. Milly was a little hoiden, laughing, pout- ing, crying, caressing, all in one breath. As a child, she could not be trusted lathe neigh- borhood of any thing that was breakable; and her prauks were as countless as they were troublesome to her grave elder sister and uncle. As a maiden, she was full of caprice, hated gloominess, and filled the house with young companions after her own sunshiny heart. Agnes was patient with her, but it was the patience of a superior being for an inferior. Mr. Laureston was kind to both his nieces, but he treated Mu- ly as a troublesome child, Agnes as a valued confidante. The years that lessened the practical difference in the ages of the two girls only increased this unconscious differ- ence of treatment. He died when Milly was fifteen, and never guessed what a silent, un- complaining, though childish, longing for love was springiug up in the heart of his younger niece with her growing womanhood. Agnes was at that time twenty-three, and considering the difference in the aces of the two sisters, as well as his own limited knowl- edge of the character of one of them, he was perhaps justified in leaving his property as lie did. Almost every thing was given over into the hands of Agnes. She was made the guardian of her young sister. A small sum was to belong unconditionally to Milly when she came of age. The remainder of the large estate was settled upon Agnes, leaving it to her judgment and generosity what part of it her sister was to inherit. Miss Laureston thought of all this, walk- ing restlessly up and down the room, aud struo-ohun with the dumb pain that filled oo c her heart. She knew that she had fulfilled that trust conscientiously. She had at once resolved to give Milly half the property on her majority, and had devoted her life to the fittiug of her sister for the responsible station she was to occupy. Never was a kitten more unwilling to be trained than was Milly Lanreston. She would not study; she could not be made to walk sedately or to behave herself properly at home or abroad. When she was scolded, she would cry like a baby; when she was petted, she would flush and brighten, and some new piece of mischief would dance into her eyes. Every thiug frightened her, from a mouse to a ghost, and grave talk only made her hide her face and run away. Agnes was strong, calm, and self-repress- ed. A caress from her was a sign of the deepest emotion, and when Milly begged for them constantly, and told her with tears that she did not love her because of the want of them, she only smiled and tried to have patience with her sisters weakness. In all this she was ignorant of the pain she was giviug, or of the childish heart that was longing so passionately to be loved in its own way. She was ignoraut of it this Christians night, and did not know why the look that used often to be on Millys face, like that of a child in pain, should haunt her so bitterly. The lonely room, the lonely house, the fone- hy life, out of which that face with its shining hair hind none twelve years agothese were all that remained to her to-night. Mihly had left her, had run away from home, leaving no clew by which to trace her. They afterward ascertained that she was married to a strolling actor, Paul Gess- ncr, whom Miss Laureston would have dis- dained to receive among her servantsa disreputable foreigner who had found his way to Millys heart by a handsome flice and a soft, caressing manner. Agnes took up her life again as best she could, sternly resolving that it should not be broken by the fault of another. She sold the old homestead, and looked around for another home. A cousin who had been an old school friend, and who was married now, wrote from a distant town begging her to make her home with them. This she would not do; but feeling even in her sclf-isolatioa some need of human friendship, she bought the house she now occupied, and which was only a short distance from her cousins, and moved there in less than a month after her sisters marriage. Here she had lived for twelve years, and here she was growing old. IIer cousin had two childrena boy of five, and a little girl younger still; but the baby face of the little one bore some shad- HELEN. 99 owy resemblance to her sisters, and she What a selfish, unfeeling person I am sbrun.k from seeing it. Harry was more of she mentally ejaculated. My very serv- a favorite, and soon contrived to make him- ants have more. thonglit for the poor than I., self very much at home in Aunt Agness She turued slowly back to the library, sombre house. saying, Yes, nurse; send them any thing As Miss Lanreston brought her thoughts you please. And put in a chicken or two down to this point, she remembered that to- with the other things. morrow was Christmas, and that this young The, fire-light and lamp-light together gentleman probably had unlimited expecta- made the room look very cheerful as she tions from her liberality on that occasion, closed the door behind her and shut out Breaking away from her thonghts, she sent the world. But Miss Laurestons thoughts for the old nurse, who had come with her to were any thing but cheerful. her new home, and had never been absent A lonely old woman, she was saying to from her a week at a time since her baby- herself, forgetting every body, and forgot- hood. ten by every body. That is what I shall be Nnrse, has any thing been done for Har- soon. Not a soul the better or happier be- ry l I forgot all about him, and lie will be cause I am in the world. I wonder, she disappointed if he does not get something thought, confusedly, whether I have not to-morrow. made a mistake somewhere l There must He wont be disappointed, Miss Agnes, be a way to peoples hearts, but I dont said the old woman, a comical look thittin~ know how to take it; I dont remember over her rugged face leastwise, not un- that I ever cared to know. less hes very unreasonable. If youll just Did she care now l she asked herself, have lights, so as to make it a bit more with a vague uneasiness growing out of her cheerful for you, Ill show you some little thoughts about her sister. She was not things out here in the hail closet. quite sure, but she remembered that Milly Miss Laureston rang for the lights, and used to care. Milly used to be fond of chil- then stepped out into time hall and peered dren too. Perhaps if she were to take a curiously into the dim closet in search of little child home But at this point she the little things. roused herself and tried to shake off her She held up her hands in dismay. It fancies. What love of children had she, or was a perfect store-room of childs play- understanding of them, to fit her for such a things, all jumbled together in utter con- responsibility? The child would fear nine, fusion. Sleds, kites, hoops, balls, toy vil- she thought, drearily, just as Milly used to. lages, dinininutive fire-engines, picture-books, I must even go my own way till I am old. trumpets suggestive of dire sounds, and She walked up and down the room once bri~ht jackknives suggestive of still direr or twice, and at last stopped before a large resultsplaythings within and without name, picture that rested on an easel. It was a enough to supply a regiment of children, beautiful engraving of the head of the An- met her astonished eyes. gel Gabriel, by Delarochine. The exquisite Ninirse, nurse, she exclaimed, what are outline, the wonderful meekness and purity we going to do with all these things? Why, of the bent head, moved her as they mad there will be nothing left to give him all never done before. The saimithiness that the rest of his days! Kites and hoops in encompassed it touched her life with a feel- the winter! And thereyes, that is cer- ing of comfort. She returned to it several tainhy a doll and a dolls house ! times during the long lonely. eveniling, and For Master Harrys little sister these after shine fell asleep, had a curious dream things are, interposed thine old woman. concerning it. Miss Laureston stopped short in sudden She thought she was walking along a confusion; she hal forgotten the existence very rough and stony road, carrying a little of the little girl. child in her arms. A thick darkness was To be sure, she said, hurriedly; you around her, so timat she contimmally stumbled were quite right, nurse. I have been too and fell. As she weut on some one came much occupied to think about it. But Har- softly up behind, amind she hooked round and ry can not Imave all these things. Here are saw the Angel Gabriel by the faint light enough to fill a toy-shop. which shone around his head. He held in No; Miss Agnes; but I thought, per- his band a trumpet which he raised to his haps, after youd taken all you wanted for lips, but instead of sound blew from it light the children, youd like to send the others a broad and brilliant radiance that ilin- to those Caxtons that live down near the mined the whole landscape. Being in her village. They are as poor a~s poor can be, sleep without fear of him, she asked, Do and the house is just packed with children. you li~ht my path because I have this child I dont expect they even know what Christ- in my arms mas means. Yes, he answered. As long as you For the second time Miss Laureston blush- carry that child, you shall have light wher- ed with self-reproach, ever you go. 100 HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. After that the dream grew indistinct, and gradually faded away in deeper sleep. The next day was clear and pleasant, with a light snow only aa inch or two deep cov- ering the ground. About noon she remem- bered Harry, and began to wonder whether he would make her a Christmas call or not. That was the precise point which Master Harry himself, perched on an old stone wall not many rods away, was anxious to settle; for he was strictly forbidden to go to Aunt Agness house that morning, Mrs. Gaston, knowing his propensity to demand presents, having proved obdurate to his most pathet- ic coaxings. As far as the turn in the road where the stone wall ended he might go, and no farther. Was ever such a Tantalus restriction devised before ~ for there in sight were the very chimneys down which he was sure Santa Clans had swooped the night before. He was not quite sure that it was not his solemn duty to go and divide the spoils, on the principle of a law of na- ture superseding an artificial one; but as his conscience was uncomfortably active, he compromised the matter by resolving to stay where he wasas long as the snow lasted. The snow was rapidly disappearing, but delightful hoards of it still lurked in the cool crannies of the wall. While he was down on his knees busily unearthin ~ a specially fine deposit, two hands suddenly appeared over the top of the wall, and a little girl miraculonsly dropped into the road at his side. She was muffled up in coarse wrap- pings, and came down on~her feet like a gigantic snow-ball. Harry stared at her a moment or two, and then he got up and stared at the wall. But it was a very thick and high one, far above his head, and he could see nothing at all; only he fancied he heard a faint rus- tling, as if a snake were slipping away among the dead leaves on the other side. When the sound died away ho turned his attention to his new comrade. She was a tiny little creature, shivering with the cold, and half sobbin~ with fright and sleepiness. When Harry touched her she stopped cry- ing, and looked at him out of a pair of big blue eyes. You is not as pretty as my little sister,~ said Harry, after a critical inspection of her eyes, nose, and mouth. Whos your mam- ma l he demanded, receiving no answer to this remark. Is you Santa Clauss little girl, and did he drop you here for a Christ- mas present ? Still no answer, but the same wondering look. ~ Its perlite to answer when people speaks to you, mamma says. Finding that this hint was not taken, he offered to initiate her into the mystery of making snow-balls, in the hope that this might unloosen her tongue. The child seemed to understand this language, for she laughed gleefully, and the two soon estab- lished a very satisfactory copartnership in mud and snow. But by-and-by prudence snggested to Harry that he shonld beat a retreat in one direction or the other, for very soon mamma would be sending to look for him. He looked at his companion, and seeing what a little creature she was, a dim sense of mas- culine responsibility concerning her began to enter his mind. Are you a-coming to visit my mamma I he asked, doubtfully. Then a bright thought popped into his head, a (lelightful reconcili- ation of duty and interest. Yous a-going to see Aunt Agnes, he proclaimed, decisive- ly. Ill go and show you the way, cause yous too little to go alone. Mamma will be very glad if I doesnt let you go alone. The child stood still, looking at him with the same questioning blue eyes. Mamma will be very glad, repeated Harry, with dignity, holding out his hand. She put her little fat one into it, and he led her toward the house with sparkling eyes. I will tell Aunt Agnes yells a present from Santa Claus, and then praps praps shell say he left a present for me too. But though the house was in sight, they did not get over the road very fa.st; the tiny feet of Harrys little Christmas preseiit were hardly nsed. to walking on smooth floors; they stumbled very uncertainly through the clinging mud left by the melting of the snow. He had fairly to drag her up the broad front steps at last. This accomplish- ed with some difficulty, lie marched straight to the library to find Aunt Agnes, still pull- ing her along by the hand, and pnshed open the door without ceremony. Seldom had two dirtier children invaded a well-ordered room than the two who met Miss Laurestons astonished eyes as she looked up from her book. Harry dropped the childs hand an(l ran up to her. Aunt Agnes, you said you did want a little boy one time when I comed to see you. I couldnt find any little boy, cause they all have mammas; but I found a little girl, and shes a Christmas present for you, auntie, from Santa Claus. Miss Laureston looked in bewilderment from her nephew as he calmly appropriated and presented his treasure-trove to the lit- tle stranger he had left standing near the door. Such a baby as she looked, and so forlorn, standing there all alone in that great room, with both tiny hands clinging to a chair, and her eyes half closing from sheer weariness. Something woke up in Miss Lanrestons heart that hind never been there before, and she hastily crossed the room and lifted the child in her arms, mud- HELEN. 101 dy dress and all. As she did so, her eyes rested upon the picture of the Angel Gabriel, and a sudden thrill went through her at the remembrance of her dream. The child went quietly to sleep without even looking to see who held her, and Miss Laureston studied the baby face so close to her own with a curious mixture of uncertainty and satis- faction. Harry, she said, come here and tell me who this little girl is. But Harry, having caught a glimpse of nurse in the hall, bad already stolen out of the room, with a prophetic inkling of the things to be revealed in that closet. Miss Laureston waited patiently for an hour, still holding the sleeping child iu her arms, till her nephew again made his ap- pearance, with sundry hoops, steam-engines, and carts bouncing after him. Then she repeated her inquiry: Who is this little girl? 1 don know, said I-larry. She comed over the wall all of a sudden; two hands dropped her down in the road. I guess it was Santa Clans. When Miss Laureston came fully to un- derstand the facts of Harrys marvellous story, there was a commotion in the great house. Servants were sent right and left to discover the owner of the child her neph- ew had abducted. The stone wall, the neigh- boring woods, all the country round, were searched, but all to no purpose. The little girl wore coarse clothes, not unlike those of the children of poor families, and tied around her neck was a handkerchief of somewhat finer quality, having on it the name Camilla E. Beckwith. The old nurse was the first to discover the nanie, and showed it to her mistress, with some hesitation, remembering the oth- er Camilla, who was Milly Gessner now, and never Milly Laureston again. Miss Laureston just glanced at it, and turned away her head. Take it away, nurse, she said, wearily, and ask Mr. Adams to call here as soon as he can make it convenient. I want to con- suIt him about the best way of advertising for the childs friends. This name will be of some help. Mr. Adams was her lawyer; he made his appearance that afternoon, and was soon put in possession of the whole story, as far as any body knew it. But when she came to the name a sudden look of intelligence flashed over his face. Camilla Beck~vith, you said? There was no other mark found upon any of her clothing ? None that we could discover. And the clothes were co~rse like those worn by poor people ? All except the handkerchief, which was of fine quality. Then I suppose that I can tell you her parentage, Miss Laureston; but I fear it will not be of much use in solving the question what is to he done with her. To his sur- prise something very like pleasure came into the eyes of his companion at this last remark. I-Ic waited a moment, but as she gave no explanation of it, he went on: You doubtless are acquainted with the fact that suicides are unfortunately not uncommon among the poor at this time of the year, when the cold weather causes increased destitution ? Miss Laureston started, and then asked, Are the childs parents dead? Did either of them Mr. Adams answered the question as if she had finished it. Yes; the woman I believe to be the mother of the child was found dro ~ned in the river last night. Her body was taken to the morgue, and on it were several articles of clothing marked with that same nameCamilla Beckwith. She was, moreover, identified with a woman who has been lurking round this neighbor- hood for several days, having with her a child like the one you describe. Doubtless with some notion of providing for its safety, she dropped it down beside your nephe~ in the curious manner he reported before going away to carry out her own desperate plan. Drowned! On Christmas night ! re- peated Miss Laureston, in a low, oppressed voice. The very night of all others that the ~ orld is full of happiness ! It was very sad. If she had made her poverty known, help would have been given her without doubt. Miss Laureston was silent. Across her (lecorous, quiet, well-ordered life flashed the vision of this suffering woman, to whom no help was so welcome as the help that caine frous the dark river. She felt almost suffo- cated, as if from a bodily feeling of the pressure of human suffering. It was the first time any pain but her own had ever come so near to her. It was the first thie she, whose whole ideal of life was proud strength, had ever felt pity for despairing weakness. In the midst of her confused thoughts a conviction crept through her that this new anguish of pity, this strong vearulug over the motherless child, was the first ray of the visionary light that should lighten her path. My HelenmyLight! she repeated, soft- ly, to herself, with a sudden resolve to call the baby Helen, because of its beautiful meaning. She did not even say to herself that she would adopt her, so completely did she seem to belong to her and to no other in all the world. May I not see the little girl ? asked Mr. Adams, breaking in upon her reflections. I should like to see if she resembles her mother. 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Miss Laureston colored, hesitated, and at This she said with as much assurance as if last ordered the child to be brought in. The the name had been a fact of ten years stand- reason of her hesitation became manifest a ing, instead often minutes, in her thoughts. minute later. The gentleman, who was ex- Then, little Miss Helen, will you shake pecting to see a little waif wrapped in coarse bands with a new friend, who is an old friend clothes, or at best the cast-off garments of of your charity, almost rubbed his eyes with amaze- Of her aunts, said Miss Laureston, com- ment when the nurse came, bringing in her posedly. Shake hands ~ith the gentle- arms a tiny dimpled maiden arrayed in the man, Helen. whitest of white dresses, delicate sash, and As if she understood, the child stretched bronze shoes, and set her down by the side out a tiny hand; but when he offered to of the mistress. Most wonderful of all,there take her in his arms, she pulled away with was Miss Laureston herself, the strictest and a little cooing laugh, and hid her face on most unbending of dignified ladies, actually her new aunts shoulder. stooping over the child to caress its short The color flushed all over Miss Laurestons silky curls as it clung to her knees, with a face with delight, while she pretended to look as if she had forgotten every one else scold Helen for her shyness. Long years in the room but the baby whose face she afterward, she used to say that Helen would had never seen till two short days ago. never once leave her of her own free-will to Mr. Adams put on a resigned look, and go to any one else all the days of her baby- tried to remember that he was dealingwith hood, and that she believed it would almost a woman. Miss Laureston presently remem- have broken her heart if she had done so. bered that she was dealing with a man, and The child was happy and contented with tried to give her mindto husiness. A sud- many other people as long as Aunt Agnes den doubt chilled her whether, after all, she was not in the room, but when she was, no- was free to keep her treasure, body would answer but this same Aunt Is it not possible that the child may Agnes. If any body else offered to take her, have other friendsbesides the mother I she always bad refuge in the same pretty she asked, hesitatingly. trick of turning her back on the suppliant, It is possible, of course. But I think and peering out at him from behind Miss in that case the woman would have left it Lanrestons head. with them, since she evidently did not wish Mr. Adams was mistaken in one of his it to perish with herself Besides,judging surmises. Kind, generous Mrs. Gaston siev- by what we know of the mothers history, er troubled herself about the possible dis- it would hardly he a benefit to the little position of her cousin~ s money, but she did girl to give her over to such relatives, if feel a little astonished, and not a little hurt, they exist, nor is it likely that they would to think that her own baby girl had always have any desire or ability to take care of been unnoticed, while Miss Laurestoa was her. She will be much better off in some so ready to take this stranger to her home orphan asylum. and her heart. Miss Laureston looked up indignantly, But then there was Harry; he had found but was appeased by the twinkle in the the mysterious w y to Aunt Agness heart lawyers eyes that accompanied these last a fact which nobody knew better than words. the young g~ntlemau himself. Mrs. Gastun No orphan asylum will ever have her, thought of Harry, and thought of the lone- e~e said, taking up the child, who com- ly life her cousin had led, and she was not menced to tug at her bracelet. The delud- able to keep any harsher resentment than a ed woman immediately took it o11 andsur- slight coldness of manner toward the tiny rendered the costly plaything into the baby princess who had so suddenly come to her hands, to be mauled as it might suit them. kin dom. Shes welcome to every thing already, Meanwhile Miss Laureston gave herself I see, remarked Mr. Adams, with another over wholly to the strong affection that col- twinkle. ored her sober, elderly life with something She is welcome to every thing I have in of the lost grace of youth. She certainly the world, said Miss Laureston, with such loved Harry, but she almost idolized Helen. evident sincerity that his politeness hardly The very faults of the child were beautiful kept him from a surprised whistle. in her sight, and no purple and fine linen Wonder what theyll think of this over was too costly to be lavished upon her. at Gastons, he thought: those two chil- Helen soon learned to talk plainly, to run dren might have come in for the property about easily, and to get into mischief more if this one hadnt turned up. Then, aloud, easily. It took the whole corps of servants and with all deference, he inquired, What to watch her, and there were not many is the name of the little lady I I presume nooks in the dark stately house out of you have already had her christened. which her dimpled face with its flushed Not christened yet, said Miss Laureston, cheeks and its soft rings of shining hair, laughing, but named. Her name is Helen. did not peep sooner or later. HELEN. 103 When night came Miss Laureston wonid carry her to the library, where the fire-light shone on the head of the Angel Gabriel, and rock her softly to sleep, while all the flickering light of th~ room seemed to gath- er and rest tenderly upon the baby form. Once, when she had laid her in her crib and was sitting alone, still hnmming softly to herself the old cradle song she had been singing to Helen, a sudden vision came to her of the years that were gone and the life that could never be recalledher sisters life and her own. The love that she show- ered upon the child up stairshow much of it had she showed to her young sister? The kisses that were rained upon Helens facecould she not remember the time when Milly had pleaded for only one, and reproached her that she never gave it vol- untarily? Could she not remember how the tears had dropped one by one over Millys face when she told her, very gently indeed, that she was fanciful and unreason- able in doubting her love because it could not take that childish form? Did she think it childish now, when Helens little hand was laid against her lips? and did the God who sent loving, child-like hearts into the world mean that they should be left to wear themselves out with pain be- cause they were not schooled in the self- contained dignity of calmer natures? For the second time the lesson appointed to her, the light that was to light her path, came in pain, came at the hands of the child she had named Helen, the light of her life. From that day Miss Laureston learned to distrust herself. Thmembering her own childhood, it made her uneasy to see Helen grave even for a moment, or turn- ing from her play to books. It pleased her best when the child was busiest at mis- chief and every corner of the dim rooms echoed with her laughter, so that she was fairly in danger of being left to grow up in ignorance, if Miss Laurestons common-sense had not finally come to the rescue. She was eager that Harry should spend mtjch of every day at her house, in order that Helen might have some one of her own age to play with. And when the two had suc- ceeded in devising any specially unheard- of prank, the cheerfulness with which she went round inspecting damages was an in- describable exasperation to the unlucky servant who had to restore order. The two children grew up inseparable in all their plays, having only one chronic bone of dispute between themfor Harry would not own that Helen was as pretty as his sister. The little lady felt herself greatly aggrieved at such uncomplimentary speeches, and al- ways retorted by leaving him to himselg and running away to find Aunt Agnes. Harry soon found wisdom to be the better part of valor, and compromised his principles for his comfort in the most unheroic manner by ad- mitting that his playmate might some time be almost as pretty as Kitty, Providence permitting. But this was not till the young lady was twelve years old, and Master Harry consid- ered himself to have arrived at years of dis- cretion. They had many a pitched battle before that time, but generally agreed to a truce the first pleasant day afterward. In rainy weather they took the great garret for a field of operations, and Miss Laureston never suspected that Millys picture, so many years forgotten, was dragged out by their childish fingers, and with some difficnlty restored to a perpendicular position. They named it the pretty lady, and Helen dust- ed it off with her white dress. Afterward they often pretended that it was alive, and the silent, sweet face of the pretty lady was made a sharer in many of their mm- promptu plays. As she grew up, Helen, in her more quiet moods, used often to slip ,away and sit for hours facing the portrait, weaving her own quaint fancies in this un- known presence. When she was fifteen, and was beginning to put on the shy, delicate ways of young womanhood, Miss Laureston was nearing what the world calls old abe. And when, as often now, she realized this, and saw the whiteness on her hair, and knew that the one dear love which made her able to meet old age gladly and peneefully was the love that came to her that Christmas night to be the light of her life, she had no words for the blessings that her heart poured out on Helens head, no ~ ords for the penitence and humility that filled her when she thought of her sister. These twenty-five years had J)a.ssed without sign from Milly, and she did not now believe her to be alive. But with a longing desire for atonement, she sometimes tried to find her way into the hearts and lives of the poor. The sense that she failed in this was the only failure that greatly troubled her. For those she tried to benefit gave her gratitude and gladness, and even a distant, respectful affection, but she never knew how to find the way to their natural, spontaneous love, and they never knew how to show it. At fifty-five a nature can not be wholly changed, if indeed it ever can. Miss Lan- reston did not understand that there were uses for all kinds of natures, and she was painfully trying to change her own to a mod- el it never could have fitted. Her youth- fri fault had lain, not in being reserved and undemonstrative, but in expecting every one else to be so too; and now she was making tIme opposite mistake of refusing her own character any place or usefulness in the world. But whoever else misunderstood her, Hel- en never did so, or was other than fearless 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in the presence of the love that had shel- tered her from all the storms of life. It oc- curred to the girl one day to ask Miss Lan- reston about the picture in the garret, and why it was not hung down stairs. In all those fifteen years she had never put a ques- tion about it before, for it was so completely a part of her childhood that it seemed never to have had any other history or any name. Miss Laureston had forgotten the exist- ence of the picture, and was struck with a keen remorse. She at once ordered it to be brought down stairs and hung in a place of honor, at the same time giving Helen the outline of her sisters story. It was a bright sunny day in late October that the picture was rehung, and the clear eyes of Milly Laurestoa looked down upon the home life as they had done long ago. Miss Laureston was late at breakfast that morning, and Helen, wbile waiting for her, went up to the picture and stood before it in an idle attitude very macli like that of the figure before her. While so gazing, and having forgotten all about breakfast, she was startled by a sharp cry behind her, and looked round to see her aunt, white and trembling, standing in the doorway and looking from her to the picture in a bewil- dered way that was wholly unaccountable. She called the girl Milly first, and then Hel- en, and seemed not to know in whose pres- ence she stood; but when Helen would have hurried to her, she begged her to remain where she was. So she stood still, rather frightened, while Miss Laureston looked at the marvellous likeness before her. Line for line, feature for feature, Helens face and the pictured face were exactly the same, The ages, too, were nearly alike, and no stranger would have doubted that the young girl standing in front of it was the original of the portrait. Miss Laureston was so shaken that she was unable to think or reason, but she knew in her inmost heart that such a likeness could not be accidental. If Helen was not Millys child, she must be in some way re- lated to the family, and have drawn her face from the same distant ancestor who had bequeathed it to Milly Laureston. It was hours before she recovered her calmness, and then her first step was to send for the lawyer. To him she showed the likeness, and to him she committed the charge of making every possible search for the rela- tives or friends of the woman, supposed to be Heleiis mother, who had died in so sad a w~y. She also recalled to his memory the factthat the name on the handkerchiefCa- millawas the same as her sisters, and that the article was of different quality from the rest of the childs clothing. You told me, too, that the woman was dark, and in feature wholly unlike Helen, did youn~ot l she added. Hm, yes, said Mr. Adams, as he took in the snggestious of the strange story yes, I said so, certainly; but this likeness may be wholly accidental. And there will be great difficulty in finding proof at this dis- tance of time. Miss Laureston was silent; she felt con- vinced that the likeness was not an acci- dental one. In fact, there is only one way, continued Mr. Adams to put the matter into the hands of private detectives. And I fear that will be very nnpleasant to you. Miss Lanreston winced, but gave orders that it should be done immediately. The next month passed like a dream. Her feeling of the unreality of all that sur- rounded her, her dread of yielding up Helen to another, waned incessant war with her love for her sister. At times she almost dreaded to find Milly, because she might have a better right th~in herself to the love of her treasure; at other times she bitterly reproached herself with selfishness and hard- ness; at all times she was conscious that something, some revolutionary change in her life, was coming to meet her with steady tread, and she could neither evade nor re- sist it. At last, one frosty night, a little, dark, alert man, with eyes like an eagles, pre- sented himself at her door, and she knew that he was a detective, and that lie hind come with news. It was very quickly told, the story that she had been dreading so long. Mrs. Camilla Beckwithi was alive, and was now residing in a town about eighty miles distant. Previous to her second marriage she had been a Mrs. Gessner. Her husband had died in the tenth year of their married life, leaving her with no children and in ex- treme poverty. Afterward she had married Mr. Beckwitb, who had befriended her in her poverty, and who was a gentleman near- ly twice her own age, of good means and standing. By him she had one child, which, before it was two years old, had been stolen from her by a sister of her former husband, who had always been violently jealous of the second marriage, and was believed to have been insane. At the same time her husband fell ill with his last sickness, and in the sorrow and confusion of his death speedy search could not at once be made for the child. It was afterward ascertained that the woman had drowned herself, and they never doubted that the little girl per- ished with her, knowing the hatred she had borne to the childs father. The one passion of her life had been her handsome, dissolute brother Paul, and after his death she lh d set herself bitterly against the marriage of his widow with any other man. Mrs. Beck- with, the detective added, had been sick for a long time, hut finally recovered, and was now leading a quiet, retired life, greatly re HELEN. 105 spected and beloved by the whole neigh- borhood. Such, in substance, was the detectives story; and if he knew more than this, if he knew Mrs. Gessners name before her first marriage, or guessed whose child Miss helen Lanreston really was, he gave no siga of it. After his departure Miss Laureston sat and thonght in sore bewilderment. Not as to her duty, for that was clear; it was to go at once to her sister, and take Helen with her. But that Milly, little Milly, the baby, the willful ehild, should have gone through such an experience, while her older sister was watching one uneventful year add it- self to another in the old quiet house, seem- ed to her a thing incredible. She had been twice married, she had had a child of her own, and had tried all the depths of bereave- ment and anguish, and perhaps also its strange strength, for did not the man say that she was greatly beloved and respect- ed by all who knew her ? How the words repeated themselves over in Miss Laurestons brain that night, and refused to harmonize with any of her rec- ollections of that lost sister, little Milly, who had been always the weak one, to be taught and protected! And yet the weak- ness of the one had gone out to battle with many sorrows, while the strength of the other had been left to learn in silence and in safety the lessons of life. In her bewil- derruent Miss Laureston almost forgot her pain at the thought that any one else had a claim upon Helen. But morning came, and with it the need of action. She told Helen as gently as pos- ~ihle the story of her life and this late dis- covery of her mother. It comforted her not a little when the child clung to her and re- fused to leave her even for the sake of the unknown mother, who was to her only a dream. In order to reach the town where Milly lived they had to leave home by an early train and travel all day. Miss Laureston held Helens hand fast in hers when the train rolled into the station after that silent journey. In her confusion she had neg- lected to find out from the detective exact- ]y where Mrs. Beckwith lived, and though she knew the street, she did not know the house. It was a quiet country town, so peaceful under the last light of the settin~, sun that the trouble unconsciously slipped from her heart as they walked together up the elm- bordered street. But she still kept Helens hand in hers, and did not le