Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1006 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0074 /moa/harp/harp0074/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Note on Digital Production 0074 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Issue 439 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1006 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0074 /moa/harp/harp0074/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Issue 439 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December 1886 0074 439
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Issue 439, miscellaneous front pages i-2

D HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME LXXIV. DECEMBER, 1886, TO MAY, 1887. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 327to335PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1887. 1/29 COi~N~:LL~ ~ LiB~Ar~ b CONTENTS OF VOLUME LXXIV. DECEMBER, 1886MAY, 1887. ACADJAN LAND, THE Charles Dudley Warner 334 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece .... 334 A Ruin on Bayou Teche 3 A primitive Loom .... 335 Doorway of St. Martinsyille Hotel 343 A Lumber Station on the T~che .... 336 Looking to~vard Jeffersons House from Averys The Gulf from Averys (Petite Ansc) Island.... 33~ Island 346 A Swamper .... 338 Honorable 34Z Under the Moss .... 339 A Buzzard Roost 348 Goin~ to Church .... 340 View on the Bayou Teche at New Iberia 349 Moonlight on the Teche .... 341 On the Bayou Ti~re 331 Approach to the Jefferson M insion .... 342 Cotton Plantation on the Teche 352 A Louisiana Prairie .... 343 ACTING AND ACTOJIS C. Coquelin 891 II.T.USTRATIONS. Monnet-Sully as Hamlet...................... 891 Regnier in La Jole fait Peur 899 The Man and the Actor: M. Coquelin end his Henry Monnier as Joseph Prndliomme 900 Luthier de Cr6mone.................. 892 Fr~d~rick Lemairre in various Characters ..... 901 M. Coqi~elin as the Duc de Septmonts in Mounet-Sully as Hernani 902 LEtrang~re......................... 893 Delannay as Fortuiiio ....................... 903 Bressant 893 Coquelin in Les Rantzan................. 904 Mounet-Suhly apostropliizing Yoricks Skull in Coquehin the younger 905 llainhet................................ 895 Coquehin the younger in The Sphinx ....... 906 Lesneur in Les Ganaches................... 896 Pauhin Minier as Chioppard .................. 907 Lesneur as Don Quixote 891 Fr6d6rick Lemaitre as Rol)ert Macaire...... 907 Coquehin the younger as Pierrot .............. 897 Coquehin (La femme de Socrale)............... 908 Samson in Mademoiselle de Ia Seiglkwe 898 F~hix 909 Regnier, Coquehins Master 899 ALLEGHANIES, THE SOUTHERN GATEWAY OF THE Edmund Kirke 659 APRIL HOPES William Dean Bowells 381, 589, 788, 934 BACK FROM TIlE FROZEN POLE. A STORY Ellen L. Dorsey 810 BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. A THANKSGIViNG STORY......... Blanche Willis Hoaard 133 BLIND WILLY. A STORY B. L. Faijeoit 119 CAMPAIGNiNG WITH THE COSSACKS Frank D. Millet 235, 397 IT.T.USTRATION5. Midsummer 235 Midwinter 397 Cossacks raiding a Turkish Village 237 The Nagajka 397 Lassoing a Turk 238 Circassian Cossack and Prisoner 398 Grace before Meat 239 An Autumn Bivouac 399 Cossack Types 240, 241 Burial of Comrade 401 Equipments 242 Fifty Lashes 403 In Ambush 243 A Cup of Tea 404 Music on the March 245 Dance 405 Feasting in time Fleid 246 Circassian Cossack~ 407 A Camp 247 Circassian. Skirmishers 407 A foraging Party 248 Strange Booty 409 A mortal Wound 250 Tail-piece 411 CAUCASUS, THROUGH THE Ralph Meeker 715,910 IlLUSTRATIONS. Head of Russian Peasant 715 Circassian wearing the Bashmhik and Bourka ... 910 A Tea Shop 717 Street Scene iii Vladi-I{avkas 911 Polish Jews 719 Circassian Girl 913 head of Russian Je~v 721 A Circassian 915 Circassian D~vehhings 724 A Bit of Thus 917 Signal Woman 726 Russian Military Road 919 Mount Elbruz 727 Bombardment of Kers 921 CLIATTANOOGA.See Southern Gateway of the Alleghanies, The? 659 CHRISTMAS COMES, WHEN. Fromitispiece. Drawn by Etiwin A. Abbey 2 CHRIST, THE BOYHOOD OF General Lew Wallace 3 ir.T.USTRATION5. Initial L 3 Mary teaching Jesus the Alphabet Il To deck himself from the Anemone Beds on Listenin~ for Voices 13 time Hills 5 On the Way to Jerusalem 15 Angels ~vatching over time Child Jesus 7 In time Nazareth Synagogue 17 The Story came first from her 9 CONTENTS. COM1~D1E FRANCAISE, TIlE Theodore Child 691 !1I.ITSTtiATIONS. Initial 691 Scenc iii uDressitig-room 702 Exterior ot the Theatre 692 Waiting for her Cite 703 Statue of Corneille in the Vestibule 693 Dressin~-room of Mile. Lloyd 704 Gallery of Busts 694 Benoit-Constant Coqtuelin 705 Vestibule of the Theatre 693 Stage-Manager with his Staff 706 Ticket Office 696 Actors behind the Scenes (in the Giuignol) 707 The Grand Staircase 691 Hat and Cloak Room 708 Public Foyer, with Statue of Voltaire 699 Jules Claretie, Director, in his Cabinet 709 The Greenroom 701 Statue of Molkwc lit CORPORATIONSSee Social Studies 970 COSSACKS, CAMPAIGNING WITH THESee Cuinpaiguuiuig 235,397 CREOLE BELLE, A. Frontispiece 170 CUAUTLA.See Mexican Notes 951 DAY OF REST, THE. Frontispiece 494 DOGS.See Mastiff 928 DUELLING IN PARIS Theodore Child 519 iLLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 5t9 Intervention of Gendarmucs... 527 Fencing-room 520 A Sword Duel 528 Gambetta shooting Sparrows 521 Meeting of the Seconds 529 Time Gamubetta-Fourton Duel 523 Saimute-Betive Duel 531 Pistol Practice bOfore the Duel 524 First Les on in Fencing 533 A serious Duel .... 525 Ladies Feucing-roommi 534 DU MAURIER, GEORGE, DRAWINGS BY: Precedence at Bonnebonche Hall during the Holidays, 168; Rival Small and Earlies, 330; A Cnp of Tea and a quiet Ci~arette after Lunch, 492; Just in Tune for a Cop of Tea, 656; A festive Procession: Meet of Four-in-hand Club, Hyde Park, London, 834; Too Late, 996 EDITORS DRAWER. Overdoing Christmas, 163. Kissimug time Minister, 163. Coquetrys Amgmmment (C. 11. Tlmayer), 164. Sitting dowim ~vitlm a Preacher (Pet R. OLeumn), 164. A forcible Stt~- gmtstion, 164. R2mymne of a (Mrs George Archibald), 164. Paintiu~ the 1own Red, 164. tlonuesick horses, 165. An Editors Mistake, 165. Convertible Terms, 166. Goverimor Randolph (Johit S. Patton), 166. Dci Oak intl der Vitme (Charles Follen Arlams), 167. Prece- dence at Bonnej~o8clte hail dutrimug time Holidays (full page Illustration by George Dii Manner). 168. Curiosi- ties of time Calendar, 326. A Lawyer hit, 327. TIme Commit- try Parsons Relief, 327. A Note from an old Contribn- tom, 328. TIme Ctmildrens Ilotmr, 328. A critical Sitmiatioum, 329. Houv timey ~mint tite tmeuv Waterworks at Wmmsltitmg iou, 329. Riviul Small amuri Eanties (fmmllpage Ilimistra tioti by Geomge Dint Muimimiem), 330. Felimmiary: its Brevity its chief Recommimendation, 487. Jolmum Brougimani itt Ctticago, 438. By Ormier, Sir ! 488. Bible Histomy, 489~ A heat Retort, 489. A mmmv Use of Palinisimy (Illmmstma- mioum), 489. rlmeatrical Nmiisances, 489. rIme Differetuce, 490. A Lawyers Ruse exposed, 490. TIme Lock-picket, 491. A New Englatmd Trait, 491. A Legemid of St. Vud- euttimie, 491. A Cup of Tea umud a quiet Cigarette after Lutmclm (hllmmstratiomm by George Du Manner), 492~ Real- i~mn itt time Rmmssimmn Novel, 652. Printers and Cooks, 653. A valuable Grievamice, 653. A cammimme Accompammi- EDITORS EASY CHAIR. Metry Christmas to All ! 151. Lady Mavourneens Commemmts (mini Amnericati Comwtesy, 152. rIme Literary Gamig timid lime Omttsiders, itS seen from the Editors Stmnctum, 154. A too serious Interpretatloim of a comnic- ml Sitmuatioum, 155. A Field-day rut the Pocumutmick Valley Memmiorial Association, 156. Sylvesterabend, 315. 1imo Unveiiimm~ of time Statume of Liberty EmulIghtemmimig lime World, 311. Mr. Jmtliamm iImm~viimormues Immtemview witim Mm. Lowell, 518. Let imm time LigImi, 320. rime Amem- baim Opera acain itm time Field, 475. Wimat is the Nemvs? 416. rIme Vmmlmie of Cetisure, 411. WImy domestic Ser- EDITORS STUDY. A real Americaim, 157. Mr. Gosses Raleigh, 158. Mms. Dumily Mtmdisomm : men Philosophy, 159. A tmetv Timeo my of Stmobbemy, 160. Gateleys Woulds Progress, 161. Subscriptiomm Books and lime Book Agents Arts, 162. Holiday Litematmume: time old Ammmmual Wumsimington Irvimmg, 321. Dickenss Clmrisinias Stomies: his Imitaloms, 322. Etmglistm Cimristmas Slories of To-inlay, 323. Time Aimmemicaim Holinlay Book: meccmtt Exammiples, 323. Miss Woolsotms sitort Stomles, 482. Poverty Grass, 482. Miss Jeuetts A Wimite Heron, amid Otimer Stories, 483. Simort Stories by Emmropeamm Writers, 483. Amnenican Ex- antides: Pummil Demmiimmgs Adiromidack Skelcimes, Bi;et Harte, E. E. Humle, E. 11. Ilomuse, Ileminry Jammies, Ralpit moemil, 653. Anecdote of Jeffersoum Davis, 654. Marclm, 654. Armmiy Reqmtisition~, 654. Ammecdotes of Mr. Wasim- immgton Irvimmg Bisimop, time Mind-reader, 655. A Mormnomm Eider enibarmassemi, 656. Deriicatitmg mm Coutni-homuse, 656. Monmummmemutal ImmscnIlutiomms, 656. Just in Timmue fmmr ii Cup of lea Ifiullpage Illuisiratloim from a Drawing by Geouge Dii Mamurier), 656. Give time youummg Memm it Clmammce, 830. Marromv of time Novel of To-dmmy, 831. Time Mimmisleniumi Cammehidate, 831. Immductiomu (Ilimustrmmtiomm(, 832. A lImmmutmetic Catumlysis, 833. Relievitmg men Motimen, 833. Anecdote of Joimum vumum Biuneim, 833. A festive Prnm- cessiomi (fiom a Dra~ving by George Dii MamunIer), 834. Glitupse of a femimmimme martial Movemnetml, 989. Rmmmm aimig timnouugim time Alphabet, 990. To moy little Bro timers (C. II. Webb), 991). Ammecdote of Cimanles Egbett Cnutddock, 990. A Cimitmese Boycolten, 990. Recmmllec- hiomis mint Gramint Tlmortinunm, 990. A Niggmur ivitim a Card, 990. Ovem esliutated Qualillcatioums (Illusinuutloim by S. W. Vami Scimaick), 991. Arclmdeecorm K)mktuy, 991. Atm- ecdmmte of Di. Asumimel Buickus, 991. Time crmmss-eyed Clerk, 992. Virgitmia Sketclmes, 992. Quaint Request, 992. lime wise simiumit Peolmle, 993. Our Cotuntryinmicum abmouid (hlhuustnumtiomm by W. HIlyde), 993. Scoldimig Sermotis, 995. Ills Secommil Wife (Cimmirlotte W. TItmuistomm), 995. Too Late (fmmllpumge Illuusttatiotm from mm Daiwitug imy George Dn Mauniet), 996. vice is distasteful to Americium Wommueu,418. Jefferson us Rip Van WInkle, 419. Seif.commceit, 480. rime Day of Rest, 640. Time Coumuutuouplace in Fiction, 642. A Cuanedy mint Wullacks, 643. A Westermm Poets Coin- hilaitit, 644. An old Letter, 645. Pictures of Ourselves, 818. Pumrtisaimsimip ammd Fniemmdslmlu, 820. Time great Sttike, 821. lime Lecture Lyceum Qinuumrten of a Cemmiury agmi, 823. A Concert by time Sylvania Vocuil Society, 917. Pmolmitdtiomu amid Regulahioum, 919. Heimny Warml Beech- en, 980. Time Cemmtemmary of Colmtmmmbia Collebe, 982. Keelen, G. P. Latlmnop, Mms. II. P. Spoffond, Dr. Weir Milcimell, Fitz-James OBmiemm, C. Dc Kay, Miss E. S. Pimelps, F. R. Stmincktotm, J. P. 1rowbnimlge, J. C. Harris, T. N. Page, CImarles E~tuent Cmumddock, 484. Russimmut simminrt Stories, 485. Recemmt Poetry: Mts. Margaret De- lamuds rime Old Gardeim, 647. EcImoes of Tetmmmysoum s Verse no lomuger lteand, 648. Cimummmsomms dii MaIm, 648. Anlo Batess Berries mint the Bnier; rime Iheart of time Weed, 648. rime Cimumnimi of recemut Poelny itt time rimomuglint ratimer titan in time Foum, 649. Mm. Cramichs latest Volume, 650. Elizabetim Akers Alleim, 650. Ten- tmysomms Locksley lhimll,Sixty Years After, 651. Per- mmicious Fictioum: Tests tint time Poisotm, 824. Novels for iv CONTENTS. V EDITORS STUDYContinued. Children, Minors, and semi-fatuous Persons of both Sexes, 826. Charles E~hert Craddocks Iii tire Clouds; other recent Novels, 826. Bishops The Golden Justice; Henry Jamess Princess Casamas- sima, 829. Early Letters of 1lromas Carlyle, 983. Car- lyles Letters to Miss Welsh, 984. Lowells Democracy anti oilier Addresses, and Mr. Brooks Adamss Emauci- 1)ation of Massachusetts, 986. A peculiar Theocracy, 985. A Day in Athens with Socrates, and Talks with Socrates about Life; what would have happened to Soc- rates in the Netv England of the Seventeeitth Century, 986. Tolstd, 987. Popular Appreciation of the best Books, 987. BooKs TiItFERRIiD TO IN TriP. STUiIY: Aurora Leigh, 649. Bahltvin (Lee), 824. Battle of Bunkerlon, The (Bishop), 484. Berries of the Brier (Bates), 648. Born- ilino (Tolstot), 987. Castle Nowhere (Woolson), 482. Chamher over the Gate, Tue (holmes), 827. Chansons dii Matin (Reynears), 648. Christmas Stories (Dickens), 322. Corinne, 324. Day in Athens vith Socrittes, A, 986. Democracy arid other Addresses (Lowell), 986. Del- mold (Bishop), 484. Deux G6n6rations (Tolstot), 486. Early Letters of Thomas Carlyle (Norton), 983. Emair- cipation of Massachusetts (Adams),985. Evolution of the Snob (Perry), 160. Freedom Wheelers Contro- versy with Providence, 484. Golden Justice (Bishop), 484, 828. Great Doctor, rue (Cary), 484. heart of the Weed, TIre, 648. 1-louse of a Merchant Prince (Bish- oil), 4S4. Ilyperion, 324. Iii the Clouds (Craddock), 827. liuriocerits Abroad (Clemens), 987. Katia (Tol- stol), 986. Kicklehurys on tire H tune, The, 323. La Mort (Ilvari Ihlitchi (Tolstot), 486. Last Leaf, Tire (Smith), 324. Lay of the Last Minstrel, lIre, 324. Lu- cille, 649. Marjorie Daw (Aldrich), 484. Memoir of Mrs. Edward Livingston (Hunt), 169. Memoirs of Gen- eral Grant, 162. Memoirs aiid Letters of Dolly Matlison, 159. Mirlge, rhe (Brinuer), 829. Narrative of Voya~es and Corirtur-urcial Enterprises, A, 158. GIrl Garden, Ihe (Deland), 647. Old Order Changes, Tire (Mattock), 829. Uric of hire :Twenrty Pieces (Bishop), 484. Peace ann War (Tohstoi), 987. Persia arid the Pershairs (Benjanilnr), 324. Poverty Grass (Wymair), 482. Princess Cursamassima (Jurines), 829. Roderick Hrrdsonr (Jurinres), 829. Rodmurni lire Keeper (Woolsoni), 482. Itorughirug It. (Clemeirs), 987. Sire Stoops to Corrqtrer, 324. Sonnets from lire Portu- guese (Brrrwnirrg), 325. Sons anti Drrn~lrters, 8C8. Step Aside, A (Duuunhnrg), 828. Stories of Art rind Artists (Clement), 324. Talk with Socrates abotut Life, 986. fhreir Pilgrimage (Warner), 324. file Citub Book, 324. Towards tIre Gulf, 827. Voyages of a Mer- chant Navigator (Cleveland), 157. Wetl-rvorn Roads (Smith), 324. White Heroin, A (Jeweti), 483. Worlds Progress, fire (Gateley), 161. Year iii Eden, A (Pres- ton), 828. EL PASOSee Mexican Notes 801 FENCING.See Dnellinw inn Pails. 519 FRONTISPIECES. Whemm CIniistnmrns Conies, 2; A Creole BelIe, 170; Moose Hunitimig by Jack.iight, 332; The Day of Rest, 494; SpringhavenCorpse-wn(k Pit, 658; Tire Devil a Pitcher was whole in Colerainne 833. HOME ACRE, THE B. P. Roe 303 IMPRESSIONIST PAINTING, A NOTE ON Theodore Child 313 JERRY AND CLARINDA. A STORY William flenry Bishop 959 KING OF FOLLY ISLAND, TILE. A STORY Sarah Ormre Jehcf It 102 it.r.Us,n,nuArroNs. Ihe took a long honest Look at tire Stranger. 109 Sire looked pleased as sine lowered tIre Glass lnrtermuittemit Imidustry lit for a Momnenni 113 LA MERE VENUS - Geonge IT. Bounglrton, A.R.A. 23 itiUSTitATIONS. Inritial 23 Mothers wonid bring the mosh painfully polish Virginite ann Julie 25 ed arid combed Bribies 29 One of niry Visitors 27 On iris good Behavior 30 TIre Cromnies 31 LEONARD ARUNDELS RECOVERY. A STORY Grant Allen 356 LITERArURE.-See Sontimerni Literature, The Recent Movemnnemit inn 837 LOUISIANASee New Orleamis, 183; Acadian Land, 334; Lonisimmnra Snigar Plum- tation of tire oki R~gime 603. MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. A STORY Richard Malcolm Jolonston 219 mI.n.UarumATuoNs. He sa~v Martha sfandinrg on tire Piurzza 221 Yorn heernr talk o Aberhrrum, hrainrt yomn ? .. .. 227 He wins trecomnirrg somnewliat of an Aristocrat 2-23 Mr. Triplelt, thre Sheriff of tire Commnity 229 Look at that Izik picked out tine Fire 223 Gin, Pa Pa! have you sent Madison away ? 233 MASTIFF, TIlE AMERICAN Charles C. Marshall 928 ni.T.tJs,rUA.rmoNs. Ilford Cromwell 928 Buss rind his Datugirter, Lady Clare 931 Pharuroir 929 Mastiff Ptrpphes 932 Hero Ihi 930 MEXICAN NOTES Charles Dudley Wanner 801, 951 MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNiTED ST~Tmus.Conr~ress: Opening of firral Sessioni of Forty-muinrihi Congress, 486; Presirlent Clevelmrnrds Message, 486; Depurrtmnemrt Reports, 486; Holiday Re- cess, 651; Close of tIre Forty-nrinrth Congress, 987; Ehec- t(rral Coumrrt Bill ,486, 651, 829; lurdians Severally Bill, 486, 651; Open Execurtive Sessions Resolution tainleth, 651; Postal free Delivery extended, 651; fariff Bill (Morrisour), refused conishleruitiomi try House, 651 ; Penn stoir to Mrs. Gerreral Logurn, Senate, 651, 830; Btrur Penn- sion, 830; Anhi-poly~amy Bill, House, 651, 830; Inter- State Commerce Bilt, 661, 829; Cainadhurmi Fishreries, 829, 987, 988; Agricultturumi Experiment Sturtiorn, 830; Clii- urese tirdemninnrity, 830 ; hrurde Dollar Redemption, 830, 987; For pppulrrr Election of Senators, 830. Airpropriur tinir Bitls : lirdiriti, 651, 830, 988 ; Military Academy, 661, 988; Penisloirs, 651, 829, 988; Dependent Pemrsicir, 829, 988 Mexican Pensions, 829, 988; Arminy nimud Navy, 829, 830 98u 988 Rmver arid iluirhari, 830, 987; Militia, 830; Post offite, 830, 988; Agricurhhurrnl, 830, 987, 988; Corist Defences 810 Dmplomatic anid Cotrsuhar, 987, 988; Le- gish tue 987 988 Deficiency,987; District of Cotunrnnida, 988 Snmrdmy Cmvii 988; Pnuldic Prinrtirr~, 988; Mexicaur Pemrnton Deflcnenrcy, 988; Miscellaneous, 988; Dependenrt Perrsron Bull a etoed try Presidetit Cievelarud, 829; Resig- uratmomr of I) utrutl Manrnnin~, Secretary of Treasriry, 830. Penismonns finir tIre Xear, 325; Chassificrition of Ihonse of Fiftieth Courres~ 486; United States Public Dett, 486. Electrons and Appointments of United States Senators: George F. Edmurnids, Vermonit, 325; P. C. Chreney, New Hamupslrire, 486; Wilhianra M. Stewart, Nevurda, 651; Gent-ge Ihearst, California, 830; J. H. Hawley, Coni- ireclicnut, 830; George Gray, Delaware, 830; Cirmnrles B. CONTENTS. MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS.Coiitinued. Farwell, Illinois, 830; David Turpie, Indiana, 830; Eu- gene Hale, Maine, 830; H. L. Dawes, Massachusetts, 830; F. B. Stockbridge, Michian, 830; C. K. Davis, Minnesota. 830; F. M. Cockrell, Missouri, 830; A. S. Paddock, Nebraska, 830; Frank Hiscock, Ne~v York, 830; M. S. Quay, Pennsylvania, 830; W. B. Bate, Ten- nessee, 830; John H. Regan, rexas, 830; Plullelus Sawyer, Wisconsin, 830; General J. J. Finley, Florida, 988; Rufus Blodgett, New Jersey, 988; D. H. Lucas, West Vir4nia, 988. Congressional Elections: Com- plexion of House in Fiftieth Con~ress, 325. Resi~na- lion of Senator Sherman as President pro tern, of Ihe Senate, 988. State Elections: California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delauvare, Georgia, Kansas, Massaclun- setts, Michi~an, Minnesota, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Wisconsin, 325. Geor~e XV. Baxter appointed Governor of Wyoming Territory, 328; P. C. Lounsbury elected by Legislature as Governor of Con- juecticut, 651. Nominations for Governor of Rhode Island, 988. Ne~v York City Vote for Mayor, 325. Bar- tholdis Statue of Liberty unveiled, 325. EUROPE, ASIA, SOUTH AMERIcA, CINTIIAT. AMERICA, ANT) CANADA-Great Britain: Resignation of Lord Randolph Churchill as Chancellor of Exchequer, 651; Chan~es in the Cabinet, 651; Parliament Opened, 830; Mr. Parnells Amendments rejected, 830, 988. Canada: Elections for House of Commons, 983. Germany: Relchstag opened, 487; Reichsta~ dissolved, 681; The new Reiclmsta, 988; Opening of the ne~v Reichstag, 988; Army Bill, 481, 651, 988. Russia: Deficiency in 18ud~et, 830; Attempt to assassinate the Czar, 988. Italy: Ministry Resigns, 830. Greece: Ministerial Elec- tions, 830. France: Sub-prefects abolished, 486; Resig- nation of Freycinet Ministry, 486; Formation of Goblet Ministry, 486; Census, 653. Spain : Cuban Slaves freed, 325; Ne~v Spanish Cabinet, 325; Extra Navy Credit voted, 481. Bulgaria: Waldemar elected Prince of Bulgaria, 326. Japan: Chplera Statistics, 326. China: French Fiu~ht with Tonquin Pirates, 326. Africa: Christiami Converts burned to Death, 651 ; Stanley Ex- pedition, 982. Egypt: Abyssinians and Italians in Bat- tle near Masso~valm, 830. DisAsTeRs: 326, 481,651,830,988.Tornado in Western States, 326; Colliery Explosion in Yorkshire, England. 326; SteamerLa Mascotte blown up, 326; Gale in Guilt of Mexico, 326; Town of Sabine Pass, Texas, inunda- ted, 326; Johnsons Bayou destroyed by Flood, 326; Railroad Accident near Rio, Wisconsin, 326; Explosion of Chinese Steamer Takataman, 326; Foundering of Steamer Normantore off Japan, 326; Village of Frim- stein, Switzerland, burned, 481; Storms on time Great Lakes, 487; Founderin~ of a Ship crowded with Labor- ers in the Pacific Ocean, 481; Colliery Explosion iii Durham, England, 487; Collision of Steamers Keilawar- ra and helen Nicholl, 481; Burning of Steatner J. M. White on time Mississippi, 481; Whaling Bark Atlantic wrecked near time Golden Gate, 651; Collision of Brit- ish Iron-clad Sultams ~vith Steamer Ville de Victoria, 651; Heavy Snouv-storm resulting in great loss of Life in Sax- ony, Thuringia, amid Southern Germany, 651; Fatal Ac- cident at a Fair at Madras, 652; Railroad Collision near Devils River, 652; Explosion in a Mons Coal-pit, 652; Railroad Collision near Republic, Ohio, 652; German Ship Elizabeth wrecked near Cape Henry, 652; Alcazar Palace at Toledo, Spain, burned, 652; Pammic in a Lou- don Theatre, 830; Wreck of Steamer Breutford, 839; Siuuking of Chinese Transport, 830; Floods in Queens- land, 830; Schoommer C. Graham wrecked, 830; Sinkin~ of British Ship Kaptinda nemur Brazil, 830; Fatal Rail rumad Accident near White River Junction, Vermont, 830; Earthquakes in Southern Europe, 988; Explo- sion in Mimics at St. ~tiemmmme, 988; Wreck mif Chimmese Junk, 988; Burmilug I)f Steamer W. H. Gardner, 988; Colliery Explosion nemur Mons, Belgium, 988; Ex- plosiomi of Mm/unite mit Belfort, 988; Accident on time B. & P. H. H., 988; Burning of Richmommd Hotel, Buf- falo, 988. OmmlTuAiev: 326, 487, 652, 830, 988.lIon. Charles Fran- cis Adams, 481; Frederick Archer, 326; General Chester A. Arthur, 481; Whlliamn Ballantine, 652; Ashbel H. Barney, 652; Fmmtlmer Beckx, 988; Henry Ward Beeclier 988; M. Paul Bert, 326; Buiron Frederick F. von Bemmst 326; Baron Charles A. Bourgeois, 652; Meyer you Brememi, 481; Hon. Erastus Brooks, 487; Johmm Esten Cooke, 326; Ex-Govermior Charles M. Croswehl, 481; Robert L. Cuttimug, 988; Dime Decazes, 326; James B. Emuds. 988 ; Thomas W. Egaim, 988; Paul Henri Fdval, 988; Dr. Fischer, 326; Ex-Governor Gibbs, 652; George God- whIm, F.R.S., 326; Dr. John P. Gray, 487; Right Rev. XVilliam M. Green, 830; Joseph W. Harper, 481; Julio L. Hmmtton, 326; General W. D. Hazen, 652; Ludwi~ von Rotor, 988; Herbert M. Hoxie, 481; Earl of Iddes- leigh, 652; Cardimmal Jacobini, 988; Leopold Kompert, 481; General Albert G. Lawreimco, 652; Isaac Lee, 487; Duke of Leinster, 830; Gemmeral John A. Lo~an, 652; General William W. Luiring, 652; Commodore Edward P. Lull, U.S.N., 988; James A. McMaster, 652; Major- Geimermil Sir Herbert T. Macplmerson, 326; Marco i~Iiiu- ghotti, 487; John E. Owemus, 481; General Geor~e W. Palmer, 652; Ex-Governor Benjamin F. Perry, 487; Rev. John Hancock Pettingell, 988; Semmator Austin F. Pike, 326; Captain Bedford C. T. Pim, H. N., 326; High tHey. Horatio Potter, D.D., LL.D., D.C.L., 652; Gemmeral Robert B. Potter, 988; Johum Roach, 652; Meyer Karl do Rothschild, 326; Professor Charles Short, 652; Rev. J. Hyatl Smnithu, 481; Mrs. C. M. Ste~vart, 326; General Chuirles P. Stoume, 830; Professor Joseph Tosso, 652; Commodore William I. Trumxtumm, IJ.S.N., 988; James D. Wuirren, 652; Sir Joseph Whuit~vorth, 830; Mms. Hen- ry Wood, 830; Professor Edward L. Yommmaums, 830; Senator David F. Yulee, 326. MOOSE HUNTING Uenry P. Wells 448 IT.LU5TRATION5. Moose Humntin by Jack-light 332 Movement of the Horim in time Moose Call 456 head of Bull Moose 449 Time Call 457 Our Meat 453 Ilemud muf Cow Momuse 460 MOUSE-TRAP, THE. A FARCE TVillians Dec ut Houuellg 64 IT.T.TT5TP.ATION5. What is it? What is it ? 64 There never was any Momuse mere 61 NARKA. A STORY OF RUSSIAN LIFE Kathleen OMeaua 207, 461, 622, 679, 556 NAVIES OF THE CONTINENT, THE Sir Edwamd J. Reed 171, 365 IT.T.U5TEATION5. Time Fondroyant: French Armored Ship of The Dumillo 361 the First Class 173 Sectioum of lime Itumhia 568 The Devastatioum: Fremuch Armored Ship of Deck Plan of the Itahia 368 the First Class 175 The Italia 369 The Hichehien 177 The Esuaeralda 310 lhe Amirmd Duperrmi: French Armored Ship Time Amerigo Vespucci 371 of time First Class 179 The Catherine II. 313 The Vengeur: French Iroum-clad Coast-guard Half-deck Plan of time Sachusen 374 Vessel 181 Side Elevation of the Sachiseum 374 British lNurpedo Gun-bomit of the Grasshop- The Sachiseui 375 per Class 184 Half-deck Plan of time Kaiser 376 Time Grasshopper Phmn of UpperDock, Pool), Side Elevatioum of time Kaiser 376 and Forecastle 185 NEW ORLEANS Charles Dudley Warner 180 TLLtT5TtIATION5. A Creole Court-yard 187 A Cake Stand 190 Booth in the French Market 188 A gronty Specimen 191 In time Fremuch Quarter 189 A double Burdeum 192 The Solid South 190 A Gallery Garden 193 Vi CONTENTS. VII. NEW ORLEANS.Continued. ILTX5TRATIONS. A Street Vender 194 On the Levee 20t The Levee 195 Cotton Teams 202 Under the Oaks in the City Park 190 A Street Scene 203 A Creole Home 197 Old Spanish House 204 Waiting for a Job 198 In the Cemetery 205 A Voudoo Woman 199 Blind Beggars 206 A colored Sister 200 NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT, THE Richard Wheatley 495 PAINTING, A NOTE ON IMPRESSIONIST Theodore Child 313 PARIS.See Duelling in Paris, 519; Acting and Actors, 891; Com6die Fran~aise, The, 691. POLICE DEPARTMENT, THE NEW YORK Richard Wlieatley 495 ILI.U5TaATioN5. The New York Police head-quarters, Mulberry Patrol Waron 501 Street 496 The Ne~v York Policeman of 1693 503 Stephen B. French 497 Prisoners brought into Essex Market Court ... 505 John MeClave 497 One of the Broad~vay Squad 507 Fitz-John Porter 497 Footing up Election Returns 509 John R. Voorlils 498 Arresting a Thief at the Grand Central Depot.. 511 Thomas Byrnes 498 Relics in the Museum of Crime 012 William Murray 498 The Museum of Crime 513 George XV. Dilks 499 The Sanitary Squad 515 Henry V. Steers 499 Patrol Boat. Sir Alexander S. Williams 500 River and Harbor Police 518 POLLY. A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION Thomas Nelson Page 37 IT.LcSTCATIoNs. None on em hol a Candle to his Mistis 41 He handed her to her Door as if she had been Until Dinner come in across the Yard 45 a Duchess 49 He was inspecting that Bridge every After- The Christmas Breakfast 51 noon 47 RIVALRIES OF MR. TOBY GILLAM, THE. A STORY Richard 3lalcoim Johnston 537 ILT.USTUATiON5. A Man that did half Work, lie contended... 558 Wnz you a-tellin o me the Fack-Truth ~~hmen harmon Gri~gs 539 you said you wuz done liii the makin o You blieve Weddins is made in hIebn, Man Coffins ? 551 dy ? 542 RUSSIA OF TO-DAY Albert F. Heard 579 RUSSIA.See Russia of To.day, 579; Campaigning with the Cossacks, 235, 397; Through the Caucasus, 715, 910; Narka, 207, 461, 622,679, 556. SOCIAL STUDIES.I. Time Nature and Sigimificauce of Corporations Richard T. Ely 970 SOUTHERN GATEWAY OF THE ALLEGHANIES, THE Edmund Ifirice 659 II.I.TTsTaATIoNs. Head-piece 659 Flat-boats on the Tennessee River 067 LookoutMountain ammd Moccasin Bemid front lime Vietv of Chattammooga amid its Surronmidimigs from Pimme Woods of Cameron Hill 661 Lookout Mommmmtaimm 669 Time Woman turned fiercely upon Ihe Chief- Amommg the Imoim Workers 671 lain 663 Rafts on time Temmuessee 612 Nicojack Cave 664 North Emid of Chaltammooga 674 Joseph Browim leading his Compaimy to Nicojack 665 Broad Street, Chmattammooga 675 Looking Northeast from Camueromi.hIiil 666 Street in Rock City 676 SOUTHERN LITERATURE, THE RECENT MOVEMENT IN Charles W. Coleman, Jun. 837 itTUSTitATIONS. George W. Cable 839 M. G. MeClelland 846 Grace Kin~ 841 Frances Courtenay Baylor 847 Richard Malcolm Johnston 842 Julia Magruder 848 .toei Chandier Harris 843 Am6iie Rives 849 Thomas N. Page 844 Lafcadio Hearim 851 Charles E~,hert Craddock 845 Robert Burns Wiisomm 852 SOUTH REVISITED, THE Charles Dudley Warner 634 SPRINGHAVEN R. D. Blackmore 251, 412, 553, 738 ILT.UsTaATLoNs. head-piece 251 She felt that time Spring of the Year was ~vith Faith had tried, as a matter of Duty, to peruse her 287 this Book 253 All time Gaffers were ~vaiting 289 This appears to be yomsr Hat, ammrl it was on its Make for Daylight in close order 290 Way to a Pool of Salt-water 257 He was a Maim who knew his own Mind 412 It mmtst have been by reason of time Weight I Now dont he in a hurry, dear, to beg mmty Par- gives 263 don 423 Caryl Came ~vaited in time shelter of a him time distimuce two British Cruisers shomme 429 Tree 264 Amo I to read every Word, Pmmpa ? 431 My Emimeror! lie sairi, my Emperor 1 . 265 him a few Minutes the mysterious little Craft The Poet of the ~vlmole stood singingthe shin- disappeared 437 pie-minded Thrush 266 Here were Bamtks of Earth and Thicket, shad How beautiful Sprimmghuaven must be lookimig o~vy Delis where time Primrose grew 555 now 283 Why, Dolly! what a hurry you are hit ! 557 Stoohar is a stupid Beast 285 Mary, time Mother of Washimmgton 559 viii CONTENTS. SPRINGHAVEN.Continued. ILLUSTRATIONS. Ills old Friend the Ox trotted down to the Corpse-Walk Pit 658 Corner 569 Came arose qnickly and bolted the Door ... 755 We may be trinmphant with their Ladies ... 573 rhe two stroty Men rolled on the Grass, fight. Bet the other gently laid the Rod across his log like two Bnll-dog8 757 Breast 516 Where the first Snow-drops grew 761 STUBBLEFIELD CONTINGENTS, THE Richard Malcolm Johnston 727 ILLUSTRATIONS. Mapp and Cynthy 729 I got no Physic for snch a Case 735 She strolled with Wiley about the Yard .... 73t SUGAR PLANTATION OF THE OLD RI~GIME, A LOUISIANA Charles Gayarrd 605 TETONS, THE THREE Alice Wellington Rollins 569 ILLUSTRATIONS. Listen, said the Maiden 869 In Camp 881 Minerva Terrace Sit She stood holding back the Canvas of the Jent 883 The Formation 873 Falls of the Yellowstone 885 A Pack Train 875 Crater of OlfiFaithlol 886 The Three Tetons 877 If you most have a Water-tall S87 Giant Geyser in Action 879 Grand Cafion of the Yellowstone 889 THEATRES.See Acting and Actors, 891; Com6die Fran~aise, 691. VENUS, LA MLRE. Illustrated George 11. Boughton, A.B.A. 23 WHITE GARDEN, THE flarriet Lewis Bradley 76 IT.T.tTSTRATIoNs. Ilead-piece 76 All this Janet said very slowly and qnietly, It would be very sad if this ~vere the End; as if she were trying to soothe some other but it is only a more beautiful Way of liv- Person St 77 II:iply 83 Did yon speak, Robert? Are you quite com- And it happened while you were l)laying? 85 fortable ? 79 WOOD NOTES William Hamilton Gibson 94 LI.I.U5TRATION5. A Wood Interior 95 Bumblebees Charge 99 Strategy of the Che~vtnk 96 An interesting Tramp lot) Nest of the Veery 97 Keys to buried Treasure lOt WORKING-MEN LIVE IN EUROPE AND AMERICA, HOW Lee Meriwether 780 YELLOWSTONE PARK.See Tetons, The Threti 869 POETRY. AT MIDNIGHT Louise Chandler Moulton 234 COLLINSIA VERNA. Illustrated by W. Hamilton Gibson T. Henipstead 677 CONFESSlON Dora Read Goodale 250 CUP OF DEATH, THE. Illustrated by Elilin Vedder Louise Chandler Moulton 116 DEATH OF WINTER, THE Robert Burns Wilson 714 DERVISH, THE Clonstantina B. Brooks 535 EMPTY NEST, AN Mary A. Barr 396 FAIRYS GIFT, THE Andrew Lang 333 FROWNS AND TEARS Richard Henry Stoddard 890 GRIEF AND FAITH Ani6lie Rises 867 HORSE-CHESTNUTS: A FANCY M. G. Van Rensselaer 689 IMPATlENCE William C. Richards 536 INASMUCH. Illustrated by A. B. Frost Wallace~Bruce 34 KITTY OF COLERAINE. Illustrated by Edwin A. Abbey Edward Lysaght 923 LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO, THE. Illustrated by F. Dielman B. H. Stoddard 88 LEGEND OF SAlNT NICHOLAS, THE. Illustrated by Mary L. Gow. Elizabeth W. Latinter 18 LOVES GOING Charles W~ (oleman, Ju n.355 LOVES NIGHT-WATCH John Muir 437 NIGHT MIST, THE Margaret Delaud 927 OVER AN OLD FOLIO Charles W. Coleman, Jun. 552 SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. Illustrated by Edwin A. Abbey H. Carey 53 SOLDIER UNDER NAPOLEON A Charles F. Richardson 536 SONG Ronald C. Macfie 364 VICTORIA Annie Fields 251 WISH, THE. Illustrated by Edwin A. Abbey and Alfred Parsons Abraham Cowley 438 V ~ .7~i WHEN CIIHJSTMAS COMESFrom a drawing by E. A. Abbey.[See page 62.]

General Lew Wallace Wallace, Lew, General The Boyhood of Christ 3-18

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. LXXIV. DECEMBER, 1886. No. CCCCXXXJX. THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. BY THE AUTHOR OF BEN HUR. The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas hells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. ET us go see Uncle Midas. Ohyes! Let us go and have him talk to us. Outside the house all was winter, still and cold; inside were summer warmth, a rosy glow of light, and music and merry voices; for it was Christmas Eve, and the young people of the town had met to celebrate it. Uncle Midas held that such was the right welcome of the glad event. The sweetest song men ever heard was that of the singers who came with the Annunciator; and arguing that the lesson was cheerfulness and joy, the old gentle- man opened his doors to the boys and girls, and was himself happy, knowing they were happy. Now she who at the moment thought of Uncle Midas, and said let us go see him, and she who answered so willingly, were more than girls, yet not quite young women. They carried their childish names, but had lovers, each a number of them; and while they would laugh and dance and never tire, midst it all they could allow a serious thought. The first of the two to speak was Nan, the other was Puss, and in their dissimi]arity they were pretty. Moreover, for persons so young they were well read, and knew to talk of great events and take delight in hearing of far countries. So, leaving the waltzers and the fiddling and merriment, and the harmless play that leads to love, and the dear delusions so like love that even the wise often yield to their enchant- ment, only to find themselves mistaken, the two, hand in hand, stole out of the parlor door on the way to Uncle Midas. They came first to a conservatory full of verdant treasures. Amongst them, spe- cially in favor, were a palm-tree bearing stoneless dates, and a vine loaded with black grapes large as damson - plums. This, Uncle Midas would say of the palm, was given me hy the monks of Mar-Saaba. The tree I saw them cut it from was the only green thing in their grim monastery. And thisthe vine was from a garden just outside the walls of Jerusalem. Of such were the grapes of Eshcol. And see there, he would say of a certain dwarfish shruh; II plucked an acorn from the oak at Mamre, where the angels rested with the patriarch. Two thousand years hence it might be sugges- tive of its paternity. There were but few flowers under the glass roof. Flowers remind me of nothing so much as their frailty, but theseand he would look proudly and kindly at the palm and the outstretching vine and their less ambitious keep me reminded of famous places I have seen, of persons, and of the ventures with which my days of nerve and will were seasoned. When at last, one comes to live in the by-gone, as I am living, it is good to have such depend- ents always at his door to salute him, Hey, you remember this? or Have you forgot- ten that? You pomegranate, for example. I wrenched it from the terrace of a Greek Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Lihrarian of congress, at washington. All rights reserved. VOL. LXXIV.No. 439.i 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. garden on the Bosporus, and now if I stop to clip a dead twig from it, it begins straightway whispering to me of misty mornings breaking oyer great ships com- ing and going in endless processions, and of afternoon dreams dreamed in caiques drifting along the empurpled shores of the hill-bound bay of Buyukdere. Passing through the conservatory, the visitors, by a door overhung with sheeny portidres, entered a study which was itself a study. With respect to interiors, pro- portions are always perfect when they raise no questions. No one ever asked Un- cle Midas about the height of this room, or its length and breadth. There was in the centre a carpet from the looms of Smyrna, deep-tufted, and of indigo blue almost bluick. A desk of cherry-wood in the middle of the carpet was overlooked by a Pensieroso of Angelo in Castellina marble. As there was but one door, so there was but one window, and it too was richly draped. Book-cases of cherry, much carven, hung from three sides. A flame burned brightly in a broad open fireplace, and an old-gold-colored rug of Khorassan caught the light of the flame, and held it in lustrous imprisonment. A circular window in the shallow arch of the ceiling permitted day in its hours to flood the in- terior, until the lettering of the books, on shelves not higher than an easy hand- reach, sparkled like jewelry. It is hardly enough to call the chamber a study. Uncle Midas had led a busy life; he had.been a lawyer, a soldier, an author, and a traveller; he had dabbled in art, diplomacy, and politics; and, like most men so diversely occupied, there had never been a day in which lie had not promised himself to let his mind say to his body, Thou hast served me well, and carried me about for much teaching, and I have profited much; now, 0 good ser- vant, take thine ease; the gathered fruits are waiting, and I alone will continue to labor. At length, noting the coming of his mid-afternoon of life, he determined to make the promise good. Toward that end lie built the study, and tied it to his house with the conservatory, reserving the shelves for those other and higher as- sociates which, in their cloaks of cloth and gold, would also wait for him, and, being called, begin talking in a manner the cleverest toiigue cannot attain, and of every possible theme of human interest. For such are books! With good women, they are the superlative solace of waning years. Then, the preparations all com- plete, he retired from the pursuits which have their origin in ambition, and betook himself to study and reflection, believing that the capacity to think was a necessary accomplishment for the next life, and that it could be carried there with him. The sick and desponding sometinies take to their chairs grimly waiting for death; but in perfect health, with a plentiful reserve of strength, a contentment which with him was but another name for charity, and a satisfaction perpetually exercising itself in finding excuses for the follies and frailties of strangers as well as ac- quaintances, he sat down in his study calmly and with deliberate forethought that his soul might educate and fit itself for the life to come. And this, lie used to say, shall no man be able to do ex- cept he believe in Jesus Christ. Now when the visitors had come into the study, they saw Uncle Midas in his rock- ing-chair before the fire, and as they ran to him they cried out cheerily, Oh, Uncle Midas ! And he arose and answered as cheerily, Heigli! Pussand Nan ! And he would have got them chairs, for he was a gentleman faithful to all the canons of the old school; but they divined his purpose, and were quicker than he; and when the chairs were brought and set at his right near his arm, and he was seated, they kissed him affectionately. Uncle Midas, it must be said, did not look his sixty and five years. He was tall, white-haired, and white-mustached. This evening he was in slippers and dress- ing-gown. A gray silk cap had the effect to deepen the ineradicable sun-tan of his cheeks. Well, well, lie said, yonder are beaux, and music, and dance; here there is only an old man; yet you leave them and come to him ? Yes; we have come to hear you talk, said Nan. A wave of music, splashing through the open door, streamed into the study. Hark! he said. Who may talk to young people against fiddles tiniing a waltz ? You canand must, said Puss. Must? he repeated. That was the word ; and the pretty girl, resting her elbows on the arm of his chair, looked up under his brows with an THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 5 infinite persuasion in her blue eyes. His hand dropped upon her shoulder. I see I must; butdid you think to bring a subject with you ? Yes, indeed. You were very wise. It was She glanced appealingly at Nan; and Nan answered with a bright look, The Boyhood of Christ. Yes, yes; I had almost forgotten. ~And then, Puss added, it is so hard to think of him as a boyI mean to think of him running, jumping, playing mar- bles, flying kites, spinning tops, and going about all day on mischiefs, such as throw- ing stones and robbing birds nests. Uncle Midas looked up with a grave smile. Uncle Midas turned his face to the fire; then his head dropped lower, giv- ing the flame to redden his forehead and repeat itself in his eyes. The suggestion was plainly a surprise to him. Why that subject l~ he asked, to gain a little time. Because its Christmas Eve. TO DECK HIMSELF FROM THE ANEMONE BEDS ON THE HILI5.[5EE PAGE 8.] 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Rest you, little friend, he said; if the Nazarene lads of his day had tops, mar- bles, and kitesI am not sure they hadI would prefer to believe he found enjoy- ment in them. Oh, Uncle Midas! The good mans smile vanished. I see, he said, you are going the way of the many; by-and-by you will not be able to think of our Lord as a man. To me his human birth was as much a divine fact as anything in all his sublime story. Uncle Midas turned to the fire again, as if to assure himself of an idea. I find my love of God, he presently resumed, does not of itself help me stand up under the unutterable thought of Him. He is so beyond my comprehension. But for Christ-ah, how different my feeling! He is my friend, my brother; I could have borne to look into his face; I could have even laid my head fearlessly upon his breast. Why? Because he was a man- a man capable of returning my love in vastest measure, and therefore of easy un- derstandinga man who actually died for me, and of whose dying I am so much better. At this he stopped; whereupon the fid- dles, taking advantage of the silence, flung some of their liveliest notes into the study. Did you ever hear any one deny the human nature of the Saviour? I never did, said Nan, solemnly. But there are plenty to skip it as un- becoming their ideal of him, Uncle Mi- das replied, sharply. And then continued: Two pictures always present themselves when I think of our Lord in his charac- ter of Man. A little plain near Bethle- hem is illuminated in the night-time by a light dropped from the sky; and in the light there is movement and the flashing of wings, and one figure of indescribable majesty speaks to some cowering shep- herds, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will to men. This was the second annunciation, and the beautiful speech is a simple definition of the relation of Christ to men. And then the scene changes, giving me to see three crosses planted upon a low hill with mill- ions of people around it; and there is a gloom, almost darkness, in which the crosses rock to and fro, yielding to an earth- quake, and upon one of them a man, nail- ed hands and feet, lifts his face overhung with bloody locks, and cries, as if expir- ing, Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit. And the awfulness of the sight, my little friends, does not hide from me that the sufferer, dying as he was, tar- ried a moment to make definition of his relation to God. Uncle Midass voice shook; he was evi- dently very much in earnest; and while he rested, possibly to give his fair listen- ers time to comprehend his argument, there was a quick step behind the party, and they all turned to a new - comer. Again Uncle Midas would have risen, but Puss stayed him. Its only John, she said. The person so familiarly spoken of ap- proached. Do not move, he said to Uncle Midas. I come to tell Puss that the quadrille is forming, and if she wants to be in it, we must hurry. Uncle Midas glanced at John and Puss, and smiled. Its only John, meant a great deal to him. Thank you, she replied; I will not dance now. Uncle is talking. Bring a chair and join us. He will not object, I am sure. Then, when John was seated, Uncle Mi- das said, As the young man has kindly consented to be of our audience, it is but fair, Puss, that you tell him of what we are talking. And Puss did so, after which Uncle Midas proceeded: The vision of the Crucifixion never visits me without anothera veritable picture hanging in the Pitti Gallery in Florencethe Ecce Homo of Carlo Dolce. In artistic phrase, it is an idealization of the face of Christ, yet there is much more of it than a mere face. An ordinary expert can make fea- tures in likeness, but the rendition on can- vas of a thought, a passion, an emotion of the soul, a face bein~ used for the pur- pose, is a subtlety of genius of the highest order; and then the picture is in fact a portrait of the thought, passion, or emo- tion. In this sense the Ecce Homo of which I am speaking is a portrait of the agony of Christ dying, and to me there is nothing in the world of art of such overpowering effect. The crown of thorns, the dusty clotted locks, the blood- drops and sweat-stains, are utilized; but they do no more than identify the subject and the moment. There is no contraction of brow or writhing of facial muscle; the lower lip hangs a little apart, a deadly pal- THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 7 br overcasts the But, Uncle countenance, the said Nan. eye~ah, therein I hear you, lies the achieve- he answered, ruent! Even in with a glance their faintness which as much they somehow as said he knew fasten upon the her thought. beholder, and say You were to to him, with a pa- talktousabout thos far beyond She hesitated. the power of About the words, See to boyhood,hesaid, what I have been smiling. Well, broughtI who came to tell you of alov- little one, your reminder only satisfies ing God, of resurrection after death, of a me that my preface has not failed its better life in store for youI who only object. You are impatient to hear the asked you to love and believe in me! kind of boy such a man as Christ was I will certainly see that picture when and we will now inquire if he bad a boy- I get to Florence, said John, impulsively, hood, except as the years of that stage of Uncle Midas waved his hand gently. life can be so called. And you will then understand the les- The old gentleman drew his brows down son it taught me. As the artist could not over his eyes, gazed into the fire awhile have painted the agony of the Lord without looked up again, and asked: Perhaps, giving us his face, so it is not possible for Nan, you can tell me the incidents in us to be convinced of his divinity except which the Lord as a child is made to ap- by the self-comparisons which a recog- pear in the Scriptures ? nition of his human nature affords. Yes: when the shepherds came to wor ANGELS WATCHING OVER THE cHILD JE5U5.[5EE PAGE 9.] 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ship him; at the visit of the Magi; the flight into Egypt; the presentation in the Temple; and when he was found with the doctors at the end of the Passover. Thank you, dear, Uncle Midas said, with a bow; then immediately continued: Now is it not amazing that the youth of one who intended so well and actually did so much, who left us the most pathetic of histories, who will remain forever the perfect standard of comparative holiness, applicable alike to every phase and cir- cumstance of human life, whose hold upon men has already proven him a prophet unto himself, and still goes on widening and deepeninghow wonderful, I say, that the childhood of such a man should be so beggarly of authentic incident! As an argument this fact seems at first glance to justify the opinion commonly held that the youth of the Saviour ran in course very much like that of the generality of poor Jewish children. I cant believe that, uncle, said Puss, with a show of indignation. The old gentleman looked at her benig- nantly. Nor can I, he said. They say that Joseph, to whom as a child our Lord was subject, was a carpenter who plied only the humbler branches of the trade, and that Mary, his wife, spun the flax and wool for the family, and was a housewife. These are the circumstances chiefly relied upon to support the theory that the con- dition of the child was poverty. Now while I admit the circumstances, I deny the conclusion. That Joseph was a car- penter signifies nothing, as the law re- quired every Israelite, rich or poor, to fol- low some occupation. Then was it not written of the exemplar of all the mo- thers in Israel, She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness? And if we may give heed to accounts not purely Script- ural, Mary owned the house in Nazareth in which the family dwelt; but conform- ing to the Scriptures, it is to be remem- bered that amongst the gifts of the Magi there was gold. And I please myself thinking that there was enough of it to support the holy family while it was in Egypt, and afterward in Nazareth. In my view, then, the child was not born to pov- erty. If any one doubts the conclusion, let him ponder the awful declaration in the Talmud: These four are accounted as dead: the blind, the leper, the poor, and the childless. As to the social posi- tion of the family, it is enough to remark that, besides being a just man, Joseph was a lineal descendant of David the King. They were neither rich nor poor, then, said John. Only comfortable, Uncle Midas re- joined; then proceeded: Exactly the condition to allow our Saviour a marginal time in which to taste something of nat- ural boyish freedom; to have little play- mates, run races with the youngest of the flocks, deck himself from the anemone beds on the hills, and watch the clouds form slowly about the summit of old Her- mon. It must be noted, however, that this period was shorter with him than with our lads, for the terrible Talmudic rules fell upon him early, after which there was small chance to enjoy boyhood according to our ideas of its enjoyment. By overwhelming men, women, and chil- dren with duties, they put existence in iron jackets. To neglect the rules, or the least of them, was to invoke perdition. And besides Uncle Midas drew his gray cap well down, and meditated a moment. I was about to say, he then contin- ued, that there was another cause to cut short the jocund marginal period of our Lord which must not be overlookeda cause peculiar to himself, and, in my judgxnent, more influential even than the Talmudic rules. His precocity was mi- raculous. At a time when other children are muling in their mothers arms, the cells of his understanding be~an to en- large and fill with knowledge. The pro- cess must have been like the gradual rise of water in the basin of a spring; at all events, the knowledge was of a kind t& make him preternaturally serious, and it was not derived from books or school- masters. You think the angels waited upon him ? interposed Nan. The question was asked with such art- lessness that Uncle Midas, who had been talking with self-concentration, looked at her half startled. I did not think of being called upon to make the admission, my little friend, he said; but I willonly do not take me to be a modern spiritualist. You may have seen copies of the most beautiful of the Virgin Mothers. Murillo did but work according to his faith when he filled the space about the central figure with faces~ of attending spirits. At the feet of the THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 9 Sistine Madonna, beyond perad- venture the most divinely per- fect Mother and Child in group, there are two little cherubs inimitably suggestive of mis- chievous urchins; but exam- ine them closely next time, and see what knowledge is conveyed in the expression of their countenances. Raphael painted them con amore mean- ing that he believed in them and so do I. I do not think such ministers go with us com- mon mortals. Goodness help them if they do! That they went with the divine Child, however, I am quick to believe. They watched him with jealous care; they floated on the clouds above him; they trod the air in his chamber; they gave color, direction, purity, and strength to his thought. His mother may have taught him the al- phabet, but neither she nor the teachers in the synagogue could have helped him to that other rarer and higher learning in the light of which the hearts of those about him were as prim- ers for easy reading. Through what human agency was it that hefore he was a man he was master of a lore which Hillel had not heen able to obtain with all his one hundred and twenty years of studious life? Uncle Midas concluded this speech with something like de- clamation; unconsciously he had become excited, and it was not a little to his relief that other young people broke into the study, and with whispers and smothered laughter closed around the fire. Hush! said John, severely. Uncle Midas is talking.~~ But Uncle Midas spoke more kindly: I fear the fiddlers will complain of me. Not just now, replied a girl THE STORY CAME FIRST FROM HER as she rested her arms on the back of his chair. They are at the cold chicken and mulled cider on As such was the general voice, he said: the sideboard. Very wellonly I am sorry the new- Never mind them, uncle, passed corners will have to guess what has pre- round in encouraging chorus. ceded by the fragment that follows. My 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. subject is the boyhood of Christ. I was was in my salutation and gift went up to saying I did not think he had much time God with as much acceptance, in my be- to enjoy his, and will now add another lief, as if it had been rendered with organ argument in support of the opinion. Sup- accompaniments amidst the splendors of pose by any chance he came while a child St. Peters. to know the mysteries of his birth. The There was a decided movement amongst effects would have been manifold, but of the audience at these words. Uncle Mi- one of them I am certainall desire for das was allowing himself to be carried pastime by childish means would have away again. The rustle, however, brought then ended. him back to his subject. Then you believe he knew it all ? I beg pardon, he said, with charm- asked Puss, impulsively knew it all ing candor. If I have wandered a lit- when he was a child ? tle, charge the fault to my great love of Well, he answered, let us see. He good women. The two, Joseph and was from the beginning in care of at least Mary, I was saying, possessed the secret two persons who could not have put their of our Lords origin. When I consider knowledge of him away had they wished their relationship to him, it becomes im- to do s~. The world has done injustice to possible for nie to think they did not tell Joseph. The fathers of the Church did him all they knew about him. I prefer better when they canonized him. He held to believe the story came first from her. a prodigious secret in his possession, and She knew it best; she loved him most; and was true to it. Who is this? the rabbis as to the time the tale was told, exactness asked, when Christ began his miracles; is of no importance. The hour, we may and they answered themselves, Oh, it is be sure, was auspicious; she held him the carpenters son! The other person clasped in her arms; his head lay upon was Mary, the mother. After all that her breast; from that soft pure pillow he has been said and written of her appear- looked up into her eyes; and then she re- ance, her devotion, her sanctityher wo- membered that he was the Messiah, and manliness makes her as incomparable she the most blessed of women, and from amongst women as her son is incompara- that moment he was lost to all the claims ble amongst men. I am somewhat rigid of boyhood. In the good old language so in my idea that worship is due to God nearly descriptive of the indescribable, alone; nevertheless, it would have been The grace of God was upon him. hard for me to refuse to fall in and march Well, if he did not play as other with Cyril in his great dispute. with Nes- children, he at least went to school ? one torius, and I am sensible of a kindly of the auditors said; and Uncle Midas feeling for Pope Gregory the. Great, be- hastened to reply: cause he at length settled the dispute by If Nazareth had a schooland the making it lawful to write Holy Mother better opinion is that the village was not of God after Marys name. Neither have so favored it is to be kept in mind that I any disposition to quarrel with the de- scholars could not be admitted before the votional habit the peasants have of stop- age of six, and that all instruction was ping to kneel before the Mother as she ap- limited to the Law, and entirely oral. pears above the rural altars on the way- The master sat on a raised seat; the cliii- sides of Italy. On the quay of the Bos- dren., on the floor, simply repeated what porus as one approaches Therapia there he recited to them until they knew the is an arched vault of an ancient ruin in lesson by heart. After six yearscertain- which a poor hunch-backed Greek keeps a ly after lie came to know himselfour candle always burning before a wretched Lord was taught, I think, by his mother. picture of the Virgin. In front of that She may have initiated him in the alpha- humble church I habitually stopped my bet earlier; anyhow I delight in imagin- caique, and going in, dropped a piastre ing the two at work. The torah is spread in the alms-box, and crossed myself. The upon her knee; he has a hand over her deformed keeper kept his light, such as it shoulder, she an arm about his waist; he was, burning in the world; my money is quick to apprehend; their voices are helped give him bread and maintain his low and sweet; at times they turn to each light; the sign was reverence to her who other, and it is the old story is to be the pattern of mothers while the earth endures; and such worship as there Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again. MARY TEACHING JESUS THE ALPHABET. THE BOYHOOD OP CHRIST. 13 LISTENING FOR VOICES. Uncle Midass voice was a little tremu- lous, but he went on in the same strain: After the lad came to know himself, the knowledge enforced solemnity and se rious thought. The old master who paint- ed him trudging after Joseph with a basket of tools had the true conception of him about this time, for he was humble and 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. uncomplaining, and delighted in service. Of out-door employments, I am sure he most loved that of the shepherd. In fol- lowing the capricious flocks, as they wan- dered over the broad Esdraelon, he could freely indul~,e the expectancy of revelation that must have been his constant condi- tion of mind. I have had visions of him out in the historic plain, sunburned, large- eyed, oval-faced, leaning upon a crook, a dog by his side. What time he is not observant of his charge, he is listening for voices, attentive to each passing wind, or gazing at the clouds for seraphic mes- sengers, or giving heed to the emotions of his own being in the hope of their becoming telltales of all he so wished. How tenderly he would carry the weak- liu~,s of the herd down the steeps and over the stony places! He loved them, and they loved him. But And Uncle Midas rested upon the word, and thereupon the violins off in the parlor seemed suddenly to find their lost notes. A peal of Strausss liveliest dance music penetrated the study, though with- out effect; even the waltzers of the party remained patiently around the old gen- tlemans chair. One little miss whisper- ed, Were all here but the fiddlers. And theyll be along presently, an- other one replied. I was about to do what the lovers of our Lord have so often done, Uncle Mi- das at length said, confidently, as if he had overtaken the idea that was trying to escape him in the fire I was about to grumble again at the meagreness of the record; but let us do betterlet us take up and eke out all we can of what there is. One of you get the Testament there on the table, and read from Luke ii., be- ginning with the 39th verse. Presently the reading began. Observe, said Uncle Midas, after the 43d verse, he is spoken of as the child Jesus. Jump now to 46 and 47. The reader was attentive. And it came to pass, that after three days they found him in the temple, sit- ting in the midst of the doctors,both hear- ing them, and asking them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers. Rest there, said Uncle Midas some- what in the style of a captain giving an order rest there, and let us weigh what we have, lightening it with outside facts, and now and then with permissible touch- es of fancy. The herdsmen of Nazareth were ignorant and poor; still they coin- plied with the Law, and at least once ev- ery year went up to Jerusalem after the custom of the feast. In the procession on one such occasion there was a family the head of which was a plain, serious-look- ing, middle- ae,ed man, with whom the world has since become acquainted as Jo- seph. His wife, Mary, was then about twenty-seven years of age, gentle, mod- est, sweet-spoken, of fair complexion, with eyes of violet-blue, and hair half brown, half gold. She rode a donkey. James, Joses, Simon, and Jude, full-grown sons of Joseph, walked with their father. A child of Mary, twelve years old, walked near her. It is not at all likely that the group attracted special attention from their fellow-travellers. The peace of the Lord be with you! they would say in sa- lute, and have return in kind. More than eighteen hundred years have passed since that obscure family made that pious pil- grimage. Could they come back and make it now, the singing, shouting, and worship that would go with them would be with- out end; not Solomon in all his glory, nor Ca~sar, nor any or all of the modern kings, would have such attendance. Let us single out the boy, that we may try and see him as he wasafoot like his brethren, small, growing, and therefore slender. His attire was simple: on his head a white handkerchief, held in place by a cord, one corner turned under at the forehead, the other corners loose. A tu- nic, also white, covered him from neck to knees, girt at the waist. His arms and legs were bare; on his feet were sandals of the most primitive kind, being soles of ox-hide attached to the ankles by leathern straps. He carried a stick that was much taller than himself. The old painters, called upon to render this childish figure on canvas, would have insisted upon dis- tinguishing it with a nimbus at least; some of them would have filled the ai~ over its head with cherubs; some would have had the tunic plunged into a pot of madder; the very courtierly amongst them would have blocked the way of both mother and son with monks and cardi- nals. The boys face comes to me very clearly. I imagine him by the road-side on a rock which he has climbed, the bet- ter to see, the procession winding pictu- resquely through the broken country. His head is raised in an effort at far sight. ON THE WAY TO JERUSALEM. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The light of an intensely brilliant sun is upon his countenance, which in general cast is oval and delicate. Under the folds of the handkerchief I see the forehead, covered by a mass of projecting sunburn- ed blond hair, which the wind has taken liberties with and tossed into tufts. The eyes are in shade, leaving a doubt wheth- er they are brown, or violet like his mo- thers; yet they are large and healthfully clear, and still retain the parallelism of arch between brow and upper lid usually the characteristic of children and beauti- ful women. The nose is of regular in- ward curve, joined prettily to a short up- per lip by nostrils just full enough to give definition to transparent shadows in the corners. The mouth is small, and open slightly, so that through the scarlet fresh- ness of its lines I catch a glimpse of two white teeth. The cheeks are ruddy and round, and only a certain squareness of chin tells of years this side the day the Magi laid their treasures at his feet. Put- ting face and figure together, and mind- ful of the attitude of interest in what is passing before him, the lad as I see him on the rock is handsome and attractive. When the journey shall have ended, and his mother made him ready for the court of the temple, he may justify a more worshipful description; we may then see in him the promise of the Saviour of Men in the comeliness of budding youth, bis sad destiny yet far in the future. Uncle Midas sank back into the ample arms of his chair, tweaking his white mus- tache with nervous fingers; and thinking to give him a rest, Puss said: Thank you, uncle. The figure on the rock is ever so plain to our sightplain as if painted. We will wait a little if you are tired. I will go on, be replied. It was only the intrusion of that horrible Cruci- fixion. The plainer one sees the Lord the more dreadful his end appears. The old gentleman cleared his throat and resumed: The child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wis~o~n,is the language of the text. Spirit, as there used, means mind, and, in the connection, wisdom stands for vastly more than reading and writing, more even than ability to repeat the Law and the commentaries from end to end; it expresses all knowledgeknow- ledge of the high and low, of heaven and earth, of God and man; the knowledge that needs not the instruction of schools, that is not an acquisition at all, but an intuition of the universal; a quality that cannot be better described than as an illu- minated consciousness by help of which men see the truth invariably and prophe- sy and work miraclesin short, a quality that is itself a miracle. I do not bother asking how the lad came by the wisdom; the words of the old Apostle are enough; they cover the process and the facthe filled with wisdom. In this light the suc- ceeding narrative becomes comprehensi- ble ; and raising his voice, Uncle Midas gave order, Now read the other verses. The reader promptly responded. 48. And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing. 49. And be said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Fathers business? 50. And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. Ay, said Uncle Midas, with positive vehemence; that they did not under- stand him helps us realize the amazing growth of the child, and how prodigious- ly out of the common he so early became. And then, my young friends-his voice fell to its habitual calm assurance with that realization the discussion concludes itself. If any of you yet think the lad came away from Jerusalem a common boy, light-hearted, easily amused, quick at ac- quaintanceship, consider the effect upon him of the illuminated consciousness I have ventured in definition of what the chronicler calls wisdom. It was a light which for him reached and laid bare the infinite mysteries never so simply de- scribed as his Fathers business. His next appearance in Nazareth, we may well believe, was as a teacher. Up midst the congregation he arose, and going to the readers place, received the sacred roll which was that Sabbaths lesson. I hear the clear childish voice with which he begins, shriller growing as he advances. When at length he lifts his eyes from the page and launches into exposition, I see in their light the first suggestion of the nimbus. I see also his audience, in amaze- ment, sunk to breathless silence; and thinking of the Virgin Mother behind the lattice of the womens place in the syna- gogue, my sterner nature thrills in ac- knowledgment of the feeling with which she finished the white woollen gown that THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 17 IN THE NAZARETH SYNAGOGUE. covered him from neck to heel, and part- ed his locks the night before in the style of her own, and kissed him on the full of the forehead, saying, so as to be heard by him, Rabbi, my rabbithou the Mes- siah! It is good to be a handmaiden best beloved of the Lord God And as the old gentleman seemed dis- posed to bring his talk to an end, John ventured to speak up. If you will par- don me, he said, what do you under- stand by the term my Fathers busi- ness ? Uncle Midas gave him a serious glance, and replied: My dear friend, I have a faith which in the great and material things, as it is permitted me to see them, accords perfectly with the ideas of the Christian world, 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and it gives me an inHuity of pure en joy- ment. It is obvious to me that there are many things in the connection which I (10 not understand; these all lie out in the field of conjecture. One of the clearest observations of my life is that people of good intent are never troubled in the mat- ter of religion except as they stray off into that field. In return for your trust in me, take a rule of conduct good for every days observance: When you hear a man talking oracularly in definitioii of topics which our Lord thought best to leave out- side of his teachings and revelations, set it down that he i~ trenching on the business of the Father and the prerogative of the Son; then go your way and let him alone. The rule is, of course, applicable only to subjects classified as religious. Here Uncle Midas arose, and said, with his oldschool politeness: Tomorrow, my young friends, or any time you choose other than to-night, I give you leave to criticise my talk upon the subject dealt with; you may even laugh at me for hav- ing taken so many of your precious min- utes in attempting to convince you that in fact Christ had no boyhood at all; but nowthe fiddlers are waiting for you You are mistaken, uncle, said Nan, with twinkling eyes. How so They too are here, and have been for the last fifteen minutes. Oh! very well; I am content with my short triumph over the fiddlers. Good- night to you all. Thereupon the company went to him one by one; the boys shook his hand and thanked him, the girls kissed him. And the music and the dance went on till holy- day stole through the windows. THE LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS. BY ELIZABETH WORMELEY LATIMER. Esso parlava anchor della largl~ezza Che fece Niccolao aBe pulcelle, Per condurre ad onor br giovinezzaPuaGAToino, XX. IN old Italian story, ere Florence went astray, Misled by wealth and glory, in stern, sad Dantes day, A certain Knight, in hard-fought fight, was captured by his foe, Who swore a fierce, unknightly oath he would not let him go Without a ransom such as might a king or prince set free Ten thousand golden crowns paid downand that right speedily. The Knight refused these cruel terms; they cast him then straightway Into the castles oubliette, where one poor loaf a day And draught of waterless and lesswere let down by a cord, While a hoarse voice above exclaimed: By order of my lord Again I ask, wilt thou, Sir Knight, make terms for thy release? If not to-morrowany daythy dole of food may cease. I will not cast my childrens bread to dogs, the answer came. I will not bring my babes and wife to beggary and shame. I cannot raise ten thousand crownsnor would I if I could. Far better that my enemy should triumph in my blood Than Pia with her sweet sad eyes, and Nella with her smiles, And sweet Costanza, rosy-lipped, all kisses and all wiles, Should come to poverty through me; for who is there but knows The hardships that a maid of rank, undowered, undergoes ? But his lady fair discovered where her lord was held in prison. In her womans might, for her own true Knight, to the rescue she has risen. She has mortgaged their castle stern and grim, and all she can sell has sold; She has pledged the dower she brought to him for three thousand crowns in gold; She has pawned her tapestries, lace, and plate, her jewels and robes and furs There is nothing in all her coffers left of the treasures that once were hers. Still, lands and stuff were not enough to set the captive free: A thousand golden crowns she lacks to buy his liberty.

Elizabeth W. Latimer Latimer, Elizabeth W. The Legend of Saint Nicholas 18-23

18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and it gives me an inHuity of pure en joy- ment. It is obvious to me that there are many things in the connection which I (10 not understand; these all lie out in the field of conjecture. One of the clearest observations of my life is that people of good intent are never troubled in the mat- ter of religion except as they stray off into that field. In return for your trust in me, take a rule of conduct good for every days observance: When you hear a man talking oracularly in definitioii of topics which our Lord thought best to leave out- side of his teachings and revelations, set it down that he i~ trenching on the business of the Father and the prerogative of the Son; then go your way and let him alone. The rule is, of course, applicable only to subjects classified as religious. Here Uncle Midas arose, and said, with his oldschool politeness: Tomorrow, my young friends, or any time you choose other than to-night, I give you leave to criticise my talk upon the subject dealt with; you may even laugh at me for hav- ing taken so many of your precious min- utes in attempting to convince you that in fact Christ had no boyhood at all; but nowthe fiddlers are waiting for you You are mistaken, uncle, said Nan, with twinkling eyes. How so They too are here, and have been for the last fifteen minutes. Oh! very well; I am content with my short triumph over the fiddlers. Good- night to you all. Thereupon the company went to him one by one; the boys shook his hand and thanked him, the girls kissed him. And the music and the dance went on till holy- day stole through the windows. THE LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS. BY ELIZABETH WORMELEY LATIMER. Esso parlava anchor della largl~ezza Che fece Niccolao aBe pulcelle, Per condurre ad onor br giovinezzaPuaGAToino, XX. IN old Italian story, ere Florence went astray, Misled by wealth and glory, in stern, sad Dantes day, A certain Knight, in hard-fought fight, was captured by his foe, Who swore a fierce, unknightly oath he would not let him go Without a ransom such as might a king or prince set free Ten thousand golden crowns paid downand that right speedily. The Knight refused these cruel terms; they cast him then straightway Into the castles oubliette, where one poor loaf a day And draught of waterless and lesswere let down by a cord, While a hoarse voice above exclaimed: By order of my lord Again I ask, wilt thou, Sir Knight, make terms for thy release? If not to-morrowany daythy dole of food may cease. I will not cast my childrens bread to dogs, the answer came. I will not bring my babes and wife to beggary and shame. I cannot raise ten thousand crownsnor would I if I could. Far better that my enemy should triumph in my blood Than Pia with her sweet sad eyes, and Nella with her smiles, And sweet Costanza, rosy-lipped, all kisses and all wiles, Should come to poverty through me; for who is there but knows The hardships that a maid of rank, undowered, undergoes ? But his lady fair discovered where her lord was held in prison. In her womans might, for her own true Knight, to the rescue she has risen. She has mortgaged their castle stern and grim, and all she can sell has sold; She has pledged the dower she brought to him for three thousand crowns in gold; She has pawned her tapestries, lace, and plate, her jewels and robes and furs There is nothing in all her coffers left of the treasures that once were hers. Still, lands and stuff were not enough to set the captive free: A thousand golden crowns she lacks to buy his liberty. SHE STANDS WITH SHAME ON HER GLOWING 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THEY TOOK IllS HAND AND THEY LED HIM UP TO THE CHAMBER OF THE DEAD.~~ She has taken her three little girls by the hand, CostanEa, Nella, and Pia, And she stands with shame on her glowing face, in open day in the market-place, She holds out her hand with a piteous grace, and alms drop down at her feet apace, For her wifely courage and woful case melt the hearts of all who see her. The ransom was completed thus by public charity. They weighed the gold, its tale they told; they set the captive free. A gallant Knight in armor bright he to the fight had sped; A broken cripple he came back, with bowed and silvered head. He entered his court-yard still and bare: no wife came forth with greeting; CostanEa, Pia, and Nella were there, with tearful eyes and a frightened stare. Where is your mother, childrenwhere? Is this our longed-for meeting ? Oh! father, come; you must make her wake; she lies all white on her bed. They took his hand and they led him up to the chamber of the dead. A dull despair came over him there, and it lasted many a day. Time damp, the mould, the cruel cold of that fatal cell on his life had told: They had made him a man prematurely old, and had turned his black locks gray. Not far from the good Knights garden wall a little low hut there stood, Where he whom we call Saint Nicholas dwelt, then only known as the Good. We know how he looks from our story-books, as he travels our lands of snow, But he was a Florentine cobbler once, in the far-off Long A~,o. THE LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 21 He was old and gray, and merry, they say, and his cheeks, though withered, were red. His dress was leather, whatever the weather, with a hood to puii over his head. He saw the Knight sit night after ni~ht alone in a big straw chair; He could hear him groan as he watched alone, and wrestled with dumb despair. I shall die; I am dying, was ever his plaint; and alas! when I am gone, My three poor portionless pretty maids will be left in the world alone. Three poor little feeble creatures left to the cruel mercies of men- Costanza seven, and Nella eight, and Pin, the eldest, ten. I cannot even provide the fee each convent asks with a nun. 0 Father, strengthen my heart for me till I say, Thy will be done ! Alas! alas I, good Nicholas cried, when he heard the sad Knights words, I see it needs hope to prop up faith and to bend our wills to the Lords. Last night I saw Costauza sweet feed a bird with her scanty bread, And blithe little Nella blew me a kiss as she mounted the stairs to bed; And motherly, patient, pious, and good is the eldest of all of themPia; I think the angels must love that child as they bend from their thrones and see her Patiently sewing and mending by night, and hearing her sisters prayers, And folding their clothes, and making them neat, with her little motherly airs. I have gold in my chest; the Lord ha~s blessed my labors from day to day; Three thousand crowns in gold I hold till He shall give it away. Twas His by vow, long, long ago, and now I await His word To say in my heart, Rise, do thy part, bestow the gift of the Lord. I seem to hear that voice draw near. Speak, Lord; is it really so? My dearest Lord, may I spend my hoard? In Thy name may I go And rain on this desolate house a shower, a shower of golden rain, Till each sweet flower beneath its power shall blossom in hope again. IBut, ah! I must do my part by stealth, for kindness may be unkind If it woundeth the pride of a noble race, and leaveth a sting behind. VOL. LXXIY.No. 439.2 IT BURST, AND OUT OF IT ROUND TIlE KNIGHT A GOLDEN SHOWER DID POUR. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. He sat down then on his cobblers bench, and he made him a bag to hold, Packed close and tight, a thousand bright red crowns of Venetian gold. The bells at midnight rang out clear on Christmas Eve so merrily When the good man crept like a thief in the night on his errand of charity. The sad Knight keeping his lonely watch sat still in his big straw chair, And the maidens three in their purity asleep in their chamber were. He gave one lookgood aim he tookthe bag fell flop on the floor; It burst, and out of it round the Knight a golden shower did pour. Upon the bag there was written thus: Take this and dower thy Pin. God loves the faithful, and His eyes with sweet approval see her. Down on his face the father fell, the gold all scattered round him. God will provide, a kind voice cried; never again misdoubt Him. The next night came good Nicholas, cautious, by by-paths creeping, When all the town had gone to rest, and the three babes were sleeping. How shall I fling my bag, he said, to-night for little Nella? I would not have it miss its mark, and yet to-night the house is dark; I cannot see of light a spark, from coping-stone to cellar. But as he spake out peeped the Moonsweet Lady Moon soft-hearted, And with a smile the curtain clouds that hid her face she parted. She let a shining beamlet fall where the old Knight was lying, And in a moment, quick as thought, another bag came flying. The Knight sprang quickly to his feet, still deeming he was dreaming, But through the window on the floor a flood of light was streaming, And Lady Moon peeped down to see (for she had none to tell her) How the glad father joyfully received the bag marked Nella. The third night came, this time all black with clouds and drenching rain. Saint Nicholas to his good work crept stealthily again. He carried in his hand a bag on which were writ these words: For her who, though in need herself, yet fed Gods little birds. But as he raised his arm to fling this his last gift of gold, Two arms behind him clasped him tight, with a convulsive hold. The arms that grasped him were the Knight~s. Oh, Nicholas, cried he, Servant of God, why should you seek to hide yourself from me? Here in my little maidens names I humbly kiss thy hands, And pray this deed that thou hast done be told through many lands. Nay, nay, Sir Knight, I beg, I prayI kneel upon my knee Let this thing be a secret kept between thyself and me. I love, when all are sound asleep, to creep by stealth at night, And comfort little lonely babes, or add some new delight To those that happy homes provide for good girls and good boys. If watched, how could I carry round my sweetmeats, cakes, and toys? Be silent, then, Sir Knight; some day my mission will be over; Then tell them all (for then you may) I was the childrens lover. But as he spoke the midiPght bells seemed as by one endeavor To ring out softly like a chime, Forevereverever! Eight hundred years have passed, and still the good saint has permission On every Christmas Eve to start upon his happy mission. He carries round the world that night (to fill our hearts with wonder) Gifts to make childrens Christmas bright, and burst their socks asunder. His name is now a household word, to no one land restricted, But world-wide and for evermore, as the church chimes predicted. We know him, love him; his pet name we hail with glad applause,. All happy childrens patron saint, our own dear Santa Claus. LA MERE VENUS. AN OUT-DOOR STUDY. BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTOK, R.A. NEVER could under- stand why or where- fore that lightsome little band of art stu- dents came to fix upon poor old Vir- ginie the above play- ful sobriquet. It was not partic- ularly pat or well fitting, for she was gnarled and battered with storm, and bent and twisted with infirmities, saddened and shadowed with poverty and sorrows. And yet, nothing is sacred to a French sapper, nor to the callow art student, especially on French soil. So she was by common consent Mbre Venus to us all, notwithstanding the fact that she ra- ther liked the nick- name, as Richelieu did his of the old fox, and it therefore had not that charm so sweet to the in- ventive blaguer of annoying his victim. Not that we were particularly spiteful, beyond the usual wont of fiery and conceited youth, but they had the little weaknesses of their kind, and when they had been at the pains to tack a nickname to any one, they liked to have him feel the point of the tack. The poor old soul had a very pretty name of her own, and there were those of her old cronies who said that once upon a time she had been the beauty of the village. Even in our time one could trace beneath the seams and scars of time and care the remains of a certain comeliness that had not been entirely furrowed and harrowed out. The villagers, one and all, called her by her baptismal name, I might say her maiden name, for she had never married, and therefore had no plausible or moral right to be called La Mbre anybody, like the other old crones. We first met the usual wayby chance. But let me sketch a bit of the back-

George H. Boughton, A.R.A. Boughton, George H., A.R.A. La Mere Venus 23

LA MERE VENUS. AN OUT-DOOR STUDY. BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTOK, R.A. NEVER could under- stand why or where- fore that lightsome little band of art stu- dents came to fix upon poor old Vir- ginie the above play- ful sobriquet. It was not partic- ularly pat or well fitting, for she was gnarled and battered with storm, and bent and twisted with infirmities, saddened and shadowed with poverty and sorrows. And yet, nothing is sacred to a French sapper, nor to the callow art student, especially on French soil. So she was by common consent Mbre Venus to us all, notwithstanding the fact that she ra- ther liked the nick- name, as Richelieu did his of the old fox, and it therefore had not that charm so sweet to the in- ventive blaguer of annoying his victim. Not that we were particularly spiteful, beyond the usual wont of fiery and conceited youth, but they had the little weaknesses of their kind, and when they had been at the pains to tack a nickname to any one, they liked to have him feel the point of the tack. The poor old soul had a very pretty name of her own, and there were those of her old cronies who said that once upon a time she had been the beauty of the village. Even in our time one could trace beneath the seams and scars of time and care the remains of a certain comeliness that had not been entirely furrowed and harrowed out. The villagers, one and all, called her by her baptismal name, I might say her maiden name, for she had never married, and therefore had no plausible or moral right to be called La Mbre anybody, like the other old crones. We first met the usual wayby chance. But let me sketch a bit of the back-

George H. Boughton, A.R.A. Boughton, George H., A.R.A. La Mere Venus 23-34

LA MERE VENUS. AN OUT-DOOR STUDY. BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTOK, R.A. NEVER could under- stand why or where- fore that lightsome little band of art stu- dents came to fix upon poor old Vir- ginie the above play- ful sobriquet. It was not partic- ularly pat or well fitting, for she was gnarled and battered with storm, and bent and twisted with infirmities, saddened and shadowed with poverty and sorrows. And yet, nothing is sacred to a French sapper, nor to the callow art student, especially on French soil. So she was by common consent Mbre Venus to us all, notwithstanding the fact that she ra- ther liked the nick- name, as Richelieu did his of the old fox, and it therefore had not that charm so sweet to the in- ventive blaguer of annoying his victim. Not that we were particularly spiteful, beyond the usual wont of fiery and conceited youth, but they had the little weaknesses of their kind, and when they had been at the pains to tack a nickname to any one, they liked to have him feel the point of the tack. The poor old soul had a very pretty name of her own, and there were those of her old cronies who said that once upon a time she had been the beauty of the village. Even in our time one could trace beneath the seams and scars of time and care the remains of a certain comeliness that had not been entirely furrowed and harrowed out. The villagers, one and all, called her by her baptismal name, I might say her maiden name, for she had never married, and therefore had no plausible or moral right to be called La Mbre anybody, like the other old crones. We first met the usual wayby chance. But let me sketch a bit of the back- 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ground and surroundings before I do any more to the figures. I was passing the summer, some good few years ago, in a much besketched and painted little village not far from Paris. There was a rare nestful of us at the time, as I rememberAmericans, English, and French, a stray German or Swede now and thenand it was a mere toss-up as to which country could lay claim to the most reckless and abandoned farecurs of the party. To lead the other fellows into some farcical pitfall was with each nationality a duty so serious that it al- most verged on patriotism. How they found time for all these wild pranks, and the good hard work and study they did as well, is a mystery to me to this day. And though there was a constant striving as to who should show the best work, nothing could be more kindly and genuine than the applause all round for any worthy ef- fort. We often worked together out in the woods and fields, seldom more than two of us, as a larger number generally led to pranking of some kindgood enough in its way, but utterly inimical to serious sketching. I often noticed that the most wild farccur would take for choice some steady worker with him, if lie could entice him, as companion, and they often did their best work when they got their powers of levity and gravity properly adjusted. So it happened that on one sweltering summer afternoon one of the most aban- doned of the prankers and myselfper- haps he might revise the description; hut cest ~gal Iwere tempted by cool shades of the fragrant wood to wander off on chance of a subject in some of its devious all6cs. It was too hot for anything in- doors or in the openeven nonsense seem- ed to wilt and collapse. In the all4e were peace and shade and coolness, and we could lie under a tree and read and smoke, if too lazy to work. The late summer leaves were turning to that bronze gold hue that lights up to yellow flame under the afternoon sun. Where the leaves of the slender beech were catch- ing the glints of light, and just the breath of a passing breeze, they danced and trem- bled like showei~s of gold flakes. Some were silting sidelong down along the slen- der sinuous pathways. Lazy and demoralized as we felt with the heavy air of indolence and peace, the effect of the lovely shimmer of glowing color was too much for our dearest in- stincts. We occupied most of our time and energy, however, in very voluble admira- tion of it all. Even when trying to paint it, it was a running glorification of na- ture, a wild lament on how futile any at- tempt to do it, a running execration in the choicest of French bad language on the midges and mosquitoes that got into ones open pores and just buried theni- selves, to arise slaked with our gore only to wade into the fresh paint on palette or sketch. We had arrived almost at the point of despair where one breaks into calming song or violent action. By Jove! here she comes Which she ? I had my back to the direction indicated. Why, old Virginie, and old Julie with her. Look now! turn up that green tart of yours and gaze. Make haste. Theyre just in the right spot. I did turn up the work so felicitously described, and I rather gladly got up from the cram ping camp-stool, with my sys- tem full of pins and needles, and gazed as directed. Had Hebe and Aphrodite in their proper persons been brought before our ravished eyes, we could not have hail- ed them with much more rapture. To the young and tolerably healthy scarcely any good thing comes amiss. We had not tasted yet the fatal drug of the satiety that leads to ennui. They were, in fact, only two very old and time-battered crones that we saw coming slowly and wearily down the nar- row pathone leaning upon the arm of the other, and assisting herself with a stick as well. As they came nearer they passed through a slant beam of golden sunlight, and then somehow the whole picture fell into complete shape. We stayed them gently in their exact attitudes, as chance had put them in that fortunate moment. They were well used to such sudden demands on them, and took it all as a matter of course. My companion knew them well, but I, being a comparatively new comer, was a stranger for the moment. But to that posing community of villagers a painting palette or an open sketch-book was at any time a sufficient introduction. No further ceremony was required. Our conversa- tion was mainly in the peculiar patois of the region. And somehow we stu- dents managed to rapidly acquire and revel in such wondrous feats in it that the LA MERE VENUS. 25 accomplishment gave us more solid joy than would the purest vernacular of the Faubourg St. Germain itself. After the usual little salutations and greetings of the most polite kind we could command any sort of knowledge offor we always treated these women of the fields as if they were grand dames of the courtwe asked them if they had time to pose a little for us. They in their turn could not express their delight at being of any service to us. Would they sit down first after their walk ?and we of- fered them a bank of springy moss as if it had been a satin couch at Versailles. Merci, they would just rest a bit. We arranged them as comfortably as we could, and offered them a biscuit each. The wine was outbeing a warm daynaturally. When we were arranging them to their proper position I made the discovery that the elder woman was quite blind. I had noticed at first something uncanny about her eyes, as she seemed to blink out from under her deep-set gray brows with a sort of watery glimmer. I thought, how- ever, it was only the effect of the strong glancing sunlight on them. She had that tender, patient, submissive smile that one often sees on the sensitive sightless. Not- ing an unfamiliar voice and presence, she was informed about me by my companion in an unmerciful personal description, at which she laughed in a quiet, kindly way. We were thenceforth introduced. They would have nothing to do with my sur- name, finding it impossible to pronounce, naturally. She would only agree to know me as Msieu Georges; and in fact so were we all known to the villagersas Msieu Tome, Dicque, or Harrie, Billie or Sharlie, as the case might be. The tiresome studies of trees in shifting sunlight were put by, and we took out fresh boards, and went to work with re- newed vigor on our two figures, froni dif- ferent points of view. That pose finished, they were helped to their feet, and encouraged to execute a weird and rustic polka to get the pins and needles out of their cramped limbs. This was rare fun for theni, which they VIRGINIE AND JULIE. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. enjoyed as much as we did. They scorn- ed the idea of being tired. It was only a diversion to them to pose. They had grown tolerably gray in the service of the many artists who haunted the village. So they did another position for us, scarcely moving a muscle, although allowed to rest when so disposed, ev~nencouraged to haye another fandango. They beguiled the time with that light and somewhat spicy badinage which the French crone usually knows so well how to make the most of. I observed that Vir- ginie used a much better style of lan- guage and pronunciation to us than to her companion. It soon came out that in her youth she had spent some years as nurse-maid in a large provincial town; that she there lost her sight, and was obliged to return to her native village. Her companion was much younger in years, but by some trick of time or mis- chance she appeared much older and far more infirm. Indeed, the causes of these little infirmities were the pins on which the blind old friend hung most of the little plaisanteries that passed between them. She has been such a wild, giddy thing mon Dien! If I had not been here to look after her and exercise her about, she wouldnt be here now. And when our little s6artce was over and they had their little silver reward, and were doddering homeward along the sun-flecked path, it was the elder who supported, though she was guided by the younger. Indeed, Venus had said, You know I can get about by myself even in the woods, but she cant without me, or some one. She tumbles about, and sits down in the rQad and cant get up again. A few days afterward, wishing to add some details to my sketches, I found my way to the home of Virginie. It was in an angle of an arid village court-yard, composed of the most retiring of the hum- ble cottages. I rapped at the door some- what startlingly, as we now and then fan- cy for a moment that a blind person is deaf as well. This brought not La M~re Venus, however, but most of the neigh- boring dames to their doors and windows. They were most kind each and all in the matter of profuse, wildly voluble, and al- most hopelessly unintelligible informa- tion. The gist of it was that Virginie had gone to the wood for sticks some time since, and might soon be back. I was in- vited to go in and make myself at home chez Virginie, or, if I preferred it, to come in where I liked, and if I wanted an urchin to go for her, or to show me the best place to find her, there were willing ones at my service; or if I would like a chair to sit on while I sketched the court-yard generally, I had only to mention it. There was such an embarrassment of rich proposals that I was puzzled for a moment what to do. The little den of La Mare Venus looked very inviting to the lover of stern simplicity and strong contrasts of light and shade. The door had been obligingly flung wide open for me, so I determined to wait there. Al- ions, bon ! The best chair was brought forward and dusted with the ready apron, the grimy casement was thrown back, and a mug of wild flowers was transferred from the mantel to the table to cheer and enliven the scene; several scattered old chiffons of the departed Venus were hustled into a capacious chest, and a broken pair of old muddy sabots into the back room, and Voil~, msieu ! there we were, presentable, and they soon consid- erately left me to my own devices. The little low dark room was on the ground literally the earthfloor; it had even been hollowed by constant sweeping and the constant impact of many hard wooden sa- bots for many years. The furniture was pathetically clumsy and decrepit. The most hardened sinner in bric-~-brac would never have been tempted by a single worm-bitten object in the place. And yet it was all so beau- tifully paintable where it stood. The little mendings and patchings, the lop- sided old chest with a hingeless lid, the propped - up, debilitated old wardrobe, which seemed to be cupboard and lum- ber-room as well, were things that the sketcher with a knowing eye would gur- gle over with delight. The impressive, and, in fact, oppressive, object in the place, however, was the bed the couch of Mother Venus herself. It nearly filled half the room. She was evidently her own handmaiden, and the toilet of the apartment was the outcome of a sensitive touch alonenot oversensitive here and there, perhaps; but what right had Ithere, after all? What little linen evinced itself timidly here and there seemed a priceless bit of artistic tone (with its own surroundings), but out in the free air, and under the azure LA MERE VENUS. 27 sky, I dont care to fancy what the exact tint of it would he. There were several crazy old chairs, two with bulgy cushions of faded chintz upon them, the only ap- proach to luxury or ease in the place, if one may except an old bit of worn and ravelled rug near the bed. It was too far gone for me to make out whether it had once been an Eastern prayer rug; if so, it had sadly changed for the worse. A half-glazed door divided this little room from its back kitchen and scullery, and, indeed, its only other room of any kind. I set open the doors of both rooms, so that the free air mi ht rush through, and perchance carry off a little of the smoky aroma that filled the place. In a few minutes it began to smell a little less like the inside of a chimney that had not been swept for years. The added light, however, spoiled the Rembrandt shadows, and let me see too painfully how sadly unkempt the little den was altogether. So, after a short blast of air and sweetness, I went back to my old-master-like effects. It takes a good dose of mere aroma to dis- courage an eager art student who sees through it and into a realm of rich bi- tumen and brown madder and velvety blacks. The back kitchen reeked with decaying onions, complicated with forgot- ten soapsuds. I was quite willing to ad- mit that quietly to myself; but if any su- persensitive cynic had been there to re- mind me of it, I should have almost de- nied it, and have seen naught but golden browns and smoky grays and whites, and a delicious tone over all. I found it a good plan, however, to pull the tops of ones socks over the bottoms of the trou- sers; the little brown skipper does not in- vite himself then by that approach. Then the aromas may come on. There is the ever - ready brier - root pipe loaded with Caporal, and it is a poor fellow who is afraid to fight back reek for reek. During the hour or so that I waited for the lady of the house, amusing myself with hasty notes of li~,ht and shade, I hink half the population of that court- yard filed through the place and through the little back garden into the field be- yond, having a good stare and a kindly word of some kind by the way. Soon a triumphant boy, with a broad smile upon him up to the stiff roots of his hair, came back with the Venus herself. Seein~ pos- sible~ sons in the air, he had fled to the wood and captured her; and there she was, beaming on me from her own door, and making me a little speech of welcome. The ladies of the court came round, and ex- plained in rattlingpatois how they in her absence had done the honors of the place. She thanked them in the same hearty rattle, and hobbled in with her small gleanings of twigs. I soon unfolded a little plan I had formed during my wait, namely, to use her little den as an occa- s~onal studio, where I could pose my vil- lage children and herself and cronies, in-doors and out, and count on Rem- brandt effects to my hearts content. I named my own terms, which seemed to enchant her enormously ; and thereafter for many weeks, I had the run of the place, free to come and go and stay to my hearts content. ozz OF MY VISITORS. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There was no need of a pass-key. The children about me, I sought the sechi- poor old souls door was ever yielding to sion of Mother Venuss back garden. On the push of any coiner whenever the other days the open field, or a corner of the knock was unanswered. Thither came little larch wood, or a hedge-side, was good all the posing population of the village, enough studio. By a little careful manage- and so much were the services of the pic- ment the youngsters could be kept in some turesque people in request that sitting for sort of order. They took especial pleasure artists mi~ht have been called one of the in criticising the personal charms of some flourishing industries of the place. Mo- unfortunate sitter. And their delight in thers would bring the most painfully pol- the misery of the victim who had to keep ished and combed babies and youngsters, still and listen to scathing remarks was warranted never to shed a tear, but to be I blush to say, almost as much fun to me as good with Mother Venus or with any as it was to them. There was so much stray volunteer nurse as with their own caustic sarcasm, so free a flow of fiendish kin, and often they were better. Sittiug delight, that if I failed to awaken any art tolerably quiet for a short time seemed to instincts among those young varlets, at somehow connect itself in the infant mind least I may fancy that I fostered a rising with lumps of sugar, or even elementary brood of born critics of a certain well- dolls and tin soldiers. known kind. I didnt come off scathless The baby was often taken into the gar- either, for they didnt mind at all barbing den,and there let to disport itself as seem- their arrows with any shortcoming in the ed best to it within a certain radius. If sketching. There is no exact equivalent the flying pencil could not follow its love- for the spice and bite of their peasant ver- ly natural poses swiftly enough, so much nacular. The little bits of unmeant pro- the worse for the sketcher. The only way fanity that are common even with chil- was to consider them like kittens, or skip- dren, and looked upon as rather pious ejac- ping lambs, or breaking waves, and study ulations than otherwise, and their frank them in that spirit, and natural little improprieties, gave One fine niorning a small boy who had them a certain chic that other urchins dn been given a baby to mind thought to not possess. I found myself studying the earn a few honest sons by bringing him peculiarities of their patois (amid using for me to draw. He was a sturdy, rebel- them too where I ought not to, I found t~ hious-lookin~, mite, with crisp red hair and my horror) nearly as hard as I was study- hard mottled limbs. There was never ing drawing, and as I could do the tw~ much time wasted with undecided arran- at the same time, I got on very rapidly. gings and poses; anyhow would do, so Mother Venus was a great help to me in long as lie was kept tolerably right side this respect, as she could explain in prop- up. The idea was new and simple, and er French any new word or phrase that pleasing to the boy, but the baby regard- interested me. And though my questions. ed it not in that light; he howled and now and again brought a deep brown kicked and fought like a young tiger. It blush to her corrugated cheek, she did her was all the same to me; I wanted to study duty of instruction nobly. She spoke her a young howler just then, and to note words to nie so slowly and carefully that how exactly lie managed to screw his eyes I could follow her as well as print. so tight, to extend his rose-bud mouth so To amuse the sitters and me, she would cavernously, and to punch his counte- sometimes volunteer to sing to us, and it nance so viciously with his own fists. would generally be one of those crooning It was not so always, however, as he man- old songs of tIme last century, about Cohn aged to implant a few backhanders on and Lubin and Susette and the other the devoted head of his boy-nurse. The shepherds and sliepherdesses, and love in fine healthy yells soomi brought every old large and generous doses spread lavish- woman about the court to see who was ly about. But she was not always gay being murdered. Cant you keep him and giddy. One morning I went to her still ? Voyons ptit d~irnon I Sacred door rather earlier thami usual, and went little tiger-cat ! and various other endear- in rather unexpectedly to her, and found ing infamies were heaped on the little her on her knees at her bedside in an at- howlers head. titude so expressive of tIme utter prostra- When I did not care to work with a tion of whole body and soul in prayer large and somewhat critical audience of that I could not help a mental photograph LA MERE VENUS. 29 as I passed quickly and quietly through the room. I merely said, Dont derange yourself; I am going into the garden. Eon, bon, Msieu Georges; Ill be there in a little moment. I turned to take another glance at her, as she had not moved from her position. I took out my sketch-book from my pocket by some irre- sistible impulse and she seemed at once to know it. I can keep like this as long as you wish, Msieu Georges. I often keep this way for hours. I could not resist the temptress. Are you sure you are not tired ? MOTHERS WOULD BRING THE MO5T PAINFULLY POLISHED AND COMBED BABIES 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No, no; I had only just begun as you She gave a little mixed laugh, half sad came in. Allcz. and thoughtful and half gay. It has a And I need not say I did. And I think better chance. Anyhow I prayed for it, she never moved a muscle for goodness and I didnt pray for his, for he made me knows how long. I had done all I wished laugh so. At least, if it doesnt do you at the time, and could have done more, as any good, it cant do any harm. This she was still anxious to go on, pretending was her usual tag of philosophy for all she had not quite finished even then. her spiritual efforts. She then proceeded Were you really praying the whole to arrange her head-gear, standing actu- time, Virginie ? ally before a dim little lop-sided glass by The whole time. And after a little the bed, and which she had to locate by pause: Part of the time I was praying sense of touch. for you, Msieu Georges. Can you see anything at all, Vir- Thats very good of you. ginie ? Yes; I was praying that your picture No, msieu, not yet; but I hope to might be a grand success. some day, just as I am standing in this Not for my soul, then ? place. She then went almost as straight Oh no, msieu. You can take care as if she had her sight to a small bottle of yourself, but I feel you are going to on the high mantel, standing beside a make a good picture of me. Msieu small black crucifix. She tremblingly Sharlie, who sings Bob Ridley, I sat for uncorked the bottle, and began to touch him four hours. He sang the whole tinie her closed lids with her moistened finger. chansons dc n~grc to amuse me. I didnt What is that, Virginie, you are us- pray much then; I listened to him; how ing ? funny! Although I didnt know a word, Oh, this is some holy-water the cur6 I did laugh. Mon Dicul mon Dicu I, gave me. It may do me the good I pray Do you think my picture ought to he for some day. At any rate, it cant do any better than his because I didnt sing and harm. And again came that same smile amuse you ?, made of good-humor and sad patience. Some days her old crony of the woodland path would come in to have a chat with her, and the two would huddle to- gether and croon over a little sput- tering fire of a few green twigs on that great ~ gaunt hearth of the Rembrandt fireplace. There they would sit on their creaky easy- chairs, and rake over the gray ash- es of their past, and now and then they would stir up a few sparks of humor or a little smoke of some fire of days gone by. They had their little histoircs, I found. They had ON 1115 GOOD BEHAVIOR, danced lightly on LA MERE VENUS. 31 many a greensward, and lovers were lov- ers in those days. Aha! Oni, pas vrai, Julie? Dam! And they would gurgle and chuckle, and nudge each other, and spread their shrivelled brown hands toward the flicker to catch a little warmth. You would not think, msieu, so they telJ me, that when we were girls together, she had not gone yet to her first communion when I was a grown girl with sweethearts in plenty. This was a constant source of pride to Mother Venus, that she had kept more youthful than her younger crony. It was singular how little nourishment they seemed to take; and as for any stim- ulants, beyond a little bhie wine or crude ciderunless one might call their weak caft am lait stimulatingthey knew no- thing of their nature. A thick vegetable soup, powerful of onions and cabbage, a section of coarse bread, a morsel of odorous cheese, and that was about all. Tea was only spoken of as a medicine to be takenafter a long and careful stewing when recoverin from an illness. I longed to brine them some little tea-set and a pound or so of the herb from town, to cheer that gaunt THE CRONIES. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hearth-side, but was discouraged by my quently we would be re~nforced with a frank and matter-of-fact friend, who ac- fresh recruit, weary of the noisy idleness cused me of tryin,, to corrupt with un- of some of the big art schools. With the wonted luxuries a set of simple and toler- older and more experienced of the students ably innocent peasants. of either camp there was not much dis- This sort of life and experience went cussion. Each would know his own on for some months, and I found its charm wants and his own nature well enough and usefulness to me, as a means of quiet to follow his own devices and work out study, increase and develop constantly. his own destiny. I found from my own The master-mind that had attracted us to observation that the larger the mob of the spot was ever ready to aid with sterling students in any one big atelier, the less advice and teach by pure unaffected exam- individuality seemed to crop up. Forty ples. Evident love and devotion to the students would all imitate the good and pursuit of the art he loved so well was a bad of the so-called master with more sufficient pass to his good graces and his senseless unanimity than six would have sincere interest in you. He loved above done. When a master has fewer pupils, all things to foster and encourage mdi- lie generally succeeds in rousing in each vidual effort, and haile~l with delight any some personal and individual effort; he new, fresh way of looking at the things will discourage blind imitation as much with which lie was so familiar, as possible. Fr~re himself was a favorite It was almost an impossibility, how- pupil of Paul Delaroche, and what could ever, to paint the material there that lie be more wide apart than their styles? and had made his own without in a degree re- yet I have no doubt that Fr~re worked sembhing him. Why, the very children ever from the broad precepts of his mas- and the old womeii of the place looked ter, applying them to his own needs. like his pictures come to life, so that if you One fine day a visiting friend from got the local form and color at all, it was, Paris found his way to my reeking little in proportion to its success, bound to look den chez la ]lkre Venus, with some dif- like him as much as it knew how. His ficulty, it may be owned, as the villagers advice was never about methods, or fads, didnt know her by that name, or me by or style. There were no absurd conceits of the proper name lie gave m& So he fell nahvet4 or simplicity about him. Purely back on a striking personal description of natural himself, he was a keen discoverer niyself and a certain grievous green blouse of affectation in others, and nothing pain- I wore (bought by gas-light under the im- ed him more. His advice when given pression that it was a new tint of blue), and it always was free as air (literally and which gave me a nickname that mod- and commercially so too)would ever re- esty alone prevents me from trying to late to the eternal good principles of the translate. He was brought straight to me art. No matter how you chose to look or at once. How radiant, but inharmonious translate, his advice would apply equally and incongruous, he looked, clad in a well to the most simple realist as to the mashing suit of delicate gray check, in most ineffable idealist. It was the coun- that Rembrandtishi den of ours! The sel and advice that one has never occasion company chair expressly polished (with a to change or ask for again, as it is very copious paint rag) was not good enough; seldom forgotten. Brilliant faddists may lie must needs spread out his newspaper for a time keep him in seeming shade by as well before lie would sit down, and then the crude glitter of their cheap tinsel, but his feet were on the rungs of the chair, so for all time the name of Edouard Fr~re as not to touch the floor. He winked and will be a cherished power in the annals of blinked and sniffed in an ostentatious French art. manner, and excused it by reminding me Now and then some student-friends, that he had just come out of the sunshine pale and limp from some superheated and fresh air. Parisian atehier, would come out for a day My dear boy, you are just getting or so in our country retreat. Thiey would moss-grown down here. begin to mildly and condescendingly pity You know you are just green with our exile and deprivation of the move- en vy over this paradise of bitumen. Look ment of art in the capital. But some- at it! its running down the very walls. how in thie way of interchaff we rustics As old Squcers said about the school milk, cculd hold a good front; and not unfre- Theres richness for you! LA MERE VENUS. 33 Yes, I know, said my cynic; but tube bitumen is good enough for me, as I dont care to breathe it all day long, or to wade about in it for a few hours even. Promise me one thing, old man, you bric-a-brac fiend of the prairiesdont buy up this massive furniture and cart it off to Paris. I could see his practised eye rove quickly from object to object with no other expression than weary disdain. Seriously, now, you do want a change yourself. This coal-tar color is getting into your soul, and varnishing over all your better instincts. Now you come with me for a weeks rest, and then come back and see this den afresh, as I see it now. Hallo! whats that? Wait a mo- ment. Just move the leg of your seat a wee bit. Oh, I say, get up! Excuse my impatience, old man. Got a knife ? I offered him a scraper. Just the very thing! And he began scraping the dirt floor from some shiny object half hidden beneath. What have you turned up now? A Roman drain, or some ancient Gaulish pot- tery ? He paid little attention to nie, but scraped away at his object; it looked like a flat fragment of pottery. If you dont mind leaving that a few minutes longer, I shall be obliged to you. It is only a bit of Mother Venuss wash-pan that I put there to level up my sketching seat with. He stopped like a shot, and scanned my face, that I was trying to control; but he only hesitated a moment. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere. So not this time. And on he went with his scrape. Ill bet Ive got one this time, or a piece of one. And sure enough he had laid bare a small blue and gold tile with a fleur-de-lis on it in good rich color. There you are; and if Mother Venus has a toilet set of this stuff, I should like to make her a bid for it. What ware is it, anyhow ? said I, now subdued and sad at a frivolous fel- low like that unearthing precious relics under my very nose. You mean to say you have lived here all these months and dont know what stuff this is ? I blush to say it is a sad fact, but I have been busyvery busy all the time painting. I was just thinking of getting a pick and shovel to see what I could strike, and now youve let me off. What do you call it when you find that sort ? Well, I will tell you, and henceforth the placid currents of your existence will take a new and perhaps intelligent direc- tion. I bowed. You have heard of Palissy the Potter, no doubt ? I am positively sick and tired of him and his wifes wedding ring as well. Thats a good sign. Well, then, you perhaps know that his first success was this tile, not this very one, but this sort, and he tiled the floors of the old chateau on the hill with them. During the great French Revolution, which, of course, was before your time, the mob broke into the chateau and turned it inside out. They even grubbed up all the Palissy tiles, and cast them into the highways and by-ways. Soon afterward, when the storm blew over, the peasants gathered them all together again, and paved their cottages with them. The vil- lage baker paved his oven floor even with the archangel tiles. And later on, when Time brought his revenge, the restored Montmorencys made the villagers dis- gorge their ill-gotten tilings, and even the baker had to pull his oven to pieces. This cottage has evidently been tiled at one time, and this fleur-de-lis is the proof of it. This broken corner, too, may ac- count for its getting left. Violet! and now I think the poison of antiquarianism is beginning to course through your sys- tem. Well, you see, as I said before, Im very busy just now, but when .1 get to your age of affluence and indolence I may let the poison work, if it should ever take a good hold. Well, I still feel as if I had done some good this morning, and this tile alone is worth all my trouble of coming out to see you. And he proceeded to enwrap his tile in a bit of his paper. But before you depart with what you call your find, how about the poor owner of the property? For all you know, it may form some part of a well-planned decoration. I see, old fellow, what you are driv- ing at. We often do forget ourselves and others in moments of delirious success. Do you think ten solid francs would com- fort the Venus for the loss of this ? Ill try; and if she wants further con- solation, you can send on a check. He soon departed in high glee with his prize, and I returned to my work, but with a wandering eye prowling about the floor for a stray hint of lurking blue and 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gold; but not a bit could my unpractised eye discover. When Mother Venus returned from the bois with her small garner of sticks, I related the incident, and I put the two big five - franc pieces in her shrivelled hand. How her sightless, furrowed face lit up! it was like a gleam of sunshine over a brown ploughed field. Im in luck with you ! she cried. I prayed to the bon Dieu for a little turn of good chance, and here it is. Cest bien dr6le tout dm~mc. And then fo]lowed a string of pious blasphemyto my ears and all for ten francs. I didnt know of that tile, but there is a good tile with a picture on it that props up the back leg of the couch, and it was put there many years ago. I felt the blood of the anti- quary and discoverer beginning to riot through me. Would msieu like it? because if he would, mon Dieu! that shall be the tile for the ten francs. By the little image carven of wood [literall, I had clean forgotten all about the sacred little tile till you mentioned it. The crazy, creaky old couch was soon slewed round, and there was the tile, safe and sound, and glad perhaps to see the light once more. It was perfect, and lovely. I felt it singing and appealing to me the moment it came to view. As she said, it had a figure on it, an archangel; a corner-piece, the fleur-de- us, was only the border, and it was per- fect, without crack or flaw. A bit of wood was handy to fill its place, and the couch was soon wheeled round again. Now look you, Venus, the tile my friend discovered was his for his own ten francs; this is another affair. Now as this is better, you shall have fifteen or twenty francs for this, and it is to be mine. Mon Dien, Msieu Georges, you may be right, after all; but as the ten francs is more than the two sacred old rubbish of the dust heap is worth, I should like to give it to you or to the other msieu. She took the money, however, and a well - spring of pious mutterings over- flowed from her overfull heart. Soon after that I arranged my vengeance. I got out my antiquary again, and having planted my tile near to where he would be sitting, I proceeded to discover it as art- fully as I could. Not very well, I fear, for he flatly accused me of bad comedy be- fore it was half dug out; but when he saw its archangel face in all its perfection poor man! tears almost stood in his eyes. Well, what about it l And then ensued a roundabout negotiation for the treasure. Result, just to prove my good faith, and how easy it was now to find them after lie showed me how, I bestowed it upon him with my blessing. It was small reward of revenge, years after, when I saw that same tile in an honored place in his cabinet, and he said to me, My dear boy, you did owe me something for opening your gummed eyelids to these things; but the day you parted with that angel you were greemier than you are now. And the Venus? Well, there was a scene of parting, soon after, that I will omit. There is much more to say, but not much more to tell. She long since opened her eyes to other light than ours. INASMUCH. BY WALLACE BRUCE. you say that you want a meetin-house for the boys in the gulch up there, And a Sunday-school with pictur-books? Well, put me down for a share. I believe in little children; its as nice to hear em read As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed. And I believe in preachin tooby men for preachin born, Who let alone the husks of creed, and measure out the corn. The pulpits but a manger where the pews are gospel-fed; And they say twas to a manger that the star of glory led. So Ill subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls: I always give the best Ive got whenever my partner calls. And, stranger, let me tell you: Im beginning to suspect That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect; That life is a kind of pilgrimage, a sort of Jericho road, And kindness to ones fellows the sweetest law in the code. No matter about the nitials; from a farmer, you understand,

Wallace Bruce Bruce, Wallace Inasmuch 34-37

34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gold; but not a bit could my unpractised eye discover. When Mother Venus returned from the bois with her small garner of sticks, I related the incident, and I put the two big five - franc pieces in her shrivelled hand. How her sightless, furrowed face lit up! it was like a gleam of sunshine over a brown ploughed field. Im in luck with you ! she cried. I prayed to the bon Dieu for a little turn of good chance, and here it is. Cest bien dr6le tout dm~mc. And then fo]lowed a string of pious blasphemyto my ears and all for ten francs. I didnt know of that tile, but there is a good tile with a picture on it that props up the back leg of the couch, and it was put there many years ago. I felt the blood of the anti- quary and discoverer beginning to riot through me. Would msieu like it? because if he would, mon Dieu! that shall be the tile for the ten francs. By the little image carven of wood [literall, I had clean forgotten all about the sacred little tile till you mentioned it. The crazy, creaky old couch was soon slewed round, and there was the tile, safe and sound, and glad perhaps to see the light once more. It was perfect, and lovely. I felt it singing and appealing to me the moment it came to view. As she said, it had a figure on it, an archangel; a corner-piece, the fleur-de- us, was only the border, and it was per- fect, without crack or flaw. A bit of wood was handy to fill its place, and the couch was soon wheeled round again. Now look you, Venus, the tile my friend discovered was his for his own ten francs; this is another affair. Now as this is better, you shall have fifteen or twenty francs for this, and it is to be mine. Mon Dien, Msieu Georges, you may be right, after all; but as the ten francs is more than the two sacred old rubbish of the dust heap is worth, I should like to give it to you or to the other msieu. She took the money, however, and a well - spring of pious mutterings over- flowed from her overfull heart. Soon after that I arranged my vengeance. I got out my antiquary again, and having planted my tile near to where he would be sitting, I proceeded to discover it as art- fully as I could. Not very well, I fear, for he flatly accused me of bad comedy be- fore it was half dug out; but when he saw its archangel face in all its perfection poor man! tears almost stood in his eyes. Well, what about it l And then ensued a roundabout negotiation for the treasure. Result, just to prove my good faith, and how easy it was now to find them after lie showed me how, I bestowed it upon him with my blessing. It was small reward of revenge, years after, when I saw that same tile in an honored place in his cabinet, and he said to me, My dear boy, you did owe me something for opening your gummed eyelids to these things; but the day you parted with that angel you were greemier than you are now. And the Venus? Well, there was a scene of parting, soon after, that I will omit. There is much more to say, but not much more to tell. She long since opened her eyes to other light than ours. INASMUCH. BY WALLACE BRUCE. you say that you want a meetin-house for the boys in the gulch up there, And a Sunday-school with pictur-books? Well, put me down for a share. I believe in little children; its as nice to hear em read As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed. And I believe in preachin tooby men for preachin born, Who let alone the husks of creed, and measure out the corn. The pulpits but a manger where the pews are gospel-fed; And they say twas to a manger that the star of glory led. So Ill subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls: I always give the best Ive got whenever my partner calls. And, stranger, let me tell you: Im beginning to suspect That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect; That life is a kind of pilgrimage, a sort of Jericho road, And kindness to ones fellows the sweetest law in the code. No matter about the nitials; from a farmer, you understand, 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Whos generally had to play it alone from rather an ornary hand. Ive never struck it rich; for farming, you see, is slow, And whenever the crops are fairly good, the prices are always low. A dollar isnt very much, but it helps to fount the same: The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins the game. It assists a fellows praying when hes down upon his knees Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these. I know the verses, stranger, so you neednt stop to quote: Its a different thing to know them or to say them off by rote. Ill tell you where I learned them, if youll step in from the rain: Twas down in Frisco, years ago; had been there hauling grain. It was near the city limits, on the Sacramento pike, Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shanties scatterin like. Not the likeliest place to be in, I remember, the saloon With grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all in one. And this made up the picturemy hair was not thea gray, But everything still seems as real as if twere yesterday. A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter there, Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with grief and care; And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic cold Just the tone you find in children who are prematurely old. She said: Two bits for bread and tea. Ma hasnt much to eat; She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all some meat. Weve been half starved all winter, but spring will soon be here, And she tells us, Keep up courage, for God is always near. Just then a dozen men came in; the boy was called away To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty-niners say. I never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless crowd. But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to revels deep, On a keg beside a barrel in the coriier, fast asleep. Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at the bar Said, Hello! I say, stranger, what have you over thar ? The boy then told her story, and that crew, so fierce and wild, Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of the child. The glasses all were lowered; said the leader: Boys, see here; All day weve been pouring whiskey, drinking deep our Christmas cheer. Heres two dollarsIve got feelings which are not entirely dead For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of bread. Heres a dollar. Heres another. And they all chipped in their share, And they planked the ringing metal down upon the counter there. Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from his belt, Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the sleeper knelt; Took the two bits from her fingers; changed her silver piece for gold. See there, boys; the girl is dreaming. Down her cheeks the tear-drops rolled. One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to the street. Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her feet With a dazed and strange expression, saying: Oh, I thought twas true! Ma was well, and we were happy; round our door-stone roses grew. We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes to wear; And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft with fingers fair. As she looked, and saw the money in her fingers glistening bright, Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she wont believe me quite, How youve sent way up to heaven, where the golden treasures are, And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery bar. Thats a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought youd like to hear; True to fact and human nature, pointing out ones duty clear. Hence to matters of subscription you will see that Im alive: Just mark off that dollar, stranger; I think Ill make it five. FOLLY. A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION. BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The Colonel had been pretending not to no- tice it, but when Drinkwater Torm* knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to pick them up lurch- ed over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he yelled at him. Torm pulled him- self together, and began an explanation, in which the point was tbat he had not tetched a drap in Gord knows how long, but the Colonel cut him short. Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond ! he roared. Torm~ was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much dig- nity as his unsteady condition would ad- mit of, marched very statelily from the room, and passing out through the dining- room, where he stopped only to abstract one more drink from the long heavy cut- glass decanter on the sideboard, meander- ed out to his house in the backyard, where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive- trees, when he fell asleep. The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the mean- derer was Drinkwater Torm. (The Col- onel gave him the name, because, he said, if he were to drink water once, he would die.) As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely: Damme, Folly, II will! Ill sell him to-morrow morning; and if I cant sell him, Ill give him away. Folly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously. No; I tell you Ill sell him. Misery in his back! the mischief! hes a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing nigger, and I have sworn to sell him a thousandyes, ten thousand times; and now Ill have to do it to keep my word. This was true. The Colonel swore this a dozen times a dayevery time Torm got drunk, and as that had occurred very fre- quently for many years before Folly was born,he was not outside of the limit. Pol * This spelling is used because he was called Torm until it became his name. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.3 ly, however, was the only one this threat ever troubled. The Colonel knew he could no more have gotten on without Torm than his old open-faced watch, which looked for all the world like a model of himself, could have run without the main-spring. From tying his shoes and getting his shav- ing water, to making his juleps and light- ing his candles, which was all he had to do, Drinkwater Torm was necessary to him (I think he used to make the threat just to prove to himself that Torm did not own him; if so, he failed in his purpose Torm did own him). Torm knew it as well as he, or better; and while Charity, for private and wifely reasons, occasionally held the threat over him when his ex- poundings passed even her endurance, she knew it also. Thus Folly was the only one it deceived or frightened. It always deceived her, and she never rested until she had obtain- ed Torms reprieve for just one more time. So on this occasion, before she got down from the Colonels knees, she had given him in bargain just one more squeeze, and received in return Torms conditional pardon, only till next time. Everybody in the county knew the Col- onel, and everybody knew Drinkwater Torm, and everybody who had been to the Colonels for several years past (and that was nearly everybody in the county, for the Colonel kept open house), knew Folly. She had been placed in her chair by the Colonels side at the club dinner on her first birthday after her arrival, and had been afterward placed on the table and allowed to crawl around among and in the dishes to entertain the gentlemen, which she did to the applause of every one, and of herself most of all; and from that time she had exercised in her kingdom the functions of both Vashti and Esther, and whatever Folly ordered was done. If the old inlaid piano in the parlor had been robbed of strings, it was all right, for Fol- ly had taken them. Bob had cut them out for her, without a word of protest from any one but Charity. The Colonel would have given her his heart-strings if Folly had required them. She had owned him body and soul from 4

Thomas Nelson Page Page, Thomas Nelson Polly. A Christmas Recollection 37-53

FOLLY. A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION. BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The Colonel had been pretending not to no- tice it, but when Drinkwater Torm* knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to pick them up lurch- ed over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he yelled at him. Torm pulled him- self together, and began an explanation, in which the point was tbat he had not tetched a drap in Gord knows how long, but the Colonel cut him short. Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond ! he roared. Torm~ was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much dig- nity as his unsteady condition would ad- mit of, marched very statelily from the room, and passing out through the dining- room, where he stopped only to abstract one more drink from the long heavy cut- glass decanter on the sideboard, meander- ed out to his house in the backyard, where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive- trees, when he fell asleep. The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the mean- derer was Drinkwater Torm. (The Col- onel gave him the name, because, he said, if he were to drink water once, he would die.) As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely: Damme, Folly, II will! Ill sell him to-morrow morning; and if I cant sell him, Ill give him away. Folly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously. No; I tell you Ill sell him. Misery in his back! the mischief! hes a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing nigger, and I have sworn to sell him a thousandyes, ten thousand times; and now Ill have to do it to keep my word. This was true. The Colonel swore this a dozen times a dayevery time Torm got drunk, and as that had occurred very fre- quently for many years before Folly was born,he was not outside of the limit. Pol * This spelling is used because he was called Torm until it became his name. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.3 ly, however, was the only one this threat ever troubled. The Colonel knew he could no more have gotten on without Torm than his old open-faced watch, which looked for all the world like a model of himself, could have run without the main-spring. From tying his shoes and getting his shav- ing water, to making his juleps and light- ing his candles, which was all he had to do, Drinkwater Torm was necessary to him (I think he used to make the threat just to prove to himself that Torm did not own him; if so, he failed in his purpose Torm did own him). Torm knew it as well as he, or better; and while Charity, for private and wifely reasons, occasionally held the threat over him when his ex- poundings passed even her endurance, she knew it also. Thus Folly was the only one it deceived or frightened. It always deceived her, and she never rested until she had obtain- ed Torms reprieve for just one more time. So on this occasion, before she got down from the Colonels knees, she had given him in bargain just one more squeeze, and received in return Torms conditional pardon, only till next time. Everybody in the county knew the Col- onel, and everybody knew Drinkwater Torm, and everybody who had been to the Colonels for several years past (and that was nearly everybody in the county, for the Colonel kept open house), knew Folly. She had been placed in her chair by the Colonels side at the club dinner on her first birthday after her arrival, and had been afterward placed on the table and allowed to crawl around among and in the dishes to entertain the gentlemen, which she did to the applause of every one, and of herself most of all; and from that time she had exercised in her kingdom the functions of both Vashti and Esther, and whatever Folly ordered was done. If the old inlaid piano in the parlor had been robbed of strings, it was all right, for Fol- ly had taken them. Bob had cut them out for her, without a word of protest from any one but Charity. The Colonel would have given her his heart-strings if Folly had required them. She had owned him body and soul from 4 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the second he first laid eyes on her, when, on the instant he entered the room, she had stretched out her little chubby hands to him, and on his taking her had, after a few infantile caresses, curled up and, with her finger in her mouth, gone to sleep in his arms like a little white kitten. Bob used to wonder in a vague, boyish way where the child got her beauty, for the Colonel weighed two hundred and fif- ty pounds, and was as ugly as a red head and thirty or forty years of Torms mint- juleps piled on a somewhat reckless col- lege career could make him; but one day, when the Colonel was away from home, Charity showed him a daguerreotype of a lady which she got out of the top drawer of the Colonels big secretary with the brass lions on it, and it looked exactly like Polly. It had the same great big dark eyes, and the same soft white look, though Polly was stouter, for she was a great tomboy, and used to run wild over the place with Bob, climbing cherry-tr6es, and fishing in the creek, and looking as blooming as a rose, with her hair all tan- gled over her pretty head, until she grew quite large, and the Colonel got her a tutor. He thought of sending her to a boarding- school, but the night he broached the sub- ject he raised such a storm, and Polly was in such a tempest of tears, that he gave up the matter at once. It was well he did so, for Polly and Charity cried all night, and Torm was so overcome that even next morning he could not bring the Colonel his shaving water, and he had to shave with cold water for the first time in twenty years. He therefore employed a tutor. Most peo- ple said the child ought to have had a governess, and one or two single ladies of forgotten age in the neighborhood deli- cately hinted that they would gladly teach her; but the Colonel swore that he would have no women around him, and he would be eternally condemned if any should in- terfere with Polly; so he engaged Mr. Cranmer, and invited Bob to come over and go to school to him also, which lie did, for his mother, who had up to that time taught him herself, was very poor, and was unable to send him to school, her husband, who was the Colonels fourth cousin, having died largely indebted, and all of his property, except a small farm adjoining the Colonels, and a few ne- groes, having gone into the General Court. Bob had always been a great favorite with the Colonel, and ever since he had been a small boy he had been used to com- ing over and staying with him. He could gaff a chicken as well as Drinkwater Torm, which was a great ac- complishment in the Colonels eyes, for he had the best game-chickens in the coun- ty, and used to fight them, too, matching them against those of one or two of his neighbors who were similarly inclined, until Polly grew up and made him stop. He could tame a colt quicker than any- body on the plantation. Moreover, he could shoot more partridges in a day than the Colonel, and could beat him shooting with a pistol as well, though the Colonel laid the fault of the former on his being so fat, and that of the latter on his spectacles. They used to practise with the Colonels old pistols that hung in their holsters over the tester of his bed, and about which Drinkwater used to tell so many lies; for although they were kept loaded, and their brass-mounted butts peeping out of their leathern covers used to look ferocious enough to give some apparent ground for Torms story of how he and the Colonel had shot Judge Cabell spang through the heart, the Colonel always said that Ca- bell behaved very handsomely, and that the matter was arranged on the field with- out a shot. Even at that time some peo- ple said that Bobs mother was trying to catch the Colonel, and that if the Colonel did not look out, she would yet be the mis- tress of his big plantation. And all agreed that the boy would come in for something handsome at the Colonels death; for Bob was his cousin and his nearest male rela- tive, if Polly was his niece, and he would hardly leave her all his property, especial- ly as she was so much like her mother, with whom, as everybody knew, the Col- onel had been desperately in love, but who had treated him badly, and notwith- standing his big plantation and many ne- groes, had run away with his younger brother, and both of them had died in the South of yellow-fever, leaving of all their children only this little Polly; and the Colonel had taken Drinkwater and Chari- ty, and had travelled in his carriage all the way to Mississippi, to get and bring Polly back. It was Christmas Eve when they reached home, and the Colonel had sent Drinkwater on a day ahead to have the fires made and the house aired for the baby; and when the carriage drove up that night you would have thought a queen was coming, sure enough. FOLLY. 39 Every hand on the plantation was up at the great house waiting for them, and every room in the house had a fire in it. (Torm had told the overseer so many lies that he had had the men cutting wood all day, although the regular supply was cut.) And when Charity stepped out of the car- riage, with the baby all bundled up in her arms, making a great show about keeping it wrapped up, and walked up the steps as slowly as if it were made of gold, you could have heard a pin drop; even the Colonel fell back, and spoke in a whisper. The great chamber was given up to the baby, the Colonel going to the wing room, where he always staid after that. He spoke of sitting up all night to watch the child, but Charity assured him that she was not going to take her eyes off of her during the night, and with a promise to come in every hour and look after them, the Colonel went to his room, where he slept until nine oclock the next morning. But I was telling what people said about Bobs mother. When the report reached the Colonel about the widows designs, he took Folly on his knees and told her all about it, and then both laughed until the tears ran down the Colonels face and dropped on his big flowered vest and on Pollys little blue frock; and he sent the widow next day a fine short-horned heifer to show his contempt of the gossip. And now Bob was the better shot of the two; and they taught Folly to shoot too, and to load and unload the pistols, at which the Colonel was as proud as if one of his young stags had whipped an old rooster. But. they never could induce her to shoot at anything except a mark. She was the tenderest-hearted little thing in the world. If her taste had been consulted she would have selected a cross-bow, for it did not make such a noise, and she could shoot it without shutting her eyes; besides that, she could shoot it in the house, which, indeed, she did, until she had shot the eyes out of nearly all the bewigged gentlemen and hare-necked, long-fingered ladies on the walls. Once she came very near shooting Torms eye out also; but this was an accident, though Drinkwater declared it was not, and tried to make out that Bob had put her up to it. Dats de mischievouses boy Gord ever made, he said, complainingly, to Charity. Fortu nately his eye got well, and it gave him an excuse for staying half drunk for near- ly a week; and afterward, like a dog that has once been lame in his hind-leg, when- ever he saw Folly, and did not forget it, he squinted up that eye and tried to look miserable. Folly was quite a large girl then, and was carrying the keys (except when she lost them), though she could not have been more than twelve years old; for it was just after this that the birthday came when the Colonel gave her her first real silk dress. It was blue silk, and came from Richmond, and it was hard to tell which was the proudestFolly, or Char- ity, or Drinkwater, or the Colonel. Torm got drunk before the dinner was over, drinking de healthsh to de young mistis in de sky-blue robes what stands befo de throne, you know, he explained to Char- ity, after the Colonel had ordered him from the dining-room, with promises of prompt sale on the morrow. Bob was there, and it was the last time Folly ever sucked her thumb. She had almost gotten out of the habit anyhow, and it was in a moment of forgetfulness that she let Bob see her do it. He was a great tease, and when she was smaller had often worried her about it until she would fly at him and try to bite him with her lit- tle white teeth. On this occasion, how- ever, she stood everything until he said that about a girl who wore a blue silk dress sucking her thumb; then she boxed his jaws. The fire flew from his eyes, but hers were even more sparkling. He paused for a minute, and then caught her in his arms and kissed her violently. She never sucked her thumb after that. This happened out in front of her main- mys house, within which Torm was de- livering a powerful exhortation on tem- perance; and, strange to say, Charity took Bobs side, while Torm espoused Follys, and afterward said she ought to have tooken a stick and knocked Marse Bobs head s~ang off. This fortunately Folly did not do (and when Bob went to the university afterward he was said to have the best head in his class). She just turn- ed around and ran into the house, with her face very red. But she never slapped Bob after that. Not long after this he went off to college; for Mr. Cranmer, the tutor, said he already knew more than most college graduates did, and that it would be a shame for him not to have a university education. When the question 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of ways and means was mooted, the Col- onel, who was always ready to lend mon- ey if he had it, and to borrow it if he did not, swore he would give him all the mon- ey he wanted; but, to his astonishment, Bob refused to accept it, and although the Colonel abused him for it, and asked Polly if she did not think he was a fool (which Polly did, for she was always ready to take and spend all the money he or any one else gave her), yet he did not like him the less for it, and he finally persuaded Bob to take it as a loan, and Bob gave him his bond. The day before he left home he was over at the Colonels, where they had a great dinner for him, and Polly presided in her newest silk dress (she had three then); and when Bob said good-by, she slipped some- thing into his hand, and ran away to her room and when he looked at it, it was her ten-dollar gold piece, and he took it. He was at college not quite three years, for his mother was taken sick, and he had to come home and nurse her; but he had stood first in most of his classes, and not lower than third in any; and he had thrashed the carpenter on Vinegar Hill, who was the bully of the town. So that although he did not take his degree, he had gotten the start which enabled him to complete his studies during the time he was taking care of his mother, and until her death, so that as soon as he was ad- mitted to the bar he made his mark. It was his splendid defence of the man who shot the deputy-sheriff at the court-house on election day that brought him out as the Democratic candidate for the Consti- tutional Convention, where he made such a reputation as a speaker that the En- quirer declared him the rising man of the State; and even the Whig admitted that perhaps the Loco-foco party might find a leader to redeem it. Polly was just fifteen when she began to take an interest in poli- tics; and although she read the papers dili- gently, especially the Enquirer,which her uncle never failed to abuse, yet she never could exactly satisfy herself which side was right; for the Colonel was a stanch Whig, while most people must have been Democrats, as Bob was elected by a big majority. She wanted to be on the Col- onels side, and made him explain every- thing to her, which he did to his own entire satisfaction, and to hers too, she tried to think; but when Bob came over to tea, which he very frequently did, and the Colonel and he got into a discussion, her uncle always seemed to her to get the worst of the argument; at any rate, he generally got very hot. This, however, might have been because Bob was so cool; while the Colonel was so hot-tempered. Bob had grown up very handsome. His month was strong and firm, and his eyes were splendid. He was about six feet, and his shoulders were as broad as the Colonels. She did not see him now as often as she did when he was a boy, but it was because he was kept so busy by his practice. (He used to get cases in three or four counties now, and big ones at that.) She knew, however, that she was just as good a friend of his as ever; indeed, she took the trouble to tell her- self so. A compliment to him used to give her the greatest happiness, and would bring deeper roses into her cheeks. He was the greatest favorite with every- body. Torm thought that there was no one in the world like him. He had long ago forgiven him his many pranks, and said lie was the grettest gentman in the county skusin him [Torm] and the Col- onel, and that he alays handled heseif to he raisin, by which Torm made indi- rect reference to regular donations made to him by the aforesaid gentman, and particularly to an especially large bene- faction then lately conferred. It happen- ed one evening at the Colonels, after din- ner, when several guests, including Bob, were commenting on the perfections of various ladies who were visiting in the neighborhood that summer. The praises were, to Torms mind, somewhat too lib- erally bestowed, and he had attempted to console himself by several visits to the pantry; but when all the list was dis- posed of, and Pollys name had not been mentioned, epdurance could stand it no longer, and he suddenly broke in with his judgment that they didnt none on em hol a candle to his young mistis, whar wuz de vey pink an fiowr on em all. The Colonel, immensely pleased, order- ed him out, with a promise of immediate sale on the morrow. But that evening, as he got on his horse, Bob slipped into his hand a five-dollar gold piece, and he told Polly that if the Colonel really in- tended to sell Torm, just to send him over to his house: he wanted the benefit of his judgment. Polly, of course, did not understand his allusion, though the Colonel had told her POLLY. 41 of Torms speech; but Bob had a rose on his coat when he came out of the window, and the long pin in Follys bodice was not fastened very securely, for it slipped, and she lost all her other roses, and he had to stoop and pick them up for her. Perhaps, though, Bob was simply refer- ring to his having saved some money, for shortly afterward he came over one morn- ing and, to the Colonels disgust, paid him down in full the amount of his bond. He attempted a somewhat formal speech of thanks, but broke down in it so lamenta- bly that two juleps were ordered out by the Colonel to reinstate easy relations be- tween theman effect which apparently was not immediately producedand the Colonel confided to Folly next day that ~ince the fellow had been taken up so by those Loco-focos he was not altogether as he used to he. Why, he dont even drink his juleps clear, the old man asserted, as if he were charging him with, at the least, misprision of treason. However, he added, soft- ening as the excuse presented itself to his mind, that may be becanse his mother was always so opposed to it. You know mint never would grow there, he pur- sued to Folly, who had heard him make the same observation, with the same as- tonishment, a hundred times. Strangest thing I ever knew. But hes a con- foundedly clever fellow, though, Folly, he continued, with a sudden reviving of the old-time affection. Damme I like him. And, as Follys face turned a sweet carmine, added: Oh, I forgot, Fol- ly; didnt mean to swear; damme if I did. It just slipped out. Now I havent sworn before for a week; you know I havent. Yes, of course, I mean except then. For Folly, with softly fading col- or, was readin~ him the severest of lec- tures on his besetting sin, and citing an ebullition over Torms failing of the day before. Come and sit down on your uncles knee and kiss him once as a token of forgiveness. Just one more squeeze, as the fair girlish arms were twined about his neck, and the sweetest of faces was pressed against his own rough cheek. Folly, do you remember, asked the old man, holding her off from him and gazing at the girlish face fondlydo you re- member how, when you were a little scrap, you used to climb up on my knee and squeeze me just once more to save that rascal Drinkwater, and how you used to say you were going to marry Bob and me when you were grown up ? Follys memory apparently was not very good. That evening, however, it seemed much better, when, dressed all in soft white, and with cheeks reflecting the faint tints of the sunset clouds, she was strolling through the old flower-garden with a tall young fellow whose hat sat on his head with a jaunty air, and who was so very careful to hold aside the long branch- es of the rose-bushes. They had somehow gotten to recalling each in turn some in- cident of the old boy and girl days. Bob knew the main facts as well as she, but Folly remembered the little details and circumstances of each incident best, ex- cept those about the time they were play- ing knucks together. Then Bob recol- lected most. He was positive that when she cried because he shot so hard, lie had kissed her to make it well. Curiously, Follys recollection failed again, and was only distinct about very modern matters. DION T NONE ON EM HOJ A CANDLF TO 1115 YOUNG MISTIS. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She remembered with remarkable sudden- ness that it was tea-time. They were away down at the end of the garden, and her lapse of memory had a singular effect on Bob; for he turned quite pale, and insisted that she did re- member it, and then said something about having wanted to see the Colonel, and having waited, and did so strangely that if that rose-bush had not caught her dress, he might have done something else. But the rose-bush caught her dress, and Polly, who looked really scared at it, or something, ran away just as the Col- onels voice was heard calling them to tea. Bob was very silent at the table, and when he left, the Colonel was quite anx- ious about him. He asked Polly if she had not noticed his depression. Polly had not. Thats just the way with you women, said the Colonel, testily. A man might die under your very eyes, and you would not notice it. I noticed it, and I tell you the fellows sick. Ii say hes sick ! he re- iterated, with a little habit he had ac- quired since he had begun to grow slight- ly deaf. I shall advise him to go away and have a little fling somewhere. He works too hard, sticks too close at home. He never goes anywhere except here, and he dont come here as he used to do. He ought to get married. Advise him to get married. Why dont he set up to Sally Brent or Malviny Pegram? Hes a likely fellow, and theyd both take himfools if they didnt. I say they are fools if they didnt. What say ? I didnt say anything, said Polly, quietly going to the piano. Her music often soothed the Colonel to sleep. The next morning but one Bob rode over, and instead of hooking his horse to the fence as he usually did, he rode on around toward the stables. He greeted Torm, who was in the backyard, and af- ter extracting some preliminary observa- tions from him respecting the misery in his back, he elicited the further facts that Miss Polly was going down the road to dine at the Pegrams, of which he had some intimation before, and that the Colonel was down on the river farm, but would be back about two oclock. He rode on. At two oclock promptly Bob returned. The Colonel had not yet gotten home. He, however, dismounted, and tying his horse, went in. He must have been tired of sit- ting down, for he now walked up and down the portico without once taking a seat. Marse Bob 11 walk heself to death, observed Charity to Torm from her door. Presently the Colonel came in, bluff, warm, and hearty. He ordered dinner from the front gate as he dismounted, and juleps from the middle of the walk, greet- ed Bob with a cheeriness which that gen- tleman in vain tried to imitate, and was plumped down in his great split-bottomed chair, wiping his red head with his still red- der bandana handkerchief, and abusing the weather, the crops, the newspapers, and his overseer before Bob could get breath to make a single remark. When he did, he pitched in on the weather. That is a safe topic at all times, and it was aston- ishing how much comfort Bob got out of it this afternoon. He talked about it un- til dinner began to come in across the yard, the blue china dishes gleaming in the hands of Phzebe and her numerous corps of ebon and mahogany assistants, and Torm brought out the juleps, with the mint looking as if it were growing in the great silver cans, with frosted - work all over the sides. Dinner was rather a failure, so far as Bob was concerned. Perhaps he missed something that usually graced that table; perhaps only his body was there, while he himself was down at Miss Malviny Pe- grams; perhaps he had gone back and was unfastening an impertinent rose-bush from a filmy white dress in the summer twilight; perhaps But anyhow he was so silent and abstracted that the Colonel rallied him good-humoredly, which did not help matters. They had adjourned to the porch, and had been there for some time, when Bob broached the subject of his visit. Colonel, he said, suddenly, and whol- ly irrelevant to everything that had gone before, there is a matter I want to speak to you aboutaahwea little matter of great importance toahmyself. He was getting very red and confused, and the Colonel instantly divining the matter, and secretly flattering himself, and de- termining to crow over Polly, said, to help him out: Aha, you rogue, I knew it. Come up to the scratch, sir. So you are caught at last. Ah, you sly fox! Its the very thing you ought to do. Why, I know half a dozen girls whod jump at you. I POLLY. 43 knew it. I said so the other night. Pol- Bob was utterly off his feet by this time. I want to ask your consent to marry Polly, he blurted out, desperately. I love her. The devil you do 1 exclaimed the Colonel. He could say no more; he sim- ply sat still, in speechless, helpless, blank amazement. To him Polly was still a little girl climbing his knees, and an em- peror might not aspire to her. Yes, sir, I do, said Bob, calm enough now growing cool as the Colonel be- came excited. I love her, and I want her. Well, sir, you cant have her, roar- ed the Colonel, rising from his seat in the violence of his refusal. He looked like a tawny lion whose lair had been invaded. Bobs face paled, and a look came on it that the Colonel recalled afterward, and which he did not remember ever to have seen on it before, except once, when, years ago, some one shot one of his dogs a look made up of anger and of dogged resolu-. tion. I shall, he said, throwing up his head and looking the Colonel straight in the eyes, his voice perfectly calm, but his eyes blazing, the mouth drawn close, and the lines of his face as if they had been carved in granite. Ill be if you shall! stormed the Colonel; the King of England should not have her I and turning, he stamped into the house and slammed the door be- hind him. Bob walked slowly down the steps and around to the stables, where he ordered his horse. He rode home across the fields without a word, except, as he jumped his horse over the line fence, I shall have her, he repeated, between his fast - set teeth. That evening Polly came home all unsuspecting anything of the kind; the Colonel waited until she had taken off her things and come down in her fresh muslin dress. She surpassed in loveli- ness the rose-buds that lay on her bosom, and the impertinence that could dare aspire to her broke over the old man in a fresh wave, He had nursed his wrath all the evening. Polly, he blurted out, suddenly ris- ing with a jerk from his arm-chair, and unconsciously striking an attitude before the astonished girl, do you want to marry Bob ? Why no, cried Polly, utterly shaken out of her composure by the suddenness and vehemence of the attack. I knew it, declared the Colonel, tri- umphantly. It was a piece of cursed impertinence. And he worked himself up to such a pitch of fury, and grew so red in the face that poor little Polly, who had to steer between two dangers, had to employ all her arts to soothe the old man and keep him out of a fit of apoplexy. She learnt the truth, however, and she learnt something which, until that time, she had never known, and though, as she kissed her uncle good-night, she made no answer to his final shot of, Well, Im glad we are not going to have any nonsense about tIme fellow; I have made up my mind, and well treat his impu- dence as it deserves, she locked her door carefully when she was within her own room, and the next morning she said she had a headache. Bob did not come that day. If the Colonel had not been so hot-headedthat is,if he had not been a manthings would doubtless have straightened themselves out in some of those mysterious ways in which the hardest knots into which two young peoples affairs contrive to get un- tangled themselves; but being a man, he must needs, man-like, undertake to man- age according to his own plan, which is always the wrong one. When, therefore, he announced to Pol- ly at the breakfast table that morning that she would have no further annoy- ance from that fellows impertinence, for he had written him a note apologizing for leaving him abruptly in his own house the day before, but forbidding him, in both their names, to continue his addresses, or indeed to put his foot on the place again, he fully expected to see Pollys face bright- en, and to receive her approbation and thanks. What, then, was his disappoint- ment to see her face grow distinctly white! All she said was, Oh, uncle ! It was unfortunate that the day was Sunday, and that the Colonel went with her to church (which she insisted on at- tending notwithstanding her headache), and was by when she met Bob. They came on each other suddenly. Bob took off his hat, and stood like a soldier on re- view, erect, expectant, and a little pale. The Colonel, who had almost forgotten his impertinence, and was about to shake hands with him as usual, suddenly 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. remembered it, and drawing himself up, stepped to the other side of Folly, and handed her by the younger gentleman as if he were protecting her from a mob. Folly, who had been looking anxiously everywhere but in the right place, mean- ing to give him a smile which would set thi~i~s straight, caught his eye only at that second, and felt rather than saw the change in Bobs attitude and manner. She tried to give him the smile, but it died in her eyes, and even after her back was turned she was sensible of his defiance; and she went into church, and dropped down on her knees in the far end of her pew, with her little heart needing all the consolations of her religion. The man she prayed hardest for did not come into church that day. Things went very badly after that, and the knots got tighter and tighter. An attempt which Bob made to loosen them failed disastrous- ly, and the Colonel, who was the best- hearted man in the world, but whose pre- judices were made of wrought iron, took it into his head that Bob had insulted him, and Follys indirect efforts at pacifi- cation aroused him to such an extent that for the first time in his life he was almost hard with her. He conceived the absurd idea that she was sacrificing herself for Bob on account of her friendship for him, and that it was his duty to protect her against herself, which, man-like, he pro- ceeded to do in his own fashion, to poor little Follys great distress. She was devoted to her uncle, and knew the strength of his affection for her. On the other hand, Bob and she had been friends so long. She never could remem- ber the time when she did not have Bob. But he had never said a word of love to her in his life. On that evening in the garden she had known it just as well as if he had fallen on his knees at her feet. She knew it was just because he had owed her uncle the money; and oh! if she just hadnt got- ten frightened; and oh! if her uncle just hadnt done it; and oh! she was so unhap- py! The poor little thing, in her own dainty, white-curtained room, where were the books and things he had given her, and the letters he had written her, used tobut that is a secret. Anyhow, it was not because he was gone. She knew that was not the reason indeed, she very often said so to herselfbut because he had been treated so unjustly, and suffer- ed so, and she had done it all. And she used to introduce many new petitions into her prayers, in which if there was not any name expressed, she felt that it would be understood, and the blessings would reach him just the same. The summer had gone, and the Indian sum- mer had come in its place, hazy, dreamy, and sad. It always made her melan- choly, and this year, although the wea- ther was perfect, she was affected, she said, by the heat, and did not go out-of- doors much. So presently her cheeks were not as blooming as they had been, and even her great eyes lost some of their lustre; at least Charity thought so, and said so too, not only to Folly, but to her master, whom she scared half to death, and who, notwithstanding that Dr. Stop- per was coming every other day to see a patient on the plantation, and that the next day was the time for his regular visit, put a boy on a horse that night and sent him with a note urging the doctor to come the next morning to breakfast. The doctor came, and spent the day; examined Follys lungs and heart, prescribed out- door exercise, and left something less than a bushel-basketful of medicines for her to take. Folly was, at the time of his visit, in a very excited state, for the Colonel had, with a view of soothing her, the night be- fore delivered a violent phihippic against marriage in general, and in particular against marriage with impudent young puppies who did not know their places, and lie had proposed an extensive tour, embracing all the United States and Canada, and intended to cover the entire winter and spring following. Folly, who had stood as much as she could stand, finally rebelled, and had with flashing eyes and mantling cheeks espoused Bobs cause with a courage and dash which had almost routed the old Colonel. Not that he was anything to her except a friend, she was most careful to explain, but she was tired of hearing her friend assailed, and she thought that it was the hi~,hest compliment a man could pay a woman, etc., etc.,for all of which she did a great deal of blushing in her own room afterward. Thus it happened that she was both excited and penitent the next day, and thinking to make some atonement, and at the same time to take the prescribed ex- ercise, which would excuse her from tak POLLY. 45 ing the medicines, she filled a little bas- membered that afterwardbut he was so ket with goodies to take old Aunt Betty mean: it was always a little confused in at the Far Quarters; and thus it happen- her memory, and she could never recall ed that as she was coming back alon~ the exactly how it was. She was sure, how- path that ran down the meadow on the ever, that it was because he was so pale other side of the creek, which was the di- that she said it, and that she did not be- viding line between the two plantations, gin to cry until afterward, and that it and was almost at the foot-bridge that was because he would not listen to her Somebody had made for her so carefully explanation; and that she didnt let him with logs cut out of his own woods, and do it, she could not help it, and she did the long shadows of the willows made it not know her head was on his shoulder. gloomy, and everything was so still that she had grown very lonely and unhappy thus it happened that just as she was think- ing how kind he had been about making the bridge and hand-rail so strong, and about everything, and how cruel he must think her, and how she would never see him any more as she used to do, she turn- ed the clump of willows to step up on the log, and there he was standing on the bridge just before her, looking down into her eyes. She tried to get by himshe re- VOL. LXXIY.No. 4394 Anyhow, when she got home that even- ing her improvement was so apparent that the Colonel called Charity in to note it and declared that Virginia country doctors were the finest in the world, and that Stop- per was the greatest doctor in the State. The change was wonderful Indeed; and the old gilt mirror with its gauze-covered frame would never have known for the sad-eyed Polly of the day before the bright, happy little maiden that stood he- fore it now and smiled at the beaming UNTIL DINNER BEGAN TO COME IN ACROSS TIlE YARD. 46 face which dimpled at its own content. Old Bettys was a protracted pleurisy, and the good things Polly carried her daily did not tend to shorten the sickness. Ever afterward she blessed the Lord for dat chile whenever Pollys name was mentioned. Had she known how sym- pathetic Bob was during this period, she would doubtless have included him in her benison. But although he was inspecting that bridge every afternoon regularly, not- withstanding Pollys oft-reiterated wish and express orders as regularly declared, no one knew a word of all this. And it was a bow drawn at a venture when, o~n the evening that Polly had tried to carry out her engagement to bring her uncle around, the old man said, Why, hoity- toity! the young rascals cause seems to be thriving. She was so confident of her success that she was not prepared for failure, and it struck her like a fresh blow; and though she did not cry until she got into her own room, when she got there she threw herself on the bed and cried herself to sleep. It was so cruel in him, she said to herself, to desire me never to speak to him again! And, oh! if he should really catch him on the place and shoot him ! The pronouns in our language were probably invented by young women. The headache Polly had the next morning was not invented. Poor little thing! her last hope was gone. She determined to bid Bob good-by, and never see him again. She had made up her mind to this on her knees, so she knew she was right. The pain it cost her satisfied her that it was right. She was firmly resolved when she set out that afternoon to see old Betty, who was, in everybodys judgment except her own, quite convalescent, and whom Dr. Stopper pronounced entirely well. She wavered a little in her resolution when, descending the path along the wil- lows, which were leafless now, she caught sight of a tall figure loitering easily up the meadow, and she abandonedthat is, she forgotit altogether when, having doubt- fully suggested it, she was suddenly en- folded in a pair of strong arms, and two gray eyes, lighting a handsome face strong with the self - confidence which women love, looked down into hers. Then lie proposed it! Her heart almost stood still at his bold- ness. But he was so strong, so firm, so HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. reasonable, so self-reliant, and yet so gen tie, she could not but listen to him. Still she refusedand she never did consent; she forbade him ever to think of it again. Then she begged him never to come there again, and told him of her uncles threats, and of her fears for him; and then, when he laughed at them, she begged him nev- er, never, under any circumstances, to take any notice of what her uncle might do or say, but rather to stand still and be shot dead; and then, when Bob promised this, she burst into tears, and he had to hold her and comfort her like a little girl. It was pretty bad after that, and but for Pollys out-door exercise she would un- doubtedly have succumbed. It seemed as if something had come between her and her uncle. She no longer went about singing like a bird. She suffered under the sense of being misunderstood, and it was so lonely! He too was oppressed by it. Even Torm shared in it, and his ex- positions assumed a cast terrific in the last degree. It was now December. One evening it culminated. The wea- ther had been too bad for Polly to go out, and she was sick. Finally Stopper was sent for. Polly, who, to use Charitys ex- pression, was pestered till she was frac- tious, rebelled flatly, and refused to keep her bed or to take the medicines pre- scribed. Charity backed her. Torm got drunk. The Colonel was in a fume, and declared his intentions to sell Torm next morning, as usual, and to take Charity and Polly and go to Europe. This was well enough, but to Pollys consterna- tion, when she came to breakfast next morning, she found that the old mans plans had ripened into a scheme to set out on the very next day for Louisiana and New Orleans, where he proposed to spend the winter looking after some planta- tions she had, and showing her soiime thing of the world. Polly remonstrated, rebelled, cajoled. It was all in vain. Stopper had seriously frightened the old man about her health, and he was ada- mant. Preparations were set on foot; the brown hair trunks, with their lines of staring brass tacks, were raked out and dusted; the Colonel got into a fever, or- dered up all the negroes in the yard, and gave instructions from the front door, like a major-general reviewing his troops; got Torm, Charity, and all the others into a wild flutter; attempted to superintend Pollys matters, made her promises of FOLLY. 47 fabulous gifts; became reminiscent, and told marvellous stories of his old days, which Torm corroborated; and so excited Folly and the plantation generally that from old Betty, who came from the Far Quarters for the purpose of taking it in, down to the blackest little dot on the place, there was not one who did not get into a wild whirl, and talk as if they were all going to New Or- leans the next niorning, with Joe Rattler on the boot. Folly had, after a stout resistance, surrender- ed to her fate, and packed her modest trunk with very mingled feelings. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the trip immensely ; but she felt now as if it were part- ing from Bob forever. Her heart was in her throat all day, and even the excite- ment of packing could not drive away the feeling. She knew she would never see him again. She tried to work out what the end would be. Would he die, or would he marry Mal- viny Pegram? Every one said she would just suit him, and sh& d certainly marry him if he asked her. The sun was shining over the western woods. Bob rode down that way in the afternoon even when it was raining; he had told her so. He would think it cruel of her to go away so and never even let him know. She would at least go and tell him good-by. So she did. Bobs face paled suddenly when she told him all, and that look which she had not seen often before settled on it. Then he took her hand and began to explain everything to her. He told her that lie had loved her all her life; showed her how she had inspired him to work for and win every success that he had achieved; how it had been her work even more than his. Then he laid before her the life plans he had formed, and proved how they were all for her, and for her only. He made it all so clear, and his voice was so confi dent, and his face so earnest, as he plead- ed and proved it step by step, that she felt as she leaned against him and lie clasped her closely that he was right, and that she could not part from him. That evening Folly was unusually si- lent; but the Colonel thought she had never been so sweet. She petted him un- til he swore that no man on earth was worthy of her, and that none should ever have her. After tea she went to his room to look over his clothes (her especial work), and would let no one, not even her mammy, help her; and when the Colonel insisted on coining in to tell her some more concerning the glories of New Or- leans in his day, she finally put hin~i out and locked the door on 1dm. She was very strange all the evening. As they were to start tIme next morning, the Col- onel was for retiring early; but Folly would not go; she loitered around, hung N II, WAS INSPECTING ThAT BRIDGE EVERY AFTERNOON. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. about the old fellow, petted him, sat on his knee and kissed him, until he was forced to insist on her going to bed. Then she said good-night, and astonished the Colonel by throwing herself into his arms and hursting out crying. The old man soothed her with caresses and baby talk, such as he used to comfort her with when she was a little girl, and when she became quiet he handed her to her door as if she had been a duchess. The house was soon quiet, except that once the Colonel heard Polly walking in her room, and mentally determined to chide her for sitting up so late. He, however, drifted off from the subject when he heard some of his young mules galloping around the yard, and he made a sleepy resolve to sell them all, or to dismiss his overseer for letting them get out of the lot. Before he had quite determined which he should do, he dropped off to sleep again. It was possibly about this time that a young man lifted into her saddle a dark- habited little figure, whose face shone very white in the starlight, and whose tremulous voice would have suggested a refusal had it not been drowned in the deep, earnest tone of her lover. Although she declared that she could not think of doing it, she had on her hat and furs and riding-habit when Bob came. She did, indeed, really beg him to go away; but a few minutes later a pair of horses cantered down the avenue toward the lawn gate,which shut with a bang that so frightened the little lady on the bay mare that the young man found it necessary to lean over and throw a steadying arm around her. For the first time in her life Polly saw the sun rise in North Carolina, and a few hours later a gentle-voiced young clergy- man, whose sweet-faced wife was wholly carried away by Pollys beauty, received under protest Bobs only gold piece,a coin which he twisted from his watch chain with the promise to quadruple, it if he would preserve it. When Charity told the Colonel next morning that Polly was gone, the old man for the first time in fifty years turn- ed perfectly white. Then he fell into a consuming rage, and swore until Charity would not have been much surprised to see the devil appear in visible shape and claim him on the spot. He cursed Bob, cursed himself, Torm, Charity, and the en- tire female sex individually and collec tively, and then, seized by a new idea, or- dered his horse, that he might pursue the runaways, threatened an immediate sale of his whole plantation, and the instanta- neous death of Bob, and did in fact get down his great brass-mounted pistols, and lay them by him as he made Torm, Char- ity, and a half-dozen younger house-ser- vants dress him. Dressing and shaving occupied him about an hourhe always averred that a gentleman could not dress like a gentle- man in less timeand still breathing out threaten in gs and slaughter, he marched out of his room, making Torm and Chai~- ity follow him, each with a pistol. Some- thing prompted him to stop and inspect them in the hall. Taking first one and then the other, he examined them curi- ously. Well, Ill be ! he said, dry- ly, and flung both of them crashing through the window. Turning, he or- dered waffles and hoe-cakes for breakfast, and called for the books to have prayers. Pohly had utilized the knowledge she had gained as a girl, and had unloaded both pistols the night before, and rammed the balls down again without powder, so as to render them harmless. By breakfast-time Torm was in a state of such advanced intoxication that he was unable to walk through the backyard gate, and the Colonel was forced to con- tent himself with sending by Charity a message that lie would get rid of him ear- ly the next mori~ting. He straithy en join- ed Charity to tell him, and she as solemn- ly promised. Yes, suh, Igwi tell him, she replied, with a faint tone of being wounded at his distrust; and she did. She needed an outlet. Things got worse. The Colonel called up the overseer and gave new orders, as if he proposed to change everything. He forbade any mention of Pollys name, and vowed that he would send for Mr. Steep, his lawyer, and change his will to spite all creation. This humor, instead of wear- mg off, seemed to grow worse as the time stretched on, and Torm actually grew sober in the shadow that had fallen on the plantation. The Colonel had Pollys room nailed up, and shut himself up in the house. The negroes discussed the condition of affairs in awed undertones, and watched him furtively whenever he passed. Va- rious opinions by turns prevailed. Aunt POLLY. Betty, who was regarded with veneration, three years), prophesied that he was going owing partly to the interest the lost Polly to die in torments, just like some old had taken in her illness, and partly to her uncle of his whom no one else had ever great age (to which she anunally added heard of until now, hut who was raked up HE HANDED HER TO HER DOOR AS IF SHE HAD HE~N A DUCHESS. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by her to serve as a special example. The chief resemblance seemed to be a certain rankness in cussin. Things were certainly going badly, and day by day they grew worse. The Colonel became more and more morose. He don even quoil no mo, Torm complained pathetically to Charity. He jes set still and study. I feard he gwine stracted. It was indeed lamentable. It was ac- cepted on the plantation that Miss Polly had gone for goodsome said down to Louisianaand would never come back any more. The prevailing impression was that if she did, the Colonel would certain- ly kill Bob. Torm had not a doubt of it. Thus matters stood three days before Christmas. The whole plantation was plunged in gloom. It would be the first time since Miss Polly was a baby that they had not had a big Christmas. Torms lugubrious countenance one morning seemed to shock the Colonel out of his lethargy. He asked how many days there would be before Christmas, and learning that there were but three, he ordered prep- arations to be made for a great feast and a big time generally. He had the wood-pile replenished as usual, got up his presents, and superintended the Christmas opera- tions himself, as he used to do. But it was sad work, and when Torm and Charity re- tired Christmas Eve night, although Torm had imbibed plentifully, and the tables were all spread for the great dinner for the servants next day, there was no peace in Torms discourse; it was all of wrath and judgment to come. He had just gone to sleep when there was a knock at the door. Who dat out dyah ? called Charity. You niggers better go long to bed. The knock was repeated. Who dat out dyah, I say ? queried Charity, testily. Whynt you go long way from dat do? Torm was hard to wake, but at length he got up and moved slowly to the door, grumbling to himself all the time. When finally he undid the latch, Char- ity, who was in bed, heard him say, Well, name o Gord good Gord Amighty ! and burst into a wild explo- sion of laughter. In a second she too was outside of the door, and had Polly iu her arms, laugh- ing, jumping, hugging, and kissing her, while Torm executed a series of caracoles around them. Whar Marse Bob ? asked both ne- groes, finally, in a breath. Hello, Torrn! How are you, Main Charity ? called tl]at gentleman, cheeri- ly, coming up from where he had been fastening the horses; and Charity, sud- denly mindful of her peculiar appearance and the frosty air, scuttled into the house, conveying her young mistress with her. Presently she came out dressed, and in- vited Bob in too. She insisted on giving them something to eat; but they had been to supper, and Polly was much too ex- cited hearing about her uncle to eat any- thing. She cried a little at Charitys de- scription of him, which she tried to keep Bob from seeing, but he saw it, and had to--- However, when they got ready to go home, Polly insisted on going to the yard and up on the porch, and when there, she actually kissed the window-blind of the room whence issued a muffled snore sug- gestive at least of some degree of forget- fulness. She wanted Bob to kiss it too, but that gentleman apparently found something else more to his taste, and her entreaty was drowned in another sound. Before they remounted their horses Polly carried Bob to the greenhouse, where she groped around in the darkness for something, to Bobs complete mystifi- cation. Doesnt it smell sweet in here ? she asked. I dont smell anything but that niint bed youve been walking on, he laughed. As they rode off, leaving Torm and Chari- ty standing in the road, the last thing Pol- ly said was, Now be sure you tell him nine oclock. Umm! I know he gwi sell me den sho nough, said Torm, in a tone of con- viction, as the horses cantered away in the frosty night. Once or twice, as they galloped along, Bob made some allusion to the mint bed on which Polly had stepped, to which she made no reply. Butas he helped her down at her own door, he asked, What in the world have you got there ? Mint, said she, with a little low, pleased ]augh. By light next morning it was known all over the plantation that Miss Polly had returned. The rejoicing was clouded by the fear that nothing would come of it. In Charitys house it was decided that Torm should break the news. Torm was doubtful on the point as the time drew POLLY. 51 near, but Charitys mind never wavered. Finally he went in with his masters shav- ing water, having first tried to establish his coura~e by sundry pulls at a black bottle. He essayed three times to deliver the message, but each time his courage failed, and he hastened out under pretence of the water having gotten cold. The last time he attracted Charitys at- tention. Name o Gord, Torm, you gwine to scal horgs ? she asked, saicastically. The next time he entered, the Colonel was in a fame of impatience, so he had to fix the water. He set down the can, and bustled about with hypocritical industry. The Colonel was almost through; Torm retreated to the door. As his master finished, he put his hand on the knob, and turning it, said, Miss Polly come home larse night; sh say she breakfast at nine oclock. Slaphang! came the shaving can smash- ing agailis t the door, just as he dodged out, and the roar of the Colonel followed him across the hail. When finally their master appeared on the portico, Torm and Charity were watch- ing in some doubt whether he would not carry out on the spot his long-threatened purpose. He strode up and down the long porch, evidently in great excitenient. Hes turrible dis mornin, said Torm; he thowed de whole kittle o bum wa- ter at me. Pity he dida scal you to death, said his wife, sympathizingly. She thou~ht Torms awkwardness had destroyed Pol- lys last chance. Torm resorted to his black bottle, and proceeded to talk about the lake of brimstone and fire. Up and down the portico strode the old Colonel. His horse was at the rack, where lie was always brought before breakfast. (For twenty years he had probably never missed a morning.) Fi- nally he walked down, and mounting, rode off in the opposite direction to that whence his invitation had come. Charity, looking out of her door, inserted into her diatribe against all ~uthless, drunken, fool niggers a parenthesis to the effect HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that Ef Marster meet Marse Bob dis morn- in, de don be a hide nor hyah left o nyah one on em; an dat lamb over dyah may- be got oystcbers waitin for him, too. Torm was so much impressed that he left Charity and went out-of-doors. The Colonel rode down the plantation road, his great gray horse quivering with life in the bright winter sunlight. He gave him the rein, and he turned down a cross-road which led out of the plantation into the main road. Mechanically he opened the gate and rode out. Before he knew where he wa.s he was through the wood, and his horse had stopped at the next gatethe gate of Bobs place. The house stood out bright and plain among the yard trees; lines of blue smoke curled up almost straight from the chimneys; and he could see two or three negroes run- ning backward and forward between the kitchen and the house. The sunlight glistened on something in the hand of one of them, and sent a ray of dazzling light all the way to the old man. He knew it was a plate or a dish. He took out his watch and olanced at it; it was five minutes to nine oclock. He started to turn around to go home. As he did so the memory of all the past swept over him, and of the wrong that had been done him. He would go in and show them his contempt for them by riding in and straight out again; and he actually un- latched the gate and went in. As he rode across the field he recalled all that Polly had been to him from the time when she had first stretched out her arms to him; all the little ways by which she had brought back his youth, and had made his house home, and his heart soft again. Every scene came before him as if to mock him. He felt once more the touch of her little hand; heard again the sound of her voice as it used to ring through the old house and about the grounds; saw her and Bob as children romping about his feet, and he gave a great gulp as he thonght how desolate the house was now. He sat up in his saddle stiffer than ever. D him! he would enter his very house, and there to his face and hers denounce him for his baseness; and he pushed his horse to a trot. Up to the yard gate he rode, and dismounting, hitched his horse to the fence, and slamming the gate fierce- ly behind him, stalked up the walk with his heavy whip clutched fast in his hand. Up the walk and np the steps without a pause, his face set as grim as rock, and purple with suppressed emotion; for a deluge of memories was overwhelming him. The door was shut; they had locked it on him; but he would burst it in, and- Ah! what was that? The door flew suddenly open; tuere was a cry, a spring, a vision of something swam before his eyes, and two arms were clasped about his neck, while lie was be- ing sniothiered with kisses from the sweet- est mouth in the world, and a face made up of light and laughter, yet tearful too, like a dew-bathed flower, was pressed to his, and before the Colonel knew it lie had, amid iau~hter and sobs and caresses, beeii borne into the house, and pressed down at the daintiest little breakfast table eyes ever saw, set for three persons, and loaded with steaming dishes, and with a great fresh julep by the side of his plate, and Torrn was standing behind his chair, and Bob was helping hini to oystchers, while Polly, with dimpling face, was at- tempting the exploit of pouring out his coffee without moving her arm from around his neck. The first thing lie said after he recovered his breath was, Where did you get this mint ? Polly broke into a peal of rippling, de- licious laughter, and tightened the arm about his neck. Just one more squeeze, said the Col- onel; and as she gave it he said, with the light of it all breaking on him, Damme if I dont sell you! or, if I cant sell you, Ill give you away that is, if hell come over and live with us. That evening, after the great dinner, at which Polly had sat in her old place at the head of the table, and Bob at the foot, because the Colonel insisted on sitting where Polly could give him one more squeeze, the whole plantation was ablaze with Christmas, and Drinkwater Torm, steadying himself against the sideboard, delivered a discourse on peace on earth and good-will to men so powerful and so eloquent that tIme Colonel, delighted, rose and drank his health, and said, Damme if I ever sell him again ! a,. SALLY JAG O1ZI(44LEY ASak~4~ 11997(EY

H. Carey Carey, H. Sally In Our Alley 53-64

SALLY JAG O1ZI(44LEY ASak~4~ 11997(EY OF all the girls that are so smart Theres none like pretty Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. / THERE~ S NONE LIKE PRETTY SALLY.,~ 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HER FATHER LIE MAKES CABBAGE-NETS There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy em; But sure such folks could neer beget So sweet a girl as Sally! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. A; \\\ ;~i~ 7, V / 9 HER MOThER SHE SELLS LACES LONG. (7 ,4~ ,/\ 7 V (/jx 7 7 MY MASTER COMES LIKE ANY TURK. I SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 59 When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs inc most severely; But let him bang his bellyful, Ill bear it all for Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days thats in the week I dearly love but one day, And thats the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday; CAREY S ALLEY. 60 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. TO WALK ABROAD WITH SALLY. For then Im drest all in my best To walk abroad with Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. k SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 61 My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed IBecause I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. MX MASTER CARRIES ME TO CHURCH. 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When Christmas comes about again, Oh, then I shall have money; Ill hoard it up, and box it all,. Ill give it to my honey: I would it were tell thousand Pound, Id give it all to Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbors all Make game of me and Sally, And, but for her, Id better be A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out, Oh, then Ill marry Sally! And then how happily well live, But not in our alley. I LEAVE HIM IN THE LURCH. jr / / I! / 7 / 1/ I (f 2 p 3 C z z C C C L~I z C ~1 THE MOUSE-TRAP. A FARCE. BY W. P. HOWELLS. IN her drawing-room, Mrs. Amy Somers, young, pretty, stylish, in the last eva- nescent traces of widowhood, stands con- fronting Mr. Willis Campbell. She has a newspaper in her hand, folded to the WhAT 15 IT ~ WHAT 15 IT ?[SEE PAGE 69.1 width of a single column, which she ex- tends toward him with an effect of indig- nant menace. Mrs. Somers: Then you acknowledge that it is yours l Campbell: I acknowledge that I made a speech before the legislative committee on behalf of the anti-suf- fragists. You knew I was going to

William Dean Howells Howells, William Dean The Mouse-Trap. A Farce 64-76

THE MOUSE-TRAP. A FARCE. BY W. P. HOWELLS. IN her drawing-room, Mrs. Amy Somers, young, pretty, stylish, in the last eva- nescent traces of widowhood, stands con- fronting Mr. Willis Campbell. She has a newspaper in her hand, folded to the WhAT 15 IT ~ WHAT 15 IT ?[SEE PAGE 69.1 width of a single column, which she ex- tends toward him with an effect of indig- nant menace. Mrs. Somers: Then you acknowledge that it is yours l Campbell: I acknowledge that I made a speech before the legislative committee on behalf of the anti-suf- fragists. You knew I was going to THE MOUSE-TRAP. 65 do that. I dont know how theyve re- ported it. Mrs. Somers, with severity: Very well, then; I will read it. Willis Camp- bell, Esq., was next heard on behalf of the petitioners. He touched briefly upon the fact that the suffrage was evidently not desired by the vast majority of educated women. Campbell: Youve always said they didnt want it. Mrs. Somers: That is not the point. Reading: And many of them would feel it an onerous burden, and not a privi- lege. Campbell: Well, didnt you- Mrs. Somers: Dont interrupt ! Read- ing: Which would compel them, at the cost of serious sacrifices, to contend at the polls with the ignorant classes who would be sure to exercise the right if conferred. Campbell: That was your own argu- ment, Amy. Theyre almost your own words. Mrs. Somers: That isnt what I ob- ject to. Reading: Mr. Campbell then referred in a more humorous strain to the argument, frequently used by the suifra- gists, that every tax-payer should have the right to vote. He said that he object- ed to this, because it implied that non- tax-payers should not have the right to vote, which would deprive of the suffrage a large body of adoptive citizens, who voted at all the elections with great promptness and assiduity. He thought the exemption of women from some du- ties required of men by the state fairly offset the loss of the ballot in their case, and that until we were prepared to seiid ladies to battle we ought not to oblige them to go to the polls. Some skirmish- ing ensued between Mr. Campbell and Mr. Wilhington, on the part of the suffra- gists, the latter gentleman affirming that in great crises of the worlds history wo- men had shown as much courage as men, and the former contending that this did not at all affect his position, since the courage of women was in high degree a moral courage, which was not evoked by the ordinary conditions of peace or war, but required the imminence of some ex- traordinary, some vital emergency.~~~ Campbell: Well, what do you object to in all that ? Mrs. Somers, tossing the paper on the table, and confronting him with her head lifted and her hands clasped upon her left side: Everything! It is an insult to women. Campbell: Woman, you mean. I dont think women would mind it. Whos been talking to you, Amy ? Mrs. Somers: Nobody. It doesnt matter whos been talking to me. That is not the question. Campbell: Its the question I asked. Mrs. Somers: It isnt the question I asked. I wish simply to know what you mean by that speech. Campbell: I wish you knew how pretty you look in that dress. Mrs. Somers involuntarily glances down at the skirt of it on either side, and rearranges it a little, folding her hands again as before. But perhaps you do.~ Mrs. Somers, with dignity: Will you answer my question ? Campbell: Certainly. I meant what I said. Mrs. Somers: Oh, you did! Very well, then! When a woman stands by the bedside of her sick child, and risks her life from contagion, what kind of courage do you call that ? C~ampbell: Moral. Mrs. Somers: And when she remains in a burning building or a sinking ship as they often doand perishes, while her child is saved, what kind of courage is it ? Campbell: Moral. Mrs. Somers: When she seizes an axe and defends her little ones against a bear or a wolf thats just bursting in the cabin door, what kind of courage does she show ? Campbell: Moral. Mrs. Somers: Or when her babe crawls up the track, and she snatches it from the very jaws of the cow-catcher C~ampbell: Oh, hold on, now, Amy! Be fair! Its the engineer who does that: he runs along the side of the locomotive, and catches the smiling infant up, and hfys it in the mothers arms as the train thunders by. His name is usually Hank Rollins. The mother is always paralyzed with terror. Mrs. Somers: Of course she is. But in those other cases how does her courage differ from a mans? If hers is always moral, what kind of courage does a man show-when he faces the cannon Campbell: Immoral. Come, Amy, are you trying to prove that women are braver than men? Well, they are. I 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. never was in any danger yet that I didnt wish I was a woman, for then I should have the courage to face it, or else I could turn and run without disgrace. All that Ii said in that speech was that women havent so much nerve as men. Mrs. Somers: They have more. Campbell: Nervesyes. Mrs. Somers: No, nerve. Take Dr. Cissy Gay~ that little, slender, delicate, sensitive thing: what do you suppose she went through when she was studying medicine, and walking the hospitals, and all those disgusting things? And Mrs. J. Plunkett Harmon: do you mean to say that she has no nerve, facing all sorts of audiences, on the platform, everywhere? Or Rev. Lily Barber, living down all that ridicule, and going quietly on in her work Campbell: Oh, theyve been talking to you. Mrs. Somers: They have not! And if they have, Dr. Gay is as much opposed to suffrage as you are. Campbell: As I ~ Arent you op- posed to it too ? Mrs. Somers: Of course I am. Or I was till you made that speech. cJampbell: It wasnt exactly intended to convert you. Mrs. Somers: It has placed me in a false position. Everybody knows, or the same as knows, that were engaged Campbell: Well, Im not ashamed of it, Amy. Mrs. Somers, severely: No matter! And now it will look as if I had no ideas of my own, and was just swayed about any way by you. A woman is despicable that joins with men in ridiculing women. Campbell: Whos been saying that ? Mrs. Somers: No one. It doesnt matter whos been saying it. Mrs. Mer- vane has been saying it. Campbell: Mrs. Mervane ? Mrs. Somers: Yes, Mrs. Mervane, that youre always praising and admiring so for her good sense and her right ideas. Didnt you say she wrote as logically and forcibly as a man ? Campbell: Yes, I did. Mrs. Somers: Very well, then, she says that if anything could turn her in favor of suffrage, it is that speech of yours. She says its a subtle attack upon the whole sex. Campbell; Well, I give it up! You are all alike. You take everything per- sonally in the first place, and then you say its an attack on all women. Couldnt I make this right by publishing a card to acknowledge your physical coui-age before the whole comm unity, Amy? Then your friends would have to say that I had rec- ognized the pluck of universal woman- hood. Mrs. Somers: No, sir; you cant make it right now. And Im sorry, sorry, sorry I signed the anti-suffrage petition. No- thing will ever teach men to appreciate women till women practically assert them- selves. Campbell: That sounds very much like another quotation, Amy. Mrs. Somers: And they must expect to be treated as cowards till they show themselves heroes. And they must first of all have the ballot. Campbell: Oh ! Mrs. Somers: Yes. Then, and not till then, men will acknowledge their equality in all that is admirable in both. Then there will be no more puling insolence about moral courage and vital emergen- cies to evoke it. Campbell: I dont see the steps to this conclusion, but the master-mind of Mrs. J. P1 unkett Harmon reaches conclusions at a bound. Mrs. Somers: It wasnt Mrs. Har- mon. Campbell: Oh, well, Rev. Lily Bar- ber, then. You neednt tell me you ori- ginated that stuff, Amy. But I submit for the present. Think it over, my dear, and when I come back to-morrow Mrs. Somers: Perhaps you had better not come back to-morrow. Campbell: Why ? Mrs. Somers: Becausebecause Im afraid we are not in sympathy. Be- cause if you thought that I needed some vital emergency to make me show that I was ready to die for you any moment Campbell: Die for me? I want you to live for me, Amy. Mrs. Somers: And the emergency never came, you would despise me. Campbell: Never! Mrs. Somers: If you have such a low opinion of women generally Campbell: I a low opinion of wo- men ! Mrs. Somers: You said they were cowards. Campbell: I didnt say they were cowards. And if I see med to say so, it II; .1 A A -x _______ ___ ___ / 7 a THERE NEVER WAS ANY MOUSE HERE.[SEE PAGE 73.] P A ~6 xi, 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was my misfortune. I honestly and truly Mrs. Somers: That one with the shelf think, Amy, that when a woman is roused, coming down almost to the carpet. Poke she isnt afraid of anything in heaven or under it with the poker ! As Camp- on He stops abruptly, and looks to- bell obeys, she again hides her face. ward the corner of the room. U-u-u-gh! Is it gone now ? Mrs. Somers: What is it ? Campbell: It wasnt there. Campbell: Oh, nothing. I thought Mrs. Somers: Poke hard! Bang I saw a mouse, against the mop-board! Bang ! Mrs. Somers: A mouse ! She flings Campbell, poking and banging: There! herself upon him, and clutches him with I tell you it never was there. convulsive energy. Then suddenly free- Mrs. Soniers, uncovering her face: Oh~ ing him, she leaps upon a chair, and stoops wh~t shall I do? It must be somewhere over to hold her train from the floor, in tide room, and Iq~ever can breathe till Oh, drive it out, drive it out! Dont youve found it. Bang again ! kill it. Ohe-e-e-e! Drive it out! Oh, Campbell: Nonsens~hits gone long what shall I do? Oh, Willis, love, jump ago. Do you suppose a mouse of any on a chair! Oh, horrid little dreadful presence of mind or self - resj~ct w~uld~P,, reptile! Oh, drive it out ! In uttering stay here after all this uproar ? He re- these appeals Mrs. Somers alternately stores the tongs to their stand with a c]ash~ looses her hold upon her train in order Mrs. Somers, responsive to the clash: to clasp her face in her hands, and then Ow! uncovers her face to seize her train. Campbell, advancing toward her and Oh, isit gone? Come here, Willis, and extending his hand: Come, Amy; get let me hold your hand! Or no! Drive down now. I must be going.~~ it, drive it, drive it out! Mrs. Somers, in horror: Get down? Campbell, going about the room in de- Going ? liberate examination: I cant find it. I Campbell: Certainly. I cant stay guess its gone into its hole again. here all day. Ive got to follow that Mrs. Somers: No, it hasnt! It hasnt mouse out into the street and have him got any hole here. It must have come in arrested. Its a public duty. from somewhere else. Oh, I hope I shall Mrs. Somers: Dont throw ridicule have a little wisdom some time, and never, on it ! After a moment: You know I never, never have cake and wine brought cant let you go till Ive seen that mouse into the drawing-room again, no matter leave this room. Go all round, and stamp how faint with walking any one is. Of in the corners. She covers her face again. course it was the smell of the fruit and Ugh! crumbs attracted it; and they might just Campbell: How are you going to see as well take the horse-cars, but they said him leave the room if you wont look? they had walked all the way to get me to Hes left long ago. I wouldnt stay if I sign the suffrage petition, and when I said was a mouse. And Ive got to go, any- Id signed the anti-suffrage, of course I way. had to offer them something; I couldnt Mrs. Somers, uncovering her face: do less. Have you driven it out ? No ! I beg, I command you to stay, Campbell: Ive done my best. But or I shall never get out of this room alive. I cant find it, and I cant drive it out till You know I shant. A ring at the street I do find it. door is heard. Oh dear, what shall I Mrs. Somers: Its rim into the fire- do? Ive told Jane I would see anybody place. Rattle the tongs ! Campbell ~ that called, and now I darent step my to the fireplace and rattles the foot to the floor! What shall I do ? against the shovel, Mrs. Somers a- Campbell, with authority: You must while covering her face. Owugh- get down. Theres no mouse here, I tell e-e-e-e! Is it gone ? She uncovers her you; and if people come and find you eyes. standing on a chair in your drawing- Campbell: It never was there. room, what will they think ? Mrs. Somers: Yes, it was, Willis. Mrs. Somers: I can kneel on it. She Dont tell me it wasnt! Where else was drops to her knees on the chair. There ! it if it wasnt there? Look under that campbell: Thats no better. Its book table ! worse. Campbell: Which oiie ? Mrs. Somers, listening to the party at / THE MOUSE-TRAP. 69 the door below, which the maid has open- Mrs. Curwen, with a laugh of mingled ed: Sh! I want to make out who it is. ter%r and enjoyment, from the top of the Sh! Yesit is ! After listening: Yes! table where she finds herself: Where Its Mrs. Miller and Lou Bemis and Mrs. Curwen! I dont see how they happen to come together, for Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Ourwen perfectly hate each other. Oh yes! I know ! Theyre all on the way to Mrs. IRansorns reception ; lies show- ing his pictures and some of her things ---horrid daubs; I dont see how she can have the faceand theyve met here by accident. Si! Shes showing them into the reception - room. Yes, thats quite right. Mrs. Somers delivers these sen- tences in a piercing whisper of extreme volubility. Now as soon as she brings up their cards Ill say Im not at all well that Im engagedjust going out. No, that wont do. I must be sick. Any- thing else would be perfectly insulting after saying that I was at home; and Jane has got to go back and tell them she forgot that I had gone to bed with a severe headache. As Jane app& ars at the draw- ing-room door, and falters at sight of Mrs. Somers kneeling on her chair, that lady beckons her to her, frowning, shaking her head, and pressing her finger on her lip to enforce silence, and takes the cards from her, while she continues in whisper: Yes. All right, Jane! Go straight back and tell them you forgot I had gone to bed with a perfectly blinding headache; and dont let another soul into the house. Mr. Campbell saw a mouse, and I cant get down till hes caught it. Go ! Jane, after a moment of petrifaction: A mouse! In the room, here? Oh, my goodness gracious me ! She leaps upon the chair next to Mrs. Somers, who again springs to her feet. lVfrs. Somers: Did you see it? Oh, e-e-e-e Jane: W-o-o-o-o! I dont know! Where was it? Oh yes, I thought They clutch each other convulsively, and blend their cries, at the sound of which the la- 4ies in the reception-room below come fiockin~ upstairs into the drawing-room. The Ladies; at sight of Mrs. Somers and her servant: What is it ? what is it ? Mrs. Somers: Oh, theres a mouse in the room. Oh, jump on chairs ! Mrs. Miller, vaulting into the middle of the sofa: A mouse! Mrs. Lou Beinis, alighting upon a slight reception-chair: Oh, not in this room, Mrs. Somers! Dont say it ! VOL. LXXDT.No. 4396 is it? Mrs. Somers: I dont know. I didnt see it. But, oh! its here somewhere. Mr. Campbell saw it, and Jane did when she came up with your cards, and hes been trying to drive it out, but he cant even budge it; and Campbell, desperately: Ladies, there isnt any mouse here! Ive been racket- ing round here with the shovel and tongs all over the room, and the mouse is gone. You can depend upon that. Youre as safe here as you would be in your own rooms. Mrs. Somers: How can you say such a thing? No, I wont be responsible if anything happens. The mouse is in this room. No one has seen it go out, and its here still. Mrs. Bemis, balancing herself with diffi- culty on her chair: Oh dear! how tippy it is! Im sure its going to break. Mrs. Curwen: Get up here with me, Mrs. Bemis. We can protect each other. Mrs. Miller: You would both fall off. Better come here on the sofa, Mrs. Bemis. Mrs. Curwen: The mouse could run up that ottoman sofa as easily as the ground. Mrs. Miller, covering her face: Oh, how can you say such a thing ? Airs. Bemis: Oh, I know Im going to fall! Mrs. Somers: Willis, for shame I Help her ! Campbell: But how how can I help Mrs. Somers: Get her another chair. Campbell: Oh ! He pushes a large arm-chair toward Mrs. Bemis, who leaps into it with a wild cry, spurning the re- ception-chair half across the room in her flight. Airs. Bemis: Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Campbell! Oh, I shall always bless you ! Airs. Curwen: Yes, you have saved all our lives. Where theres a man, I dont care for a thousand mice. Mrs. Miller: Oh, how very frank ! Mrs. Curwen: Yes, Im nothing if not open-minded. Campbell, surveying her with amuse- ment and interest: I dont believe youre very much scared. Mrs. Beinis: Oh yes, she is, Mr. Camp- 70 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hell. She keeps up that way, and then the first thing she faints. Mrs. Curwen: Not on centre tables, my dear; there isnt roOm. Gampbell, witl~i~ ~ing facinktiou: Why dont you ~et down,.and set the ros~t an am~.~f courage ? AQ~. Curweh: I prefer to set th& ~x- ample here: its safer. Campbell: You look like the statue of some goddess on her altaror saint Mrs. Curwen- -.t.T~h nk you. If you will say victim, I will agree with yom~- Say Iphig~ii~:- -Rut th~ others nre too much. I dra~w the line at goddes~es and saii~~U~ ~ Campbell. tAnd ~o~j%e afraid 6~nice to~ ~ Mrs. .~~wen: To %e sure I ~ C~aP4~be?l ~ W~4~..tPer~.is no monse down here--nothing but a miserable man. Now will you get down ? Mrs. Somers: Mrs. Curwen, dont think of it! Hes just saying it. The mouse is there. To Campbell: You are placing us all in a very ridiculous position. Campbell: I am sorry for that; I am indeed. I give you my word of honor that I dont believe theres any mouse in the room. Mrs. Somers: Jane just saw it. Campbell: She thought she saw it, but I dont think she did. A lion would have been scared out by this time. A ring at the door is heard. Mrs. Somers: There, Jane, theres some one ringing! You must go to the door. Jane, throwing her apron over her head: Oh, please, Mrs. Somers, I cant go! Im so afraid of mice Mrs. Somers: Nonsense! you must go. Its perfectly ridiculous your pre- tending not. Jane: Oh, I couldnt, Mrs. Somers! I was always so from a child. I cant bear em. Mrs. Somers: This is disgraceful. Do you mean to say that you wont do what I ask you? Very well, then; you can go! You neednt stay the week out; I will pay you, and you can go at once. Do you nn- derstand ? Jane: Yes, I do, and Id be glad to go this very minute, but I dont dare to get down. Mrs. Somers. But why shouldnt you get down? There isnt the least danger. P there any dan,,er now, Mr. Camp- dl? Campbell: Not the ~ast lii the world. Mouse gone long ago. Mr~ Somers: There ! Jane: I cant help it. There are so many in the dining-room- Mrs. Somers: In my dining - room? G~y goodness! ~why didnt you tell me before? Jane: And one ran right over my foot. -~ Mrs. SOme~rs! YouV foot? ~Oh I won- der that you live to tell it. ~Why havent you put traps? Wheres the cat ? Jane: The cooks spoiled the cat, feed~ ing it so much. Mirs. Miller: Yes, thats the worst of cooks: they always spoil cats. Mrs. Bemis: They overfeed them. Mrs. Miller: And then, of course, the cats are worth nothing as muousers. I had a cat The bell sounds again. Mrs. Somers: There! Some one must go. Campbell: Why, Ill go to the door. Mrs. Somers: And leave us here? Never! How can you propose such a thing? If you dare to go, I shall die. Dont think of such a thing. Jane: The cook will go, if they keep ringing. Oh! ugh! hu! hu! When ever shall I get out of this ? Mrs. Somers: Stop ~rying, Jane! Be calm! Youre perfectly safe. You may be glad its no worse. Sli! Theres the cook going to the door at last. Who can it be? Listen Jane, clutching Mrs. Somers Oh! ugh! Wo-o-o-o All the Ladies: E-e-e-e ! Mrs. Somers: Whats the matter, Jane? Let me go! IVhats the matter ? Jane: Oh, I thought I was falling right down in amongst it Mrs. Agnes Roberts, calling up from below: What in the world is it, Amy? ~31ampbell: Oh, my prophetic soul, my sister Mrs. Somers, shouting: Is that you, Agnes? Dont come up! Dont come up, for your life! Dont come up, unless you wish to perish instantly. Oh, its dread- ful, your coming now. Keep away! Go right straight out of the house, unless you wish to fling your life away. The other Ladies: Dont come! Dont come! Keep away! It will do no good. Mrs. Roberts, mounting the stairs, as if THE MOUSE-TRAP. 71 lured to her doom by an irresistible fasci- I wouldnt care for the bite of an elephant. nation: Not come Keep away? Whos Ifs the idea. Cant you understand ? talking? What is it? Oh, Amy, what The other Ladies: Oh yes, its the is it? As she reaches the stair-landing idea. space before the drawing-room and looks Mrs. Somers: Yes, I told him in the in, where Campbell stands in the middle first place, Agnes, that it was the idea of a of the floor with his hands in his pockets mouse. and despair in his face: You here, Wil- Mrs. Curwen: Its the innate repug- lis? What are you doing? What is it? nance. Her eye wanders to the ladies trembling Campbell: Its the enmity put be- in their several refuges, and a dawning tween the mouse that tempted Eve and apprehension makes itself seen in her face. the woman What is Oh, it isit isntit isnt Mrs. Roberts: Dont besacrilegious, amouse! Oh, Amy! Amy! Amy! Oh, Willis! Dont, for your own sake ! how could you let me come right into the Mrs. Somers: Yes, its very easy to oom with it? Oh, I never can forgive make fun of the Bible. you! I thought it was somebody getting Mrs. Roberts: Or woman. And the killed. Oh, why didnt you tell me it was wit is equally contemptible in either case. a mouse ? She alights on the piano stool, Mrs. Miller: Other animals feel about and keeps it from rocking by staying her- mice just as we do. I was reading only self with one hand on the piano top. the other day of an elephantyour men- ~3fam~pbell: Now look here, Agnes tioning an elephant reminded me of it, Mrs. Roberts: Hush! Dont speak to Mrs. me, Willis! You unnatural, cruel, heart- Mrs. Roberts: Oh ! less Why did you let me come in? I The other Ladies: E-e-e-e ! wonder at you, Willis! If you-had been Mrs. Somers: What is it ? half the brother you ou~ht to be Oh Mrs. Roberts: Nothing. I thought dear! dear! I know how you will go I was going to fall. Go on, Mrs. Miller. away and laugh now, and tell every- Mrs. Miller: Oh, its merely that the body. I suppose you think it corrobo- elephant was asleep, and a mouse ran up rates that silly speech of yours before the its trunk legislative committee thats wounded all All the Ladies: Horrors ! your best friends so, and that Ive been Mrs. Miller: And the poor creature talking myself perfectly dumb defending sprang up in the greatest alarm, and bel- you about. Mrs. Roberts unconscious- lowed till it woke the whole menagerie. ly gives a little push for emphasis, and It simply shows that it isnt because wo- the stool revolves with her. E-e-e-e! men are nervously constituted that theyre Oh, Amy, how can you have one of these afraid of mice, for the nervous organism old-fashioned, horrid, whirling things, fit of an elephant for nothing but boarding-house parlors ! Mrs. Somers: The first time I went Mrs. Somers, with just pique: Im to Europe I found a mouse in one of my very sorry you dont like my piano stool, trunks. It was a steamer trunk, that you Agnes. I keep it because it was my poor push under the berth, and Ive perfectly mothers; but if youll give me due ~notice loathed theni ever since.~~ another time, Ill try to have a different Mrs. Bemis: Once, in a farm-house Mrs. Roberts, bursting into tears: Oh, where we were staying the summer, a dont say another word, Amy dear! Im mouse ran right across the table. so ashamed of myself that I can hardly All the Ladies: Oh ! breathe now ! Mrs. Curwen: One morning I found Campbell~ 4~l Im ashamed of you one in the bath-tub. too, Agnes! t do~it~*at stool, and All the Ladies: Oh, Mrs. Curwen behave ye f like a sensibl~ oma,p~. Mrs. Curwen: Wed heard it scram- He goes w~*d her ~ if to lift her down. bling round all night. It was stone- The louse is gone long ago~. And if it dead. was hei~e, it wouldnt bite you. All the Ladies: Hideous I Mr8.1 Roberts, repelling him with one Campbell: Why, bless my soul! if hand ~hule she clings insecurely to the the mouse was dead piano *ith the other: Bite? Do you Mrs. Somers: Then it was ten times suppose~I care for a mouses biting, Willis? as bad as if it was alive. Cant you un 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. derstand? Its the idea. But, oh, dont lets talk of it any more, ladies! Lets talk of something else! Agnes, are you going to Mrs. Ransoms ? Mrs. Roberts: Ive been. Nearly ev- erybodys coming away. Mrs. Miller: Why, what time is it, Mrs. Somers ? Airs. Somers: I dont know. Campbell, looking at his watch: Its ten minutes of six, and Ive missed my appointment. Mrs. Curwen: And if we dont go now we shall miss the reception. Mrs. Bemis: Papa was very particu- lar I should go, because he couldnt. Mrs. Miller: We must go at once. Mrs. Somers: Oh, Im so sorry! Jane, go down with the ladies. Jane: Oh, please, Mrs. Somers ! Mrs. Miller: But how are we to go? We are imprisoned here. We cannot get away. You must do something. Mrs. Curwen: It is your house, Mrs. Somers. You are responsible. Mrs. Somers: But what can I do? I cant get down myself. And if I did, what good would it do ? Mrs. Roberts: For shame, Willis! To laugh Campbell: I wasnt laughing. I was merely smiling aloud. Mrs. Roberts: Its the same thing. You ought to think of something. Mrs. Somers: Oh yes, do, Willis. Think of something for myfor good- ness sake, and I will always thank you. Youre so ingenious. Campbell: Well, in the first place, I dont believe theres any mouse in the room. Mrs. Somers: That is nonsense; Jane saw it. Is that all your ingenuity amounts to? Mrs. Roberts, electrically: Amy, I have an idea! Airs. Somers: Oh, Agnes! How li/ce you ! Mrs. Roberts: Not at all. Its the simplest thing in the world. Its the only way. And no thanks to Willis, either. All the Ladies: Well? Well? Well ? Airs. Roberts: Its just this: all make a rush, one after another, and the rest scream. And Willis must keep beating the floor. Mrs. Somers: How perfectly magnif- icent! Well, Agnes, you have got your wits about you! It is the very thing Now, Mrs. Curwen, if you will jump down and make a rush Mrs. Curwen: Its for you to make the rush first, Mrs. Somers. You are the hostess. Mrs. Somers: Yes, but Im not going, dont you see. Ive sent my card to Mrs. Ransom. Mrs. Curwen: Then, Mrs. Miller, will you, please Mrs. Miller: Mrs. Bemis is nearest the door. I think she will wish to start first. Mrs. Bemis: No; I will wait for the rest. Mrs. Somers: That is a good idea. They ought to all rush together, not one after another. Dont you think so, Agnes ? Mrs. Roberts: Yes; that was what I meant. And we ought to all scream just before they start, so as to scare it. Mrs. Somers: Oh, how capital! You have got a brain, Agnes! Now I begin to believe we shall live through it. And Mr. Campbell ought to beat the floor first, oughtnt he ? Campbell: I havent got anything to beat it with. He looks about the room. But I can go down and get my cane .411: No! Mrs. Somers: Jane will go down and get it for you. Jane: Oh, I couldnt, Mrs. Somers. Campbell: Perhaps the pokerbut it would spoil your carpet. Mrs. Somers: No matter for the car- pet; you can beat it intopulp. Camp- bell gets the poker and beats the carpet in different pla~~es. Harder! Beat harder Mrs. Roberts: Youre not beating at all, Willis. Youre justtemporizing. Campbell wildly thrashes the carpet. Mrs. Somers: There! that is some- thing like. Now scream, Agnes! Scream, Mrs. Curwen! Mrs. Miller, Lou, scream, please All: E-e-e-e ! Airs. Somers: But nobody started ! Airs. C~uruen: Ijii~dnt believe the rest would sjtart-anso Idjdnt. Airs. iAtiller: I was sure no one else would start. Mrs. Bemis: So was I. ~ Mrs. Roberts: We must have faith in each other, or else the plans a failure. Now all scream ! They scream. Mrs. Somers: E-e-e-e! Keep~beating the carpet, Willis! Hard, hard4 hard! THE MOUSE-TRAP. 73 The other ladies all leap down from their would believe there were a million mice perches, and rush screaming out of the in the room. drawing-room, followed by Jane, with a Campbell: Amy, indeed whoop that prolongs itself into the depths Mrs. Somers: No; if you could de- of the basement, after the retreating wails ceive me then, you can deceive me now. and hysterical laughter of the ladies have If you could say there was a mouse in the died out of the street door. Oh, wasnt room when there wasnt, you are quite it splendid? It was a perfect success. capable of saying there isnt when there Campbell, leaning on his poker, and is. You are just saying it now to get me panting with exhaustion: They got out to get down. alive. Campbell: Upon my honor, Im not. Mrs. Somers. And it was all Agness Airs. Somers: Oh, dont talk to me idea. Why, Agnes is gone too ! of honor! The honor of a man who could C~ampbell: Yes, Agnes is gone. I revelyes, revelin the terrors of help- think it was a ruse of hers to save her less women own life. Shes quite capable of it. ~ Campbell: No, no; Id no idea of it, Mrs. Somers, with justice : No, I Amy. dont think that. She was just carried ~Mrs. Somers: You will please not ad- away by the excitement of the moment. dress~e in that way, Mr. Campbell. You Clamp bell : At any rate, shes gone. have forfeited all right to do so. And now, Amy, dont you think youd Campbell: I know it. What I did better get down ? was very foolish and thoughtless. Mrs. Somers, in astonishment: Get Mrs. Somers: It was very low and down ~ Why, you must be crazy. How ungentlemanly. I .suppose you will go can I get down if its still there ? away and laugh over it with yourasso Campbell: What ? ciates. Mrs. Somers: The mouse. Campbell: Why not say my ruffianly Campbell: But it isnt there, my dear. accomplices at once, Amy? No, I assure You saw for yourself that it wasnt there. you that unless you tell of the affair, no- Mrs. Somers: Did you see it run out ? body shall ever hear of it from me. Its Campbell: No; but__ too disastrous a victory. Im hoist by Airs. Somers: Very well, then, its my own petard, caught in my own mouse- there still. Of course it is. I wouldnt trap. There is such a thing as succeeding get down for worlds. to9well. Campbell: Oh, good heavens! Do~Z-Mrs. Somers : I should thinic you you expect to spend the rest of your life would be ashamed of it. Suppose you up there in that chair ? have shown that women are nervous and Mrs. Somers: I dont know. I shall excitable, does that prove anything ? not get down till I see that mouse leave Campbell: Nothing in the world. this room. Mrs. Somers: Very likely some of us Campbell, desperately: Well, then, will be sick from it. I dare say you think I must make a clean breast of it. There that would be another triumphant argu- never was any mouse here. ment. Mrs. Somers: What do you mean ? Camnpbell: I shouldnt exult in it. Campbell: I mean that when we Mrs. Somers: I dont know when I were talkingarguingabout the physic- shall ever get over it myself. I have had al courage of women, I thought I would a dreadful shock. try a mouse. Its succeeded only too Campbell: Im sorry with all my well. Ill never try another. heartI am indeed. I had no conception Mrs. Somers: And could you really that you cared so much for micedespised be guilty of such a cruel them so much. Campbell: Ye~. Mrs. Somers: Oh yes, laugh, do! Mrs. Somers: Shameless Its quite in character. But if you have Campbell: I was. such a contempt for women, of course Mrs. Somers: ~ Despicable deception ? you wouldnt want to marry one. Campbell: It was vile, I know, but I Campbell: Yes, I should, my dear. did it. But only one. Mrs. Somers: I dont believe it. No, Mrs. Somers: Very well, then! You rather than believe that of you, Willis, I can find some other one. All is over be- 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tween us. Yes! I will send you back Mrs. Somers: Did I say that ? the precious gifts you have lavished upon Campbell: Yes, you did. me, and I will thank you for mine. A Mrs. Somers: I must have been very man who can turn the sex that his mo- much incensed against you. I beg your ther and sister belong to into ridicule can pardon forbeing so angry. have no real love for his wife. I am Campbell: That wont do. I dont glad that I found you out in time. care how angry you are if you dont call Campbell: Do you really mean it, me names. You must take them back. Amy? Mrs. Somers: Do you see my hand- Mrs. Somers: Yes, I mean it. And kerchief anywhere about on the carpet ? I hope it will be a lesson to you. If you Campbell, looking about, and then find- find any other poor silly trusting crea- ing it: Yes; here it is. He hands it to ture that you can impose yourself upon her, and she bends forward and takes it for a gentleman as you have upon me, I from him at arms-length, whipping it advise you to reserve your low, vulgar, nervously out of his hand. Whats the boyish tricks till after she is helplessly matter ? yours, or she may tear your hateful ring Airs. Somers: Oh nothingnothing! from her finger, and fling it She at- Will you please give me my fan from the tempts to pull a ring from her finger, but table there ? He obeys, and she catches it will not come off. Never mind! I it from him as she has caught the hand- will get it off with a little soapsuds; and kerchief. Thank you! Keep away, then please ! Campbell: Oh no, my dear! Come, Campbell, angrily: Really this is too can allow for your excitement, but I much. If you are afraid of touching cant stand everything, though I admit me everything. When a man has said hes Airs. Somers: No, I dont mind touch- played a silly part he doesnt like to be ing you; that isnt it. But if you stood told so, and as for imposing myself upon so near, dont you see, it might run up you for a gentlemanyou must take that you and jump on to me. back, Amy. Campbell: What might ? Airs. Somers: I do. I take it back. Airs. Somers: You know. The .There hasnt been any imposture. I knew mouse. you were not a gentleman. Campbell: The mouse! There is no C~ampbell: Very good! Then Im mouse. not fit for a ladys company, and I dont Mrs. Somers: Thats what you said deny, though youre so hard upon me, before. that youre a lady, Amy. Good-by. He Campbell: Well, its true. There bows and walks out of the room, isnt any mouse, and there never was. Mrs. Somers, sending her voice after Mrs. Somers: Theres the idea. And him in a wail of despair: Willis! thats all I ever cared for. Campbell, coming back: Well? Campbell: Well, what are you going Mrs. Somers: I cant let you go. to do? I cant kill the idea of a mouse, He runs toward her, but she shrinks and I cant drive it out of the room. back on her chair against the wall. No, Mrs. Somers: I dont know what Im no ! going to do. I suppose I shall die here. Campbell, hesitating: Why did you She presses her handkerchief to her eyes. call me back, then ? I shall never get out of the room alive. Mrs. Somers: II didnt call you Then I hope you will be satisfied. back; I just saidWillis. Campbell: Amy, how can you say Campbell: This is unworthyeven of such things to me ? you. Mrs. Somers: Oh, I suppose youre Mrs. Somers: Oh ! fond of me, in your contemptuous way. Campbell: Do you admit that you I never denied that. And Im sorry, Im have been too severe ? sure, if I wounded your feelings by any- Mrs. Somers: I dont know. What thing I said. did I say ? ; Campbell: Then you admit that lam Campbell: A number of pleasant a gentleman ? things; that I was a fraud, and no gentle- Mrs. Somers: I didnt say that. man. Campbell: And IF cant be satisfied THE MOUSE-TRAP. 75 with less. Ill own that Ive been stupid, but I havent been ungentlemanly. I cant remain unless you do. Mrs. Somers: And do you think threatening me is gentlemanly ? Campbell: That isnt the question. Do you think Im a gentleman ? Mrs. Somers: Youre what the world calls a gentlemanyes. Campbell: Do yoa think Im one Mrs. Somers: How can I tell? I cant think at all, perched up here. Campbell: Why dont you get down, then ? Mrs. Somers: You know very well why. Campbell: But youll have to get down some time. You cant stay there always. Airs. Somers: Why should you care Campbell: You know I do care. You know that I love you dearly, and that I cant hear to see you in distress. Shall I beat the carpet, and you scream and make a rush ? Mrs. Somers: No; I havent the strength for that. I should drop in a faint as soon as I touched the floor. Campbell: Oh, good heavens! What am I going to do, then ? Airs. Somers: I dont know. You got me into the trouble. I should think you could get me out of it. Campbell, after walking distractedly up and down the room: Theres only one way tbat I can think of, and if were not enga~,ed any longer, it wouldnt do. Airs. Somers, yielding to her curiosity, after a moments hesitation: What is it? Campbell: Oh, unless were still en- gaged, its no use proposing it. Airs. Somers: Cant you tell me with- otit~ Campbell: Impossible. Airs. Somers, looking down at her fan: Well, suppose we are still engaged, then ? Looking up: Yes, say we are engaged. Campbell: Its to carry you out. Airs. Somers, recoiling a little: Oh! do you think that would be very nice ? Campbell: Yes, I think it w-ould. We can both scream, you know. Airs. Somers: Yes?. Campbell: And then you fling your- self into my arms. Mrs. Somers: Yes? Campbell: And I rush out of the room with you. Airs. Somers, with a deep breath: I would never do it in the world. Campbell: Well, then, you must stay where you are. Airs. Somers, closing her fan: Youre not strong enough. She puts her hand- kerchief into her pocket. You would be sure to fall. She gathers her train in one hand. Well, then, look the other way 1 Campbell turns his face aside and waits. No, I cant do it. Campbell, retiring wrathfully to the other side of the room: What shall we do, then ? Airs. Somers, after reflection: I dont know what we shall do. But if I were a man Campbell: Well, if you were a man- Airs. Somers: Dont you think Mrs. Curwen is fascinating ? Campbell: She does. Airs. Somers: You must admit shes clever? And awfully stylish ? Campbell: I dont admit anything of the kind. Shes always posing. I think she made herself ridiculous standing there on the table. Airs. Somers, fondly: Oh, do you think so? You are very severe. Campbell: Come, now, Amy, what has all this got to do with it ? Airs. Somers: Nothing. But if I were a man Campbell: Well? Airs. Somers: Well, in the first place, I wouldnt have got you wrought up so. Campbell: Well, but if you had! Suppose you had done all that Ive dor~e, and that I was up there in you#~place standing on a chair, and wouldnt let you leave the room, and wouldnt get down and walk out, and wouldnt allow myself to be carried, what should yoi~ do Airs. Somers, who has been regarding him attentively ove~the toj of her fan, which she hold~ pressed against her face: Why, I sup~4se if you wouldnt let me help you willinglyI should use vio- lence. Campbell: You witch ! As he makes a wild rush upon her, the curtain, which in the plays of this author has a strict regard for the convenanees, abruptly de- scends. LTJJE LETTERS. THEY had dined late that afternoon, and now, in a room dim with the shadow of a November twilight, three people sat silently: one was a girl whose fair hair fell in heavy braids, caught by a black ribbon; another, a woman with a face that was restful to look upon because of its gentleness; and the third was a young man. After a time the maid came in with a letter and a pasteboard box. For Miss Kitty and Mr. John, she said. They came while you were away. She hesitated a little over th last word, as if her first intention had been to use sonie more definite term. Mr. John, reaching out his hand for the letter, held it un- opened, and seemed soon to forget its pre- sence. Kitty took from the box, which the maid had placed before her, a bunch of golden chrysanthemums, and she cried a little over a note which fell from among them. Presently she explained that they were from a girl at school, a very queer sort of a girl, whom nobody knew much. Thereupon Kitty cried a little more, and began to arran~e the flowers in a tall vase of some dull blue ware. It was thoughtful of your friend to send them to-night, said the woman, breaking the silence which had again set- tled upon the room. I dont see how she dared to do it said Kitty; they are such bright flowers. But she has written a very nice note; it sounds as if she had made it right out of her own head. She says, read Kitty, It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. Isnt that a strange thing for her to write, Uncle John l ~ said the young man, absently; but it is very kind. You had better an- swer it to-night; that will give you some- thing to do. The others can wait. Fifteen to - day, said Kitty; that makes one hundred and seventeen, and I suppose more will be coming all the time; we may have as many as two hundred. Uncle John l What is it, dear ? Aunt and I have opened the letters just as you told us, and there is one from a very old lady, who writes to say that she is your great-aunt Catherine, and she hopes you havent forgotten her. Aunt Catherine I said the young man, arousing a little. She must be nv HARRIET LEWIS BRADL Y.

Harriet Lewis Bradley Bradley, Harriet Lewis The White Garden 76-88

LTJJE LETTERS. THEY had dined late that afternoon, and now, in a room dim with the shadow of a November twilight, three people sat silently: one was a girl whose fair hair fell in heavy braids, caught by a black ribbon; another, a woman with a face that was restful to look upon because of its gentleness; and the third was a young man. After a time the maid came in with a letter and a pasteboard box. For Miss Kitty and Mr. John, she said. They came while you were away. She hesitated a little over th last word, as if her first intention had been to use sonie more definite term. Mr. John, reaching out his hand for the letter, held it un- opened, and seemed soon to forget its pre- sence. Kitty took from the box, which the maid had placed before her, a bunch of golden chrysanthemums, and she cried a little over a note which fell from among them. Presently she explained that they were from a girl at school, a very queer sort of a girl, whom nobody knew much. Thereupon Kitty cried a little more, and began to arran~e the flowers in a tall vase of some dull blue ware. It was thoughtful of your friend to send them to-night, said the woman, breaking the silence which had again set- tled upon the room. I dont see how she dared to do it said Kitty; they are such bright flowers. But she has written a very nice note; it sounds as if she had made it right out of her own head. She says, read Kitty, It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. Isnt that a strange thing for her to write, Uncle John l ~ said the young man, absently; but it is very kind. You had better an- swer it to-night; that will give you some- thing to do. The others can wait. Fifteen to - day, said Kitty; that makes one hundred and seventeen, and I suppose more will be coming all the time; we may have as many as two hundred. Uncle John l What is it, dear ? Aunt and I have opened the letters just as you told us, and there is one from a very old lady, who writes to say that she is your great-aunt Catherine, and she hopes you havent forgotten her. Aunt Catherine I said the young man, arousing a little. She must be nv HARRIET LEWIS BRADL Y. THE WHITE GARDEN. 77 nearly ninety. And she has remembered us! Put the letter by itself, dear. Some one must write to-morrow. She says a great deal about me, ob- served Kitty. She thinks I am still a baby, and she doesnt see how you will ever be able to bring me up; and she wishes she lived nearer. I shall send her my photograph. And here is a very thick letter that has not yet been opened. It is to you, Uncle John. Shall I open it ? If you will, dear. I cant make the least sense out of ~ said Kitty, glancing through the closely written pages. It does not apply to us in the least, unless some one has made a story about you and papa when you were very young. It is fearfully written such a funny cramped hand! Just listen to this: And the little angel he]ped the chil- dren to heap up stones until they formed a wall around the place, and then he said, Now make everything ready and wait, and the next time I will lend you each a pair of wings, and you shall gather some seeds for yourselves. There- upon the an~el flew away, and the two children began to spade the ground very careful- ly. Isnt that singular ? said Kitty, who had de- ciphered this with great difficulty. And it has no signature, she added, turning to the end. Read ~ said Aunt Mary, as John made no comment, and scarcely seemed to notice Kittys discovery. And the angel brought a paint-box, and told the children that if they wanted a very red rose, they could easily add a little color to a pink one, and that they might paint all the yel- low pansies purple if they wished; but the grass was always to be green, and they were never to make any black flowers or white flowers; that as soon as a flower be- came black it ceased to be a flower, and that white flowers were only for the gar- dens of paradise. Certainly very remarkable, said Aunt Mary. John apparently had not been listening, for he showed no curiosity. VOL. LXXIY.No. 4397 I would put it away for to-night, child; your eyes look tired. Dont you feel sleepy enough to go to bed ? I might try, said Kitty. I suppose we have got to go on eating and sleeping just the same. Did you see what dear Dan Fergusson wrote ? About his mothers rose-bush ? said Aunt Mary. Yes. Wasnt it lovely? And lie is such a plain sort of a man, who would have expected him to write at all ? The girl rested her head upon her hand wearily for a moment; then, gathering the letters into the table drawer, she said, Good-night, and went out of the room. Ten years before, when Kitty was six years old, she was in the street one morn- ing with her hands full of white roses. A man who was mending a neighbors fence stopped in his work and gave a longing look at the flowers, and as the child passed lie called to her, Little girl, do you think I could see the bush that your roses grew upon ? Ill show it to you now, said Kitty, and child-like gave him her hand and led him back to the garden. IT WOULD BE VERY SAD IF THIS WERE TUE END; BUT IT IS ONLY A MORE BEAUTIFUL WAY OF LIVING. 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Its a real old - fashioned bush, said the man. I was afraid it wouldnt be; its like the one that used to grow over the porch at home. I thought the kind had gone by. After that Dan Fergusson came every June, generally on Saturday evening when his weeks work was over, and Kit- ty had named the bush Dan Fergus- son s mothers rose-bush. He had now written to say that possibly Mr. John might not feel quite like working in the garden another summer, and he would be pleased, if there were no objection, to come around and look after things a little every Saturday evening, and he hoped the white rose that dear Mr. Robert had planted would be some comfort to Mr. John and Miss Kitty, as it always was to their humble servant, Daniel Fergusson. Aunt Mary, left alone with her nephew, spoke of the letter which he still held, and asked if he were not going to open it. Yes, he said, but there was time enough yet; and he added, as they heard footsteps in the room above, that it was not good for the child to be up there by herself; ought not some one to go to her? he feared she might take cold. I think not, answered the woman. The room is warm; I had the fire lighted. That was very thoughtful, said the man. Poor little girl! and she is so brave ! He rose and walked up and down the room. Presently he stopped by the fire, and asked, restlessly, Aunt Mary, what becomes of the remnants, th~ pieces that are left over ? They are invaluable for all sorts of things, said the woman, carrying out his thought without seeming to understand him for charity work, a babys dress, a sofa cushion, a Christmas present. Some- times the choicest thing is made out of a remnant. I suppose it all depends upon whose hands it falls into, said John, and then there was another long silence. The woman longed to break it again. Her own mind was so full of sweet and comforting thoughts that she felt selfish in not sharing them; but with the sight of the unopened letter in her nephews hand, and the knowledge of the one hundred and seventeen in the library table drawer, she knew that all words either spoken or written would be but meaningless. And so the silence remained undisturbed until the door above opened and closed, and Kitty crossed the hall to her own room. Then the man arose and went upstairs, and Aunt Mary heard the girls voice say- ing: Yes, I am quite well; yes, I think I shall sleep. Good-night, uncle dear. After this there were sounds of other foot- steps in the room above. I am glad I remembered the fire,~~ said the woman,with a look of great sym- pathy in her eyes; it cannot be so utter- ly lonely if the fire is bright. It was not so lonely as John Goodwin had feared; it even seemed pleasant in the room, but that might have been the fire- light. He had hesitated at the door, and wondered how Kitty had the heart to go in. The world seemed so helpless with- out Robert: it was he who understood ev- erything, who made their life worth liv- ing, and he had gone so suddenly, and it was so unlike him to leave them. Snatch- es of sentences spoken during the even- ing drifted aimlessly through the young mans mind: It would be very sad if this were the end, and they were to make no black flowers, for if a flower be- came black it ceased to be a flower, and he is such a plain sort of a man, who could have expected him to write ? a babys dress, a sofa cushion, a Christmas present, Yes, I think I shall sleep; good-night, uncle dear. His head was very tired. Suddenly he reached out his hand toward the bed, and said: Did you speak, Robert? Are you quite comfortable ? This startled him, and, re- called to himself, he remembered what had happened. Then he noticed some bits of paper upon the carpet; it was the letter which all this time had been in his hand until it had become twisted and torn into fragments. He collected these, and placed them together until this sen- tence was formed: DEAR MR. JOHN, I miss you so. Will you not come soon to Your friend Jo~ ? 11.KITTYS COMMISSION. It was a Queen of Flowers, a Queen of Wisdom, and a Queen of Hearts who sent this message. I miss you so. John was the Prime Minister and court musi- cian. He knew all the royal secrets and sorrows; he knew as no other did the pain that lay hidden under the smiles and gra- cious words; he knew also that for what THE WHITE GARDEN. 79 he gave, she would repay him a thousand- fold. This little Queen had great power, and, like Kitty, she was a young girl fair and sweet and sixteen. John Goodwins house-keeping went on very quietly that winter. Kitty came home from school every Saturday night, and two evenings in the week he spent with Joy; otherwise his life was a solitary one. On the last morn- ingof the year, Kitty, ~~ho was at home for the Christmas holi- days, stood looking out into the snowy world. It had storm- ed during the night, and through the scarcely passable streets a few early people were making their way with diffi- culty. There she goes cried the girl, sud- denly. I was won- dering what had be- come of her ; and hurrying into the hall, Kitty reappear- ed with her fur-trimmed garment already half fastened. I cannot wait a moment, Matha, she said. Tell uncle when he comes down that it wa;s something very impor- tant and unexpected. Do take some coffee first, Miss Kitty, said the maid; youll be ill going out in this dreadful walking without any break- fast. Kitty raised the cup to her lips. I may be back in an hour, she said, and II may be gone all the morning. I wouldnt miss that woman for anything in the world. A very ordinary-looking little woman had passed on the opposite side of the street. She was quite lame, and a thick veil concealed her face. Kitty had count- ed upon this lameness when she waited for her coffee, and going out, she saw the woman only a short distance in advance. At the end of a long walk, and a climb up two flights of stairs, the woman opened a door marked with gilt letters on a black ground, Madame Flower, Fashionable Dress-maker. Kitty, who had followed, stood for a moment considering, and then, as she remembered having passed a mil- liners room on the floor below, she went back, and found the friendly shopwoman as ready to communicate all she knew concerning her neighbors as to measure off a ribbon for this early customer. Janet Green at Madame Flowers, repeated Kitty to herself, and going out, she made a careful memory note of the number over the street door. Janet Green was a member of that in- numerable sisterhood of lone women who live in a few rooms, or one room with an alcove, following a plan of life known as light house-keeping. She began her lone- liness with two rooms, two stairways, two outside doors, one wood-shed, and a cat. The cat, finding it a little dull, remained but one night. The rooms were small and sunny, and each had a window full of plants; the two outside doors and the wood- shed were as much like other outside doors and wood-sheds as one thing can be like another, but the two stairways were un- like anything of a similar nature ever be- fore constructed either above or under the earth. To Janet Green they were a con- stant subject of thought and wonder. When she was in her rooms, she was won- dering how she got there, and how she should ever be able to get down; and when she was down she was wondering how she should ever be able to get up again. DID YOU SPEAK, ROBERT? ARE YOU QUITE COMFORTABLE? 80 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The front stairs had a neat green carpet, but they were dark and twisting and nar- row, each stair, being of a different width, had to be learned separately, and at one dangerous point in their winding they ran through such obscurity as to be com- pletely invisible. The back stairs were built outside the house; they were steep and ruinous all the year round, and dur- ing the winter exceedingly cold and icy. Visitors generally preferred this outside stairway, danger being not so much to be dreaded when the sun shines upon it. Janet climbed cautiously up these stairs on New-Years Eve, and entered the little kitchen, glad to be back again in the shel- ter of what to her was home. The fire had burned low, and she replenished this before taking off her wraps. Then she pushed the table of plants away from the window and threw an apron carefully over them. I told the man at the bake-shop that you were all quite well, posies dear, she said. Now you must be careful not to take cold to-night. This plain little wo- man had a sweet way of talking with her flowers as if they were friends; indeed, she had no one else with whom she could talk. On her way home she had stopped at a bakery, and the man who waited upon her inquired with indiscriminate kindliness if the folks were all well at home, this question being a polite atten- tion usually reserved for his regular customers. Janet thanked him and said they were quite well, and thereupon he remarked that there was nothing like good health, and that he wished her a happy New-Year. She thought of all this as, having carefully covered both ta- bles of plants, she sat before the kitchen fire and waited for the teakettle to boil. A happy New-Year! Of course the ba- ker didnt care what sort of a year she had, any more than he cared whether she had any folks at home or not; still it sounded pleasant. What was her year likely to be? Button-holes! Yes, that was it, cut- ting holes in beautiful cloth, silk and sat- in and velvet, and then making the edges beautiful to match the material. It does not seem like a happy New-Year, said Janet to herself, and then she began to calculate if she made so many dozen a day, how many could she make in three hundred and sixty - five days, including Sundays. She was not old, this little womanat the shop they called her a girl still she was a good deal older than Kit- ty. Some one came stumbling up the outside stairway, and Janet, taking the lamp from the table, held it in the open doorway. Ive most broke my neck, not to speak of my leg, said a boy who appeared at the top. It was the errand-boy from Ma- dame Flower. Nobody has any right to build such stairs, he grumbled; might as well have a ladder and done with it. They aint fit for a third-class hen-coop. Heres a couple of bundles, and if you could work the button - holes before to- morrow morning, Miss Flowerthis boy could never be induced to say Madame told me to tell you it would be an awful accommodation. Other bundle is some- thing left at the shop for you. Very well, said Janet. Thank you, Jimmy. Be careful how you go down. The boy said he guessed there want no danger, but that hed be careful; and reach- ing the lower landing, he called back to Janet, who still held the lamp in the door- way, that it was much as ever hed got down alive, and that he wouldnt insult her by wishing her a happy New-Year, knowing as how shed got to risk her life every day getting in and out of her house. The girl closed the door with a shiver, and went in to open the bundles. The blue velvet basque she had already seen at the shop, but the pot of white heath was as unexpected as a happy New-Year would have been to her. Oh, you beauty ! she said; you lit- tle white New-Years tree. She laid her cheek gently against the plant for a mo- ment, as if to welcome it. It was very kind of the girls in the shop, she thought; they were always good to her. Here Janet caught sight of an envelop, and opening this, she found a package of horse- car tickets, and a card upon which was written, Sent by Kitty from your friend and hers. Then it was not from the girls at the shop. Janet felt herself growing first hot, then cold, then a little faint. She opened the door and went out to the top of the stairway. It was a clear night; the stars were out, but they were so far away, and the world looked so bitterly cold! If the kitten had been there she might have rubbed her rough little tongue over the girls hands, and that would have been something in the way of sympathy; but there was no one and nothing; even the THE WHITE GARDEN. 81 plants were hidden away under a ging- ham apron. Janet had just one friend who would have sent her this gift. It was so like him to think of the tickets, she said; he was always re- membering other peoples comfort. It was so like him to send it by Kitty, that I might know I had two friends instead of one. It was so like him to send the little ALL THIS JANET SAID VERY SLOWLY AND QUIETLY, AS IF SHE WERE TRYING TO SOOTHE SOME OTHER rERSON. white tree. All this Janet said very slowly and quietly, as if she were trying to soothe some other person. She stood perfectly still for some moments in the cold night; then she said, in the same low, decided voice: It is all right. I told him to go away. I said that waiting would be useless; that I was not fit for him I, Janet Green, lame and disfig- ured. I meant all that I said. And now this comes, and it hurts me. I am unrea- sonable. Going back to the kitchen, she placed the heath with the other plants, and drew the covering around it. She could not bear the sight of it just then. The tickets and the written slip she laid under a pile of heavy hooks, and then she sat down to her work. Her head ached with an inward excitement, as if she were under- going the strain of some great trouble. She was glad that the first button-hole came under the collar. She found that she could not see very well, and her hands were cold. How foolish I am I she said, putting down her work; and how good he is! How good they both are Then she walked up and down helplessly for a while in the darkness of the inner room. Af- ter this she was able to say that she was glad for them, and that she thanked them for remem- bering her; and having fasten- ed a wet cloth around her ach- ing temples, she sat down to work out her feelings in the button - holes, of which there were twenty-four. I did a little commission for papa to-day, said Kitty Good- win, as, sitting with her uncle before the library fire, she wait- ed to see the new year come in, something that got left over. You remember the lame girl, uncle, whom papa used to watch from the window? He said one day he meant to send her some horse-car tickets. She went by this morning, and that is the reason I was not here to pour out your coffee. And how did you do it, Lovely One ? Oh, I followed her, said Kitty, and I managedit was easy enough. I didnt quite know what to write on the card. You know a present without some clew to the giver is worse than no present. I wanted to write something that would mean both our names, because it was papas present, and I was doing it; so I wrote, Sent by Kitty from your friend and hers. 1.Joy. One day John took Kittys mysterious discovery from the one hundred and seven~ 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. teen letters in the library table drawer; out flowers. The angel flew down and and carrying the package to the Queen, advised them to divide the garden equal- he asked if her Highness would find plea- ly, and thus have half the flowers light sure in looking it over. and half dark. The contrast will be It seems to be a story, he said; but beautiful, said the angel, and the har- we have never been able to understand it, mony of your lives will be still more beau- or why it should be sent to me. It may tiful ; but the very next day the two bro- be that I am the wrong man, still you see thers disputed again concerning the shade it is addressed to John X. Goodwin. There of blue for the forget-me-nots, and in the are other John Goodwins in the town, but night Dear Boy entered the garden and only one John X. emptied a pot of dark blue paint over the And only one John X. in the world, forget-me-not beds. There were bitter said the Queen, graciously. She delight- words between the brothers after this, ed in mysteries, and when she had finish- and the younger said that if Gold Heart ed reading the story she began to make wanted a faded-out pink and blue garden a clear copy that was as easy to read as he might have it. That is as far as I print. The Queens life was a very busy have written, said the Queen; but you one. There were books to be studied each know what comes next. day, there were flowers to be arranged ev- No, said John; I never even read as ery morning, there were royal favors to far as that. I am sorry that Dear Boy had be considered and granted, there were the such poor taste in sweet-peas. A sweet- court receptions and private audiences. pea ought always to be pink. It is a good The Queens throne was white, with a thing that his temper got the better of mass of flowers at the foot, the throne him before he commenced to spoil the was a bed, and Joy, in her soft white roses. gown, rich with wrought-work and bor- Play to me now, said the Queen; dered with beautiful lace, could never something that is your very own. leave it, for the Queen was ill with an A few weeks later the Queen told John illness past recovery. No one knew much that Dear Boy having left the garden in about. her sufferings; she never spoke of anger, Gold Heart had died of grief, and them, and it was against the court eti- before he died he asked the angel to send quette to allude to them in her presence. his brother a bag of forget-me-not seeds, Her room was the brightest, happiest place with a message of reconciliation; and his in the land, and John was the royal favor- last words were, I ought not to have ite. Sometimes they read together, often- cared so much about the colors, but I did er they talked; before going he always love pink sweet-peas. played to her, now and then she showed Dear Boy wandered over the whole him the fragment which she had that day earth, read the Queen, and whenever copied, or related the progress of the story, he did a kind deed he planted a row of and one evening she read the following: forget-me-not seeds, but the blossoms were On a certain summer morning Prince always dark blue. One day he came to a Gold Heart, the older brother, saw the high gateway, and before this he planted youngerbrother, DearBoy, walking among the remaining seeds. The place reminded the sweet-peas with the angels paint-box him of the entrance to the garden where in one hand and a long brush in the other. he had left his brother. He waited eagerly Do not touch the sweet-peas, called for the first flower to bloom; it was dark Gold Heart; they are sweetest pink. blue, his own selfish color, and thereupon Dear Boy, who was as fond of dark rich he went away. The older people called colors as of having his own way, said that him the sad Prince Dear Boy, for he they would be just as sweet one color as was Prince now that his brother was another, and thereupon he painted a whole dead; the sick and poor called him the row of pink blossoms in shades of reddish- good Prince Dear Boy; and the children brown and dull purple. He was quite called him their own Dear Boy, without willing to acknowledge later that they any Prince whatsoever. were very ugly, but after this the two I am sorry for him, said John. I brothers could never agree about the col- can almost forgive him for upsetting that oring. Gold Heart wished to have every- pot of blue paint. How long will he go thing pale and delicate; Dear Boy said he on in this way I never could live among a lot of washed- There isnt much more, said Joy, THE WHITE GARDEN. 83 but there is enough for another night. The end is quite wonderful; you will like the end. Havent you the slightest idea who wrote it l Absolutely none, said John. Kitty and I have considered every one we ever knew or heard of. If it were really in- tended for me, as it would seem, being an account of two brothers, why couldnt the author have made me more life-like? Why, I hate everything that Dear Boy does in the way of flow- ers, and I never go about doing good, and no one ever calls me Poor John or Good John, or even their own Dear Boy. Somebody shall, said the Queen. I am quite tired of saying Mr. John ; and then she asked, what no one else had dared to ask before, how Roberts garden was, and if her own Dear Boy worked in it every day as he used to do. I have never been in it at all, said John, ex- cept in the early spring, and then it hurt me so to see the green things coming up, and every one of them seeming to say, Do you re- member ? And so you never go there now ? said Joy, with a touch of sympathy in her tone that could only be added by a Queen of Hearts. No, saidJohn; I havent the cour- age. Kitty works in it every Saturday evening when she comes home for her holiday. I often hear her out there chat- ting with Dan Fergusson. Poor garden! I am afraid Robert would hardly know it now. I overheard Dan Fergusson saying that it was curious how many things got winter-killed. John played to the Queen as usual that night, and as he was leaving she called him back to ask what the music meant. I couldnt understand it at all, she said. It was Roberts birthday, and a frag- ment of verse had been constantly accom- panying John Goodwins thoughts. He hesitated a little at the girls question, and then answered, rather lightly, that it might mean a bit of verse which had come into his mind. Did she care to hear it? Yes said Joy. And the young man repeated: I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain, I shall not hear the nightin,,ale Sing on, as if in pain, And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set Ilaply I may reinemher, And haply may forget. And haply means perhaps, said the little Queen. Thank you, Dear Boy. I like to understand things. Joy finished her work of copying. She fastened the leaves of the manuscript with a white satin ribbon, and gave it to John. You must read the end for yourself, she said; my voice is not so strong as it used to be. The court receptions grew rarer, and finally ceased, and there were fewer pri- vate audiences. The books were banish- ed, and the sunlight only permitted to en- ter the room through shaded windows; but the flowers remained, a mass of color at the foot of the throne; and Joy, now very pale and still, was the same brave young Queen. John went to her every evening. Some- times he sat quietly by the bedside; some- times he played a little. One summer twilight, Joy, who had seemed to be asleep, opened her eyes and said, faintly, Dear Boy, I want some music that has no hap- lyin it. She was saying that this morning, said one of the attendants. It may be the medicine. But John understood. Play me something with no haply in it, said the girl again. The woman who had spoken before made a sign for John to go to the piano. HAPLY. 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Some little gentle thing will soothe her, she loves your music so. Withno haplyinit, said Joy. The Queen had ordered, and the court musician went to his instrument, and as he played, the Queen fell quietly asleep. LITTHE OTHER JOHN X. GOODWIN. Dear brave Joy ! said Kitty, as John told her the next morning; and it hap- pened when you were playing, uncle dear l Yes, said the man. I dont know how I was able to play. I hope. it was what she wished. Will you read me the end of the story now ? The manuscript, copied in the Queens fair hand, lay upon the library table, and as Kitty opened it, her uncle took from the table drawer the package of letters, a~id looked them through idly. After many years, said the girl, reading, the younger brother found himself standing before the same high gateway, and upon either side was a bed of forget-me-nots; in one the flowers were a pale blue, and in the other a deep blue. Down the pathway came a number of young girls laden with white flowers; the tallest among the girls wore a bridal wreath. Dear Boy thought of the angels words, and said, Surely this must be a garden in paradise; and yet how can it be, for I do not remember to have died l As the girl-bride passed she held out to him a branch of white roses, and he asked ho~ long there had been two shades of blue in forget-me-nots. Always, she said, as long as I can remember. I should have come sooner, said the Prince. You have come at the best time,~~ an- swered the girl, for to-day you can see the White Garden; it is not always open. Dear Boy, entering, saw that it was the garden of his childhood; the only differ- ence was that now there were no colored flowers. He found the arbor, with the bench which Gold Heart and he had made together; then he came to the pansy bed. The pansies were sweeter and larger than in the old days, and they also were white. Near by stood the angel, who said, with gracious kindness: Welcome back to the garden, Prince Dear Boy. I am bidden to make you a guardian of white flowers. Prom that time the world grew purer and fairer, for the Prince had given orders to leave the gateway open, that every one might bear away something from the sweetness within. It is an ingenious little story, said the man, still searching among the let- ters. Curious how people think of such things ! Things people write just seem to grow, observed Kitty; only it is more curious than flowers growing, because you cant buy the seeds for a story. No; story seeds are too costly. I suppose everything written springs from some experience; and the strangest part of it is that out Qf a little hard black seed may grow the most wonderful flower. What became of that note from your school friend, the one who sent the chrys- anthemums ? I think it was left with the others, said the girl. Perhaps it got folded into one of the letters. Ah, here it is, said the man. I feared it might have been destroyed. As he spoke, the maid entered with the morning mail, and Kitty, having given a hurried glance through her share of this, exclaimed, in a tone of great excite- ment: Uncle John! here is the most ex- traordinary thing. Aunt Mary has found your namesake, the other John X. Good- win. Uncle, are you listening ? With all my ears, Lovely One. Did I ever expect to hear of a fellow-being whose middle name began with Xl I cant listen enough. What has she done with him ? She was sitting by the fire reading her Church paper, said Kitty, and it seems, uncle, she saw a little poem signed John X. Goodwin. She thought it was unlike you to write a religious poem. Totally, said the man. And then she remembered the mys- tery of our flower story, and she wrote to the editor, who gave her the other John X. Goodwins address, and she found that he lived in this very town, but quite a different street and number from ours, and so she has written to this other John X. to come here. Well, that certainly is extraordinary. And it is possible he may come to- day, continued Kitty. I shall put on my best dress and watch. I want to see him come up the steps. What do you expect to see ? An interesting, pale, and rather shab- by young man. People who write, I am THE WHITE GARDEN. 85 told, are generally interesting, pale, and shabby. I fancy he sets up type in some printing-office. You ought to help him publish his story, Uncle John, on account of the name; then I could have a copy with From the Author written in it. Your author is quite as likely to be a woman as a man, said John. Women, especially young women, often write un- der a mans name. I expect to see a pret- ty and rather timid young woman, a lit- tle pale perhaps, but not shabby. I think she will be becomingly and inexpensively dressed. You will not see any woman at all, said Kitty, so dont expect one. The story hasnt a wo- man in it. The writing isnt like a womans; and, moreover, I feel that it is a man, and e~ery one knows that ~ wo- mans intuition is more to be relied upon than a man 5 judgment. Kitty watched in vain that day for the arrival of a shabby, inter- esting, pale young man. Shabby young men went through the street in great numbers, a few were pale and interesting, but none came up the steps. Just after tea, however, as she was dis- cussing some points in gardening with Dan Fergussonit being Saturday night a caller was announced, and Kitty, going into the parlor, found a plainly dressed young woman sitting near the hall door; her face was partly shaded by a veil, and as she rose and took a few steps forward, she walked with some diffi- culty. Why, its papas woman ! said Kitty to herself, in astonishment. I am Janet Green, said the older girl, simply. I am John X. Goodwin in print. I wrote the verses. Have I made a mis- take ? she asked, as Kitty stood speech- less. A lady who wrote me a very kind letter about the verses said I was to come here. I have brought the letter ; and Janet held out an envelop addressed in Aunt Marys familiar hand. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.S And did you write a little story call- ed Garden Flowers ? asked Kitty, rather severely. She was greatly disappointed in the failure of her intuitions. Is that why I was told to come ? said Janet. I sent it to a magazine, and I never heard from it again. I thought some day it might be published, because these things take a very long time. And did you have an experience to make you write it ? interrupted Kitty. I mean did you go through anything? I hope I do not seem rude, but Joy and I were so interested in the story. See! Joy has copied it, and Kitty placed the manu- script in the girls hand. I wish I knew what sort of an experience it takes to make a person write like that, continued Kitty. When you have it published will you write in one copy, From your friend the Author, and give it to me? and you know you cannot write that truth- fully unless you are my friend. It was impossible to be more winningly gracious than Kitty Goodwin as she held out her hands to the little lame woman; an din the unexpectedness of being asked to tell her experiences, when she had none, of seeing her half-forgotten manuscript PLAYING ? 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. daintily copied and tied with a white sat- in ribbon, of finding her two hands in the friendly clasp of this fair young girl, Janet Green found speech for a moment an impossibility. This is my great experience, she said at length. I never had one before. But how could you write the story, then ? said Kitty; and why do you sign yourself John X. Goodwin? Uncle is John X., because there were four John Goodwins in our family, and so grand- papa said that uncle should be called John X. to distinguish him from the others, and also to mean that he was to excel. People think that X. stands for Xerxes or Xenophon, but it is just the letter X. That is what mine is, said Janet. Just the letter X. I sign my articles John Goodwin because they have to be signed something, and the initials J. G., you see, form my initials. I added the X. for the first of your grandfathers reasons, to distinguish my John Goodwin from other John Goodwins. As for writ- ing out of an experience, she continued, if I write out of anything, it is out of button-holes. I make them for a living; there are a great many button-holes in Garden Flowers. Dear me ! said Kitty, intensely sur- prised and sympathetic. I understand why I am here now, said Janet: the story was rejected, and I must have forgotten to write out my name and street, and so it came back to the real John X. Goodwin. And have you never seen a white garden ? questioned Kitty. Did you make that out of button-holes ? I have never even seen any white pansies, replied the woman, looking with loving interest at the flowers which Kitty wore. V.IN THE WHITE GARDEN. The young girl led Janet out into a garden and through a pathway which ran between borders of pale sweetness, until they came to an arbor where there was a bench; near by grew a pansy bed, and the pansies were large and white. It is like your story, dear, said Kit- ty. Do you see that this is a white gar- dens? She still held Janets hand, and she had added the dear with a feeling of tender solicitude. She was afraid that this little woman, who seemed so frail, and who had never before had an expe rience, might faint now that things were happening to her. And you are the angel, said Janet, who was not at all faint, and inwardly longed to say dear also. No, I am not the angel, said Kitty, for this is not a garden in paradise, be- cause we have not yet died. Dont you remember there was something like that in your story ? Then, making the lame girl sit down in the arbor, she told her about the evening when the manuscript was found among the letters; about Joy, the brave young Queen,who had copied it; about the two brothers, who had planted the garden together, and how now that only one brother was left, he never came into the garden, because it was so sad and it hurt him so. Has it been white all summer ? asked Janet. Did it begin white ? Ever since the first crocus and violet said Kitty. Matha, our maid, calls it the mourning garden, and thinks the flowers wear white for the same reason that I wear black, because we are all mourning for papa. Janet looked about her in wonder. It is beautiful to have it white, said Kitty, and it is a great comfort, but it is easy enough to explain. It happened that most of the colored flowers died in the winter from not being properly pro- tected, and the few seeds we planted nev- er came to anything. It can all be ex- plained except the pansies; they were pur- ple last year. I had a terrible accident once, said Janet Green, as if she felt that it was now her turn to make an explanation. You see I am lame, and one side of my face has an ugly scar. I have been very un- happy about it, because I love beautiful things, and it was hard to be young and to lose all ones fairness. I could not bear to be pitied, and so I have avoided people;. and through all my loneliness and un- happiness the one good thing has been that I loved flowers, and have kept them with me, and have written about them b~cause I loved them; and now to come here among more flowers than I have ever seen! I can never make you under- stand what it means to me. And the hymn, said Kitty, the lit- tle poem in the Church paper, do you mind telling me how you happened to write that? Dont tell me, if you mind, but it is so interesting ! THE WHITE GARDEN. 87 There is nothing to tell, said Janet, be your friend was a part of it. It was except that I am not good at all, and I so kind, and it did me so much good. No wrote it because the words had a pleasant one ever came to me like that before. sound. I didnt feel the words; I wish I You forget, Janet, said a voice at her had. side, and Dan Fergusson held out both his Oh dear ! said Kitty again; but per- hands. - haps you get hold of the words first, and Uncle John ! And that was all Kitty the feeling will come later; you cannot found herself able to say as she opened the have everything at once. And then she door of the music-room. went on to regret that Janet had never Well, was the young man here? Did seen Joy. It was curious, she said, he look as pale and shabby as you expect- that Joy knew you through the story, ed? And why was the X. placed between and papa knew you from seeing you go his two respectable names? Why, Lovely by, and you do not know them at all. One, what is it? What has happened ? What do you think, asked the lame asked John, as, turning from the piano, girl, abruptly, about death and what he saw Kitty standing with wet eyes. comes after it, and all the worry and tan- Nothing at all, said Kitty. Dont gles and mistakes that go before it? I speak to me. And she crossed the room mean what do you believe ?people believe to the window. John waited. He knew so many things. You must have thought better than to approach her, but from the about it. lesson of past experiences he ventured to There was a wistful look in Janets say that if it were pleasant the next day eyes, as if this lonely soul were starving lie might go away in the early train, and for some reassurance, and it came to Kit- if it rained, he was afraid the hay crop ty to say, simply and unhesitatingly, as would be quite ruined, which would make if there could be no other answer, I be- no particular difference to him, but would lieve in God, the Father Almighty, Maker be bad for the farmers. of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ That will do, said Kitty; you need His only Son our Lord. not keep on. I have got over itat least Oh ! said Janet, I never heard it comparatively. It wasnt a young man sound like that before, and after a pause at all; it was papas little lame woman. she said that she had heard it said in She is in the garden, and she wrote the church, but the people always seemed in story out of nothing but button-holes. a hurry to get to Pontius Pilate, and that She thinks as she works them. I suppose she had never thought about it, except to you and I might work button-holes day wonder if Pontius were Pilates first name, and night forever without being able to or a title like Queen Victoria. write anything. Listen! said Kitty. Uncle is play- Yes, said John, if we were able to ing. Come nearer the window. work them under any circumstances, John had been thinking all day of Joy, which I doubt. and of the music he had played the night Somehow, said Kitty, she belongs before; he wondered if he could remem- to Dan, only she didnt think she was fit ber itif this last song of the court were for him after her accidentas if that to be his inheritance; and as Kitty and could make any difference. And so he Janet stood listening outside, his fingers has been waiting, and what I sent on were wandering slowly into the music New-Years Eve only served to make that had no haply in it. matters a great deal worse, because she He is playing what you believe, said thought that this was the way he took to Janet, in a hushed voice. Dont you let her know that he was married, and hear the grandness of it, and the gladness that his wifes name was Kitty. I dont and the sureness and the tenderness ? see how things could get so twisted. After this neither of them spoke until They seem strangely twisted to me the music died away in a few quiet chords. said John. Button - holes, an author If any one believed that, continued whose manuscript comes back to me, and Janet, impulsively I mean believed it an accident, and you married to Dan. as you said it, and as the music said it, Oh, that part is all untwisted now, one could never be unhappy, because to said Kitty. I have explained, and Dan be unhappy would be to doubt it; the way has explained; but it was queer at first. you gave me your hand and asked me to Her name is Janet Green, and I am afraid 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. she will be ill, for she has done nothing but go through experiences ever since she came, which is only an hour ago, and she says that she never had any experiences before. Will you come out to them, un- cle, or shall I bring them in ? I will go out, said the man. And thus it happened that the two John X. Good wins met in the White Gar- den. There was not much said, because so much was happening; but when the little lame woman went away, her hands were full of roses from Dan Fergusson s mothers rose-bush, and to Kittys uncle, lingering among the wonderful white- ness, there came a remembrance of the school-girls letter: It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO. BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. THREE hundred years ago, or more, In Portugal, at Santarem, Between whose walls the Tagus flows, Washing with lazy waves the shore, A stately monastery rose, Begirt with palaces, for there The King in summer did repair With his light loves, of course for prayer, For their confessors came with them! ~busy place; for in the streets, Where one to-day the muleteer meets, Jogging in dust with jangling bells, Rude as the mountains where he dwells, Grave merchants met, who fortunes drew From world-old lands discovered new Beyond the dark and dangerous seas By followers of the Genoese; These, and the crews their ships who manned, Whose cheeks with tropic suns were tanned, Who rolled their costly bales ashore With songs like oceans stormy roar. A holy spot was Santarem, Famed for its tall cathedral spires, That caught the mornings earliest fires, And for the chapels under them, Peopled with priests and sandalled friars; Famed for its monastery more, For where twas builded years before The Virgin in a Vision shone, A lady on a golden throne, Who in her arms an Infant bore. To mark the spot they builded there A monastery, large and fair, Whose doors were open night and day, Inviting all who passed that way To enter freely, and to stay, If when within its walls they stood, And saw its pious brotherhood, The simple lives they led seemed good; As good they were to many then, World-wearied, meditative men Who, till their spirits found release, Desired forgetfulness and peace. One of this sort one summer day Came to the monastery gate, Burdened with some mysterious fate That made him prematurely gray. He may have been a banished lord, Bereft of his ancestral state; A soldier who had sheathed his sword, Repenting deeds of blood too late. Whoeer he was, he sought the prior, And from that hour became a friar Adopted all the brothers ways, And patterned after theirs his days; Rose when they rose at matin bell And went when they went to his cell. Dead to the world, which missed him not, But which he clung to with regret, He struggled sternly to forget Something that would not be forgot Struggled in silence and alone, Asking no aid except his own The spectre of his soul to lay; For he was never known to pray, Either at mornings dewy prime, Or Angelus, or vesper chime,

R. H. Stoddard Stoddard, R. H. The Legend of Frey Bernardo 88-94

88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. she will be ill, for she has done nothing but go through experiences ever since she came, which is only an hour ago, and she says that she never had any experiences before. Will you come out to them, un- cle, or shall I bring them in ? I will go out, said the man. And thus it happened that the two John X. Good wins met in the White Gar- den. There was not much said, because so much was happening; but when the little lame woman went away, her hands were full of roses from Dan Fergusson s mothers rose-bush, and to Kittys uncle, lingering among the wonderful white- ness, there came a remembrance of the school-girls letter: It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO. BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. THREE hundred years ago, or more, In Portugal, at Santarem, Between whose walls the Tagus flows, Washing with lazy waves the shore, A stately monastery rose, Begirt with palaces, for there The King in summer did repair With his light loves, of course for prayer, For their confessors came with them! ~busy place; for in the streets, Where one to-day the muleteer meets, Jogging in dust with jangling bells, Rude as the mountains where he dwells, Grave merchants met, who fortunes drew From world-old lands discovered new Beyond the dark and dangerous seas By followers of the Genoese; These, and the crews their ships who manned, Whose cheeks with tropic suns were tanned, Who rolled their costly bales ashore With songs like oceans stormy roar. A holy spot was Santarem, Famed for its tall cathedral spires, That caught the mornings earliest fires, And for the chapels under them, Peopled with priests and sandalled friars; Famed for its monastery more, For where twas builded years before The Virgin in a Vision shone, A lady on a golden throne, Who in her arms an Infant bore. To mark the spot they builded there A monastery, large and fair, Whose doors were open night and day, Inviting all who passed that way To enter freely, and to stay, If when within its walls they stood, And saw its pious brotherhood, The simple lives they led seemed good; As good they were to many then, World-wearied, meditative men Who, till their spirits found release, Desired forgetfulness and peace. One of this sort one summer day Came to the monastery gate, Burdened with some mysterious fate That made him prematurely gray. He may have been a banished lord, Bereft of his ancestral state; A soldier who had sheathed his sword, Repenting deeds of blood too late. Whoeer he was, he sought the prior, And from that hour became a friar Adopted all the brothers ways, And patterned after theirs his days; Rose when they rose at matin bell And went when they went to his cell. Dead to the world, which missed him not, But which he clung to with regret, He struggled sternly to forget Something that would not be forgot Struggled in silence and alone, Asking no aid except his own The spectre of his soul to lay; For he was never known to pray, Either at mornings dewy prime, Or Angelus, or vesper chime, WHERE THE LEECH FEARED TO GO HE WENT.~~ 90 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Though at the service of the dead He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He lived not wholly understood Among that simple brotherhood. They pitied him for his distress That never sought relief in prayer, But loved him for his gentleness, And for the comfort he was there, For many a weary heart and head By him was sweetly comforted. His was the hand, when they were ill, And tossing on the bed of pain, That gave the draught, and his the skill That nursed them back to life again. Such Frey Bernardo was, and so The years with him did come and go, Monotonous and dull and slow, Till one dark day the pestilence Broke out in Santarem, from whence, Smitten with fear, the people fled, Leaving the dying and the dead. Then he arose in righteous ire, Like one who has been calm too long, And with quick steps, and eyes of fire, And late-recovered manhood strong, Went where the pestilence was worst, And where they needed most his care, Among the outcast and accursed, Where death was in the tainted air: He mitigated mortal pains In cells where prisoners lay in chains, And in the close dark hold of ships Moistened the sailors fevered lips: Where the leech feared to go he went, And to the sick and dying lent Patience to live and strength to die, And faith to pale priests standing by To give them the last sacrament. All man could do he did to save His stricken fellows from the grave, If ever doubtful, certain then That God was served by serving men. Before the pestilence was done The shadows of departed lives Filled all the streets of Santarem; Husbands lamented for their wives The widowed mother for her son And little children, left with none To comfort or to care for them, Wept for their parents up and down That dark, depopulated town. The heart of Frey Bernardo, wrung At sights and sounds of sorrow, grew Womanly oer these waifs, who drew Tears to his eyes, they were so young, And so unfriended and alone; And two, whose mother he had known In better days, and might have grown To love, if fate had not denied, And whopoor thing !the hour she died, Giving to each the parting kiss, Had placed their little hands in his, He fatheredhe could do no less, - He pitied so their helplessness. When the last sufferer was at rest, And hushed the last sad funeral knell, He clasped the children to his breast And bore them to his lonely cell. Whether the saintly brotherhood, To whom their cloistral solitude And still, set ways alone seemed good, Would let them stay with him, or he Would have to shelter them elsewhere, Troubled him at first, but needlessly, The children were so welcome there. What they to Frey Bernardo were He could not, if he would, have told, Nor how from his souls sepulchre The stone had suddenly been rolled, And he had shuffled off at last The stifling cerements of the Past. But so it was. And he began To put his old dead self away, No more the lone and loveless man Whose head and heart alike were gray: For what a few short days before Had pity been for their distress, Had deepened into something more, And now was anxious tenderness. Sweet was the light in their young faces, For the swift hours restored their bloom, Unconscious of their childish graces As dewy buds in secret places Of their rathe beauty and perfume. Perpetual sunshine filled his cell Since he had fetched the children there, And sweet, low voices, seldom still; For long before the matin bell Summoned the drowsy monks to prayer, Before the earliest of the birds Had piped its first faint morning trill, They wakened him with loving words. He feared, in separating them From all the children whom they knew In their past life at Santarem, He might, perhaps, have done them wrong LISTENING WHILE FREY BERNARDO READS. 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. (And may have done so-who can tell ?), There was so little he could do To make them happy in his cell, And shorten for them the long days. They had a hundred little plays That kept the days from being long. Pablo, the youngest, had his toys, Like other Lusitanian boys Rude images in clay and wood, The Patriarchs here and Prophets stood, With fishermen of Galilee; And there the followers of Mahound, Their swarthy brows with turbans bound, And red-cross knights, armed cap-a-pie. If the girl, Inez, played with these. It was to please her restless brother, Who she had promised her dead mother Should be her care when she was gone. Left to herself, she sits alone, Her small hands folded on her knees, Holding her lately counted beads Listening while Frey Bernardo reads Black-letter tomes of ancient lore, Which men, grown wiser, read no more. Such was the quiet life they led In the seclusion of his cell, Through whose barred grate the sunlight fell Till the hot sun was overhead; Then, wooed by softest airs and sounds, They wandered out-of-doors together, And flitting through the garden grounds, Enjoyed the perfect summer weather. Beneath the shady orchard trees, Whose laden boughs with fruit were bent, Hand locked in hand, the children went, Their light locks fluttering in the breeze; The birds were singing far and near, But they were hushed, content to hear Such heavenly songs, so low, so clear! What they to Frey Bernardo grew As days went by, and their sweet ways Became a portion of the days, He rather felt at first than knew. . I THEY WANDERED OUT-OF-DOORS TOGEThER. THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO. 93 It was a pleasant sight to see This grave, good man, erewhile so stern, So gracious and so happy now; And how his loving eyes would turn And watch the children, who had brought Their brightness to his heart and thought, The boy, say, sitting on his knee, Where song or story he demands, While closer still his sister stands, Smoothing the furrows from his brow! He told them stories such as he Was told in childhood, and as we Were in our later childhood told Old stories that are never old, Despite their known antiquity; For though mythologists may trace Through all the lands their golden way, Back to the cradle of the race, They are as fresh and young to-day As when they first were said or sung Young as old Homers song is young! When these, which in his cell apart Day after day the children heard Till their light hearts no more were stirred, For now they knew them all by heart, Had lost their charm, he told them others, As mythical, perhaps, as these, Culled from the hagiologies, Of holy fathers, sainted mothers, Gone to their long and heavenly rest Only the sweetest and the best; Not those that touched on martyrdom, // ~ For soon enough their tears would come For their own sorrows. They shall be Happy while they are here with me. Watching the pair with kindly eyes, Which tears unshed would sometimes dim, He pondered what they were to him, And he to themthe tender ties That bound their hearts together there, Their confidence, his constant care; And pondering so one day, his mind, Which till that moment had been blind, Saw what he had so long denied, So dark had been his soul with prid& The sovereign Fatherhood above, The certainty of Heavenly Love! Thou art, whatever doth befall, The Maker and the Lord of all; And as these children cling to me, Hereafter I will cling to Thee, Father and God. He said no more, But wept he had not prayed before. The legend ends here. But I know It never ended here, nor so; For given the man whom I have sun Who was at once so old and young, Xud who at last his duties learned To God and Manthat man returned Back to the world, where both could be Much better served by such as lie, Who had begun by shunning them, Than in his cell at Santarem. WOOD NOTES. BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON. lifE are as much strangers in nature VV as we are aliens from God, says Emerson. We do not understand the notes of birds. The fox and the deer run away from us. But to those worthy of their companionship there are few stran- gers in the forest. Sitting alone in the woods I have some- times known a moment of such supreme exaltation that I have almost questioned my sanitya spirit and an impulse which I would no more attempt to frame into words than I should think to define the Deity Himself. I am glad to the brink of fear. The pulses of the woods beat through me. The joyous flight of bird starts buoyant memories, and the linnets song seems swelling in my own throat. At such times boundless confidences seem open to us; anything seems possi- ble. Have you never stood at the edge of a precipice and realized that you could fly? I have approached a squirrel run- ning wild in the woods, have seen him pause to wait for me, while he permitted himself to be taken into my arms and ca- ressed. I captured one thus in the piny woods of North Conway. Had I been alone, what old-time confidences might we not have exchanged together! but there were witnesses, and I think that the unworthy self-consciousness of my proud distinction served to break the spell. My pet discovered that I was only a degen- erate human being after all, and quickly made his escape. I have often felt the contact of the plumy halo of the humming-bird above the flowers; yes, and know what it was to have him nestle contentedly within my palm as I drew my fingers about him in his hovering poise. I have taken the winged jewel to my room and covenant- ed with him as he perched voluntarily upon my finger, and preened his ruby breast and tiny wing. It is noticeable in many ways with what a kindly spirit these nature-broods will meet you on their OWIl ground if you are truly converted. Even when you go a step further, and strive to converse with them in their own tongue, how willingly, surprisingly, indeed, they seem to ignore your palpable shortcomings, as though detecting the right intent even in your crudest and most primitive efforts! I have often surprised myself at the ease with which I could call about me a con- vocation of chickadees or aflock of jays, a robin or a wood-pewee, and other birds. Hark! Do you hear that distant jargon of the crows? Come, sit close against this shaded beech trunk, and await devel- opments; only as I play the liar dont gaze at me, I beg. Twould disconcert me, spoil my pucker, perhaps break my throttle-valve. There! I have done the best I could. Now we will wait a little. Listen again! Do you not notice how their tumult is lessened, and how evident- ly nearer is its proximity? I will give them one more blast. There! that has silenced them all, you will find. You may listen in vain for a single sound. Sh! look up yonder above our treethe wily scout of the gang! See him circle about above the woods in our vicinity, with head bent low, and eager eyes searching every nook and vista. And now the sunny spots among the woods are dancing with flitting shadows, and as we look aloft again the sky seems swarm- ing with the sable multitude; but they are as mum as death, even to the crafty muffling of their wings. Presently one by one they will perch, and at length peo- ple the topmost boughs in silent, curious scrutiny. Again and again have I lain beneath the pine-trees and thus decoyed th~ crows, even to the very tree beneath which I loitered, always observing this same routine of cautious advance-courier, and of the silent, suspicious invasion of the tree-tops. But only now let me as much as crack a twig, and what a hocus- pocus! what a demoralization! From a Quaker meeting to the Stock Exchange in the flap of a wing. Such a chorus of commotion, of laughs, screams, and other strange exclamations, until at length it dies away in the distance, where we may even yet catch the burden of their reflect- ive observations at their council tree: Haw! haw! Oh, corvus! corvus! Shaw! shaw! shaw! The chewink and veery-thrush are oth- er birds which I have often thus brought within close eye-shot. What an amusing, artful fellow this chewink is! for I am

William Hamilton Gibson Gibson, William Hamilton Wood Notes 94-102

WOOD NOTES. BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON. lifE are as much strangers in nature VV as we are aliens from God, says Emerson. We do not understand the notes of birds. The fox and the deer run away from us. But to those worthy of their companionship there are few stran- gers in the forest. Sitting alone in the woods I have some- times known a moment of such supreme exaltation that I have almost questioned my sanitya spirit and an impulse which I would no more attempt to frame into words than I should think to define the Deity Himself. I am glad to the brink of fear. The pulses of the woods beat through me. The joyous flight of bird starts buoyant memories, and the linnets song seems swelling in my own throat. At such times boundless confidences seem open to us; anything seems possi- ble. Have you never stood at the edge of a precipice and realized that you could fly? I have approached a squirrel run- ning wild in the woods, have seen him pause to wait for me, while he permitted himself to be taken into my arms and ca- ressed. I captured one thus in the piny woods of North Conway. Had I been alone, what old-time confidences might we not have exchanged together! but there were witnesses, and I think that the unworthy self-consciousness of my proud distinction served to break the spell. My pet discovered that I was only a degen- erate human being after all, and quickly made his escape. I have often felt the contact of the plumy halo of the humming-bird above the flowers; yes, and know what it was to have him nestle contentedly within my palm as I drew my fingers about him in his hovering poise. I have taken the winged jewel to my room and covenant- ed with him as he perched voluntarily upon my finger, and preened his ruby breast and tiny wing. It is noticeable in many ways with what a kindly spirit these nature-broods will meet you on their OWIl ground if you are truly converted. Even when you go a step further, and strive to converse with them in their own tongue, how willingly, surprisingly, indeed, they seem to ignore your palpable shortcomings, as though detecting the right intent even in your crudest and most primitive efforts! I have often surprised myself at the ease with which I could call about me a con- vocation of chickadees or aflock of jays, a robin or a wood-pewee, and other birds. Hark! Do you hear that distant jargon of the crows? Come, sit close against this shaded beech trunk, and await devel- opments; only as I play the liar dont gaze at me, I beg. Twould disconcert me, spoil my pucker, perhaps break my throttle-valve. There! I have done the best I could. Now we will wait a little. Listen again! Do you not notice how their tumult is lessened, and how evident- ly nearer is its proximity? I will give them one more blast. There! that has silenced them all, you will find. You may listen in vain for a single sound. Sh! look up yonder above our treethe wily scout of the gang! See him circle about above the woods in our vicinity, with head bent low, and eager eyes searching every nook and vista. And now the sunny spots among the woods are dancing with flitting shadows, and as we look aloft again the sky seems swarm- ing with the sable multitude; but they are as mum as death, even to the crafty muffling of their wings. Presently one by one they will perch, and at length peo- ple the topmost boughs in silent, curious scrutiny. Again and again have I lain beneath the pine-trees and thus decoyed th~ crows, even to the very tree beneath which I loitered, always observing this same routine of cautious advance-courier, and of the silent, suspicious invasion of the tree-tops. But only now let me as much as crack a twig, and what a hocus- pocus! what a demoralization! From a Quaker meeting to the Stock Exchange in the flap of a wing. Such a chorus of commotion, of laughs, screams, and other strange exclamations, until at length it dies away in the distance, where we may even yet catch the burden of their reflect- ive observations at their council tree: Haw! haw! Oh, corvus! corvus! Shaw! shaw! shaw! The chewink and veery-thrush are oth- er birds which I have often thus brought within close eye-shot. What an amusing, artful fellow this chewink is! for I am / \\ A WOOD INTERIOR. 90 ITARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. persuaded that there is more significance in that foxy-red vest of his than is gem erally accredited. Once after having amused myself, as I supposed, at his expense for a full half- hour, I suddenly discovered that I, and not he,had been playing the fool. While watching with much self-credit his queer antics as he hovered about my conceal- ment, I chanced to observe his mate alight for a moment on a distant brancb, just long enough for me to note the cat- erpillar in her bill and tell me that her brood nestled somewhere near at hand. Taking the angle of her flight as a guide, I arose from my covert to seek the nest, and then began the ejaculatory jargon from bush and thicket. Dont ye wink! dont ye wink I said this alert picket- guard, in the plainest Anglo-Saxon, as I prowled around among the undergrowths, only soon to discover the female bird on a branch above me. After several mo- nients vain search I loitered back to my original retreat, and here my robin again entertained me with all sorts of antics among the underbrush and dried leaves, seeming to favor especially a spot be- neath a clump of maiden-hair ferns to my left. In fact, nearly all of his ma- rnzeuvres were confined to this particular side, and with artful purpose, as I after- ward discovered to my chagrin; for on arising suddenly to leave the wood, the female bird started up not ten feet to the right of where I stood, and a moments search revealed the nest embedded in the leaves at the foot of a tree, and contain- ing four callow young. Seated at a new point of view, whence I could easily perceive the nest, I awaited to observe the mother-bird return. But I waited long and vainly. She was no- where to be seen, though her knowing I / STRATEGY OF THE CHEWINK. WOOD NOTES. 97 spouse still pursued his former arts close by. Only once he called out so plainly Dont ye wink ! that I instinctively turned toward the nest. But the mother- bird failed to appear, and as I arose once more to depart, and approached her brood, what was my astonishment to observe her deliberately get off the nest before my eyes, run a few feet, and fly up among the trees! Thus twice she seemed to spirit herself upon her nest, and elude me even of the deer, who during daylight sights his stationary rifle upon a piece of phos- phorescent wood adjusted above the bait- ed salt-lick, and waits in the darkness to observe his fox-fire obscured crc he pulls the trigger. Imagine my surprise, however, to ob- serve this white spot disappear, apparent- ly without any intervention, even while I looked upon it; and of my still further surprise to discover, on a nearer approach, the quiet, soft-eyed bird demurely sitting in front of it, and revealing it again as she took wing. She winked! she winked I cried a hovering voice from right and left, apparently accepting no other theory of discovery. Thus then wa.s the riddle of her presence solved She had kept the tree between us while I looked, while her con federate in the hocus-pocus in her approach, and appar- kept up his continual divert- ently awaited an opportune ing pleasantry. At length I moment when my eyes were thought of an aid to my ~n- directed to her arch-confed- vestigations, and approaching NEST OF THE VEERY. erate to steal around the base the nest, I tucked within the of the trunk and glide upon meshes of its further side a small piece of her nestan act which I soon observed white paper a focussing point some- and when once nestled she so assimilated what after the manner of the night hunter herself to her surroundings that I doubt if 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the dried leaves themselves knew of a foreign presence among them. Yes, the ground-robin comes honestly by his mot- ley. The veery, the nuthatch, the chat, the Maryland yellow-throat, and the daintiest feathered forms of tiny warblers will come about your woodland haunt without decoy or other invitation. The cat-bird among the fringy undergrowth at the ed~,e of the wood will dart and mew, and other- wise beguile your amused attention by the hour. I doubt not that I could stroke his gray coat if I really and determinedly at- tempted. I have often come very near it without half trying. Listen and look intently, and catch the exact effect as nearly as you can, says a well-known contemporaneous saun- terer. Strolling through a thick wood one day, I heard the familiar guttural notes of the cuckoo, or rain-crow, among the trees not far distant. A closer anal- ysis of the sound suggested a peculiar quality not before noted, and I instinct- ively picked up two bowlders from the stone wall which ran through my covert, and by striking them together with a slight rebounding pressure and a gradu- ally accelerated stroke, to my surprise I decoyed the bird so close that I could see the color of its eyes. I hope to get an- other opportunity to repeat the test and assure myself that the former episode was not an accident or mere coincidence. How the resonant tattoo of the wood- pecker rings out through the arches of the vernal wood! It has proven a puzzle to many that this tiny hammer should pos- sess the power to awaken such a volume of sound. But the secret lies not so much in the hammer as the drumthe dry, vibrant wood. The bird is not here for food; no crumbly, soggy timber would thus speak out for him, for he has his bul- letin tree in the orchard and his signal tree in the forest. If he desires to wake the echoes, to tell the whole woodsy com- munity, including his listless mate, pei- haps, that he is about, this ringing wood- en tongue serves him better than his own. Sometimes it serves him to his peril as well, no doubt, for the hunter too has ears, whether he be that human bird of prey, the biped without feathers, or his winged prototype. I once observed a red- tailed hawk cautiously following up this inviting clew of sound. Approaching from behind the tree, he made a sudden dash for the spotted quarry. There was a commotion of wings, a shower of falling twigs and lichens, but the nippers and the hammer never met. Downy was off with flying colors, and I soon heard the p~an of victory resound from a distant tree. Apropos of the vibrant property of wood, have you never heard the grinding in the dead, dry trunk of the pinethe gnawing of the minute teeth of the borers? It is like a busy carpenter shop in full blast. I remember, in a recent walk in Conway woods, that such a tree audibly announced its presence fully twenty feet in advance of me. Sawdust poured out from hundreds of apertures, and on lay- ing my ear against the trunk and closing my eyes, I seemed to be in the midst of a metropolitan bedlama whole city block behind in its contract and rushed for the finish, with hammers and planes and chisels in wild echoing confusion. I could hear the saws and augers, gouges, derricks, and pulleys, almost the hurried foot-fallsindeed, everything but the pro- fanity of the workmen. And yet a sin- gle one of these disclosed in his hiding- place was scarcely larger than a brad. I have before alluded to the remarkable shooting powers of the witch-hazel pod. Some time ago, being desirous of putting this force to some practical test to ascer- tain the distance covered by the flight of the seeds, I brought home several of the branches, as well as a pocketful of the nuts. My experiments with the latter upon a long piazza and elsewhere proved to a demonstration that the momentum of the seed would commonly carry it to a distance of twenty feet, often over thirty feet, and in one or two instances the di- minutive double-barrelled howitzers suc- ceeded in propelling their missiles to the distance of forty-five feet by actual mea- surement. I placed the bough well laden with the nuts over a picture in my room, and retired; but I might as well have sought sleep in Pandemonium. The in- cessant clatter upon ceiling, wall, and furniture forced me at length to drop the offending branch out of the window. A large pasteboard box containing a pint or so of the loose pods kept up such a con- tinual spiteful tattoo that these also had to follow their fellows, and several of my friends to whom I had presented sprigs of the festive shrub told me on the follow- ing morning that they had been obliged to give them separate apartments. WOOD NOTES. 99 Who has not been brought closer to the flowers and insects through the spirit of such books as those of Darwin, Sprengel, Muller, and Lubbock? How these vol- umes lift the veil! how they sharpen and equip the eye to interpret the hieroglyph- ics of wood and field! With what awe and respect we now look upon the hum- blest blossom! Where shall we begin? Even here at our elbow in the woods is a plant which we have all known since childhood. The wood-betony, it is called to select its worthier titlea common early flower of our woods, blooming in cornpany with the uvularia, Sol- omons - seal, crane s- bill, downy yellow vi- olet, and others, the plants growing in fern- like tufts, with scatter- ed blossom heads of varied shades, from pinkish, purplish, or even carmine. It will readily be recalled by a glance at the accompanying drawing. I remember reading a few years since a remark by a prominent botanical author- ity concerning this flower, to the effect that its fertilization was a puzzle, as insects were rarely to be fcund upon it, which, taken together with what I had observed of the strange form and disposition of the blossoms, and the curiosity awakened by my reading, possessed a peculiar signifi- cance for me. In the light of Darwins and Mfillers pages,how eagerly I now sought the haunt of my wood-betony, and how readily, too, it cQn- fided to me the secret which had heretofore es- caped me as well as other earnest though too hasty seekers! Visiting a cer- tain wood path where the plants grew in profusion, I seated myself among them, and observed carefully. It was in the middle of BUMBLEBEES CHARGE. 1~ / 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. May, and the flowers were in their prime, and in such omnipresent profusion that I felt assured that some honey-seeking in- sect must soon be tempted thither among the tens of thousands of brimful nectaries. I had not long to wait be- fore a well-known drowsy hum fell upon my ear, and a large bumblebee alighted upon a flower head close by. In his habitual impetuous fashion he rifled the sweets from another and another of the blossom heads, so lost in his absorbing work that I was permitted to steal close upon him and observe his eager method, for method indeed there was in every movement. In almost ev- ery instance he made his approach at the base of the flower head, and followed around the spiral arrange- ment of the flowers to the summit of the cluster. It needed only a single glance to receive an instant revelation of the reason which lay beneath this sin- gular and always heretofore mys- terious spiral arrangement of the flowerstheir spiral arrangement not only, but the individual lateral curve of each separate blossom, which in every case brought the opening of its tube facing to the left. A moments careful attention to my burly little interpreter revealed also the strange utility of the singular fissure down the right side of each corollaa slit in the flower tube extending from its throat half- way to the base of the tube, but only on one side.. Why on one side and not the other? why always on this outer curve of the flower? These had been questions which I had.frequently asked myself when / examining this queer one-sided formation. But they were now answered to my satis- faction. The whole arrangement of these flowers, together with their individual ten- dencies, shows a direct, conscious affilia- tion to the bumblebee, affording as perfect an illustration of the sympathetic de - pendence between flower and insect as we may find anion~ the wonders of the orchid tribe so beautifully and clearly disclosed by Darwin. What is this peculiar spiral pro- cess if not an inducement of conven- iencean inviting flight of stairs, as it were? What is this individual turning about of each separate flower, if not a wel- come invitation to its heart? And what is this strange fissure at the side bat a fa AN INTERESTING TRAMr. WOOD NOTES. 101 cility to aid and to speed the parting guest? And through all this, how beau- tifully, by what wondrous art, has his mis- sion been fulfilled! Observe our bee close- ly with me. He now alights obliquely at the base of a flower head, inserts his head deep within the tube of the lowest flower, the strange fissure assisting in the expan- sion of its tube while his long tongue probes its nectary. His wedge - shaped head has forced apart the compressed sides of the corolla, thus opening the pollen box (the compressed anthers) within the walls of the arched tip of the flower, the yellow fertilizing powder falling upon his head. He has now emptied the horn of plenty, when, almost without withdrawing his head, he slips his tongue through the ready exitthe fissure in the flower tubeto find an expectant, inviting face turned toward him, and in the most convenient possible attitude for his kiss. He proceeds as before, but not until he has unwittingly paid his toll and won his right of way, having deposited the requi- site touch of pollen upon the overhanging tip of the stigma, and thus cross- fertilized the flower. And thus he pursues his course to the sum- mit of the spiral, carrying from its latest anthers a vivifying touch which secures in the next flower head he visits the still more important function of ab- solute cross-fertilization from a separate plant. In- deed, it is doubtful whether the pollen from separate heads is not more or less ~ ~ continually inter- mingled and this end secured in all the flowers, considering that only a grain or two of the thousands are required to insure the fertilization of the ovules. Here is another familiar face. We all know him-the tramp of the under- woods; for who, in spite of himself, has not brou~ht home the beggars - ticks (Dcsrnodium accuininatus)? Look out for him in the rogues gallery. See him now! with clustered leaves and saucy chains of seed-pods and airy tips of pink pea-blossomed flowers! A tiny fly alights upon the small pink blossom, when, lo! the flower explodes, the insect is greeted with a slap on the face or breast and a dab of dust in his eyes. For this flower, like many others of its tribe, is a verita- ble trap, delicately set. Upon the slight- K-i I VOL. LxxIv.No. 439.--9 7 .K~ I K-- Ki \ ;/~7~~~ ~, K-, V KEYS TO TiURIEJ) TREASURE. 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. est touch the loaded springconsisting of the rigid column of filaments enclosing the young podis released from its over- lapping petals, and the anthers hurl their shower of pollen upon the body of the in- truder. But observe the wise adjustment beneath all this mechanism. The stigma the organ through which the seeds are fertilizedprojects a little beyond the an- thers, and is the first to come in contact with the insect, and thus gets a supply of pollen from the previously visited flower. The woad - waxen (Genista tinctoria), the identical whin of the English downs, now sparingly naturalized in some sections of New England, affords, perhaps, in the large size of its flowers and rigid tension the best illustration of this peculiar explosive mechanism to be found among our flora, and, like the va- rious desmodiums, is well worth a little study in its haunts. But the sprightly trap of the genista is an innocent affair compared to that of the dog-bane (Apocynum androscemifo- hum), another very common and pretty plant frequenting the borders of our woods. It will be readily recognized by a mere mention of its fragrant clusters of pinkish, bell - shaped flowers and its~ long, drooping, spike-like pods. Only let a fly thrust its tongue within, and in an in- stant the stamens fasten upon its tip, and hold the struggling prisoner in a grip from which lie seldom escapes alive. How now, my convert? Has our wood- land walk brought no harvestno garner too precious for words? Do you not even now feel a special quickening presence here within these dim aisles of the hem- locks, a lighter, surer foot, as though now at last you trod the path to a nobler, worthier fortune? Look about you: this glossy inviting carpet of intermingled leaves and blossoms; the coptis with its. lucky stars and proffered keys to buried treasureemblems of natures half-hid- den wealth. Press among the yielding leaves. Open up the damp ddbris. How the bright gold-thread gleams against the dark mould! 0 for more coptis gold in our daily walk !gold which is kept where wise Nature hath designed; for hath she not planted it in the earth, given it weight only as the token that it should keep the lower plane, a means subservient to a high- er life with fragrance, fruit, and blossom ? THE KING OF FOLLY ISLANQ. BY SARAH ORNE JEwETT. I. THE September afternoon was nearly spent, and the sun was already veiled in a thin cloud of haze that hinted at coming drought and dustiness rather than rain. Nobody could help feeling sure of just such another golden day on the morrow; this was as good weather as heart could wish. There on the Maine coast, where it was hard to distinguish the islands from the irregular outline of the main-land, where the summer greenness was just be- ginning to change into all manner of yel- low and russet and scarlet tints, the world seemed to have done its work and begun its holidays. Along one of the broad highways of the bay, in the Johns Island postmasters boat, came a strangera man of forty-two or forty-three years, not unprosperous, but hardly satisfied, and ever on the quest for entertainment, though he called his plea- sure by the hard name of work, and liked himself the better for such a wrong trans lation. Fate had made him a business. man of good success and reputation; in- clination, at least so he thought, would have led him another way, but his busi- ness ventures pleased him more than the best of his holidays. Somehow life was more interesting if one took it by con- traries; he persuaded himself that he had been looking forward to this solitary ram- ble for many months, but the truth re- mained that he had found it provokingly hard to break away from his city office. his clerks, and his accounts. He had grown much richer in this last twelve- month, and as he leaned back in the stern of the boat with his arm over the rudder, he was pondering with great perplexity the troublesome question what he ought. to do with so much money, and why he should have had it put into his careless hands at all. The bulk of it must be only a sort of reservoir for the sake of a later~ need and ownership. He thought with scorn of some liberal gifts for which he

Sarah Orne Jewett Jewett, Sarah Orne The King of Folly Island. A Story 102-116

102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. est touch the loaded springconsisting of the rigid column of filaments enclosing the young podis released from its over- lapping petals, and the anthers hurl their shower of pollen upon the body of the in- truder. But observe the wise adjustment beneath all this mechanism. The stigma the organ through which the seeds are fertilizedprojects a little beyond the an- thers, and is the first to come in contact with the insect, and thus gets a supply of pollen from the previously visited flower. The woad - waxen (Genista tinctoria), the identical whin of the English downs, now sparingly naturalized in some sections of New England, affords, perhaps, in the large size of its flowers and rigid tension the best illustration of this peculiar explosive mechanism to be found among our flora, and, like the va- rious desmodiums, is well worth a little study in its haunts. But the sprightly trap of the genista is an innocent affair compared to that of the dog-bane (Apocynum androscemifo- hum), another very common and pretty plant frequenting the borders of our woods. It will be readily recognized by a mere mention of its fragrant clusters of pinkish, bell - shaped flowers and its~ long, drooping, spike-like pods. Only let a fly thrust its tongue within, and in an in- stant the stamens fasten upon its tip, and hold the struggling prisoner in a grip from which lie seldom escapes alive. How now, my convert? Has our wood- land walk brought no harvestno garner too precious for words? Do you not even now feel a special quickening presence here within these dim aisles of the hem- locks, a lighter, surer foot, as though now at last you trod the path to a nobler, worthier fortune? Look about you: this glossy inviting carpet of intermingled leaves and blossoms; the coptis with its. lucky stars and proffered keys to buried treasureemblems of natures half-hid- den wealth. Press among the yielding leaves. Open up the damp ddbris. How the bright gold-thread gleams against the dark mould! 0 for more coptis gold in our daily walk !gold which is kept where wise Nature hath designed; for hath she not planted it in the earth, given it weight only as the token that it should keep the lower plane, a means subservient to a high- er life with fragrance, fruit, and blossom ? THE KING OF FOLLY ISLANQ. BY SARAH ORNE JEwETT. I. THE September afternoon was nearly spent, and the sun was already veiled in a thin cloud of haze that hinted at coming drought and dustiness rather than rain. Nobody could help feeling sure of just such another golden day on the morrow; this was as good weather as heart could wish. There on the Maine coast, where it was hard to distinguish the islands from the irregular outline of the main-land, where the summer greenness was just be- ginning to change into all manner of yel- low and russet and scarlet tints, the world seemed to have done its work and begun its holidays. Along one of the broad highways of the bay, in the Johns Island postmasters boat, came a strangera man of forty-two or forty-three years, not unprosperous, but hardly satisfied, and ever on the quest for entertainment, though he called his plea- sure by the hard name of work, and liked himself the better for such a wrong trans lation. Fate had made him a business. man of good success and reputation; in- clination, at least so he thought, would have led him another way, but his busi- ness ventures pleased him more than the best of his holidays. Somehow life was more interesting if one took it by con- traries; he persuaded himself that he had been looking forward to this solitary ram- ble for many months, but the truth re- mained that he had found it provokingly hard to break away from his city office. his clerks, and his accounts. He had grown much richer in this last twelve- month, and as he leaned back in the stern of the boat with his arm over the rudder, he was pondering with great perplexity the troublesome question what he ought. to do with so much money, and why he should have had it put into his careless hands at all. The bulk of it must be only a sort of reservoir for the sake of a later~ need and ownership. He thought with scorn of some liberal gifts for which he THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 103 had been aggravatingly thanked and ~praised, and made such an impatient gest- iire with his shoulder that the boat gave a surprised flounce out of its straight course, and the old skipper, who was carefully in- ~specting the meagre contents of the mail- bag, nearly lost his big silver spectacles overboard. It would have been a strange and awesome calamity. There were no ~new ones to be bought within seven miles. Did a flaw strike her ? asked Jabez Pennell, who looked curiously at the sky and sea and then at his passenger. Ive known of a porpus histing a boat, or may- hap you kind o shifted the rudder ? Whereupon they both laughed; the -passenger with a brilliant smile and indescribably merry sound, and the old postmaster with a mechanical grimace of the face and a rusty chuckle; then he -turned to his letters again, and adjusted the rescued spectacles to his weather-beat- ~n nose. He thought the stranger, though a silent young man, was a friendly sort of chap, boiling over with fun, as it were; whereas he was really a little moroseso much for Jabezs knowledge of human nature. Feels kind o strange, tis likely; thats better than one o your forrard kind,~ mused Jabez, who took the visitor for one ~of the rare specimens of fancy-goods run- ners who sometimes visited Johns Island to little purpose it must be confessed. The postmaster cunningly concealed the fact that he kept the only store on Johns Island; he might as well get his pay for setting the stranger across the bay, and it was nobodys business to pry into what he wauted when he got there. So Jabez gave another chuckle, and could not help looking again at the canvas-covered gun case with its neat straps, and the well- packed travelling bag that lay alongside it in the bows. I suppose I can find some place to stay in overnight ? asked the stranger, presently. Do knows you can, Im sure, replied Mr. Pennell. There aint no reglar boarding places onto Johns Island. Folks keep to theirselves pretty much. I suppose money is of some object ? gently inquired the passenger. Waal, yes, answered Jabez, without much apparent certainty. Yes, Johns Island folks aint above nippin an squeez- in to get the best of a bargain. Theyre ~pretty much like the rest o the human trace, an want money, whether theyve got any use for it or not. Take it in cold weather, when youve got pork enough and potatoes and them things in your sullar, an it blows an freezes so taint wuth while to go out, most all that mon- eys good for is to set an look at. Now I need to have more means than most on em, continued the speaker, plaintively, as if to excuse himself for any rumor of his grasping ways which might have reached his companion. Keeping store as I do, I have to handle But here he stopped short, conscious of having taken a wrong step. However, they were more than half across now, and the mail was overdue; he would not be forced into go- ing back when it was ascertained that he refused to even look at any samples. But the passenger took no notice of the news that he was sailing with the chief and only merchant of Johns Island, and even turned slowly to look back at the shore they had left, far a way now, and fast growing dini on the horizon. Johns Island was, on the contrary, growing more distinct, and there were some smaller frag- ments of land near it; on one he could al- ready distinguish a flock of sheep that moved slowly down a barren slope. It was amazing that they found food enough all summer in that narrow pasture. The suggestion of winter in this remote corner of the world gave Frankfort a feeling of deep pity for the sheep, as well as for all the other inhabitants. Yet it was worth a cheerless year to come occasionally to such weather as this; and he filled his lungs again and again with the delicious air blown to him from the inland coun- try of bayberry and fir balsams across the sparklincr salt-water. The fresh north- west wind carried them straight on their course, and the postmasters passenger could not have told himself why he was going to Johns Island, except that when he had apparently come to the end of everything on an outreaching point of the mainland, he had found that there was still a settlement beyondJohns Isl- and, twelve miles distant, and communica- tion would be that day afforded. Sheep farmers and fishermena real old-fash- ioned crowd, he had been told. It was odd to go with the postmaster: perhaps he was addressed by fate to some human being who expected him. Yes, he would find out what could be done for the Johns- Islanders; then a wave of defeat seemed to chill his desire. It was better to let 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. them work toward what they needed and wanted; besides, the gift without the giver were dumb. Though after all it would be a kind of satisfaction to take a poor little neighborhood under ones wing, and make it presents of books and various enlightenments. It wouldnt be a bad thing to send it a Punch and Judy show, or a panorama. May I ask your business ? interrupted Jabez Pennell, to whom the long silence was a little oppressive. I am a sportsman, responded John Frankfort, the partner in a flourishing private bank, and the merchant-postmas- ters face drooped with disappointment. No bargains, then, but perhaps a lucrative boarder for a week or two; and Jabez in- stantly resolved that for not a cent less than a dollar a day should this man share the privileges and advantages of his own food and lodging. Two dollars a week being the current rate among Johns-Isl- anders, it will be easily seen that Mr. Pen- nell was a man of far-seeing business en- terprise. II. On shore, public attention was begin- ning to centre upon the small white sail that was crossing the bay. At the land- ing there was at first no human being to be seen, unless one had sharp eyes enough to detect the sallow, unhappy countenance of the postmasters wife. She sat at the front kitchen window of the low-storied farm-house that was perched nearly at the top of a long green slope. The store, of which the post-office department was a small fraction, stood nearer the water, at the head of the little harbor. It was a high, narrow, smartly painted little building, and looked as if it had strayed from some pretentious inland village, but the tumble-down shed near by had evi- dently been standing for many years, and was well acquainted with the fish busi- ness. The landing-place looked still more weather-beaten; its few timbers were bar- nacled and overgrown with sea - weeds below high-water mark, and the stone- work was rudely put together. There was a litter of drift-wood, of dilapidated boats and empty barrels and broken lobster pots, and a little higher on the shore stood a tar kettle, and, more prom- inent still, a melancholy pair of high chaise wheels, with their thorough-braces drawn uncomfortably tight by exposure to many seasonings of relentless weather. The tide was high, and on this sheltered~ side of the island the low waves broke with a quick, fresh sound, and moved the pebbles gently on the narrow beach. The sun looked more and more golden red, and all the shore was glowing with color. The faint reddening tinge of some small oaks among the hemlocks farther up the island shore, the pale green and primrose of a group of birches, were all glorified with the brilliant contrast of the sea and the shining of the autumn sky. Even the green pastures and browner fields looked as if their covering had been changed to some richer material, like velvet, so soft and splendid they looked. High on a bar- ren pasture ridge that sheltered the land- ing on its seaward side the huckleberry bushes had been brightened with a touch of carmine. Coming toward Johns Island one might be reminded of some dull old picture that had been cleansed and wet, all its colors were suddenly grown so- clear and gay. Almost at the same moment two men appeared from different quarters of the~ shore, and without apparently taking any notice of each other, even by way of greet- ing, they seated themselves side by side on a worm-eaten piece of ship timber near the tar pot. In a few minutes a third resident of the island joined them, coming over the high pasture slope, and looking for one moment giant-like against the sky. Jabez neednt grumble to-day on ac- count o no head-wind, said one of the first comers. I was mendin a piece o wall that was overset, an I see him all of a sudden, most inshore. My woman has. been expecting a letter from her brothers~ folks in Castine. I spose yeve heard? They was all down with the throat dis- temper last we knew about em, an she was dreadful put about because she got no word by the last mail. Lor, now want it just like Jabes contrairiness to go over in that fussin old dory o his with no sail to speak of ? Wouldnt have took him half the time in his cat-boat, grumbled the elder man of the three. Thinks he can do as hes a mind to, an weve got to make the best ont. Ef I was postmaster I should look out, fust thing, for an abler boat nor any hes got. Hes gittin nearer every year, Jabe is., Taint far to the citizens, said the first speaker. Dont git no mail but twice a week anyhow, an then he liters~ THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 105 round longs hes a mind to, dickerin an spoutin politics over to the Foreside. Folks may be layin dyin, an theres all kinds o urgent letters that ought to be in owners hands direct. Jabe neednt think we mean to put up with him frever ; and the irate islander, who never had any let- ters at all from one years end to anothers, looked at both his companions for their assent. Dont ye git riled so,. Danel, softly responded the last-coiner, a grizzled little fisherman-farmer, who looked like a pi- rate, and was really the most amiable man on Johns Islanddont ye git riled. I don know as, come to the scratch, ary one of us would want to make two trips back an forrard every week the year round for a hunderd an twenty dollars. Take it in them high December seas, now, an long in Jenoary an March. Course he accom- modates himself, an it comes in the way o his business, an he gits a passenger now an then. Well, it all counts up, I spose. Theres somebody or nother aboard now, said the opponent. They may have sent over for our folks from Castine. They was headin on to be dangerous, three o the childn and Washnton him- self. I may have to go up to-night. Dare say theyve sent a letter we aint got. Darn that Jabe! Ive heard before now of his looking over everything in the bag comm oversortin he calls it, to save time-but twouldnt be no wonder ef a letter blowed out o his fingers now an again. Theres King George a-layin off, aint lie ? asked the peace - maker, who was whittling a piece of dry kelp stalk that he had picked up from the pebbles, and all three men took a long look at the gray sail beyond the moorings. What a curis critter that is ! exclaim- ed one of the group. I suppose, now, nothins goin to tempt him to set foot on Johns Island longs he lives-do you ? but nobody answered. Don know who hes spitin but him- self, said the peace-maker. I was un- derrunning my trawl last week, an he come by with his fare o fish, an hove to to see what I was gittin. Me and King Georges alas kind o fellowshipped a lit- tle by spells. I was off to the Banks, you know, that time he had the gran flare up an took himself off, an so he aint count- ed me one o his enemies. I always give my vote that he want in his right mind; twant all ugliness, now. I went to school with him, an he was a clever boy as there was, said the elder man, who had hardly spoken before. I never moren half blamed him, how- ever twas, an it kind o rankled me that he should ha been drove off an outlawed hisself this way. Twas Jabe Pennell; he thought George was stanin in his light bout the postmastership, an he worked folks up, an set em agin him. Georges mothers folks did have a kind of a punky spot somewhere in their heads, but he never give no sign o anything till Jabe Pennell begun to hunt him an dare him. Well, hes done a good thing sence he bought Folly Island. I hear say King George is gittin rich, said the peaceful pirate. Twas a hard thing for his folks, his wife an the girl. I think hes been more scattery sence his wife died, any- way. Darn! how lonesome they must be in winter! I should think theyd be afeard a sea would break right over em. Poltics be hanged, I say, that 11 drive a mali to do such things as themnever- step foot on any land but his own agin I tell ye weve each on us got rights. This was unusual eloquence and ex- citement on the speakers part, and hi~ neighbors stole a furtive look at him and then at each other. He was an own cousin to King George Quint, the recluse owner of Folly Islandan isolated bit of land several miles farther seawardand one of the listeners reflected that this re- lationship must be the cause of his bra- very. The post-boat was nearly in now, and the three men rose and went down to the waters edge. The sail was furled, and the old dory slipped about uneasily on the low waves. The postmaster was greeted by friendly shouts from his late maligners, but he was unnecessarily busy with his sail and with his packages amidships, and took his time, as at least one spectator grumbled, about coming in. King George had also lowered his sail and taken to hi~ oars, but just as he would have been alongside, the postmaster caught up his. own oars, and pulled smartly toward the lauding. This proceeding stimulated hi~ pursuer to a stern - chase, and present- ly the boats were together, but Pennell pushed straight on through the low wavea to the strand, and his pursuer lingered just outside, took in his oars, and dropped 2106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his killick over the bow. He knew per- fectly well that the representative of the government would go ashore and take all the time he could to sort the contents of the mail-hag in his place of business. It would even be good luck if he did not go home to supper first, and keep everybody waiting all the while. Sometimes his constituents had hailed him from their fishing-boats on the high seas, and taken their weekly newspaper over the boats side, but it was only in moments of great amiability or forgetfulness that the King of Folly Island was so kindly served. This was tyranny pure and simple. But what could be done? So was winter cold, and so did the dog-fish spoil the trawls. Even the Johns-Islanders needed a fear- less patriot to lead them to liberty. The three men on the strand and King George from the harbor were all watch- ing with curious eyes the stranger who had crossed in Jabez Pennells boat. He was deeply interested in them also; but at that moment such a dazzling glow of sunlight broke from the cloud in the west that Frankfort turned away to look at the strange, remote landscape that sur- rounded him. He felt as if he had taken a step backward into an earlier age these men had the look of pioneers or of colonistsyet the little country-side show- ed marks of long occupancy. He had really got to the outer boundary of civil- ization. Now its too bad o you, Jabez, to keep George Quint a-waitin, deprecated the peace-maker. Hes got a good ways to go way over to Folly Island, an likes not he means to underrun his trawl too. We all expected ye sooner with this fair wind. At which the postmaster gave an unintelligible growl. This ere passenger was comm over, calclatin to stop a spell, an wants to be accommodated, he announced presently. But one of the group on the strand in- terrupted him. He was considered the wag of that neighborhood. Ever ben to Folly Island, stranger ? he asked, with great civility. Theres the King of it, layin off in his boat. George ! he call- ed, lustily, I want to know ef you cant put up a travler that wants to view these parts o the airth l Frankfort somehow caught the spirit of the occasion, and understood that there was a joke underlying this request. Folly Island had an enticing sound, and he lis tened eagerly for the answer. It was well known by everybody except himself that Jabez Pennell monopolized the entertain- ment of the travelling public, and King George roared back, delightedly, that he would do the best he could on short notice, and pulled his boat farther in. Frankfort made ready to transfer his lug- gage, and laughed again with the men on the shore. He was not sorry to have a longer voyage in that lovely sunset light, and the hospitality of Johns Island, al- ready represented by these specimens of householders, was not especially alluring. Jabez Pennell was grumbling to himself, and turned to go to the store. King George reminded him innocently of some groceries which he had promised to have ready, and always fearful of losing one of his few customers, he nodded and went his way. It seemed to be a strange com- bination of dependence and animosity be- tween the men. The King followed his purveyor with a blasting glance of ha- tred, and turned his boat, and held it so that Frankfort could step in and reach back afterward for his possessions. In a few minutes Mr. Pennell returned with some packages and a handful of newspapers. Have ye put in the cough drops ? asked the fisherman, gruffly, and was an- swered by a nod of the merchants head. Bring them haddick before Thus- day, he commanded the island potentate, who was already setting his small sail. The wind had freshened. They slid out of the bay, and presently the figures on the shore grew indistinct, and Frank- fort found himself outward bound on a new tack toward a low island several miles away. It seemed to be at consid- erable distance from any other land; the light of the sun was full upon it. Now he certainly was as far away as he could get from city life and the busy haunts of men. He wondered at the curious chain of circumstances that he had followed that day. This man looked like a her- mit, and really lived in the outermost isl- and of all. Frankfort grew more and more amused with the novel experiences of the day. He had wished for a long time to see these Maine islands for himself. A week at Mount Desert had served to make him very impatient of the imported society of that renowned watering-place, so incon- gruous with the native simplicity and THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 107 quiet. There -was a serious look to the dark forests and bleak rocks that seemed to have been broken into fragments by some convulsion of nature, and scattered in islands and reefs along the coast. A strange population clung to these isolated bits of the world, and it was rewarding to Frankforts sincere interest in such indi- vidualized existence that he should now be brought face to face with it. The boat sailed steadily. A colder air, like the very breath of the great sea, met the voyagers presently. Two or three light-house lamps flashed out their first pale rays like stars, and evening had be- gun. Yet there was still a soft glow of color over the low seaboard. The west- ern sky was slow to fade, and the isl- ands looked soft and mirage-like in the growing gloom. Frankfort found him- self drifting away into dreams as if he were listening to music; there was some- thing lulling in the motion of the boat. As for the King, he took no notice of his passenger, but steered with an oar and tended the sheet and hummed a few notes occasionally of some quaint minor tune, which must have been singing itself more plainly to his own consciousness. The stranger waked from his reverie before very long, and observed with delight that the man before him had a most interesting face, a nobly moulded forehead, and brave, commanding eyes. There was truly an air of distinction and dignity about this King of Folly Island, an uncommon di- rectness and independence. He was the son and heir of the old Vikings who had sailed that stormy coast and discovered its harborage and its vines five hundred years before Columbus was born in Italy, or was beggar to the surly lords and gen- tlemen of Spain. The silence was growing strange, and provoking curiosity between the new- made host and guest, and Frankfort asked civilly some question about the distance. The King turned to look at him with sur- prise, as if he had forgotten his compan- ionship. The discovery seemed to give him pleasure, and he answered, in a good clear voice, with a true fishermans twang and brogue: Were moren half there. Be you cold ?,, And Frankfort confessed to a stray shiver now and then, which seemed to inspire a more friendly rela- tionship in the boats crew. Quick as thought, the King pulled off his own rough coat and wrapped it about the shoulders of the paler city man. Then he stepped forward along the boat, after handing the oar to his companion, and busied him- self ostentatiously with a rope, with the~ packages that he had bought from Pen- nell. One would have thought he had freed himself from his coat merely as a matter of convenience; and Frankfort, who was not a little touched by the kind- ness, paid his new sovereign complete- deference. George Quint was evidently a man whom one must be very careful about thanking, however, and there was another time of silence. I hope my coming will not make any trouble in your faniily, ventured the stranger, after a little while. Bless ye, no ! replied the host. Theres only Phebe, my daughter, and nothing would please her better than somebody extra to do for. Shes dread- ful folksy for a girl thats had to live alone on a far island, Phebe is. Taint every one Id pick to carry home, though, said the King, magnificently. Thas been my plan to keep clear o humans much as could be. I had my fill o the Johns-Isl- anders a good while ago. Hard to get on with ? asked the lis- tener, humoring the new tone which his ears had caught. I could get on with em ef twas any- ways wuth while, responded the island chieftain. I didnt see why there was any need o being badgered and nagged. all my days by a pack o curs like them Johns~ Islanders. Theyd hunt ye to. death if ye was anyways their master; and I got me a piece o land as far off from em as I could buy, and here I be. I aint stepped foot on any mans land but my own these twenty-six years. Ef any- body wants to deal with me, he must come to the waters edge. The speakers voice trembled with ex- citement, and Frankfort was conscious of a strange sympathy and exhilaration. But why didnt you go ashore and. live on the main-land, out of the way of such neighbors altogether l he asked, and. was met by a wondering look. I didnt belong there, replied the King, as if the idea had never occurred. to him before. I had my living to get. It took me more than twelve years to fin- ish paying for my island, besides what hard money I laid down. Some years the fish is mighty shy. I always had an eye to the island sence I was a boy; and. 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. weve been better off here, as I view it. I was some sorry my woman should be so fur from her folks when she was down with her last sickness. The sail was lowered suddenly, and the boat rose and fell on the long waves near the floats of a trawl, which Quint pulled over the bows, slipping the long line by with its empty hooks until he came to a small haddock, which he threw behind him to flop and beat itself about at Frank- forts feet as if imploring him not to eat it for his supper. Then the sprit-sail was hoisted again, and they voyaged toward Folly Island slowly with a failing breeze. The King stamped his feet, and even struck his arms together as if they were chilled, but took no notice of the coat which his guest had taken off again a few minutes before. To Frankfort the even- ing was growing mild, and his blood rushed through his veins with a delicious thrill. The island loomed high and black, as if it were covered with thick woods; but there was a light ashore in the win- ~dow of a small house, and presently the pilgrim found himself safe on land, quite stiff in his legs, but very serene in temper. A brisk little dog leaped about him with clamorous barks, a large gray cat also ap- peared belligerent and curious; then a voice came from the doorway: Late, aint you, father? Without a word of reply, the King of that isle led the way to his castle, haddock in hand. Frankfort and the dog and cat followed after. Before they reached the open door, the light shone out upon a little wilderness of bright flowers, yellow and red and white. The King stepped careful- ly up the narrow pathway, and waited on the step for his already loyal subject to enter. Phebe, lie said, jokingly, Ive brought ye some companya gentleman from Lord knows where, who couldnt seem to content himself without seeing Folly Island. Phebe stepped forward with great shy- ness, but perfect appreciation of the right thing to be done. I give you welcome, she said, quietly, and offered a thin affec- tionate hand. She was very plain in her looks, with a hard-worked, New England plainness, but as Frankfort stood in the little kitchen he was immediately con- scious of a peculiar delicacy and refine- ment in his surroundings. There was an atmosphere in this out-of-the-way corner of civilization that he missed in all but a few of the best houses he had ever known. The ways of the Folly Island house- keeping were too well established to be thrown out of their course by even so un- common an event as the coming of a stranger. The simple supper was eaten, and Frankfort was ready for his share of it. He was touched at the eagerness of ~his hostess to serve him, at her wistful questioning of her father to learn whom he had seen and what he had heard that day. There was no actual exile in the fishermans lot after all; he met his old acquaintances almost daily on the fishing grounds, and it was upon the women of the household that an unmistakable burden of isolation had fallen. Sometimes a man lived with them for a time to help culti- vate the small farm, hut Phehe was skill- ed in out-door handicrafts. She could use tools better than her father, the guest was told proudly, and that day she had been digging potatoesa great pleasure evi- dently, as anything would have been that kept one out - of - doors in the sunshiny field. When the supper was over, the father helped his daughter to clear away the ta- ble as simply and fondly as could be, and as if it were as much his duty as hers. It was very evident that the cough drops were for actual need; the poor girl cough- ed now and then with a sad insistence and hollowness. She looked ill already, so narrow-chested and bent-shouldered, while a bright spot of color flickered in her thin cheeks. She had seemed even elderly to Frankfort when he first saw her, but he discovered from something that was said that her age was much less than his own. What a dreary lifetime! he thought, and then reproached himself, for he had never seen a happier smile than poor Phebe gave her father at that mo- ment. The father was evidently very anx- ious about the cough; he started uneasily at every repetition of it, with a glance at his guests face to. see if he also were alarmed by the foreboding. The wind had risen again, and whined in the chimney. The pine-trees near the house and the wind and sea united in a solemn, deep sound which affected the new-coiner strangely. Above this undertone was the lesser, sharper noise of waves striking the pebbly beach and retreating. There was a lone- liness, a remoteness, a feeling of being an infinitesimal point in such a great ex THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 109 panse of sea and stormy sky, that was almost too heavy to be borne. Phebe knitted steadily, with an occasional smile at her own thoughts. The teakettle sane and whistled away; its cover clicked now and then as if with hardly suppressed cheerfulness, and the King of Folly Isl- and read his newspaper diligently, and doled out bits of information to his com- panions. Frankfort was surprised at the tenor of these. The reader was evidently a man of uncommon depth of thought and unusual common-seuse. It was both less and more surprising that he should have chosen to live alone; one would imagine that his instinct would have led him among people of his own sort. It was no wonder that he had grown impatient of such society as the postmasters; but at this point of his meditation the travellers VOL. LXXIV.No. 43910 eyes began to feel strangely heavy, and he fell asleep in his high-backed rocking- chair. What peacefulness had circled him in! the rush and clamor of his busi- ness life had fallen away as if he had be- gun another existence, without the fret- ful troubles of this present world. Hes a pretty man, whispered Phebe to her father, and the old fisherman nod- ded a grave assent, and folded his hands upon the county newspaper while he took a long honest look at the stranger within his gates. The next morning Frankfort made his appearance in the kitchen at a nobly early hour, to find that the master of the house had been out in his boat since four oclock, and would not be in for some time yet. Phebe was waiting to give him his break- HE TOOK A LONG HONEST LOOK AT TIlE STRANGER. 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fast, and soon afterward he saw her going to the potato field, and joined her. The sun was bri6ht, and the island was gay with color; the asters were in their best pale lavender and royal purple tints; the bay was flecked with sails of fishing-boats, be- cause the mackerel had again struck in; and outside the island, at no great dis- tance, was the highway of the coasting vessels to and from the eastern part of the State and the more distant Provinces. There were near two hundred craft in sight, great and small, and John Frank- fort dug his potatoes with intermittent in- dustry as he looked off east and west at such a lovely scene. They might have been an abbe galartt and a dignified mar- quise, he and Phebeit did not matter what work they toyed with. They were each filled with a charming devotion to the other, a grave reverence and humor- ing of the mutual desire for quiet and meditation. Toward noon the fishing- boat which Phebe had known constantly and watched with affectionate interest was seen returning deep laden, and she hastened to the little landing. Frank- fort had already expressed his disdain of a noonday meal, and throwing down his hoe, betook himself to the highest point of the island. Here was a small company of hemlocks, twisted and bent by the north- east winds, and on the soft brown carpet of their short pins our pilgrim to the outer boundaries spent the middle of the day. A strange drowsiness, such as he had of- ten felt before in such bracing air, seemed to take possession of him, and to a man who had been perplexing himself with hard business problems and erratic ven- tures in financiering, potato-digging on a warm September day was not excitin ~. The hemlocks stood alone on the sum- mit of the island, and must have been a landmark for the King to steer home by. Before Frankfort stretched a half-cleared pasture, where now and then, as he lazily opened his eyes, he could see a moving sheeps back among the small birches and fern and juniper. Behind him were the cleared fields and the house, and a fringe of forest trees stood all round the rocky shore of the domain. From the water one could not see that there was such a well-arranged farm on Folly Island be- hind the barrier of cedars, but the inhab- itants of that region thriftily counted upon the natural stockade to keep the winter winds away. The sun had changed its direction alto- gether when he finally waked, and shone broadly down upon him from a point much nearer the western horizon. At that moment the owner of the island made his appearance, looking somewhat solici- tous. We didnt know what had become of ye, young man, he said, in a fatherly way. Taint nateral for ye to go with- out your dinner, as I view it. Well soon hearten ye up, Phebe an me; though she dont eat no more than a chippin-sparrer, Phebe dont, and his face returned to its sadder lines. No, said Frankfort; she looks very delicate. Dont you think it might be bet- ter to take her inland, or to some more sheltered place, this winter ? The question was asked with hesitation, but the speakers kind-heartedness was all in his words. The father turned away, and snapped a dry hemlock twig with im- patient fingers. She wouldnt go witbouten me, he answered, in a choked voice, an my vow is my vow. I never shall set foot on another mans land while Im alive. The day had been so uneventful, and Folly Island had appeared to be such a calm, not to say prosaic, place, that its vis- itor was already forgetting the thrill of interest with which he had first heard its name. Here again, however, was the un- mistakable tragic element in the life of the inhabitants; this man, who might be armed and defended by his commonsense, was yet made weak by some prejudice or superstition. What could have warped him in this strange way? for, indeed, the people of most unenlightened communi- ties were prone to herd together, to follow each others lead, to need a dictator, no matter how much they might rebel at his example or demands. This city gentle- man was moved by a deep curiosity to know for himself the laws and charts of his new-found acquaintances existence; he had never felt a keener interest in a first days acquaintance with any human being. Society would be at a stand-still, he said, with apparent lightness, if each of us who found his neighbors unsatisfactory should strike out for himself as you have done. The King of Folly Island gave a long shrewd look at his companion, who was still watching the mackerel fleet; then he THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 111 blushed like a girl through all the sea- changed color of his cheeks. Look out for number one, or else number twos got to look out for you, he said, with some uncertainty in the tone of his voice. Yes answered Frankfort, smiling, I have repeated that to myself a great many times. The truth is, I dont belong to my nei~hbors any more than you do. I expect that you have got a better chance nor me; ef I had only been start- ed amonst Christians, now ! exclaimed Quint, with gathering fury at the thought of his Johns-Islanders. Human nature is the same the world over, said the guest, quietly, as if more to himself than his listener. I dare say sure to go home disappointed, or worse, at night~ but at this point he shrugged his shoulders angrily because he could not forget some still undecided ventures of his own. How degraded a man became who chose to be only a money-maker! The zest of the chase for wealth and the power of it suddenly seemed a very triv- ial and foolish thing to Frankfort, who confessed anew that he had no purpose in making his gains. You aint a married man; live a bachelor life, dont ye ? asked the King, as if in recognition of these thoughts, and Frankfort, a little startled, nodded assent. Makes it a sight easier, was the un- expected response. You dont feel as if you might be wronging other folks when that the fault is apt to be our own; but there was no response to this audacious opinion. Frankfort had risen from the conch of hemlock pins, and the two men walked to- ward the house together. The cares of modern life could not weigh too heavy on such a day. The shining sea, the white sails, gleaming or gray-shadowed, and the dark green of the nearer islands made a brilliant picture, and the younger man was impatient with himself for thinking the armada of small craft a parallel to the financial ventures which were made day after day in city life. What a question of chance it was, after all, for either her- ring or dollarssome of these boats were you do what suits you best. Now my woman was wuth her weight in gold, an she lays there in the little yard over in the corner of the fieldshe never fought me, nor argued the pint again after she found I was sot, but it aged her fetchin of her away from all her folks, an out of where she was wonted. I didnt foresee it at the time. There was something martyr-like and heroic in the exiles appearance as he spoke, and his listener had almost an ad- miration for such heroism, until he re- minded himself that this withdrawal from society had been wilful, and, so far as he knew, quite selfish. It could not be said that Quint had stood in his lot and place as a brave man should, unless he had left Johns Island as the Pilgrim Fathers left England, for conscientious scruples and a necessary freedom. How many pilgrims since those have falsely made the same plea for undeserved liberty! 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. What was your object in coming here ? the stranger asked, quietly, as if ne had heard no reason yet that satisfied him. I wanted to be by myself; and the King rallied his powers of eloquence to make excuses. I want one that could stand them folks that overlooked an har- ried me, an was too mean to live. They could go their way, an I mine; I wouldnt harm em, but I wanted none of em. Here, you see, I get my own livin. I raise my own hog, an the women - folks have more hens than they want, an I keep a few sheep a-runnin over the other side o the place. The fish o the sea is had for the catchin, an I owe no man anything. I should ha ben beholden if Id stopped where we come from ; and he turned with an air of triumph to look at Frankfort, who glanced at him in return with an air of interest. I see that you depend upon the larger islands for some suppliescough drops, for instance ? said the stranger, with needless clearness. I cannot help feel- ing that you would have done better to choose a less exposed islandone nearer the main-land, you know, in a place bet- ter sheltered from the winds. They do cut us most in two, said the King, meekly, and his face fell. Frank- fort felt quite ashamed of himself, but he was conscious already of an antagonistic feeling. Indeed, this was an island of folly; this man, who felt himself to be better than his neighbors, was the sacri- ficer of his familys comfort: he was heap- ing up riches, and who would gather them? Not the poor pale daughter, that was certain. In this moment they passed the corner of the house, and discovered Phebe herself standing on the door-step, watching some distant point of the sea or sky with a heavy, much battered spy- glass. She looked pleased as she lowered the glass for a moment, and greeted Frank- fort with a silent welcome. Oh, so tis; now I forgot twas this afternoon, said Quint. Shes a-watch- in the funeral; aint you, daughter? Old Mis Danforth, over onto Wall Island, that has been layin sick all summera cousin o my mothers, he confessed, in a lower tone, and turned away with feigned unconcern as Frankfort took the spy-glass which Phebe offered. He was sure that his hostess had been wishing that she could share ia the family gathering. Was it possible that Quint was a tyrant, and had never let this grown woman leave his chosen isle? Freedom, indeed! He forgot the affairs of Folly Island the next moment, as he caught sight of the strange procession. He could see the cof- fin with its black pall in a boat rowed by four men, who had pushed out a little way from shore, and other boats near it. From the low gray house near the water came a little group of women stepping down across the rough beach and getting into their boats; then all fell into a rude sort of orderliness, the hearse-boat going first, and the procession went away across the wide bay toward the mainland. He low- ered the glass for an instant, and Phebe reached for it eagerly. They were just bringing out the coffin before you came, she said, with a little sigh; and Frankfort, who had seen many pageants and ceremonials, rebuked him- self for having stolen so much of this rare pleasure from his hostess. He could still see thefloating funeral. Though it was only a far-away line of boats, there was a strange awe and fascinatioa in watch- ing them follow their single, steady course. IDanforths folks bury over to the Fore- side, explained the King of Folly Island; but his guest had taken a little book from his pocket, and seated himself on a rock that made one boundary of the gay, dis- orderly garden. It was very shady and pleasant at this side of the house, and he was too warm after his walk across the unshaded pastures. It was very hot sun- shine for that time of the year, and his holiday began to grow dull. Was he, after all, good for nothing but money- making? The thought fairly haunted him: he had lost his power of enjoyment, and there might be no remedy. The fisherman had disappeared; the funeral was a dim speck off there where the sun glittered on the water, yet he saw it still, and his hook closed over his list- less fingers. Phebe sat on the door-step knitting now, with the old glass laid by her side ready for use. Frankfort looked at her presently with a smile. Will you let me see your book ? she asked, with a childs eagerness; and he gave it to her. It is an old copy of Wordsworths shorter poems, he said. It belonged to my mother. Her name was the same as yours. 0 0 r12 0 L~J w 0 0 z 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She spelled it with the o, said Phebe, radiant with interest in this dis- covery, and closely examining the fly- leaf. What a pretty hand she wrote! Is it a book you like ? I like it best because it was hers, I am afraid, replied Frankfort, honestly. Yes, it does one good to read such po- ems; but I find it hard to read anything in these days; my business fills my mind. You know so little here on your island of the way the great world beyond pushes and fights and wrangles. I suppose there are some pleasant folks, said Phebe, simply. I used to like to read, but I found it made me lone- some. I used to wish I could go ashore and do all the things that folks in books did. But I dont care now; I wouldnt go away from the island for anything. No,~~ said Frankfort, kindly; I wouldnt if I were you. Go on dreaming about the world; that is better. And it does people good to come here and see you so comfortable and contented, he added, with a tenderness in his voice that was quite foreign to it of late years. But Phebe gave one quick look at the far ho- rizon, her thin cheeks grew very rosy, and she looked down again at her knitting. Presently she went into the house. At tea-time that evening the guest was sur- prised to find the little table decked out for a festival, with some flowered china, and a straight-backed old mahogany chair from the best room in his ~own place of honor. Phebe looked gay and excited, and Frankfort wondered at the feast, as well as the master of the house, when they came to take their places. You see, you found me unawares last night, coming so unexpected, said the poor pale mistress. I didnt want you to think that we had forgotten how to treat folks. And somehow the man whose face was usually so cold and unchanging could hardly keep back his tears while, after the supper was cleared away, he was shown a little model of a meeting-house, steeple and all, which Phebe had made from card-board and covered with small shells a winter or two before. She brought it to him with a splendid sense of its art, and Frankfort said everything that could be said except that it was beautiful. He even begged to be told exactly how it was done, and they sat by the light together and discussed the poor toy, while the King of Folly Island dozed and waked again with renewed pleasure as he con- templated his daughters enjoyment. But she coughed very often, poor Phebe, and the guest wondered if the postmasters supply of drugs were equal to this pitiful illness. Poor Phebe! and winter would be here soon! Day after day, in the bright weather, Frankfort lingered with his new friends, spending a morning now and then in fishing with his host, and coming into closer contact with the inhabitants of~ that part of the world. Before the short visit was over, the guest was aware that he had been very tired and out of sorts when he had yielded to the desire to hide away from civilization, and had drifted, under some pilotage that was beyond himself, into this quiet haven. He felt stronger and in much better spir- its, and remembered afterward that he had been as merry as a boy on Folly Isl- and in the long evenings when Phebe was busy with her knitting-work, and her father told long and spirited stories of his early experiences along the coast and among the fishermen. But business cares began to fret this holiday-maker, and as suddenly as he had come he went away again on a misty morning that promised rain. He was very sorry when he said good-by to Phebe; she was crying as he, left the house, and a great wave of com- passion poured itself over Frankforts heart. He never should see her again, that was certain; he wished that he could spirit her away to some gentler climate, and half spoke his thought as he stood hesitating that last minute on the little beach. The next moment he was fairly in the boat and pushing out from shore. George Quint looked as hardy and ruddy and weather-beaten as his daughter was, pale and faded, like some frost-bitten flow- er that tries to lift itself when morning comes and it feels the warmth of the sun. The tough fisherman, with his pet doc- trines and angry aversions, could have, no idea of the loneliness of his wife and daughter all these unvarying years on his Folly Island. And yet how much they had been saved of useless rivalries and jealousies, of petty tyranny from narrow souls! Frankfort had a bitter sense of all that as he leaned back against the side of the boat, and sailed slowly out into the bay, while Folly Island seemed to retreat into the gathering fog and slowly disap THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 115 pear. His thoughts flew before him to his office, to his clerks and accounts; he thought of his wealth which was buying him nothing, of his friends ivho were no friends at all, for he had pushed away some who might have been near, strange- ly impatient of familiarity, and on the de- fence against either mockery or rivalry. He was the true King of Folly Island, not this work-worn fisherman; he had been a lonelier and a more selfish man these many years. George Quint was watching Frankfort eagerly, as if he had been waiting for this chance to speak to him alone. You seem to be a kind of solitary crea- tur, he suggested, with his customary frankness. I expect it never crossed your thought that twould be nateral to git married ? Yes, I thought about it once, some years ago, answered Frankfort, seri- ously. Disappointed, was you? Well, twas better soon nor late, if it had to be said the sage. My mind has been dwellin on Phebes case. She was a master pooty gal arlier on, an I was dreadful set against lettin of her go, though I call to mind there was a likely chap as found her out, an made bold to land an try to court her. I drove him, I tell you, an ducked him under when I caught him af- terward out a-fishin, an he took the hint. Phebe didnt know what was to pay, though I dare say she liked to have him follerin about. Frankfort made no answer ---- he was very apt to be silent when you expected him to speak-and presently the King re- sumed his suggestions. Ive been thinking that Phebe ought to have some sort o brightenin up. She pines for her mother: they was a sight o company for each other. Now I spose you couldnt take no sort o fancy for her in course o time? Ive got more hard cash stowed away than folks expects, an you should have everything your own way. I could git a cousin o mine, a widow woman, to keep the house winters, an you an the gal neednt only summer here. I take it youve got some means Frankfort found himself smiling at this pathetic appeal, and was ashamed of him- self directly, and turned to look seaward. Im afraid I couldnt think of it, he an- swered. You dont suppose Lor no, said George Quint, sadly, shifting his sail. She aint give no sign, except that I never see her take to no stranger as she has to you. I thought you might kind of have a feehin for her, an I knowed you thought the island was a sightly place; twould do no harm to speak, leastways. They were on their way to Johns Isl- and, where Frankfort was to take the post- masters boat to the main-land. Quint found his fog-bound way by some myste- rious instinct, and at their journefs end the friends parted with little show of sen- timent or emotion. Yet there was much expression in Quints grasp of his hand, Frankfort thought, and both men turned more than once as the boats separated, to give a kindly glance backward. People are not brought together in this world for nothing, and poor Quint had no idea of the confusion that his theories and his manner of life had brought into the well- regulated affairs of John Frankfort. Jabez Pennell was brimful of curiosity about the visit, but he received little satisfac- tion. Phebe Quint was the pootiest gal on these islands some ten years ago, he proclaimed, an a born lady. Her mo- thers folks was ministers over to Cas- tine. The winter was nearly gone when Frankfort received a letter in a yellow envelop, unbusinesslike in its appearance. The King of Folly Island wrote to say that Phebe had been hoping to get strength enough to thank him for the generous Christmas-box which Frankfort had sent. He had taxed both his imagi- nation and memory to supply the minor wants and fancies of the islanders. But Phebe was steadily failing in health, and the elderly cousin had al- ready been summoned to take care of her and to manage the house-keeping. The King wrote a crabbed hand, as if he had used a fish-hook instead of a pen, and he told the truth about his sad affairs with a simple, unlamenting bravery. Phebe only sent a message of thanks, and an as- surance that she liked to think of Frank- forts being there in the fall. She would soon send him a small keepsake. One morning Frankfort opened a much- crushed bundle which lay upon his desk, and found this keepsake, the shell meet- ing-house, which looked sadly trivial and astray. He was entirely confused by its unexpected appearance; he did not dare to t16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. meet the eyes of an office-boy who stood near; there was an uncomfortable feeling in his throat, but he bravely unfastened a letter from the battered steeple, and read it slowly, without a very clear understand- ing of the words: DEAR FRIEND (said poor Phebe), I was very thankful for all that you sent in the boxI take such pleasure in the things. I find it hard to write, but I think about you every day. Father sends his best respects. We have had rough weather, and be stays right here with me. You must keep your promise, and come back to the island; he will be lonesome, and you are one that takes father just right. It seems as if I hadnt been any use in the world, but it rests me, laying here, to think what a sight of use you must be. And so good-by. A sudden vision of the poor girl came before his eyes as he saw her stand on the door-step the day they watched the boat funeral. She had worn a dress with a quaint pattern, like gray and yellowish willow leaves as one sees them fallen by the country roadsides. A vision of her thin, stooping shoulders and her simple, pleasant look touched him with real sor- row. Much use in tbe world ! Alas! alas! how had her affection made her fancy such a thing! The day was stormy, and Frankfort turned anxiously to look out of the win- dow beside him, as he thought how the wind must blow across the distant bay. He felt a strange desire to sweep away everything that might vex poor Phebe or make her less comfortable. Yet she must die, at any rate, before the summer came. The King of Folly Island would reign only over his sheep pastures and the hemlock-trees and pines. Much use in the world! The words stung him more and more. The office-boy still stood waiting, and now Frankfort became unhappily con- scious of his presence. I used to see one o them shell - works where I come from, up in the country, the boy said, with unexpected forbearance and sympa- thy; but Frankfort dismissed him with a needless question about the price of cer- tain railroad bonds, and dropped the em- barrassing gift, the poor little meeting- house, into a deep lower drawer of his desk. He had hardly thought of the lad before except as a willing, half-mechani- cal errand-runner; now he was suddenly conscious of the hopeful, bright young face. At that moment a whole new fu- ture of human interests spread out before his eyes, from which a veil had suddenly been withdrawn, and Frankfort felt like another man, or as if there had been a re- vivifying of his old, unii~terested, self-oc- cupied nature. Was there really such a thing as taking part in the heavenly war- fare against ignorance and selfishness? Had Phebe given him in some mysterious way a legacy of all her unsatisfied hopes and dreams? THE CUP OF DEATH. FOR A PICTURE BY ELIHU VEDD R. BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. SH E bends her lovely head to taste thy draught, 0 thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup, With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup, Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed. She had been glad in her own loveliness, and laughed At Lifes strong enemies who lie in wait, Had kept with golden youth her queenly state, All unafraid of Sorrows threatning shaft. Then hulnan Grief found out her human heart, And she was fain to go where pain is dumb; So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see, And she fares onward with thee willingly, To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part So Grief that is makes welcome Death to come.

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler The Cup of Death 116-119

t16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. meet the eyes of an office-boy who stood near; there was an uncomfortable feeling in his throat, but he bravely unfastened a letter from the battered steeple, and read it slowly, without a very clear understand- ing of the words: DEAR FRIEND (said poor Phebe), I was very thankful for all that you sent in the boxI take such pleasure in the things. I find it hard to write, but I think about you every day. Father sends his best respects. We have had rough weather, and be stays right here with me. You must keep your promise, and come back to the island; he will be lonesome, and you are one that takes father just right. It seems as if I hadnt been any use in the world, but it rests me, laying here, to think what a sight of use you must be. And so good-by. A sudden vision of the poor girl came before his eyes as he saw her stand on the door-step the day they watched the boat funeral. She had worn a dress with a quaint pattern, like gray and yellowish willow leaves as one sees them fallen by the country roadsides. A vision of her thin, stooping shoulders and her simple, pleasant look touched him with real sor- row. Much use in tbe world ! Alas! alas! how had her affection made her fancy such a thing! The day was stormy, and Frankfort turned anxiously to look out of the win- dow beside him, as he thought how the wind must blow across the distant bay. He felt a strange desire to sweep away everything that might vex poor Phebe or make her less comfortable. Yet she must die, at any rate, before the summer came. The King of Folly Island would reign only over his sheep pastures and the hemlock-trees and pines. Much use in the world! The words stung him more and more. The office-boy still stood waiting, and now Frankfort became unhappily con- scious of his presence. I used to see one o them shell - works where I come from, up in the country, the boy said, with unexpected forbearance and sympa- thy; but Frankfort dismissed him with a needless question about the price of cer- tain railroad bonds, and dropped the em- barrassing gift, the poor little meeting- house, into a deep lower drawer of his desk. He had hardly thought of the lad before except as a willing, half-mechani- cal errand-runner; now he was suddenly conscious of the hopeful, bright young face. At that moment a whole new fu- ture of human interests spread out before his eyes, from which a veil had suddenly been withdrawn, and Frankfort felt like another man, or as if there had been a re- vivifying of his old, unii~terested, self-oc- cupied nature. Was there really such a thing as taking part in the heavenly war- fare against ignorance and selfishness? Had Phebe given him in some mysterious way a legacy of all her unsatisfied hopes and dreams? THE CUP OF DEATH. FOR A PICTURE BY ELIHU VEDD R. BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. SH E bends her lovely head to taste thy draught, 0 thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup, With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup, Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed. She had been glad in her own loveliness, and laughed At Lifes strong enemies who lie in wait, Had kept with golden youth her queenly state, All unafraid of Sorrows threatning shaft. Then hulnan Grief found out her human heart, And she was fain to go where pain is dumb; So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see, And she fares onward with thee willingly, To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part So Grief that is makes welcome Death to come. TIlE CUP OP DEAThFrom the paintilig by Ehilin Veddor BLIND WILLY. BY B. L. FARJEON. YOUVE given me meat and drink, and I thank you. It is the least I can do and the most. If you had any idea that I could pay you for what youve done for me, the sooner you get rid of it the better. Twopence-hapenny is all my fortune, and Ive had the devils own luck to get here with as much. It has been a bard pinch to keep body and soul together this last weekhalf a meal a day, and sleeping by the side of a hay-stack for three nights running, in the open air, with the white snow falling upon me. A cold blanket twas. For some poor devils a shroud, but not for me. I had something more important to do than to die; I had to keep alive and get to this village, though Im here before my time; I wasnt expected so soon. Why did I sleep in the open air instead of nuder a dry roof? For the best of bad reasons. I hadnt money to pay for a bed, and no Christian offered me one. I might have begged a bed? Yes, but I havent come to begging yet; befo~e I do so, Ill take my choice and die in a ditch or a hay-field, where I shall be beholden to no one. My father was an honest man, and my mother an honest woman, and none of my race ever asked charity. So, though I could stand by the road-side, with my hat in my hand, cry- ing, Please pity the poor blind ! till I was cick of the sound of my own voice, I dont choose to do it. Theres the pride of the poor and the pride of the rich, and I know which is the more honorable. Im poor enough, its true, but no cheat, though its only a week since I came out of prison. Im proud of having been there, and would serve my time over a~ain rather than not have done what I got five years for. Its a queer thing to boast of, isnt it? But its gospel truth, friend. You know Ive just come out of prison? Then I might have saved myself the trou- ble of telling you. I can believe you or not, -as I please. I dare say you think its easy enough to deceive a blind man, but let me tell you theres no credit in tIme doing of it, and as for your throwing it in my teeth that Im a prison-bird You didnt say it to reproach me? Thank you. What did you say it for at all, then? So that I might have confidence in you VOL. LXXIV No 439.i 1 so that I might trust you? Well, theres something in that. To be kind to a man, as you have been to rue, when you know lie has just come out of prison, is a bit of a proof that you dont quite despise him. Give me your hand that I may feel it, and let me put mine on your face. Your hand is cool and firm, and your face doesnt twitch. How old may you be? Fifty-two. Are you married? Ah, youve got a wife, then. No ? I ask your pardon, friend, for opening a wound. Per- haps you have children, though. One daughter, seventeen years old? Theres a shake in your voice I think I know the meaning of. A blind man has more senses than five. You and your daughter are knit pretty close. Well! well! When a childs pretty ways fasten on to the heart, they cling close to the roots. I had a lit- tle one myself, who died too soon, and I can see her soft eyes shining on me now. I had my sight when I lost her, but after she died I never saw her quite clearly till I became blind. Never a day or a night passes though day and night to me are the samethat I dont see my little two- year-old child at her pretty tricks, that I dont feel her little hands on my face, that I dojit hear her babbling about me. In prison they couldnt take her aw4y from me, and couldnt prevent her tod- dling along at my side in a daisy-field, as she did one day when she was alive. So my blindness is a blessing, for my child is always with me. There are bits of hea- ven in life, master. Is that your daughter I hear singing outside? Theres no cloud on her life; her voice is as sweet as the rippling of a brook. Well, I must be going. Whats my hurry? Simply that Im dying almost to touch tIme hand of the only human being in the world left to me to love. If you think its a woman, youre mistaken. Its a gentlemanand a man, every inch of him. Thats what Ive been walking the last six days for, feeling my way with my stick, getting a lift now and then from drivers who called out to me and asked where I was goingGod thank them for it and blind to every flower in hedge and field. There was one wagoner brought me twenty miles along. Ive got his name and where he lives, and the first few shill-

B. L. Farjeon Farjeon, B. L. Blind Willy. A Story 119-133

BLIND WILLY. BY B. L. FARJEON. YOUVE given me meat and drink, and I thank you. It is the least I can do and the most. If you had any idea that I could pay you for what youve done for me, the sooner you get rid of it the better. Twopence-hapenny is all my fortune, and Ive had the devils own luck to get here with as much. It has been a bard pinch to keep body and soul together this last weekhalf a meal a day, and sleeping by the side of a hay-stack for three nights running, in the open air, with the white snow falling upon me. A cold blanket twas. For some poor devils a shroud, but not for me. I had something more important to do than to die; I had to keep alive and get to this village, though Im here before my time; I wasnt expected so soon. Why did I sleep in the open air instead of nuder a dry roof? For the best of bad reasons. I hadnt money to pay for a bed, and no Christian offered me one. I might have begged a bed? Yes, but I havent come to begging yet; befo~e I do so, Ill take my choice and die in a ditch or a hay-field, where I shall be beholden to no one. My father was an honest man, and my mother an honest woman, and none of my race ever asked charity. So, though I could stand by the road-side, with my hat in my hand, cry- ing, Please pity the poor blind ! till I was cick of the sound of my own voice, I dont choose to do it. Theres the pride of the poor and the pride of the rich, and I know which is the more honorable. Im poor enough, its true, but no cheat, though its only a week since I came out of prison. Im proud of having been there, and would serve my time over a~ain rather than not have done what I got five years for. Its a queer thing to boast of, isnt it? But its gospel truth, friend. You know Ive just come out of prison? Then I might have saved myself the trou- ble of telling you. I can believe you or not, -as I please. I dare say you think its easy enough to deceive a blind man, but let me tell you theres no credit in tIme doing of it, and as for your throwing it in my teeth that Im a prison-bird You didnt say it to reproach me? Thank you. What did you say it for at all, then? So that I might have confidence in you VOL. LXXIV No 439.i 1 so that I might trust you? Well, theres something in that. To be kind to a man, as you have been to rue, when you know lie has just come out of prison, is a bit of a proof that you dont quite despise him. Give me your hand that I may feel it, and let me put mine on your face. Your hand is cool and firm, and your face doesnt twitch. How old may you be? Fifty-two. Are you married? Ah, youve got a wife, then. No ? I ask your pardon, friend, for opening a wound. Per- haps you have children, though. One daughter, seventeen years old? Theres a shake in your voice I think I know the meaning of. A blind man has more senses than five. You and your daughter are knit pretty close. Well! well! When a childs pretty ways fasten on to the heart, they cling close to the roots. I had a lit- tle one myself, who died too soon, and I can see her soft eyes shining on me now. I had my sight when I lost her, but after she died I never saw her quite clearly till I became blind. Never a day or a night passes though day and night to me are the samethat I dont see my little two- year-old child at her pretty tricks, that I dont feel her little hands on my face, that I dojit hear her babbling about me. In prison they couldnt take her aw4y from me, and couldnt prevent her tod- dling along at my side in a daisy-field, as she did one day when she was alive. So my blindness is a blessing, for my child is always with me. There are bits of hea- ven in life, master. Is that your daughter I hear singing outside? Theres no cloud on her life; her voice is as sweet as the rippling of a brook. Well, I must be going. Whats my hurry? Simply that Im dying almost to touch tIme hand of the only human being in the world left to me to love. If you think its a woman, youre mistaken. Its a gentlemanand a man, every inch of him. Thats what Ive been walking the last six days for, feeling my way with my stick, getting a lift now and then from drivers who called out to me and asked where I was goingGod thank them for it and blind to every flower in hedge and field. There was one wagoner brought me twenty miles along. Ive got his name and where he lives, and the first few shill- 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ings I can spare 11 go to his little ones, or my name isnt Willy Price. I mustnt go yet? Why not? Because you knov the gentleman I want to speak to? His name, then? Sir Edmund Bar- ry! By the Lord, youve hit it! Theres something strange in all this- your meeting with me, your bringing me here to rest, your giving food (though ]ill pay you for it before long) to a man who has no claim on you What does it all mean? You met me by accident, you say, and knew me at once, though you never set eyes oa me before. How can that be? Well, yes, youre right there; a man may be recognized by a description of him. Who gave you a description of me? The gentleman whose name you mentionedSir Edmund Barry! He hasnt forgotten me, then? No; but I was sure he would never do that. AIi! if I laid down my life for him a hundred times over, it wouldnt pay the debt of love I owe him. lie owes me a debt of love, he says! Did he say thatdid he? God bless him for it! He didnt expect to see me for another month at least, but they let me out before my time, for good con- duct, they said, and I was only too glad to find myself a free man once more: Off I set for this village without an hours de- lay, and now that Im here, and have had this talk about my dear master, I cant wait another minute. Ill thank you kind- ly if youll direct me to an inn called the Golden Crown. What do you say? This is the Golden Crown! You cant be de- ceiving me, for youve nothing to gain by it. But youve set me in the middle of a maze. Show me the way out of it. Yes, yes; I understand that you are act- ing. under orders, and I must be content to wait for ray master till he can come to me; but I cant for the life of me under- stand what good or ill fortune it is in my power to bring to you. Yet it is so, you say. Theres your daughter singing again. By the Lord, its the song my master used to sing! She must have learned it from him. She did? Thats a mark of friend- ship between him and her. Youve gota message for me from him? What is it? On the first day you see Willy Price, ask him to tell you all he knows about me, and then youll be able to judge how far that woman spoke the truth when she called me a cheat and a coward. He knows the woman I mean; her name is Lady Judith, and we have both cause to remember her to the last hour of our lives. I am satisfied; you are not deceiving me. Only Sir Edmund Barry could have given you that message. But I cant for the life of me see the connecting links between what lie asks me to tell you, and Lady Judith, and the good or ill for- tune that is to happen to you when Ive finished what Im bid to say. However, thats no immediate affair of mine; all that I care for is that it shall bring no misfortune to my dear master. It will bring a blessing upon him if he comes out of the affair asyou hope he will? That has an honest ring in it, and I accept it in good faith. If Sir Edmund Barry has been speaking to you about me, you know, of course, that I have not been always blind. Until near upon five years ago my eyes were as good as any man need wish for. I must collect my thoughts a bit, for the name of Lady Judith has set my blood boiling. What did she call him ? a cheat and a coward? A man and a hero, as sure as theres a God in heaven! So shes been at him again, that black-haired daughter of the devil! Ak, if I had her here before me, Id strangle her where I stand, blind as I am, if I knew she was doing anything to injure my master. Id put a stop to her lyin~ tongue, once and for all. Listen: you shall hear the whole affair, and shall judge for yourself. It commenced many a year ago be- tween me and my dear master. I lived down Dorsetshire way, and my father was a farm laborer. There were four of us mother, father, my sister Miriam,and my- selfand we had a little cottage, and lived on next to nothin~ a week. That pretty well represents what my fathers wages were. He was a hard worker, an igno- rant, honest man; my mother was weak- ly, and could do nothing out-of-doors to help him ; for the matter of that, she had enough to do in-doors, what with cooking, cleaning, and washing for the lot of us. My sister was a cripple walk- ed with two crutchesso she couldnt do much. I was sixteen; Miriam was a year younger, and no beauty: good looks didnt run in our family. No more did good luck; we had a terrible hard time of it; pigs wereprinces in comparison with us. Well, though nearly every one in my class accepts his lot as a matter of course, I didnt; I rebelled against it, and was BLIND WILLY. 121 thoroughly unhappy. One reason was that I had a passionate love for my sister, and could do nothing to help her into health. It used to make me mad to see her white, hungry face. I was not all bad,though,wliateVer I might have ripen- ed into. I was a strong lad and a plucky theres no reason why I shouldnt say it -and one day when I saw a horse gallop- ing across the fields, dragging after him a young gentleman who had been thrown, and whose foot was fast in the stirrup, I didnt wait to think, hut I ran like mad af- ter the horse, and catching the bridle, tried to stop the frightened creature. What I remenibered afterward was the gentle- mans handsome face splashed with blood, and myself screaming and holding on like grim death. That was all. Down I went, with my eyes full of blood; but for all that, it seems, at the very moment I lost my sensesfor the horse had kicked me in the face, and given me the gash I put my finger on nowat that very mo- ment the horses speed slackened, and some people coming up carried the young gen- tleman and me to the nearest ale-house. There I lay for weeks, niost of the time insensible, and near to death; the young gentleman was well and about sooner than I was, and when I rose from my bed I had the satisfaction of knowing that my little bit of pluck had made a stanch friend of the man whose life it was said I had saved. You guess, of course, that this gentleman was Sir Edmund Barry. His father had lately bought an estate in the neighborhood,and had come to live there, and this, I dare say, helped to keep me in his mind. But if lie had lived a thousand mile away lie wouldnt have forgotten me. It isnt in the nature of men like him. Now I dont know if it is a common thing to get attached to a man because you save his life, but I think it had some- thing to do with the love I grew to have for Sir Edmund. I had strong reason for love and gratitude apart from that. Grate- ful, as not every man is, for the service I had rendered him, he had sought out my family while I lay knocking at deaths door, and had made himself acquainted with their circumstances. What did I discover on the first day I was able to walk in the fresh air? Well, it seemed to me like a fairy story, and it had been kept from me while I was ill, so that it might afford me the greater pleasure. I found my father and mother and Miriam living in a comfortable cottage, with a garden attached to it; I found my father in a situ- ation in which he was earning fair wages; I found my mothers hard load lightened; I found a doctor attendin~ my sister Miri- am; I found them all brighter and happi- er, and ready to lay down their lives for the man who had made life sweet for them. Powerful reasons these for love and gratitude, and there came 1pon me a wonderful change. I was no longer mo- rose and rebellious; my days and nights were not charged with bad thoughts; I was glad to live; and I too was ready to lay down my life for the man who had brought such blessings upon us. It seemed as if, to his thinking, he could not do too much. As I took a liking to him, he took a liking to me, and allowed me to hang about him, and render him small services it was a delight to me to perform. There was one thing he couldnt do, with all his kindness; he could not save my sisters life. She died after a long sick- ness, and seemed to be perfectly happy when lie stood for a few moments at her bedside. I am telling you these things, which dont properly belong to what I shall presently come to, so that you may have some understanding of the kind of man I am speaking of. There are few, if any, who know him as I do. On the evening of Miriams funeral he came to me and said, Willy, I am going away, and I should like to do something for you. Just as if lie had not already done enough. Take me with you,I said, and let me be your servant. That is all I want. And then, I remember, I broke out into passionate entreaties that he would not leave me behind him. I spoke roughly, of course, and accordingtomyhighmts; Iliad had no education, and did not know one letter from another. It must have been on that evening, I think, that he became aware that I loved him better than any- thing or anybody in the world. He look- ed at me in silence until I had run myself out, and then he said: Well, Willy, I owe you more than I can ever repay; but I am going on a long tour, and I dont want a servant. To tell you the truth, I shouldnt know what to do with one if I had him. When I come back, I must have some one about me I like and can trust, and Id sooner have 122 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. you than anybody else; youll be a man then, and we should get along very well together. Now I have a plan. I waited eagerly to hear it. You wont do as you are. The fact is, Willy, if I am to take you as my ser- vant by-and-by, you will have to be polish- ed up; and theres only one wa.y to bring that about. I must send you to school; and if you get along well while I am away, I promise, if you are in the same mind, to take you as my valet. What do you say to that ? Depressed as I was at the idea of not seeing him for a couple of yearsthe length of time he said his tour would oc- cupyI had the sense to see that lie was doing the very best thing that could be done for me, and I expressed my grati- tude and willingness. So he made ar- rangements to send me to a better school than could be found in our village, and that is why I can express myself better than many men of my station in life. For I tried my hardest to do credit to him when lie returned from his tour in for- eign parts. Dont run away with the no- tion that I had any idea of becoming a gentleman; that was the farthest from my thoughts; the only thing my mind was set upon was to show him when lie came back that I was not a dunderhead, and that I was niost sincerely desirous to serve him. He travelled all over the world, and was away longer than he said. He wrote two or three times to the master of the school, and I know received a good re- port of me. I wrote to him, too, and perhaps you can understand the pride I felt when I sent him my first letter, writ- ten by my own hand. During his absence I lost both my parents, so that I may say, but for my young masterfor in that con- nection, and no other, I always thought of himI was alone in the world. He also lost his father, and it was that loss that brought him home suddenly and un- expectedly. There are certain things it isnt necessary to dwell upon, so it will be sufficient for me to say briefly that when he came home he fulfilled his promise, both of us being in the same mind, and took me into his service. He was heir to a great fortune, and the absolute master of it. Being young, high- spirited, and liberal-hearted, lie set him- self out naturally to enjoy it. Of course he went to London, and there he became a regular lion, as the society people call it. He went everywhere, was a meniber of the best clubs, and very soon was sur- rounded by so-called friends, who helped him spend his money. He was willing enough and careless enough, and it would have been strange if he had not been led into all kinds of extravagance. He was overwhelmed kvith invitations to fashion- able houses, and he was so hunted after by match-making mothers that it was a mystery how he escaped being caught. I attended him everywhere, and made my- self so necessary to him that he often told me lie didnt know what he should do without me. I may take the credit of having kept him out of many a scrape, for though he was high and I was low, I saw thu~ough people a great deal quicker than he did. I took the liberty occa- sionally of airing my opinions of his ac- quaintances and friends, and he always listened to me good-naturedly, though he would never trouble himself about what I said. What if so-and-so is a hawk ? he would say. I can afford to be plucked. And plucked he was; but a fortune such as his takes a long time gettin~, through, and so we jogged on coinforta- bly enough for three or four years. He believed in everybody, distrusted nobody. It is so much easier, lie would say. You must make no mistake in his char- acter. His head, perhaps, was not so well balanced as it might have been, but his heart was in the right place, and he did many a kind action which carried joy with it. That he was frequently imposed upon in his charities did not disturb him; lie was not to be soured. And, let me tell you, notwithstanding his extrava- gancies and the life he led, with its dan- gerous temptations, he was free from actual vice. He was never guilty of a niean or dishonorable act, and he never played a woman false. He was laughed and sneered at for his opinions of wo- mankind, but he was not to be turned from them. He had an unconquerable be- lief in womans goodness, and he pitied where others condemned. He never join- ed in the laughter caused by tales of scan- dal, and I remember that he was called by some of his friends the modern Bay- ard. He did not see, but I did, that the name was given to him more from de- rision than sincerity. I got him to ex- plain to me the meaning of the name, and BLIND WILLY. 123 I was satisfied that his friends had hit isnt what a true man would do, and Ill the mark without intending it. be no party to it. A. word as to myself. The love I had This sent my heart down into lower for him as a boy grew with my manhood. depths, and I stood foolishly before him, There was nothing in the world he could and stammered that I would never leave ask me to do for him that I was not ready him unless he drove me away, and that I to do. He was most truly my friend de- did not know what to do. Then he spoke spite that we stood to each other in the re- out, seriously and kindly, and bound me lation of master and servant; he never if possible closer to him. There was no gave me an unkind word, and I think he reason for my leaving him,he said,if Alice trusted and believed in me as I believed would be satisfied with the suggestion he and trusted in him. Free as I was in air- was about to make. He confessed that he ing my opinions to him, I always stopped liked as little as I did the idea of my quit- when I saw that I was giving him pain. tiug his service. He was good enough to And now there came a change in my say that lie doubted whether he should life. We had chambers in a fashionable ever find another man as faithful as I was part of London; in the house there were to him. Why shouldnt I marry and re- two other sets of chambers, which, with main with him? Alice could continue to our own, were looked after by a house- live with her aunt, and no doubt a room keeper, who lived in the basement. This could be found down-stairs for us. He woman, who was a widow, could have done had no intention of removing from Lon- very well and have saved money had it don at present, and if he ever settled down not been for a scapegrace of a son, who in a separate establishment of his own, kept his mother in continual hot water, which, lie said, pleasantly, lie should prob- and squandered every shilling of her say- ably have to do one of these fine days, ings. He did not live with his niothier, some sort of position should be found for and it was because I was civil and re- my wife in his new household, so that spectful to her that she told me of her there need be no fear of our being separa- troubles. One day I saw a young woman ted. So it was arranged. Alice was de- coming from the basement; it was the lighted and contented, and you may be house-keepers niecean orphan, who had sure I was. In less than a month we were come to live with her aunt. What did I married. Sir Edmund came to the wed- do but fall in love with her, and what did ding, and made Alice a present of a gold she do but fall in love with me? watch and chain. I was the happiest man It did not trouble me at first, for we in all the wide world, and had any oue were both over head and ears, and when prophesied that before three years passed you are in that condition you dont stop by I should find myself in a felons dock, to think. I paid court to her honestly, listening to my sentence of five years im- and was entangled and compromised be- prisonment, I should have laughed in his fore I knew where I was. I had no idea face, and called him the maddest of the that our secret was known to any one but mad. But it was to be. No man let him ourselves, and I was considerably aston- be ever so secure, knows what strange re- ishied when my master spoke to me about verse~ fate has in store for him. it. That woke me up and set me think- For ten short months my happiness last- ing. It is stran~,e that a mans love for a ed, and then I was visited by a terrible man should stand in the way of his love grief. My wife died, and in her deathi an- for a woman, but it was so in my case. I other life was knit to mine. She left a was determined not to leave my master; baby girl behind her, and by Sir Edniunds not even niy love for Alice could drive me advice I placed the child with a family in to that; and I told him so with a sinking the country, where she throve and was heart, and with words as sincere as ever well cared for. Through all these changes fell from a mans lips. He was touched Sir Edmund showed me more the sympa- by my devotion; I saw that. thy of a brother than a master, and he Well, Willy, he asked, with a smile, sometimes acconipanied me when I paid what is to be done ? my weekly visit to my little girl. I will I answered, very much troubled, that I finish that part of my story which relates did not see my way out of it. to my own private affairs by saying that It will never do, he said, to break my child lived but two years. She had the heart of a good and pretty girl. It grown very fond of Sir Edmund, and he 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of her. She lay in his arms when she drew her last breath. If I have dwelt a little longer than you care for upon my own joys and sorrows it is because I wish to show you the true grain of my masters nature. There lives not in the world a kinder-hearted, a truer gentleman than he. Never did lie forget the small service I rendered to him when I was a lad, but I think it was apart from that, because he had a regard for me, and knew how faithful I was to him, that he allowed me privileges which a servant sel- dom enjoys. I come now to Lady Ju- dith. You have seen lier,I understand,though I can~t for the life of me discover why she should come to you and speak to you against my master. What do you say? You will tell me when I have finished my story? I will go on to the end, then. Is she as handsome, I wonder, as she was when Sir Edmund first met her? Small-made and dark-skinned it is true, and with hair as glossy and black as coal. They generally pick out fair women for beauties, but, so far as appearances go, the Lady Judith could hold her own with the stateliest and most beautiful woman that ever was wooed. Her eyes were as bright as diamonds, her teeth as white as the whitest pearls, her lips were cherry red, her cheeks had the most wonderful glow in them. So much for her face; as for her heart, that is another matter. Sir Ed- mund believed he had won it, and she fooled him rarely. She had a great fol- lowing-of men; she was the star wher- ever she appeared. The women, I heard, hated her, but that would be natural, per- haps, as she spoiled the chances of many. Although she was a widow, she was young enoughnot more than twenty-fwo, I judged. There was a mystery about her which to some men may have been an addi- tional attraction. By mystery I mean that she was not knoxvn in the higher fashion- able circles of society until she came from India, where she had lived,I was told,from her childhood,where she married and lost her husband in the course of a few months, and came home with his fortune, which she inherited. I dont know where my master first met her, nor do I know by what arts she had won his love. I was surprised when I got an inkling of the state of affairs, for she was not the style of woman I thought would have captivated him. In such mat- ters, however, one man is not a judge of another. Now let me tell you. It was my impression then, and it is my conviction now. I have spoken the word love~~ in connection with my master and Lady Ju- dith, but although lie was completely in her power I venture to say that the feeling lie entertained toward her was very dif- ferent from a feeling of true love. She dazzled and enthralled him, and I make no doubt led him on until he found it was too late to retreat. I have read of such wo- men, but I had never met with one until Lady Judith appeared to blight the lives of a noble man, and of him who, blind to all around him, is now speaking to you. Look you. It is from no foolish de- sire to hear the sound of my own voice it is from no vainglory, it is from no wish to excite your compassion for me, that I am taking pains to make my story clear to you; it is simply because my dear and beloved master has, through you, set a command upon me, which I obey, as I would obey any command from him, though it led me into the jaws of death. Who comes into the room? Your daughter? And she sings the songs my master sang, and he is her friend? It will not harm her if she shakes hands with me. I beg of you. It will bring me nearer to him. Tell me your name, child? Alice! God in heaven! it is the name of my wife and child. She is gone. Bear with me a little. It has shaken me a bit; you will have patience with me, I am sure. You know as well as I what it is to lose a wife who is truly loved. But you do not know, and pray you may never live to know, what it is to lose a childa mans only child, who has wound herself into his heart so closely that its fibres quiver at the lightest touch. Is your daughter dark or fair? Fair! I am glad to hear it. Back to my Lady Judith and my story. When it became known that my master was following her and was a favorite suit- orthough how far it had gone I will not take it upon myself to say, except that my master was honest and pure-minded in his followingother would-be lovers fell aside, as though it was useless contend- ing wjth a man who had not only good looks to recommend him, but a large for- tune at his back. Then there was her own behavior to him; her preference for him, whether sincere or not, could not be mis- BLIND WILLY. 125 taken. Whenever he appeared, cold looks for others. It was as much as if she said, You are intruding; this is the man of my choice. That was the way of it. Most of them took the hint and retired. But one remained-Captain Whitelock. This man once seen was never after- ward to be mistaken, and there was a most curious resemblance between his name and a certain peculiarity in his ap- pearance. His hair, like Lady Judiths, was coal-black; but there came down over his brows, exactly between his eyes, a white feather of hair which took the shape of a curl. A man who could take the lib- erty, seeing him for the first time, could not help feeling inclined to raise his hand and brush it away, it was so exactly like a feather hanging over his forehead. It was a birth-mark. You have seen this maii? When and where? Here, when you saw Lady Ju- dith? Then he is not dead. You give me a curious kind of comfort, though it were better he was dead than alive. He had a black silk bandage round his right hand? Ah! he may thank me for that. Wait, wait, and you will understand. Her husband, is lie? A pretty pair! Well matched! Lady Judiths husband! A fair endingfor my master! Before long Lady Judith, my master, and Captain Whitelock were seen con- stantly together in public; but the part Captain Whitelock played was that of a friend who took an honorable interest in the love-making that was going on be- tween the other two. He also had a ser- vant, who appeared to stand to him in the same relation as I stood to Sir Edmund, and between this man, whose name was Limpett, and me a kind of intimacy natu- rally sprung up, more cordial on his part than on mine. I doubt whether he saw through me as I saw through him. He served his master as I served mine, and that he looked on me as a bit of a simple- ton was more in my favor than his in the game we were playing. For it did not take me long to discover, from the ad- vances lie made toward me and the ques- tions lie put to me, that he had been set on by his master, and was following out definite instructions. So I took my cue, and fell very comfortably, with my eyes wide open, into the trap prepared for me. By which means, in an indirect way, I made discoveries. He learned from me that Sir Edmunds fortune was very large and entirely unencumbered, and I learn- ed from him that Captain Whitelock had been very sweet on Lady Judith, and that he was number one in her eyes till my master appeared on the scene. Then, of course, said Limpett, as Sir Edmund Barry has pounds where Cap- tain Whitelock hasnt shillings, we had to take a back seat. Ahi! said I, that is the way with women; its a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence with the lot of em. And as far as that goes, its a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence with most of us; it is with me, I know. If masters look after themselves, why shouldnt we Right, old fellow, said Limpett, slapping me on the shoulder; if we can work the oracle, you wont be any the worse off for it. I just give you this as a sample of our talk, and you niay guess it made me keen to watch. Now if the impressions that forced themselves upon me were correct, there was every reason to suppose that Lady Judith was in collusion with Cap- tain Whiitelock in a conspiracy against my master. I sharpened myself up, so to speak, for the task I set before methe task of saving my master from becoming the victhn of a couple of tricksters. It was difficult, and I had to play a quiet part. I did not dare to speak, even indi- rectly, to Sir Edmund; I did not dare to say the slightest word which might lead him to suppose that I had any suspicion of Lady Judith. Attached as he was to me, I make no doubt that he would have discharged me on the spot. When it came to choosing between me and Lady Judith, I knew which one would have to go to the wall. So all I could do was to wait and watch, and use my best cunning to gather evidence. What made my task all the more difficult was that Sir Edmund had not mentioned Lady Judiths name to me. Ordinarily he had been in the habit of speaking of his friends and ac- quaintances, but in my hearing Lady Ju- dithis name had never passed his lips. It was not for me, therefore, lightly to in- troduce it; my reasons would have to be weighty ones. It was about this time that my master began to play higher than usual, and to plunge heavily at the races. I heard Lady Judith say once it was a fortunate thing she was a widow, because it enabled her to do things which would be perfectly 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. shocking in a single young lady. That is why she came to Sir Edmunds rooms in London; it was at her persuasion, I had no doubt, that he gave parties there, so that she might have an opportunity of being pre ent. Cards and dice were soon introduced, and there were times when I saw the tables covered with gold and bank- notes. I did not like the look of it: my master seemed to be going down hill. Captain Whiitelock was a great gambler, cool and methodical, and never caring how high the stakes were. One night, to my surprise, I saw Lady Judith sitting at one of the tables with a pile of money before her. It surprised me, because I had an idea that she would have been more prudent than to exhibit her failings to Sir Edmund. I noticed that he looked grave, which was not usual with him he was always in the highest spirits though whenever she addressed him he brightened up. I was seldom absent on these nights; my master liked to have me near him, so that lie might give me in- structions with respect to his guests. He was a princely host, and was annoyed if there was the slightest hitch in his enter- tainments. Limpett, also, was generally hanging around. One night there was some talk about an exhibition of pistol practice that was to be given in a shoot- ing-gallery on the following day, and an arrangement was made to meet there. Captain Whitelock, upon Lady Judiths saying that she would like to be present, offered to escort her. I should prefer you, she said to Sir Edmund. And he answered that he would drive her and Captain Whitelock to the rooms. The principal feature in the programme was a match between two famous profes- sional pistol-shots, and there was high betting on the result. When the match was decided, Captain Whitelock chal- lenged my master to a trial. My master excused himself, saying that he was a poor hand with the pistol. Then Captain Whitelock challenged the winner of the match. Limpett beckoned me aside. Theyre laying three to one on the professional, he whispered. Back the captain; the money will be as good as in your pocket. And then he told me that Captain Whitelock was the fiuiest shot in Europe. He must have spoken the truth, for Captain Whitelock won easily, and astonished everybody by his skill. Proud of the praise lie was receiving, he asked Lady Judith to lend him her gloves, which he fixed fiat against the wall, with the fingers slightly apart. Then, firing rap- idly at thirty paces, he shot off the tips of each finger and thumb. Just the nails, lie smilingly said. You owe me a dozen pairs of gloves, said Lady Judith to him. Sir Edmund will give them to you, lie replied, with a laugh which was half a sneer; hes the bird youre to bring down. The remark was carelessly made, and it produced an impression. The speaker bit his lip, as though he would have liked to recall his words, Lady Judith uttered a little scream, and my master started and threw a look of suspicion on Lady Judith and the successful marksman. What I mean is, said Captain White- lock, that if I ventured to make you a present of a dozen pairs of gloves, I should expect Barry to call me out, which wouldnt be desirable. Certainly not for me, said my mas- ter, gravely. Nothing more was said upon the sub- ject, and the conversation turned upon some regimental races which were to take place on a suburban race-course in a few weeks. Im open to make a match, said an officer, for any sum up to five hundred sovs. My mare Miss Sehim against any- thing that can be brought against her. Three miles over the steeple-chase course, thirteen stone, owners up. Theres only one bit of horseflesh can beat Miss Selim, said Captain Whitelock, and thats Babbling Fanny. Shes to be bought, said sonic one. Whoever buys it will be sold, re- niarked the officer. I saw a look of intelligence pass between Captain Whiitelock and Lady Judith. I think no one else observed it; but I was on the watch: the game was growing se- rious. The game that was played that night in my masters chambers was serious enough in all conscience. Sir Edmund was play- ing with Lady Judith, and was laughing at the sums she was winning from hiin-i. She had wooed him back into good-humor, and had dispelled his suspicions, if he had any. Captain Whitelock was looking on, and proposed to join in. Before the party broke up my master had lost ten thousand BLIND WILLY. 127 pounds, and Captain Whitelock had won the chief part of it. It did not surprise me very much to hear, a week afterward, that my master had bought Babbling Fanny, and had made the match against Miss Selim. There was a great deal of talk over it, and my master took me into his confi- dence, and almostfor the first time intro- duced Lady Judiths name into the con- versation. She has set her heart upon it, Willy, he said, and is going to back my mare. Captain Whitelock says Babbling Fanny is bound to win.~~ Whos to ride her, sir ? I asked. Owners up, he said, laughing. I shall be in the saddle. He was a fine rider, but I doubted his ability to ride a steeple-chase. He con- vinced me, however, on the following day by taking me down to the stable in which Babbling Fanny was being trained, and riding the mare himself over the course on which the match was to take place. There was an advantage in the stable be- ing so near; Miss Selim was being trained fifty miles away. We went down fre- quently to see and ride the mare. Cap- tain Whitelock was often with us, and lie declared that my master was the finest gentleman rider in England. And make no mistake about it, he said. Babbling Fanny can give Miss Selim a stone, and walk away from her. Dont try to win too easily, though; wait upon her to the last hurdle, and then win by a length or so. It will be quite enough. Ive backed your mare for five thousand, and Im going to put every shilling Im worth on her. The odds were six to four on Babbling Fanny, and gradually lengthened till they reached four to one. Its buying money dearly, said Cap- tain Whitelock, ~but I dont think theres a doubt about it. You feel pretty certain, dont you ? My master showed him his book. He stood to lose fifty thousand pounds on the match, and to win about sixteen. Losing or winning will make a differ- ence of nearly seventy thousand to you, observed Captain Whiitelock. A convincing argument, isnt it ? asked my master. Dont want a better, said Captain Whitelock. I shall go on laying the odds. Its only once in a lifetime a fel low gets such a chance. Keep yourself cool; thats all youve got to do. My master, indeed, was training him- self for the race, and was keeping better hours. There were no more late parties; the revels were postponed until the match was decided. All this time the love affair between him and Lady Judith was pro- ceeding as usual, and it was a fortnight before the race that he said to me, Willy, I dare say you guess that I am engaged to be married ? I didnt like to take the liberty of speaking of it, sir, I said. To Lady Judith, I suppose? Yes, Willy. If I win the match, we shall get married a few weeks after- ward. It was a curious thing, I thought, to let a marriage depend upon the winning or the losing of a race, but I said nothing on that head; it would have been presump- tion on my part. But the news troubled me; in my own mind I felt sure that there was no feeling of true, honest love between Sir Edmund and Lady Judith. She had managed to get his promise, and he was bound to abide by it, and I saw in store for him a life of unhappiness. I could have knocked my head against the wall in vexation, but I could see no way out of the difficulty. I did venture to say one thing to him. I asked him if he had heard that Captain Whitelock and Lady Judith were once said to be engaged. In- stead of being angry with me, as I was afraid he would be, he said, in a kind tone: It wouldnt do, Willy, for me to listen to rumors against the lady I am pledged to marry. There is scarcely a person in the world whom the breath of scandal does not touch. Dont bring me ai~y more rumors. Ah, thought I, but what if I brought you facts! Would you listen to them? I had my doubts even on that point. But I had no facts to show him, only suspi- cions which he would laugh away. I little guessed that fate had a stroke of great good fortune in store for me. Lady Judith had left London on a visit to some friends in Paris, and was to be absent till the night before the match, which she wouldnt miss seeing for the world, she said. She had told my master that he was not to expect to hear from her. I hate lettei-writing, she said; it makes my head ache, and I never 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. know what to say. He did not object to her going, and I supposed she had gone to Paris to buy dresses. Captain White- lock was in London, and we saw him ev- ery day. Now two days before the match was to be run something occurred upon which my whole story turns. It was nine oclock at night, and I was out walking. Whom should I meet but Limpett? I came upon him suddenly as I turned a corner. He was in a violent state of excitement, and was talking ex- citedly to himself. I saw, too, that he had been drinking. Hallo ! I said; whats the matter? Have you been having a row with any- body i A chance shot, but it hit the mark. He broke out into violent invectives against Captain Whitelock, with whom, it appears, he had had an angry scene, and by whom he had been discharged without notice. I saw my opportunity, but I did not dream where it would lead to. I nursed his passion to my advan- tage, and I worked him into such a furi- ous state that he swore to be revenged upon the man lie had served so long, and who had behaved so ungratefully to him. More than once the name of Lady Judith escaped his lips. The cause of the quar- rel, as I understood, was that Limpett had been backing Babbling Fanny secretly, and Captain Whitelock, discovering it, had been furious with him for doing what was likely to spoil the market. I had a suspicion, however, that another cause of the quarrel was that Captain White- lock had discovered that Limpett had been robbing him. That there were se- crets between them which made each afraid of the other I had no doubt; for although Limpett swore to be revenged, he announced his intention almost in the same breath of going to America when Babbling Fanny had won the match, and he had received the money lie expected to win. Ill leave this cursed country behind me,he said; I can make my fortune in the States, and become a gentleman like the best of them. I settled instantly upon a plan of ac- tion. If auythin~, was to be discovered which would set my master free from Lady Judith, it was to be discovered now, and through Limpett. He, and no other man, it seemed to me, held in his hands the threads of my dear masters happiness. I approached the subject cautiously; I told him I had as little regard as lie had for Captain Whitelock, and not much for Lady Judith, and that if he could put me in the way of finding out anything about them that would be of service to my inns- ter,I was ready to pay handsomely for it. When you laud in America, I said, the more money you have in your pock- et, the better your chances. Thats true, lie said, thoughtfully, and lie considered a few moments in si- lence. What do you call paying hand- somely ? What do you ? I asked, in return. How does five hundred pounds strike you ? lie said. He had named the exact amount I hind saved during my service with Sir Edmund. He was a liberal master, as you may im- agine. I did not stop to ha~gle; the stake was too great; hind Limpett named my life into the bargain, I would have given it willingly to save my master. I said tIm sum lie wanted was as much as I had saved, and that he was welcome to it. I must have the money down, lie said. It happened that I had fifty pounds about me; I pulled it out at once and handed it to him. My bank - book and check-book were also in my pocket. I showed him both so that he might reckon the figures for himself, to prove that I was dealing fairly by him. Then I drew a check for four hundred and fifty pounds, and gave it to him. There is still something else to be set- tled, he said: I am not to appear in the affair, and you will take your oath not to mention that I have had anything to do with it. I agreed to everything, and then he told me to write down an address. It was Laburnuni Villa, Sydenham, and he gave me precise instructions how to find it. I knew the road, and I had no doubt that I could go straight to the villa. Take Sir Edmund Barry there, said Limpett, to-night, and you will find that I have earned my money. With that we parted. Now, thought I, how to induce my inas- ter to go to Laburnum Villa, Sydenham, at once, this very night? We could drive and get there before midnight; we could take a train and get there still earlier. To drive would be best; it would insure our getting home in decent time. I hit upon BLIND WILLY. 129 an expedient, and was quite satisfied to practice a deception. It was likely to be successful, for the one reason that Lady Judiths name was not to appear in it. Upon a piece of paper, wbich I took care should not be of the cleanest, I wrote, in a disguised hand, the following words: If you want to find out something about Captain Whitelock and tim match you are going to ride on Babbling Fanny, go immediately to Laburnum Villa, Syden- ham. My master was at home. I went to him, without a moments delay, with the story that the piece of paper had been slipped into my hand by a person who looked like a stable-boy. He read it, and jumped to his feet. Do you know the place, Willy ? he asked. I know Sydenbam well, I replied, and I think I can take you straight to the house. I am sure I have seen the name ~ Perhaps its a trick, lie said. Trick or not, I said, it will do no harm going there. There may be some- thing in it, and theres more money than yours depending on the race. This remark had weight with him, and lie decided to go. So little time had been lost that by ten oclock we were on the road, rolling along at the rate of ten miles an hour. My master gave the reins to me, and leaning back in thought, spoke no word. Limpetts directions had been very precise, and I had no difficulty in finding the villa. To make sure, I alight- ed, and read the name on the posts of the garden gate. That is the house, I said, returning to my master. The windows were lighted up, and sounds of music proceeded from a room on the fi~ st floor. The windows of this room were partly open, the night being warm. We were almost directly in front of the house; there was no moon, and we were in darkness. There was therefore little danger of our being observed. On the other hand, the light in the room was so brilliant that we could see pretty clear- lv into it. Whats the first move, Willy ? asked my master. We never thought of that. Before I had time to reply, a woman be- gan to sing. There was nomistaking the voice: itwas Lady Judiths. My master listened, spell-bound; but when, the song being finished, lie saw Lady Judith come to the window, he awoke from his stupor. She turned her bead, and seemed to call to some one in the room. In response to the summons a man came to liar side. It was Captain Whitelock, and he was smoking a cigar. He passed his arm round Lady Judiths waist, and they stood laughing and talk- ing to~ether. Then my master said, very quietly, It is time to go home. He took the reins, and we drove back to London as we had comein silence. He uttered no word, and I did not venture to speak. The next day was the day before the race, and we drove to the training stables to see Babbling Fanny. The mare was in perfect condition. Fit to run for a mans life, the trainer said. Upon our return to London my master drove to certain friends who, to his knowledge, had back- ed Babbling Fanny. He sent me also with letters marked Private outside to other friends of his. He made no refer- ence to the scene we had witnessed on the previous night. He spent the evening at home, and was busy writing and making up accounts. Half an hour before mid- night, as lie was about to retire to bed, a telegram came for him. He read it, and handed it to me. It was from Lady Ju- dith, to the effect that she had just return- ed from Paris after a delightful fortnight passed in that city, and that she was look- ing forward eagerly for to-morrow, when she would meet him on the race-course. It was a long telegram, and it ended with the words, Be sure you winfor my sake 1 I show you the telegram, Willy, said my master, because you already know something of the shameful affair, and in order, if anything happens to me, that you may give any person the lie who cir- culates a false version of it to my dis- credit. What is going to happen to you l I asked, in alarm. I may break my neck to-morrow in trying to clear the ditch. Dont look frightened, he added, with a gay laugh. I have no such intention, I assure you. For a long time past I have been under the influence of a bad dream; I am heart- ily glad it is over. Look you, Willy; I like you, not because you think better of me than I deserve, but because you have 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. been, from first to last, honest and faith- ful; I feel safe with you, my lad. It hap- pens sometimes that a kind of evil en- chantment comes upon a man; it came upon me, and I have a notion that I have you to thank for dispelling it. I dont ask you to tell me anything; keep your secret, if you have one. Though I may come out of the affair a ruined man to- morrow, I shall not find life less enjoy- able on that account. As to what you saw last night, you will not speak of it while I live without my permission. And now, Willy, before we get to bed, one more word. Youre an Englishman, and if a woman hit you, it wouldnt enter your head to return the blow l No I said. Of course not, he said; but if a man who professed himself your friend gave you a foul blow, what then ? I should return it, I said, straight from the shoulder. Where he would most feel it, Willy, said my master, laughing again, even though it was in his pocket. Yes,~ I said, though I did not under- stand what he meant by the pocket. Exactly. That is what Im going to do. I want you to bear in mind a certain important fact in connection with the match to-morrow. Win or lose, not one of my friends, not a man who has acted squarely by me, will he a shilling out of pocket. Thats what Ive been busy about to-day. And now, good-night. He shook hands with me, and when I left him I swore to watch over him and protect him from danger. He had some plan in his head, I saw, and without know- ing anything about it, I was satisfied as to its justice. He was up in good time in the morn- ing, and I heard him singing in his bath. It gladdened me to know, from his cheer- ful voice, that his heart had never been really engaged in his affair with Lady Judith. She and Captain Whitelock had egged him on, and had endeavored to com- piomise him for their own purposes. We did not arrive on the race-course till a few minutes before the time for running the match, and we went at once to the pad- dock, where Babbling Fanny and Miss Selim were being saddled. The officer who owned and was to ride Miss Sehim was there, and complained of the book- makers, who had refused to accommodate him when he wanted to back his mare. Ill give you four monkeys to one, said my master. The book-makers look upon the race as a certainty, and dont care to meddle with it. But I learned afterward that it was by private arrangement with him that the book-makers would have nothing to do with it. He succeeded in his endeavor to keep the bets in private hands. It was while he and the officer were booking the bet of four monkeys to one that Captain Whitelock came up to them. Lady Judith has been looking out anxiously for you, he said to my mas- ter. I have only just arrived, said my master. I thought it best to keep myself cool, as you advised. If Lady Judith wishes, I will see her after the race. Of course she wishes, said Captain Whitelock. What bet are you book- ing ? My master showed it to him; Captain Whitelocks face was radiant. I shall win a pot, he said. Unless I happen to get beat, observed my master, cheerfully. The radiant look vanished from Cap- tam Whitelocks face. You haveift been hedging at all, have you ? he asked. Captain Whitelock, said my master, gravely, I havent hedged a shilling. If Miss Selim wins, I shall be pretty nearly, if not quite, ruined. I shall be in the same boat, said Cap- tain Whitelock; only you can afford it, and I cant. But nothing venture, no- thing win. As you stick to your bets, I shall stick to mine. I should say its a thousand to one on Babbling Fanny. Keep your eyes and your ears open, said my master to me, when he was in the saddle, and before lie passed out of the saddling paddock iuto the course. I did both, and posted myself close to Captain Whitelock and Lady Judith while Babbling Fanny and Miss Sehim were cantering down to the starter. Captain Whitelock was telling her that he had seen my master, who stood to lose a fortune on the match. He would be a better catch for me than you, after all, she said, in a low tone, but not so low that it did not reach my ears. Dont try any of your tricks upon me, my lady, he said, almost in a whis- per. I think I should be able to check- mate the pair of you. BLIND WILLY. 131 Dont talk nonsense, she replied. He doesnt suspect, does he ? Hes the greenest goose Ive ever met with, said Captain Whitelock. Alto- gether too good for such a wicked little devil as you. Their attention was now centred upon the horses. The flag fell and the bell rang. There was no attempt at racing for the first mile. Miss Selim held the lead, Babbling Fanny a couple of lengths in the rear. Thats the style, said Captain White- lock; hes playing a waiting race. Its a certainty. I tried to keep down my excitement. The horsesfenced beautifully, and skimmed the hurdles like swallows. Babbline, Fan- ny fell back a couple of lengths, and Miss Selim held a four lengths lead. There was still, however, a mile and a half to go. He can make it up when he likes, said Captain Whitelock, trembling from excitement. Id give a thousand pounds to see Miss Sehiin break her neck at the ditch. But Miss Seljin cleared the ditch in grand style, and sailed along with a long, low stride which caused shout3 in her fa- vor to be raised all over the course. Bab- bling Fanny also cleared the ditch, though not in such fine style as her rival, nnd was now at least a dozen lengths behind. Come on! come on 1 screamed Cap- tain Whitelock. Two miles were passed, and a wide gap still separated the horses. They did not make a mistake at the hurdles, but Miss Selim seemed to have the foot of Babbling Fanny. Before the last hurdle was reach- ed there was a hill, and here Babbling Fanny gained two or three lengths. Its all right, sighed Captain White- lock, but it was risking too much to keep so far behind. The last hurdle was safely got over, and then Miss Selims rider raised his whip. Hurrah! cried Captain Whitelock, as he saw Babbling Fanny gaining on her rival. Why dont you come on? It was too late. Miss Selim passed the winning-post two lengths ab cad. I looked at Captain Whitelock. He was as white as a ghost, and there was blood on his lip: he had bitten it through. I made my way immediately to the saddling paddock. The officer who had ridden Miss Selim was pale with excite- ment, and almost reeled in the saddle as he passed through the gate. My masters face was pale also, but he was calm. Well, he said, as I assisted him to dismount, the comedy is finished. There was a sudden commotion in the crowd, and Captain Whitelock pushed his way through. He would have come close to my master had I not stood between them. What do you want l said my mas- ter. Have you lost money on the race? So have I. I will give any man fifty thousand pounds to pay my losses. You shall answer to me for this, said Captain Whitelock. I will answer you now, said my master, and I tell you that you are ei- ther a scheming scoundrel or a contempt- ible fool. The sympathy of the by-standers was so clearly with my mastermany men whom lie knew and whom he had saved from loss gathering around him with expres- sions of sympathy-that Captain White- lock was hustled about. You shall hear from me before the day is over, he muttered, and took his departure. Come, Willy, said my master, let us go into the ring.~~ There he conducted himself so cheerful- hy,chatting genially, and bearing his great losses so bravely, that sympatliizin~ hands were stretched out to him from all sides. There could be no doubt, from what I heard, that not one of his friends was a suf- ferer by the result of the match. There were only two losers, himself and Captain Whitelock. The captain had taken his departure from the race-course; Lady Ju- dith also had disappeared. I related to my master the conversation I had overheard between them. She has set me free, he said, blithely; but we have not heard the last of the af- fair. Captain Whitelock will challenge me, and will propose that we shall cross the Channel for the duel. Mention it to no one, my lad. You will iiot accept the challenge ? I cried. I must, lie said. Not another word, Willy; I will not allow it. I am the judge of my own honor. Now, indeed, I had something to occupy my thoughts. The scene in the shooting- gallery came before me again, and I knew 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that my master was a dead man unless I could prevent the challenge and the duel. And I determined to prevent it, at what- ever cost and risk to myself. The scheme that suggested itself was a mad one enough in all conscience, but I resolved to carry it out if it cost me my life. My story is coming to an end, and I am going to tell you exactly why it was that my master did not receive the challenge from Captain Whitelock. He never quite knew the truth of it, for I have never spokeii of it till now. A moment, friend. Has not some one come into the room? No one? Then my ears must have de- ceived me. Well, this was the way of it. Take my hand in yours and feel it. Tough and hard, isnt it? Grip mine as hard as you can; harderharder. Your fingers are like haby fln~ers as they twine themselves round mine. I could crush every hone in them with my ~teel grip; as I crushed every hone in Captain Whitelocks right hand, and rendered it impossible for him ever again to hold a pistol in it. He occupied chambers, as my master did. I knew I should find him at home early in the evening, and a few minutes after my master and I returned from the races I knocked at Captain Whitelocks door. His own voice bade me enter. He was alone, and was standing at a table examining a pair of pistols. He looked at nie with a strange smile. I was just thinking of your master, lie said. Have you come to me with an apology from him? You can take it back, and tell him that with one of these toys I shall shoot him through the heart. I dont come from my master, I said, and as I spoke I turned the key in his door; I am here on my own account, and I have a watch-word for you. Your design seems to he robbery, he said, roused to anger hy the purposed insolence of my tone. Unlock that door. Hear my watch-word first, I said. Out with it, then I he cried. Laburnum Villa, Sydenham. I saw by his livid face that he knew all had been discovered. With an oath lie threw himself upon me, and raised his ri~ht hand with a pistol in it. I seized the hand, and the pistol went off obliquely across my eyes. From that moment I have been stone-blind. But I did not let go his hand; I held on to it, and crushed it in mine. He scream- ed with pain, and his cries brought people to the door, which they could not imme- diately open. While they were beating it in, Captain Whitelock and I struggled all over the room. Let go ! he shrieked; you are crush- ing my fingers You shall never use them again I muttered, between my teeth. It was a brutal act, I know, and I have only to plead, in justification of it, that it saved my dear masters life, for from that evening Captain Whitelocks right hand was powerless for mischief. I was taken up for it, of course, and tried; but Captain Whitelock said nothing at the trial of the injury to his hand. The charge against me was attempted robbery, accompanied by violence. I was sen- tenced to five years imprisonment. That is the whole of my story, friend, which I have related to you by my mas- ters orders. I[ have told it ill if I have not made it clear to you that there lives not on Gods earth a nobler-hearted gen- tleman than Sir Edmund Barry. How long have you known him? Over a year? Well, you should have got a pretty good inkling of his character in that time. And how was it that Lady Judith came to you and called him a cheat and a coward? She was driving accidentally thiough the village, was she? Yes. Go on. And hearin~ that Sir Edmund Barry was here, and was well liked? Yes, yes; go on. And not only well liked, but well loved? Yes, yes; that was sure to be. Go on. Stop! What was that you said? And going to be married to your daugh- ter? What, to that young lady who sin~s my masters songs so sweetly? God bless herand him! I see it all. Lady Judiths venom showed itself when she heard the news, and she thought she would spoil my masters happiness. But she hasnt done so, has she? Hes as good and true a gentleman as any girl in the land could hope to win. That woman has not stepped in the way of his happiness, has she? No ? Then God bless you! There is some one stirring in the room. You cant deceive me any longer. I know the step. Willy ! My dear master! God bless you! God bless you! Let me kiss the hand of the lady you love! BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. A THANKSGIVING STORY. BY BLANCHE WILLIS hOWARD. 1.THE FLIGhT. WHEN the Gardines and the Glyn- dons assembled in full force, it was like the gathering of two mighty Scotch clans. Arrayed in wedding garments, t~iey now stood on the platform of the railway station at Pineville, concentrating their attention npon two yonng people at a window of a parlor-car, and indulging in those well-meant but inane remarks which seem, by common consent, to be- long to the amenities of travel. Be sure and not take cold, Beryl. Write often, wont you ? And, John, if you should happen to see Consin Thomas, give hini my love. And mine to Cousin Anne, Beryl. And a kiss to dear little Charlie. And remember to give my kindest re- gards to old Dr. Mason. Oh, Beryl, the aconite and nux are in a corner of your dressing-case. Take care of yourself, old fellow. And take good care of Beryl. And write often. And dont take cold. Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine, but two hours previous pronounced man aiid wife, looked as bright and unconcerned as if they were starting off to play tennis, he twenty-one, dark, a genuine Gardine; she seventeen, fair, a tine Glyndon both comely, amiable, and gay, and nearly as ignorant of life as two kittens. To the benisons and warnings flung at them by their kinsfolk they responded with smiles, nods, and an occasional inco- herent and random word. The locomo- tive began to draw deep breaths, like a cuPbed living thing eager for escape, and its slow inexorable puff-pus caused all the Gardines and all the Glyndons to val- iantly raise their voices for a final charge, and aniid the frantic fluttering of two- score pocket-handkerchiefs to call after the receding fl~ures at the window a se- ries of confused and undistinguishable shrieks: Dont take cold, Beryl ! And do write often! And, John, givemy love to And pray try to see Nux and aconite But above the whirling fragments of affectionate arid liortatory remark the voice of Aunt Susan Glyndon rang out, clear and commandin~ as a war-trump- et, Children, come home for Thanksgiv- ing Jack and Beryl, now fairly off, gave one long look into each others eyes, and broke into a hearty laugh. If Aunt Susan only knew ! began Beryl, as soon as she could speak. If they any of them knew ! rcturned Jack. After which they laughed again in de- licious contemplation of some mysterious idea known only to them. When Beryl had sufficiently recovered to wipe the mer- ry tears from her eyes, and Jacks parox- ysm of mirth had subsided into low inter- ruittent chuckles, she exclaimed, with as much sarcasm as her placid and rosy face could express: Thanksgiving, indeed! The most dreadful day ! Because the most of a family day, Jack chimed in. Thanksgiving is the family, he added, sententiously. And such a family! Jack, I really dont know what weve ever done to de- serve it. Its ridiculous! Anybody might think we were Europeans ! she conclud- ed, with indignant emphasis. And when we consider, reflected her husband, that its not the etiquette of the Spanish court, but purely affectionate in- terest which has Watched over us, she interrupted, impetuously, and followed us, and ac- companied our goings out and comings in and listened to every word weve spo- ken, and repeated it to twenty-six Glyn- dons And twenty-seven Gardines, groan- ed Jack. -And rejoiced with us so intrusive- ly, and beamed satisfaction at us, and suf- focated us with sympathy, and, in short, chaperoned us so closely that weve never been really alone together until now. Alone ! exclaimed Jack, glancing impatiently up and down the well-filled car. Yet you wouldnt let me take ~ compartment. Because I simply will not look like a bride, she returned, complacently, push-

Blanche Willis Howard Howard, Blanche Willis Beryl's Happy Thought. A Thanksgiving Story 133-151

BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. A THANKSGIVING STORY. BY BLANCHE WILLIS hOWARD. 1.THE FLIGhT. WHEN the Gardines and the Glyn- dons assembled in full force, it was like the gathering of two mighty Scotch clans. Arrayed in wedding garments, t~iey now stood on the platform of the railway station at Pineville, concentrating their attention npon two yonng people at a window of a parlor-car, and indulging in those well-meant but inane remarks which seem, by common consent, to be- long to the amenities of travel. Be sure and not take cold, Beryl. Write often, wont you ? And, John, if you should happen to see Consin Thomas, give hini my love. And mine to Cousin Anne, Beryl. And a kiss to dear little Charlie. And remember to give my kindest re- gards to old Dr. Mason. Oh, Beryl, the aconite and nux are in a corner of your dressing-case. Take care of yourself, old fellow. And take good care of Beryl. And write often. And dont take cold. Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine, but two hours previous pronounced man aiid wife, looked as bright and unconcerned as if they were starting off to play tennis, he twenty-one, dark, a genuine Gardine; she seventeen, fair, a tine Glyndon both comely, amiable, and gay, and nearly as ignorant of life as two kittens. To the benisons and warnings flung at them by their kinsfolk they responded with smiles, nods, and an occasional inco- herent and random word. The locomo- tive began to draw deep breaths, like a cuPbed living thing eager for escape, and its slow inexorable puff-pus caused all the Gardines and all the Glyndons to val- iantly raise their voices for a final charge, and aniid the frantic fluttering of two- score pocket-handkerchiefs to call after the receding fl~ures at the window a se- ries of confused and undistinguishable shrieks: Dont take cold, Beryl ! And do write often! And, John, givemy love to And pray try to see Nux and aconite But above the whirling fragments of affectionate arid liortatory remark the voice of Aunt Susan Glyndon rang out, clear and commandin~ as a war-trump- et, Children, come home for Thanksgiv- ing Jack and Beryl, now fairly off, gave one long look into each others eyes, and broke into a hearty laugh. If Aunt Susan only knew ! began Beryl, as soon as she could speak. If they any of them knew ! rcturned Jack. After which they laughed again in de- licious contemplation of some mysterious idea known only to them. When Beryl had sufficiently recovered to wipe the mer- ry tears from her eyes, and Jacks parox- ysm of mirth had subsided into low inter- ruittent chuckles, she exclaimed, with as much sarcasm as her placid and rosy face could express: Thanksgiving, indeed! The most dreadful day ! Because the most of a family day, Jack chimed in. Thanksgiving is the family, he added, sententiously. And such a family! Jack, I really dont know what weve ever done to de- serve it. Its ridiculous! Anybody might think we were Europeans ! she conclud- ed, with indignant emphasis. And when we consider, reflected her husband, that its not the etiquette of the Spanish court, but purely affectionate in- terest which has Watched over us, she interrupted, impetuously, and followed us, and ac- companied our goings out and comings in and listened to every word weve spo- ken, and repeated it to twenty-six Glyn- dons And twenty-seven Gardines, groan- ed Jack. -And rejoiced with us so intrusive- ly, and beamed satisfaction at us, and suf- focated us with sympathy, and, in short, chaperoned us so closely that weve never been really alone together until now. Alone ! exclaimed Jack, glancing impatiently up and down the well-filled car. Yet you wouldnt let me take ~ compartment. Because I simply will not look like a bride, she returned, complacently, push- 134 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing the hassock with a boot convicted of to tell each other all in our heartsever utter newness by its conspicuously clean get really talked out, you know, Jack. sole, and reaching a faultlessly gloved Of course not; but I cant yet realize hand after a brand-new travelling bag that weve escaped, and that some of them resplendent with silver monogram and wont appear in a moment-Cousin Carry mountin~,s. I was trying to tell you with her eternal cup-cake. my idea about brides that day in the li- Or mamma with a shawl, laughed brary when Arthur interrupted us. I be- Beryl. lieve I never began to tell anything but Or Harry wanting help with his al- somebody interrupted. You see, I wouldnt gebra. have a compartment any more than I Or Aunt Susan simply and literally would wear gray, which mamma prefers, hanging round. but which I think looks lovey-dovey, or Yes, l3eryl, she was the worst. brown, which Aunt Mary declares is the Wasnt she! As stiff as a clothes-pin only proper thing, but which I find quite and as dry as a nutmeg. Its been no- too conspicuously bridey. Why, every thing less than persecution. To think girl I know has gone on her wedding that even when you first told me that you journey in either gray or brown! Where- loved me, and we did suppose we were as, Jackturning her face temptingly quite alonepeople usually are at such toward him, and smiling in triumph at times her own astuteness-in this black Hen- And it was just dusk, and you looked rietta cloth with a box-pleated skirt, no- like an angel in your white dress. body could possibly suspect me. And there we stood on the back pi- You would look beautiful in any- azzawed barely managed to escape from thing, whispered John, fervently, lean- the others, and my heart was beating so ing over her, and after pretending to ar- fast ! range the window-shade, letting his hand It seemed so long before you spoke. fall upon hers with a lingering pressure. But I couldnt speak, Jack. The old gentleman opposite smiled be- And I began to fear you liked Bob. niguly, and adjusted his newspaper at an Oh, Jack! Bob? Bob is very nice, angle of consideration for the lovers, and but Bob isnt you. the negro porter delicately failed to offer And there we stood, and it was so them coffee, which he happened to be car- still- ryin~ by on a large tray. And, con- When suddenly Aunt Susanoh, tinned Jack, you do have the brightest Jack, wasnt she awful ?coughied quite ideas, Beryl. You certainly are the very distinctly at the second- story window, cleverest girl I ever saw. and called out: Well, Beryl, dont dilly- Oh, I dont know as Im really dcv- dally. Speak up and say youll have er, Beryl responded, modestly. But him, and then hurry in to tea, or the ideas I must say I do have, and many muffins will fall. Muffins! Oh, Jack! thoughts about life that Ive wanted to And its been muffins or something else tell you so often; but there, with such a ever since. ~ family ! But weve turned the tables now, ~We shall have time now, Beryl, Beryl, thanks to your happy thought. Jack said, softly, and with so amorous a And Thanksgiving will come, and the glance that the old maid in the corner stupid old turkey and mince-pies and blushed and wheeled round with a jerk. plum-pudding. Oh yes, years amid years, yet never And the speech about the Pilgrim time enough to say all. How long do Fathers and the family hearth-stone. you suppose we shall live, Jack ? And the family will seek us in vain. Well, the Gardines and Glyndons am e And the family will oh and ah both long-lived races. Grandfather Gar- and wonder dine is eighty-two. And twenty-six Glyndons And Grandpa Glyndon is eighty. And twenty-seven Gardines And yet, Jack, if we live to be as old as Will run distractedly to and fro, and that (and we probably shall, for we are hold up fifty-three astonished hands__ going to be so happy, and happiness And not a voice will disturb us makes people healthy), why, even then I Not a letter will reach us. Oh, Jack, dont believe we shall have time enough dearest Jack, its heavenly ! BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 13~i As near as was possible in two obdu- rately screwed-down chairs these ingenu- ous young people approached each other. Low, fast, laughingly, their indefatigable voices ran on. Their fellow - travellers enjoyed them much. What cared they? Jack saw only his bride, and she was se- cure in the disguise of her black Henri- etta. Everybody knew that this conspicuous- ly blissful young couple had tickets for Boston. The conductor knew it officially; the diplomatic porter knew because it was his province to know everything; the be- nign old gentleman knew because lie was curious, and had looked at the tickets; and all the other people knew whether they would or no, the Gardines and Glyndons assembled on the platform at Pineville having proclaimed it generously to the four winds of heaven. Yet as the train went on, after a brief stop at a certain ob- scure little station, in the very middle of the car stood two empty chairs. All the brightness and beauty, the youth, hilari- ty, and unconsciousness, which had made that spot a pleasant place had vanished. The rigid chair backs looked much farther apart than before, and destitute of any de- sire to lend themselves to mysterious and amused confidences. People stared curi- ously at the sudden void, then accepted it as a fact. The old gentleman, finding his surroundings no longer entertaining, covered his face with a large silk handker- chief and went to sleep. The train steamed toward its legitimate destination, and bore on to Boston two ownerless trunks, each marked with a large G., but Mr. and Mrs. John Gardinewhere were they? In a country chaise, with an extempo- rized front seat for the driver, the lovers fled through November twilight mists, their faces turned seaward. The road grew rough and boggy, and scarcely wider than a bridle-path. They floundered and jolted over fallen branches. Wet boughs hung low and scraped the chaise-top liea- vily, and flung showers of drops in their laughing faces. They took it all as a l)art of the universal joke. The stolid- eyed young driver, inwardly consumed by curiosity, kept his broad back turned upon the eccentric pair. Behind this rus- tic shelter their mirth bubbled irrepressi- bly, and their spirits rose ever higher, as strong salt gusts proclaimed the near pre- sence of the Atlantic. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.12 11.LOVE IN A COTTAGE. St. Simon Stylites on his pillar had no Beryl, and St. Barbara on her tower no John, but otherwise the seclusion neither of pillar nor tower was more complete than that of the shooting-box ii~ which Jack and Beryl sought refuge from the clamorous attentions of their friends. St. Barbaras tower had three windows, the shooting - box five. St. Simon Stylitess pillar was exposed to wind and weather. So was the shooting-box, through whose multitudinous crevices and crannies fierce Atlantic blasts swept at will. The small rough house stood on a bleak point, which for all romantic purposes sufficiently re- sembled the traditional desert island of shipwrecked mariners, being surrounded on three sides by wild waves, while its approach from land was at most seasons submerged enough to necessitate wading. If Jack could have hired a conveniently located little desert island, lie would doubt- less, in his pardonably exalted state of mind, have paid an extravagant price for it. But lie was none the less grateful to a deceased uncle for having created the shooting-box, and left hiini the key, with some more valuable possessions, in his will. The genius of solitude extended his wings over that little hermitage. Sand, sea, the horizon, comprised its view, with a dark line of woods running across the neck which led inland. A passing sail by day and the distant light-house flame by night were the most enlivening objects in range. A poet. a painter, might have been happy here with unveiled nature; a misanthrope could not have chosen a niore appropriate den in which to secrete him- self and curse the world; a philosopher wrapped in reflection would have paced the three small rooms and the knee-deep sand before the door with calm appropri- ateness. Jacks uncle had not permitted himself the luxury of being a pronounced poet, painter, philosopher, or misanthrope, but was a bit of each by turns, and a fair sportsman to boot. Shut in between four walls lined xvith dusty legal tomes, he ex- perienced periodical yearnings for air and space. This had led him to buy the Neck, and build the rou~h little dwelling which, for reasons of his own, lie named Owls Roost. Here he would sometimes retreat for a while, quite alone, in restful hermit fashion, which the world called eccentric. 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Again, he would summon from their va- rious ~haunts other bachelors like himself for a season of shooting, fishin ~, and was - sail, and at this the world very properly (irew (lown the corners of its mouth, and bad no epithet sufficiently severe to apply to those days of revelry when Jehu with his boon companions would drive out to Owls Roost in a dog-cart, and be met on the sands by their sun-browned hearty host, Nimrod. Camping here with guns and fishing-tackle, and holding high car- nival, the jolly sportsmen from inland cities gloried in their fre~dom, and when they returned to the daily routine of busi- ness they had in vested the barren isolated spot with charms difficult to prove to a dispassionate mind. With all indulgence for the frailties of Owls Roost, it cannot he denied that its interior wore a somewhat battered, old- bachelor aspect. Pipes and card-tables, prehistoric cigar stumps, and eloquent bits of broken wineglasses met Beryls glance of innocent surprise as she entered the first low, roughly plastered room. A stags head raised its proud antlers over the door, and on a shelf perched a graduated row of owls, twelve in number, and most impressive from the hypnotic stare of their glass eyes. Stoves of an asthmatic air-tight descrip- tion were not wanting, and John had sent out fuel, as well as a huge supply of Al- bert biscuit, canned meats, fruits and vege- tables, pickles and sardines. What more could two fond hearts seeking a prolong- ed t6te-4-t~te desire? While Jack kindled the fires in the dis- used stoves, Beryl, at first animated and alert, examined everything with dainty curiosity. It was chilly, and the chimney smoked. She shivered and coughed slightly. It was not an ominous sound, but the young husband turned his face, red from zealous blowing, and looked at her with appre- hension. It will be warmer soon, she respond- ed, cheerfully. That stove isnt like our great open fire in the hail; but we couldnt bring that along with us very well. A house where no one has lived for some time is always queer; but its exact- ly what we wanted, isnt it, Beryl ? kneel- ing and blowing strenuously. O1~, its perfect, she assured him,with a shiver, drawing a heavy travelling shawl round her shoulders. Jack, why didnt your uncle have window-curtains? It looks so black and horrid out there. Ill close the shutters, you dear little coward. Fortunately we have no neigh- bors to look in-theres not a soul within ten miles. During his brief and legitimate absence she was nervous and homesick, and wish- ed that lie would come back. There was something ghastly in the concentrated stare of those twelve birds of wisdom. She started violently when Jack, after a struggle, closed an obstinate shutter with a bang. For weeks Beryl had longed for this moment, and had hoarded countless pre- cious themes in regard to which they two, once alone, should exchange the results of their observation, necessarily imma- ture, but on that account all the more de- lightfully positive and incontestable in its mode of expression. But the conversa- tional frigate which we most heavily load is rarely the one upon which we embark. No lofty sentiment occurred to either of them,as Johubreathiess and a little grimy, concluded his unwonted labors and ten- derly embraced his bride. Aloneat last! he exclaimed. Yes responded Beryl, gravely re- gaiding the bare plaster walls and the air- tight stove; and how pleasant it is! Jack, how did your uncle look? Was he tall and terribly pale? I cant help im- agining him like the Corsican brothers. Her apprehensive glance peered through the doorway into the darkness of the next room. What a joke! He was rather short and stout, and awfully jolly. Beryl gently repudiated the more cheer- ful description, and clung to her first ro- mantic sketch. How he must have suf- fered! she murmured, pensively. Jack, how long did he ever stay in this place alone at any one time ? It must by no means be supposed that this conversation flowed on with a regular pendulum swing of question and answei, as when a long-hooked-for bishop catechises a long-expectant Sunday-school. On the contrary, there were oft-recurring blissful pauses. The two young people were sit- ting in one corner of a small, straight- backed sofa, apparently with the laudable intention of economizing space. As nei- tImer of them had ever economized any- thing else, it was surely a step in the right BEIRYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 137 direction. Recovering herself after cer- tain interruptions, Beryl returned to her categorical demands. How long did the poor man ever stay here all alone ? Oh, I dont know. Six weeks, per- haps. But he liked it. Then Merrill and Little and Smith used to drive down, and they had clam chowders and a lark gen- erallv. Liked it! Oh, Jack, when I think of that lonely, heroic man concealing his sadness when his friends drove down Yes, he concealed it well, chuckled Jack. And playing the part of genial host He did that uncommonly well too. And keeping up, Jackkeeping up so bravely, while they were here, and then, after they were gone, returning to his melancholy, desperate thoughts, to his solitude and desolation in this awful place oh, Jack, when I remember all that, I could cry Dont cry, Beryl, begged poor Jack, with some excitement; and whats the use of bothering about uncle? He was a capital fellow, and I have every reason to be grateful to him; but lies gone, you know. ~Thy, Jack, you wouldnt reproach me for a feeling of commiseration for an unhappy, misunderstood man,would you? What did he do down here ? she persisted. Do? Why, lie fished, and went shoot- ing. He shot no end of snipe, and upland plover too, back there across the neck, and quail and partridges. Snipe! repeated Beryl, sadly, and shook her head with an astute air which would. have exasperated Jack had his mood heen less fond. Snipe! Poor, poor man ! Suddenly she stared at the wall xvith a horrified Oh, Jack! is that gun loaded ? If it is, it wont go off. Its too damp. Oh, dont go near it; it might burst. Old guns are apt to explode, arent they? Oh, please dont trifle with it. Cant you take it up gently and throw it out of the window ? Why, Beryl, I didnt know you were afraid of a gun.~~ Every sensible person is afraid of a gun, she rejoined, with a touch of asper- ity born of fear. Jack looked wonderingly at her, and was silent. A great gust rattled the windows and swept like a cold wave along the floor. It seemed to Beryl that the gloomy thud of the sea grew louder and nearer. Jack, if burglars should attack us! No one within ten miles, did you say ? Burglars ~ be returned, with a laugh. Why, there isnt a burglar in the world mean enough to show himself in a hole like this. The sea sounded angry and threatening. The feeble lamp-flame was burning on one side of the wick, and strug~,ling painfully for existence. A depressing chilliness and dampness pervaded the atmosphere. Beryl looked pale, cold, and undemonstra- tive. Jack, cheerfully undaunted, deter- mined to approve of his surroundings. What is commonly called tact was not, perhaps, his greatest virtue. Think, Beryl, if we werent here to- night, we should be cooped up in a com- monplace hotel. Not that I dont approve of hotel comforts, but one doesnt go on one~s wedding journey every day, and I must say your idea was clever and unique. It was a happy thou~ht. So here we are, all alone, miles and miles away from ev- erybody, and the sea roaring and the wind howling like mad; whereas in unroman- tic Boston we should be toasting our toes before a hot coal grate, and have oysters and gas and easy-chairs, and everything as prosaic and comfortable as possible. Instead of replying, Beryl leaned for- ward and fixed her strangely intent gaze upon a distant dusky corner. The next instant she was poised on a chair, tightly clutching her skirts and holding them high. Oh, Jack! oh, Jack! ohm, Jack! she screamed, in shrill and terrified crescendo. For Heavens sake, Beryl Oh, cant you see? Oh, Jack, its a mouse! There! He gave one glance at the corner iiidi- cated by her desperate gesture, another at her convulsive attitude, then broke into laughter as jolly and irrepressible as any that had pealed there in response to after- dinner stories durin~ the halcyon days of his uncles hospitality, and, ardent young lover as lie was, a passing thought cross- ed his mind that what Emerson calls the restraining grace of common-sense niight at this moment improve even Beryl. Still, since the exhibition of feminine weakness is by no means a displeasing tribute to mas- culine strength, lie controlled his mirth, 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and walked toward her with an air at once superior and indulgent. In the experi- euce of every youthful married couple there are moments when lie, again when she, seems to be the more mature. Jack, through no virtue of his own, belonging to the sex in which nature has implanted no acute and agonizin~ dread of the mouse, andin justice be it addedto the sex whose costuriie, except in benighted lands where men wear draperies, presents less surface and fewer iiitricate folds in which the mouse can secrete himself, now as- sumed a patriarchal and benign aspect, and extending protectin~ arms, murmur- ed reassuringly, much as he would have tried to soothe a nervotis horse, There, Beryl; therethere ! But lie reckoned without his host. She cast one exhaustive glance at the corner haunted by the hated quadruped, relaxed for the first time her frenzied grasp of her skirts, pushed her husbands hand dis- dainfully aside, sprang down, and burst- ing into tears, threw herself upon the sofa. You laughed, she ejaculated throu~h deep-drawn sobs. I know I did, he returned, con- tritely. You laughedheartily. You see, I didnt know girls acted in that fashion, he apologized. If Id known, I wouldnt have laughed. I may have heard of it, but it never made any impression upon me before. And you, who swim and ride- What has a horse to do with a mouse? she demanded, shortly, behind her hand- kerchief. Well. I know, lie admitted, in gen- tlest propitiation. To bring me down here to this dismal place, and then laugh at me ! she gasped, with a fresh paroxysni of grief. But,Beryl, he demanded, inordinate- ly surprised at this accusation, and speak- ing with considerable liveliness but, Beryl, honestly now, who proposed this scheme? Who first suggested coming here? Who longed to be away from the world alomie with each other, and all that ? Beryl wept no more. Slowly rising from her half - recumbent position, she drew herself up with dignity to her full height, and confronted him with wet and solemn eyes. And if I did propose it, Jack Gar- dine, she said, with tragic emphasis, is it generous of you to remind me of it now He stared at her, discomfited and bewil- dered. Her grandly illogical charge had routed him completely. He began to whistle softly between his teeth and pace the room. He had known Beryl Glyndon all her life. They had been playmates as chil- dren, friends and comrades always. The course of their affection had run very smoothly. Everybody desired and ex- pected the enga~ement. There had not been one obstacle, one single lurid gleaum of tragedy. Beryl was the dearest, pret- tiest, cleverest girl in the world, and if he didnt know her, why, lie didiit know his own brothers and sisters, he didnt know himself. Stillcasting a furtive glance at her tear-stained averted face still, she had succeeded in surprising him greatly, aiid the trouble was lie didnt know how to make thiin~s right. Beryl was so placid, even - tempered, and amiable! All the Gardines and Glyn- dons pronounced her emphatically the most amiable girl in town. And even if she were less amiable, what in Heaven~s name had he done? Was he to blame that she was afraid of a mouse? Was a laugh a crime? Really Beryl ought to have more consideration. When before had a Gardine on his wed- ding journey failed to take his bride to the best hotels? Who but Beryl had pro- posed this rough-and-ready performance? To be sure, he had cordially acquiesced, for the Gardines amid Glyndons had been mnaddening in their sustained ubiquitous- ness; and Beryls happy thought, confided to him by fragments, with an interested aunt, a sympathetic cousin, or a fond elder sister continually hovering about and in- terrupting, had impressed him as the fresh- est and most attractive bit of rebellion against family traditioii that could be con- ceived. After all, lie had reasoned, a man and his wife can go anywhere they please. It had seemed odd, as he ordered aU those canned things, to think that when they should open and eat them, Beryl would be his wife. She had slipped her list into his prayer-book at morning service a cer- tam Sunday, and he, seizing his opportu- nity, had given her hand a shi~ht squeeze as it gently withdrew from the book lying on the pew cushion between them. As luck would have it, Aunt Susan turned BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 139 her head that very moment, and stared at them from the pew in front with her air of proprietorship. Of course she saw the squeeze. She had never indulged in such weakness herself, but she had certainly succeeded in catching on the wing all the squeezes and kisses designed for other peo- ple in her neighborhood. Happily she had not spied the paper. That evening, in the library, he had whis- pered to Berylwhile Uncle Henry turn- ed his head away to sneezethat her idea of house-keeping was evidently a gigantic kind of picnic. She replied with so be- witching a smile that lie would have kiss- ed her for it had not Uncle Henry, hay- in~ satisfactorily achieved his sneeze, now given his undivided attention to the young people. Why should Beryl be displeased? And Jacks uneasy stride gained momentum. Had he not made every effort to gratify her whims? Had he not ordered con- densed milk, which lie despised, and thought of fuel and kerosene, and char- tered the vehicle and the boy? Why was she unreasonable and silent? Much aggrieved, his mood sinking fast toward sullenness, his honest face grow- ing heavy and set, lie continued his reflec- tions and his promenade. As his mental alienation from Beryl increased, he widen- ed the actual distance between them, ad- vancing into the second roomonce the kitchen, where his uncle had proudly broiled his own birdsturning there and walking hack toward the motionless, ob- stinate figure, returning and prolonging his comfortless course into the outer dark- ness of the little sleeping-room beyond. His monotonous march and the sound of the winds and waves were loud in the silent cottage. And Beryl? As Jacks heart hardened, hers softened. It was strangely dismal down here. She had rarely been away from home be- fore, except, indeed, to other girls homes. The Glyndoiis did not approve of board- ing-schools, and even for her so-called ac- complishments teachers had come to the house. Beryl was a home-child, and near- ly every night of her life had gone to sleep in her little white room overlooking the garden. To become engaged to Jack Gardine had been the most natural thing in the world, and the whole time of their en- gagement delightful, although exciting. Something was always going on. There were dinners, suppers, and dances; dress- makers, seamstresses, and journeys to Bos- ton for shopping; in short, the time had passed very rapidly. The truth was, now that it was all over, she felt tired and urn nerved. The day, too, hind been exciting. Be- fore she was scarcely awake, her mother and aunts and cousins and cousins cous- ins had kissed her, and wept over her, and wished her happiness, and begged her to he calm. Beryl was usually very calm, but this was enough to shake the nerves of a snail. A bride is a puppet in the hands of her nearest and dearest women - folk. The chief personage in the drama, she must yet be wanting in will and initiative. Beryl had been arrayed in white for the church by a dozen eager hands, which seized her after the marriage ceremony and put her into her travelling dress as if she were a soulless doll. Everything had seemed hurried arid queer. No one had consulted her about anything. Even in church she had felt less solenin than she anticipated, and could not help observing what funny wrinkles the Rev. Mr. Tasker hind on each side of his nose. Well, what was the trouble now? Here they were beyond the reach or ken of the familyonly she and Jackand yet she was standing with her back turned, and lie was striding moodily up and down as if they had quarrelled. Somebody hind told her that a man and his wife usually have a quarrel during the first six nionths of married life. But the very first day that would be terrible! It was strange to be there in that dreary place, stared at by owls, shrieked at by winds. Involuntarily she pictured the fa- miliar faces and brightness of home. Still, she had chosen this, and she had chosen Jack. How good he was! What pos- sessed her to be foolish, and make him glooniy? But it should not be a quarrel. She turned toward himhesitated stopped short. He was now vanishing in the darkness of the last little room. Behind him came a pair of rapid feet. Jack, Jack, pleaded a soft voice, and the quarrel was nipped in the bud. 111.A CONVERSATIONAL LULL. Does tragedy make the character, or is the character the cause of the tragedy? How long would Romeo and Juliet have, 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. found each other entertaining at Owls Roost, provided all the iVLontagues and Capulets had been ea~er for the match from the beginning? Suppose Juliet, conventionally designed for Romeo, had played dolls, top, croquet, and tennis with him in peaceable progression, had danced the german with him at neighbors houses, met him at concerts, rowing parties, and church fairswould she still, in spite of these cheerful mundane auspices, have been classically passionate and touching? How long would Hero and Leander have been blissful, cooped up in that fishing- box, assuming that Leander were not obliged to swim over, thereby creating daily excitement and interest? And might not Jack and Beryl, if opposed by fate, cruelly maltreated by all the Gar- dines and Glyndons, doomed from birth to tragedy and woe, present a more digni- fied and rounded aspect of romance dur- ing their sojourn at Owls Roost? For in shamefaced apology it must be confess- ed that whatever was the cause, whether owing to too much worldly ease or too little natural aptitude for the heroic, their conduct was singularly unimpressive. They began their picnic life the next morning with much sprighti mess. Get- ting breakfast presented certain difficulties and humorous situations, which they en- joyed. It rained hard, apparently set- ting in for a long November storm, Jack prophesied, with a weather-wise air. So much the better, said Beryl, cheerfully revertipg to first principles. We have such worlds to say to each other, and we shall have no interrup- tions. No, I should say not, Jack muttered, with a queer long glance through a very obscure and grimy window-pane, out upon the gray flat wet landscape. But that is what we like, protested Beryl. Oh, yes, yes; certainly, Jack assured her, with suspicious haste. Beryl washed the breakfast dishes with few conveniences. Jack manfully tend- ed the fires. These homely duties were performed with spirit and a certain pic- turesqueness, and sweetened by expres- sions of mutual affection and apprecia- tion. After their labors they seated them- selves on the ascetic sofa, the long rainy day stretching on before them. Surely the hour for unbounded soul revelation had now struck. Silence reigned in the cottage. The air - ti~ht stove crackled sharply npw and then, and puffed. Beryl listened with tranquil pleasure to the tick- ing of her new watch. Jack, she said, gently. Yes, darling. How long did you say your poor uncle staid here all alone 2 My poor uncle! But, Beryl, when I tell you he liked it Oh, yes, yes; I forgot, she murmur- ed, conciliatingly. Another long silence. Jack. Yes, dearest. Not that Im not perfectly satisfied, and dont find it all delightfulbut, Jack, I only wanted to ask-do you think you would have preferred the light-house? You remember my first idea was a light- house. It was a brilliant idea, but, you see, an obdurate government couldnt have been induced at so short notice to displace some worthy individual and give us the appointment. Its a pity, she returned, with an ab- stracted air; for there is so much I could say to you if we were in a light-house far from the world. A light-house is so grand and high. Well, what is it you want to say, Beryl? Is it too flat to talk here ? he demanded, practically. Theres a great deal of scouring and rubbing to do in a light-housed I believe. The work would occupy our time, which might be a good thing. Oh, people who love each other dont need to have their time occupied, the little bride returned, serenely. Jack could do no less than kiss her, and gallantly repudiate the most distant possibility of ennui in her presence. You didnt happen to put a pack of cards in your travelling bag ? he asked, presently. No, dear; certainly not. Or a book ? No, Jack. Why, you dont want to read, do you ? Not at allnot at all, my dear. I simply inquired. Beryl smiled brightly at him. He smiled brightly at her. Presently she walked across the room and searched her travelling bag. What are you looking for ? Oh, nothing of any importance. I BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 141 merely thought one of the girls might have dropped my lace-work in here. You surely dont want to sew to-day ? Certainly not, dearest Jack. I was only looking. Again they valiantly exchanged their smile of perfect satisfaction. Let no mocker infer that they were act- ually weary of themselves and the place in this brief time. Ali no; their secret grief lay deeper. It was not to-day that dismayed them, but -half confessed to their own soulsthe prospect of a series of morrows stretching on through that dis- inal November weather, far from the im- portunate family, hut far too from books, from music, from warm hearth-stones, and the pleasant sound of friendly human voices. Ahi ! thought Beryl, the dreary sea, the dismal rain, the melancholy wind, the damp and dirt and chilliness and discom- fort, and no chance to surprise him with pretty toilets. Confound it! mused Jack ; that beastly wind and ghastly sea, and rain- ing cats and dogs, and not a cigar, and a surfeit of canned horrors instead of a Christian dinner 1 Beryl regarded the watery horizon, and gave an involuntary sigh. Jack at this moment yawned. They turned and look- ed guiltily at each other. You arent lonesome, Beryl ? The little laugh with which she re- sponded was somewhat hollow and high, and less spontaneous than her usual mirth- ful note. You yawned, Jack. I hope youre not sleepy ? Whereupon, to refute the insinuation, he laughed too, and his histrionic attempt was even less successful than hers, being, indeed, a lamentable failure, and as unlike honest Jack Gnrdines voice as if the owls on the shelf had united in one demoniac hoot. It would scarcely have surprised Beryl had they opened their twelve beaks and loudly expressed the derision which their uncanny stare indicated; for be- fore the close of that endless first day she was fully persuaded that the Owls Roost scheme was a prodi~ ious mistake. But what could she do? She herself had originated it, clothed it with radiant colors, and con- vinced Jack that it would be a foretaste of paradise. If, after all her enthusiasm, she should be the first to lose courage ar~d patience, and worse still, if she should plainly admit that his presence was not more than sufficient to make sunshine in a shady place, to illumine a sandy beach in a November storm, and to warm and glorify a cold and dirty room, what would he think of her consistency, of her affec- tion? No: although she knew well that if she should fly to Jack and put her arms round his neck, and say, Jack dear, this is miserable business, and all my fault; take me back to civilization, he would comply lovin~ly (she even suspected with alacrity), yet she would not, could not, ought not, to begin her marriage life with so fatal an evidence of vacillationno, not if Owls Roost should prove her death. Meanwhile Jack, advancing by another course of reasoning, had arrived at the same determination. She proposed it: how can I be the first to weary of it ? he asked himself. It would be unkind, un- gallant, ungenerous, almost cruel. With- out a cigar, its rather hard lines. A man is nervous and irritable in spite of him- self when he cant smoke. But that, again, was a part of Beryls happy thought. She had said, Only each other, and the world far off, and cigars did seem so inappropri- ate and commonplace. I suppose they are, he reflected, but Id give five dol- lars for one this minute. Well, if she can bear it, I can. I wont complain. Last night it excited her to have me even men- tion that coming here was her plan. I wont remind her of it. I wont open my lips. I can hold out as long as she can. We shant starve or freeze, I presume. I wonder how long she can stand it? Its three weeks now to Thanksgivingthree weeks. He eyed her curiously. Girls are queer creatures, he mused, helpless before his peculiar problem. I wonder, now, if it would be possible for her to hold out three weeks? I wonder how she real- ly feels about it? I cant and wont ques- tioii her, and Beryl is a darling, if Owls Roost is a beastly den. In spite of Beryls longing for absorb- ing conversational topics, the more she ran sacked her intellect, the less she found. Jack, she began, resolutely, I want you to tell me all your secrets. Well, he returned, with great good- humor, thats sudden! You might as wellbetter, in factdemand my money or my life. I have no secrets, Beryl. Why, Jack ! Upon my word I havent any, he protested. I know it sounds green, but 142 HAIIPER$ NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. there never was a fellow so little mysteri- ous as I am. I thought that boys had experiences and Cut up? Some do; some dont. And you have nothing at all on your conscience that it would relieve you to confide to me ? she continued, despair- ingly. I cant remember anything in particu- lar; but you neednt look so sad about it. You never felt remorse ? Not any, thank you. I dont make pretensions to early piety, but my life has been pretty fair and square s6 far. As to secrets, Im not worth a cent. She looked in his ingenuous, laughing face, and sighed. She was baffled again. No hope of escape in this direction. Why, have you had secrets, Beryl? Are you mysterious ? I? Never. That is, Jack dear blushing painfully Owls iRoost is the first real secret I ever had. And this is a famous secret, lie de- clared, fibbing generously. What would they all say if they knew we were here? Were mysterious enough! And, Beryl, as to secrets, if youre fond of them, per- haps we can get up some as we go along. Were a little behiudhand, but up to three- score years and ten we could collect a large assortment. She smiled affectionately, and felt re- assured by his cheerful tone. Again she reflected. A hopeful gleam shone in her eyes as she eagerly suggested But, John, you may not call it a secretyou may have forgotten. Ive read that men do forget such things. You must have been in love, with somebody else, I mean. Was she dark? Was she fair? Did you suffer? Did you write verses to her? Did she give you a lock of her hair? Did she trifle with you, or did her parents dis- approve of you ?stupid things! Have you kept her letters? How I wish you had them here, that we mi~ht read them together and cry over them! Tell tue all, Jack. Dont be afraid. I am not jealous. I shall only sympathize with you, and then youll feel better. And where, mayl inquire, did all this romance take place ? demanded Jack, astonished. Oh, I dont know. It must have hap- pened at Boston, or on some journey. Well, it just didnt, Beryl Glyndon; and Jack stood up and looked serious. This may sound greener than having no secrets; but the truth is, I never liked any girl but you, and except for that little flurry about Bob Bob ! she murmured, contemptuous ly. Except for that, I always expected to marry you, and nobody else. I dont think the Gardines are very hover-ly. They are certainly not romantic. I fear the Glyndons arent either, she added, in a crestfallen way. But the Gardines have made pretty good husbands, he continued, stoutly; and if Im half such a good husband as my father is, its more than I expect to be, and you may thank your stars. Why, I do already, she interposed. Then why are you disappointed ? Disappointed! Oh, Jack, it wasnt that at all. Im proud of you. Well, whatever it was, perhaps by the time Im threescore and ten I shall have a different tale to tell. Ill try, since the idea seems to please you, lie added, with a bright laugh. She would have been less than woman not to be happy in his assurance of faith- fulness. Still another hope had failed. No secrets, no love affairs upon which to dilate, and three weeks still to Thanks- giving. It had been far from their inten- tion to obey Aunt Susan~s parting injunc- tion, but Beryl now began to meditate upon the possibility of making a virtue of yielding. It would be the only way of leaving Owls Roost with some sem- blance of dignity. Vague suspicions flit- ted through her mind that there were cer- tain inconveniences and disadvantages at- tending a young married couple who had always been near neighbors, and had led calm, virtuous, and happy lives. She found herself regretting the absence of incident in their combined store of rem- iniscence, and she realized, not without a pang of conscience for her previous in- gratitude, that the kaleidoscopic group- ings of a large family connection present fruitful opportunities for censure ridi- cule, and sarcasm, which even in most amiable circles impart a piquant relish to conversation. To remark how like a lunatic Aunt Susan looked last Tuesday night, with her cap awry ! could now scarcely create a smile, whereas to see Aunt Susan and her cap, and to mildly chuckle and deride, was a stimulating lit- tle pastime. BERYL~S HAPPY THOUGHT. 143 Beryl desperately tried books. Now these bright and agreeable young persons were in the habit of reading what- ever the young people of their set read; that is to say, nearly all the new novels as they came out, and now and then some essays, if they were the~ fashion. Beryl especially was rarely without something new to read; and she read entirely for her passing amusement, as she played ten- nis and progressive euchre. She took a 1)00k that pleased her somewhat as she tookehocolate pudding; one to which she was indifferent had to her the potency of veal, while one which she positively dis- liked occupied a place in her remembrance akin to olives. She was apt to succinctly pronounce a story good, pretty good, hor- rid, or splendid; aud with her own opin- ionexpressed, be it said, in the modest and serene manner which was one of her charmsBeryl was corn pletely satisfied. But the hand of the writer behind his words she never grasped, much less caught sudden glimpses of his soul. Why should she, indeed? She filled her comfortable little niche in life very prettily, and no one expected her to have a poets spirit. Still, as she had never loved book - folk and lived with them, how could they come to her and comfort her now at Owls Roost? What is your favorite among Dick- enss novels ? she asked, abruptly. Oh, I dont know, her husband re- plied, with amiable indifference. I read Dickens when I was a boy. I liked them all, I believe. Why, Beryl, what made you think of Dickens ? Dont you think Robert Browning is perfectly splendid ? Yes, ratherwhen I know what lies talking about. Now what reminded you of Browning ? I do like Charles Eghert Craddock so much! Dont you ? Of course; but you know already what I like and dont like. Alas! she did but too well; and at best a literary conversation restricted to Dont you like this? and Do you like that? with monosyllabic answers, is not conducive to long mental promenades and pleasant loitering by the green pastures and still waters of fancy. She soon abandoned her book catechism. It seemed to sur- prise Jack vastly; and really, with no- thing there to suggest it, was, she felt, most awkward and far- fetched. They succeeded better with some parlor games, although two was a small number for long-continned prowess in this field. It became obvious that they were making great exertions to amuse themselves, and pleasure, which had pursued them un- songht, now fled at their approach. Beryl, in desperation, yielded to Jacks coaxing, and learned to fire the dreaded gull. They opened the kitchen window, and aimed at a rock that looked gleaming white in the rain. She suffered agonies of fear, but bravely endured her torments; and Jack praised her, and said that she had learned something. As to the mouse, which at intervals ventured out, that was quite an- other matter. Each time that it appeared Beryl sprang upon a chair, clutched her skirts, and screamed. Jack did not laugh; he too had learned something. Toward the close of the day Beryl made one of her sudden allusions, this time to a fishermans cottage, and asked Jack if he supposed such people could be happy, among rough surroundings and every- thing so wet, and the sea always there. Jack was gracious enough to express the view that a fishermans home interior did not necessarily exclude happiness. He was considered very kind-hearted, and al- ways gave liberally when any worthy ob- ject of charity was suggested to him, but he had never troubled himself much about the lives of the toilers in this work-a-day world. After all, he concluded, easily, you know they are used to it, and we are not. This seemed most reasonable to Beryl, who only said, Poor things ! and forgot them. There were, of course, reminiscences, pleasantries, endearments, and laughter, which enlivened many moments of the day, but it was longincredibly long nevertheless. The hours crept laborious- ly on, and this was but the beginning. IV. BEHOLD 110W GREAT A MATTER. Meanwhile all the Gardines and Glyn- dons were in a state of most painful agita- tion; for the two ownerless trunks, sug- gestive under these circumstances as mas- terless steeds, had arrived in Boston, and been blankly gazed upon by Cousin Thom- as and old Dr. Mason, each of whom, pre- vented from accepting the proffered Gar- dine and Glyndon hospitality, had hasten- ed to the station, not to intrude upon the felicity of the young peoplebless my 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. soul! no thought of it but merely to wish them good-speed, and this out of old friendship and proper respect for the families. Cousin Thomas and old Dr. Mason be- ing elderly and pedantic, and accustomed to find people and things where they be- longed, were sorely perplexed. The prop- er place for Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine was obviously one of those cars. It re- ally seemed as if something ou,,ht to be done. They looked for the conductor, but he had escaped. They gravely decided to drive to Lampwick, where they found that rooms for the young couple had been duly ordered. Warm, light, frag rant with flowers sent with affectionate notes and cards of congratulations, the dove-cot was ready, but where were the doves? The old gentlemen, with the kindest intentions in the world, decided that it would be best to telegraph down to Pine- ville. If everything was in order, the telegram would do no harm. If some- thing serious had occurred, the sooner the families were aware of it the better for all parties. This eminently reasonable and harmless conclusion was destined to create unprecedented commotion in the two great Pineville clans. Old Dr. Ma- son telegraphed to his colleague Glyndon, Cousin Thomas accentuated their fore- bodin,s by wiring Cousin Thorpe Gardine, and each felt it incumbent upon him to soften the news with Dont be anxious which friendly injunction by telegraph is the reverse of reassuring. Dr. Glyn don and Judge Gardine held a solemn midnight conference. When two young people on their wedding journey, reasoned the indulgent papas, stray from the beaten track, there is surely nothing alarming in that; on the contrary, the thought of their undisturbed billing and cooing is gratifying to all right-minded persons. But is it natural, is it rational, is it respectable, for them to separate them- selves from their indispensable adjuncts trunks? Could a pretty bride be induced to deprive herself of all her dainty belong- ings, expressly designed to increase the in- fatuation of her adoring slave? Never, declared the papas in council. Then what had happened ? Was it illness, accident, or foul play? There was nothing to do but to wait till morning, when probably the mystery would be explained. In the mean time nothing was to be said to alarm the women. But when was a secret kept in a family of such dimensions? Some one overheard or half heard. Before ten the next morn- ing all the Gardines and Glyndons were fluttering to and fro, and the air was thick wi ti extraordinary suggestions, suspicions, and ominous fan~ies; for fear makes the most prosaic soul imaginative. The Thanksgiving preparationsthat grand tournament on the Field of the Kitchen, with lists open to young and oldwere stopped short. Even Aunt Susan was too agitated to concentrate her powers upon her renowned mince-meat, whose fame had gone forth through all New England and beyond. At noon a small Glyndon of a practical turn of mind, who had thoroughly settled the perplexing question for himself, sud- denly inquired: Papa, will they recover the bodies? How do they recover bodies, papa ? At this ghastly picture, drawn by juvenile innocence and unconscious- ness, Beryls sisters burst into tears, and rushed frantically from the room. It would seem that familiarity with tel- egrapliic messages ought to impart a cer- tain calmness to our interpretation of them. But when they do not relate to business, when they cease to be the com- monplace record of a fact, when they be- gin to touch upon our inner life and feel- ings, they are often inscrutable, if not alarming. The technical conditions for the transmission of the message maybe perfect, the batteries may do their work, but the magnetic current fails to flash from brain to brain, and the receiver asks in dismay, What can this mean? It was unfortunate that several friends chose to envelop the simplicity of their thought in the mysterious perforated dic- tion of a telegraph message, the apertures of which the Gardines and Glyndons in their abnormal mental condition filled in lugubriously. A facetious individual star- tled them with this: Congratulations or condolences your loss but their gain forgot day unaccount- able. Forgot day unaccountable? mut- tered Judge Gardine, pushing up his spec- tacles with a bewildered look. He means he forgot that a day is un- accountablewe know not what a day may bring forth, sobbed his wife. And dear Beryl looked so rosy and beautiful only yesterday morning, be- wailed a second cousin. BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 145 Why doesnt it mean its unaccounta- ble that lie forgot to telegraph on the wed- ding day l demanded Aunt Susan Glyn- don, her voice even sterner than usual. But this matter-of-fact readin~ of the text was rejected with reproachful and indig- nant cries. But lie says condolences, dont you see And he plainly alludes to our loss.~~~ Oh, lie evidently knows all about it. Aunt Susan never had any sympa- thy. Poor darling Beryl! Poor dear Jack ! Aunt Susan was rarely routed, but rug- ged common-sense had no chance here. Later, a gushing young woman, who wished to inform Beryls sister that she had inquired for the bride at several ho- tels, accomplished the following: Beryl missing search everywhere in vain inconsolable Ida. More commotion, more tears, more liys- terics. Several Gardines aiid Glyndons betook themselves to bed. The writer could not have chosen eight more fatally appropriate words had it been her malign intention to increase the general panic. Nobody suggested that this was Idas well- known style, and that the loss of her tliim- ble would be accompaiiied by melodra- matic laments. The straightforward, easy inquiry, Wheres Jack ? on a postal-card, seem- ed to convey a sinister undertone, and sent a quiver of pain through the lacer- ated family heart. A heavy silver fish- knife, a belated gift for Beryl, was wept over and handled tenderly, for who could tell if the dear girl would ever, ever use it? Amid the manifold blessings growing from a large family connection a few dis- advantages must inevitably appear, and ~f the Gardine and Glyndon faction pos- sessed fi fty-tliree hearts, it was no less re- sponsible for as many tongues, some of which, after several hours of uncertainty and painful surmise, scarcely distinguish- ed fact from fiction. Thy friend hath a friend. Thy friends friend hath a friend. Be discreet. The friends of the friends friends of the Gardines and Glyn- dons seized this unprecedented morsel of news with greedy rapture, and shortly the omniscience which people are apt to ar- rogate to themselves in regard to their neighbors affairs was made manifest. Gloomy views expressed by Jack, pessi- mistic tendencies in Beryl,were distinctly remembered, and their peculiar conduct, even the expression of their eyes, at the railway station on their wedding morning, many now declared that they had noticed with an inward conviction that all was not as it should be. The Gardines and Glyndons mi~ht re- fuse to face the truth, but no thinking person outside of the afflicted families need hesitate to call the disaster by its name. It was suicidenothing less. The local political opponents of the Gardines and Glyndons dwelt upoii it with grim satisfaction as an argument agaii)st the Presidential candidate supported by those families. Some good souls thought that it was a judgment upon the Gardines for being Unitarians, while others trusted it would be a lesson to Dr. Glyndon not to fly in the face of Providence with his ideas on vivisection and cremation. Worst of all, the Pineville Evening Bassoon de- voted a column of bombast to it, with inon- umental headings and a forest of exclama- tion points. It began with A Mysterious Disap- pearance in High Life. The Bassoo possessed a larger supply of adjectives than any other newspaper of its size in the country, and it paraded every one on this occasion. But in our last issue, it had chronicled one of the most brill- iant and joyful social events which ever had con~,regated the ~lite of Pineville to the tintinnabulation of wedding bells. The bI ushiin g bride, the happy groom, the splendid cortege, the gorgeous toilets of the fair sex, the elegant and crowded reception in the hospitable and luxurious mansion of our distinguished fellow-citizen, Dr. Gnin fact, all the sonorous epithets which had gladdened the reporters heart the previous evening now did double duty, and served to usher in his conception of the Tragic Muse. The Bassoon committed itself to no pos- itive opinions. It said that delicacy for- bade it to enter into details, but it alluded to those trunks at the Boston station in terms which would draw tears from a hardened criminal. The story of the love- ly young bride who disappeared in a chest during her wedding festivities was ingen- iously introduced as a parallel case, ex- cept that Jack and Beryl, being two per- sonsbride and bridegroom-and disap- pearing, not in, but from, two chests or trunks it was obvious that the tragic ele- ment of the Pineville sensation exceed- 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed that of the old tale twofold. The grace and beauty of the young couple were painted in warm colors, and their virtue received that unalloyed praise which the average mortal only enjoys when it is lavished upon himself or the departed. In short, the Bassoon was so tearfully obitual that it seemed to spread a vast funeral pall over all Pinevilie. They sold five extra editions of that pa- per, and the reporters salary was doubled the next (lay. He was a very honest young man in spite of his fine writing, and as he supported his widowed mother the increase of his pay was a blessing the first, but by no means the last, which resulted from the mysterious disappear- ance of Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine. The second day after the wedding the Boston and New York papers had the news, which they published without names, and with less demonstrative in- tiinacy with the parties concerned than had inflated the Pinevihle Evening Bas- soon; but when the city papers reached Pin eville their brief statement of the dis- appearance and floating conjectures of evil seemed like judicial confirmation of the tragedy. The two families were in a truly pitia- ble condition, and inclined more and more to a dark view of the case. When any trembling voice ventured to say, After all, nothing is proved; there is no evi- dence that Jack and Beryl are not well and happy somewhere, it would be met by a wail of remonstrance: But where, where can they be? have we not in- quired at every hotel along the route? Are Jack and Beryl persons one does not see in a crowd? Are they easy to lose unlessunless they are l-o-s-t for-ev-er ? Day after day they waited in miserable suspense. They telegraphed in every di- rection. They were in communication with the police of several cities. The nervous members of the family became nearly delirious, and the stoutest-hearted went about with pallid faces and speaking low, as if there were death in the house. Five days passed. Not a trace of Jack and his bonny bride. It was raining steadily at Owls Roost. VJACK AT BAY. The sixth day after Jack Gardines wed- ding, as the train from Pineville to Bos- ton stopped at a small way-station, two fi~,ures emerged from the gloom, and a man~ s voice applied in a subdued tone for a compartment, into which the figures quickly and quietly passed. I dont know why we ought to feel guilty, whispered Beryl, beneath a thick veil, but somehow we do, dont we, Jack ? I feel like a fool, he replied; but it will be all right as soon as were in Bos- ton, for nobody will know but that we ye been there all the time. Beryl pushed aside the curtain, and peeped cautiously through the glass. ~Theres nobody there that we know she began ; then drew back suddenly. Oh, Jack, if there.isnt Mr. Perkins! Just our luck! Why couldnt the new conductor have been on duty to- night ? A man with a nut-cracker jaw came in and punched their tickets. He performed this ceremony without apparently seeing the passengers, and preserved a remarka- ble inflexibility of feature, after which he smiled grimly, and said, with extreme de- liberation, Well, its you, is it ? How are you, Mr. Perkins ? returned Jack. affable and embarrassed. Ini pretty well, Mr. Gardine. Im glad to observe youre the same. Jack felt uncomfortable. He could not conceive why this most taciturn of men should open his closely shut mouth and converse unless the old conductor, who knew every family on his route, was in league with that wretched boy-driver, and therefore cognizant of Owls Roost. Jacks conscious soul writhed beneath Mr. Perkinss shrewd gaze, which seemed to perceive the owls, the cans, and all the gloom and dreariness of their exile. Mr. Perkins, stammered the young man, with painful hilarity, you wont mention having seen us so near home, will you? You wont say anything about us on your return trip to Pineville ? I guess theres been enough talk about you already, drawled Mr. Perkins. He means the wedding, thought Jack and Beryl. Its only a jokea little joke, said poor Jack, nervous and debonair by turns. I should be obliged to you if you wouldnt mention us. Oh, its a joke ; and Mr. Perkins slightly cocked his left eyebrow, this be- ing the movement by which his, temper- ate facial muscles revealed surprise. He stared at them a moment, pondering upon BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 147 the mournful blast of the Evening Bas- soon and the social convulsion in Pine- ville. It isnt my kind of joke, he thou~,,ht, but I wont spoil their fun. All right, he said, nodding, and pass- ed on, closing his nut-cracker jaws,which, so far as Jack and Beryl were concerned, he kept hermetically sealed. No conscience-stricken runaway couple could have shunned the public gaze more completely than this innocent pair; but from the moment Mr. Perkins left them their spirits rose, and their tongues, so languid at Owls Roost, re~ained activity. They whispered, laughed, sympathized, and each found the other the cleverest and most entertaining of mortals. It was delightful to recapitulate their recent tri- als and discomforts in a warm, comfort- able car, and surrounded by fellow-beings whose presence rendered an undertone and concealment necessary, and Beryl felt that she should soon have a great deal to say to her husband about life. Of course there would he no harm, Jack remarked, if anybody should hap- pen to spy us. Still, people would talk. Its so easy to start the ball rolling at Pine- yule, and they would insist upon finding out where we have been. I wouldnt have them for all the world! gasped Beryl. No; its better to keep things quiet as they are, Jack agreed, complacently. When were once a good distance from home well be as bold as lions. Blithe, eager, confidential, they steamed on to Boston. The brightness of their wedding morning had redescended upon them. Surely the wind was tempered to these shorn lambs, for when Jack, having shuffled Beryl as fast as possible into a carriage, went to give up his checks, the man who secured the trunks knew no more of the great Pineville tragedy than did Jack himself, and the pilgrims, whol- ly unconscious of dancer, rounded this dangerous point. Jack decided that it would be wiser not to go to the Lampwick, but to choose instead a hotel never pat- ronized by the Gardines and Glyndons. Now we are safe ! he exclaimed, rub- bing his hands gleefully, as the door closed behind the man who had shown them to their pleasant rooms. Now we are at rest and happy, cried Beryl, taking off her hat, ringing for a pitcher of ice-water, and approaching the warm grate. And to-morrow, when we walk out and meet our friends, they will think that weve been here all the time. And they cant blame us for liking a little seclusion. And no one will imagine what fools weve been. Oh, Jack ! Yes, my dearest Beryl. thats what I call itfools. Anybody is a fool who makes himself uncomfortable for nothing. But Im not blaming you for it, for you gave up like a hero, and be~ged to be tak- en away. That was no virtue the sixth day. As it was all my fault, I ought to have given up the very first hour. You were the hero, Jack dear, tramping miles to meet the stage, and riding on till you found a farm-house and a wagon. Why, that tramp made me myself again. Owls Roost was undermining the little intellect I possess. She made a wry face, but answered, brightly: Now weve escaped, we can afford to laugh. Jack, suppose we go down and have a nice hot supper in the dining-room, where it is very light and there are a great many people ? And no canned things to ruin ones appetite ! But we must change our Owls Roost toilets, for we both look as if wed been through the wars. Those blessed trunks! Theyll be up directly, wont they l Neither of them had observed the bell- boys face as Beryl ordered her ice-water. He now entered the room, a tray in one hand, a newspaper in the other, and sta- tioned himself directly in front of the young couple, scrutinizing them with in- telligent and unabashed eyes. Look-a-here. Aint you them ? he demanded, planting his index finger on a certain spot of the paper, and glancing from it to Jack and l3eryl, from them to it, with an air of verifying details. Is the boy an idiot ? said Jack, startled, in spite of himself, and seizing the paper. It was the Pineville Evening Bassoon. Good God! lie exclaimed. Beryl, read this. Together they scanned the thrilling account of their mysterious disappear- ance. Beryl grew pale, and Jack grew red, while the boy devoured them with enraptured eyes. He had discovered them himself. It was more fun than the dime show. 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Well, yer havent suicided yet, have yer? When are yer goin ter ? This he propounded somewhat authoritatively, as if he were a heavy stockholder in the speculation. Jack stalked to the door, locked it, and pocketed the key. He repeated this pre- cautionary measure in the inner room. The boys deli~ht was boundless. He felt that lie was on the sta~e with a live hero. Beryl was weeping violently. Oh, Jack, dear Jack, it is terrible! Let us hurry home and beg them to forgive us. How could they think anything so awful, so wicked,of us ? But Jack Gardine was in no melting mood. On the contrary, the thought that he and Beryl had become a public sensa- tion threw him, for the first time in his amiable, placid, easy-going life, into a towering passion. Confound the Bassoons impudence! Am I in leading-strings? Am I not of age ? (He was, being precisely twenty- one and three months.) Hasnt a man the right to go where he pleases on his wedding journey, and stay as long as he wishes? Suppose Id chosen to stay a month at Owls Roost, would it be any of the Bassoons business? Isnt Owls Roost my property? Its a very good place too quiet, retired, and healthy sea-air. Must a man suffer this penalty because he went there without confiding his intention to the Pin eville Evening Bassoon ? Oh, the ineffable rapture of the boy! Jack, dearest Jack, interposed Beryl, tearfully, dont he so excited. Think how anxious and miserable they all are; and its my faultmine alone. Let us go home now and explain, and make things right. Jack stopped his leonine stalking, and looked at her. Go home ?explain ? lie began, more calmly. Not much. See here, Beryl, what Ive done I~ve done but Pineville shant have it to gloat over. I dont deny Ive been a fool, but so has Pineville, and the question is which is going to be the bigger fool when the cur- tain goes down on the closing tableau. You are good to leave me out, she said, with a feeble smile. My dear, Jack replied, with genuine manliness, now that the public has us in its clutches, its entirely my matter. You trust me, and well come out of this with flying colors. Beryl could not help pitying herself and him, the Bassoons language had so ef- fectually submerged all their youth and beauty in a watery grave; but Jacks man- ner inspired her with con fidence, and she began to feel less drowned. Boy, said Jack, can I trust you ? You kin, replied the boy, again con- scious of the foot-lights. Is there a reward offered for informa- tion about us There is. Whei~e did you get that iufernal pa- per ? My gi~anmna in Pineville she sent it. Jack looked at his watch. If youll hold your tongue to your granma in Pine- ville and to everybody else, and help us get off instantly to the Boston and Albany station, Ill double the reward, whatever it is. Ill start you in business. Ill be your friend. Oh, Ill help yer for nothin,said the enthusiastic boy. I never was in any- thing of this sort before. I never knew any suiciders. Jack frowned. You come to me in Pineville, and if youve held your tongue you wont be sorry. But aint yer goin to suicide at all ? demanded the boy, with evident disap- pointm ent. At the repetition of the word, which Jack felt made him ridiculous, lie grew very red, and answered shortly, You look after the luggage, and have a car~ riage instantly at the ladies entrance. Beryl veiled her face closely. Jack muffled his throat to his ears and the tip of his nose, and pulled his hat over his eyes. Speechless and shrinking, they hur- ried down and precipitated themselves into the friendly shadows of the carriage pro- vided by the faithful boy, who speedily convoyed a porter with the trunks. The flight was all but successfully accomplish- ed,whien an emissary from the Argus-eyed office accosted them with: Why, youve just arrived, havent you? Anything wrong? Anything the matter with your rooms Nothine, at all, returned Jack, re- treating as much as possible into the folds of his scarf, while Beryl sat as still as if she were concealing stolen diamonds in the sleeve of her ulster. Its a splendid hotel, beautiful, first classthe finest ho- tel I ever saw. Butbut I must go right along. Ive had bad news. The other stared at the trunks in the BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 149 strong light of the electric lamp. Well, Im sorry for that, MrMr. Green, supplied Jack, spasmodically. Green, from Nebraska. Well, well be pleased to have von call again,Mr. Green, the hotel man said, with professional urbanity. Pleasant journey, Mr. Green! Fate favored the fugitives at the sta- tion. They saw no familiar face. They were still able to secure a state-room; and the conductors and porters were unknown beings. Oh, sighed Beryl, there is no rest for us. \2XTe are like the Wandering Jew. Once in Chicago, and well snap our. fingers at them, Jack returned, grimly. I don~t want to snap my fingers; I want to go home and clear away these horrible suspicions. When I remember that they think we are dead, and we can~t let them know the truth for two whole days, it seems too cruel. Jack winced as he pictured his fathers sorrowful face, but answered, resolutely, Forty-eight hours more of it wont kill them, if they arent dead to-ni~ht. Why, Jack, I dont recognize you. You were never so before. No wonder. I never before served as foot-hall for Pineville. My dear, just let me manage this. Somebodys going to be ridiculous; but they who laugh last laugh best. But, Jack, you are sorry, arent you ? I shall be sorry for them when Im in Chicago, he declared, obstinately. She looked distressed, and lie relented. Im most sorry for my poor father, Beryl. And darling mamma. And my mother. And papa too. And Bob. And Harry. And Gertrude. And Molly. And poor dear darling Aunt Susan. They tenderly enumerated the familiar names, conjured np the well-known forms, and invested each with aim unwonted au- reole. No annoying idiosyncrasy was re- membered. The Gardines and Glyndons, it would seemn,were ripe for canonization. Only upon their beauties arid graces did the wanderers dwellBeryl in tears, and Jack suspiciously husky. They felt very loving, very homesick; and while Jack revealed his line of march, and Beryl, niuch impressed by his cleverness, prom- ised unswerving obedience, they comforted themselves with the thought that though their faces were turned away from Pine- ville, yet every hour now would bring them nearer to their beloved family. VI. AND THEY ALI~ LWED hAPPILY EVER AFTER. Itseems to me, said Beryl, that we ought to telegraph something to comfort themsomething loving. Nothing of the sort, returned Jack, a pen in his hand, a telegraph blank before him, Beryl lookin~ over his shoulder in their rooms at the Grand Pacific. ~~lATe know nothing of their misery. We cant commit ourselves now or later. We are the injured ones. Weve been sacrificed. They must break the news to ns, and we are going to feel so outraged that we re- fuse to discuss the matter with anybody. Then what can you telegraph ? Jack laughed. He was in Chicago, and felt masterful. The most natural mes- sage iii the world, he replied. The one father is most familiar with. See ; and lie wrote: Want five hundred dollars. JAcK. Why, you dont, do you ? Of course not, but fathers acquainted with the style. We are dead, you know, and we must resurrect ourselves without alarming the mourners. I couldnt say anytimin~ that would put father more thor- oughly at his ease. While awaiting Judge Gardines reply, the runaways arrayed therriselves in fresh and charming costumes, and prepared to look the world in the eye. They were now in a most merry mood, and drew en- joyment from every phase of the situa- tion. Jack was so cruel as to chuckle when his fathers answer came: Have advised Bacon Brothers. Draw freely. Are you ill? What has hap- pened ~ Oh, I can feel him still quivering with anxiety, said Beryl. He wont quiver much longer. Pine- ville knows by this time that its not rid of n~ yet. The following surprised if not indig- nant message was immediately sent to the aoitated parent: Certainly not. What should hap- pen ~ B. and I never so well and happy. To which the good old judge replied, simply, God bless you, my children, re 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. proaching himself deeply that lie had not had sufficient stren~th of mind to disbe- lieve and oppose those most compromis- ing and painful rumors. How inexpres- sibly distressed Jack and Beryl would be! What had the dear children done to merit this? Dr. Glyndon was equally ashamed of himself. At my age, he said, and with my insensibility to gossip, that I should have let myself be swept along with the current, is inconceivable, unpar- donable. But the friends of the friends friends remained omniscient. They reminded one another that they had frequently said that the Gardines and Glyndons took the mat- ter altogether too seriously, and that it was absurd to get up an excitement and invent tra~ ic sensations merely because somebody had made a blunder about a couple of trunks. Without, of course wishing to be unneighborly or censorious, they must admit that the Gardines and Glyndons were inclined to regard any- thing that concerned themselves as of overweening importance. Some people would hardly enjoy always appearing be- fore the public in one way or another, but as for the Gardines and Glyndons, it real- ly seemed to be their inveterate habit to make themselves conspicuous. The Pineville Evening Bassoon an- nounced with iniperturbable dignity that its readers would remember how it had cautioned them against too much credu- lity, and ur~ed them to discountenance the prevailing extravagant views in r& gard to the youthful pair, whose disap- pearance would in time prove to be no- thing whatever out of the common course of events. Having thns satisfactorily es- tablished its claim to infallibility, the Bas- soon took occasion to state that its tone in social items, as in political matters, was in variably calm, elevated, and dispassion- ate, and therefore in complet.e contrast to that low greed for sensationalism, sully- ing alike to the purity of press and party, and lamentably characteristic of its neigh- bor and rival, the Morning Flute. A brisk correspondence now took place between the y6ung couple and the family. Judge Gardine vefitured to inquire, in the most guarded and delicate manner, if they had lost their trunks. Jack responded that if the family had the privilege of ob- serving the effect produced by Beryls be- witching toilets, they would entertain no doubts whether she were in possession of her wardrobe. At the same time he would like on his own account to protest against any further imputations of imbecility, and was at a loss to know why he should be followed on his wedding journey by hys- terical telegrams and most unflattering doubts of his ability to take care of him- self and his wife. I dont blame the boy, comment- ed Judge Gardine I dont blame him. Our prying questions! Our importuni- ty! I presume nothing could be more an- noying than our attitude, returned Dr. Glyndon, as they have no suspicion of its cause. Now that the load is off our hearts, I could almost forget the stupid stories, if it werent for the necessity of bre the news to Jack. aking He xvill be furious, said the doctor, with a smile. Who can blame him? But this last letter of his demands a full explanation. ~ Accordingly the judge broke the un- pleasant news to his dear boy tenderly, regretfully, deprecatingly, almost as if he alone were at fault. With his long letter he sent a copy of the Pineville Evening Bassoon, and anxiously awaited Jacks explosion. As might have been expected, Jack did not reply by return mail. He let a few days elapse to collect himself, the fa- thers in council agreed. When the answer finally came, tears of proud affection moistened the old gentle- mans eyes. Anything more high-toned than Jacks attitude could scarcely be im- agined. He wrote briefly, did not dilate upon his feelings, but in a restrained and impressive manner begged one service of his father as the only reparation that could be madesilence, absolute and en- during silence, in regard to the wedding journey; for it was evident that the most innocent question about their harmless little trip to Chicago would awaken in him and Beryl painful memories and sug- gestions of tIme odious crime imputed to them. Neither complaint nor reproach should pass their lips. In return they would rely upon the considerate and del- icate reserve of their family and friends to ignore, to forget. This struck the judge as reasonable and fine. Some young men might enjoy jok- ing upon such a theme, but not his son. EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 151 All the Gardines and Glyndons now begged and implored Jack and Beryl to return for Thanksgiving; and they, with every appearance of gracefully yielding their own wish to the general good, deign- ed to be appeased, and to arrive the eve of the great day. Had they been in reality raised from the dead, they could not have been wel- comed with warmer demonstration. The family laughed and cried over them, felt of them, caressed them, and could not let theni alone. Beryl was as rosy as a peach, and wore a little gold owl with ruby eyes on her watch chain. She seemed even prettier and more charming, Jack thought, in corn- parison with all her pretty and charming sisters, while she found that he never looked handsomer and more manly than against a rich background of brothers. At the Thanksgiving dinner Jack made a speech the like of which for warmth and eloquence was never heard in Pine- ville. If now and then his eyes twinkled ~fERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and to all ALagood-niglit I They are the words of the tinkling verses which arc as familiar and as likely to l)e enduring as any lines in our literature. The man who wrote theni is not counted among our poets, and while every- body knows the Visit from St. Nicholas, nobody probably caa recall any other poem of the author. It ~~as his good fortune to put into brisk and melodious form the universal Christmas feeling, and to describe Santa Claus as the fliney of childhood sees him. Tl]e good giver of gifts is the true genius of the season. It is a giving which does not invite nor per- mit the refinements of philosophy and speen- lation UI)0fl their spiritual fitness, but with a generous hand showers them upon 01(1 an(l young as the rain descends upon the just and the unjust. It is the great and affluent giv- ing of food and drink and doles and toys and all that rejoices the heart of man or box. Yet it is undeniable that this tradition of Santa Clans has become almost as oppressive as it is delightful. Santa Claus himself, in- deed, has the cap of Fortunatus. His baskets and stores are self-replenishing, and when he arrives upon the roof the very gifts for every age and taste peer out of his pockets and push themselves into his hands, and lie has only to slide down chimney, and there are the capa- cious stockings eagerly awaiting him and VoL LXXIV.No 43013 with mischief when lie glanced at Beryl, real feeling trembled in his voice as he landed the time-honored customs and tra- ditions of the day. His remarks were exhaustive, and triumphantly ushered in every legitimate attribute of a con~en- tional Than ksgi ving banquet oration, from the heroic Pilgrim Fathers down to the festive turkey, the rich and spicy mince-pies, and the imposing plum-pud- ding; and very gallant and manly lie looked as he closed with a glowing tribute to family ties, old associations, and the sacred fire on the honie hearth-stone. It was a veritable apotheosis of Thanks- giving. The Gardines and Glyndons were proud of him, of themselves, of one an- other, and tacitly remembering all that had happened since the wedding, it was with acclamations and tears and warm hand - clasps and tender laughter that they responded to Jacks fervent God bless Thanksgiving Day! God bless the family ready to stretch to the utmost to receive his gracious largess. Santa Claus is a happy fel- low, as indeed how couldi the fountain of such universal happiness help being? The Pied Piper is only one of his disguises, andl if we could once catch that dancing dervish we should find that the merry wusic to which all the children caper is merely the bewitching tale of the coming gifts at Christmas. But the dhiseil)les of Santa Clans, his vice- roys und substitutes, are very dhifferent from the saint himself. rro sally forth into Broad- way or Fourteenth Street or Twenty-third Street with intent to fit yourself out as a Santa Claus is one of the most bewildering of (he- lightfuh undlertakings. A l)O0~ book lover whom the Easy Chair knew used to say that the only way to save his money was to go into all the book-stores, and in seeing that he could not buy everything that lie wantedl, he was rec- onciledl to buying nothing. So at Christmas the embarrassment of riches moderates ex- pense, and the gaping stocking is in danger of going unfedl from the very fulness of the possible sup~)ly. The fascinated an(l confused loiterer, as willing to buy one thing as anoth- em, andl unable to buy all, stares and adlmires, andl universally diesires, and buys nothing. In the happy enchantment of the spectacle ev- erything seems to him fairer and more attract- ive than anvthi ng else, and lie returns, how

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 151-157

EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 151 All the Gardines and Glyndons now begged and implored Jack and Beryl to return for Thanksgiving; and they, with every appearance of gracefully yielding their own wish to the general good, deign- ed to be appeased, and to arrive the eve of the great day. Had they been in reality raised from the dead, they could not have been wel- comed with warmer demonstration. The family laughed and cried over them, felt of them, caressed them, and could not let theni alone. Beryl was as rosy as a peach, and wore a little gold owl with ruby eyes on her watch chain. She seemed even prettier and more charming, Jack thought, in corn- parison with all her pretty and charming sisters, while she found that he never looked handsomer and more manly than against a rich background of brothers. At the Thanksgiving dinner Jack made a speech the like of which for warmth and eloquence was never heard in Pine- ville. If now and then his eyes twinkled ~fERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and to all ALagood-niglit I They are the words of the tinkling verses which arc as familiar and as likely to l)e enduring as any lines in our literature. The man who wrote theni is not counted among our poets, and while every- body knows the Visit from St. Nicholas, nobody probably caa recall any other poem of the author. It ~~as his good fortune to put into brisk and melodious form the universal Christmas feeling, and to describe Santa Claus as the fliney of childhood sees him. Tl]e good giver of gifts is the true genius of the season. It is a giving which does not invite nor per- mit the refinements of philosophy and speen- lation UI)0fl their spiritual fitness, but with a generous hand showers them upon 01(1 an(l young as the rain descends upon the just and the unjust. It is the great and affluent giv- ing of food and drink and doles and toys and all that rejoices the heart of man or box. Yet it is undeniable that this tradition of Santa Clans has become almost as oppressive as it is delightful. Santa Claus himself, in- deed, has the cap of Fortunatus. His baskets and stores are self-replenishing, and when he arrives upon the roof the very gifts for every age and taste peer out of his pockets and push themselves into his hands, and lie has only to slide down chimney, and there are the capa- cious stockings eagerly awaiting him and VoL LXXIV.No 43013 with mischief when lie glanced at Beryl, real feeling trembled in his voice as he landed the time-honored customs and tra- ditions of the day. His remarks were exhaustive, and triumphantly ushered in every legitimate attribute of a con~en- tional Than ksgi ving banquet oration, from the heroic Pilgrim Fathers down to the festive turkey, the rich and spicy mince-pies, and the imposing plum-pud- ding; and very gallant and manly lie looked as he closed with a glowing tribute to family ties, old associations, and the sacred fire on the honie hearth-stone. It was a veritable apotheosis of Thanks- giving. The Gardines and Glyndons were proud of him, of themselves, of one an- other, and tacitly remembering all that had happened since the wedding, it was with acclamations and tears and warm hand - clasps and tender laughter that they responded to Jacks fervent God bless Thanksgiving Day! God bless the family ready to stretch to the utmost to receive his gracious largess. Santa Claus is a happy fel- low, as indeed how couldi the fountain of such universal happiness help being? The Pied Piper is only one of his disguises, andl if we could once catch that dancing dervish we should find that the merry wusic to which all the children caper is merely the bewitching tale of the coming gifts at Christmas. But the dhiseil)les of Santa Clans, his vice- roys und substitutes, are very dhifferent from the saint himself. rro sally forth into Broad- way or Fourteenth Street or Twenty-third Street with intent to fit yourself out as a Santa Claus is one of the most bewildering of (he- lightfuh undlertakings. A l)O0~ book lover whom the Easy Chair knew used to say that the only way to save his money was to go into all the book-stores, and in seeing that he could not buy everything that lie wantedl, he was rec- onciledl to buying nothing. So at Christmas the embarrassment of riches moderates ex- pense, and the gaping stocking is in danger of going unfedl from the very fulness of the possible sup~)ly. The fascinated an(l confused loiterer, as willing to buy one thing as anoth- em, andl unable to buy all, stares and adlmires, andl universally diesires, and buys nothing. In the happy enchantment of the spectacle ev- erything seems to him fairer and more attract- ive than anvthi ng else, and lie returns, how 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. often! jaded, delighted, dazed, with his head full of thncies and his heart of emotions, but with his hands empty. The empty-handed, however, are not all. The full-handed, indeed, are themselves one of the pleasantest Christmas spectacles. The satisfaction of the disciple who hastens home- ward conscious that he has secured what ev- ery stocking at his chimney most desires is as serene as that of the parent hird winging nest- ward with the plumpest of worms in his bill. That sweet smile is the forecast of childish happiness. The l)eaming parental Pices glow with the light of happy homes. The street seems to be full of hurrying henedictions Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good- night ! But as we linger along the Christmas streets anti survey the lavish profusion of costly or tasteful or useful or beautiful or fanciful de- vices to charm the gold and silver from the wayfarers purse, we may well wonder wheth- er Santa Claus himselt~ should some mishap befall his journey ia mid-air, and some one of his fleet team, Dasher or Dancer, perhaps, or Donder or Blitzen, should cast a celestial shoe or trip over a snow-flake, or the whole team shy as Jack Frost sparkles bywhether Santa Claus, if suddenly obliged to renew his freight, and alighting for that purpose ia the holiday city, might not for a moment be a little lost in the delicious perplexity, and forget his blithe- some errand in his own delight. Certainly, as he passes along, his heart might justly dilate with a generous vanity in the consciousness that of all saints la the calendar lie is most sincerel v anti universally worshi ppedig in- deed, Saint Valentine, a little later, did not dispute the PmUm. If the imagination of the chilc1and a boys thoughts are long, long thoughts could reveal its Christmas secrets, doubtless we should see it shaping for his wonder the strange woods of Santa Claus, in which the verdure is all of Christmas trees lit with tiny tapers, and blossoming, beyond apple-trees in June, with rare and beautiful gifts, while yet from out that hilooming realm of everlasting green the monarch, muffled from the cold, comes gliding overtIme hoar-frost with airy rein- dccis tinkling in the chilly moon. To share that midnight ride, to behold the multitudi- nous stockings, and to return to the realm of eternal Christmas gifts, is a vision not beyond the daring imagination of the boy who, in the joy of the Christmas morning twilight, as he feels the forms, before seeing the beauty, of his gifts, looks beyond the gifts to the region whence they come, as in touching ivory and beholding l)earls and smelling spices he is rapt into a far Persian and African and Ind- ian world, sees birds-of-paradise, anti saun- ters under palms. Christmas comes but once a year was the old English open sesame to the heart and hand of charity. To that appeal what lord or lady could be deaf? Let it be gold to- day, your honor, instead of silver or copper; flowing ale for limpid water; capon instead of crust; to-day let us own the equality that we profess; for one honest hour let us be brethrenfor Christmas comes but once a year. To-morrow selfishness and meanness, and class and pride and hard inhumanity; but to-day generosity and hospitality and kindliness and Ii uman sympathy and brother- hoodfor Chiistmas comes but once a year. We cinnot indeed, return with Santa Claus to his ma meal realm of gift-blossoming gmove~ nom stel) into that swift chariot and tollox~ in the moonlight the soft music of timi v bells No, wistful youth, we cannot stay the fleet mn~el, but we can compel his bless- in~ We can bow to the laying on of his hands and use his disciples and vice~erents, and mmkc his happy benediction ieal through all the year Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night ! ________ THE passenger in the crowded street rail way car is often disturl)ed by the conscious al)sorption of his masculine neighbors in their newspapers when a woman enters and looks for a seat. If she be young and pretty, there are apparently seats enough, however gieat the crowd, and even if a man is slow to rise, lie may yet, with Mr. Readywit, exhort his son sitting upon his knee to get up and give the lady his seat. The impatient passenger, in his indignation at the want of courtesy upon tIme part of others, sometimes forgets, indeed, to rise himself. But there is always SOiiiC Nathan comfortably seated farther away whose aiiiusecl look says to the impatient but stationary David, Thou art the umaim. It would be very unfair to geneialize from this frequemmt situation that time American is uncourteous. Omi the comitrary, lie is time most truly l)olite man aiiiong men of all nations. Lady Mavourneen, who is fiiniiliar with the society anti the maimers of mimany countries, and who has been always accustomed to hear Aniemicans in Europe described everywhere and with pungent emillihasiS as those Amer- icans, was amazed upon coming here to find universal courtesy. Iii the street or at the railway station, she said, if I ask anybody any question, I receive the most promlit anti polite reply. Everybody is at my service, not with much bowing or flourishing, but heart- ily anti honestly. I have never seen such universal courtesy. When she was asked whether she had observeti time absorption of time street-car passengers in their newspa- pcis, she smnihed anti said that she had never been obliged to stand, because some one was sure to rise. But in Paris she saiti thmat often as she was passimig to a seat Monsieur Cra- peaud, raising his hat politely, and saying, warmly, Pardon! presseti by anti secured time seat. Lady Mavourneen. who tells a little story with great humor, described a scene in a crowded church in Pamis. An apparent lady EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 153 was disturbing everybody by pushing along toward a distant chair in the row, when Lady Mavourneen arose to allow her to pass more easily, and the apparent lady immediately slipped into my ladys chair, and held it fast, saying only, in reply to her earnest lemon- stranee: Madame, you left the chair; I took it. You have lost it. VoilX ! A vagabond of this kind took the seat of a gentleman who had risen to help a lady off a street car. When the gentlemati returned lie nientioneci to the interloper that it was his seat. The inter- loper shrugged Ii is shoulders, remarked that it was an empty seat when lie took it, and that he should continue to occupy it. If you dont get out of that seat, Ill take you out, was the rejoinder; and the squatter scowled and abdicated. Lady Mavourneen found, what every lady will find, that site could travel everywhere in the States alone, with entire safety and sur- rounded by the ntinost courtesy. The word lady with which she will be accosted by Ii aek men and porters and conductors is spoken witlr kindly respect, and even if some per50n in a ladys garb thrnsts herself into the cue of passengers slowly advancing to the window of the ticket office to buy tickets, there may lie sour looks and amazed stares, lint she ~vill generally have her way. So great is our courtesy that we honor the counterfeit claim. The source of the most serious objection to the demand of suffrage for women is the se- cret aplirelrension that inca will lose their sin- cere deference, and treat wonien as they treat other men, thus robbing life of the tender ro mnance of chivalric courtesy. Emerson says of the successful lover and his mistress, She was heaven, while lie pursued her as a star; can she he heaven if she stoops to such an one as he l Yet, while this feeling is frequent, and seems to many very plausible, it is the true respect of the American for women which is the real strength of this very movement. The Euro- pean sentiment for woman is still somewhat medi~vah. She is still the goddess of the trouhiadours and the minnesinoers but a god- chess who is treated as the South-sea Islanders treat their gods, heating theni when they are not h)ropitious. To the American she is Words- worths Phi antoni of Delight seen upon near- er view, and it is idle to prattle ahiout her slihlere, as if she did not instinctively know it more truly than men. The universal cour- tesy which Lady Mavouracen remarked is es- seii tial respect and kindliness of feeling, wIt ich no more permits a man to gild his selfishness with a Pardon and a touching of his hat than it permits him to strike a woman. Yet although courtesy is essentially in the heart, and is kind feeling rather thiami respect- ful manner, it is not worth while to despise the manner. If we must choose between the good heart and suavity of address, between Boythorne and Lovelace, of course we shall choose Boythiorne. But why not hioth ? Why not the mend dana in corpore sano? In The Iron Pen, Longfellow says: Amid in words not idle and vain I shah answer and thauk you again For the gift, arid time grace of the gift, 0 beautiful Helen of Maine It is not only the gift, it is the grace in giving which completes the charm. The young American of to-day puffs his ciwarette in the face of his partner on the bal- cony, in the boat, or in the wagon, and smimiles at the frilled Lothario of yesterday bowing in his flowered coat and paying stately comnphi- meats as stiff as her brocade to the dame wlioni lie addresses. The youth is right in saying that thie floweredi coat and the stately comhiliment were thie dress and the sh)eech of an old sinner. But lie would be right also if lie remnemhieredi that familiarity breeds con- tenipt, and that he may wisely distrust his feeling for any woman who does not put him upon his good hieliavior. TIne courtesy which Lady Mavourneen nibserved in the railway sta- tion audi iii the street was plain, but it was genuine. Respect naturally produces cour- tesy. Good manners are the cultivation of natural courtesy: the gift and the grace of the gift. This was the chief remembrance, mmd it was a unique and l)recious treasure, whtichi Lady Mavourneen carried back to Europe from America. THE gentle reader will not shrink from the sight of a skull at the Christmas feast. At thie Egyptian banquet it was a wise, if barbaric, reminder. Life, it seemed to say, is wofnilly deceptive. TIne bloom on tIne cheek, the lighit in thie eye, are lovely falsehoods. They tell of health and vigor and hiaphiiness, amidi ho in an instant the corti is loosened, the hioxvl hiroken at the fountain. Thie gentle audi also unsuspecting reader is not aware, ~irobably, that the Christmas feast spread upon thiese pages, to which lie is even now adidressing hiimnselt~ was dished by a lit- erary gang audi ring, and that the Maoa~ zinc whdehm now for so many years has modest- ly whispered, Therefore I hope as no unwelcome gniest At yonnr warm fireside, when tIne lamps are highn ted, To have ray place reserved annoag the rest, Nor stand as one umnsonnght and uninvited, is a haughty Periodical, composed of an auhic council, ~nr a council of ten, or a star- chamber, on a vault of the Inquisition, or a mutual adimiration and benefit society. But however unsuspecteti all this many be, its wick- edness is at last ezposed, its sin has found it out, and this Christmas hianquet is a kind of Belshiazzars feast: the awful words of (loom are sudidlenly written upon the wahh, and the ahiomuinable crime is laidi bare. Here is thie mene, mene, upon whose fiery 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. condemnation the Christmas reader may well gaze in consternation. The mysterious scribe is speaking of the desirability of keeping magazines out of the hands of the literary gang which, as is quite notorious, has obtaine(l such absolute control over the great month- lies in New York that no outsider has a ghost of a chance to get his productions printed in them. Cable, the distinguished novelist, who, when he was as yet unknown to fame, sent Posson Jone and other stories which have since achieved celel)rity to each of these haughty periodicals in turn, only to receive in every case the usual notification that his con- tributions were not available, simply met with the experience that always attends the efforts of unfortunate people who lack literary influence. The ring is a sort of mutual ad- miration and benefit society, and it runs thin~s to suit itselg which means, of course, that out- sideis are not admitted. Any one who cares to satisfy himself of this fact l)y mailing to these publications MSS. so arranged ns to show, npon their return, whether or not they have been read, will invariably find that they have received no more attention than was ile- cessary to. tear the wrapper off and re-enclose them to the sender. This is an old mole which we have more than once brought to light. But I m is very nimble, and works so fast that he may chance to trouble some onest and there could be no better time than this season of peace and good- will to consider him seriously and to give him his quietus once for all. His latest work in the words quoted was brought to the at- tention of the editor of this Magazine, and his comment was so admirable and conclusive that the Easy Chair has obtained his per~nis sion to in)part it confidcntiaJly to the read- ers of the Magazine, who are this month its Christmas guests. The reply is sojust and con- clusive in reasoning, 5() temperate and consid eiate in tone, that the Easy Chair ventures, in behalf of the honorable 0uilcl of contributors, which is constantly enlarging, to thank the master of the feast for a signal service to the good cause of 5ound editorship and of good letters, and also to hope that both the force and the courtesy of the reply may disarm the ill feeling of the assailant and persuade him of his error. The distinction made by the writer of this remarkable paragraph bet~vcen the literary gang and outsiders seems clear enouoh But as this condemned gang passes in a kind of mental piocessioi~ before me (I will not men tiomi names, since they have become familiar as household wards) I note that nearly every writer in this splendid processioi~ won his or her first laurels in the grcat monthlies and it can hardly escape notice that before this first recognition he must have slmo~vn not only something which distingnishcd him from out- siders and marked him for a literary doom as one of the gang so much despised by the Bos- ton Herald man, but also something which en- abled him to succeed in a competition with writers who had already obtained more or less of this terrible literary distinction. The outsiclersthose who are destined to remain outsiders-are clearly those who, however active and persistent in offering their contri butions to editors can never incur the risk of coming under the ban of the Boston Herald wri tem. But not all of the contributions to the great monthlies are of a strictly literary character; indeed, some literary critics complain that so few articles belong to this class. In the con- duct of magazines the stress and drift are con- tin nally more and more in another direction. We are living in an industrial era of intense and coniplex activities. Business enterprise, developmnent of science and the mechanic arts, an(l social organization absorb more than ever before of time creative imna0ination and mental energy that would otherwise go to the mak- ing of literature. If Washington Irving be- longed to this generation, it is likely that lie would take niome imiterest in running a railroad through Sleepy hollow than in shaping its wonderful legend. Journalism itself absorbs much of this intellectual ?orce restrainino it 0 within time limitations of time literature of knowledge as distinguished from the litera- ture of power. In these ways the general thought is diverted from time purely literary sphieme. Every magazine of any importance has followed this drift, and while it retains in fiction andi poetry much that is distinctive- ly literary, it especially solicits the contribu- tious of time specialist in every department of science and art. Here, then, we have a special class ofout- siders, one not literary, and not responding in any way td) time demands of literary taste, and yet evidently not included in tIme classifi- cation of the Boston herald writer, for it never besieges tlme editors, seeking for recognition; on time coutmary, time edhitors besiege time spe- cialist, and it is with difliculty thmat they se- cure imis valuable contributions. They are happy to get at any puce the views of a great general as to ammy organization or time militia system, or of a great admiral as to naval coum- struetmon or ordnance. But Imow is it as to time great number of casual contributors who sendh their offerings to tIme magazine editor ? Are their claims neglected or ignored? Let us see. Here on time editors table is a goodly number of commtributions, the contents of a single mail. No two mnen could actually read them in a day of twenty-four hours. The editor gives them just as mucim attention as is necessary in order that lie may dietermnine with respect to each contribution whetlmer it lies witlmimm time scope of his magazine, wimetlmer it mimeets time essential requirements as to style andi treatment, andi finally, whether lie caim make roomn for it without displacing some more de sirable article. In tIme case of fully one-half thme MSS. submnitted time first question is an- EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 155 swered by a glance at the subject. In the case of many others a partial reading suffices for an ansxver to the second. Thus very little time is taken in disposing of nearly all the articles offered as unavailable..... A few re- main to be carefully perused before the third. question can be answered, and in this final de- cision the editor finds, to his real regret, that he must forego the pleasure of extending his hospitality to many good contributions si in ~)ly for want of room. If he should accept but one MS. a day, lie would in a month have twice as many as a monthly number could in- clude. But in reality oiily a limited portion of each number is made up of the casual con- tributions. Serial stories and important arti- cles have been arranged for beforehand, and just to the extent that a ma~azine aims to be fully abreast of the times, and not simply a mis- cellany made up from casual offerings, is the number of these prearrangements increased. We reach, then, nearly the same conclu- sion, though in a different way, arrived at by the Boston paragraphist, viz., that the out- sider has a slender chance of getting his con- tributions printed ~n any of the great month- lies. But this is not due to the indifference of the editor to the casual contributor, nor to any influence leading to partial decision. There is room only at the top,.and any writer offering a better story than the editor has ~vill find acceptance; and the significance ot~ the acceptance is increased because it meets an extraordinary though perfectly reasonable requirement; and so with anything else that the editor may want. The means are various l)y which a writer may discover the fact that the editor has not icad every page of his MS., but l)y these means lie will only ascertain whether in the editors judgment every page was worth reading. In any case the 1~1S. would be treated by the editor in the absence of the contributor pre- cisely as it would be if the latter were present to observe the process. The editors function is not to decide as to the merits of the con- tributions, abstractly considered, but as to their availability, and his duty is toward the magazine first, aiid toward the contributor only and in so far as lie niects the requiremeiits of the Inagazine. So says the editor of Harpers Monthly, and so says every edlitor who has a just view of his editorial duty and responsibility. WITEELMAN writes to the Easy Chair thint (luring the meeting of a di Vision of the League of Aineriean Wheelmen at Newport last sum- iiier some of the members took a turn upon the wheel in Bellevue Avenue one afternoon during the driving hour, andl as they passed a young man and woman on horseback, the young woman remarked, audibly, to her com- panion, I dont think they ought to be al- owed here, and the young man replied. 011, they have a righm~ to their holiday. Wheel- man was exasperated, and holds that such in- tolerance and patronage are outrageously in- sohent, and deserve the strongest public re- buke. He adds that, hike master like mail, the flunky on the coachmans box imitates the flunky who employs him, in treating ~vlieel men on the l)ul)hic drive hike impudeilt inter- lopers, and Whicelman diechares that both ought to be dusted in sonic more improving and pungent method than by l)owdered earth. There is, indleed, one l)lea in niitigatioil for the flunky on horseback which the Easy Chair veiitures to interpose. Tile exclama- tion of the youilg woman that they ought not to be allowed here may have been the startled exclamation of an inseenre rider feel- ing Iler horse alarmed by the sudden appear- ance of tIme wheel, amldi not the mere fashioii- able disdai il xv hi ich Wheel man suspected. If that were tIme fact, the I)aiticuhar simlner on horseback may be forgiven. The same kind of plea also may be urged for her compailioil. His remark that whicelmen have a right to thlcir hohidlay may have beeji a polite circumn- locution for saying to his coinpaniOil, They have as good a right here as we. At least tIme guilt of the accused must not be assumed. But Wheelman uiidoubtedhy felt hinisehf and his comradles to be in an atmos- phere of tIme comical aristocracy of wealth, and Ilis seilsitive mind was quick to interpret every woid and hook by that consciousness. Yet even if his theory of the remarks that he heordi were correct, it might llave appealed to his sense of hunlor rather than of indignation. For certainly Diedrich Knickerbockers pic- ture of the rulers of New Amsterdlam and of their realill is not more amusing than the spectacle of that class of our American fel- low-citizens who treat themselves as especial- ly society, andl who may actually object to wheelmen aildi people wIle are not rich enough to keep carriages as coining offensively be- tween thle wimld aildl their nobility. But Wheelman must reiliember that this is a very small class even of the rich. A fine house and fine horses and h)eautiful entertain- ments aie not in themselves signs of a vulgar ostentation or an absurd pietension. The weahthi that imitates penury is as mean as the pridhe that apes Ilumihity; and mailly honesty, simplicity and oenerositv interest in noble a endeavor, andi devotion to worthy ends, are not peculiar to small incomes or to poverty. This is no less true than that tIme acquisition of wealth by uneducated mcmi, either by hard labor or by tile happy chance of speculation, is apt to breedi a droll andi vuhgar imitation of the life of a society where wealth is hercdl- itary and in whlichl rank is acknowledged. Thle Easy Chair recently saw a letter de- scribing a family whiell the writer had seen a fe~v years ago In poverty, thie husband keep- ing- a small im~n and the wife serving liquor at the bar. Tile wheel of fortune turned sudI- denly, amId now the innkeeper is a millionaire, and the wife, bediamonded, walks in silk at- tire. But grammar and habits and education 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and refinement have not kept equal pace. The foot is still too large for the glass slip- p(~1~. The dauohter of that house might look with angry disdain at Wheelin an, although lie were Milton or Franklin, and sneer that he ought not to be suffered to appear upon the drive where society takes the air. But if Wheelman has any sense of humor what- ever, lie would roll off his bicycle with laugh- ter. Society upon such a basis aud with such traditions is so great a joke that wheel- men and other philosophers ought to be grate- ful that the grave path of actual life is cheered by it so merrily. The state of mind which brings a man, because he is rich, and lives in a palace, and fares sumptuously every day, and drives in a comfortable carriage with costly horses and a l)lazing livery upon his coach- man and footmen, to feel that he is a kind of duke or prince, a Plantagenet, or a Medina- Sidonia, is one of the most ludicrous of men- tal l)henomena. But why should Wheelman allow it to im- pose upon him ? If Flirtilla in the saddle was really alarmed, he can understand and forgive her exclamation. But if Flirtilla, granddaughter of Tubbs the pork-packer, or of Wholesale the India merchant, or of Retail the dry-goods jobber, or of any other excel lent workman who accumulates a fortune, really meant to assert a superiority l)ecause she has inherited a fortune, why did not Wheelinan prove his good-breeding and good-nature by seeing the fun efit? That is the true disdain which disdains disdain. A wise author cites as an illustration of heroism the seene in Beaumont and Fletchcr~s Sea Voyage, where Juletta says, Why, slaves, tis in our power to haag ye ; and the master of the ship answers, Very likely Tis in uur power, then, to he hanged and scorn ye. The remark of Fhirtillas cavalier that Wheel- man had a rLht to his holiday should have prompted the re~joinder, And so have you. For honors of this kind are easy if we will only have them so. Condescension is a game of two. Nobody can patronize you if you do not permit it, and to a fine sense of humor nothing is droller than the affectation of supe- riority, as nothing is generally moie modest than netual superiority. The vulgarity of social assumption which Wheelman supposed that he saw in the young woman and her cavalier is often impertinent and always ri- diculous. But it is above all amusing, especial- ly upon the promenade at Newport, although it becomes offimsive at the opera in town when it chatters and giggles in the boxes and dis- turbs the intelligent part of the audience. It is then fresh and barbaric from the squatters cabin and the gulch, and as it cannot be pass- ed with a smile, it must be suppressed sum- nmarily with a hiss. But it may be a good-natured hiss. For in the total want of good manners which the chattering gulch (lisplavs in the opera-box there is still something very comical. Fox some years we have been holding cen- tennial and bicentennial celebrations. Cities and tow us are still conimem orating their more than biennial anniversaries, and when this number of the Magazine is issued the oldest of our universities will have marked its twohundred-and-fiftieth year with an elo- quence and song not unworthy of its great renown. Such commemorations are instinc- tive, like the remembrance and observance of a birthday, and they have a signal value both in enriching actual life with heroic and en- nobling associations and in stimulating the public spirit upon which nations most secure- ly rest. One of the best results of the centen- nial and bicentennial el)och through which we are passing is the formation of local memo- vial societies for the preservation of traditions and relics and for cherishing a due re~ard for historic spots. If it is heroic men who make l~laces famous, not less is it the famous place which kindles generous eni ulation and heroic daring. There is a society of this kind at Deerfield, in Massachusetts, called from the Indian name of tIme Deerfield River the Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association, which was founded a few years ago hy Mr. Sheldon, the accom- l)lished antiquarian of that region. Its oh lect is the cultivation of knowledge of the former life and historic interest of that beautiful neighborhood, in which the characteristic landscape of New England is seen in its loveliest aspect of fertile river interval, of shaded upland, and of wooded hill. There is a refinement of form and vigor of impression in the scenery which harmonize happily with the traditional character of that part of the country, in which under very plain and almost severe conditions there is such true romance and tenderness. The association has its head-quarters at Deerfield, where its museum contains already a richly illustrative collection of neighbor- hood relics of every kind, from Indian arrow- heads and utensils to colonial household ar- ticles. The village is one of the most beauti- ful in New England, and noted for its part in King Philips ivar, and for its~capture and sack by the Canadian Indians more than a hundred and eighty years ago. In South Deerfield is Bloody Brook, the little stream upon whose banks Captain Lathrops men, the flower of Essex, convoying supplies, carelessly dispersed to gather grapes, and were mercilessly inns- sacred by the Indians. One of Edward Ever- etts best historical discourses comnmem orates the incident; and of the more widely known attack upon Deerfield, in which the minister of the village, John Williams, and his wife were captivated by time Indian salvages, time story is told in the old pastors Redeemed Uaptive Returning to Zion. For tIme sturdy EDITORS STUDY. 157 captain of the church militant escaped to re- turn, and to marry again, and to be his own historian. Every year the association holds a field meeting in some town of the county of Franklin, thus vitalizing every part of it with the spirit of local interest and inquiry and honest pride. This year it came to the little town of Ashfield. The day, in earfy Septem- l)er, was singularly soft, calm, and brilhant, and the site selected was that of an old stock- ade fort built to protect the early settlers against the Indians who sometimes threaten- ed the hills from the Deerfield Valley, and once, indeed, by the mere alarm of their com- mo drove all the families away from their homes for more than a year. The site of the fort is the smooth crest of a hillock surrounded by higher land, and as the pilgrims of the (lay approached from every side the more saga- cious wondered that the grandfathers ot the town should have selected a site commanded from all quarters. But when those more saga- cious pilgrims reached the ridges and furrows in the l)istuie which marked the place, they discovered that the grandfathers understood their own ammirs quite as well as their de- scendants. For all the heights were so far that they were useless to an Indian foe, who could really command the stockade only from a tree, where he would be more exposed than tIme garrison The crest o~ the little mound was a round- ed past~ie, and the circle of various hills around it, wooded and commingled, was very heautiful. On one edge was a pine grove free from underbrush, shaded and cool, in which a platform and seats ivere erected. In every kind of vehicle caine the company, un- til more than a thousand persons had nssein l)ledl from the hill country, so solitamy that in the wide landscape seen from any height the farms are scarcely visible, and primeval nature could readily resume its own. Horses were hitched everywhere under the trees, and \vag- ons rolled into the shade. Upon time seats before the l)latlorm was massed a solid throng, with a shifting fringe of listeners upon the outskirts, and saunterers beyond, aiid boys Then caine the admirable historical ad- dress, by Professor Stanley Hall, an Ashfield boy. It was full of interesting annals and traditions of the town, giving every listen- er a sense of pride in heroic ancestry whom no poet has sung, and a vague feeling of personal relation to the wild and watchful I. r ~HE reader who likes to think that the I most and time best to he done in the world is to help ones self without hurting others will find support in the Voyages of a Alerehant life of time early frontier. Delightful sing- imig followed, by a glee club from the neigim- boring village of Shielbuine Falls, time falls of the Deerhield, not less picturesque than those of the Rhine at Sehaffhmausen and us the music ended time meeting took a recess fbr diimmmer. There could be no prettier scene. Around the edge of time hill, which was skirt- ed xvith trees, gathered picturesque groups of fmunihies amid friends who had each brought an ample and toothsome repast, which ~va~ 5i)iemidl Ul)Ofl snowy linen upon time smooth dry ground. There was the hum of univeisal merriment, but no obstreperous noise or dis- order. It was a rural feast, an Arcadian holi- day, such as time Swedish poet Tegner miglmt have sketched in simple and melodious mea- sure, or Grecian artists carved upon a frieze. After dinner President Sheldon, in a cimarmn ing addiess, pietuiech time old life of the neigim- borhmood, and told time town much of its own story which it never knew. Then other speak- ems in various stinins impioved the place and the occasion, but at four o~clock-- Amid now the sun had stretched out all the hills time pastoral meveis endeh, and hike~vise the field day of time Pocuimituck Valley Memomial Association. Over time mills by every bowery moati, towaidI loftier Gosimen and Hawley, and higher Chmestertieldi, and Plainfield, wimeme Bry- nut sang to time Water-fowl, down winding ways to Buckland and Cimaileimmont ammd Zoar eastwaidl to Con~vay and Deerhield aimdl re- mn()ter Simudemland, mind all time ~vide valley of time Commneeticut, time pilgrims wended hoimme- ward. Such are time domestic antiquarian missions of time Pocumnttmek Valley and of Franklin Coumity. They convert a strong and intelli- gent l)eophe to a deeper sense of time worth of their homes and aimcestmy, and they quicken the resolution whmicim always spilugs from that knowledge, timat time cimihmiren shall not be un- woitimy of timeir sues, and that time patiei~ en- dumaimee and devotion of those whmo settled time ancient wilderness of time hills of Frank- lin, and made timemn imabitable for man and time peaceful timeati e of him man Imappiness who withstood the Indian and the catamomit and time rattlesnake, time fleice winter and time pinclm of extreme exposure, turning the trail of tIme savaoe into the hmighm~vay of civilization, and the lair of the beam into tlme pasture of cattle aim(l the play-ground of chmikirenshall not be forgotten. Navigator,hy H.W. S.Cievehmind. It is the story of Richard J. Clevelminds life, and it is not only the affectionate trihjute of a son to imis fa- thers memory, but is in its way a monumemit- to democracy.

Editor's Study Editor's Study 157-163

EDITORS STUDY. 157 captain of the church militant escaped to re- turn, and to marry again, and to be his own historian. Every year the association holds a field meeting in some town of the county of Franklin, thus vitalizing every part of it with the spirit of local interest and inquiry and honest pride. This year it came to the little town of Ashfield. The day, in earfy Septem- l)er, was singularly soft, calm, and brilhant, and the site selected was that of an old stock- ade fort built to protect the early settlers against the Indians who sometimes threaten- ed the hills from the Deerfield Valley, and once, indeed, by the mere alarm of their com- mo drove all the families away from their homes for more than a year. The site of the fort is the smooth crest of a hillock surrounded by higher land, and as the pilgrims of the (lay approached from every side the more saga- cious wondered that the grandfathers ot the town should have selected a site commanded from all quarters. But when those more saga- cious pilgrims reached the ridges and furrows in the l)istuie which marked the place, they discovered that the grandfathers understood their own ammirs quite as well as their de- scendants. For all the heights were so far that they were useless to an Indian foe, who could really command the stockade only from a tree, where he would be more exposed than tIme garrison The crest o~ the little mound was a round- ed past~ie, and the circle of various hills around it, wooded and commingled, was very heautiful. On one edge was a pine grove free from underbrush, shaded and cool, in which a platform and seats ivere erected. In every kind of vehicle caine the company, un- til more than a thousand persons had nssein l)ledl from the hill country, so solitamy that in the wide landscape seen from any height the farms are scarcely visible, and primeval nature could readily resume its own. Horses were hitched everywhere under the trees, and \vag- ons rolled into the shade. Upon time seats before the l)latlorm was massed a solid throng, with a shifting fringe of listeners upon the outskirts, and saunterers beyond, aiid boys Then caine the admirable historical ad- dress, by Professor Stanley Hall, an Ashfield boy. It was full of interesting annals and traditions of the town, giving every listen- er a sense of pride in heroic ancestry whom no poet has sung, and a vague feeling of personal relation to the wild and watchful I. r ~HE reader who likes to think that the I most and time best to he done in the world is to help ones self without hurting others will find support in the Voyages of a Alerehant life of time early frontier. Delightful sing- imig followed, by a glee club from the neigim- boring village of Shielbuine Falls, time falls of the Deerhield, not less picturesque than those of the Rhine at Sehaffhmausen and us the music ended time meeting took a recess fbr diimmmer. There could be no prettier scene. Around the edge of time hill, which was skirt- ed xvith trees, gathered picturesque groups of fmunihies amid friends who had each brought an ample and toothsome repast, which ~va~ 5i)iemidl Ul)Ofl snowy linen upon time smooth dry ground. There was the hum of univeisal merriment, but no obstreperous noise or dis- order. It was a rural feast, an Arcadian holi- day, such as time Swedish poet Tegner miglmt have sketched in simple and melodious mea- sure, or Grecian artists carved upon a frieze. After dinner President Sheldon, in a cimarmn ing addiess, pietuiech time old life of the neigim- borhmood, and told time town much of its own story which it never knew. Then other speak- ems in various stinins impioved the place and the occasion, but at four o~clock-- Amid now the sun had stretched out all the hills time pastoral meveis endeh, and hike~vise the field day of time Pocuimituck Valley Memomial Association. Over time mills by every bowery moati, towaidI loftier Gosimen and Hawley, and higher Chmestertieldi, and Plainfield, wimeme Bry- nut sang to time Water-fowl, down winding ways to Buckland and Cimaileimmont ammd Zoar eastwaidl to Con~vay and Deerhield aimdl re- mn()ter Simudemland, mind all time ~vide valley of time Commneeticut, time pilgrims wended hoimme- ward. Such are time domestic antiquarian missions of time Pocumnttmek Valley and of Franklin Coumity. They convert a strong and intelli- gent l)eophe to a deeper sense of time worth of their homes and aimcestmy, and they quicken the resolution whmicim always spilugs from that knowledge, timat time cimihmiren shall not be un- woitimy of timeir sues, and that time patiei~ en- dumaimee and devotion of those whmo settled time ancient wilderness of time hills of Frank- lin, and made timemn imabitable for man and time peaceful timeati e of him man Imappiness who withstood the Indian and the catamomit and time rattlesnake, time fleice winter and time pinclm of extreme exposure, turning the trail of tIme savaoe into the hmighm~vay of civilization, and the lair of the beam into tlme pasture of cattle aim(l the play-ground of chmikirenshall not be forgotten. Navigator,hy H.W. S.Cievehmind. It is the story of Richard J. Clevelminds life, and it is not only the affectionate trihjute of a son to imis fa- thers memory, but is in its way a monumemit- to democracy. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. At foutteen this typical New-Eng~d~ left the common schools of Salem wit such learning and love of It nthe common schools seemed. to. impart oftener in that day than In ours, and entered a counting-room of the old town. At eighteen he went to sea, and at twenty-four he was the master of a vesseL His career bepn In time troubled times follow- In; the American Revolution, and it led him with varying fortune through the picturesque and dramatic perils of the next thirty years In that time globe. fur- lic; the Engish wars with Napoleon, tii~Sng- lish wars with ourselves, the Spanish wars with their revolted South American provinces, time French wars with everybody, he trafficked In every port open to honest gain. Some- time he ailed under one flag, and sometimes under another; now he was an American citi- zen, and now a Danish subject; he now car- ried despatches for the French Directory, and now he protected himself with an English register. Returned every phm of the shifting politics and hostilities of me account; he was ready for any opportunIty or. any emergency; he was alert4 prompt, prudent; but he kept tlmrouqh all a conscience unsullied by baseness or dishonesty. He kept some- thing morea Smith in human nature unshak- en by wro ,and a generosity which the epi- tins of knightly wonld cheapen. On one side lie was a shrewd Yankee adventurer; on the other, lie was as fine and high a spirit as ever dared danger in any cause. In that day commerce was still a romance, with thrilling chances, unknown prizes, un- known losses. The world was not penetrated by instant intelligence In every part; a voy- age was not merelyapassagetothisport or that, with the market ascertained at either end: it was an adventure which demanded forecast and sagacity; It meant splendid sue- cess or ruinous disaster to the owner of tine cargo, who was oftenest master of the ship. There were still pirates at sea and savages ashore, and trade was harassed byrisins inwar and restrictions in peace. Cleveland encoun- tered these. in twice making and twice losing a. fortune which was thought handsome In those simpler days. But he never lost heart; lie never forgot !nimself In 4 ir; he never forgot otiiors in any. mood. He writes his hither, when making his first voyage, that he would rather work for the Derbys, in wine coun$ing-room.1a~ hqA been so we I ussd,tlian for any other house at twice the pay; he is al- ways writing to inisfather to make use of the money he sends hIm as If it were his own; he writes his wit to do.what she will with the thousands he has dared so much to gain spend them or throw them away: to give her pleasure is all that he cares for. The letters, inwinlch the bpok abounds,are not remarkable for the expression of his gentle and manly spirit only, but for the good sense, tine ad- vancedreilgious thought, the just and Intelli gent observation, Ia them; He was the aua thor of A Kanwtisd ef Voyages. and Cbmsw- eiai Buatenprius, which was praised In its time for these qualities, and which ought not to be forgotten in ours. . . H. But what makes this old ships captain so Interesting and instructive a fiqure is not his Intellectual character, hardly hmismoral char- acter, but that nobility of heart which lifted him above every chance, and kept him mae- ter ofhlmself in every circumstance of pros- parity and disaster. It is not certain that ev- ery one can have it by tryin;, but It is worth t~yin; for, and the book might be very well ut into the hands of all people not too old P makinq the attempta peo~e any where between eighteen and eighty. ut it ou;ht. to be given them with an admonition against looking for an~hiing spectacular in the man- ifestation of is magnanimity. Our sailor- merchant seems never to have thought that he was doinganything out of the common when he prov~ hilmsel(e~ual to occasions that were very much so; he is so. simple and modest about himself that certain epithets whichad- miring criticism keepe In stock look rather tawdry when one dusts them off with time in- tention of applying them to him. After all, you cannot say anything better of bread titan that it is good; and to be ajust man and kind is more thump to be a gentleman. Honesty we before honor, and never yet hadthe alloy of egotism which debases the latter. What consoles, what exalts, In the story ofa life like. Clevelands is that its qualities are within the reach of all classes ifany; and we have a right to be proud of him as a democratic type, as distinctively democratic as another navigator, wine life came into our hands at the same time, was aristocratic. We think Mr. Edmund Gosas, whose touch is always charming, has seldom dons a more agreeable piece ofwork titan the sketch of the career of Sir Walter Raleigh which he contributes to Mr. Andrew Langs series of English Worthies. It Is thoroughly sympa- thetic, without being for a moment sentimen- 61; It is delightfnfly sane andjust; and when one thinks oft cturesqneness with which such Ipures as Raleigh used to be. treated only a little Ivinile ago, one ex nees a profound gratitude EeriEr. Gesses cisarsense of the difflirence between the inkatand and the palette..Zor say paint-pot, for the colors were laldv~ asiftobe seen from the frontin the studies now fortunately obsolete. There Isno effort to make out a cm for Raleigh (whose name, by-the-ny, we pronounce Rawley as he did,whuile modern Englishmen call it Rally), and you are suffered to mthat he was never so great as In the hour of his death, if indeed he was not a thought too epigrammatle on the scaffold; though one ought not to be criti- cal otpeepiesbehmaviorthere, andlaleigh imad certainly a danutiess courage. Where h~ had not courage was in time presence of the taps- EDITORS STUDY. 159 lent and ridiculous old maid Elizabeth, on whom lie fawned with a pretence of passion sufficiently revolting. This is, of course, say- ing that Raleigh was a courtier and a man of his own epoch. His love of splendor, which was at the bottom of his highest achieve- ments, which made him a dreamer and a poet, made him also a rather greedy and shameless office-seeker, and a rather selfish adventurer. He was a man of his epoch in beiiig bloodily cruel a0aiiist the hapless Irish, in spite of his better nature, and in being iniplacable against Spain, which was well enough. Mr. Gosse makes us feel, with his delicate skill, all the ~ of Ralci ohs sufferin dramatic pa~iu5 gfora snpi)osed conspiracy in the interest of the l)OWCV which he had hated his whole life, and of his dying at the demand of Spain fo a real- ly reprehensible offence to her. Even iii that day of license it was too gross to attack the colony of a prince with whom ones kiiig was at peace, especially when one had given ones word not to do anything of the kind. Still, after all you can admit against Raleigh, his tragical fate strongly moves you; after two hundred and fifty years your spirit pines with his in his long imprisonment, and the pang of his death is vivid yet. III. Another pleasant book, which we have been reading with these two, is the Menwirs and Letters of Dolly 3fadison, edited by her grand- niece, in which we have found something of the flavor of Mrs. Huiits Miernoir of Airs. Ed- ward Liringst9n. But though the eighteenth century gives its charm to the letters of the most brilliant lady who ever reigned in the White House, there is a more native flavor in them than that which one tastes in the letters of the fascinating Creole. Dolly Madison was born a Quaker; she came of a titled Scotch family; but her fhther was so averse to the world and its spirit that lie freed his slaves and left his Viroinia manor to come and live in Philadelphia, where he spent his remain- ing days in straitened circumstances. There his daughter grew up, and there she first mar- ricd,with one of their own sect, who died after a year or two, and left her a rich amid beauti- ful young widow, to take in due time the fancy of the great little Madison, as Burr called the future President. When Jefferson was in- augurated he chose Madison his Secretary of State, and after that the greater part of Mrs. Madisons life was passed in Washington. Neither of Jeffersons (laughters could come to the White house with their widowed fithier, and he called upon Mrs. Madison to help him out in hospitable exigencies, sending her lit- tle notes like thds, in which the simplicity, if mather premeditated, is also charming: May 21, 1801. Thomas Jefferson begs that either Mrs. Madison or Miss Payne will be so good as to dine with him to-day, to take care o~ female friends expected. There would be more state about a Presi- dential invitation in our own day, when de- mocracy has so niuch more firmly established itself, but Jefferson was then laying its founda- tions, and lie did not know how much room tIme superstructure might need. For instance, in the Canons of Etiquette to be observed by the Executive, lie ordained some customs which we do not find it necessary to follow: At dinners, in public or private, and on all other occasions of social intercourse, a perfect equal- ity exists between the persons composing the company, whether foreign 01 domestic, titled or untitled, in or out of office. To give force to the princih)le of equality, or pile-mile, and prevent the growth of precedence out of courte- sy, the members of the Executive, at their own houses, will adhere to the ancient usage of their ancestorsgentlemen en masse giving place to the ladies em masse. It seems a trifle grotesque, when put down in cold black and white, and yet much might be alleged to prove that there was more common-sense, more self- respect, and more picturesqueness even in the pile-mile plan than in tIme precedency which we noxv ape in going out to dinner. Thomas .Jefferson and Dolly Madison made the White House a cheerfuler 1)11cc than it had been under the solemn ceremonial of thie Washino ton and Adlams ad mmii nistrations, and w hm en Madison became President the easy and friend- ly conditions were kept up. His wife me- turnedi all calls made by her own sex, audi the dove parties, composed of the wives of cab- imiet officers audI foreign ministers, when their lords were emigaged in formal dinnems, were exceedingly lively and popular. Her private parties, and the lotteries in which every guest receivedl a cadean, are still rememubered with gmeat pleasure by a fe~v. Though in no sense a learnedi woman, nor one who cared at any timmie for study, or even readiiig, Dolly Madi- soms was emninently a talented woman, full of a muost delicate tact, and so warmu-hmearted audi amimiable that even her early Quaker friends were induced to condomme what they feared was an undue fondness for the things of thus world. She dressed handsomely andi in the mode, chingimig fd)r a time to time pretty little Quaker cap, but discarding that evemi, whiemi she ~vent iminto the White House, as unsuitable to her surroundimios. . . . Shie dl ehighited in coin- pany, and her table thirhy groaned, as the say- in g is, with the abundamice of its dishes. The serious, thouohtful physically 0 Madison, weak, and Imarassed and worried by time many cares crowdimig upon him at this timiie, often said that a visit to his wife in hier sitting-room, where lie was sure of a bright story amid a good laugh, wmms as refreshmimig as a long walk. . . . To cheer and amuse her husband she kept a plea- sant j)arty of friends constantly with her, muak- ing thmemu feel that her homne was theirs in tIme warmnthm of her hospitality. She su pemin tended all her domnestic arrangemnents before break- fast, amid whihe her guests were still sleeping. We are now richier and prouder and more 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINL artificial than we were in those days; people fly, he gathers hisproo& malily from English lie abed longer in the morning, and wives no literature, and their array is very curious and lonper seek so much to cheer and amnse~ interesting. The ~~pbent an~ the parasite, thur husbands. The things are of tine past; whom lie delicately differentiates from the yet some small merit we should like to claim snob, were well known in all the ancient and for our generation somewhere; and suppose medieval societies, but the mob is strictly we have the hardihood to say that a British modern, thongh lie Is to be recognized In a admiral would not now burn a defenceless sort of arrested development In the early days town,as Admiral (Jockburn wantonly burned of the Roman Empire, with tine same relation Washington in Madisons time I The story to our actual snob as the stamping of pottery of his barbarity Is told again in these memoirs among the Bomans besrs to the art of print. with fresh effect, and does not commend itself erry traces the gradual growth of to Americanliking any better than at first; it the mob as it has been observed by the sat. Is all the more pathetic for the keener sense lusts and philosophers,and after quoting from we have of the poor beginnings of a national Goldsmith a description of the sort of toad- capital which Washington then was. It seems ester common in his day, he continues with as if a more reflective admiral than Clockbnrn some passages worth re~ducin~ in illustit. might have decided tins the littie town stuck tion of his particular t wry on the subject about in the deep mud at random ought to be and hIs general critical attitude: sufficiently humiliating to our national p ride as it was, and so let itbe; but Admiral Cock7 But this coarse barter of toed, drink, and shel. burn Sit on fire, and burned Mrs. DollyMadi- ter for flattery and subserviency Is yet remote from son out of horn and home. It was near the the subtler development of personal Indignity that end of her husbands second term, and the was at this period making ready to burst upon the White House was p ut In repair only In lime nIneteenth century. Even the famous conversa. for hIs successor. He then retired to hIs estates don of Kim 8kw and Lady Blarney In die Vim ofZekqflddchap. xl., at which Kr. Burchell con. in Virginia, whence, after his death, his widow finally said Fudge I Indicates merely the wide. returned to Washin~n, and ended her long spread curiosity about anecdotes of lords, ladles, life there In 1846. Itwas,as tho world goes, and Knights of the Garter, which the Vicar gratified a beautiful and prosperous life, and the char- by recording the fantastic speeches. Snobbish- acter which it developed was lovely and good. urn was not yet fully formed: It was in die sanne Yet it was so hill of care and sorrow and7vex- Incomplete edition as democracy, traces of which ation,tlnrough being merely a human life, that abound In all the writings from which the quota. near ito close one of the eheerfulest of women dens have been made; and It is Important to uder- could say to a young girl who came to her stand how thoroughly tine Importance of die great for sympathy in some little grievance: My was an object of veneration. Some of these quota. dear, do not trouble about It; thin Is nothing dons may appear to magnIfy die importance of tine mall: yet It Is never to be forgotten that tiers is In this world really wqrth caring for. Yes, no momentewhich one can put his finger and believe me, I, who have lived so long, repeat say, Hero Is something absolutely new~ something to you that there is nothing in this world here ueverthoughtofbefore~that appearedwlthnoutprejb. below worth caring Lw. nation. No conscientious historian will begin the history of the American Revolution In 1775, or of. IV. the lunch in 1789: to understand olthnor,lt is no. Sweet Mrs. Dolly Madison only reiterated cessary to go beck indefinItely, and to trace the the experience of mankind. It Is certainly many currents leading to tine grand evens from a best not to take very seriously the things of very remote past There is ho one day in which a life that are not necessarily we man becomes eld, no one measurement which do. can commend as exemplary serlous~ and dares a growing boy talL All the developments of the mood m which lIterature In this century carry us back by curious Mr. T. S. Perry app roaches the treatment of a ramifications to obscure, half-forgotten attempts of matter that in and out of print has long en- writers In thiolast. We sayWordsworth introduced geged thie more or le amused attention of the love of nature; but the most Indlicrent oumi- mankind. He deals, In a very attractive lit- natIon showa us the feeling growing up for many tIe book, with the Eseluties if tile Snob, years,to find full expression In him and his contem bringing to his inquiry the wide knowledge poraries. Hence It Is, because growth Is gradual, and the scientific methods that distinguIsh that everything which is called a novelty is always his work In criticism from the ad wp& wits. attacked as trite and ~ntrue by energeticconsorva.. expression of likes and dislikes senerally lives. The future as well as the pass is Implicit in received as criticism among us. Eli theory everything that happens; and if we were to quote Is not that snobbishne ways existed un- from overy book written In the last two hundred recognised in our race, as Thiackoray holds, years, It wculd beas Impesalbic to say En lathe but that it existed undeveloped, and that the lest cutberet of snobbishne, as It wonhd be to find the first statement of democracy. od of Ito first efflorescence was when the French Revolution had destroyed the presti All this, we submit, Is very suggestive, if of the aristocrat., and had made It posslbV not convincing, and carries weight with it for the conimonalty to aspire successfully to Of course we stall none of us willingly aban- their socisty. As his business is mainly with don our belief In the antiquity of the snob; the snob In our Immediate Anglo-Saxon Ba- but In the moan time to amend our an- EDITORS STUDY. 161 thors ideas to the reader. His 1)00k is not a satire, but a serious though not at all solemn a very stril investioation ( (ing p~~~s~ of mod- cm civilization. It end5 with an eXI)ressioll of belief in the final disappearance of snob- l)ishness through the realization of democratic ideals in society. The worthlessness of the distinctions for which people now abase them- selves will be seen more and more, and the honor of being kicked by a duke will be felt less and less, as the levelling-up process is ac- complished, though it is uncertain how long some may continue to preach that it is well to have a class in whose piesei~ce one may feel mean. The late Mr. Trollope, who was per- haps the greatest and the truest artist in Eng- lish fiction of his time, went far to prepare us for this attitude of snobbishness in his Life of Thackeray, where he deprecates the elder novelists irreverence for aristocracy and even royalty. In his development the snob has be- come aggressive; from tIme snob quiescent we have passed to the snob agonistie, the Snob militant.. Is this possibly huis ultimate or pe- nultimate pluase? What a stranoe world it would he Without him Offe would hardly know it; we might look for the reappear- ance of the snob as the hero of romantic fiction, and we might see him, say, risking his life to get to a duchesss ball, or slowly dying of a l)roken heart at not bein~ received in fhslmionable society at Newport. This apotheosis would prove how really dead he was. V. The editor of a future work like Gateleys lVorlds Pro~pess might then include some such study as Mr. Perrys in his valuable record of human advance, together with the chapters on Geology, Society, Agriculture, Manufacturing, Mining, Trade, Commerce, Statistics, Buogra- phy, Literature, Architecture, and Costume; but now lie only gives an essay from him on Literature. The book is of that uncomfort- able bulk which demands P)r the family Bible and the unabridged dictionary the monumen- tal occupatn)n of the centre table in houses to which the subscription book usually pene- trates, and this is to be regretted in a volume which has so little else in common with time ordinary subscription book of North America. That is to say, each chapter in this very well imagined work is a real contribution to gen- eral knowledge on the subject it treats of; and is not only interesting, but in its popular way authoritative. For example, no one among us has given greater or more intelligent atten- tion to tIme matter than Mr. Frank D. Millet, who writes of Progressive Changes in Cos- tumes and Customs; Mr. Clarence Cook has established himself as a prophet concerning House Architecture and Decoration; Mi. Carroll D. Wright has an equal vocation to sl)eak of Inventions audi Discoveries in Man- ufacturing; Professor Packard has due au- thority to tell people of the Prehistoric Piog- ress of the Earth; Dr. George P. Fisher is peculiarly well equipped for the task of hand- hin0 topics like Time Formation, Growtlm, audi Character of Nations, and Moral, So- cial, and Intellectual Progress; Mr. E. V. Smalley has an excellent audI interesting paper on time Trade of Ancient and Medi~val Na- tions; while Professois Sanborn, Heinrich, andi Ely treat of Mining, Agriculture, and Manufacturing; Mr. Clmamles B. Beale, the cdi- tom, of Comparative Statistics audi Biogmaplmv. It seems to be throughout a work not only of serious intention, but very homiest audi inter estin0 perfommance. lhe Progmess of Litem- atume is tIme department assign ed to Mr. Perry, andl we confess that it is this which has chief ly attracted us. Like the otimer contributions to time massive volume,it is itself the substance of a book, and with its abundant illustrations fiom time autlmors of all times and peoples it is of unique value as a survey of worldl litera- tume. At least we slmouldl nd)t know where to match it in English, andi it is adniirable for its vast scope and effective grasp. Mm. Perry is distinctly an apostle of time comparative unetli- odi in criticism, audi if; as lie continually in- sists, there is no first time or first one in any- tIming, but all is a dlcvelopmeuit from beginnings indlefinitely remote, still it is apparent timat he is one of the first to give this methodi recog- nition audi consciousness. In an essay ranging fuomn thie Chinese to tIme Americans, tlmrouglm tIme whole course of the Sanscrit, Greek, Ro- man, Mcdi i~val audi Renaissance, Romantic and Modicin literatures, with all theim European subdiivisions, line has hadi to use a comidensation dangerously mmear to desiccation; yet his theomy of literary progress is so clemmr, and its applica- tion is so novel audi refreshing in time midst of the genemal empiricism, that the perilous limit is not touched. Towardi time close of time essay, what seems an editomial exigency Imas sepamated Mr. Perrys succinct comments on time different authors by wide tracts of quota- tion from them, with an effect that is rather distracting, though it does not necessarily im- pair their value. Tlmis, like that of the whole essay, consists largely in the intelligent and perfectly probable point of view. The cmitic regards literature with a Imistorical interest mainly, as time reflection, sometimes conscious and sometimes unconscious, of time sevemal pe- riodis and peoples amnong wlmom it aroseas their involuntary cxpmession of their condli- tions andi aspirations and affections, nndi not as merely the product of certain men who set themselves about making poems, ~)lays, andi novels. Even when most artificial, it is time genuine expression of an artificial mood; and with its infinite variety of shades andi tones, it has time final unit.y of human nature, in which all tIme strangest and remotest things are akin. Mr. Perry is strongest, perhaps, and most ori- ginal in his sense of tIme siummultaneity of the great literary movements or aspects, as the Classicistie, time Romnantic, the Realistic; and he delights to findi pmoofs of the almost in- starit communication of these impulses fmomn 1432 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. one country to another, and the contempora- neous advance from widely different quarters toward the same end. 1-Je concerns himself little or not at all with the admiration ofex quisite passages and as little or less with that censure of special defects which forms the stock in trade of the peevish race hitherto mostly accepte(l as critics; to him these are incidents without gen cial import, and a cruel jibe or supercilious sneer is iml)oSsible to his sane and generous intelligence. It is indeed a new voice, a new temper, and almost unique, in literary criticism, with which one cannot acquaint himself without enlarging his lion zons, and seeing literature in a novel light. VI. Gateleys Worlds Progress signalizes an ad- vance in the quality of suhscription hooks, of which there have been already some other tokens, and we could wish it well, if for no other reason than that its success will make it easier for other honest books to reach the mass of the people through an avenue by which so much that is worthless has found its way to them. The sale of a successfnl sub- scription book is something unrivalled by that of any hook in the trade; as compared with the one, the other mode of publication is, as Mark rr~vi1i1~ has said, merely printing for pri- vate circulation. The present subscription system is the American development of one ot the oldest methods of publication, if not the first; and perhaps, if we continne ~vithout an international copyright law, it may be the refnge and the hope of literature among us. When the cheap reprints have made it more and more difficult to publish copyright works, for which the publisher pays the author, at a living profit, they may both be glad to invoke the aid of the despised book agent. who car- ries literature from door to door, and urges it upon the popular favor with an eloquence which is very effective. In the cities and large towns he is voted a bore and a nui- sance; private houses of any gentility are all shut against him ; brutal placards on shop and office doors and elevator shafts class him with the forbidden peddler and beggar; if lie penetrate by chance or artifice to the prohlil)- iteci interiors, sharp words and short shrift await him; insult is his meat and contumely is his drink; lie is a hissing and a by-word, a proverb of the undesirable. l3ut in the smaller towns and in the country, where people have all the time there is, and the ladies something more, no pampered menial shuts the door in his kindly face, but the mistress of the house throws it wide open to him, and lie is a welcome visitor. She is glad to see him, and so are the daughters and the half-grown boys; and they willingly susl)endl their work while lie sits down in the village parlor or the firm kitchen and unfolds his samples of print, il- lustration, and binding, and expatiates upon the incomparable merits of the work. He is aimedi it all points against criticisms and ob- jections ; lie has got by heart a whole budget of secret instructions, in which not only are these supposed and confuted, but human na- ture is subtly studied, audi lie is taught to play upon its aiinable weaknesses and vanities. He is skilled to ttirn a pretty coml)himeiit to the lady andi her dlanghiters; to be struck by the hicauty and intelligence of her child when it comes into the room; to be suiprised at the age of her flithier or mother, whom lie would have thought much younger. He is instruct ccl when and how to turn easily aside from urgin~ them to subscribe, and to talk of the great world of news and the little world of gossip, andi then adroitly get back to the book. rrhie weather and the crops nrc for discussion with the master of the house, whose interest is solely to be consulted in persuading 1dm to give his influential name to the enterprise. In these houses tIme book agent is not only toler- ated, but welcomed; iiot only asked to sit down on a specially dusted chair, but bidden draw it up to the table when overtaken by dinner in the midist of his eloquence. He takes leave an honored friend, and they are gladi to see him the next year. Perhaps lie would not have to practise all his arts if his 1)00k were better; perhiaps lie would have to use more. The subscription l)ul)hishiers are not certain; they are in the mnoo(h of the managers, who are beginning to wonder whether thi e public really prefers trash: once they hind no doubt of it. We must wish them a hopeful sohution of their doubt, and give a cordial greeting to any experiment in the right direction. They wield an enormous machinery, of whiich the finest and best litera- ture we can offer the l)eoPle may yet be eager to avail itself. The phenomenal suec~ss of such a book as Grants Memoirs is full of sting- gestion. The reader who now goes to a book- seller and asks time clerk what is new and what lie had better buy may hive to find it safe to take the advice of a book agent; andl the au- thor who pines on a sahe of fifteen or twenty- five hundred may thrive upon the adidled ci- pher, and may yet roll in riches. In that event, we have a plan for a new Study, with a refectory attached, in which we shall ask all our readers, and even our adverse critics, to sit down to our Christmas dinner; and no Barmecide feast, we promise them, of Ideals and Romanee, but a Realistic banquet. A CORRECTION~ In tIme article on TIme National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, published iii the October number, time figures at the bottom of tbe first column on page 695 were incorrectly given as the average annual appropriation by Congress for tIme Central Bianchi during tIme three years preceding June, 1884. They should represent the average amommut appropriated animally for time entire Natiommal Home. CHRISTMAS is the greatest day in the year. Is there a feeling that there is getting to be too mncli of it ?not too mnch of it in the way of kiu(lliness and brotherly love, but in the way of ~vorry and expense. The weeks liefore it are fnll of feverish excitement, of nervous expectation, of perplexity; the (lays followin it, of exhaustion. Childhood is on tiptoe in two hemispheres, and cInldhOO(l has hecome so conscious of its deserts that it is next to iiuI)ossible to surprise it, except by too small gifts. The day has to carry a tre- mendous load. The obesity that might be dis- tributed in healthful streanis throughout the year is poured out in it in prodigal waste by some, who seem glad to relieve themselves of obligation by a single act. In point of cost it is equal to half a dozen weddings. Yearhy year the expense of gifts iucreascs. !s this the (lictate of fashion, or owing to the growth of kindly feeling? Is it a spontaneous re- sponse to the spirit of the day, or do any peo- I)le make gifts because they are expected to, and because everybody else does, and because there has gro~vn up of late years a rivalry in this matter? Since the Puritan distrust of this great feast-day abated, the American peo- pIe, who are the iuiost ~eiieroiis people in the world, have taken up Christmas with the same enthunsiasni that lately almost buried funerals tinder a weight of floral trihutes. We readily incline to excess, to an excess that (lestreys the object we seek. Even for our pleasures aiid aniuisernents we work harder thaiu aiiy other people, and probably get less rest aiid entertaiiiment. At the rate we are now rush- ing Chiristnias we are in danger of weariug it out in a decade or two more. It is already a period from which too inaiiy people date ner- vous prostration. Instead of makiuig the sea- son a simple aiid enjoyable holiday, we are in danger of making it an intolerable burden. It is because the Drawer desires to preserve this Chiristutas seasoii as oiie of gayety and frolic aiid simple pleasures, and wideiiing and deepeniuig Christian charity, that it xnakcs these unwelcome observations. There are no more cii gaging creatures thaii children, unless it be uuaideius at the age wheui, on holidays, they pose as first or second cousins, or sereiie and lovely elderly people in the midst of an affectionate family. But it cuts across the spirit of the holiday when the children are more eager for a costly gift than for a game (if blindmansbuff, and the nialdens (10 not value the salute under the mistletoe unless it is accoinpauuied by a (hiamond bracelet ; and the elderly people, disturbed by this cultiva- ted habit (if greedy expectatioii, are grum- bling about flue expense of the season. There is sniahl daiiger that charity to the poor will be overdone, that the spirit of the day in re- gard to interfamily aiid interstate and imiter national good-will may go to excess, or that the heaven of the Sermon on the Mount will work too powerfully in a society that would be a mass of selfishness without it. It is incalculable what Christmas and the spirit of Christmas has doue and is doing for the world. The sun that rises on that day in our Northern latitudes may not melt the ice in the streams or the frost on the window-panes, but there is no sun like it for thawing the human heart throughout Christendom. There is no day like it for assuaging enmities, aiid reviv- in~ teuider memories and dr awing together the estranged, and narrowing the guilt he twecim classes. During this day the world is a brotherhood. In the wondrous Birth of a Child all the world renews for some hours its childish faith and siniphicity. The spirit of this event prevails far beyouid the circles where itis regarded as a reality. Why overlay it with artificiality? Why make it an expense hard to be borne? Why put into the preparatioui for it an amount of labor and worry that eiids iii weariness and exhaustiomi? Costly gifts are the least iueces- sary part of it, worry is foreign to its spirit, and both together may make it in time a bur dcii, and as distasteful as the noise and mcdi (liarisul of the Fourth of July. The perpetui- ty of the best institutioii depends upon 1110(1 eratioui. Children are the hope of the world. We should not undervalue them because they are plenty. home Rule is just no~v the most popular doctrimie in the world. But it may be just as well for tIme next generation if the children are iiot now all Home Rulers. Give the parents a chance; they will be all the better for it. Let us ease up a little on the worry amid cost of Christmas, niud keep the best holiday of tIme ages in tIme old spirit of unostentatious charity amid the exercise of mirth and good-~vihl that refreshes and does not weary. ________ A CLERGYMAN writes: A youuig maui, a plain, good-hearted Irish- niaii, was about to get married, and he came to arrange all the difficulties lie thought con- nected with the ceremony I assured hini there would be no duffleultl , that I would see hun through all rioht But ~ said lie, what about tIme riuig ? I explained; amid theum,with a bluish, XVhien must I kiss thie bride . I ans~vered that at time chose (if tIme ceremony I would offer a praxem, nid just as soon as I would say Anmeii ~ he w ins to kiss the bride. The cerenuouiy w emit thion Is all right ; I said Amen, nuid hookcd ~mt him sum a knowiuug way. He suddemuhy remembered his duty, muninle a lit- tle jump, hike a timid trout at a thy, and kissed not time bride, but me. It was the heartiest kiss I rememnhier ever to have experiemiced. He had a short-cropped black umustache, and I

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 163-168

CHRISTMAS is the greatest day in the year. Is there a feeling that there is getting to be too mncli of it ?not too mnch of it in the way of kiu(lliness and brotherly love, but in the way of ~vorry and expense. The weeks liefore it are fnll of feverish excitement, of nervous expectation, of perplexity; the (lays followin it, of exhaustion. Childhood is on tiptoe in two hemispheres, and cInldhOO(l has hecome so conscious of its deserts that it is next to iiuI)ossible to surprise it, except by too small gifts. The day has to carry a tre- mendous load. The obesity that might be dis- tributed in healthful streanis throughout the year is poured out in it in prodigal waste by some, who seem glad to relieve themselves of obligation by a single act. In point of cost it is equal to half a dozen weddings. Yearhy year the expense of gifts iucreascs. !s this the (lictate of fashion, or owing to the growth of kindly feeling? Is it a spontaneous re- sponse to the spirit of the day, or do any peo- I)le make gifts because they are expected to, and because everybody else does, and because there has gro~vn up of late years a rivalry in this matter? Since the Puritan distrust of this great feast-day abated, the American peo- pIe, who are the iuiost ~eiieroiis people in the world, have taken up Christmas with the same enthunsiasni that lately almost buried funerals tinder a weight of floral trihutes. We readily incline to excess, to an excess that (lestreys the object we seek. Even for our pleasures aiid aniuisernents we work harder thaiu aiiy other people, and probably get less rest aiid entertaiiiment. At the rate we are now rush- ing Chiristnias we are in danger of weariug it out in a decade or two more. It is already a period from which too inaiiy people date ner- vous prostration. Instead of makiuig the sea- son a simple aiid enjoyable holiday, we are in danger of making it an intolerable burden. It is because the Drawer desires to preserve this Chiristutas seasoii as oiie of gayety and frolic aiid simple pleasures, and wideiiing and deepeniuig Christian charity, that it xnakcs these unwelcome observations. There are no more cii gaging creatures thaii children, unless it be uuaideius at the age wheui, on holidays, they pose as first or second cousins, or sereiie and lovely elderly people in the midst of an affectionate family. But it cuts across the spirit of the holiday when the children are more eager for a costly gift than for a game (if blindmansbuff, and the nialdens (10 not value the salute under the mistletoe unless it is accoinpauuied by a (hiamond bracelet ; and the elderly people, disturbed by this cultiva- ted habit (if greedy expectatioii, are grum- bling about flue expense of the season. There is sniahl daiiger that charity to the poor will be overdone, that the spirit of the day in re- gard to interfamily aiid interstate and imiter national good-will may go to excess, or that the heaven of the Sermon on the Mount will work too powerfully in a society that would be a mass of selfishness without it. It is incalculable what Christmas and the spirit of Christmas has doue and is doing for the world. The sun that rises on that day in our Northern latitudes may not melt the ice in the streams or the frost on the window-panes, but there is no sun like it for thawing the human heart throughout Christendom. There is no day like it for assuaging enmities, aiid reviv- in~ teuider memories and dr awing together the estranged, and narrowing the guilt he twecim classes. During this day the world is a brotherhood. In the wondrous Birth of a Child all the world renews for some hours its childish faith and siniphicity. The spirit of this event prevails far beyouid the circles where itis regarded as a reality. Why overlay it with artificiality? Why make it an expense hard to be borne? Why put into the preparatioui for it an amount of labor and worry that eiids iii weariness and exhaustiomi? Costly gifts are the least iueces- sary part of it, worry is foreign to its spirit, and both together may make it in time a bur dcii, and as distasteful as the noise and mcdi (liarisul of the Fourth of July. The perpetui- ty of the best institutioii depends upon 1110(1 eratioui. Children are the hope of the world. We should not undervalue them because they are plenty. home Rule is just no~v the most popular doctrimie in the world. But it may be just as well for tIme next generation if the children are iiot now all Home Rulers. Give the parents a chance; they will be all the better for it. Let us ease up a little on the worry amid cost of Christmas, niud keep the best holiday of tIme ages in tIme old spirit of unostentatious charity amid the exercise of mirth and good-~vihl that refreshes and does not weary. ________ A CLERGYMAN writes: A youuig maui, a plain, good-hearted Irish- niaii, was about to get married, and he came to arrange all the difficulties lie thought con- nected with the ceremony I assured hini there would be no duffleultl , that I would see hun through all rioht But ~ said lie, what about tIme riuig ? I explained; amid theum,with a bluish, XVhien must I kiss thie bride . I ans~vered that at time chose (if tIme ceremony I would offer a praxem, nid just as soon as I would say Anmeii ~ he w ins to kiss the bride. The cerenuouiy w emit thion Is all right ; I said Amen, nuid hookcd ~mt him sum a knowiuug way. He suddemuhy remembered his duty, muninle a lit- tle jump, hike a timid trout at a thy, and kissed not time bride, but me. It was the heartiest kiss I rememnhier ever to have experiemiced. He had a short-cropped black umustache, and I HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. still can feel the warm pricklimig of it 011 lay ]ips. I understand since that why ray wife has always teased me to raise a mustache. COQUETRYS ARGUMENT. You call me a flirt, when I only do As the flowers are doiri~ from morn till night, Exulting in robes of the gayest hue, And liftiab their faces into the light. They do riot feel at all guilty or shy Because they are pretty, and why should I? They toss their heads in the merriest niood, As if the one nmeania~ of life were bliss, And the zepimyrs come from the vale and wood To leave as theyre passin~ a dainty kiss. The heautiful flowers do not droop and sigh If noticed or flattered, arid why should I? We are sure (both the flowers and I) some day A clainiarit xviii come, arid xviii boldly take The delight of his heart to bear away And faithfully cherish for loves sweet sake. Yet. to charm the gaze of each passer-by They are just as eagerarid xviiy riot I? C. H. IIIAYEII. SITTING DOWN WITH A PREACHER. IN a Western town dwells Elder H , a clergymaa very well kiiown throughout his State for airility amid shrewdness. It is pretty gemnerally believed on of account his evi(lelnt knio~vled~e of the xvays of the worl(l, that he xxas rather rapid in his youth. Among his skeptical neighbors is a hotel-keeper of jovial d isposi tiorn and I iberal heart. Whenever the elder has a specially cOnvinicinig anti sweepinig discourse prepared it is his xvont to give spe- cial invitations to his doubting friends to he present, amid these are sometimes accepted with the proviso that the donuirsie amiti his lady shah meet the party at the hotel at dinner on an appointed day during tIne week, so they may have an opportunity to defend themselves. Gin these occasions dinner often lasts tine whole afternoon, aiid the elder is obliged to parry the combined blows of the opposition. On one occasion mine host found his niateim inn time clergynriani iii a xvorldly way, anid it was this circumstance that I set omit to relate. The lamidlord returned on a certain Saturday even- inig from a trip to tine far West, amid iiext morning foniund him, with his xvife, seated in a fronnt pew. Wliemi the plate was passed, he felt in all iris imockets, hut could find only a conib, jackkmuife, amid a circular piece of ivory marked 5, which is supposed by poker players to reliresemit value. This latter xvas dropped inn the plate unider tine vigihamnt eye of tire pastor, but unnoticed by the sextomi, whose eyes had been dinnmned by age. On re- ceiving the collectioni, tire pastor missed tIne chip, amid asked the sexton for it. Tine lint- ter had thrown it axvay, smmpposiug it to he a rmnark of disrespect from some scoffer. Elder H knew his alarm, and camised the represemit- ative of value to be recovered. Next mormmimmg, as the landlord was dilating upon his trip to a crowd of fricmnds in his office, Elder H ap peared, and advancing to the coumiter, I)laced time chip down with the click so fammnihiar to counnoisseurs, an(h asked, Can you redeem that this mornilmig, BrotherS ? Of course S. cotniti miot (10 less thami hand out a tive-dollar bill, and tine elder (lepartecl, after expressing tire hope that he might always be as luicky. Mime host says lie shall not si~ downi ~vithr a prericimer again. PET H. OLEu~I. THE Imite Hey. Joel Hawes, of Hartford, is re- umembered by amamny ~ns a niost ehoquemit dixTine. Singularly aimgunlar in persomi amid qualnit inn manmmner, Ire preachmeti trutim inn a mnrost forcible way. Oir onne occasiomi, after aminoumicimig thmat time usuni collection would be takcnn for loreigmi unnissionis, lie added, in his arost inmprcssix-e nimaur ncr, Amid I wounld say to those pems~mis xvho are mi time habit of pmmttin~ bunttomis into the box that I womnld tirairk them not to hranrinner down time eyes, for thre Lord is imot deceived anrd as buittons they are valueless. It ureed mrot be said that tirere were nO bmnttons that day. ________ RhYME OF A I x~zw a man and knew Iris wife; Great learning had they from tire schrools; Yet candor forces are to say They xvere a pair of Ihey bad a son who early drank From hard experiences pool, Wire kmiexv mimuchi more than older folks, And also was a These parents bought this boy a gun, With little bullets, hard and cool; Upon the gnu was sweetly carved, To our helov~d One grave old fogy shook iris head, And thereby gained machr ridicule. The boy xvermt hmuntinig with a friend, Another precious Two walked auay, and one ran back; Says ire, That gun was very cruL Tire startled mielgirhors shrieked and cried, Where is the other ? Last night I viewed a marble slab, All graven within a practised tool, And read thereon these stony words, Ihere lies a lifeless This. GEORGE ARCHIBALD. A~uo~os of the shaming phrrase to paimit the town red, a well-known politician relates the followimig ehnisode Mr. B represeurted a mimi constituency in Congress, an~d ire wamited to be Senator. His opportunity came one day, amid. xvhmemi hme foumid that iris name had beeni bahhoted for in tire Le~islature, Ire left hris farmmn amid xvenrt to tire State capital to keep his eye oni tirinigs. Whiemi at last it wins amimiominiced thinat lie hind tri niunpired ill tlne contest, ire mursired to a telegraph office, and in tIme mad eunthmmisiasum of tire niomeirt semit thus message to Iris faniily: Elected! Hooray! Paint my old home red! He staid at tIre cap- ital for about a week, celeb rating his good for- 164 EDITORS DRAWER. 165 tune, and then returned to his rustic seclusion. On alighting from the train lie was half (laz- zled by a scarlet glare that appeared above the apple-trees of his orchard. Whats happened to the house ? lie asked, in aniazenient. Nothing, replied one of his fellow-towns- men; oiily you telegraphed us to paint your 01(1 home reil md weve done it. Heres the bill. They had painted the house, and barn, and pens, and hennery, and stablesin fact, there was hardly a stick on the premises that had not been painted a jubilant red. HOMESICK HORSES. NOT long since a large and nohle-looking horse, without halter or hridle, was seen trot- ting rapi(lly through the business l)art of Wiltoii, New Hampshire, finally turning down Maple Street, an(l going directly to the stable in the rear of Mr. D s resideiice. Isaac trotted through the carriage-house into his 01(1 stall, apparently (leliglited to see the members of the family, who soon visited him. Nearly three years previous the gentle- man had sold imimui to parties who SOOli dis lioseul of him, and after exchanging owners several times, had for a few days found a home in the town of Greentield. The (lay lie re- turned he was taken from the carriage in the (1001 yard, an(l after eating a mouthful of feed designed for the chickens, tossed his head high in the air, and at a lively gait went the entire fourteen miles, followed by his new owner, who SOOli ohtaiiied a fleet team at his own village, but was one hour behind the horse. A little later the same faniily were still more surprised. A man who was engaged iii work about the premises saw a horse conic iiito the yard, walk up to a buildiiig that was formerly the stable, but now iise(l for aiiotlier IP~~ After gaziiig through a window, lie looked about oiltsi(he, aii(l discovering a hand- some ne~v stable, with doors wide open, only a few rods away, he trotted gracefully lip the drive aiid took possession. [lie man did not recogii ize him, and tried to drive hiirxi away, but lie wouldnt go. Fimially, with a halter about his neck he succeeded in leading hiini, but as he persisted in returning, lie asked Mrs. D , in the absence of her husband, to look at hini, remarkimig that it niust be a horse they had owiied before he worked there. Quite a (lelegatiomi of village people hind al- ready visited the stable, but all the imifornia- tion gained was simply that he had been seen to pass through the town; so there was no- thing to do but await further developuients. The moment Mr. D ,whio soon returned from a drive, saw the horse, lie exclaimed to his wife: Dont you kno~v himI Why, this is a colt I sold het~veen ten and eleven years ago, and have regretted it ever since. Only the other day I was wondering what became of him. (It ~vas one of a liar lie drove the year before his marriage, and he thought his wife ought to recognize hini.) When his old mate was brought out, tIme horses showed so much pleasure it wa.s as af- fecting as witnessing his joy whiemi his former o~vner entered the stable. He hind journeyed from Fitchmburg, Massachusetts, umore thi an twenty miles away, and so far as can be a seer- taimied it was the first lime lie had been loose aiid free simice lie heft Wilton so long ago. The hireselit owner had tiiriied hiimmm out to feed, to find an hiour later flint bars amid fences were iiot ami opposiii0 force to a hmonme- sick horse, though hitherto wellbehaved and apparently coiiteiited. AN EDITORS MISTAKE. THAT veteraii story writer Edward Everett Hale tells the followhmig aiIimmsiiig incident con cermiimig what is probably his best known story, TIme Man Wit hiout a Country. The tale origi mially appeared in the early days of the war, the peculiar and pathetic miar rative attractiiig machi attentiomi even in those days of universal absorptioim anil cxci tement. Many scores of letters were semit bothi to the Navy Department at Washmiiigton aiid to tIme author hiiuiself inquiring if the story were a true one; anul ninny foreign publications cop- ied it as a womiderfimi evidence of thie terrible nature of Uncle Sanis pulishimimelits. But the times were stirrimig ones, aiid iii the comirse of a few mouths even newspaper amid miiagazine commeiits hind emitirehy ceased mipon this much- talked-of story. Omme day, some years later, Mr. Hale, strolling imito a public library iii Bostomi, hmickeil up omit of idle curiosity a new niagazine, a pmibhica tiomi with which lie was umifamnihiar, comiming from a (histant State. Famicy his surprise whelm time first article lie saw on opemmimig time umaga zinc was his own story of Time Man Without a Coumitry, while mimider it appeale(l this hue: Tramislated from tIme Germiman. Anthior un known. Well, lie mused, after all, fame is a bubble ! amid thiemi sat dowim amiul ~vrote a let- ter to time editor of the ummagazine, chaiumimi~ tIme story as his own. In dime time a reply canine hack explaimming this 0(1(1 iuicidemit. The editor, as lie himself wrote had served as a volunteer captaimi in time war, amid had beemi statiomied for ummany mouths in Texas, where lie amid hiis troops were alumost as coimipletchy emit off from the world as if they lma(l heemi on a (lesert island. Mail cormimuni catiomi was very imifrequemit, amid thiemi omihy hmromiii t letters beimig fir too ~reciomis space to be devoted to bulky magazines or news- papers. Iii short, added time writer, for nearly two years we were absohmmtehy igmioramit of f lie literary work of the world. At that 166 HABPflS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. time our friends at home had other things to write about. And It chanced, those were the very months when the fame of Mr. Hales story went abroad In the land. Afterthe we; the captaln,returningto civil life, became the editor of a modest but flour- Islalngllttle m~sgaslue, which often copied good articles and stories from foreign, periodicals. The editor one day found In an obscure Ger- man paper The Man Without a Country, and thinking he had happened upen an almost undIscovered gem, had eagerly translated and published It, anonyuxously,as he had found It; for which, of course, he now offered many apelogles, adding that only a very unusual train of circumstances could ever have led to such a blunder. Thus appeared In this country for the sec- ond time a story which in Its day had created amost unusual degree of interest and comment. There? added Mn Hale; If I had (sweat- iv! that, It would never have been believed, but people would have shaken their hoads and said, That sounds Just like one of Hales yawns. Ig Ax apt Illustration of the odd mistakes the little ones make In the convertibility of terms Is the query of the five-year-old Aggle, whe, having known of her mothers purchase of some undressed kid gloves, and hearing her complaIn of the Ill fit of some she happened to be wearing, asked, Why dont you wear your naked ones, mamma? GOYBENOR iLARDOLIL On of the most brilliant men of his time was Thomas Mann Randolph, who married Martha the daughter of Thomas Jefferson. He Inherited the dash and vigor of the Carys, being descended from Colonel Archibald Cary, ofAmpthlll, whose unyielding opposition to British rule gained him the sobriquet of Old Iron, and exhibited In his persontall, lean, counnandingin carriage, with flashing eye and sudden and sinewy strengthtraces of his do- mitt from Pocahontas through Rolfe and the Bollings. He scrvcd in the State Senate, in the national House of Representatives, and was thrice (lovemnorof Virginia. Of the many anecdotes related of him the following have never before been published: Soon after his marriage he went to reside at Edge Hill, near Charlot$esvflle. It was before thedaysofrallroadsinYlrgin[a,and alifreight was hauled in large canvas-covered wagons, the teamsters camping by the road-side at night. Governor Randolph had changed the course of cite of the roads which crossed the river near his home, and that, for some reason, displeased the wagoners, who resolved to punish him. One night a number of wagonswere drawn up In a picturesque group on the banks of the Rivanna, and the camp flreswere burning brightly, when Mann Ran- dolph, as he was called, rode by and entered the ford. The teamsters, mindlbl of their grudge, began to belabor hIs horse, and a few blows from their stout lashes eveit fell upon the old geittleman. lit a twinkling the 0ev- enter was on the tonnd, and seizing a brand tom the fire, he began such a vehement at- tack upon the teantstcrs that they were mu brought to terms. He required them to catch his horse and hold it until he was seemly seated in the saddle. Governor Randolph had been missing corn from his bartt, and was not slow to accuse the teamsters of the thefts. One night, thinking to catch the thieves In the act, he concealed himself lit the barn. The wagoners surround- ed the place and captured Itim. 1 am not a corn thief, protested tie Gow- ernor. I have a legal rljht to anything that bqrn contains. Its mliie. His captors were lniiredulous, and said: Oh, we how who you are. Governor Randolph has accused us of taking the corn you have been st~allng. To the house with him, mates; the Governor shall have his thief. And with their prisoner under strong guard they repaired to the mansion. A negress ap- peered in answer to their summons. Where is Governor Randolph? asked the leaden A broad grin expanded the countenance of Aunt Dinah as she replied, peinting to the prisoner, Why, dar he? Consternation followed; but the Goveriior gave a pleasant turn to thewbole matter by Inviting the men to his dinIng-room, where a table was spread and wine funtished In gen- erous quantity. Governor Randolph would never ride an in- differenthorse, and manym the anecdotes of his daring and even reckless horsemanship. He always rode In a straight line, takiiig fences and ditohes atid swimming riva wher- ever he came to them. He bought a fine horse from a countrymait on one occasion. At the next court he met the vender and said: I want you to take that horn back. Why, Goveritor? Doesnt he move well? Admirably. Isnt he straight, trim, and in good condi- ton? All of that Then Isnt he as represented? I think so. Then what is the matter? The horse maS swiss! Among the Goveritors eccentricities was.e fondum for naitkeen pantabcons, and It Is re- lated that he was Ittaugurated Goventor In pantaloons of that material in January, when the thermometer was below zero! Jon S. Panm. EDITORS DRAWER. 167 DER OAK UND PER VINE. I DOND vas preaching vomans righdts, Or anyding like dot; Und I likes to see all beoples Shust gondented mit dheir lot; Budt I vants to gondradict dot shap Dot made dis leedle shoke. A voman vas der glinging vine, Und man, der sliturdy oak. Berhaps, somedimes, dot may pe drue; Budt, dea dimes oudt off nine, I find me oudt dot man himself Vas peen der glinging vine; Und vhen hees frendts dhey all vas gone, Und he vas shust tead proke, Dots vhen der voman shteps righdt in, Uad peen der shturdy oak. Shust go oup to der pase-pall groundts Und see dhose shturdy oaks All planted roundt ubon der seats Shust hear dheir laughs und shokes! Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs, Mit glothes oudt on der lines: Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine frendts, Und vhich der glinging vines? Yhen Sickness in der householdt comes, Und veeks und veeks he slitays, Who vas id fighdts him mitoudt resdt, Dhose veary nighdts und days? Who hence und gomfort alvays prings, Und cools dot fefered prow? More like id vas der tender vine Dot oak he glings to, now. Man vants budt leedle here pelow, Der hoet von time said; Dheres leedle dot man he dond vant, I dink id means, inshted; Und vhen der years keep rolling on, Dheir cares und droubles pringing, He vants to pe der shturdy oak, Und, also, do der glinging. Maype, vhen oaks dhey gling some more, Und dond so shturdy peen, Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance To helb run Lifes masheen. In helt und sickness, shoy und pain, In calm or shtormy veddher, Tvas beddher dot dhose oaks und vines Should alvays gling togeddher. CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 0 0 ~ Ocd s 0. K QO ZF~ 0

George Du Maurier Du Maurier, George Precedence at Bonnebouche Hall during the Holidays 168-170

0 0 ~ Ocd s 0. K QO ZF~ 0 A CREOLE BELLE.

A Creole Belle 170

A CREOLE BELLE.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 74, Issue 440 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January 1887 0074 440
Sir Edward J. Reed Reed, Edward J., Sir The Navies of the Continent 171-186

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. LXXIV. JANUAIIY, 188T. No. CCCCXL. THE NAVIES OF THE CONTINENT. BY SIR EDWARD J. REED. 1.THE FRENCH NAVY. IN Harper for February and for June, 1886, were set forth at length, and with much variety of illustration, the particu- lars of the British navy and of the United States navy respectively. We have now to pass under review that vast array of naval constructions which the continent- al navies of Europe offer to our observa- tion. It is not at all surprising tbat the in- troduction of steam-engines, of iron and steel hulls, and of armor plating has been attended throughout Europe by even greater diversity of thought and practice than has characterized our naval prog- ress our progress here signifying that of both the United States and Great Brit- ain. And this may, I think, truthfully be said without in any degree neglecting the striking originality of the American Monitors, to which I endeavored to do justice in the article of February last. As regards two of the three great changes just adverted to, the only differ- ences of opinion that have arisen have been in the nature of competitions rather than of conflicts. No one, so far as I am aware, has ever proposed to revert to sail- power or to wooden hulls in important ships of war. On the contrary, the pow- ers have been in continual competition in the effort to reduce the weinhts of the hulls of war ships (apart from armor) by the extended use, first of iron, and after- ward of steel, and to apply the savings of weight thus effected to the develop- m ent of engine-power, speed, and steam- ing endurance. On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that the develop- ment of armor has been pursued with less constancy and less earnestness, the result being that marked contrasts are ex- hibited by European navies. It may be said, with little or no qualifi- cation, that all other European naval pow- ers followed in the first place the example set by the late Emperor Napoleon III., in La Gloire, by covering the whole of the exposed part of the war ships hull with armor plating. All the early iron-dads of Russia, Italy, Austria, and Germany were protected from stem to stern, and from a few feet below water to the upper deck. England did the same in the cases of a few ships, although she be0an, as we saw before, with the Warrior type, in which the armor was limited to the cen- tral part of the ship. But the system of completely covering the exposed ship with armor has now entirely and properly passed away from European practice, and has been succeeded by varied arrange- ments of armor. The importance of giving effectual pro- tection to the hull between wind and water, as it is called (signifying from a few feet below the water-line to a few feet above that line), has been steadily recog- nized by Continental governments, with but the rarest exceptions. Nothing cor- responding to that wholesale abandon- ment of armor for about a hundred feet at each end of the ship which has been practised in the British ships of the In- flexible and Admiral types is displayed in the line-of-battle ships of the Conti- nent. In France, indeed, two such ships were laid down under some temporary in- fluence, viz., the Brennus and the Charles Martel, but they appear to have soon fall- en under suspicion, and there has not been, to my knowledge, any great dispo Entered according to Act of congress. in the year 1886, by Tiarper and Brothers, in the Office of the Librarian of congress, at Washington. All rights reserved. ~OL. LxxLv.No. 440.i 4 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sition to complete them for service. I know not what significance is to be at- tached to the fact, but I observe that these two ships have been omitted altogether from the iron-clad ships of France pub- lished so recently as May, 1886, in the Universal Register of shippin~, which Lloyds Register Committee believe will be found the most complete list that has yet been published. It seems not im- probable, therefore, that the dangerous system of exposing two - thirds of the ships length to destruction from all kinds and every kind of naval guns, even the smallest, which prevailed in the Brit- ish navy for more than twelve years, and which has now happily been superseded in the powerful new ships Nile and Traf- algar, obtained but little more than mo- mentary approval in France, and is like- ly to have led to the condemnation of the only two ships in which it was attempted a result which is creditable alike to French science and to French sagacity. ~ In Italy the Inflexible system (which has met in France with the fate we have just seen) obtained temporary favor, and was adopted in the Duilio and the Dan- dolo, two very large ships, of 11,000 tons each, of a speed exceeding fifteen knots, and each carrying four 100-ton guns in turrets. Althou~h these ships are 340 feet in length, even the armored belt amid- ships (if belt in any sense so short a strip of armor may be calledt) is but 107 feet long, leaving therefore 233 feet of the ship at the ends wholly devoid of water- line protection. As the author of the citadel system, I cannot regard such an arrangement as this as a fair and rea- sonable embodiment of it, the discrepancy between the armored and unarmored por- tions being greater in these two ships than even in the Ajax and Agarneninon, which are perhaps the worst examples of the abuse of the citadel system in the British navy. It is to the credit of the Italian government that ships of this type were not repeated in their navy; and it is but right to point out that there were cx- * Since the above was written a return made by the Admiralty to the order of the House of Corn- moos bas been printed, and says of the Brennus and (Jlserles Martel: Though these vessels still appear in the list of the French navy, but little money has been voted for their construction in 1886, and all work on them is now reported to have been stopped.E. J. R. ~ It is called a belt in Lloyds Universal Register, but the term is very likely to misleadF. J. H. cuses (which probably ranked in the minds of the designers as reasons) for a more ex- treme proportionate limitation of the cita- dels being adopted in the Duilio and Dan- dolo than in the Ajax and Agamemnon. Among these were the possession by the Italian ships of heavier armaments and of far greater steam-power and speed than the British ships possesseda matter to which further reference will be made here- afterand probably also the adoption of somewhat finer water-lines as a means of attaining the superior speed. In this connection it may be well to observe that the question of leaving so- called armored line-of-battle ships without armor at the extremities is first one of principle, and afterward one of degree. The principle (which should be observed in the design of every armored vessel which is intended for the line of battle, or for those close and severe contests of ship with ship which will probably supersede in a great degree the system of fighting in lines of battle) is this: the proportion which the armored citadel bears to the unarmored ends must always be such as to enable the ship to keep afloat all the time the armor itself holds out against the attack of the enemy; so that injuries to the unarmored ends, however great or multiplied, shall not alone suffice to de- stroy the ship. Whatever may occur in the future to interfere with the application of this principleand I do not deny that such interferences may arise under certain perfectly conceivable circumstancesno- thing has yet happened to justify its aban- donment, or to even justify the remotest chance of its being violated. If a ship is not intended to close with an enemy, or to fight her anyhow and anywhere on the open seawhich certainly has been the dominant idea of the British navy, in so far as its great line-of-battle ships are con- cernedif, for example, a combination of immense speed with one or two extremely powerful and well-protected guns should serve a particular object better than a. slower and more fully protected ship. would serve itthen even great destructi- bility in the ship itself may justifiably be incurred. But for general naval service, and in every case in which a ship is in- tended to accept battle with a powerful antagonist, and fight it out, or to force an action when she encounters such an ene- my, it cannot be wise to leave her so ex- posed that that enemy may almost cer THE NAVIES OF THE CONTINENT. 173 tainly sink her or cause her to capsize by merely pouring any kind of shot or shell into her unarmored parts. But even the observance of the above general principle is not alone all that is desirable in ar- mored line-of-battle ships. It is not well to leave even so much of the ends of such ships wholly exposed as may lead to the speedy loss in action of her steaming or steering powers. The armor belt should be of sufficient length to fairly guarantee the ship against prompt disablement in action, and to do this it must be carried very much nearer to the bow and stern than it has been in the cases of the Italian ships (Dailio and Dandolo) now under notice. On the other hand, where ships are formed with fine water-lines, and the two opposite sides are consequently very near to each other for many feet, it is quite unneces- sary to cover them with armor. The buoyancy comprised between the two sides at such parts is very small, and conse- quently penetration can let but little wa- ter into the ship, and do but little harm. It is a matter for the exercise of profes- sional judgment where to draw the line be- tween the armored and the unarmored parts. In the new British ships Nile and Trafalgar, which have excited great ad- miration in England, there are about sixty feet of length at each end left without ar- mor, and as the ships have fine lines, but are nevertheless of considerable breadth at sixty feet from the ends, it seems prob- able that good judgment has been shown by their designers in this matter. I have discussed this question at some length because it is one of primary con- sideration in the design of important ar- mored ships, and because the abandon- ment of a long belt of armor is also one of the few features of construction re- spectiug which the designers of the Con- Fmo. 1.THE FOUDROYANT: }RENCH ARMORED Smime OF 11W FIRST CLASS. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tinent have steadfastly refrained from fol- lowing the example set by the Admiralty Office at Whitehall from the years 1870 to 1885. It will complete the considera- tion of this branch of the subject to say that there are numerous ships of the iron- clad type in foreign navies in which the armor (justifiably, as has just been shown) stops somewhat short of the ends, but very few indeed in which the length of the un- armored parts exceeds that of the armor- ed. Among the last-named may be men- tioned a very questionable class of vessels (Sachsen type) in the German navy, and a much smaller sea-going vessel belong- ing to the Argentine Republic, named the Almirante Brown, which is a well-de- signed vessel in other respects, but which, on account of her long defenceless bow and stern, would do better to avoid than to fight an enemy. * Having now dealt with the primary question of the defence of ships by means of armor belts, we come to the greater or less defence bestowed upon them above water. The course taken by the French designers,when the increased thickness of armor made it impossible to repeat the complete protection adopted in La Gloire and her compeers, was in some few cases that of belting the ship with armor, and giving great tumble home to the sides above water, excepting at the central ar- mored battery, thus allowing that battery to project, and its guns to fire directly ahead and astern, past the inwardly in- clined sides. This system has been strik- ingly carried out in the two sister ships Foudroyantt and D~vastation, the for- mer of which is shown, stem on, in Fig. 1, which is engraved from a photograph taken after her launch, and before she be- gan to receive her armor plating. A re- presentation of the sister vessel, D~vasta- tion (forming one of the series of engrav- ings given in this article from drawings specially executed for the purpose by Chevalier De Martino), forms our next illustration, Fig. 2. But generally in the French navy, and in nearly all but its earliest ships, direct head and stern fire has been obtained by means of elevated and projecting towers, armor plated to a sufficient height to pro- tect the gun machinery, but with the guns themselves unprotected, and firing en bar- bette. In the case of the two ships D~vas- tation and Foudroyant the main-deck projecting battery carries four guns, each commanding a full quadrant of a circle. The barbette batteries, standing up above the upper deck, carry a powerful gun on each side of the ship, with great range of fire. * It will be instructive to repeat here, before leaving this question of partially armored ships, a comparison resembling that which I employed in a paper read at the Royal United Service Institution, in which is set down in one column the displacements of certain British and French ships, eleven of each, built and building, possessing maxii~~un~ armor on the water-line of at least fifteen inches. As all the French ships given have complete or all but complete armor belts, it is proper to reckon their whole displacement tonna~ es as armored tonnage. But in the case of all the British ships which carry such thick armor they are deprived of armor altogether except amidships, and it is therefore misleading, and even absurd, to reckon their whole displacement tonnages as armored tonnage. For this reason I am obliged to give two tonnages for them, viz., the armored and the unarmored, as 1 do below: BRLTIsC Snips. ~ NOH Snors. L Unarmured. Armored. Total. Armored. - - Tons Tons. Tons. Tons. AmiralBaudin 11,141 Inflexible 5,210 6,670 11,880 Amiral Duperrd 10,486 Ajax 4,160 4,350 8,510 Ddvastation 9,639 Agamemuon 4,160 4,350 8,510 Formidable 11,441 Colossus 4,580 4,570 9,150 Fondroyant 9,639 Edinburab 4,580 4,570 9,150 Hoche 9,864 Collingwood 4,580 4,570 9,150 Magenta 9,864 Rodney 4,800 4,900 9,700 Marceau 9,864 Rome 4,800 4,900 9,700 Neptune 9,864 Camperdown 4,900 5,100 10,000 Caiman 7,239 Benbow 4,900 5,100 10,000 Indomptable 7,184 Anson 4,900 5,100 10,000 Total 106,225 Total 51,570 54,180 j 105,750 I have not thought it necessary to alter these figures in repeating this comparison, as they are sufficient- ly near the truth for the only purpose for which I employ them, which is that of exhibiting the fact that whereas the above eleven British iron-dads (so called) figure in the official tables of the British ~ovemn- ment as constituting an armored tonnage of 105,750 tons, nearly equal to that of the eleven French ships, they really represent but little more than half that amnount of armored tonnageB. J. R. j This ship now appears in some lists as the (Yooubet, her name having been changed, but it is convenient at present to give the name by which she has hitherto been knownB. J. R. FIG. 2.THE DkWASTATION: FRENCH ARMORED SHIP OF THE FIRST CLASS. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Having given these general indica- tions of the system of attack and defence adopted in the French navy-by far the most important of all the Continental naviesit now becomes desirable to go more into particulars. It is not necessary to dwell npon the early iron-dads of France. The Gloire and a dozen others of like character were all built of wood, without water-tight bulkheads, without rams or spurs, with armor plates from 4 to 6 inches thick only, and with guns of small calibre and power. They may be left out of consideration in dealing with the present French navy. They were followed by six other vessels, also built of wood, but with upper works of iron, viz., the Oceian, Mareugo, Suifren, Richelieu, Colbert, Trident. They were armored with plates of a maximum thickness of 8~ inches, and carried four guns of 10~ inch- es calibre, weighing 23 tons each, with four 16-ton guns, and half a dozen light ones. They varied in some particulars, rangin5 in tonnage from 7000 to 8000 tons, in horse-power from 3600 to 4600, and in speed from 13 to H~ knots. The Friedland is another vessel which is fre- quently classed with the previous six ships, the largest of which she generally resembles, but she is built of iron, and carries eight 23-ton guns, and none of the 16-ton. A committee which sat in 1879, and which had for its president and vice-presidents men no less eminent than the late M. Gambetta and MM. Albert Gravy and Jules Ferry, pronounced these seven ships to be the strongest armored ships of the French navy then in service. Such great advances have since been made, however, that it is only necessary to add respecting these vessels that they were nearly all single screw ships, and that they carried their principal arma- ment at broadside ports on the main- deck, and in raised barbette towers placed at the four corners of the central battery. The Richclicu was the largest of these vessels. Not one of the foregoing French ships of the early period conformed to condi- tions which were laid down officially in 1872 as those requisite for first-class French iron-dads, viz., that they should be con- structed of iron (or steel),with water-tight compartments, be armored with plates 12 inches thick,with decks from 2 to 2~ inch- es thick, and armed with guns of 24 cen- timeters calibre, commanding certain pre- scribed ranges of fire, and furnished with spurs or ram stems. There were, how- ever, four ships then under construction or trial which did conform to the pre- scribed conditions, namely, the two al- ready spoken of, the Foudroyant and D6vastation, and two others named the Redoutable and the Amiral Duperr6. With these powerful ships may be said to have commenced the era of iron and steel line-of-battle ships in France. We will now bring them, together with still more recent French ships of the first class, into a table in which their particulars may be conveniently grouped. TABLE AMODERN FRENCH ARMORED SHIrs OF THE FIRST CLAss.* Name. Amiral Bauditi... Amiral Duperid.. Ddvastation Formidable Foudroyant (now Courbet) iloche Magenta Marceau Neptune Redoutabic (Jaiman Furieux Jndoinptable Requin Terrible Tonnant Displace- Indicated Speed ment norse- in in Tons. power.t Knots.t 11,200 10,300 9,900 11,260 9,500 10,480 10,480 10,480 10,480 9,030 7,200 5,700 7,200 7,200 7,200 4,707 8,320 8,120 8,320 8,320 8,200 5,500 5,500 5,500 5,500 6,000 4,800 3,400 4,800 6,000 4,800 1,750 15 14.2 14.5 15 15 14 14 14 14 14.2 14 12 14 14.5 14 10 I.)rauglit Length. Breadth. of water. Feet. Feet. Feet. 319 70 25.8 319 70 25.8 312 69.8 25.5 319 70 25.8 311 69.8 25.5 329 66 26.5 329 66 26.5 329 66 26.5 329 66 26.5 312 64.6 24.4 271 59 23 248 59 21.4 271 59 22.8 271 59 22.8 271 59 22.8 248 58.4 17.3 * For the reason before stated, the Breenus and Charles iWiartel are omitted from this table. t These powers and speeds are taken from Lloyds Universal Register. Maximum Thickness of Armor. Inches. 22 22 15 22 is 17.7 17.7 17.7 17.7 14 17.5 17.5 19.5 19.5 19.5 17.5 Heaviest Guns carried. 3 of 75 tons. 4 48 3 75 4 52 4 52 4 52 4 52 2 48 248 2 75 2 75 2 75 248 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The ship which alphabetically falls last in this table among the ships of 9000 tons and upward, the Redoutable, came first in point of time, viz., in 1872, and her de- sign marked the commencement of the new era in French iron-clad construction. One of the features of the change was as already intimated, the abandonment of wooden hulls, which we had succeeded in accomplishing in England eight years be- fore. The first design proposed by my- self to the British Admiralty provided for an iron hull, and although the force of circumstances compelled us to construct my earliest war vessels in timber, yet so strongly averse were we to the employ- ment of so perishable a material as wood within an iron casing that Admiral Sir R. Spencer Robinson sncceeded in preventing the construction of three out of five wood- en line-of-battle armored ships that had previously been proposed by the govern- ment of the day, and sanctioned by Parlia- ment. This was in 1863 or 1864, the Lord Clyde and Lord Warden being the last large armored wooden ships laid down in her Majestys dock-yards. The French delayed the change for some years, as we see. M. De Bussy, the designer of the Re- doutable, and a most accomplished naval constructor, built a very large part of the ship of steel, and by so doing brought the French dock-yards into early acquaint- ance with the superiority of that mate- rial to iron for constructive purposes. The Redoutable has armor of more than 14 inches in thickness upon her belt, and of 9~ inches upon her central battery. She carries eight 25-ton guns*~four in her central battery, two in barbette half-tow- ers, and two on revolving platforms at the bow and stern respectively. She also car- ries eight light 5j-inch guns. This ship generally resembles her successors, the Th~vastation and the Foudroyant (by the same designer), in so far as that her bat- teries fire past sides, with great tumble home. Sir Thomas Brassey (in this re- spect somewhat erroneously following Mr. King, of the United States navy, in his able work upon The War Ships and Na- vies of the World), says, The faculty of firing parallel to the line of keel is secured in the French ship by the tumble home of the ships sides, and not by the projection of the battery beyond them, as in the * Some returns say four of 28 tons, and four of 24 tons, all being of 27 centimeters 3alibre. I have adopted these in Table A. English vessel (the Audacious). It is difficult to understand what this means because it is obviously only by the projec- tion of the battery beyond the sides of the ship which are before and after it that fore and aft fire can be obtained from the battery in either case. But it is not true that the battery of the Audacious any more than the battery of the Redoutable projects beyond the breadth of the ship at the water-line, which would seem to be what is intended, and Sir Thomas Brassey (now worthily promoted to the House of Lords, and known as Lord Brassey) may assure himself of the fact by looking at Plate III. of his own work on The British Navy, from which the above words are quoted. The Redoutable is a full-rigged ship, and nevertheless steams 14~ knots per hour. There is one particular in which the D~vastation and the Foudro- yant, like her as they are in general de- sign, differ materially from the Redou- table. I refer to the armament. The former two ships each carry four 34-cen- timeter 48-ton guns in the main-deck bat- tery, in lieu of the four 25-ton guns of the Redoutable. The Amiral Duperrd (designed by M. Sabattier, the able French chief construct- or) claims a few words, as she differs nma- terially in type from the three ships just discussed. She has a complete belt of very thick armor from stem to stern greatest thickness 22 inches, tapering to 10 inches at the extremities, with a thick deck (2-inches) at the top of the belt in the usual manner. But above this belt there is no armored main-deck battery, as in the other ships, the chief armament, of four 48-ton guns, being carried in four elevated barbette towers, two of which are well forward, and project consider- ably to enable their guns to act effi- ciently as bow chasers, and at the same time to command all round the broad- side and right astern. To facilitate this the sides of the ship have great tumble home. The other two towers are situ- ated at the middle line of the ship, one near the stern, and the other further for- ward, between the main and the mizzen masts. The main-deck, although without armor defence, is not without armament, as it carries fourteen 5~-inch 60-pounder rifled breech-loaders. Other particulars of the Amiral Duperr~ are given in the table, and Fig. 4 is a view of her, en- graved from a photograph with which I 180 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. have been favored by a French officer. It will be observed from her description that the most characteristic feature of this great ship of more than 10,000 tons is the absence of any guns protected by armor. The barbette towers, it is true, are armor- ed with 12-inch plates, and the main-deck guns are under the protection of the thin plating of the ships side, which latter is of little or no avail, however, against the armament of other first-class ships. Prac- tically the whole of the Duperri~s guns are unprotected. It may be added that during the discussions in London upon the ships armored in places an attempt was made to show that the Duperrd, ow- ing to her alleged small initial stability, was as devoid of stability when injured above the belt as certain vessels of the British Admiral class when injured be- fore and abaft the belta statement which I distrust, as I regard it as a mere inference from an experiment which I be- lieve to be delusive. At the same time, the Duperr~ would have been the better for more initial stability. But it is obvious that all belted or par- tially belted vessels, in which the belt is carried but a small height above the wa- ter for the size of the ship, must run the risk of losing both buoyancy and stabil- ity very soon if even moderately inclined in or after battle, seeing that, with a mod- erate inclination only, the entire armor belt on the depressed side of the ship must disappear beneath the seas surface. The strenuous assertion of this source of dan- ger, although it could not lead to much increase in the stability of the existing armored ships, has produced as one effect the busy and earnest efforts which both English and French constructors have been recently making to subdivide their ships above the armor into as many wa- ter-ti~,ht compartments as possible, and to stuff these compartments as full as possible of buoyant (or at least of water- excluding) materials. The necessity for resorting to this device, however, in first- class ships of nine, ten, or eleven thou- sand tons displacement, and of something approaching to five million dollars each in value, is not a thing for either French or English naval constructors to be proud of. But the assertion of the danger in question has had in England the further and very satisfactory result of bringing much more trustworthy ships, like the Nile and Trafalgar, into being, and of insuring the determined support of these ships in Parliament whenever those who foolishly confound mere cheapness with merit in such constructions seek to inter- fere with the progress of these magnifi- cent vessels. Two other powerful ships of the French navy, closely resembling the Amiral Du- perr~, are the Amiral Baudin and the Formidable. They are of 3~ feet more beam than the Duperrd (and therefore probably have much larger stability), and their displacement exceeds hers by 900 tons. Their armaments chiefly differ from hers in the employment of three guns of 75 tons each in their towers, in lieu of the four guns of 48 tons of the Duperr~. The Neptune, Hoehe, Magenta, and Mar- ceau are four other powerful ships, as will have been seen from Table A, the princi- pal armament of each consisting of four guns of 52 tons, carried in towers, with the exception of the Hoche, which has two of her four principal guns of 28 tcrn~s each only. Incidental mention has already been made (in foot-note, page 174) of two ships, the Caiman and Indomptable, which, al- though of only 7200 tons, carry very thick armor (19k inches), and as a matter of fact carry also guns of the heaviest type (75-ton). There are two other vessels of the same description, the Terrible and Requin. Careful note should be taken of these four steel-built vessels, which add greatly to the power of France. Each carries two of the very powerful guns just mentioned, and steams at a speed of 14~ knots. In the same category of thick- ly armored ships the French have yet one other ship, the Furieux, of 5560 tons. Her armor is 17~ inches thick in places, and she is armed with two 48-ton guns. Her speed is 12 knots. The Tonnant has the same armor and armament, but she is of nearly 1000 tons less displacement, draw- ing much less water, and steaming only at 10 knots per hour. Space will not admit of our dealing in this article with each of the European fleets with the same fulness as was per- missible in our article discussing the Brit- ish navy. We have already remarked upon all the principal iron - dads of France, and upon some likewise which cannot compete for notability in the present day. We may sum up the facts relating to the larger class of French iron- dads which still rank among the efficient THE NAVIES OF TIlE CONTINENT. 1181 I These are the Dugueselin, Vauban, Bayard, and Tarcune; but of these, while the first two are built of steel, the last two are built of wood, with iron topsides, as are all the remaining five vessels of this class. The subjoined table will indicate the inferior character of most of the vessels of this type: TABlE 13.Fnz~cu ARMOP..EP Cnusrns. ILbiplace Indicated (Bent. Ilonsepowe Speed Length Bi eadth Ims. KneO lcct 5900 4560 14 5 9t0. ~ 9 590() 4000 14 266 ~79 5900 4250 142 966 512 5900 4000 14 266 51 2 4100 2310 i~ 256 40 4100 2400 128 2i6 49 4600 2210 1~ 1 256 49 5620 1860 11 8 999 46 5620 1860 12 90 46 ~ Draught M ximnrn of eX te Tliicknees 1 ci of irnior. inches. 15 10 23 10 15 1 10 ~)99 10 99 ( 9 6 9) 118 6 918 6 ships of 7000 tons and upward by saying that in addition to the sixteen ships of which the particu lars are given in Table A, there are on the efficient list the Colbert, Friedland, Maren go, Oc~an, Rich- eliem, Suifrem, Trident, Saroie, Revanche, Sur- veillaute, and H~roine, most of which have been previously described in general terms, and the re- mainder of which are of less than 6000 tons, and were built chiefly of wood many years ago. The French navy further comprises thirteen ar- mor-plated cruisers, of which four have lately been dropped out of some official lists. Of the remaining nine, four are modern vessels. and all of about ectual size and power. / Fo. 5.-Tnz \ENOEUR: FRENCH IBoN.CLAD COAsT-OUAIIi) VESSEL. Name. Bayard Do oe~c1iu . Tmenno XT2ubao L~ G~1ioooieio It iioiopb into X cto~eose Reme BI mnche Theti, heaviest Guns carried. 4 of 16 tons. 4 16 4 16 4 16 6 16 6 16 6 16 6 8 6 8 182 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Of the above ships it may be remarked that the Thetis and Beirte Blanche have been nearly twenty years afloat, the Ga- lissoniire was launched in 1872, the Vie- torieuse in 1875, and the Trioinphante in 1877. The remainder of the nine, as pre- viously stated, are modern vessels, the Du- gueselin being not yet completed. The Dugueselin and her sister ships are of the Duperr~ type, much reduced in dimen- sions. There are nine completed coast-guard iron-dads and eight armored gun-boats in the French navy, as follows: TABLE cFRENCH IRON-CLAD cOAST-GUARD VESSELS. Principal Name. Displace- Speed. Dfrmum~ Gone. Tons. Knots. Inches. Ao. loss. Fiilrniiiasit 5600 13.22 13 2 28 To,inerre 5100 14 13 2 28 Ternp~te 4523 12 13 2 28 veigeus 4523 10.8 13 2 48 I Belier 3600 12.3 8.5 2 16 Bou1edo~iie 3800 12.25 8.5 2 16 cerb& re 3800 11.4 8.5 2 16 T urean 2700 13 6 1 23 Ti~ re 3500 13.5 8.5 2 16 TABI,E D.FRENCH IRON-CLAD GUN-BOATS. Name Diaplace- Speed Maximum Principal noeni. Armor. Gana. Tons. Kanla. Inches. I No lana rAcii6ron 1639 13 8 1 28 First I cocyte 1639 13 5 1 28 Class. Phl~g6ton 1639 13 8 1 28 I L8tyx 1639 13 5 1 28 Second (Flanime 1045 13 5 1 16 I Fus~e 1045 13 5 1 16 Class. Mitraille 1045 13 5 1 16 (Grenade 1045 13 5 1 16 The vessels in these tables C and D are all revolving turret Vessels with the ex- ception of the Taurean and of the four second-class gun-boats, which fire their guns en barbette. They embrace very different types of construction, involving different degrees of sea-worthinessvery low degrees in some of them, I fear. With the exception of the Temp~te, they are all furnished with twin screws. The Ful- minant, Tonnerre, Teinp~te, and Vengeur, in Table C, and the whole of the vessels in Table D (as yet incomplete), are of iron or of steel, or of the two combined; the remainder have hulls principally built of wood. I have chosen for illustration the turret vessel Vengeur (Fig. 5), which has been engraved from a photograph sent to me by a naval friend in France. We come now to the unarmored ships of France, and as in writing of these I purpose acceptillg the official classifica- tions adopted in France, which are not identical with those employed in England, it may be well to repeat here a caution which the British Admiralty has given in a memorandum prefixed to a recent re- turn of theirs showing the fleets of England, France, Russia, Germany, Italy, Austria, and Greece. The caution is to the effect that France includes un- der the heading of cruisers vessels of about similar value to the larger class of English sloops, which are excluded from the English cruiser class. But I re- gret the necessity of observing that the Admiralty officers, while careful to put this explanation well forward, appear to be equally careful to withhold an expla- nation of much greater moment concern- ing three French cruisers of large size and of greater hnportancewithheld in pur- suance, apparently, and as I have most reluctantly come to fear, of an uncandid, and indeed of a misleading spirit, which seems to have taken possession of some persons who have to do with The prepara- tion of Admiralty returns to Parliament. The exercise of this spirit has forced me ere now to draw the attention of Parlia- ment to the matter, and in one instance to have an official return, which contain- ed erroneous and too favorable classifica- tions of British ships, withdrawn.* Any one referring to the Parliamentary re- turn of British and foreign fleets just adverted to will find under the heading of Unarmored Vessels Building two large and remarkably fast steel cruisers, the Tage and the C~cile, the former of which exceeds 7000 tons in displacement, while the latter approaches 6000 tons, and both of which are to steam at the im- mense speed of 19 knots an hour, or a knot in excess of the fastest armed vessel (neglecting torpedo craft) in the British navy. These two French cruisers are re- spectively 390 and 380 feet in length, and are to be driven by over 10,000 indicated horse-power in the Tage, and by nearly 10,000 indicated horse-power in the C~- cue. A third vessel, the Sfax, launched at Brest in 1884, of 4420 tons,7500 indicated horse-power, and 16 knots speed, is also given without remark in the Parliamen- tary return as an unarmored vessel. No ~v even tllis last-named vessel has a steel deck 1~ inches thick to protect her boilers, machinery, and magazines, while the Tage and C~cile have such decks 3 inches thick. These being mere decks do not, of course, remove the ships out of the category of unarmored ships, and the * See Haipers .2lfonthly .Magazine for February, 1886, page 349. THE NAVIES OF THE CONTINENT. 183 return is correct in this respect. But now in this same return all the British ships provided with protecting decks of this character are kept out of the lists of un- armored or unprotected vessels, and are classed separately, and are described as protected vessels. And not only is this true of vessels like the Mersey class, which have such decks 2~ inches thick in places,but it is true likewise of some twen- ty vessels, ranging many of them as low as 1420 tons in displacement, and with decks and partial decks of less thickness than that of the Sfax, the weakest of the three French ships in this respect. In short,while the twenty-two English ships are withheld from the category of unar- mored ships, althou~h every one of them is inferior in protecting decks to the three French ships, the latter are placed in the inferior category, and not a word of ex- planation is offered to prevent the unin- itiated and unsuspecting reader from re- garding as weaker than our vessels those French vessels which are in fact the strongest and best protected. I must say that, as an Englishman, I grieve to see returns to the British Parliament made use of for the dissemination of informa- tion so misleading as this; and I should do so if I could believe there was nothin~ but official negligence involved; but I am sorry to say I cannot doubt that had the mere reproduction of foreign classifi- cations put three of the very fastest and most important cruisers of our own navy, of Admiralty origin, at the very great dis- advanta~e to which the French ships are put in this return, we should have had a very full and a very prominent explana- tion of the seeming discrepancy given. It is to the credit of Lloyds Register office that what the Admiralty Office failed to do in a paper issued at the end of July was properly done in their Universal Register, published two or three months earlier, for in the latter the three French ships are separately detailed under the heading of Deckprotected Cruisers.~~ It is absolutely necessary to bring to light the matter just explained, for other- wise the present state and the prospects of the French navy cannot be properly understood, the Tage, C6cile, and Sfax being, on the whole, the most important of the French ships which are without armor belts. Two others there are, how- ever, which are weaker than the Tage and Sfax only in the fact of their being with- out special deck protection. These are the Duquesne and the Tourville, two ships approximately alike in size and construction, and both having their iron bottoms sheathed with two thicknesses of wood and then coppered, after the man- ner introduced by myself in H. A. S. In- constant. Both of these French ships have attained 16-i knots of speed. They are armed with seven guns of 8 tons and fourteen of 3 tons weight. The remaining unarmored vessels of France must be rapidly summarized. It is impossible to neglect in this case, as was done in my article on the British navy, all the frigates, etc., which have frames of timber, because to do this would be to omit all unarmored frigates of the French navy except the Duquesne and the Tourville, already described. But it is not necessary to do more than name the Venus, Minerve, and Flora, all launched prior to 1870, and all slow, and to say that there remain but four un- armored wood frigates of 14 knots speed, of about 3400 tons, and armed with from two to four guns of 5 tons, and eighteen to twenty-two guns of 3 tons. These are Ar~thuse, Dubourdien, Iphig~i~nie, and Naiade, which, although wooden ships, have all been launched since 1881the Dubourdieu in 1884. Of French first- class cruisers which do not rank as frig- ates (having no main-deck batteries) there are nine in number, which all are built of wood except one, the Dugixay- Trouin, which is the fastest of them all, steaming at 15~ knots. This vessel has 3300 tons displacement, and is armed with five guns of 8 tons and five of 3 tons. None of the remaining eight exceed 2400 tons in displacement, none exceed 15.3 knots in speed (but noue are less than 14 knots), and each of them carries fifteen guns of 3 tons. Next come thirteen second-class cruisers, rangin~,, in displacement betweeii 1540 and 2100 tons, and in speed between 11~ and 15 knots; they are principally armed with 3-ton guns. There is anoth- er vessel, the Rapide, in this class, but I only know of her that her tonnage is 1900 tons. Of cruisers of the third class there are fifteen, ranging from 1000 to 1400 tons, and principally armed with 3-ton guns. Their speeds vary from 10 to 13 knots; one, however, the Hirondelle, steaming at 15 knots. The French have likewise thirty- five vessels, avisos, etc., of which about one-half arc from 1400 to 1600 tons, and 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the remainder are from 720 to 1000 tons. About six of them reach or approach 13 knots, but most of them range between 10 and 11 knots, some of them falling as low as 8 knots. I have further to make mention of two very fast vesselsfor they are to steam 193- knots now under construction, named the Surcoup and the Forbin, each of 1850 tons, and each armed with two 3-ton guns. There is also a vessel of 1540 tons, named the Milan, which steams 18 knots, and is armed with five very light (24-cwt.) guns. The French navy pos- sesses also ninety-nine vessels, most of them carrying guns (many of 3 tons, some of 5 tons, and one or two of 8 tons), and also twenty-eight steam transports, va- rying in size from 1200 to nearly 600 tons, the largest of them, the Nive (of 5680 tons), steaming 14 knots. Since the article on The British Navy, published in February, 1886, was written, the navies of Europe, ~ including the British navy, have undergone consid- erable expansion in respect of their very fast unar- mnored steel vessels, the designing and successful con- struction of which have been brought about by im ~ provements in the quality of ship steel and in steam ~ machinery, notably, as regards the latter, by the em ~ ployment of forced draught. These are called tor ~ pedo vessels, as distin~t from torpedo boats. There are ~ in process of completion for the British navy* eight of ~ 1630 tons (the Archer class), each carrying six 6-inch ~ 5-ton guns, and estimated to steam with forced draught. from 16 to 17 knots; two of 1430 tons each (Scout class), carrying four 5-inch 2-ton guns, with an estimated max imum speed of 16 knots; and two of 785 tons.. (Curlew cl~ss), called gun and torpedo vessels; ~ speed, 15 knots; armament, one 6-inch 89-cwt. and three ~ d-lncli 36-cwt. guns. There is also a class of torpedo 0 gun -boats (the official designation, but not one which ~ expresses any very manifest distinction from the last ~ named class), which are of a very notable character. ~ This (the Grasshopper) class, of which each vessel is of ~ only 450 tons displacement, is to be supplied with en- gines of 2700 indicated horse-power. The diagrams. ~ Figs. 6 and 7 exhibit the general form and particu I. lars of these very remarkable little vessels, which -~ are expected to steam at fully 19 knots (22 miles) per hour. Against the above torpedo vessels of the British navy are to be set, in the French navy, four torpedo. cruisers of 1280 tons, 17 knots speed, carrying each five 4-inch guns; and eight torpedo despatch vessels, each of 320 tons, and designed to steam at 18 knots, carrying machine guns only, such machine guns being also car- ried, of course, by all the fast torpedo vessels and gun- boats, both French and English, previously referred to, but in their cases in conjunction with their other guns. - These 320-ton torpedo vessels of France are to be driven by machinery of 1800 indicated horse-power. It may be observed with regard to these small craft. * Notwithstanding that these new British war vessels do not fall under the title of this article, I have made mention of them here to enable the reader to compare them with the corresponding vessels of the French navy about to he mentioned.E. J. R. THE NAVIES OF THE CONTINENT. furnished with such enormous steam-power (in pro- portion to their size and tonnage) that there is much uncertainty as to the speeds which they will attain. Not only are the builders without experience of sim- ilar vessels by which to guide themselves, but where the proportion of power to displacement is so great, slight differences both in hulls and machinery, no less than in immersion and trim, may produce unfore- seen results. As designers who fail to realize prom- ised speeds are liable to be discredited, while those whose vessels surpass their promised speeds may be unduly praised, it is but reasonable to expect that the promised speeds will usually even be more than real- ized. This has been tbe case with the Bombe, the first of the French torpedo despatch vessels which have been tried under steam, and which under the promise of 18 knots realized no less than 19~ knots on the measured mile. It should be added that all of ~ these extremely fast small craft in both navies are ~ propelled by twin engines and screws. As great I public interest will be felt in the trials of these very ~ novel and special vesselsas mere steamers no less than as war craftit may be well to give their names, ~ to facilitate their identification hereafter. ENGLISH TOnPEDO GUN-BOATS: Grasshopper, Rat- ~ tlesnake, Spider, Sand-flyeach having a displace- ~ ment of 450 tons, 2700 horse-power, 200 feet length, 23 feet breadth, eight feet draught, and a speed esti- ~ mated at 19 knots. FnENcH TORPEDO DESPATCH VESSELS: Boni be, ~ Couleuvrine, Dague, Dragonuc, FU?che, Lance, Saint- ~ Barbe, Salveeach having a displacement of 320 ~ tons, 1800 horse-power, 194.3 feet length, 21.4 feet ~ breadth, 5.1 feet draught, and, with the exception of ~ the Bombe, a speed estimated at 18 knots. The actual ~ speed of the Bombe is 19.5 knots. 0 Besides the above vessels, the two navies (English -~ and French) are provided as follows with torpedo ~ boats: The English have nine small (56 feet long) ~ and slow (14k to 15 knots) of wood; fifty small (60 to ~ 66 feet long) and slow (15 to 16 knots) of steel; nine- ~ teen others of greater length, but all less than 93 feet, ~ and of speeds varying from 16 to 19 knots; six of 100 ~ to 113 feet, and 19 knots; fifty-three of 125 feet in length, and 19 knots; and two building, viz., one of 135 feet in length and 22 knots, and one of 150 feet in length and 20 knots; in all one hundred and thirty- nine torpedo boats, of which the 135-feet boat carries four 3-pounder quick-firing guns, and the 150-feet boat carries five 6-pounder guns of that kind. The French have nine under 70 feet in length; forty-one under 100 feet in length, steaming at 17 to 18 knots; eighteen of 108 feet in length, somewhat faster; nine of 113 feet in length, steaming at 22 knots; and fifty- one of 114 feet in length, steaming at 20 knots; in all, one hundred and twenty-eight torpedo boats, all armed with machine guns only. As thie nine slow wooden boats of the English navy can hardly be regarded as 185 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. torpedo boats at all, it may be said that of torpedo boats, built and building, the English have one hundred and thirty, and the French one hundred and twenty- eight, of which the English have seventy- nine completed, and fifty - one building and completing, and the French have sixty-eight completed, and sixty building and completing. The English navy is therefore slightly, but only slightly, in advance of the French in the matter of torpedo boats proper, while in respect of extremely fast sea-going torpedo vessels of 320 and 450 tons respectively, the Eng- lish have four under construction and none complete, while the French have one (the Boinbe) completed and seven under construction. NEW ORLEANS. BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. THE first time I saw New Orleans was on a Sunday morning in the month of March. We alighted from the train at the foot of Esplanade Street, and walked along through the French Market, and by Jackson Square to the Hotel Royal. The morning, after rain, was charming; there was a fresh breeze from the river; the foli- age was a tender green; in the balconies and on the mouldering window - ledges flowers bloomed, and in the decaying courts climbing-roses mingled their per- fume with the oran~e; the shops were open; ladies tripped along from early mass or to early market; there was a twit- tering in the square and in the sweet old gardens; caged birds sang and screamed the songs of South America and the trop- ics; the langua~e heard on all sides was French, or the degraded jargon which the easy-going African has manufactured out of the tongue of Bienville. Nothing could be more shabby than the streets, ill-paved, with undulating sidewalks, and open gutters green with slime, and both stealing and giving odor; little canals in which the cat became the companion of the crawfish, and the vegetable in decay sought in vain a current to oblivion; the streets with rows of one - story houses, wooden, with green doors and batten win- dow-shutters, or brick, with the painted stucco peeling off, the line broken oftea by an edifice of two stories, with galleries and delicate tracery of wrought iron, houses pink and yellow and brown and graycolors all blending and harmonious when we get a long vista of them,and lose the details of view in the broad artistic effect; nothing could be shabbier than the streets, unless it is the tumble-down picturesque old market, bright with flow- ers and vegetables and many-hued fish, and enlivened by the genial African, who in the New World experiments in all col- ors, from coal-black to the pale pink of the sea-shell, to find one that suits his mo- bile nature. I liked it all from the first; I lingered long in that morning walk, liking it more and more, in spite of its shabbiness, but utterly unable to say then or ever since wherein its charm lies. I suppose we are all wrongly made up and have a fallen nature; else why is it that while the most thrifty and neat and or- derly city only wins our approval, and perhaps gratifies us intellectually, such a thriftless, battered and stained, and lazy old place as the French quarter of New Orleans takes our hearts? I never could find out exactly where New Orleans is. I have looked for it on the map without much enlightenment. It is dropped down there somewhere in the marshes of the Mississippi and the bayous and lakes. It is below the one and tangled up among the others, or it might some day float out to the Gulf and disappear. How the Mississippi gets out I never could discover. When it first comes in sight of the town it is running east; at Carrollton it abruptly turns its rapid, broad, yellow flood and runs south, turns presently eastward, circles a great portion of the city, then makes a bold push for the north in order to avoid Al- giers and reach the foot of Canal Street, and encountering then the heart of the town, it sheers off again along the old French quarter and Jackson Square due east, and goes no one knows where, ex- cept perhaps Mr. Eads. The city is supposed to lie in this bend of the river, but it in fact extends east- ward along the bank down to the Bar- racks, and spreads backward toward Lake

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley New Orleans 186-207

186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. torpedo boats at all, it may be said that of torpedo boats, built and building, the English have one hundred and thirty, and the French one hundred and twenty- eight, of which the English have seventy- nine completed, and fifty - one building and completing, and the French have sixty-eight completed, and sixty building and completing. The English navy is therefore slightly, but only slightly, in advance of the French in the matter of torpedo boats proper, while in respect of extremely fast sea-going torpedo vessels of 320 and 450 tons respectively, the Eng- lish have four under construction and none complete, while the French have one (the Boinbe) completed and seven under construction. NEW ORLEANS. BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. THE first time I saw New Orleans was on a Sunday morning in the month of March. We alighted from the train at the foot of Esplanade Street, and walked along through the French Market, and by Jackson Square to the Hotel Royal. The morning, after rain, was charming; there was a fresh breeze from the river; the foli- age was a tender green; in the balconies and on the mouldering window - ledges flowers bloomed, and in the decaying courts climbing-roses mingled their per- fume with the oran~e; the shops were open; ladies tripped along from early mass or to early market; there was a twit- tering in the square and in the sweet old gardens; caged birds sang and screamed the songs of South America and the trop- ics; the langua~e heard on all sides was French, or the degraded jargon which the easy-going African has manufactured out of the tongue of Bienville. Nothing could be more shabby than the streets, ill-paved, with undulating sidewalks, and open gutters green with slime, and both stealing and giving odor; little canals in which the cat became the companion of the crawfish, and the vegetable in decay sought in vain a current to oblivion; the streets with rows of one - story houses, wooden, with green doors and batten win- dow-shutters, or brick, with the painted stucco peeling off, the line broken oftea by an edifice of two stories, with galleries and delicate tracery of wrought iron, houses pink and yellow and brown and graycolors all blending and harmonious when we get a long vista of them,and lose the details of view in the broad artistic effect; nothing could be shabbier than the streets, unless it is the tumble-down picturesque old market, bright with flow- ers and vegetables and many-hued fish, and enlivened by the genial African, who in the New World experiments in all col- ors, from coal-black to the pale pink of the sea-shell, to find one that suits his mo- bile nature. I liked it all from the first; I lingered long in that morning walk, liking it more and more, in spite of its shabbiness, but utterly unable to say then or ever since wherein its charm lies. I suppose we are all wrongly made up and have a fallen nature; else why is it that while the most thrifty and neat and or- derly city only wins our approval, and perhaps gratifies us intellectually, such a thriftless, battered and stained, and lazy old place as the French quarter of New Orleans takes our hearts? I never could find out exactly where New Orleans is. I have looked for it on the map without much enlightenment. It is dropped down there somewhere in the marshes of the Mississippi and the bayous and lakes. It is below the one and tangled up among the others, or it might some day float out to the Gulf and disappear. How the Mississippi gets out I never could discover. When it first comes in sight of the town it is running east; at Carrollton it abruptly turns its rapid, broad, yellow flood and runs south, turns presently eastward, circles a great portion of the city, then makes a bold push for the north in order to avoid Al- giers and reach the foot of Canal Street, and encountering then the heart of the town, it sheers off again along the old French quarter and Jackson Square due east, and goes no one knows where, ex- cept perhaps Mr. Eads. The city is supposed to lie in this bend of the river, but it in fact extends east- ward along the bank down to the Bar- racks, and spreads backward toward Lake NEW ORLEANS. 187 Pontchartrain over a vast area, and in- cludes some very good snipe-shooting. Although New Orleans has only about a quarter of a million of inhabitants, and so many only in the winter, it is larger VOL. LXXIV.No. 440.i 5 A CREOLE COURT-YARD. than Pekin, and I believe than Philadel- phia, having an area of about one hun- dred and five square miles. From Car- rollton to the Barracks, which are not far from the Battle-Field, the distance by 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the river is some thirteen miles. From the river to the lake the least distance is four miles. This vast territory is traversed by lines of horse-cars which all meet in Canal Street, the most im- portant business thoroughfare of the city, which ruus northeast from the river and divides the French from the Amer- ican quarter. One taking a horse-car in any part of the city will ultimately laud, having boxed the compass, in Canal Street. But it needs a person of vast local erudi- tion to tell in what part of the city, or in what section of the home of the frog and crawfish, he will land if lie takes a horse- car in Canal Street. The river being higher than the city, there is of course no tlrainage into it; but there is a theory that the water in the open gutters does move, and that it moves in the direction of the Bayou St. John, and of the cypress swamps that drain into Lake Poutchar- irain. The stranger who is accustomed to closed sewers, and to get his malaria and typhoid through pipes conducted into his house by the most approved methods of plumbing, is aghast at this spectacle of slime aiid fultli in the streets, and wonders why the city is iiot in perennial epidemic; but the suii and the wind are great scav- engers, and the city is not nearly so uii- healthy as it ought to be with such a city government as they say it endures. It is not necessary to dwell much upon the external features of New Orleans, for innumerable descriptions and nictures have familiarized the public with them. Besides,descriptions can give the stranger little idea of the peculiar city. Although all on one level, it is a town of contrasts. In no other city of the United States or of Mexico is the old and the romantic pre- served in such integrity and brought into such sharp contrast to the moderii. There are many handsome public buildings, church es, club-h ouses, elegant shops, and on the American side a great area of well- paved streets solidly built up in business blocks. The Square of the original city, included between the river and canal, Rampart and Esplanade streets, which was once surrounded by a wall, is as closely built, but the streets are narrow the houses generally are smaller, and al BOOTH IN THE FRENCH MARKET. tend interminable streets of small houses, with now and then a flowery court or a pretty rose garden, occupied mainly by people of French and Spanish descent. The African pervades all parts of the town, except the new residence portion of the American quarter. This, which occu- pies the vast area in the bend of the river west of the business blocks as far as Carroll- ton, is in character a great village rather than a city. Not all its broad avenues and handsome streets are paved (and those that are not are in some seasons impassable), its houses are nearly all of wood, most of 18~J them detached, with plots of ground and gardens, and as the quarter is very well shaded, the effect is bright and agreeable. In it are many stately residences, occupy- ing a square or half a square, and em- bowered in foliage and flowers. Care has been given lately to turf-culture, and one sees here thick-set and handsome lawns. The broad Esplanade Street, with its ele- gant old - fashioned houses, and double rows of shade trees, which has long been the rural pride of the French quarter, has now rivals in respectability and style oi~ the American side. NEW ORLEANS. though it swarms with people, and contains the cathedral, the old Span- ish buildings, Jackson Square, the French Market, the French Opera- house and other theatres, the Mint, the Custom-house, the old Ursuline Convent (now the residence of the archbishop), old banks, and scores of houses of historic celebrity, it is a city of the past, and specially inter- esting in its picturesque decay. Be- yond this, eastward and northward ex 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. New Orleans is said to be delightful in the late fall months, before the winter rains set in, but I believe it looks its best in March and April. This is owing to the roses. If the town was not attached to tbe name of the Crescent City, it might very well adopt the title of the City of Roses. So kind are climate and soil that the magnificent varieties of this queen of flowers, which at the North bloom only in hot-houses, or with great care are planted out- doors in the heat of our summer, thrive here in the open air in prodigal abundance and beauty. In April the town is liter- ally embowered in them; they fill door-yards and gardens, they overrun tbe porches, they climb the sides of the houses, they spread over tbe trees, they take pos- session of trellises and fences and walls, perfuming the air and entrancing the heart with color. In the outlying parks, like tbat of the Jockey Club, and the florists gardens at Carroilton, tbere are fields of them acres of the finest sorts waving in the spring wind. Alas! can beauty ever satisfy? This wonderful spectacle fills one with I know not what exquisite longing. These flowers per- vade the town, old women on the street corners sit behind banks of them, the florists windows blush with them, friends. despatch to each other great baskets of them, the favorites at the theatre and the amateur performers stand behind high barricades of roses which the good-humor- ed audience piles upon the stage, every- body carries roses and wears roses, and the houses overflow with them. In this passion for flowers you may read a prom- inent trait of the people. For myself I like to see a spot on this earth where beauty is enjoyed for itself and let to run to waste, but if ever the industrial spirit of the French - Italians should prevail along the littoral of Louisiana and Missis- sippi, the raising of flowers for the manu- facture of perfumes would become a most. profitable industry. New Orleans is the most cosmopolitan of provincial cities. Its comparative iso- lation has secured the development of provincial traits and manners, has pre- served the individuality of the many races. that give it color, morals, and character while its close relations with Francean affiliation and sympathy which the late- A CAKE STAND. TIlE SOLID SOUTH. A GROUTY SPECIMEN. 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. war has not altogether brokenand the constant influx of Northern men of busi- ness and affairs, have given it the air of a metropolis. To the Northern stranger the aspect and the manners of the city are foreign, but if he remains long enough he is sure to yield to its fascinations, and be- come a partisan of it. It is not altogether the soft and somewhat enervating and occasionally treacherous climate that be- guiles him, but quite as much the easy terms on which life can be lived. There is a human as well as a climatic amiability that wins him. No doubt it is better for a maii to be always braced up, but no doubt also there is aii attraction in a com- plaisance that indulges his inclinations. Socially as well as commercially New Orleans is in a transitive state. The A DOUBLE BURDEN. change from river to railway transporta- tion has made her levees vacant; the ship- ment of cotton by rail and its direct trans- fer to ocean carriage have nearly destroy- ed a large middle-men industry; a large part of the a~iicultural tribute of the Southwest hns been diverted; plantations have either not recovered from the effects of the war or have not adjusted them- selves to new productions, and the city waits the rather blind developments of the new era. The falling off of law busi- ness, which I should like to attribute to the growth of common-sense and good- will, is, I fear, rather due to business las- situde, for it is observed that men qnarrel most when they are most actively engaged in acquiring each others property. The business habits of the Creoles were con- servative and slow, they do not readily accept new ways, and in this transition time the American element is taking the lead in all enterprises. The American element itself is toned down by the cli- mate and the contagion of the leisurely habits of the Creoles, and loses something of the sharpness and excitability exhibit- ed by business men in all Northern cities, but it is certainly changing the social as well as the business aspect of the city. Whether these social changes will make New Orleans a more agreeable place of residence remains to be seen. For the old civilization had many ad- mirable qualities. With all its love of money and luxury and an easy life, it was comparatively simple. It cared less for display than the society that is sup- planting it. Its rule was domesticity. I should say that it had the virtues as well as the prejudices and the narrowness of intense family feeling, and its exclusive- ness. But when it trusted, it bad few re- serves, and its cordiality was equal to it~ naivetd. The Creole civilization differed totally from that in any Northern city; it looked at life, literature, wit, manners, from altogether another plane; in order to understand the society of New Orleans one needs to imagine what French socie- ty would be in a genial climate and in the freedom of a new country. Undeni- ably, until recently, the Ci~eoles gave the tone to New Orleans. And it was the French culture, the French view of life, that was diffused. The young ladies mainly were educated in convents and French schools. This education had wo- manly agreeability and matrimony in~ p / /1 NEW ORLEANS. 193 view, and the graces of social life. It differed not much from the education of young ladies of the period elsewhere, except that it was from the French rather than the English side, but this made a world of difference. French was a study and a pos- session, not a fashionable ac- complishment. The Creole had gayety, sentiment, spirit, with a certain cl iinatic languor, sweet- ness of disposition, and charm of manner, not seldom wimung beauty; she was passionately fond of dancing and of music, and occasionally an adept in the latter; and she had candor, and either simplicity or the art of it. But with her tendency to domesticity and her capacity for friendship, and notwithstanding her gay temper- ament, she was less worldly than some of he ters who weic more gravely ed ucated after the English manner. There was therefore in the old New Orleans life something nobler than the spirit of plutocracy. The Creole middle-class population had, and has yet, captivating naivct~, friendliness, cordiality. leans is wider and deeper than this. It has affected literary sympathies and what may be called literary morals. In business the Creole is accused of being slow, conservative, in regard to improvements obstinate and reactionary, preferring to nurse a prejudice rather than run the risk of removing it by improving himself, and of having a conceit that his way of looking at life is better than the Boston way. His literary culture is derived from France, and not from England or the North. And his ideas a good deal affect the attitude of New Orleans toward Eng N, But the Creole in- finence in New Or- A GALLERY GARDEN. 194 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lish and contemporary literature. The American element of the town was for the most part commercial, arid little giv- en to literary tastes. That also is chan- ging, but I fancy it is still true that the most solid culture is with the Creoles, and it has not been appreciated because it is French, and because its point of view for literary criticism is quite different from that prevailing elsewhere in America. It brings our American and English con- temporary authors, for instance, to com- parison, not with each other, but with French and other Continental writers. And this point of view considerably af fects the New Orleans opinion of North- em literature. In this view it wants col- or, passion, it is too self-conscious and pru- dish, not to say Puritanically mock-mod- est. I do not mean to say that the Creoles as a class are a reading people, but the lit- erary standards of their scholars and of those among them who do cultivate lit- erature deeply are different from those at the North. We may call it provincial, or we may call it cosmopolitan, but we shall not understand New Orleans until we get its point of view of both life and letters. In making these observations it will oc- cur to the reader that they are of necessi- ty superficial, and not entitled to be re- garded as criticism or judgment. But I - am impressed with the foreignness of New Orleans civilization, and whether its point of view is right or wrong, I am very far from wishing it to change. It contains a valuable element of variety for the republic. We tend everywhere to sameness and monotony. New Orleans is entering upon a new era of develop- ment, especially in educational life. The Toulane University is beginning to make itself felt as a force both in polite letters and in industrial education. And I sin- cerely hope that the literary development of the city and of the Southwest Till be in the line of its own traditions, and that it will not be a copy of New England or of Dutch Manhattan. It can, if it is faith- ful to its own sympathies and tempera- ment, make an original and valuable con- tribution to our literary life. There is a great temptation to regard New Orleans through the romance of its past; and the,most interesting occupation of the idler is to stroll about in the French part of the town, search the shelves of French and Spanish literature in the sec- ond-hand book-shops, try to identify the historic sites and the houses that are the seats of local romances, and observe the life in the narrow streets and alleys that, except for the presence of the colored folk, recall the quaint picturesqueness of many a French provincial town. One never tires of wandering in the neighborhood of the old cathedral, facing the smart Jack- son Square, which is flanked by the re- spectable Pontalba buildings, and sup- ported on either side by the ancient Span- ish court - house, the most interestino~ specimens of Spanish architecture this side of Mexico. When time court is in session, iron cables are stretched across A STREET ~EN~ER. 196 HATIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the street to prevent the passage of wag- ons, and justice is administered in silence only broken by the trill of birds in the Place dArmes and in the old flower-gar- den in tbe rear of the cathedral, and by the muffled sound of footsteps in the flagged passages. The region is saturated with romance, and so full of present sen- timent and picturesqueness that I can fancy no ground more congenial to the artist and the story-teller. To enter into any details of it would be to commit ones self to a task quite foreign to the purpose of this paper, and I leave it to the writers who have done and are doing so much to make old New Orleans classic. Possibly no other city of the United States so abounds in stories pathetic and tragic, many of which cannot yet be pub- lished, growing out of the mingling of races, the conflicts of French and Span- ish, the presence of adventurers from the Old World and the Spanish Main, and es- pecially out of the relations between the whites and the fair women who had in their thin veins drops of African blood. The quadroon and the octoroon are the staple of hundreds of thrilling tales. Duels were common incidents of the Cre- ole dancing assemblies, and of the cordon bleu ballsthe deities of which were the quadroon women, the handsomest race of women in the world, says the descrip- tion, and the most splendid dancers and the most exquisitely dressed the affairs of honor being settled by a midnight thrust in a vacant square behind the ca- thedral, or adjourned to a more French daylight encounter at The Oaks, or Les Trois Capalins. But this life has all gone. In a stately building in this quarter, said by tradition to have been the quadroon ball-room, but I believe it was a white assembly-room connected with the opera, is now a well-ordered school for colored orphans, presided over by colored Sisters of Charity. It is quite evident that the peculiar pres UNDER THE OAKS IN THE CITY rARKTHE OLD DUELLING GROUND. NEW ORLEANS. 197 tige of the quadroon and the octoroon is a come when the colored people will be as thing of the past. Indeed, the result of strenuous in insisting upon its execution the war has greatly changed the relations as the whites, unless there is a great of the two races in New Orleans. The change in popular feeling, of which there colored people withdraw more and more is no sign at present; it is they who to themselves. Isolation from white in- will see that there is no escape from the equivocal position in which those nearly white in appear- ance find themselves except by a rigid separation of races. The danger is of a reversal at any time to the original type, and that is al- ways present to the offspring of any on~ with a drop of African blood in the veins. The pathos of this situation is infinite. fluence has good results and bad results, the bad being, as one can see, in some quarters of the town, a tendency to bar- barism, which can only be counteracted by free public schools, and by a necessity which shall compel them to habits of thrift and industry. One needs to be A CREOLE HOME. very much an optimist, however, to have patience for these developments. I believe there is an instinct in both races against mixture of blood, and upon this rests the law of Louisiana, which for- bids such intermarriages; the time may 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and it cannot be lessened by saying tbat the prejudice about color is unreasona- ble; it exists. Often the African strain is so attenuated that tbe possessor of it would pass to the ordinary observer for Spanish or French; and I suppose tbat many so-called Creole peculiarities of speech and manner are traceable to this strain. An incident in point may not be uninteresting. I once lodged in the old French quarter in a house kept by two maiden sisters, only one of whom spoke English at all. They were refined, and had the air of de- cayed gentlewomen. The one who spoke English had the vivacity and agreeability of a Paris landlady, without the latters invariable hardness and sharpness. I thought i[ had found in her pretty mode of speech the real Creole dialect of her class. You are French, I said, when I ngaged my room. No, she said, no, rnsien, I am an American; we are of the United States, WAITING FOfl A JOB. with the air of informing a stranger that New Orleans was now annexed. Yes, I replied, but you are of French descent ? Oh, and a little Spanish. Can you tell me, madame, I asked, one Sunday morning, the way to Trinity Church ? I cannot tell, msieu; it is somewhere the other side; I do not know the other side. But have you never been the other side of Canal Street ? Oh yes, I went once, to make a visit on a friend on New-Years. I explained that it was far nptown, and a Protestant church. Msieu is lie Catohic ? Oh no; I am a Protestant. Well, me, I am Catohic; but Protes- tan o Catohic, it is mos ze same. This was purely the instinct of polite- ness, and that my feelings might not he wounded, for she was a good Catholic, and did not believe at all that it was mos ze same. It was Exposition year, and then April, and ma- dame had never been to the Exposition. I urged her to go, and one day, after great preparation for a journey to the other side, she made the expe- dition, and returned en- chanted with all she had seen, especially with the Mexican band. A new world was opened to her, and she resolved to go again. The morning of Louisiana Day she rapped at my door and informed me that she was going to the fair. Andshe paused at the doorway, her eyes sparkling with her new project you know what I goin do ? I goin get one bio bouquet, and give to the leader of the orchestre. You know him, the leader ? No, not yet. I did not know then how poor she was, and A VOUDOO WOMAN. 200 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. this place, and took another opposite; but they were unlucky, and the sheriff came. I said that I was very sorry that I had not known; shemighthave been helped. No, she replied, with con- siderable spirit; she would have accepted no- thing; she would starve rather. So would I. The woman referred me to some well - known Creole families who knew madame, but I was unable to find her hiding-place. I asked who madame was. Oh, she was a very nice woman, very re- spectable. Her father was Spanish, her mo- ther was an octoroon. One does not need .to go into the past of New Orleans for the pictur- esque; the streets have their peculiar physiog- nomy, and character such as the artists de- light to depict is the re- suit of the extraordi- nary mixture of races and the habit of out- door life, The long sunimer, from April to November, with a heat contin uous, though rarely so excessive as it occasionally is in higher latitudes, deter- mines the mode of life and the structure of the houses, and gives a leisurely and amiable how much sacrifice this would be to her, tone to the aspect of people and streets this gratification of a sentiment. which exists in few other American cities. The next year, in the same month, I The French quarter is out of repair, and asked for her at the lodging. She was has the air of being for rent, but in fact not there. You did not know, said the there is comparatively little change in oc- woman then in possession good God! cupancy, Creole families being remark- her sister died four days ago, from want ably adhesive to localities. The stranger of food, and madame has gone away back who sees all over the French and the of town, nobody knows where. They told business parts of the town the immense nobody, they were so proud; none of their number of lodging-housessome of them friends knew, or they would have helped. the most stately old mansionslet large- They had no lodgers, and could not keep ly by colored landladies, is likely to Un- A COLORED SISTER NEW ORLEANS. 201 derestimate the borne life of this city. New Orleans soil is so wet that the city is without cellars for storage, and its court-yards and odd corners become catch- ails of broken furniture and other lum- ber. The solid window-shutters, useful in the glare of the long summer, give a blank appearance to the streets. This is relieved, however, by the queer little Spanish houses, and by the endless vari- ety of galleries and balconies. In one part of the town the iron-work of the balconies is cast, and uninteresting in its set patterns; in French-town much of it is hand-made, exquisite in design, and gives to a street vista a delicate lace-work appearance. I do not know any foreign town which has on view so much exqui- site wrought-iron work as the old part of New Orleans. Besides the balconies, there are recessed galleries, old dormer- windows, fantastic little nooks and cor- ners, tricked oat with flower-pots and vines. The glimpses of street life are always entertaining, because unconscious, while full of character. It may be a Creole court-yard, the walls draped with vines, flowers blooming in hap-hazard disar- ray, and a group of pretty girls sewing and chatting, and stabbing the passer-by with a charmed glance. It may be a cotton team in the street, the mules, the rollicking driver, the creaking cart. It may be a single figure, or a group in the niarket or on the leveea slender yellow girl sweeping up the grains of rice, a col- ored gleaner recalling Ruth; an ancient darky asleep, with mouth open, in his tipped-up two-wheeled cart, waiting for a job; the solid South, in shape of an immense aunty under a red uni- brella, standing and contemplating the river; the broad -faced women in gay bandanas behind their cake stands; a group if levee hands about a rickety ta- ble, taking their noon-day meal of pork and greens; the blind man, capable of sit- ting more patiently than an American Congressman, with a dog trained to hold his basket for the pennies of the charitable; the black stalwart vender of tin and iron utensils, who totes in a basket, and piled on his head, and strung on his back, a weight of over two hundred and fifty pounds; and negro women who walk erect with baskets of clothes or enormous bun- (lIes balanced on their heads, sniiling and jawing, unconscious of their burdens. These are the familiar figures of a street life as varied and picturesque as the ar- tist can desire. New Orleans amuses itself in the win- ter with very good theatres, and until re- cently has sustained an excellent French opera. It has all the year round plenty of cafts chaiitants, gilded saloons, and gambling houses, and more than enough ON THE LEVEE. 4 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. COTTON TEAMS. of the resorts upon which the police are supposed to keep one blind eye. Back of town, toward Lake Pontcbartrain, there is much that is picturesque and blooming, especially in the spring of the yearthe charming gardens of the Jockey Club, the City Park, the old duelling ground with its superb oaks, and the Bayou St. Jobn with its idling fishing- boats, and the colored houses and planta- tions along the banksa piece of Holland wanting the Dutch windmills. On a breezy day one may go far for a prettier sight than the river-bank and esplanade at Carrollton, where the mighty coffee-col- ored flood swirls by, where the vast steam- ers struggle arid cough against the stream, or swiftly go with it round the bend, leav- ing their trail of smoke, and the delicate line of foliage against the sky on the far opposite shore completes the outline of an exquisite landscape. Suburban resorts much patronized, and reached by frequent trains, are the old Spanish Fort and the West End of Lake Pontchartrain. The way lies through cypress swamp and pal- metto thickets, brilliant at certain seasons with flcur-dc-lis. At each of these resorts are restaurants, dancing balls, promenade galleries, all on a large scale, boat-houses and semi-tropical gardens very prettily laid out in walks and labyrinths, and adorned with trees and flowers. Even in the heat of summer at night the lake is sure to offer a breeze, and with waltz mu- sic and moonlight and ices and tinkling glasses with straws in them and loves young dream, even the ennuy~ globe- trotter declares that it is not half bad. The city, indeed, offers opportunity for charming excursions in all directions. Parties are constantly made up to visit the river plaintations, to sail up and down the stream,or to take an outing across the lake, or to the many lovely l)laces along the coast. In the winter, excursions are made to these places, and in summer, the well-to-do take the sea-air in cottages, at --K~-~~-~-- ri -~ I A :~.z-- NEW ORLEANS 203 such places as Mandeville across the lake, or at such resorts on the Mississippi as Pass Christian. I crossed the lake one spring day to the pretty town of Mandeville, and then sail- ed up the Tchefuncta River to Covington. The winding Tehefuncta is in character like some of the narrow Florida streams has the same luxuriant overhanging foli- age, and as in any shy lounging alligators to the mile, and is prettier by reason of occasional open glades and large moss- draped live-oaks and China-trees. From the steamer landing in the woods we drove three miles through a lovely open pine forest to the town. Covinoton is one of the oldest settlements in the State, is the centre of considerable historic interest, and the origin of sev- eral historic fami- lies. The laud is elevated a good deal above the coast level, and is conse- quently dry. The town has a few roomy old - time houses a mineral spring, some pleas- ing scenery along the river that winds through it, and not much else. But it is in the midst of pine woods, it is sheltered from all northers, it has - the soft air, but not the dampness, of the Gulf, and is ex- ceedingly salubri- ous in all the win- ter months, to say nothing of the sum- mner. It has lately come into local re- pute as a health resort, although it lacks sufficient accomniodations for the entertainu4ent of many strangers. I was told by seine New Orleans physicians that they regarded it as almost a specific for pulmonary diseases, and instances were given of persons in what was supposed to he advanced stages of lung and bronchial troubles who had been apparently cured by a few months m esidence there; and invalids are, I believe, greatly benefited hy it~ healing, soft, and piny atmosphere. vOL. L~~tY.Ne.. 440.i 6 I have no doubt, from what I hear and. my limited observation, that all this coast about New Orleans would be a favorite \vinter resort if it had hotels as oood as, for instance, that at Pass Christian. The region has niany attractions for the idler and the invalid. It is, in the first place, interesting; it has a good deal of variety of scenery and of historical interest; there is excellent fishing ainl shooting; and if the visitor tires of the monotony of the country, he can by a short ride on cars or a steamer transfer himself for a day or a week to a laroc and iriost hospitable city, to society, the club, the opera, balls, par- ties, and every variety of life that hi is taste craves. The. disadvantage of many Southern places to which our Northern regions force us is that they are uninteresting, stupid, and monotonous, if not mal- arious. It seenis a long way from New York to New Orleans, but I (ho not doubt that the region around the city would become imniediately a great winter resort if money and enterprise were enlisted to make it so. New Orleans has never been called a strait-laced city; its Sunday is still of the Continental type; but it seems to me free from the socialistic agnosticism which flaunts itself moore or less in Ciii- ciminati, St. Louis, and Chicago; the tone A 5TL~EET SCENE. 204 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of leading Presbyterian churches is dis- tinctly Calvinistic, one perceives coinpar- atively little of religious speculation and doubt, and so far as I could see there is harmony and entire social good feeling between the Catholic and Protestant corn- munions. Protestant ladies assist at Cath- olic fairs, and the compliment is returned by the society ladies of the Catholic faith when a Protestant good cause is to be furthered by a bazar or a pink tea. Denominational lines seem to have little to do with social affiliations. There may be friction in the management of the great public charities, but on the surface there is toleration and united good-will. The Catholic faith long had the prestige of wealth, family, and power, and the ed- ucation of the daughters of Protestant houses in convent schools tended to allay prejudice. Notwithstanding the reputa- tion New Orleans has for gayety and even frivolity-and no one can deny the fast and furious living of ante-bellum days it possesses at bottom an old-fashioned re- ligious simplicity. If any one thinks that faith has died out of modern life, let him visit the mortuary chapel of St. Roch. In a distant part of the town, beyond the street of the Elysian Fields, and on Wash- ington Avenue, in a district very sparsely built up, is the Campo Santo of the Cath- olic Church of the Holy Trinity. In this foreign-looking cemetery is the pretty little Gothic Chapel of St. Roch, having a background of common and swampy land. It is a brown stuccoed edifice, wholly open in front, and was a year or two ago cover- ed with beautiful ivy. The small interior is paved in white marble, the windows are stained glass, the side walls are composed of tiers of vaults, where are buried the members of certain societies, and the spaces in the wall and in the altar area are thickly covered with votive offerings, in wax and in naive painting--contributed by those who have been healed by the in- tercession of the saints. Over the altar is the shrine of St. Rocha cavalier, staff in hand, with his dog by his side, the faithful animal which accompanied this eighth- century philanthropist in his visitations NEW ORLEANS. 205 to the plague-stricken people of Munich. There is testimony that many people, Within the altar rail are rows of lighted even Protestants, and men, have had candles, tended and renewed by the at- wounds cured and been healed of dis- eases by prayer in this chapel. To this distant shrine come ladies from all parts of the city to make the novenathe prayer of nine days, with the offer of the burning taperand here daily resort hundreds to intercede for themselves or their friends. It is believed by the dam- sels of this district that if they offer prayer daily in this chapel they will have a husband within the year, and one may see kneeling here every evening these trustful devotees to the welfare of the human race. I asked the colored wo tendant, placed there by penitents or by seekers after the favor of the saint. On the wooden benches, kneeling, are ladies, servants, colored women, in silent prayer. One approaches the lighted, picturesque shrine through the formal rows of tombs, and comes there into, an atmosphere of peace and faith. It is believed that mir- acles are daily wrought here, and one no- tices in all the ~,ardeners, keepers, and at- tendants of the place the accent and de- meanor of simple faith. On the wall hangs this inscription: 0 great St. iRoch, deliver us, we be- seech thee, from the scourges of God. Through thy intercessions preserve our bodies from contagious diseases, and our souls from the contagion of sin. Obtain for us salubrious air; but, above all, purity of heart. Assist n~ to make good use of health, to bear suffering with patience, and after thy example to live in the practice of penitence and charity, that we may one day enjoy the happiness which thou hast merited by thy virtues. St. Roch, pray for us. St. floch, pray for us. St. Roch, pray for us. man who sold medals and leaflets and renewed the candles if she personally knew any persons who had been miraculously cured by prayer or novena in St. loch. Plenty, sir, plenty. And she related many instances, which were confirmed by votive offer- ings on the walls. Why, said she, there was a friend of mine who wanted a place, and could hear of none who made a novena here, and right away got a place, a good place, and (conscious that she was making an astonishing state- ment about a New Orleans servant) she kept it a whole year But one must come in the right spir- it I said. IN THE CEMETERY. 206 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ali, indeed. It needs to believe. You cant fool God One might make various studies of New Orleans; its commercial life; its methods, more or less antiquated, of do- ing business, and the leisure for talk that enters into it; its admirable charities and its medheval prisons; its romantic French and Spanish history, still lingering in the old houses and traits of family and street life; the city politics, which nobody can explain, and no other city need covet; its sanitary condition, which needs an in- telli~ent despot with plenty of money and an ingenuity that can make water run uphill; its colored populationabout a fourth of the citywith its distinct so- cial grades, its superstition, nonchalant good-li ~mor, turn for idling and basking in the sun, slowly awaking to a sense of thrift, chastity, truth-speaking, with many excellent order-loving, patriotic men and women, but a mass that needs moral train- ing quite as much as the spelling-book before it can contribute to the vigor and prospei ltxT of the city; its schools and re- cent hbi aries, and the developing literary I? -. ~ -~ BLIND BEGGARS. and art taste which will sustain book-shops and picture-galleries; its cuisine, peculiar in its mingling of French and African skill, and determined largely by a market unexcelled in the quality of fish, game, and fruitthe fig alone would go far to reconcile one to four or five months of hot nights; the climatic influence in as- similating races meeting there from every, region of the earth. But whatever way we regard New Or- leans, it is in its aspect, social tone, and character .sui generis; its civilization dif- fers widely from that of any other, and it remains one of the most interesting places in the republic. Of course social life in these days is much the same in all great cities in its observances, but that of New Orleans is markedly cordial, ingenuous, warm-hearted. I do not imagine that it could tolerate, as Boston does, absolute freedom of local opinion on all subjects, and undoubtedly it is sensitive to criti- cism; but I believe that it is literally true, as one of its citizens said, that it is still more sensitive to kindness. The metropolis of the Southwest has ge- ographical reasons for a great future. Lou- isiana is rich in allu- vial soil, the capability of which has not yet been tested, except in some localities by skil- ful agriculture. But the prosperity of the city depends much upon local conditions. Science and energy can solve the problem of drainage, can con- vert all the territory between the city and Lake Pontchartrain into a veritable gar- den, surpassin~, in fer- tilitv the fiat environs of the city of Mexico. And the steady devel- opment of common-~ school education, to- gether with technical and industrial schools, will create a skill which will make New Orleans the indus- trial and manufactur- ing centre of that re- gion. NAIIKA. A STOT?YY OE T~USSIA-~T LurE. BY KATHLEEN OMEARA. CHAPTER I. IT was All-souls Eve. The winter was setting in early, and threatened, or per- liaps we should say promised, to be a se- vere one; for a hard winter was not looked upon as a misfortune at Yrakow, the an- cestral home of Prince Zorokoff. Ice and snow brought too many pleasures in their train ever to be unwelcome there. A group consisting of young Prince Basil Zorokoff, his brother-in-law, M. de Beaucrillon, and three ladies were assem- bled in an old-fashioned tapestried room of the castle. The two men were smok- ing cigarettes, and discussing sport be- tween long-drawn puffs. The three la- dies were sitting round the samovar. They presented three as distinct types as could have been brought together with a view to the setting off of each by con- trast. Sibyl, Comtesse de Beaucrillon, the daughter of the house, was as blond as a Scandinavian, with light blue eyes and fair hair; her hands were so small as to be almost out of proportion with her figure, which was tall and full; they were round and dimpled like a babys, with the delicate nails and pink fin~,er - tips that one seldom sees in perfection except in babies. Her movements had the subtle fascinating grace that reminded you of a kitten, or rather of a young cat, for there was nothing of the undignified friskiness of a kitten about Sibyl. She was patri- cian to the tips of her fingers. Her man- ners united the refined elegance of a French woman with the soft serpentine grace of the women of the north. Marguerite de Beaucrillon was just be- low the middle height, but she looked tiny beside her stately sister-in-law. She had no pretensions to beauty, yet her face was pleasanter to look at than many a beautiful one; her clear olive skin, her warm color, her wistful bright brown eyes, her dimples, and her glossy hair were suggestive of youth, health, and hap- piness, and these natural advantages were set off by the most becoming toilets; for Marguerite had a French girls taste and principles about dress, and considered it seriously as one of the daily duties of life. She was careful and very successful in her combination of colors and effects. Yet you would never have accused her of co- quetry in the ordinary sense. If you had been so uncharitable, one glance into her face would have converted you. Her eyes were as free from consciousness as a childs, and their language was as trans- parent. Sibyl used to say to her, If you dont want people to see what you are thinking of, drop your lids, for those eyes of yours are like windows into your brain, and let one see your thoughts coming and going. Narka Lank, the adopted sister of Ma- dame de Beaucrillon, was the tallest of the three women, and cast in altogether an ampler mould. If her figure had been less perfectly proportioned, it might have seemed too large; her great luminous blue - black eyes, sometimes quite blue, sometimes quite black, were soft as vel- vet, but under the softness there lurked intimation of a fiery vitality ready to awake and emit sparks at the lightest touch; her mouth was perhaps a trifle too full for classical perfection, but its curves were so exquisite, the sensitive play of the lips so lovely, that you never thought of that; the clear tint of her complexion was like the whiteness of some white flower; her hair, of that warm red gold beloved of Titian, was knotted in thick coils at the back of her head, and fell in rippling waves over her low square fore- head. There was something wild in the character of Narkas beauty, in the lines of her figure. She stood and moved with the strong, elastic ease of a panther, or of some other brand, free, untamed creature. Beautiful, incomparably more beautiful than Sibyl, there was nevertheless some- thing wanting to her beauty which that of Sibyl possessed, impalpable but dis- tinct, something which marks the differ- ence between a highly finished work of art and a spontaneous growth of Nature in her happiest and most generous mood. This difference was not noticeable except when the patrician sister was brought into close contact with the plebeian, and even then no one was conscious of it, perhaps,

Kathleen O'Meara O'Meara, Kathleen Narka. A Story of Russian Life 207-219

NAIIKA. A STOT?YY OE T~USSIA-~T LurE. BY KATHLEEN OMEARA. CHAPTER I. IT was All-souls Eve. The winter was setting in early, and threatened, or per- liaps we should say promised, to be a se- vere one; for a hard winter was not looked upon as a misfortune at Yrakow, the an- cestral home of Prince Zorokoff. Ice and snow brought too many pleasures in their train ever to be unwelcome there. A group consisting of young Prince Basil Zorokoff, his brother-in-law, M. de Beaucrillon, and three ladies were assem- bled in an old-fashioned tapestried room of the castle. The two men were smok- ing cigarettes, and discussing sport be- tween long-drawn puffs. The three la- dies were sitting round the samovar. They presented three as distinct types as could have been brought together with a view to the setting off of each by con- trast. Sibyl, Comtesse de Beaucrillon, the daughter of the house, was as blond as a Scandinavian, with light blue eyes and fair hair; her hands were so small as to be almost out of proportion with her figure, which was tall and full; they were round and dimpled like a babys, with the delicate nails and pink fin~,er - tips that one seldom sees in perfection except in babies. Her movements had the subtle fascinating grace that reminded you of a kitten, or rather of a young cat, for there was nothing of the undignified friskiness of a kitten about Sibyl. She was patri- cian to the tips of her fingers. Her man- ners united the refined elegance of a French woman with the soft serpentine grace of the women of the north. Marguerite de Beaucrillon was just be- low the middle height, but she looked tiny beside her stately sister-in-law. She had no pretensions to beauty, yet her face was pleasanter to look at than many a beautiful one; her clear olive skin, her warm color, her wistful bright brown eyes, her dimples, and her glossy hair were suggestive of youth, health, and hap- piness, and these natural advantages were set off by the most becoming toilets; for Marguerite had a French girls taste and principles about dress, and considered it seriously as one of the daily duties of life. She was careful and very successful in her combination of colors and effects. Yet you would never have accused her of co- quetry in the ordinary sense. If you had been so uncharitable, one glance into her face would have converted you. Her eyes were as free from consciousness as a childs, and their language was as trans- parent. Sibyl used to say to her, If you dont want people to see what you are thinking of, drop your lids, for those eyes of yours are like windows into your brain, and let one see your thoughts coming and going. Narka Lank, the adopted sister of Ma- dame de Beaucrillon, was the tallest of the three women, and cast in altogether an ampler mould. If her figure had been less perfectly proportioned, it might have seemed too large; her great luminous blue - black eyes, sometimes quite blue, sometimes quite black, were soft as vel- vet, but under the softness there lurked intimation of a fiery vitality ready to awake and emit sparks at the lightest touch; her mouth was perhaps a trifle too full for classical perfection, but its curves were so exquisite, the sensitive play of the lips so lovely, that you never thought of that; the clear tint of her complexion was like the whiteness of some white flower; her hair, of that warm red gold beloved of Titian, was knotted in thick coils at the back of her head, and fell in rippling waves over her low square fore- head. There was something wild in the character of Narkas beauty, in the lines of her figure. She stood and moved with the strong, elastic ease of a panther, or of some other brand, free, untamed creature. Beautiful, incomparably more beautiful than Sibyl, there was nevertheless some- thing wanting to her beauty which that of Sibyl possessed, impalpable but dis- tinct, something which marks the differ- ence between a highly finished work of art and a spontaneous growth of Nature in her happiest and most generous mood. This difference was not noticeable except when the patrician sister was brought into close contact with the plebeian, and even then no one was conscious of it, perhaps, 208 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. but Narka herself. She knew that she was beautiful, and far more gifted in many ways than Sibyl, and yet she felt as much her inferior as the lowly born maid in mediieval times may have felt herself below the noble demoiselle in whose train she was brought up. The three friends were chatting over their teacups, planning costumes for a fancy ball that was to take place at the castle before Christmas. I wish I could hit upon something that would combine everything, Margue- rite said, putting her head on one side with a pretty bird-like motion very char- acteristic of her, and which always amused Basil Zorokoff. Why dont you consult me, cousin ? he said, holding out his cigarette between his first and second fingers and gazing steadily at Marguerite; but the twinkle in his blue eyes belied the extreme seri- ousness of his handsome face. Well? said Marguerite, with another bewildering turn of her head from left to ri~ht. Little Red Riding-hood would suit you to perfection. The color would be becoming, and your eyes would shine like diamonds under the scarlet hood, and you would look like a Lilliputian Venus in the short l)etticoats. And you would play the wolf and howl at me And crunch you up; that I should do with great satisfaction I How niany wolves skins would it take to make a costume for you, I won- der ? said Marguerite, measuring the tall young fellows height with a glance of saucy impertinence. A pity it is so early in the winter, or you might go and shoot half a dozen. How exciting it must be to hear them howling in the forest! They never come till Christmas, do they ? Basil had not time to ansWer when a distant sound, penetrating through the heavily curtained windows, made them all start. There it is again ! said Narka. What is it ? said Marguerite. Listen ! Sibyl held up her finder, and the gentlemen put down their ciga- rettes. A long dismal howl, perceptibly nearer this time, was again audible. Is it a wolf ? asked Marguerite under her breath. At this time of the year ? said M. de Beaucrillon. You were just now telling me that they never came till the snow was deep ? No more they do, replied Basil. I never before knew, except when I was a child- There it is again ! interrupted Sibyl, and this time quite close. Let us go up to the gallery. Oh, how dreadful ! exclaimed Mar- guerite, who seemed too horrified to move. If he were to dash at the windows and break in He certainly would if he saw you, little cousin, said Basil; but as he cant, we have nothing to fear. Come along up to the gallery, and see what a live wolf looks like. He drew her arm through his, and led her off, excited and only half reluctant. The others had all fled up before them, and were already grouped in the deep mulhioned window at the further end of the gallery, the only one that was in shad- ow, for it was a brilliant night, and the full moon, riding hi,~,h in the heavens, sent as her largess broad bars of silver light through the row of eight windows on one side of the gallery. Basil, still holding Marguerites arni within his, joined the others, and they all stood watching. The broad gravel-drive shone like gran- ite in the dazzling whiteness of the moon- shine; one wing of the castle was in black shadow, the other in brilliant light, every arch and moulding carved in ebony and silver. Where is the brute sneaking ? said Basil. He cant be far off, said Narka. The last howl was very close. They waited with bated breath. No- thing stirred. The park was so silent you mi~ht have heard the stars twinkling. Look! there lie is ! exclaimed Sibyl, in a whisper, pointing toward the clock tower, that was in shadow. They pressed closer, and strained their eyes. I see him ! Marguerite cried, and, shuddering, she clutched Basils arm, as if safety lay in his coat sleeve. Basil bore it manfully. Never fear, little cousin. See, he is coming on ! The beast advanced a few steps and paused, one half of his lank gray body in shadow, the other in sheen. Suddenly he pricked his ears, held one forefoot sus INARKA. 209 pended, and turned his head toward the park in an attitude of intense listening. Does he hear something ? asked M. de Beaucrillon. It looks like it, Basil replied, uneasi- ly. I will get my gun. So will I, said his brother-in-law. And they hurried away together. Presently the wolf turned his head to- ward the house, moved forward a few steps, and glared up with his red eye- balls. To Marguerite there was something de- licious. in the combination of horror and a sense of comfortable safety that she ex- perienced in looking down at the ferocious animal from behind thick stone walls. Do you think he heard us speaking ? she asked, almost under her breath. Narkas fear and Sibyls was that lie had heard something else. What an age the gentlemen were in bringing their fire- arms! They had in reality been away about two minutes. Oh, here they come 1 said Sibyl. Open the window as quickly and qui- etly as you can, said Basil. But before there was time to obey, the wolf turned his head, and uttering a long howl, bound- ed off, and disappeared round the clock tower. Confound the brute ! muttered Basil. I wonder why he darted away so suddenly ? said Narka. Probably it was some noise in the thicket, some animal prowling about, said Basil; but he did not seem con- vinced. Suppose it were some one coming through the park ? suggested Marguerite. How awful if it were Nobody is likely to be out this time of night, replied her cousin. Hush! listen! cried M. de Beaucril- lou, laying his hand on Basils shoulder. Every ear was strained. Yes, there was a sound of galloping hoofs in the dis- tance. Ought we to send out men with fire- arms ? asked Sibyl. Where to ? said Basil. That sound comes from the left, and the brute made for the forest. Besides, no one would be abroad at this hour without fire-arms. I dare say it is Larchoff. I met him riding in to X. this afternoon. He often rides back late. He is sure to be armed. It would be a good joke if the wolf pulled him down and made a meal of him. No such luck, cried Narka; beasts of a species do not prey on each other. This speech sounded unnaturally cyn- ical on the lips of a young girl. Margue- rite shrank imperceptibly away from her, and moved closer to Basil. M. de Beau- crillon felt the same repulsion so strongly that, under pretence of putting aside his gun, he went out of the room. Presently Basil carried his to a safe corner, and then, stepping into the deep embrasure of one of the windows flooded with light, called to Marguerite to join him. She went tripping lightly across the polished floor, and they stood together looking out at the moonlit landscape. Sibyl and Narka remained alone. They were both more disturbed than they wish- ed to appear. Superstitious as genuine Muscovites, the coming of the wolf be- fore the seasonable time was to them an ill omen, all the more alarming froni its vagueness. The wolf waits for the white carpet, was a saying of the pea- sants; and when he appeared before the carpet was spread, some calamity was cer- tain to follow. Well, cousin, you have had a glimpse of one of our winter amusem.ents. How do you like it ? asked Basil. I dont like it at all, replied Mar- guerite. You were saying, only a little while ago, that it must be so exciting, and want- ing me to turn wolf and howl at you. Do you think the wolf overheard me I will tell you a secret, said Basil. I asked the brute to come and howl for you to-night. At first he flatly refused, like the brute that he is; then I[ bribed him. What bribe did you offer him ? You wont tell ? He bent his tall figure down until his mustache almost touched her ear. I told him that Lar- choff was coming this way, and that he could sup off him. Oh ! said ~Marguerite, drawing away with a little shudder. Why do you want that poor man to be devoured by a wild beast ? Because that poor man is more de- structive than any wild beast alive: he is the devil. Is he so wicked? Who is he ? Who is Larchoff? He is our neigh- bor, and dates his descent from Peter the Great, who gave the family a title. He is 210 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a liar and a hypocrite, as cruel as a tiger and as greedy as a wolf, cowardly as a rat and dishonest as a Jew; he has all the bad instincts of man and beast com- bined; he is only fit company for the dev- il, and that is where the curses of good men are speedin0 him night and day. Ah! but that is wicked ! said Mar- guerite, with a shudder. They ought to pray for him that he might repent. Pray for Larchoff ! Basil threw back his head with a low laugh; the no- tion of anybody praying for Larchoff was immensely funny to him. If the prayers were heard, and that fiend were to repent and enter the kingdom of hea- ven, I hope I may go somewhere else! He has done more evil and made more men and women miserable than any man of his generation, unless, perhaps, his master the Czar. You know about old Larchofi, this fellows father? No? Sibyl never tol.d you? Well, listen. Jacob Lank, Narkas father, was a Jew; they are a vile race, but Jacob was an excep- tion; he was honest, and very rich. He traded in furs, and he was clever and in- dustrious, as the Jews mostly are. He lived in one of Larchoffs villages, un- luckily. One day Larchoff, who, like his son, was always in want of money, went to Jacob, and said he must pay down fifty thousand rubles or pack up. Of course Jacob paid them. At the end of six months Larchoff came down on him for another fifty thousand. Jacob paid again; and so it went on until there was no more blood in the stone. Then Jacob fell on his knees and besought Larchoff, for the sake of the God of Abra- ham, to spare him and give him time to gain the money, and he would go on working and paying while he could; but Larchoff spat on him and mocked him, and then went off and denounced him as deep in a plot against thelife of the Em- peror. The poor wretch was seized and flogged and tortured to make him con- fess; and as he could not ~onfess, he was sent to Siberia. Fortunate]y he died on the road. Oh my God! And Narka? Narka was a small toddler at the time. She and her brother Sergius and Madame Lank came to live with us. Narka was educated with Sibyl, Sergius with me; he was such a dear good fellow, and so clev- er! He wanted to be a physician, and just after old Larchoff died he passed his examinations brilliantly. We were all proud of him, and everybody made much of him; all the people in the district in- vited him and made a fus~ over him. It was very foolish, for it enraged Larchoff ft is; he knew that his father had been hated for the murder, as it was called, of old Jacob, and that he himself was hated as much as his father. He resolved to be revenged on us all by ruining Sergius. He went and denounced the poor fellow. Oh, it was a damnable piece of work said Basil, with suppressed passion. What happened him ? Sergius? He was sent to Siberia. And is he there still ? Yeshis bones are there. He lived three years at the gold diggings, and then luckily he died. Poor Sergius And his mother, and Narka ? They lived through it, as people do. It broke their hearts; but people live with broken hearts, as they do with broken legs. We were all very fond of themSibyl and Narka are like sisters. My mother always spoke of Narka as her adopted child, and after her death the two were inseparable. And that cruel, horrid man stays on here? IDoes anybody speak to him ? Speak to him! They cringe to him, they lick his feet. You never speak to him ? I spoke to him no later than this after- noon. Oh ! in a tone of shocked astonish- ment. My child, if I offended Larchoff, in spite of my fathers present influence at court, he would never rest till he had sent me and all belonging to me after the La- riks. Is it possible? Why, he must be the devil. My sweet cousin, I began by telling you he was. And is there nothing to protect people against him? Is there no law in Russia ? Yes; there is the law of might and cunning. ~ After a moments silence Marguerite said, in a confidential sotto voce, looking up at Basil: I wonder why you dont make a revolution. If I were a Russian I should be a Nihilistis not that what you call them ? Basils eye flashed, and he made a sud- den movement as if he would have caught her in his arms; but he checked himself, and said, with a laugh, If you preach NARKA. 211 treason of that sort, petite Fran~aise, I will tell Larchoff, and you will be escort- ed to the frontier immediately, and per- haps get a whipping first. While this conversation was going on in the deep recess of one window, Sibyl and Narka were talking confidentially in another. I wonder whether Basil thinks at all seriously of Sophie ? Sibyl remarked. I do long to see him married and out of harms way Are you sure that to marry him to the sister of Ivan Gorif would be taki g him out of harms way ? Sibyl did not answer. Supposing it were, resumed Narka, I could understand your overlookin a good deal to make him settle down, as you say; but I cant see how the Prince should be anxious for such a marriage for his son. Paul Gorif was a trader, and Ivan carries on his fathers businesson a grand scale, it is true; still, lie is in trade; and the daughter and sister of a trader is not the wife one would expect Prince Zorokoff to select for his son. It is hardly a selection. Who else is there to prefer to Sophie? She is the only girl iii the district. Basil never goes to St. Petersburg except to pay his court to the Emperor and rush back. You know how he used to entertain us caricaturing all the girls lie sees there. Then Sophies mother was noble; it was considered a dreadful disgrace her making that rnL~salliance with Paul Gorif. Be- sides, she is sole heiress to her uncles enormous fortune, and Basil, with all his indifference to money, knows very well that it is not a thing to be despised; for I suspect my father is melting down his fortune as fast as he caa at St. Peters- burg. Narka did not reply. She knew well enough that the Gorif money-bags were the bait that was making Prince Zoro- koff swallow his pride and court the traders pretty daughter for his son. But would Basil prove an accomplice in the transaction? Basil is far too proud to make a rn~- salliance for money, continued Sibyl, contradicting her last words, for she felt instinctively what wns in Narkas mind. But he does admire Sophie. Besides, he is so chivalrous I believe lie would make any sacrifice to deliver her from that brute Larchioff. Ivan says that Larchoff VOL. LXXIV.No. 440 1 6~ is trying hard to ingratiate himself, and Sophie naturally loathes the sight of him; but if she were to let Larchoff see this the consequences might be awful to her- self and Ivan. We know of what Lar- choff is capable. Yes, replied Narka, in a level under- tone but it would not be pleasant to have his vengeance turned upon Basil as a successful rival. Before Sibyl could answer, M. de Beau- crillon iiiterrupted them. It appears the whole house is in a commotion about the wolf, he said. ~My man tells me they are prophesying time most appalling eventsfires, earthquakes, murders, and I know not whaton the strength of it. They are a pack of fools ! Basil called out, walking up with Marguerite through the checkered light. That wolf came with the best intentions, solely to amuse Marguerite. To-morrow he will provide entertainnient for you by giving us an opportunity to hunt him. Your Russian hospitality is sublime, mon cher, replied M. de Beaucrillon. The very wild beasts are summoned to contribute to the enjoyment of your ouests. And so, lau~hing, they went out of the gallery together, and separated for tIme night. CHAPTER II. THE excitement caused by the appear- ance of the wolf was increased rather than lessened next morning by the pros- pect of a hunt, which diverted the super- stitious terrors of the household into more healthy sensations. It was a splen- did day; the sky was clear as sapphire, and the frosty landscape glittered in the morning light. The news had been taken down to the village at daybreak, and when the ladies came down-stairs the hunt was assembled on the lawn, every available man in the household being present with his gun; the villagers and moujiks in their costumes and sheep- skins, the dogs in force, and all in high goodhu mor. Narka and Sibyl entered into the pros- pect of the sport with keen gusto; but though Marguerite was alive to the pic- turesque side of the adventure, the idea of a close encounter with such ferocious 212 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. game was too terrifying to admit of her entering into it with any sympathy. Why not set traps for the wolf, in- stead of exposing mens lives in going to hunt him ? she asked, as they watched the scene on the lawn. But then where would be the sport ? cried Narka. Yes; that is what the men delight in, said Sibyl; and that is what wolves are forto make sport for them. It is the nature of men, I suppose, to like such sport, said Marguerite; but I cant understand your liking it for them. Just think if the wolf were to turn on Gaston or Basil and kill either of them ! Oh& ie, Im not going to think any- thing so unpleasant, cried Sibyl. You are a little coward, you French girl. Yes, lam; but at any rate I have the courage of my cowardice; Im not ashamed to own it. There is no shame in being a coward for those we love, said Sibyl, caressingly. Marguerite blushed up scarlet. No; I dare say even Gaston would be frighten- ed if he saw me going out to fight a wolf. She gave a little sudden turn of her head and looked away. Narka saw the blush, and saw the movement to hide it. Did those they love include for Marguerite somebody besides Gaston? Girls dont blush vio- lently at being suspected of cowardice on their brothers behalf. Here comes Ivan Gorif, said Sibyl, as there enierged from round the clock tower a broad-shouldered, loosely jointed, bushy-headed young man. Basil broke from a distant group to go and greet him. As the two men walked up the broad gravel-path they presented a striking contrast. Basil was the type of the polished, highly civilized Russian sei gneur, very tall, with clear corn plexion, blue eyes, abundant fair hair, and golden mustache; his countenance was frank and full of intelligence, with a singular mo- bility of exI)ression. Ivan Gorif was by no means vulgar or ill-looking, but his large head and mas- sive shouldershis loosely built frame and his heavy, shuffling gait, showed to in- creased disadvantage beside the finely pro- poi-tioned figure and noble bearing of the young Prince. Ivau paid his respects to the three la- dies, i-aising their hands to his lips after the chivalrous fashion of his countrymen, but he performed the ceremony with a brusquerie which was the result not so much of shyness as of an awkwardness that seems to be inseparable from a badly built human frame. What does the village say, Ivan Gorif ? inquired Sibyl. It says that a pack of wolves,various- ly estimated from five to five-and-twenty, came down and kept up a howling round the castle from midnight till dawn, re- plied Ivan. That is how ilistory gets written, ob- served M. de Beaucrillon. What do they say brought the wolf down ? inquired Sibyl. They say he came for no good; they are terrified out of their wits. They are a pack of idiots, said Basil. I suspect some rogue has been trapping cubs in the forest, and the mother came down to look for them. The howl sound- ed uncommonly like the call of the she- wolf. That was the first thing that occurred to me, said Ivan; but they all swore they knew nothing about cubs being trapped. They were sure to swear that any- how, laughed Basil. By-the-way, said Ivan, the wolf was near trapping a cub of the devils last night. Larchoff came up with him on the road, and if he had not put a bullet through the brute in time, arid sent him yelling away on three legs, he was a dead man. Who did lie tell that stunning lie to? asked Basil. Father Christopher. He met Larehioff this moviiing on his way to see some sick woman in the wood. I wish Father Christopher did not meet him so often, said Basil. He may brave the fellow once too often, and my father niay not be able to pull him out of his fangs. Father Christopher never thinks of that, said Narka; he only thinks of sparing the peasants, of putting himself between them and Larchoffs cruelty. If it were not for Father Christopher. Lar- choff would be flaying them. alive, and flog- ging them of a morning to get an appe- tite for his breakfast. Oh ! Marguerite gave a little scream. She is only joking, cousin, said Basil. You should not say those things before her, he added, angrily, to Narka. NAIIKA. 213 No; itis bad for her French nerves observed M. de Beaucrillon. He said it seriously, almost solemnly, but Sibyl sus- pected he was mocking. The father is imprudent, she re- marked. It would be much better for everybody concerned if he tried to concil- iate Larchoff. Yes, said Ivan; if he would just my-lord-Count him and flatter him a bit, it would serve the peasants better. The father is too honest to flatter anybody, said Narka, much less such a vile thing as Larchoff. Pshaw 1 said Ivan the notion of wasting fine sentiment on a wolf! One talks to a fool according to his folly, and one treats a savage as a savage. The father will find out his mistake too late if he doesnt change his tactics toward Larchoff. Paul the cobbler heard high words between them on the road this morning; he did not catch what the quar- rel was about, but Larchoff shouted. If you dont keep your tongue warm, you had better pack up. I am always pack- ed up, said the father; I am ready to start every day, and I would rather take the road to Siberia this minute than abet your villany by holding my tongue. Paul saw them from behind the wall, and he says Larchoff looked like a mad bull and the father like an angry lion, his head thrown back and his white hair flutter- ing. I wish the father would try and keep out of his way, said Sibyl. Yes, but there is no keeping out of the devils way, said Basil. He is always about, seeking whom he may devour. A horn sounded from the lawn. Come! let us be on the march, said Basil. The three gentlemen went out, and pre- sently the hunt moved on. The ladies watched it out of sight, but when Sibyl turned from the window she missed Marguerite. She has gone to pray that they may not be devoured by the wolf, said Narka, in answer to her exclamation of surprise. Does she care so very much, do you thinkI mean for Basil ? She cares enough, I dare say, to say a prayer for him in an emergency. Sibyl sat down to her tapestry. Narka stood looking out at the window. What a blessing it would be if Basil were to fall in love with Marguerite ! said Sibyl, with a sigh as soft and long- drawn as the silk she was pulling through her needle. Narka gave a curious smile. You were sighing last night that he might fall in love with Sophie. I would sigh for a month if it would help him to fall in love with Marguerite. Sophie has some essentials that would suit, but Marguerite has everything. And she is so gentle Are you sure such a gentle wife is what Basil wants ? He admires gentleness in a woman immensely. Most men do. It does not follow that it would suit him best. Basil wants a wife that he could lean upona woman who would guide hhn. Sophie has plenty of charac- ter, and a very strong will; she turns her brother round her finger. I should not like Basil to be turned round his wifes finger. But you are mistaken in fancying that Marguerite lacks character: she has plenty of char- acter, only it is kept down by her French training. Wait till she is married, and then you will see how she will develop. French girls are all like that. Would she marry a schismatic ? Ah, that is the one obstacle. But if Basil tried, I am certain lie might over- come it. If he would only make Mar- guerite fall in love with him Something magnetic made Sibyl turn and look at Narka. Why do you smile like that ? she said. Dont you think a girl might love Basil ? You and I have managed to love bun. How silly you are sometimes, with all your cleverness, Narka! I mean a girl who is nothing to him. If I were a girl not his sisterI should easily fall in love with him. Dont you think you would ?if he tried to make you ? Perhaps. The Princess used to say that a woman never could tell whether a4 man could make her love him or not un- til he tried. I dare say she was right. Sibyl raised one hand, and let it drop lightly on the canvas with a gesture of utter amazement. To think that you of all women should not believe Basil capable of win- ning any girl he set his heart on ! she ex- claimed Basil, who has everything that can make a man charming I Charm is very much a matter of in- 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dividual taste and sympathy, said Nar- ka, and she lapsed into silence. Present- ly she turned from the window, and went to the piano, and sat down, running her fingers over the keys in an impromptu prelude which she accompanied at first in a low, almost inarticulate murmur; but by degrees the tones rose, and the rich voice gave forth its power, uttering in music the passionate thought that seem- ed so often folded in Narkas silence, and never expressed itself freely but in song. Her voice was one of those rare and rich instruments that combine every quality; it had the warm, mellow tones of a con- tralto, and the range of a soprano, the high notes ringing out with bell-like clear- ness, the lower soft as oil poured out: it was a voice that would have made a for- tune on the stage, so powerful it was, so brilliant, and at the same time of such melting sweetness. Narka never looked so beautiful as when she was singing, and she would go on warbling and trill- ing for hours, never tired, like a bird whose natural speech was song. CHAPTER III. THE wolf hunt proved a failure. The sportsmen came home without having seen or scented the game of which they had gone in search. It had been discov- ered, however, that a peasant in one of Larchoffs villages had trapped a cub two days before, and carried it off to his fa- tler in the village beyond Yrakow. This discovery was a great relief to the popu- lation, and calmed their terrors by giving a natural explanation of the premature appearance of the unwelcome visitor. It was evidently the mother that had come down to look for her stolen cub. All the same, Narka remarked, I wish the week were past, and that we were safe over the adventure. You dont seriously believe that it forebodes evil, mademoiselle l said M. de Beaucrillon, looking at her with amused incredulity. I seriously believe in precedent and tradition, replied Narka. It is a thing unprecedented for the wolf to come down before the snow without some calamity suddenly following. In the Princ& s child- hood a wolf was seen in the village one night in October, and the next day a fire broke out, and two-thirds of the houses were burnt down. That is conclusive evidence, certain- ly; the wolf was evidently an incendia- ry, observed M. de Beaucrillon, gravely. It is very well for you to laugh, Gas- ton, said Sibyl; but you have your su- perstitions in Burgundy too, and a score of precedents that everybody at Beaucril- Ion believes in. I wish we were safe out of the week. A week is the limit of the danger l said Gaston, with provoking coolness. If it is not fulfilled within that time, the wolf is voted a false piophetl It so happens that hitherto it always has been fulfilled within the xveek, re- plied Sibyl. M. de Beaucrillon in his secret soul hoped that it would be fulfilled this week. He was bejnning to feel the place so deadly dull that it would have been a mercy if the wolf brought any change to enliven things. Even a fire in the vil- lage would be better than nothing. Gas- ton had only been three weeks at Yrakoxv, and it was palling on him horribly. The magnificent vastness of the castle, the bar- baric splendor of the interior, the immen- sity of the grounds, the immensity of the forest, the scale of immensity on which everything within and without was con- structed, made the sense of desolateness produced by the smallness of the social element proportionately immense. The immobility of life in this enormous palace, with its galleries as long as streets, and its rooms as big as courts, and its halls as vast as ordinary squares, was overpower- ing. There were seventy servants in the household, but they made no more life in the place than the flies on the pane. M. de Beaucrillon sauntered through the vast apartments, and smoked countless cigars, and felt as if he were walking in an enchanted castle where everybody was under a spell of somnolence. Basil was an excellent host, and did all he could to wake up the sleeping inhabitants, but Basil himself was under the spell. He did not understand the need for being al- ways awake; he went spasmodictmlly from mercurial activity to absolute idleness, from hunting a wolf, and similar out-door exercises, to lounging by the hour on the flat of hAs back with a cigar in his mouth; he spent hours dreaming and writing in his private study, emerging thence in al- ternate moods of high excitement and NARKA~ 215 profound melancholy. M. de Beaucril- Ion was very fond of his brother-in-law, but he did not understand him; Basil, for all his physical strength and reckless courage, seemed to him more a woman than a man, a creature made of contradic- tions, of impulses, of passionate emotions and exaggerations. The day after the hunt, Marguerite and Narka went out for a ride. As they pass- ed through the village, Narka pointed out the cotta~e where she and her mother re- sided since Sibyl~s marriage. You must take me to pay a visit to Madame Lank as soon as shes well enough, said Marguerite. When will that b~ ? In a few days, I hope, Narka re- plied, looking pleased and grateful. She has been much better this last week, and has had good nights: that is why I have been able to stay at the castle. It is sel- dom that her rheumatism is so bad at this season, poor dear mother ! Ought she not go to some German baths for it ? said Marguerite. Yes, she ou~ht; and I hope some day to be able to take her to Aix-la-Chapelle. Some day sounds va~ue, Narka added, in answer to a look in Mar~uerites face; but we are waiting on a legacy that is to come to us from an old relative of mo- thiers. I have never seen him, so it is not very cynical of me to look forward to enjoy his moneyis it? And the doctor assures me Aix would do wonders for my mother. And then you will come on and spend the autumn at Beaucrillon and the winter in Paris. That would be a charming pro- gramme, said Narka, smiling, but mo- ther has a great desire to spend a month in Munich, her native place, and then to make a little tour in Germany; and I dont know whether the legacy would admit of all that and a journey to France. Though, with our simple habits, a little money would go a long way. Marguerite had lost sight of this fact in Narkas position, that she and her mother were very poor, dependent almost wholly on the generosity of the Zorokoffs, who had given them a cottage and a large garden. But you have travelled already ? Marguerite said. I have been to St. Petersburg several times with the Princess; we spent some winters there, and had masters. It was therechiefty that I learned singing. The Princess had me taught by a great Ital- ian master from Rome. What a delight- ful man he was, and how I did enjoy his lessons! We used to go twice a week to the operayour aunt was so good to me! She was an angel, the Princess. I was always sorry she was not Russian. Marguerite smiled. I hope you will come soon to France and stay with us, she said. I do so long to convert you ! That would be a cruel trick to play me. I should be either sent to Siberia or put into a dungeon for the rest of my life. Oh! I did not mean a religious con- version; I meant to convert you to being a little more French and a little less Rus- sian. They would not put you in prison for that ? No, they would not put me in prison for that. But ought you not to be satisfied with having converted Sibyl? Dont you think she is a very creditable convert ? On the whole; but she has many here- sies still; she maintains, for instance, that the climate here is better than in France, that she never felt so cold in St. Peters- burg as she does in Paris. She also clings to the belief that a paternal Muscovite government is the best in the world. There is only one point on which her con- version is entirely satisfactory. She ad- mits that French husbands are perfection. Would it be hopeless to try to convert you to that belief, Narka l Quite! spoken very emphatically. How heartily you say that! I dont wonder you owe a grudge to the race for having stolen away Sibyl. What a loss she must have been to you ! And not to me only. Her departure left all these poor people-glancing round over the countryat the mercy of the Jews and the bureaucrats, who prey on them like wolves. But dont the Prince and Basil protect them? Basil does what lie can; but he has not much power. As to the Prince, he is nearly always at St. Petersburg, looking after the future. Meanwhile the stano- vof, who is a grasping, cruel man, has it all his own way; lie and Larchoff are in leaguea pair of devils. The Prince must be a very odd map, Marguerite said, looking confidential. My maid tells me stories about his go- 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ings on when he is here that would make one think lie was stark, staring mad. Narka laughed. I dare say he would be locked up as a lunatic in any country but Russia; but his madness is harmless enoughmore so, indeed, than his sane- ness. He keeps everybody in commotion day and night while he is here. He nev- er oes to bed or undresses at night; he smokes and drops asleep in a chair, sitting bolt-upright; every now and then he falls off his chair and bangs himself on the ground; and then he starts up, seizes his gun, that is always beside him, rushes to the window, and fires out at the night. He does this four times, rushin~, to the four sides of the house as fast as lie can go, and throwing open the windows with as much noise as he can make. Sibyl and Basil had the greatest difficulty to prevent him doin~ it this last time; they said you would all he so fri~htened, and they should not know what to say to you to explain it. Marguerites eyes grew round with amazement. And was that why the Prince ran away in such a hurry ? Probahly that had something to do with his flight. He says lie can never sleep a night through here without cx- ercisin ~ himself in fire-arms, and lie pre- tends it is protection to the villa~e against wolves and Larchoff. He certainly would pass for a luna- tic in France, said Marguerite, her face breaking into dimples of suppressed laugh- ter. And used he go on in that way when Aunt Isabelle was alive ? Not so badly. She kept him in or- der. He gave her his word once that lie would not shoot at the night for a month; but one night he jumped out of bed and emptied his revolver through the window as fast as he could shoot; the Princess rushed in and caught him in the act, and he declared he had been asleep and dream- ing, and had no intention of breaking his word. He went back to bed; but pre- sently she and all of us heard a noise from down-stairs of some one howling in pain. We all rushed out to see what was the matter, and there in the middle of the hall was the Prince whipping himself with all his might, and roaring like a bull. He said he could not go to sleep with remorse for having broken his word, and felt he must get up and whip himself as lie would have had one of the servants whipped for offending in the same way. The Princess besought him to stop, but he would not; lie went on whipping and yelling till he had given himself the number of stripes he thought proper, and then he went up to bed; his back was scarred with welts, and hurt him for days. Marguerite was seized with such an im- moderate fit of laughter that she had to rein in her horse and go at a foots pace till it was over. Why, lie is as mad as any maniac in Charenton ! she exclaim- ed, when she was able to speak. He is a little eccentric, said Narka; but his eccentricities are all very harm- less. The Princess kept them within hounds, and so did Sibyl in a lesser de- gree) I don~t wonder you miss Sibyl. They cantered on a little way without speaking. There is one good thing that has come to me out of Sibyls departure, Narka re- sumed. It has led to mothers and my living in the villa~e. You cant get really to sympathize with the sufferings of peo- ple, and help them, until you come close enough to share them; we never realize them so long as we are in a fools paradise of luxury and ease. The i)ain of poverty is like every other pain; nothing hut pei~- sonal experience can make us understand it, and teach us the kind of relief it wants. It is like a man born in the tropics trying to realize cold from a description in a book. He never could do it. No description could give him the physical sensation of feet and hands tingling and perishing, of blood chilled in his veins, of eyes blinded and smarting in a bitter icy wind. He must leave the tropics and go up into a Northern climate to know what it all means. To live in a great palace amidst luxury and abundance of every sort is like living in the tropics. I never real- ized what our wretched peasants had to endure until I came to live amongst theni in the village, and saw how they suffer in every wayfrom poverty, from the cli- mate, from ignorance, and, ahove all, from the cruelty of the Jews and the govern- ment officials. But is there no redress? Is there no justice to be had for them ? Father Christopher keeps telling them they will get justice in the next world. Even in this there are laws to protect the weak against the strong. God has not left Himself without witnesses on the earth. NARKA. 217 I wonder where His witnesses are in Russia ? Narka lau~hed. The people themselves are His wit- nesses; they believe and they hope in Him. Then why does He let them be crushed and tortured and destroyed ? Oh, Narka, that pagau why is always in your mouth ! It is in the mouth of the people ev- erywhereevery where. They are down- trodden, and oppressed, and made to suffer injustice. Not in France, protested Marguerite. The people are not down-trodden there. They are in Russia. Why are they? Why does God permit it? If His justice is anywhere on earth, it ought to be every- where in Russia as well as in France. Wrong cannot be made right in a day. We must be patient. We are patient, heroically patient under the wrongs and sufferings of oth- ers. The passionate irony in Narkas voice sounded more bitter than the words themselves. I am sure we are trying to make the world less bad and life less hard on the poor, said Marguerite. Dont you think that they have much less to suffer now than they bad a thousand years ago ?-or even a hundred ? In France, I dare say, thanks to your glorious Revolution. Oh,Narka! you call it glorious? That dreadful reign of terror, when the people rose up a~ainst God and murdered the King ! Marguerite felt again that vague repulsion which had made her more than once shrink away from Narka. The people rose a~ainst a reign of tyranny that had ended by driving them mad. Would that Russia could follow the example of France, and have her rev- olution ! Mnr~nerite was shocked at the passion- ate hatred expressed in Narkas tone and words; but she remembered her father dropping on the road into exile, and her young brother dying in Siberia, and re- vulsion gave way to pity. If you ever make a revolution in Rus- sia, she said, let it be a revolution of love, not of hate. Narka laughed. And burst our chains by kissing them. There is nothing love might not do if people would only believe in it, said Marguerite; if only they would let it rule the world instead of hatred. If they would let it have its way like the blessed sunshine it would turn this world into a paradise. I wonder why people cant be- lieve in love ? As she threw back her head, and put this question to the winter sky, there was a light in her eyes that contrasted strik- in 1 y with the flame in Narkas the light of love and the flame of hatehate just in its cause and cruelly provoked, but even in those beautiful eyes its effect was re- pulsive. Narka was surprised to see what strength of feehin~ lay beneath the bright, buoyant, and seemingly thoughtless hap- piness of the young French girl. Sibyl was right: there were slumbering forces underlying Marguerites nature which only needed certain opportunities to de- velop. Narka felt this recognition forced upon her, and she would not perhaps have acknowledged that the discovery caused her somethin~ like a sense of alarm or disappointment. The two girls, as by tacit consent, put their horses into a can- ter, and rode on a long way without ex- changin a word. At last Narka said, We must not for- get that we have to get back. She look- ed at her watch, and saw that it was four oclock. They turned their horses heads homeward. In those Northeastern countries the twi- li~ht is short, and ni~ht closes in almost as suddenly as the dropping of a curtain. When they re-entered the village of Yra- kow it was growing dark; the moon had risen, and a few stars had sprung out. Just as the castle came in sight the two riders were startled by shrieks that seem- ed to come from the forest. They pulled up their horses and stopped to listen. In a moment the groom, whom a curve in the road had hidden, came trotting up, and said something in Russian which evi- dently alarmed Narka. She was going to turn back, when some further information from the servant caused her to change her intention, and she went on. What has happened ? ifiquired Mar- guerite. He does not know, but he saw Sophie Gorff running from the road without anything on her head. Was she running from the wolf, do you think? That is not likely: the wolf would have been pursuing her. Narka stopped 218 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her horse again and hesitated; but after a short parley with the groom she rode on ~ am. Sophie is out of harms way now, at any rate~ she said. Dmitri saw her cross the road toward her own house. What could it have been ? Moved by lingering curiosity, they both cast a backward glance toward the forest. As they looked, they heard the report of a gun. can be shooting at this hour ? exclaimed Narka. It must be as black as night in the forest. Presently they saw the figure of a man carrying a gun emerging from the road adjoining the park. It is Basil, I do believe, said Mar- guerite. I dare say it was he who frightened Sophie. She called out and made signs with her whip, but Basil held on his way, and strode across the park without looking round. flow stupid of him not to hear! said Marguerite. Perhaps he hears, but does not want to come out of his way. Is lie such a boor as to do that? No Frenchman alive would be capable of anything so rude, protested Marguerite, indignantly. Narkas face positively beamed as she looked at her. You think Frenchmen are sd much more gallant? You think iRussians are boors ? I think Basil is behaving like a boor, and I shall tell him so, said Marguerite, with the prettiest show of offended dignity. Narka gave a light laugh that sounded musically sweet. I want to stop a few minutes here, Marguerite said, as they came to the little Catholic chapel. Do you mind going on alone, and leaving Dmitri to mind my horse ? Why may I not wait and come in with you ? said Narka. Oh! if youdont mind. They both alighted and went in. The chapel was merely an oratory at- tached to the house where Father Christo- pher lived. It had been built for him by the Princess when his office of tutor to Basil came to an end. The Roman Catho- lies at Yrakow were few, and these with others scattered th rough neighboring vil- lages on Prince Zorokoffs estates were the persons who profited by the old priests ministry. His congregation was com posed cli iefly of foreignersprofessors and servantsresiding in families or liv- ing in the villages; but, small as it was, it gave him a good deal to do, owing to the distances over xvhich it was scattered. He had to visit the sick iii places a long way o~, and these distant visits were one of the whips that Larchoff held over the fathers head. They afforded an outward semblance of tPuth to the charge of pros- elyting which Larchoff was constantly threatening to bring against him, and which in Russia is regarded as a heinous crime, visited, like high treason, with the penalty of death. The little chapel was almost dark; there was no light but the red glow of the sanc- tuary lanip. A few worshippers were kneeling in the shadows, waiting for Fa- ther Christopher to come into the confes- sional. Marguerite knelt down at the al- tar rail, and was at once absorbed in her devotions. Narka, from aprie-dieu a little behind, watched her with an odd mixture of admiration, envy, and satisfaction. The faith that could thins absorb a human being in an instant must be very strong- too strong to be shaken by any earthly feelings, by any mundane interests, by any promptings of passion. Narka had had a glimpse into Marguerites nature, aiid that glimpse had shown her, beiieath~ the light, child-like exterior, a wonian en- dowed with a supernatural creed which makes the weakest creature invulnerable against self, fitting her to cope victorious- ly with perils against which mere natural strength is frail and fnithhess. How fer- vently the girl prayed! In the red hi~ht of the lamp above her Narka could see her lips moving rapidly. She envied her being able to pray like that~ But it was easy for Marguerite t~ do so; it was easy for her to believe in Gods love, and call Him. Father, and ask that His will might be done. He had been a father to her, and His will had been always kind and loving. He had not tried her faith by injustice and cruel wrong; He had not confouiided her hope and turned it to de- spair. This loss of faith in an Almighty love was perhaps the bitterest suffering which the hard ways of God and man in- flicted on their helpless victims, Narka tl]ought, as she watched the happy young French girl praying. They had not been many minutes in the chapel whi en Father Christophier entered from the sacristy, and after kneeling a MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 219 moment before the tabernacle, went into the confessional. Marguerite stood up, and whispered to Narka, ~~~Tould there be time for me to wait and go to confession now Oh no, Narka replied; it is too late. You had better come to-morrow morning. You will find him before mass. Marguerite assented, and they went out and rode home. MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. BY R. M. JOHNSTON. Call me not fool till Heaven hath sent me fortune.As You Like It. I. IF Madison Crowder was not mistaken, I Martha Reid was the finest girl in all the region round about Ivys Bridge. Now Martha Reid herself was obliged to know that she was a fine girl, just as well as Madison Crowder did; for although only sixteen years old, she had heard from him and several other boys, and at least one grown man, words that were very peremp- tory in the line of the present argument. Yet Madison, tall, fair, stalwart as he was in contrast with Martha, petite, bru- nette, and slender, had little hope to win. The oldest of three boysonly children of a widowed motherhe was managing only tolerably their little farm, whereon was a working force of three or four hands be- sides the white boys. People said that Jasper, the next brother was a better farmer than he, who, as was known gen- ~rally, had some ambition to be a clerk in a store preparatory to becoming a mer- chant, and that it was owing mainly to Jaspers good judgment and steadiness of purpose that the crops made were not even smaller. Still, Madison was so po- lite in manners and so obliging in all neighborly offices that everybody liked him and wished him well. The Crowders were sandwiched be- tween two large plantations. The wife of Josiah Reid having died when Martha, her only child, was an infant, he had married Miss Crowder, an aunt of Madi- sons, and everybody said that the child could not have been reared more dis- creetly or affectionately by her own mo- ther had she lived. The father, poor in his youth, had remained a bachelor until over forty. A good man in the main, the too high value that his mind had always set upon the possession of property be- came higher and higher as his own ac- YoL. LXXIV.No. 440.i 7 cumulated and the time drew nearer when he must part from it. He loved his daugh- ter dearly, and he was reasonably grate- ful to the wife who had been continuous- ly faithful to both sets of her duties. He honestly believed that his own career was the very best exemplar for poor young men; and the older and richer he grew, the more resolute his purpose that nobody but a man in possession or expectation of property equal to or approximating his own should wed his daughter. He was obliged to know that Madison Crowder wanted her, and whenever the youths name was mentioned in the family, his manner evinced the hostility that would have been much more pronounced but for the young lovers relationship to his wife. Knowing old Mr. Reid as he did, Madi- son would never have fallen in love with Martha if he could have helped himself. But I have noticed more times than I could recall that where such a girl as Martha Reid is concerned, no amount of sense or observation stops a young man on that line of march. He had never asked Mar- tha if she returned the feeling he avowed; that is, not so fully in words as in tones of his voice, looks of his eyes, manners of his every service. She treated him like the rest of the beauxwith that sort of politest cordiality that is most discour- aging to an ardent lover. His aunt, to whom he could not but mention the sub- ject sometimes, ever warned him against the indulgence of hopes which, whatever Marthas feelings might become in time, could never be compassed during the life of her father. The plantation on the other side, ex- tending to the Ogeechee River, and in- cluding the store at the bridge, was own- ed by the Fittens, mother and son, the for- mer apparently sixty and the latter thirty-

Richard Malcolm Johnston Johnston, Richard Malcolm Martha Reid's Lovers. A Story 219-234

MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 219 moment before the tabernacle, went into the confessional. Marguerite stood up, and whispered to Narka, ~~~Tould there be time for me to wait and go to confession now Oh no, Narka replied; it is too late. You had better come to-morrow morning. You will find him before mass. Marguerite assented, and they went out and rode home. MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. BY R. M. JOHNSTON. Call me not fool till Heaven hath sent me fortune.As You Like It. I. IF Madison Crowder was not mistaken, I Martha Reid was the finest girl in all the region round about Ivys Bridge. Now Martha Reid herself was obliged to know that she was a fine girl, just as well as Madison Crowder did; for although only sixteen years old, she had heard from him and several other boys, and at least one grown man, words that were very peremp- tory in the line of the present argument. Yet Madison, tall, fair, stalwart as he was in contrast with Martha, petite, bru- nette, and slender, had little hope to win. The oldest of three boysonly children of a widowed motherhe was managing only tolerably their little farm, whereon was a working force of three or four hands be- sides the white boys. People said that Jasper, the next brother was a better farmer than he, who, as was known gen- ~rally, had some ambition to be a clerk in a store preparatory to becoming a mer- chant, and that it was owing mainly to Jaspers good judgment and steadiness of purpose that the crops made were not even smaller. Still, Madison was so po- lite in manners and so obliging in all neighborly offices that everybody liked him and wished him well. The Crowders were sandwiched be- tween two large plantations. The wife of Josiah Reid having died when Martha, her only child, was an infant, he had married Miss Crowder, an aunt of Madi- sons, and everybody said that the child could not have been reared more dis- creetly or affectionately by her own mo- ther had she lived. The father, poor in his youth, had remained a bachelor until over forty. A good man in the main, the too high value that his mind had always set upon the possession of property be- came higher and higher as his own ac- YoL. LXXIV.No. 440.i 7 cumulated and the time drew nearer when he must part from it. He loved his daugh- ter dearly, and he was reasonably grate- ful to the wife who had been continuous- ly faithful to both sets of her duties. He honestly believed that his own career was the very best exemplar for poor young men; and the older and richer he grew, the more resolute his purpose that nobody but a man in possession or expectation of property equal to or approximating his own should wed his daughter. He was obliged to know that Madison Crowder wanted her, and whenever the youths name was mentioned in the family, his manner evinced the hostility that would have been much more pronounced but for the young lovers relationship to his wife. Knowing old Mr. Reid as he did, Madi- son would never have fallen in love with Martha if he could have helped himself. But I have noticed more times than I could recall that where such a girl as Martha Reid is concerned, no amount of sense or observation stops a young man on that line of march. He had never asked Mar- tha if she returned the feeling he avowed; that is, not so fully in words as in tones of his voice, looks of his eyes, manners of his every service. She treated him like the rest of the beauxwith that sort of politest cordiality that is most discour- aging to an ardent lover. His aunt, to whom he could not but mention the sub- ject sometimes, ever warned him against the indulgence of hopes which, whatever Marthas feelings might become in time, could never be compassed during the life of her father. The plantation on the other side, ex- tending to the Ogeechee River, and in- cluding the store at the bridge, was own- ed by the Fittens, mother and son, the for- mer apparently sixty and the latter thirty- 220 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. five years of age, who, removing from somewhere in South Carolina, had pur- chased this property, and been resident thereon for five or six years. The store, built by the former owner, had been en- larged somewhat, and being on the high- way leading from the court-house of the county to that of the adjoining county east, and about equidistant from both and from Dukesborough, had lately been hon- ored by having a post-office. The mother, a pale, plain, reticent woman, seemed to render to her son entire subservience, which it was believed that he exacted in return for having raised the family, as he claimed, from very humble beginnings to its present exalted state. They had a gang of rather unlikely negroes, with which the son ran the plantation, and in spite of the diversity of occupations, he succeeded abundantly at both. Madison Crowder in all of his dreams about a clerkship had never thought of Mr. Fitten in that connection, for among other reasons that he believed he had for not liking him was an assurance of his mind that his intention ever since his first removal to the neighborhood had been to marry Martha Reid if he could. Within this last year she had sprung into woman- hood, and there was little doubt upon any- bodys mind that at this particular time he was soliciting her with the full consent of her father. Madison, therefore, was much surprised one day when the mer- chant, on his way home from Mr. Reids, drew up his horse, and calling him from work in his field, informed him that he had discharged the clerk he had had; and then he offered to him the position for a wage that was quite above what the youth had hoped to get at first anywhere. Why, Mr. Fitten, II never thought youI never dreamed of such a thing. Ah! Somebody told me, leastways my membrance is somebody told me, you had a idee of learnin to be a mer- chant, an were a-tryin to git a place in a sto in town. Maybe I were mistak- ened. No,sir, you were not mistaken. I mean to say that I was not expecting you to- I didnt in fact know that you ex- pected to part with Will Evans, Mr. Fit- ten, and- Wills a good boy, a good nough boy, but I dont think that Will have theIll say the talons for to be a merchant. What I want in my business, Madison, is for my clerk to have talons for the business, an in perusin around, my mind have fell on you; that is, a-powidin your notions is that way. Ef not, why, in cose. When must I give you my answer, Mr. Fitten ? In cose you want to talk along ith your ma, an possible your aunt, Missis Reid, andwell, well say four days, or you may make it five if you want. Say five. Your crops laid by, you know, an Jappy, if he git pressed in getherin it, why, you know, Madsn, we can all help him pull through. After some further conversation it was agreed that by the fifth day next suc- ceeding Madison was to give notice of his decision. If such an offer had come from any other source, he would have accept- ed eagerly at once. As it was, the first feeling, as Mr. Fitten rode away, was a poignant pain at the thought of assuming toward him a relation of admitted subor- dination. Yet for some time past he had been almost without hope to win Mar- tha Reid, for even if she should return his feelinga result she had never given him reason to expecthe well knew that she would never wed without her fathers consent, and that could never be got- ten for him, at least so long as he con- tinued so poor in the matter of property. As for thanking the man who had just. made the offer to him, which he ought ta have done, he was very far from that. Instead, as he went on slowly to his mo- ther, he felt some resentment, he could scarcely have told for what. His mo- ther, after some reflection, said that per haps it was best for him to accept. It would be a start in the way of his long- indulged ambition, and if, upon better ac- quaintance with the man, lie should not. grow to like him, he at all events would be learning the new business and becom- ing qualified for a satisfactory position elsewhere. I dont know what to say about it, Madison, said his aunt on the next day. Me an Marthy were both took by sur- prise when Mr. Reid told us last night that Mr. Fitten was going to make you an offer. What did Marthy say, aunty ? She saidthat was when me and her- were by ourselves, for she said nothing before her pa; but when he went out she said that ef she was in your place and wanted to go to clerking, shed believe MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 221 shed go further from home. But she took that back irumegiate, and she hasnt named your name to me sence. You know Ive freckwent told you, Madison, to not set your heart too much on Marthy, but go long and do the same as ef they wasnt no sech a girl. I love the child the same as ef she was my own child; but you know as well as I do that in this family Mr. Reids words is the law. Your ma and Jappy think maybe its best, and may- be it is. The interview with Martha, two days afterward, was brief. Not that she was wanting in cordiality; that on her part, though always polite, was nev- er very pronounced; but he thought he could see that she recognized the humbling infe- riority to which the contem- plated change was already be- ginning to subject him. He rather hoped that she would mention the subject first. As she did not, he said, Ive been thinking of clerk- ing for Mr. Fitten. So ma tells me. Yes, Jappy can manage now at home very wellbetter than me, I must say, an Ive been thinking for some time that Id like to get into some other busi- ness, in town, or Augusta, or somewhere. Yes. Had you made any effort that way, Madison ? Why, no; that is, notmuch. I thought I would this fall. And so here comes Mr. Fittens offer. It took me by surprise. For somehow I didnt think Mr. Fitten Well, the fact is, the whole thin~,, surprised me. She smiled so faintly that he was sorry he had mentioned the matter. Then he rose. Are you going ? she asked, evidently not expecting so speedy a departure, yet as evidently not disappointed. Well,? he soliloquized, after leaving the house. its hard to be poor. If I had half, or a third, or even a quarter of the property of that old fellow, he shouldnt have her. Its all old man Reids doings anyhow; but good-by, good-by, good-by. Three times he said these last words; and then, as he was about to descend the hill, turning for one more view of the mansion he had just left, he saw Martha standing on the piazza where he had taken his leave of her. At that moment she also turned and entered the house. II. Na-las: nan dad: hmy Save-yer bleed: Nau dad: h~rny Soy-ring d Humph! Dat boy done put me out an my hime out, bofe un us. Such conversion into spondees of the iambics of this sweet old hymn, and such abrupt breaking down of the last word in the opening distich, need explanation, of course. Shortly after Madison Crowder had set in with Mr. Fitten, the latter had hired from Mr. Reid, for the purpose of waiting about the house and the store, a negro lad named Isaac, who, though good for little lIE SAW MARTHA STANDING ON TIlE PIAzzA. 222 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in the field, was fond of waiting, special- ly on white people. The daily putting to rights the store and the shed-room attach- ed had hitherto devolved upon the clerk. But Mr. Fitten said that a young man raised like Madison should have a negro for such work, and as he owned none ex- actly suited to the purpose, he offered for Isaac a price that Mr. Reid, notwithstand- ing some humble remonstrance of the boys father, endorsed by Mrs. Reid and Martha, accepted. In this new r6le Isaac delighted, and advanced in the arts of his business to that degree that he was becom- ing somewhat of an aristocrat, not only among the ]3itten negroes, but the rest in his neighborhood. The store was on the first rise from the bridge, and the mansion on the second, about three hundred yards distant. Isaac waited on both. On the occasion of his first visit home, Greene, his father (it was a Sunday morn- ing), was sitting before his cabin door, under the shade of a mulberry, his Bible in his lap, and the hymn-book Mercers Cluster lying on a stool by his side. He let his son pass with only a simple salu- tation into the cabin, and about an hour afterward called to him, You Izik, I speck by dis time your mammy an dem got nough er your qualty talk; an ef dey is, step out here, an less men you swap a few words. He looked at his sons well-carded head, his white not overworn shirt, and other evidences of his rise. Spected you las Sunday. Leastways your mammy did. Whynt you come I were dat busy, daddy, I couldnt. You know I has to tend to de house an de sto, bofe. Ah, well, den; ef dey needs you, your business to be on han at all times. Wliar you git dat sto shirt ? Mis Fittn gin it to me. How you gittn on, anyhow? an how Marse Madsn gittn on Oh, jes splendid, daddy. Who splendid ? Why, Marse Madsn. Mis Fittn praise him way up yonder, an so do his ma. Dat ter young man he wait on his- self, but now I waits on Marse Madsn. Umph! humph! Antny and Niel tole your mammy las week dat when dey seed you, as dey was a-comm fum de mill, you wuz a-braggin what fine qualty victuals dey feeds you on, an how big you is in genil mong dem Fittn niggers. I jes a-runnin on wid dem boys, daddy. Jes runnin on. Den dey dont pom- per you so monsous powful? As for dem Fittn niggers, dey show fer deyselves; dey aint fed like marsters ni~,gers. But you does look fat and greazy, so to speak. I waits bout de house, an in cose I gits de moest plenty. Umph! humph! An dey trusses you to sweep up de sto, does dey? Well, now, sir, you be monsous pittickler, an de furder white folks trusses you, de pit- ticklererer you git, an dont you let no- thin stick to you dar. Daddy, I want fotch up to steal; you~ n mammy Let lone men your mammy. Dont you pen on fetchin up. You pen on ketchin de cowhide, an marster bein broke up payin you out o jail, an den my takin whut hide de sheyiff an de ter white people leff on your back. You ken go long now. When dey ken spar you uv a Sunday like, I want you come home. Not as I cant eat my lowance o victuals fem grievin atter you, but your mammy want to see you sometimes, an I wants to hear how you gittn long an behavin yourself to white an black. When you git back, member my specks to your Marse Madsn. An Mis Fittn too, daddy ? No; I got nothin to do long Miss Fittn, an I got no use fer white folks what pompers ter peoples nig~,ers agin dey own. Go long off wid you. It was here that old Greene, as above recorded, failed in his musical endeavor. Several weeks passed. The mouth of Mr. Fitten,. especially when at the Reids, where he now visited frequently, had been for a while full of praise of the new clerk. If it had been less so of late, this might be attributed to the theme having gradu- ally become trite. Madison now seldoni visited there. What he had come to rec- ognize as hopeless, with the strength of youth he had ceased to pursue. But now he was seized with a too ardent desire to get money. The contemplation of what such a man as Mr. Fitten, whose coarse- ness and ill - breeding he exaggerated, could accomplish by the possession of money, and of what such another as he considered himself must fail to obtain for the want of it, induced a resolution to get money at. the sacrifice of some things which heretofore he had held much more MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 223 I dear. Disguising the disgust, the full ex- tent of which he must have been aware that he had no right to indulge, he yet went diligently to all his work, and dis- charged it to the full satisfaction of his employer. If the latter penetrated his disguise, he yet persisted in the confidence he bestowed, and it seemed, if not to Mad- ison, at least to his friends, as if he was trying by kindness to overcome a repul- sion which he could not but recognize in the circumstances to be natural. Madi- son could hardly have said himself wheth- er it was with pain or a sort of pleasure that he noticed the want of affection be- tween Mr. Fitten and his mother, so thin, pale, and apparently so unhealthy, who seemed as though she had suffered many griefs, but had not lost thereby, as he soon discovered, either energy or will. Her house was decently kept, and the negroes were provided for as humanely as the pe nuriousness of her son would allow; more so, indeed, for sometimes secretly and sometimes openly, silently taking his rude complainings, she supplied them with things that he had refused. With the instinct of one brought up as Madison Crowder was, he treated this wo- man with every becoming deference, that grew to be more marked as he noticed the indifference of her son to her feelings and general welfare. The old lady is old and sickly, he would say to Madison, an them make her fretful an hard to please. I got so myself I done quit tryin to please her, I has. When people git that way, they aint no tellin whats best fer a feller to do. The woman received Madisons defer- ential services with some apparent grati- tude, and sometimes when they happened to be together alone she would talk with K! HE WA5 BECOMING SOMEWHAT OF AN ARISTOCRAT. 224 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. him, though without allusion to her griefs or mention of her sons name, yet as if she was beginning to feel an affection for one from whom kindness had come to her unexpectedly. Lately he had observed that occasionally, after mother and son had been holding private conversation, her eyes seemed as if they had been weep- ing. Estrangement of these men, gradual at first, became more pronounced, though never leading to hostile words. On several occasions the cash, though in quantities inconsiderable, was found to be short in the till; but both agreed that in some periods of omission on Madisons part, Isaac had gotten the key and taken it. Madison repressed as well as he could the indignation he felt in the changed looks and manners of his employer, mean- ing, as he believed, a suspicion that the money had been appropriated by himself. This indignation was increased when at the end of the year, on Madisons claim of additional wages for the last three months, which Mr. Fitten in the beginning had partially promised in case his services should increase in value as expected, the merchant refused to allow it. Never mind, sir,said Madison, solilo- quizing, but aloud, as Mr. Fitten went out by the door leading into the shed-room, Ill be even with you yet. A few minutes afterward Mr. Fitten, who he supposed had gone to the man- sion, appeared at the front piazza steps, and calling, said, in a tone of entire con- fidence and friendliness, Madsn, I spect- ed a letter from Stovall and Simmons this mornin bout buyin some wool fer em. None nuver come, did they ? If any had come I should have told you of it, Mr. Fitten. So I knowed, ithout yous a-forgot it. Nuver mind: it 11 come to-morrow, I reckin. Then he turned again and pro- ceeded to the house. The mail, carried by a boy on horse- back, came shortly after breakfast, and was usually opened by Madison, who was wont to be at the store before his employ- er. On several of the following niorn- ings Mr. Fitten received the bag himself. Madison did not ask if the expected letter had come. Indeed, none except necessary, and that the briefest, conversation was now held between the two. A sense of fear, a sense also of something like that of the losing of manhood, took possession of Madison. So a few days afterward he said, abruptly, to his employer, Mr. Fit- ten, I think we better part, sir. Dont know but what youre right, Madsn. Things here havent been goin to suit me lately somehow. I made up my mind to send Izik back to his marster, an by good rights they ought to be a in- vestigashin o some few things befo us all parts. All rightall right: people lives in the world to lam an meet up with dispintments. Tommy Wheeler want a place. Wonder how hed suit? Ill step over to his mothers house to-night, an have a chat with hern him. This was a Monday evening. Madison had been at his mothers the day before, and while there she said to him that he owed it both to Mr. Fitten and himself not to stay there with the feelings which he admitted to entertain toward him. Af- ter supper, before returning to the store, he lingered a short time with Mrs. Fitten, her son having gone to the Wheelers. Her manner seemed more than ever soft and affectionate. I just as well tell you good-by to- night, Madison, she said, with a trem- bling voice, as he rose to go. I inaynt be to breakfast in the morning, as I feel now so bad. Good-bygood-by. Youve been a great deal to me since youve been here, and I shant forget you. May God Amighty bless you, Madison With eyes overflowing she turned from the steps, whither she had followed him, and going to her chamber, knelt by her bed and sobbed aloud. Mistiss said her woman, Rachel, of about her age, then coming into the room, for de Lords sake git up an stop some o dat cryin. Look like you gwine grieve yourself to death bout dat boy. Oh, Rachel! Rachel ! she said, suffer- ing herself to be raised up, you dont know all hes been to me. Help me to bed. III. Half an hour before breakfast - time next morning, while Madison was arran- ging his clothes in his trunk, and Isaac was chopping wood preparatory to making a fire in the stove, Mr. Fitten, accompanied by young Wheeler, whose service lie had engaged the night previous, came. Pro- ceeding into the store, he called Madison, and in a low tone said: Madsn, I wouldnt of thought youd of done what you done about the deffernce betwix us. Our riclections was deffernt bout my rais MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 225 111 o your wages; but I were determined to let you have it your way ruthern have feelins too bad hurted; but you oughtnt to of tuck it jes so. His manner was compounded of the mildly complaining and the kindly ad- monitory. I dont understand you, Mr. Fitten, answered Madison, turning pale. Not so loud. Look at that Izik picked out the fire in the shedroom.~~ Madison took the paper, which was a half-consumed letter. Enough was left nndestroyed to see that it had been sent from Stovall and Simmons, and purported to enclose a fifty-dollar note, which the writers had marked so as to identify it if lost or stolen. The young man shud- dered. That negro lies, sir. You Ike, called Mr. Fitten, come here. Now you, sir, put down that axe, go to the house, bundle up your rags, take yourself home, and tell your marster I sent you for stealin fifty dollars, an then tryin to lay it on a white man. For de Lords sake, Mis Fitten, cried the negro, kill me ef youn Marse Madsn wanter, but dont sen me home wid dat messenge. Fer ef marster dont kill me, daddy will. Marse Madsn been cusin me to you a-consant. But he know I nuver got dat money, an he know whar tis dis minute. You lying scoundrel! As he started toward him the latter took to his heels. Mis-ter Fitten, said he, I dont un- derstand this business. Ive packed my things in my trunk, except what I have on my back; but come in here and Ill take the~ out, and well search this place through and through. I pass over this painful scene, during the search and after, when the money was found carefully concealed beneath the pa- LOOK AT THAT IZIK PICKED OUT THE FIRE. 226 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. per with which the bottom was lined, the angry dismay of the unhappy youth, the vast but unpainful surprise of young Wheeler, the contemptuous pity of Mr. Fitten. Laying the note calmly on the table, he said: Tommy, now dont you make no blowin horn o sech a little matter. Madsn thoughthe honestly thought I owed him the money. Thats all right, Madsn. Well quit even. Keep the money.~~ Madison gave bewildered looks at the money, at Tommy Wheeler, at Mr. Fitten. He seemed as one just awakened from a dreamful sleep. Suddenly he said, Good- by, Tom, then immediately went from the place. Id a nuver blieved it, said the new clerk. I knowed he were proud, an had a mons ous ambition for money, but Id of nuver of blieved that of him. Now, Tommy, whatever you do, dont you peach about this business, an mem- ber I cused Madsn Crowder o nothin member that. Profound as appeared Mr. Fittens re- gret for the disappointment of his hopes regarding Madison, there is little doubt that he had some of the satisfaction that such a lover must feel in view of the ruin of one who would have been, if he had dared, his rival. Then there was the con- solation that Isaac had cleared himself of the suspicions that had been put upon him. For he would not have been will- ing,related as he was to the iReids,to have any enemy, of whatever rank, in that household. Only a few weeks before he had addressed Martha through her father, and though she had asked time for con- sideration of his offer, he knew that her father was his constant advocate, and he hoped that whatever partiality Martha might have had for Madison would now disappear. Upon the whole, therefore,he was not sure but that he ought to be grat- ified rather than troubled by his miscal- culations. Isaac was more than restored to favor. The very next Sunday a negro oa a neighboring plantation, returning from a meeting some miles on the other side of the river, reported that he had met him there with a brand-new suit of store clothescoat, breeches, hat, shoes, and, bless your soul, a striped waistcoat; not only so, but that he was perfumed all over with cinnamon. A matter so grave could not be conceal- ed. Mrs. Crowder, notwithstanding her sons avowal of innocence, remembering his dislike and his threats toward his em- ployer, had doubts so apparent that he talked as if he would go off and never re- turn. It was several days before he had the heart to go to his aunt, and when he went did not ask for Martha, and hoped that he would not even see her. To his great relief he found that Mrs. Reid, who had heard the news that very afternoon, expressed full confidence in his integrity. Madison, she said, Greene dont have even an idea, so he says, but what Isaac took that money, and getting scared about it, put it in your trunk, and he says if God spares his life he means to find out the truth. They had been together but for a short while when Martha, opening the door without knocking, entered the room. Her step was firm, but her face was crimson. Madison, she said, without extend- ing her hand, or making other salutation, you told me several times before yon went to Mr. Fittens that you loved me. Is the fact of your ceasing to come here owing to that of your finding that you were mistaken in the feeling you thought you had, or that it is gone ? Her lower jaw trembled, and her eyes were fastened upon him, as he rose and stood in silence before her. Because, she continued, advancing slowly be- cause if either of these is not the reason, I want to tell you in the presence of your own aunt, who has been more than a mo- ther to me, that I did not know how deep- ly I loved you until I saw your spirit breaking down under the coarse rule of that man. Ive prayed that your con- nection with him might not hurt you, and I shall blame myself as long as I live for not warning you, as I wanted and ought to have done, against him. Oh, Madison! Madison ! She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek to his for a brief mo- ment, then turning, fled from the room. The next day, about ten of the morn- ing, Greene repaired to the spring at the foot of the hill, and near the road leading toward the bridge. From the thicket near by he cut several young hickories, and seating himself on a wash-bench, careful- ly trimmed them. As the season was not one for providing props for pea and bean vines, one might have surmised that he was getting a supply of ox-goads. In a few minutes Isaac, for whom, partly at his MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 227 suggestion, his master had sent, was heard advancing. As he was about to pass, You Izikspoken in sepulchral tones was heard. Turning himself toward the spring, and seeing his father, he climbed the fence and went to the spring. Howdy, daddy?. Gittn steer-poles? he asked, with an unconcern of manner that he had not in his mind. Nuver you mind bout whut I gittn. Ole Marse Aberhams Izik nuver axed him whut he gwine do wid de sticks he made him kyary. Sposen you got bove him, ef he wuz a white boy. Ben sech a stranger here lately, lowd maybe you mont come dressed up in dem fine close Harrells Ned tole some un em he seed you in a Sunday at Elom. Leasways I ben smellin de cinnimum on you evy sence you got on top o de fench dar. Sposen youd bring dat long anyhow, but couldnt. ford to war your qualty close jes mong jes common niggers. Shoulder dem poles, an come long wid me in de thicket dar. The boy had well learned the terror of his fathers ire, and he ruminated rapidly as they advanced toward the spot where they were to stop. Dar, now, said Greene, drawing a rope from his pocket; cross dem hans en drap down on dem knees. De good Lord, daddy, whut all dis bout? Whiut is I done ? Name o God, boy, answered the old man, as he slowly wrapped the rope around his wrists, I dont know. Dat wliut I gwine fin out, er w ar out every hickry in dis thicket on your hide. En ef you goes to hollerin, as I see you gittin your mouf ready, Ill beat you to death befo marster, er your mammy, er any un em, ken git to you. You heern talk o Aber- ham, haint you? Well, Im him, en ef de Lord 11 gim me strenk in de arms, Im gwine to fin out whar you got dem close, en whut fer. Then lie raised aloft with both hands one of the rods. you HEERN TALK 0 ABERHAM IJAIN T YOU ? 228 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Per God Amightys sake, daddy, stop, an Ill tell you de blessed troof He lowered his arm, and ten minutes afterward father and son were walking leisurely and peacefully together up to- ward the mansion. Iv. In spite of the delay of Martha Reids answer to his proposal, and the unhappy fall of his late clerk, Mr. Fitten was in reasonably good spirits, especially after the return of Isaac with news of how for- bearingly he had been dealt with at home for the part he had acted. The distress of his mother, instead of subtracting from his contentment, added to it, perhaps; for he was resentful in contemplation of his rivals superior manners and the grateful influences which they had exerted upon her to whose happiness he was so selfish as to be ever indifferent. Look like you been cryin, he said to her on the evening of the day succeeding that of Isaacs visit home. Had the right feelin for your son, youd be glad, instid o goin mopin about because that fellers out o my sto. I have, or I try to have, the right feel- ings toward you and everybody, William; but I cant help feeling as I do about a boy that was as respectful and as kind to me as Madison Crowder was, going away as he did; and to my opinion, William, that case is going to make more trouble than youve been counting on. What do you mean ? he asked, an- grily. I mean that if Madison Crowder is not guilty, or if he says hes not guilty, of stealing that money, the end of the busi- ness has not come yet. Jest like you. Always a-prophesyin. an special agin me. Nobody ever cused him o stealin of it. The money were found in his trunk, an Tommy Wheeler 11 bar witness that I nuver opened my mouth with the word stealin, ner nothin like it an Ive nuver told not a human, exceptin o you, that he did steal it. His actions speaks loudern my words, even ef Id a-said em, which I didnt. Ah, well, William, well see. That family of people is poor, but theyre proud, and theyve got connections that have money. That young lawyer that they all say is the fastest rising young man in all this part of Georgia is kin to him. You didnt know that, did you ? No, I didnt. Whats that got to do with it? He asked this defiantly, but his face discovered anxiety. Idont know, WilliamIdont know. But if he thinks theres a fly in the lock, hell try hard to find it. I[ got nothing more to say. She rose and went to her chamber. On the next day, an hour before sunset, the afternoon, though in the midst of win- ter, being balmy, Mr. Fitten was sitting on the piazza of his store. He was in such deep meditation that he did not observe that a horseman had ridden to one of the racks, hitched his beast, and alighted. Hearing advancing footsteps, he started, and the more visibly when he discovered that the comer was Mr. Triplett, the sheriff of the county. Ascending the steps slow- ly, as was his fashion, the latter, saluting in friendly words Mr. Fitten, took the offered chair, and said, Fine weather for breakin up ground an mendin o fences, Mr. Fitten. The merchant looked at the officer as if he knew just as well as he did that the state of the weather or plantation-work was not the matter to which he owed the honor of this visit. Ive got a paper for you, Mr. Fitten. The paleness on the mans face at the mention of the paper deepened into that of the dead when he read on the back the statement, Madison Crowder, by his next friend, William Mobley, v. William Fitten. Case, etc. Mis-ter Triplett, said he, appealingly, what do it mean ? I know nothin about it only what I heerd the clerk an Squire Mobley say, Mr. Fitten. Inuver done nothin to Madsn Crow- der to be harasted an tried to make pay money for. Whut did Squire Mobley say? Like to know what he know about the case moren I know, an moren Tom- my Wheeler know, an which hes back thar in the sto, an Ill call him out here, an you may ask him. Neednt do that, Mr. Fitten, answer- ed Mr. Triplett, kindly. I got nothin tall to do ith the case exceptin to serve the papers thats give me to serve. What did Squire Mobley say ? Well, now, I aint a man that make a practice o totin news, onlest its that thats good. But Squire Mobley say the MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 229 case are a bad one, an he got it dead on you, an he told me I mont tell you so. Umph! humph with quasi con- tempt. Want, I spose, two hunderd, er / (if Mr. Triplett, that he speeted to make me pay sich-sich a damidge, or theor the hundith part of it ? Well, now, Mr. Fitten, Squire Mobley MR. TRIPLETT, THE SHERIFF OF THE COUNTY. maybe three hunderd, dollars, an him take half of it fer his fee. Ef youll read the writ, Mr. Fitten, to the end, youll see that the damidge aint laid at nary one o them figgers. He read, in a low, mumbling tone, as far as through the words to the damage of your petitioaer of, when he almost screamed, ten thousand dollars ! and it was pitiful to see his dismay. Did that did that lawyer tell you, told me that ef you ast me, to tell you that he have tried to bout size your pile, an be have laid the damidge to jes about kiver it. William Mobleys a terble fel- ler in the cote-house, young as he is, an they aint none o them big lawyers ken turn him down when his danders up, as it are now, Madisoa a-bein o his kin. It seem to me, though taint none o my business, but it seem to me that ef I were sued to that flgger o damidges, Idruth- 230 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ern Id be tore up in my mind, an have to stan William Mobleys tongue when hes mad like he are nowId try ef I couldnt git a compermise, Mr. Fitten. Ive done nothin, Mr. Triplett. Whars his witnesses? Ive done nothin; but Id like to know whars his witnesses. Well, in cose, Mr. Fitten, I dont know; but I did hear William say that he spected to prove sornethin by your ma. By ma! Yes, sir: bes o my riclection lie said your ma. A sense of relief was evinced in Mr. Fittens face. Yet when the sheriff rose to go, saying that he had to go by the Crowders to carry a letter from the law- yer to his client, he sent a request to Madison to come to see him. Not as I nuver done the young man any arm, that is, intentual, ef I knowed it, but I wouldnt wish him to be my in- nimy. Immediately after supper the new clerk was dismissed to the store, and as soon as the table was cleared, mother and son sat down together for a conversation. The former had seen the sheriff as he rode by the house on his way to the Crowders, and her suspicion of his business became assurance when she saw the perturbed state of her sons mind. It hasnt come much sooner than I expected, she said, mildly. Beginiiin on your prophesyins agin, eli ? No, William; were talking now about some of em coming true. I told you youd hurt yourself in tryin to ruin Madison Crowder, and it looks like youve done it. Its a lie. You put that feller agin me, an put him up toput him agin me. She did not seem more excited than in the beginning. Ill be back in a minute, she said, rising and going to the back door, from which she almost immediately returned, and resuming her seat, she said: No, Ive never tried to put that boy against you, William. It was because he was so kind and good to me always, and so like a gentleman, that I hoped he would not fall into the trap that I knew you set for him; but I never tried to put him against you. What trap you talkin about ? The trap you set for him when you hrought him here because you believed that lie stood between you and Mr. Reids daughter, and who I told you always youd no more get than youd pull down one of the stars. Resentment and fear were both plainly visible upon him. Youve been agin me all mylifeagin your own son. No; God knows I have not. Ive saved you before now, as you well know, from thingsnot quite as had as this, but bad enough, and I tried to save you from this, but I couldnt. Talk about makin a mans own mo- ther a witness agin him! You know no- thin bout the case, an ef you did, an ef they was any case, which they aint, an you did know anything, you know you aint a-goin, an no oman thats a mother an got a heart under her ribs aint a-goin, to the cote-ouse an try to ruin the onlest child shes got. William Fitten, when you brought that boy to this house I knew what it was for, because I know the spirit thats been in you ever since you were horn; and I made up my mind that he should not be ruined while under my roof if I could help it, and special since he showed to me in the time he was here a respect you never showed in all your lifetime. I know more about this matter than you think; but Im not going to any court- house if I can help it. I should think notI should think not. He fastened his teeth together, and look- ed warningly at her. She returned his gaze calmly. Many a time before had he tried to frighten her. I said that I was not going there if I could help it. Suppose I cant, and then they ask me to tell what I do know ? You know nothin, an youd tell em so; an ef you did know anything agin md you know you daresnt stand up thar an ruin your own son. You dctresnt do it. Either she did not understand or she ignored the deadly gaze that he bestowed upon her. If I am to put my hand on the Book of God, I shall answer the questions that are asked me like Ill be glad to remember when I stand before the judgment. You know that, William Fitten; and you know that the fear of God with me is before any other fear,no matter how much cause Ive MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 231 got to be afraid of you, especially now when my body is broken down like my spirits always been. She placed her hand upon her forehead, raised her eyes upward for a moment, theii looked upon him with deepest sadness. There is that in maternity that to some degree must awe the reprobate in filial love and duty. This with her solemn in- vocation made him lower his eyes. The thing for you to do, William Fit- ten, is to try to settle this case without go- ing to court. Madison Crowder wants to get back his name more than he wants what property youve got. And let me tell you you cant settle it,but I believe I can.~~ How? he asked, eagerly. They aint nothin to settle, but how ? Then, as she paused before answering, he bethought to hide his eagerness, and asked, contemptuously: Didnt know you got so smart in your old age as to know how to settle mien- folks business bettern they do their- selves. You neednt be a-tryin to git me to pay my money, or knowledgin I been tellin 0 lies. I think I can settle it without either. I must think on it to-night. Ill let you know in the moriiing what I think is best to be done. She rose, and in much feebleness retired to her chamber. When his mother had gone, Mr. Fitten went out to the kitchen and called for Isaac,who was not to be found. Demand- ing of the wonian Rachel where he was, she answered, I clar, Marse William, I don t know whar dat boy gone. You old devil, whynt you tell me he wasnt here ? Marse William, I cant keep up wid dat boy. I nuver knowed but what you sont him somewhars. Ma, he asked, loudly, at his mothers door, that Izik aint to be found. Know whar he is ? Please, William, dont disturb me to- night about Isaac. I suppose hes stepped over home. Let me rest to-night, and Ill tell you in the morning how I think this matter can be settled, and that without your losing any of your property, or any- thing else youve got. He sat up until a late hour, alternating between the mansion and kitchen. Final- ly, seeming to have abandoned hope of the negros return, he went to bed. V The next morning Mr. Fitten had just risen from breakfast, to which his mother had only then seated herself. He was walking on his piazza, pondering the con- tinued absence of Isaac, when Mr. Trip- lett rode up to his gate, accompanied by Madison Crowder. Doubting how to ac- count for this visit, yet strongly hoping for a satisfactory settlement, he cordially invited the visitors to alight. When they had done so, and entered the piazza, Mad- ison not having spoken the while, the sheriff, laying his hand upon Mr. Fittens shoulder, said: I arrest you, Mr. Fitten, on this summons, and I has one fer the old man Reids nigger boy Izikboth for conspurricy. Mawnin, Missis Fitten, he continued, as she appeared at the door, pale and trembling. Ive got a suppeny fer you, maam. She would have fallen, but that Madison went to her relief, and tenderly seated her in a chair. Her son looked alternately at the three in silent dismay. Madison, said the woman, when she had sufficiently recovered, I was intend- ing to go to your mothers to-day and try to settle this case with you. But that cant be done now except in town. Ill be ready to go in a few minutes. William, you and Mr. Triplett can ride on. Madi- son, I know, wont object to going with me, and I can talk to him by the way. This was arranged. While she was in her chamber preparing for her departure, her son, having gotten leave to enter, said to her in tones just above a whisper, You mind what you say to these people, and on that stand. You mind I And she nev- er forgot the look he gave. The sheriff had reached the court-house with his prisoner, and turning him over to his deputy, had gone to the office of Mr. Mobley to report this fact and his in- ability to find the negro boy on the prem- ises. All right, Triplett. This one will do for the preseiit. Yoiider comes Madison with the mother. The two latter rode on. Passing the court-house, they alighted at the horse- rack nearest the law-office, and proceeding at once to it, entered, when Mrs. Fitten asked the sheriff to bring her son there. William, she said, when all were seated, I sent for you because I wanted you to hear the terms Im going to offer to Madison. 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The abundant tears that she had been shedding during the ride were gone from her eyes, and she spoke with composure. Addressing herself mainly to Mr. Mobley, she said: It wouldnt do any good to tell you and the others here how William Fitten has been doing ever since he knew the difference between right and wrong, nor how hes treated me in all this time. When that boy there, nodding toward Madison, came into my house, I soon saw that he was one of a kind that any woman, if she had any heart, would try to save from being ruined. And when the child treated me with the respect, and even with the affection, it seemed to me, like that he had for his own mother, then I determined, and I made a promise to God Almighty that, with His help, he shouldnt be. That money, she con- tinued, after a brief pause, that was found in Madisons trunk was put there by William Fitten. Ma,~~ said the prisoner, rising, a fear- ful picture of wrath and fright, thats a d He checked himself as the men all rose. Sit down, gentlemen, sit downplease sit down. Ive been used to such talk as that. Please sit down. She kept beseeching them until they had resumed their seats. Then she nar- rated in detail the reception of the letter from Augusta by her son several days be- fore his mention of it to Madison, the boy Isaac being set against him because of be- ing told that Madison had avowed belief in his dishonesty, and the penetration of confidence between the two by the woman Rachel, at the instigation of her mistress. Then she told how she had sent off the negro the night before, as she had intend- ed to inform her son on the next morn- ing of her knowledge of their joint trans- actions. Haggard, abject, yet with eyes fixed upon the speaker, the prisoner sat during this circumstantial narration. And now, she said, addressing her- self to Madison, on whom she tenderly looked, Im going to make an offer. Madison, Im an old, sickly, friendless woman, without husband, without par- ents, without brothers or sisters, without relations, except what are far off in home and in kin, and without I didnt tell you that as I rode along to - day; Ive always thought until now that Id car- ry that with me to the grave. She blushed, wrinkled as was her cheek, and turned away from view of the prisoner, whom she never saw again. Pointing her finger backward where he sat, she said: When I married his father I knew that he had been engaged to a woman who was his cousin, but I did not know until some months after my marriage, when that woman died, leaving that crea- ture who is now in the hands of the sheriff, how far that engagement had gone. Shortly afterward my husband died, begging me on his death-bed, and getting my promise, to take and raise his child. The prisoner shrank in his chair aghast, for although he had never even dreamed of such a thing, he doubted not its truth. Madison, she continued, after a brief pause, that poor man has no property except the goods in the store, and they not all paid for. The land weve been living on was bought with money from selling part of the negroes in the neighborhood we moved from the last time. If youll let him off to go clear away, Ill give him two thousand dollars, which he knows is more than his goods are worth, even if they were all paid for. Ill tell you what Ill do then. Oh, Madison, Madison, dont refuse my offer. Ive always long- edif I couldnt have somebody to love meat least to have somebody about me that I could love. For years and years Ive prayed for direction what to do, and somehow when you came in my house, and treated me as you did, and my heart went out to you as it did, I felt a hope that the good Lord was going to send the answer that He had kept from me so long. Madison, I know I cant ask you to take up your home altogether with a forlorn creature like me; but if youll stay there part of the time, and will take the man- agement of my business, Ill give you everything Ive got, and Ill give it now, and Mr. Mobley may draw up the papers,. and Ill sign them before I leave this of- fice. Heres the money for William Fit- ten, and he may have the horse he rode here to - day besides. But he must go away from here. After whats passed, he and I couldnt live in the same neighbor- hood. Oh, Madison, Madison, dont dont She could say no more. Leaning her~ head upon the table near which she sat~ she wept aloud. MARTHA REIDS LOVERS. 233 OH, PA! PA! HAVE YOU 5ENT MADISON AWAY ? A few months after the occurrences just related, Mr. Reid, sitting in his piazza, looking after Madison Crowder as he rode away from his gate, called to his daugh- ter. Marthy, he said, in the tone of a man imparting dismal information, I aint shore in my mindin fac, I haint a ideethat you know that that feller ridin off yonder on one o Missis Fittens horses is other than a fool, born so, or los his mind for the present time hem. Oh, pa! pa! have you sent Madison away ? I has; an you want to know the rea son why? Its because hes a born fool, er a lunacy, an it make no odds which, an not while my head stays hot shall the onlest child Ive got marry any one o them kind o folks. To think he, po as he is, would a fused that ole omans of- fer o every blessed piece o propty she have, an work on wages fer her, though Im not a-denyin that hes a-managin bettern I ever thought were in him. Yit to ruther work fer her on wages than to take her propty, when the po creeter got nary kit, nor bilin, nor generation o kin hehes a fool, I tell you, er hes a luna- cy, an it make no odds which. 234 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Pa Madison is doing with Mrs. Fit- ten what he believes to be right, and what I believe also. If you refuse to let me marry him, Ill marry nobody. You! you got no more sense n But he loved her too well to finish this sentence. After that Madison seldom came to the house. Greene was deeply concerned about the troubles of his young mistress. Miss Marthy, he said to her one day, why cant Marse Madsn, if he shamed to take all, why cant he take part o de propty de oman wants to give him, en leave her de balance ? Oh no, Uncle Greene, Madison wouldnt be willing to do that, and I wouldnt be willing for it either. Umph! My sakes! De Lord bless my soul! Well, den, Miss Marthy, couldnt Marse Madsncouldnt he sort o let on to marster dat de propty were hisner leastways a part un it ? That would be still worse, Uncle Greene. Im sui~prised that a good Chris- tian like you should advise such as that. Well, he said, not noticing the re- buke, ef de omanshe ole en flicted anyhowef in cose it was de will o de Lordin cose a bodyd wish she mout go in de triump o de faithen den leave to Marse Madsn whut she got Uncle Greene! Uncle Greene ! I done wid you, Miss Marthy. Colloquies similar to these two last mentioned took place at varying intervals during the next two years, in the which Mr. Reid grew more and more strength- ened ia the belief in Madison Crowders incurable malady of understanding, while old Greene revolved the tardiness of death among those who were as ready and fitted in all respects to depart as Mrs. Fitten. At last one day, full of peaceful hope, she ex- pired in the arms of him who had been as the son of her old age. Then William Mobley propounded her last will and tes- tament, wherein, theretofore unknown to all except the testatrix and her lawyer, her property of every description had been bequeathed to Madison. The legatee, in Mr. Reids judgment, was restored to san- ity as instantaneously as if he had been dipped in the pool of Siloam, and just ex- actly such another wedding had not been in that neighborhood for, oh! I couldnt now say how many years. En, oh, Miss Marthy, Uncle Greene used to say, with what resignation was possible in the regrets that he hoped he had felt for the departed- oh, young missis, Im dat thankfulas de po oman had to go when her time come in cose Im dat thankful she went in de triump o de faith. AT MIDNiGHT. BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. VfHE room is cold and dark to-night I The fire is low: Why come you, you who love the light, To mock me so? I pray you leave inc now alone: You worked your will, And turned my heart to frozen stone: Why haunt me still? I got me to this empty place; I shut the door; Yet through the dark I see your face Just as of yore. The old smile curves your lips to-night, Your deep eyes glow With that old gleam that made them bright So long ago. 1 listen: do I hear your tone The silence thrill? Why come you? I would be alone: Why vex me still? What! Would you that we re-embrace We two once more? Are these your tears that wet my face Just as before? You left to seek some new delight, Yet your tears flow: What sorrow brings you back to-night? Shall I not know? I will not let you grieve alone The night is chill Though love is dead and hope has flown, Pity lives still. How silent is the empty space! Dreamed I once more? Henceforth against your haunting face I bar the door.

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler At Midnight 234-235

234 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Pa Madison is doing with Mrs. Fit- ten what he believes to be right, and what I believe also. If you refuse to let me marry him, Ill marry nobody. You! you got no more sense n But he loved her too well to finish this sentence. After that Madison seldom came to the house. Greene was deeply concerned about the troubles of his young mistress. Miss Marthy, he said to her one day, why cant Marse Madsn, if he shamed to take all, why cant he take part o de propty de oman wants to give him, en leave her de balance ? Oh no, Uncle Greene, Madison wouldnt be willing to do that, and I wouldnt be willing for it either. Umph! My sakes! De Lord bless my soul! Well, den, Miss Marthy, couldnt Marse Madsncouldnt he sort o let on to marster dat de propty were hisner leastways a part un it ? That would be still worse, Uncle Greene. Im sui~prised that a good Chris- tian like you should advise such as that. Well, he said, not noticing the re- buke, ef de omanshe ole en flicted anyhowef in cose it was de will o de Lordin cose a bodyd wish she mout go in de triump o de faithen den leave to Marse Madsn whut she got Uncle Greene! Uncle Greene ! I done wid you, Miss Marthy. Colloquies similar to these two last mentioned took place at varying intervals during the next two years, in the which Mr. Reid grew more and more strength- ened ia the belief in Madison Crowders incurable malady of understanding, while old Greene revolved the tardiness of death among those who were as ready and fitted in all respects to depart as Mrs. Fitten. At last one day, full of peaceful hope, she ex- pired in the arms of him who had been as the son of her old age. Then William Mobley propounded her last will and tes- tament, wherein, theretofore unknown to all except the testatrix and her lawyer, her property of every description had been bequeathed to Madison. The legatee, in Mr. Reids judgment, was restored to san- ity as instantaneously as if he had been dipped in the pool of Siloam, and just ex- actly such another wedding had not been in that neighborhood for, oh! I couldnt now say how many years. En, oh, Miss Marthy, Uncle Greene used to say, with what resignation was possible in the regrets that he hoped he had felt for the departed- oh, young missis, Im dat thankfulas de po oman had to go when her time come in cose Im dat thankful she went in de triump o de faith. AT MIDNiGHT. BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. VfHE room is cold and dark to-night I The fire is low: Why come you, you who love the light, To mock me so? I pray you leave inc now alone: You worked your will, And turned my heart to frozen stone: Why haunt me still? I got me to this empty place; I shut the door; Yet through the dark I see your face Just as of yore. The old smile curves your lips to-night, Your deep eyes glow With that old gleam that made them bright So long ago. 1 listen: do I hear your tone The silence thrill? Why come you? I would be alone: Why vex me still? What! Would you that we re-embrace We two once more? Are these your tears that wet my face Just as before? You left to seek some new delight, Yet your tears flow: What sorrow brings you back to-night? Shall I not know? I will not let you grieve alone The night is chill Though love is dead and hope has flown, Pity lives still. How silent is the empty space! Dreamed I once more? Henceforth against your haunting face I bar the door. CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. BY FRANK D. MILLET. 1.A SUMMER CAMPAIGN. MIDSUMMER. T ThE following sketch of this remark- able people, the Cossacks, might have been appropriately named The History of a Nagajka. Indeed, it certainly would have been so christened if that title had not been more suggestive of a tale of im- agination than of a simple chronicle of actual occurrences. A close acquaint- ance with the Cossacks lasting for near- ly a year, the friendship of many of their officers which a lapse of nearly ten years has scarcely weakened, an intimate know- ledge of their peculiarities of tempera- ment, character, and modes of life, all had their origin in a little incident at the beginning of the Turkish war, when I be- VOL. LXXJV.No. 440iS came the fortunate possessor of a beauti- fully made nagajka, or Cossack riding- whip. The incident itself scarcely de- serves description, but I give it for what it is worth. During one of the frequent duels of ar- tillery and infantry between the hostile intrenchments on opposite sides of the lower Danube in the month of June, 1877, curiosity and a mild love of adventure tempted me into an isolated, detached post, where my only companions for the whole day were a major of Cossacks and two of his men. This officer was there on the same idle errand as myself, for his duties did not demand his presence in that part of the works. He was a tall, well- formed man of about thirty years of age, had been carefully educated in Russia, and had spent several seasons in Paris, so we had no difficulty in conversing in French a language almost as well known to the cultivated Russian as his native tongue. Finding ourselves shut in by a raking fire of shell and bullets, the major, who had almost exhausted the ammunition of the men by rapid and careless firing, conclud- ed with myself that the rifle-pit was too small for four to be secure in, and decided that the best plan was to sit safely in a deep grave-like hole dug for the pur- pose of shelter from the enemys guns and pass away the time as best we might until the cessation of the firing or the approach of darkness would permit us to get out of the trap with whole skins. We sat there for hours in the bottom of the pit, playing fox and geese on the hard-packed earth, and drawing maps of our respective countries on the sides of the shelter. We thought seriously of cutting our buttons off to play checkers with, but gave that plan up when it occurred to us what a ridic- ulous appearance we would present on arriving buttonless in camp that night. The hot sun beat down upon us from a cloudless sky, almost suffocating us with the heat. Over our heads the shells shrieked and tore the air, and then burst in the broad meadow between the river- bank and the low hills where the white tents of the camp shimmered in the dis

Frank D. Millet Millet, Frank D. Campaigning With the Cossacks 235-250

CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. BY FRANK D. MILLET. 1.A SUMMER CAMPAIGN. MIDSUMMER. T ThE following sketch of this remark- able people, the Cossacks, might have been appropriately named The History of a Nagajka. Indeed, it certainly would have been so christened if that title had not been more suggestive of a tale of im- agination than of a simple chronicle of actual occurrences. A close acquaint- ance with the Cossacks lasting for near- ly a year, the friendship of many of their officers which a lapse of nearly ten years has scarcely weakened, an intimate know- ledge of their peculiarities of tempera- ment, character, and modes of life, all had their origin in a little incident at the beginning of the Turkish war, when I be- VOL. LXXJV.No. 440iS came the fortunate possessor of a beauti- fully made nagajka, or Cossack riding- whip. The incident itself scarcely de- serves description, but I give it for what it is worth. During one of the frequent duels of ar- tillery and infantry between the hostile intrenchments on opposite sides of the lower Danube in the month of June, 1877, curiosity and a mild love of adventure tempted me into an isolated, detached post, where my only companions for the whole day were a major of Cossacks and two of his men. This officer was there on the same idle errand as myself, for his duties did not demand his presence in that part of the works. He was a tall, well- formed man of about thirty years of age, had been carefully educated in Russia, and had spent several seasons in Paris, so we had no difficulty in conversing in French a language almost as well known to the cultivated Russian as his native tongue. Finding ourselves shut in by a raking fire of shell and bullets, the major, who had almost exhausted the ammunition of the men by rapid and careless firing, conclud- ed with myself that the rifle-pit was too small for four to be secure in, and decided that the best plan was to sit safely in a deep grave-like hole dug for the pur- pose of shelter from the enemys guns and pass away the time as best we might until the cessation of the firing or the approach of darkness would permit us to get out of the trap with whole skins. We sat there for hours in the bottom of the pit, playing fox and geese on the hard-packed earth, and drawing maps of our respective countries on the sides of the shelter. We thought seriously of cutting our buttons off to play checkers with, but gave that plan up when it occurred to us what a ridic- ulous appearance we would present on arriving buttonless in camp that night. The hot sun beat down upon us from a cloudless sky, almost suffocating us with the heat. Over our heads the shells shrieked and tore the air, and then burst in the broad meadow between the river- bank and the low hills where the white tents of the camp shimmered in the dis 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tance. American bullets, shot by fanat- ical Turks from American rifles, whistled viciously past, sounding, of course, much more dangerously near than they really were. In the brief pauses of the duel the peaceful song of birds and the hum of insects came to our ears as if there were no such calamity as war on the earth. Under such circumstances as these, ac- quaintanceship soon ripens into friend- ship if there be anything like harmony of tastes, inclinations, or disposition; and when at last we crawled forth from our refuge, a little stiff and almost shames faced, we found that the day had made us very good friends indeed. My duties as correspondent called me away at once after reaching the camp, and when I mounted my horse to depart, the major thrust into my hand at the last moment the nagajka he had worn during the day slung around his shoulder by a raw-hide thong. On the handle was a long silver ferrule intricately chased in the Russian fashion and engraved with his name and regiment. A few days later the left wing of the army had crossed the lower Danube, and advanced to occupy that large portion of eastern Turkey known as the Dobrudscha. Owing to difficulty of transportation, I was unable to take my horse with me, considering it a piece of good fortune to be permitted to go at all. For two days I marched on foot with the wagons of the paymasters department. The army was in a treble column, with the infantry out- side on either hand, the artillery and wag- ons in the middle, Cossack cavalry in front and rear, and a line of mounted scouts around the whole force a rifle-shot or more distant. The route lay across a dry, roll- ing prairie, treeless and waterless except at the infrequent villages, where a few mud houses and scrub trees clustered around rude wells. As the Turks had thrown all sorts of filth and rubbish into the water, both men and animals suffered considerably from thirst. At the close of the second days march we came to a small stream which meandered through a nar- row green valley, contrasting most agree- ably with the arid, sun-scorched region we had traversed. Camp was here formed, and in a short time everybody was enjoy- ing the luxury of water, and supper was preparing on all sides. I had made a number of acquaintances during the short march, and being entitled to no rations, had been obliged to accept the freely prof- fered hospitality of the officers. However, during the confusion incident to the for- mation of camp, I determined to hunt up a sutler and make myself independent of the charity of my new friends. But my search was fruitless; no sutler had accom- panied the army. I tried foraging in the miserable little Turkish village, but not a morsel of food was to be found, and in- deed no living thing met my eye but a few stray cats. At last, feeling rather des- olate and discouraged, I strolled aimlessly down the stream and away from the tur- moil of the camp. A short distance from the stream, on a dry, sandy spot, I came upon a large turtle apparently about to deposit eggs in the sand. This was in- deed a prize, and promised a good supper. In order to get it to camp I tied the thong of my nagajka to it, and proceeded to drag it along on its back. I had not gone far with my prize trailing after me when I met three or four Cossacks, who stopped and looked at me with undisguised amaze- ment. I paused a moment to try to talk with them, and they all went up to the tur- tle and began to kick it and spit upon it, and to express their disgust in various oth- er ways. While engaged in venting their mysterious spite against the turtle, one of them caught sight of the nagajka tied to the reptiles leg, and looking at the silver ferrule, called out, Our major! our ma- jor ! They now began to shower unintel- ligible questions upon me, but we did not succeed in understanding one another, so they finally led the way to the majors tent, and I followed, dragging the turtle after me. My friend was, of course, delighted to see me, and after the greetings and mu- tual expressions of surprise were over, he politely expressed some astonishment at my burden. Then I told him my intezi- tions in regard to the turtle, and he ex- claimed: Exactly the thing for supper! Of course it is nice. I have eaten plenty of turtle in Paris. When you came in, my great regret was that I could only offer you black bread and vodka for supper. Now well enjoy a feast. Ill have the turtle cooked at once, although it will be very difficult to persuade my men to do it. He went on to explain that the com- mon Cossacks regard frogs, turtles, and various animals which are considered del- CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. 237 icacies by highly civilized people as un- clean and poisonous and quite unfit for human food. After great persuasion and the exercise of some authority, a bright young Cossack was prevailed upon to cut up and cook the turtle, and we supped on a delicious soup. The very next morning the regiment went off on a reconnoitring expedition, and did not return for a day or two. The moment they were in camp I sought the major again, and found him in his tent, with the young Cossack who had cooked the turtle weeping and writh- ing on the grouud like a school-boy. Tim major raised him up in a fatherly way, said a few comforting words to him, and // C~73 j,~ jjJ~ COSSACKS RAIDING A TURKISh VILLAGE. 238 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dismissed him still audibly weeping. He told me that during a skirmish the day before the Cossack had lost the amulet which he wore, according to the common custom, hung on a cord around his neck. He had been very much frightened and depressed by the accident,which he inter- preted as forebodiiig some great evil. He charged the loss to his handling and cook- ing the turtle, and had not ceased to be- wail loudly the misfortune, and to impor- tune the major to let him go back to Rus- sia to get another charm from the priest of his village. The major finally pacified him by promising to write to the priest to send him a scapula quite as good and as efficacious as the one he had lost, and news for the insatiable maw of the tele- graph, I was anxious to accept his invita- tion. The only drawback was that I was unmounted. Well soon arrange that, lie said. when I suggested this difficulty. Ill lend you a horse for the present, and soon one of my men will capture an animal for you, or capture a man, and let you take in the horse lie rides, if that will suit you bet- ter. Bless you, theyll do it in no time; its their favorite amusement when they are at home, running in strange horses. Horse - stealing! Oh no. Horse-captur- ing, you mean. You wouldnt call it stealing to take horses from the hostile Indians in your great West, would you? calmed his fears by promising not to or- der him into danger again until after the arrival of the new charm. The turtle has made me a hero, said the major. I overheard some of the men talking in bivouac last night. and relating incidents of the skirmish of the day. One solemnly told the others how he saw the bullets go through the air and turn aside from my breast as from a solid rock. This miracle he explained to the satisfaction of his hearers by telling lsoxv you and I ate turtle together with no ill result. They all declared that this gas- tronomical feat proved that I bore a charmed life. The major insisted on my sharin quarters with him, and as this arrange- ment was both agreeable to me personal- ly, and likely to be of considerable ad- vantage to me in my task of collecting On the Russian frontier the Cossacks are in a state of continual warfare with the Turcomans, the hostile Circassians, and the rest of those savage Asiatic tribes, and half the light is capturing horses. As it happened, the very next engage- ment time regiment was in, a num berof prisoners were.taken, having been cut off by the Cossacks from the retreating Turk- ish force. Some of the stragglers were mounted, but were unable to keep up with the retreat on account of the worn-out condition of their animals. A half-squad- ron of Cossacks began to herd in the scat- tered fugitives in much the same way that the Western cow-boys roundup the cat- tle on the plains. One fat Turkish officer on a pony much too feeble to carry the weight on his hack made frantic endea- vors to escape, and one of the majors or- derlies started in sharp pursuit. We ex LASSOING A TURK. CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. 239 pected, of course, to see the Cossack shoot the Turk if lie did not surrender, but in- stead of drawing his carbine he swung his lariat around his head in true Mexican style, lassoed the Turk, and dismounted him. The pony was left for me to catch, in order that it should riot be put into the common pool to be sold for the benefit of the squadron, as all booty is. A few weeks sojourn with the Cossacks, eating, sleeping, marchin~, and plundering with them, gave me an entirely new idea of their character. I had unconsciously formed my estimation of them from the traditions regarding them common to this day all over continental Europe. They are always alluded to as the bugbears of the human race, and their name, the sym- bol of all that is cruel, is used as a potent terror to keep runaway children at home and to frighten them into obedience. I expected to find them, not child-eaters, to be sure, as they have been popularly re- ported in the nurseries, but at least barba- rous, unwarrantably cruel, and distinctly uncivilized in tastes and habits. To my great surprise, they developed on acquaint- ance a close similarity in various traits of character to Western frontiersmn en. This is not so remarkable a fact as it would at first appear, for parallel experiences and kindred interests and occupations are natu- rallyaccountable for the same characteris- tics +hich distinguish both the pioneer of the great West and the Cossack of the great East. Unlike the common Rus- sians, they are independent in spirit, self- reliant, and full of resource. They know little of the cringing servility that brands the ordinary Slav as an inferior order of human beings. Their pride of race and of position is unbounded, their faithful- ness and loyalty almost phenomenal. Ac- customed to communistic government, they are thoroughly republican in their notions, and know how to obey as well as to command. They are both prudent and brave-prudent because they are ac- quainted with danger, brave because brav- ery is part of their creed. The army may sleep in safety when Cossacks are at the outposts is the common saying, for they are believed to scent danger afar off, and to be thus secure against surprises. They have the keen senses of the Indian fighter, and a touch of the stoicism of the Indian himself. A prominent trait of their char- acter, and one which seems unaccountable in conjunction with their independence and self - reliance, is their superstitious faith in the observance of all sorts of re- ligious ceremonies and in all manner of signs and omens. The most trivial act is often prefaced by a brief prayer or appeal for Divine aid, and by the sign of the cross. They never eat without first standing erect, uncovering the head, and repeating a few words of grace. In their list of signs and omens there are almost as many items as were noted by the augurs in old IRomnan times. In actual warfare they are the eyes, the ears, and the mouth-piece of the army. They do the larger part of the scouting service and of cavalry outpost duty, carry orders and despatchesthere GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. / is no signal corps in the Russian army act as orderlies to the officers, and perform all kinds of useful services. Whenever a man is needed for anything outside the common camp duties, a Cossack is sure to be summoned; wherever the army moves, the wiry little horses with their jaunty riders are seen scampering in all direc- tions; wherever the advance guard of in- fantry penetrates, it is sure to find that the Cossacks have already left their mark, for they have the activity and the enterprise of true pioneers, and all the restlessness of savages. While they form one of the largest de- partments of the Russian army in time of peace and in time of war, they are entirely distinct from any other branch of the service. Even among the Russians the exact relations of the Cossacks to the gov- ernment are not often clearly understood, and they are often looked upon more as allies than as subjects of the Czar. Like most existing institutions of that country, they are regarded as part of an order of things which knows no change. It was only after patient interrogation of various persons in the face of this characteristic indifference to precise knowledge that I succeeded in gaining a clear idea of what and who the Cossacks are. Without vouching for the perfect accuracy of every detail of my information, I will give the history of the Cossacks as I gleaned it dur- ing long conversations in camp and on the march, with the addition only of a few precise dates and statistics drawn from well-known sources. These pioneers of Russian civilization form the living rampart of Russia for the five or six thousand miles which cover the entire Asiatic frontier from the Sea of Okhotsk in eastern Siberia to the river Don and the Caucasus. They are first mentioned in the Russian chronicles of 1444 as living around that part of the Dnieper where the city of Kiev now stands. They had begun to assemble there as early as the tenth century, escap- ing tyranny of all kinds, and they chose the Duieper territory as a refuge because they could easily defend themselves there among the impassable marshes and nu- merous islands. These refugees from. op- pression increased very fast, and although they numbered many different classes and races of peoplevictims of religious per- secution, fuAtives from the cruelty of lords and masters, deserters, criminals, and outlawsthey soon united into a more or less homogeneous mass essential- ly Russian in character, for the l~trger part of them were Russians, but utterly opposed in political creed to the existing government. They formed, as it were a republic within a monarchy, a state with- in a state, always calling themselves Rus- sians, although maintaining their inde- pendence of Russian rule. As they grew to be formidable in numbers they spread rapidly over the country, and at last es- tablished themselves as a kind of military republic in southern Russia, and declared themselves defenders against savage tribes and Turks. Their usefulness to Russia as defenders of the frontier was by no means imaginary. The cities of southern Rus- sia were continually threatened by the incursions of Asiatic barbarians, and fre- quently sought the aid of the Cossacks to protect them against these attacks. Great numbers of young men from these cities, irresistibly attracted by the wild, free life of the borders, joined the body of Cossacks, which was then, as it is now, a close corporation, admitting new members only by general election, and followed the fortunes of these frontiersmen. Th~ ~-N \ COSSACK CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. 241 name by which this people was original- ly known was Tcherkess, but that portion of them which settled the country between the Caspian and the Black Sea early adopt- ed the title Kazak, from the Tartar appel- lation of the country. After the two names had been used for a long time sy- nonymously the former came gradually to be applied to the Circassians alone, and Kazak hasi mained to this day the Rus- sian appellation. Living in constant war- fare with Asiatic tribes, it was not unnatu- ral that the Cossacks should develop a great taste for adventure, and as they had pow- er to declare war on their own account, and habitually held prisoners for ransom, it was also to be expected that they would abuse their independence and keep up a continual fermentation on the borders. It was, indeed, part of their scheme to do so, for the booty of war was far more at- tractive in their eyes than the products of the soil painfully and slavishly toiled for. About the middle of the sixteenth century they became so lawless that the govern- ment obliged them to submit to its au- thority, after having first given them the choice of remaining subjects of Russia or of Turkey. Of course the majority chose to remain with the country whose reli- gion they cultivated and whose language was their own, so they submitted to the Russians, lost somewhat of their irre- sponsible independence, and began to con- stitute themselves a vigilant advanced guard of the Russian Empire. Many of the most independent spirits, finding Rus- sia now distasteful to them, emigrated eastward and colonized a part of Siberia, expelling the Tartars from the Yaik River, and forming the tribe of Yaik Cossacks. They were here presumably out of the reach of the government, and they continued to plunder and to invade the territory of Asia as before. Complaints of their lawless- ness were showered upon the Czar Alexis, arid in 1655 he persuaded some of them to come to Moscow, and then sent them against Poland and Rigathe first service ever performed by Cossacks in the Rus- sian army. Nearly a century later vari- ous advanced posts were established by the government in the country occupied by these Yaik Cossacks. They, consider- ing this to be a deliberate infringement of their rights, stirred up a powerful rebel- lion, and for about thirty years successful- ly opposed the Russian arms, pillaging the country of the Volga, and even threaten- ing Moscow. This final struggle for Cos- sack independence ended in the year of the declaration of American independence. The Russians effectually suppressed the rebellion, captured and executed the lead- er, Pugatcheff, and changed the name of the river and province from Yaik to Ural, the latter punishment, simple as it may seem, having a certain refinement of cruel- ty in the appreciation of the semi-Oriental Cossacks. Since this famous revolt end- ed, the Cossacks have been peaceful sub- jects of the Czar, always reserving certain traditional rights and privileges for them- selves, which make them still in a large degree independent of Russian rule. It has never been possible to prevent their foraging across the frontier, any more than on our own borders have we hither- to found it in our power to put an end to the promiscuous acts of barbarity which have always postponed perfect peace in the United States to that time when the TYrEs. 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. extermination of the Indians shall have removed the tempta- tions which frontiersmen are unable to withstand. In the course of the centuries of comparative freedom which the Cossacks have enjoyed they have not preserved the purity of their race, although they are much more Russian than any- thin~, else. It has been a common custom for the young men stationed in remote posts to marry the Asiatic girls whom they have captured as prisoners of war or bartered for in the Oriental manner. This practice of promiscuous marriage has, of course, been no inconsiderable element in the preserva- tion of their practical isolation from the rest of Russia. Then, too, besides the mixture of blood, no trifling proportion of them has been admitted to the body from the Asiatic tribes, chiefly from the Circassians, who have as a condition of their admission adopted the customs of the Cossacks, and have sworn allegiance to the Czar. Possessing, then, characteristics of both Slav and Asiatic, the great body of Cossacks stands, as it were, on neutral ground between European and Asiatic civ- ilization. Their allegiance to the Russian government does not place them in the position of the ordinary Russian citizen. Instead of taxes and contributions, they pay the government in military service, giving a certain amount of men, enlisted for a certain length of service, in payment for the lands on which they squat along the rivers. Their chief officers are appointed by the government, and their Ataman, or General of all the Cossacks, is always a grand-duke. They have settled along the rivers, both because, in most cases, these mark the frontier lines, and also because the best lands lie along the watercourses. The great mass of Cossacks is divided into numerous lesser bodies, each called from the name of the river near which it is located. The Ural, the Don, the Volga, the Terek, the Kuban, and several other rivers have all given their names to communities or provinces of Cossacks, most of which are famous in Russian history. The Don Cossacks are the most heard of because they are the most numerous. The Urals are the richest, and the Kubans the most warlike. Both the Terek and the Kuban Cossacks are largely composed of pure-blooded Circassians. speaking their native language, wearing the native dress, cultivating the Mohammedan religion, and professing to be Russian only in their allegiance to the Czar. The Cossack communities are self-governing in a great measure. Although the headmen are appointed by the Russian authorities, all minor officials are elected by ballot, and the system of government is purely com- munistic. They are in reality an army of farmers, and all the land occupied by them belongs to this army, forming a commonwealth of almost ideal perfection. There are certain rights in re- spect to the land which have been estab- lished by long custom, and these rights are rigorously respected. As long as a man does not interfere with these rights he may raise crops and pasture cattle wherever lie pleases. In certain communities the land is divided among the adults once every six years, an entirely new distribution taking place at the end of the term. In others the farmers cultivate the same fields for EQUIrMzNTs. CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. 243 generations. Each member of the com- munity is free to do what he likes with the portion of land which falls to his lot, and consequcntly may sell his plot, or exchange part of it for cattle, or farm it out on shares. The river fisheries a great source of wealth to the people are free to all, but the fishing seasons are regulated by common laws which no scription of the Russian government, but is furnished by the communities, who fill the ranks of the war quota by volunteer enlistment or by conscription. When they are all mobilized they number 164 regiments. Each Cossack regiment has six sotnias, or squadrons, of 128 men each, with 14 subalterns and one officer for each of the four sections into which the sotnia one dares to transgress. The innumera- ble lesser communities into which the great Cossack territory is divided are con- ducted on general principles similar to those which govern the Shakers and oth- er well - known societies in the United States, and a parallel high standard of individual prosperity prevails in many places. Poverty among the Cossacks pre- supposes laziness, drunkenness, or spend- thrift habits, for every man may be well off as long as he remains a good member of the community. Among the Ural Cos- sacks a person is called poor who owns only one house, a horse, and a few cattle. The common religion of the Russian Cos- sacks is that of the old believers. The statistics of 1862 show that in one district, out of 70,000 inhabitants,only 62 belonged to the orthodox Russian Church. The statistics of crime for the year 1859 show that out of 80 crimes recorded in a certain district, 38 were committed by orthodox believers, 10 by dissenters, and tbe rest by Jews and other foreigners. The total number of orthodox believers in the com- munity was 89. Although the Cossack contingent is an important part of the Russian army, num- bering as it does nearly 150,000 cavalry and a number of batteries of horse ar- tillery, it is not raised by regular con- is divided. A cavalry division of the Russian army is composed of four regi- mentsone each of dragoons, Uhlans, liuzzars, and Cossacks. A cavalry bri- gade consists of two regiments. The uni forms, equipments, weapons, and horses all belong to the Cossacks. The govern- ment provides them with ammunition, and, when in service outside their fron- tiers, with rations and forage, or with money for them. In time of peace every male Cossack is obliged to serve as a soldier, within the district in which he resides, from his eighteenth to his twen- tieth year, and the frontier posts are filled with young men, who, almost with- in sight of their homes, are exposed to the constant dangers of savage war- fare. At the conclusion of this home term they are allowed a rest for a year, and then they are liable to service out- side the Cossack territory for fifteen years, although they are rarely if ever kept more than half this time. Every male Co~sack is supposed to be in the army, but custom has established the right for one of four brothers to remain at home, or for a father who has three sons in the service to be exempt himself. In case of war, however, there are no exemp- tions. Until very recently rich Cossacks were in the habit of furnishing substi IN AMBUSH. 244 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tutes, but this practice is now forbidden by law. Cossacks are commonly fond of orna- ment and display, and have a decidedly barbaric taste for color, which they usu- ally gratify by wearing shirts of amazing hue. The uniform is simply and even quaintly cut, but it is worn with a jaunty style that almost amounts to a swagger. In actual service they wear a short frock- coat of dark blue cloth with ample skirts. This has no buttons, but is fastened to- gether in front by common hooks and eyes. The trousers, also of blue cloth, are large and full, and are worn inside long boots. The cap is a flat-topped Rus- sian one like a sailors cap, with a leather visor, and is seldom worn straight on the head, but jauntily cocked on one side. As the ordinary Cossack has little means of gratifying his vanity by the adornment of his person, he is very particular about the cut of his hair, which is combed back from the forehead and then trimmed straight and even around the base of the skull. A plentiful allowance of mutton tallow helps keep this shock of hair in place. The weapons consist of a Berdan carbine, usually slung across the shoul- ders in a leathern case, a sabre of peculiar shape, having no guard for the hand, and entering the scabbard nearly to the top of the hilt, and a long lance, which is slung to the right arm by a leather strap, and rests in a socket attached to the right stirrup. This lance is about ten feet long, and has a sharp steel head eight or ten inches in length. The pole is of light but stiff wood, and is tipped with a sharp steel point at the lower end. This lance was of course originally intended solely for a weapon of offence, but it now serves a variety of purposes, and is, indeed, by rio means a useless encumbrance. With this for a spring pole, the Cossack mounts his high saddle with perfect ease; it makes an excellent pole to carry hay and other burdens on; answers for a crane for the kettles, a tent pole, and on occasions for a fishing-rod. Dogs, swine, and sheep felt the steel point oftener than the enemy did during the late war, although there were numerous occasions when it was effective- ly used in close quarters. The nagajka, carried in the right hand or slung around the shoulders, is, in point of fact, more useful than the sabre, for without the whip the horse would forget to move, so accustomed is he to its application. The horse is as peculiar in breed as the rider is in blood. The sloping haunches, the ewe neck, and large awkward head are points about the animal which nei- ther suggest superiority of speed nor ap- pear to warrant endurance. But tho breed is a great deal better than it looks. The horses have been trained to endure privation and fatigue. They are docile, intelligent, wiry, tough, and often speedy; and though they may be sometimes cow- hocked, and may shamble along with an awkward gait, they carry great weights with ease, and are capable of performing an incredible amount of work. They are never shod on the hind-feet. The sad- dle is a simple wooden tree of rude con- struction, not unlike the Mexican tree in form. One or two leather cushions stuff- ed with feathers are strapped upon this to serve as a seat. The rider is thus perched high above the usual position on a horses back occupied by a horseman, and he puts his feet in queer brass stirrups strapped so high that his knees are almost on a level with the horses withers. The bridle is made of blackened rawhide straps knotted together without any buckles. The bit is a rude snaffle. The saddle when loaded for a march is a curiosity. It is piled up in front with clothing, spare grain, and ammunition. A lariat, a pair of hobbles, cooking utensils, and nose-bags full of grain dangle from the sides, and an over- coat is tied to the back. A folded blanket serves as a saddle-cloth and pads com- bined. The Cossack is trained to the saddle from infancy, and is accustomed to look upon his horse as a friend and companion. He may never kill the animal with kind- ness, but he never abuses it, and frequent- ly goes hungry himself to give his horse a feed. In the field,while on long march- es and in bad weather, he is exceedingly careful to spare his horse unusual fatigue or dangerous exposure, because he is re- sponsible for the loss of him, and has a vivid conception of his own awkward position should he be obliged to trudge on foot behind his mounted comrades. He and his horse are as inseparable as the Arab and his courser, and if accident deprives him of his companion, he be- comes indeed a broken-spirited creature. In the Cossack tactics there are several manceuvres which depend entirely on the familiarity of the men with their ani- mals, and on their control over them. MUSIC ON THE MARCH. 246 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. One for which they have long been fa- mous is dismounting while in skirmish line and obliging the horses to lie down. The Cossaeks lie down in the shelter of the prostrate animals, rest their rifles on them, then load and fire without expos ing themselves. When it is necessary to reconnoitre on foot, they leave their horses standing in regular formation, sure of finding them there in position when they return. The spectacle of a moving column of FEASTING IN THE FIELD. CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. 247 Cossacks is one not soon to be forgotten. There is a curious barbaric air about the troop, due more to the general effect of the mass than to any particular detail of individual make-up. The swaying lances flash like the spears of savage hosts; the sound of rattling sabres, shaking grain bags, and cracking whips is heard above the tramp of the trotting horses. A walk is ordered, and the formation is changed to platoon front. At a nod from the of- ficer at the head of the column, the ser- geant on the right of the first platoon be- gins to beat time with his na~,ajka. Then from a score of throats bursts forth a mar- tial, inspiriting, barbaric song or chant, and the refrain is taken up the whole length of the line. Fatigue and hunger are forgotten, the ranks close quietly up, and the song continues, invigorating, en- couraging, harmonizing both singers and listeners. It is a noble sight to see these sturdy soldiers throwing their whole hearts into their native music, forgetful of the present, mindful only of the mem- ories of the distant valley of the Don, the clustered villages, the broad steppes, the majestic mountains. Such soul-stirring music can scarcely be translated into notes and measures, but some idea of the char- acter of the song may be gained from the following, which is rendered as a chorus: -_-~- --~--~-H_ i~F~7I~I~ ~ Or from another, which is sung as a solo and a refrain, the last two bars of the first strain and the last one of the second be- ing taken up by the chorus of singers, and the final note being held by the fal- setto voices as long as possible: r~u~J ~ rzi z.... r ~-~U ~ L~ZL~~ U ~ F~. 2~ E First endin. I Second ending. 7 L On a long march a halt is usually made, if practicable, about the middle of the day. It is also customary to dismount the whole command for a few minutes walk every hour or so of the march. The regiment is divided into sotnias, which correspond to our companies, and when the halt is made at noon each sotnia dismounts in double file, the lances are stuck upright in the earth, and the horses picketed to them. The saddles are then removed, and placed in a row at a short distance behind the animals, which are watered and fed as soon as it is judged safe to do so. Two or three sheep have been bought or captured on the road, and the men kill tli~m, cut up the flesh while it is still warm, and plunge it in the pots, or string it on great wooden spits to roast in front of the fire. Before the meal is ready there is a great deal of washing and brushing, and a plentiful anointing of the hair with fresh mutton ____ tallow; for ablutions before meals is one of the articles of the Cossack creed, bor- rowed from their Mohammedan neighbors. After the customary prayer with uncov- ered heads, the men sit on the ground around the large kettles and pans, and a dozen or more all dip in the same dish A CAMP. 248 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with their clumsy wooden spoons, or hack pieces of roasted mutton from the bones with their sharp daggers. Samovars are produced from some unknown source; for these characteristic tea-urns seem too large and too complicated to be carried among the heterogeneous impedimenta of the Cos- sack saddle, or even to safely ride with the mess kettles on the pack-horses. The delicious scent of steaming tea soon min- gles with the less agreeable odors of mut- ton tallow and horse-blankets, and is drunk in astonishing quantities and at an incred- ibly high temperature. After the meal everybody dozes or smokes, and the grim column of warlike men has been trans- formed into a party enjoying a veritable summer picnic. When the halt for the night is made, the same order is maintain- ed, if it is known or suspected that the en- emy are in the neighborhood. The men then sleep with their heads on their sad- dles, ready to mount at the first alarm. At other times the lances are stacked in great circles, like the poles of an Indian wigwam, the saddles are piled up around them, and the horses are hobbled and turn- ed out to graze in the care of a few men detailed to watch them. In the course of the evening there is a momentary ex- citement occasioned by the return of a few men sent to procure hay for the horses and to forage for the morrows ra- tion of meat. Some I of them are literally moving hay-stacks, for the hay is piled as high as their heads, and sweeps the ground along- side. Twohugebun- dles have been tied up as a Cossack alone knows how to tie them, and slung across the saddle. The Cossack himself rides between the bundles, almost hid- den from sight,wliile nothing is visible of the horse but his head, legs, and tail. Another horse is weighted down with squalhing ducks and fluttering hens; oth- ers bear pigs tied by the legs, or mourn- ful sheep hangin~ limp like the golden fleece. A rapid slau~hter of the spoil en- sues, and quiet prevails in the camp; for the Cossack sups on black bread and wa- ter, with the niemory of the days dinner and the anticipation of the morrows feast. Cossacks are usually small in stature and slightly built, although there are many notable exceptions to this rule. Their hair, which is cut in the manner above described,is of plentiful growth and of a faded blond colorat least this is the prevalent but by no means universal hue. The proportion of men of pure Tartar type is decidedly noticeable, and with 2614/ A FORAGING rARTY. CAMPAIGNING WITH THE COSSACKS. 249 their squat faces, high cheek-bones, and small oblique eyes, they appear like so many masquerading Mongolians. They are often much esteemed among the Cos- sacks, because they have been adopted into the community for some distinguished service, or through some special influence. The relations between the officers and men are naturally much more intimate than in any other branch of the Russian service, for they are equals in the commu- nity when not under arms, and an echo of the paternal government at home exists in the troops in the field. The men are respectful and obedient, and they observe the etiquette of military discipline with a faithfulness to detail which long training has taught them. Still, there is none of the obsequiousness or servility of inferiors in the bearing of the privates, and rarely any observable spirit of domineering au- thority shown by the officers. In all kinds of trouble the men seek their cap- tain as naturally as the boy does his fa- ther, and, on the other hand, the captain administers punishment with the impar- tiality of an exacting parent. After our experience with the turtle my friend the major evidently held an exalted position in the eyes of his men. Having been absent for years from the province of the Don, he was looked upon with great respect by the simple Cossacks, who, although fairly educated, have an exaggerated notion of the dangers and difficulties of travel outside of Russia. All sorts of difference of opinion on polit- ical and religious subjects were referred to him as arbiter, in addition to the con- stant disputes about the division of booty and the like. The most trivial wound or bruise was shown to him, as if his touch were more potent than the drugs of the doctor. Somewhat annoyed by a popular reputation among his men for powers he knew he did not possess, he was very anxious for an opportunity to show them that he was no less a true Cossack because he had adopted somewhat the speech and habits of foreigners. The wished-for oc- casion did not present itself for a long time, but it was as dramatic an incident as occurred during the war, and one which, better than any other I could cite, gauges the standard of warfare recog- nized in the East. It was decided to make a foraging and reconnoitring expe- dition in the direction of the Black Sea. Turkish Circassians had been seen in considerable numbers, so a force of three sotnias was detailed for this duty. I was unable to go, and having been on a dozen similar expeditions, thought little of it. The major borrowed niy nagajka before he went, for he had not yet supplied its place in his own outfit. We heard no- thing of the colunin until the afternoon of the second day, when we saw them re- turning to camp laden with spoils like a tribe of predatory Indians. At the head of the motley detachment rode the major, and behind him an orderly led a riderless black horse with sumptuously ornament- ed bridle and saddle. The column was welcomed with so much enthusiasm and confusion that it was some time before I could find out from the major just what had happened. Showing me a beautiful Circassian sword, a dagger, and a pistol, all of them heavily mounted with silver, and also a set of solid silver cartridge- cases, he told me the story of his adven- ture. I give the tale as nearly as possible as he told it, because it became so garbled and exaggerated after passing through the mouths of his men, who were eye- witnesses, that it lost all semblance of re- ality, and I could never believe any of the details which were volunteered me to sup- plement the majors own rather meagre account. We had scarcely gone a dozen miles from camp, he began, when the two men I sent on ahead came back and re- ported the enemy in sight. Sure enough, in a few moments we saw across the roll- ing hills a column of Circassians quite as large as our force, and apparently bent on a similar errand to our own. My men were eager for a fight without delay, but I thought a little caution was necessary, so I deployed the sotnias along just behind the hill and waited. A few moments had elapsed when an officer appeared on the other side riding out from the column, which had halted at the sight of us. He careered about on a fine black horse, making all manner of defiant and insult- ing gestures, which every Cossack knew to mean a challenge to personal combat. Of course the only proper thing for me to do was to disregard all such insults and challenges, and to leave the medimval mode of warfare to Circassians and sav- ages. But there was something in the air, I cant explain what. I could see the men watching me eagerly to see what I would do. I thought of the stories my 250 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. father used to tellhow he fought the Turcomans man to man; I glanced at the dag,,er hanging at my belt, a relic of one of these very combats; I remembered well, I cant tell you what a panorama flitted before my eyes in a few seconds, for it could have been only a few seconds. The next thing I was conscious of I was laying the nagajka across the flanks of my horse, and he was flying with me down the grassy slope. There I met the Circassian, and after a few strokes of my sabreI scarcely saw or knew how it was done, for I felt as if my soul was in the background watching my body from a distancehe fell off his horse. My men galloped up with a cheer, swept up the opposite slope with ir- resistible force, routed the Circassian col- umn, and captured their camp, some dis- tance further on, with the dinner cooking in the pots. Heres your nagajka again. It was of service to me yesterday. Per- haps you wont think the less of it now on that account. CONFESSION. BY DORA READ GOODALE. BELIEVE me, dear, unyielding though I be, Ambitions flourish only in the sun In noisy daylight every race is run, With lusty pride for all the world to see. When darkness sinks the earth in mystery, When eye or ear or sight or sound is none, But death, a tide that waits to bear us on, And life, a loosening anchor in the sea, When time and space are huge about the soul, And ties of custom lost beyond recall, Andcourage as a garment in the flame, Then all my spirit breaks without control, Then the heart opens, then the hot tears fall To prove me wholly woman that I am. d9. A MORTAL WOUND.

Dora Read Goodale Goodale, Dora Read Confession 250-251

250 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. father used to tellhow he fought the Turcomans man to man; I glanced at the dag,,er hanging at my belt, a relic of one of these very combats; I remembered well, I cant tell you what a panorama flitted before my eyes in a few seconds, for it could have been only a few seconds. The next thing I was conscious of I was laying the nagajka across the flanks of my horse, and he was flying with me down the grassy slope. There I met the Circassian, and after a few strokes of my sabreI scarcely saw or knew how it was done, for I felt as if my soul was in the background watching my body from a distancehe fell off his horse. My men galloped up with a cheer, swept up the opposite slope with ir- resistible force, routed the Circassian col- umn, and captured their camp, some dis- tance further on, with the dinner cooking in the pots. Heres your nagajka again. It was of service to me yesterday. Per- haps you wont think the less of it now on that account. CONFESSION. BY DORA READ GOODALE. BELIEVE me, dear, unyielding though I be, Ambitions flourish only in the sun In noisy daylight every race is run, With lusty pride for all the world to see. When darkness sinks the earth in mystery, When eye or ear or sight or sound is none, But death, a tide that waits to bear us on, And life, a loosening anchor in the sea, When time and space are huge about the soul, And ties of custom lost beyond recall, Andcourage as a garment in the flame, Then all my spirit breaks without control, Then the heart opens, then the hot tears fall To prove me wholly woman that I am. d9. A MORTAL WOUND. VICTORIA. VOL. LXXIV.No. 440--I 9 BY ANNIE FIELDS. THE brake stands yellow in the field, The sumach leaves are red, The hazel swells his furry shield, And the wild rose is dead. Still murmurs she, What happy days are mine! Summer yet here, and vigor in the vine. White hairs now rest upon her brow, And grief has touched her heart; Fair youth has left her vessels prow, Nor vanished without smart. 0 Love, she cries, behold! thou still art mine, And happy, I, with summer in the vine! She sees the golden-rod laid low, The purple clover fall She hears the bitter north-wind blow And wintry curlew call; And still she murmurs, Happy days are mine, The sun of love breeds summer in the vine. Soon leaves shall drop above her head, Snows drift around her feet, But who shall say that she is dead Whose season is so sweet? While tender autumn echoes, Joy is mine, And summer sleeps in vigor of the vine. SPRJNGHAYEN. BY u. n. BLAcKMoRE. CHAPTER XXXVI. FAIR CRITICISM. EW things can be worse for a very young woman than to want to be led by some- body, and yet find nobody fit to do it. Or at any rate, through superior quick- ness and the knowledge of it, to regard old friends and relatives of experience as very slow coaches, and prigs or prudes, who cannot enter into quick young feel- ings, but deal in old saws which grate upon them. Not to moralise about itfor if young ladies hate anything, it is such moral- isino~Miss Dolly Darling was now in that uncomfortable frame of mind when advice is most needed, yet most certain to be spurned. She looked upon her loving and sensible sister as one who was fated to be an old maid, and was meant perhaps by nature for that condition, which appeared to her- self the most abject in the world. And.

R. D. Blackmore Blackmore, R. D. Springhaven 251

VICTORIA. VOL. LXXIV.No. 440--I 9 BY ANNIE FIELDS. THE brake stands yellow in the field, The sumach leaves are red, The hazel swells his furry shield, And the wild rose is dead. Still murmurs she, What happy days are mine! Summer yet here, and vigor in the vine. White hairs now rest upon her brow, And grief has touched her heart; Fair youth has left her vessels prow, Nor vanished without smart. 0 Love, she cries, behold! thou still art mine, And happy, I, with summer in the vine! She sees the golden-rod laid low, The purple clover fall She hears the bitter north-wind blow And wintry curlew call; And still she murmurs, Happy days are mine, The sun of love breeds summer in the vine. Soon leaves shall drop above her head, Snows drift around her feet, But who shall say that she is dead Whose season is so sweet? While tender autumn echoes, Joy is mine, And summer sleeps in vigor of the vine. SPRJNGHAYEN. BY u. n. BLAcKMoRE. CHAPTER XXXVI. FAIR CRITICISM. EW things can be worse for a very young woman than to want to be led by some- body, and yet find nobody fit to do it. Or at any rate, through superior quick- ness and the knowledge of it, to regard old friends and relatives of experience as very slow coaches, and prigs or prudes, who cannot enter into quick young feel- ings, but deal in old saws which grate upon them. Not to moralise about itfor if young ladies hate anything, it is such moral- isino~Miss Dolly Darling was now in that uncomfortable frame of mind when advice is most needed, yet most certain to be spurned. She looked upon her loving and sensible sister as one who was fated to be an old maid, and was meant perhaps by nature for that condition, which appeared to her- self the most abject in the world. And.

Annie Fields Fields, Annie Victoria 251-303

VICTORIA. VOL. LXXIV.No. 440--I 9 BY ANNIE FIELDS. THE brake stands yellow in the field, The sumach leaves are red, The hazel swells his furry shield, And the wild rose is dead. Still murmurs she, What happy days are mine! Summer yet here, and vigor in the vine. White hairs now rest upon her brow, And grief has touched her heart; Fair youth has left her vessels prow, Nor vanished without smart. 0 Love, she cries, behold! thou still art mine, And happy, I, with summer in the vine! She sees the golden-rod laid low, The purple clover fall She hears the bitter north-wind blow And wintry curlew call; And still she murmurs, Happy days are mine, The sun of love breeds summer in the vine. Soon leaves shall drop above her head, Snows drift around her feet, But who shall say that she is dead Whose season is so sweet? While tender autumn echoes, Joy is mine, And summer sleeps in vigor of the vine. SPRJNGHAYEN. BY u. n. BLAcKMoRE. CHAPTER XXXVI. FAIR CRITICISM. EW things can be worse for a very young woman than to want to be led by some- body, and yet find nobody fit to do it. Or at any rate, through superior quick- ness and the knowledge of it, to regard old friends and relatives of experience as very slow coaches, and prigs or prudes, who cannot enter into quick young feel- ings, but deal in old saws which grate upon them. Not to moralise about itfor if young ladies hate anything, it is such moral- isino~Miss Dolly Darling was now in that uncomfortable frame of mind when advice is most needed, yet most certain to be spurned. She looked upon her loving and sensible sister as one who was fated to be an old maid, and was meant perhaps by nature for that condition, which appeared to her- self the most abject in the world. And. 252 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. even without that conclusion about Faith she would have been loth to seek counsel from her, having always resented most unduly what she called her superior air of wisdom. Dolly knew that she was quicker of wit than her sisteras shallow waters run more rapidlyand she fancied that she possessed a world of lively feel- ings into which the slower intellect could not enter. For instance, their elder bro- ther Frank had just published a volume of poems, very noble in their way, and glow- ing with ardour for freedom, democracy, and the like, as well as exhibiting fine perception of sound, and great boldness in matters beyond sounding, yet largely ungifted with knowledge of nature, wheth- er human or superior. Better stick to his law-books, the Admiral had said, after singing out some of the rhyme of it to the tune of Billy Benbow; never sit on the wool-sack by spewing oakum this way. Faith had tried, as a matter of duty, to peruse this book to its cover; but she found it beyond even her good-will, and mild sympathy with everything, to do so. There was not the touch of nature in it which makes humble people feel, and tickles even the very highest with desire to enter into it. So Faith declared that it must be very clever, and no doubt very beautiful, but she herself was so stupid that she could not make out very clearly what it was all about. Well, I understand every word of it, Miss Dolly cried, with a literary look. I dont see how you can help doing that, when you know all about Frank, who wrote it. Whenevei it is not quite clear, it is because he wants us to think that he knows too much, or else because he is not quite certain what he wants to mean him- self. And as for his talk about freedom, and all that, I dont see why you should object to it. It is quite the fashion with all clever people now, and it stops them from doing any mischief. And nobody pays much attention to them, after the cruel things done in France when I was seven or ei~ht years old. If I see Frank, I shall tell him that I like it. And I shall tell him that I dont, said Faith. It cannot do anybody any good. And what they call freedom seems to mean making free with other peoples property. These poems wereissued in one volume, and under one title The Ilarmodiad although there must have been some half- hundred of them, and not more than nine odes to freedom in the lot. Some were almost tolerable, and others lofty rub- bish, and the critics (not knowing the au- thor) spoke their bright opinions freely. The poet, though shy as a mouse in his~ preface, expected a mountain of iuquiry as to the identity of this new bardand mod- estly signed himself Asteroid, which made his own father stare and swear. Growing sore prematurely from mud keelhianhingfor the reviewers of the pe- riod were patriotic, and the English pub- lic anti-GalhicFrank quitted his cham- bers at Lincolns Inn, and came home to. be comforted for Christmas. This was the wisest thinb that lie could do, though he felt that it was not Harmodian. In spite of all crotchets, he was not a bad fellow, and not likely to make a good lawyer. As the fates would have it (being nat- urally hostile to poets who defy them), by the same coach to Stonnington came Master Johnny, in high feather for his. Christmas holidays. Now these two bro- thers were as different of nature as their ~sisters were, or more so; and unlike the gentler pair, each of these cherished lofty disdain for the other. Frank looked down upon the school-boy as an unlicked cuh~ without two ideas; the bodily defect lie endeavoured to cure by frequent outward applications, but the mental shortcoming was beneath his efforts. Johnny mean- while, who was as hard as nails, no soon- er recovered from a thumping than lie renewed and redoubled his loud contempt~ for a great lout over six feet high, who had never drawn a sword or pulled a trig ger. And now for the winter this book would be a perpetual snowball for him to. pelt his big brother with, and yet (like a critic) be scarcely fair object for a hid- ing. In season out of season, upstairs. down-stairs, even in the breakfast and the dinner chambers, this young imp poked clumsy splintersworse than thorns, be- cause so dullinto the tender poetic side; and people, who laugh at the less wit the better, laughed very kindly, to please the boy, without asking whether they vexed the man. And the worst of it was that. the author too must laugh. All this might be looked down at by a soul well hoisted upon the guy-ropes of contempt; and now and then a very solid drubbing given handsomely (upon other SPRINGHAVEN. 253 grounds) to the chief tormentor solaced to vouchsafe him no reply, so to the poet the mind of unacknowledged merit. But who rebukes the age the bitterest answer as the most vindictive measure to the it can give is none. Frank Darling could man who has written an abusive letter is retaliate upon his brother Johnny, and I FAITH HAD TRIED AS A MATTER OF DUTY, TO PERUSE THIS BOOK.~~ 254 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. did so whenever he could lay hold of him alone; but the stedfast silence of his sis- ter Faith (to whom one of his loftiest odes was addressed), and of his lively father, irked him far more than a thousand low parodies. Dolly alone was some comfort to him, some little vindication of true in- sight; and he was surprised to find how quickly her intelligence (which until now he had despised) had strengthened, deep- ened, and enlarged itself. Still he want- ed some one older, bigger, more capable of shutting up the mouth, and nodding (instead of shoiving such a lot of red tongue and white teeth), before he could be half as snug as a true poet should be, upon the hobs of his own fire. And hap- pily he found his Anti-Zoilus ere long. One day he was walking in a melan- choly mood along the beach towards Peb- bleridge, doubting deeply in his honest mind whether he ever should do any good, in versiflcation, or anything else. He said to himself that he had been too sanguine, eager, self-confident, ardent, im- petuous, and, if the nasty word must be faced, even too self-conceited. Only yes- terday he had tried, by delicate setting of little word-traps, to lead Mr. Twemlow to- wards the subject, and obtain that kind- hearted mans comforting opinion. But no; the gentle Rector would not be brought to book, or at any rate not to that book; and the author had sense enough to know without a wink that his volume had won volumes of dislike. Parnassus could never have lived till now without two headsone to carry on with, while the other is being thumped to pieces. While the critics demolish one peak, the poet withdraws to the other, and assures himself that the general public, the larger voice of the nation, will salute him there. But alas, Frank Darling had just discovered that even that eminence was not his, except as a desert out of hu- man sight. For he had in his pocket a letter from his publishers, received that dreary morning, announcing a great many copies gone gratis, six sold to the trade at a frightful discount, and six to the enterprising public. All these facts combined to make him feel uncommonly sad and sore to-day. A nian of experience could have told him that this disappointment was for his good; but he failed to see it in that light, and did not bless the blessing. Slowly and heavily he went on, without much heed of anything, swinging his clouded cane now and then, as some slashing re- views occurred to him, yet becoming more peaceful and impartial of mind under the long monotonous cadence and quiet repetitions of the soothing sea. For now he was beyond the Haven headthe bulwark that makes the bay a pond in all common westerly weather and waves that were worthy of the name flowed to- wards him, with a gentle breeze stepping over them. The brisk air was like a fresh beverage to hini, and the fall of the waves sweet music. He took off his hat, and stopped, and listened, and his eyes grew brighter. Although the waves had nothing very distinct to say in dying, yet no two (if you hearkened well), or at any rate n~ two in succession, died with exactly the same expression, or vani shed with precise- ly the same farewell. Continual shifts went on among them, and momentary changes; each in proper sequence march- ing, and allowed its proper time, yet at any angle traversed, even in its crowning curl, not only by the wind its father, but by the penitent return and white contri- tion of its shattered elder brother. And if this were not enough to make a samely man take interest in perpetually flowing changes, the sun and clouds, at every look and breath, varied variety. Frank Darling thought how small his griefs were, and how vain his vanity. Of all the bubbly clots of froth, or frayed and shattered dabs of drift, flying beside him or falling at his feet, every one was as good as his ideas, and as valuable as his ha- bours. And of all the unreckoned waves advancing, lifting their fugitive crests, and roaring, there certainly was not one that fell with weight so futile as his own. Who cared even to hear his sound? What ear was soothed by his long rhythm, or what mind solaced by the magnitude of his rolling? Suddenly he found that some mind was so. For when he had been standing a long while thus, chewing the salt cud of marine reflections, he seemed to hear something more intelligible than the sea. With more surprise than interest he walk- ed towards the sound, and stood behind the corner of a jutting rock to listen. In another second his interest overpowered his surprise, for he knew every word of the lines brought to his ears, for the very simple reason that they were his own. SPRINGHAVEN. 25~ Round the corner of that rock, so absorb- ed in admiration that he could hear no footstep, a very flue young man of the highest order was reading aloud in a pow- erful voice, and with extremely ardent gesticulation, a fine passage from that greatly undervalued poem, the Harmo- diad, of and concerning the beauties of Freedom No crown upon her comely head she bore, No wreath her affluent tresses to restrain; A smile the only ornament she wore, Her only gem a tear for others pain. Herself did not her own mishaps deplore, Because she lives immortal as the dew, Which falling from the stars soon mounts again; And in this wise all space she travels through, Beneficent as heaven, and to the earth more true. Her blessings all may win who seek the prize, If only they be faithful, meek, and strong, And crave not that which others right denies, But march against the citadel of wron~. A glorious army this, that finds allies Wherever God bath built the heart of man With attributes that to Himself belong; By Him ordained to crown what He began, And shatter despotism, which is the foul fiends ban. Frank thought that be had never heard nobler reading, sonorous, clear, well tirned~ well poised, and of harmonious cadence. The curved rock gave a melodious ring, and the husky waves a fine contrast to it, while the reader was so engrossed with grandeurthe grandeur of Franks own mind !that his hat could evidently not contain his head, but was flung at the mercy of his feet. What a fine, expres- sive, and commanding face! If Frank Darling had been a French- manwhich lie sometimes longed to be, for the sake of that fair Liberty the scene, instead of being awkward, would have been elegant, rapturous, ennobling. But being of the clumsy English race, he was quite at a loss what to do with him- self. On paper he could be effusive, ar- dent, eloquent, sentimental; but not a bit of that to meet the world in his own waist- coat. He gave a swing to his stick, and walked across the opening as if he were looking at sea-gulls. And on he would have walked without further notice, ex- cept a big gulp in his throat, if it had not been for a trifling accident. Somehow or other the recitative gentle- mans hat turned over to the wind, and that active body (which never neglects any sportive opportunity) got into the crown, with the speed of an upstart, and made off with it along the stones. A costly hat it was, and comely with rich braid and satin loops, becoming also to a well-shaped head, unlike the chimney-pot of the present day, which any man must thank God for losing. However, the own- er was so wrapped up in poetry that his breeches might have gone without his being any wiser. Sir said Frank Darling, after chasing the hat (which could not trundle as our pots do, combining every possible absurd- ity), excuse me for interrupting you, but this appears to be your hat, and it was on its way to a pool of salt-water. Hat my hat ? replied the other gentleman. Oh, to be sure! I had quite forgotten. Sir, I am very much obliged to you. My hat might have gone to the devil, I believe, I was so delightfully oc- cupied. Such a thing never happened to me before, for I am very hard indeed to please; but I was reading, sir; I was read- ing. Accept my thanks, sir; and I sup- pose I must leave off. I thought that I heard a voice, said Frank, growing bold with fear that he should know no more, for the other was closing his book with great care, and com- mitting it to a pouch buckled over his shoulder; and I fear that I broke in upon a pleasant moment. Perhaps I should have pleased you better if I had left this hat to drown. I seem ungrateful, the stranger an- swered, with a sweet but melancholy smile, as he donned his hat and then lifted it gracefully to salute its rescuer; but it is only because I have been car- ried far away from all thoughts of self, by the power of a munch larger mind. Such a thing may have occurred to you, sir, though it happens very seldom in one life. If so, you will know how to forgive me. I scarcely dare askor rather I would saystammered the anxious poetthat I cannot expect you to tell me the name of the fortunate writer who has moved you so. Would to Heaven that I could ! ex- claimed the other. But this great poet has withheld his nameall great poets are always modestbut it cannot long re- main unknown. Such grandeur of con- ception and force of language, combined with such gifts of melody, must produce universal demand to know the name of this benefactor. I cannot express myself 256 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as I would desire, because I have been brought up in France, where literature is so different, and people judge a work more liberally, without recourse to poli- tics. This is a new work, only out last week; and a friend of mine, a very fine judge of literature, was so enchanted with it that be bought a score of copies at once, and as my good stars prevailed, he sent me one. You are welcome to see it, sir. It is unknown in these parts; but will soon be known all over Europe, unless these cruel wars retard it. With a face of deep gravity, Caryl Came put into Frank Darling~s hand a copy of his own book, quite young, but already scored with many loving marks of admiration and keen sympathy. Frank took it, and reddened with warm delight. You may not understand it at first, said the other; though I beg your par- don for saying that. What I mean is that I can well suppose that an English- man, though a good judge in general, would probably have his judgment dark- ened by insular prejudices, and the petty feeling which calls itself patriotism, and condemns whatever is ~iobler and larger than itself. My friend tells me that the critics have begun to vent their little spite already. The author would treat them with calm disdain ! Horribly nasty fellows ! cried Frank. They ought to be kicked; but they are below contempt. But if I could only catch them here lam delighted to find, replied Came, looking at him with kind surprise, that you agree with me about that, sir. Read a few lines, and your indignation against that low lot will grow hotter. It cannot grow hotter, cried the au- thor; I know every word that the vil- lains have said. Why, in that first line that I heard you reading, the wretches act- ually asked me whether I expected my beautiful goddess to wear her crown upon her comely tail I am quite at a loss to understand you, sir. Why, you speak as if this great work were your own So it is, every word of it, cried Frank, hurried out of all reserve by excitement. At least, I dont mean that it is a great work-though others, besides your good self, have said Are you sure that your friend bought twenty copies? My pub- lishers will have to clear up that. Why, they say, under date of yesterday, that they have only sold six copies altogether. And it was out on Guy Fawkes Day, two months ago! Caryl Cames face was full of wonder. And the greatest wonder of all was its gravity. He drew back a little, in this vast surprise, and shaded his forehead with one hand, that he might think. I can hardly help laughing at myself, he said, for being so stupid and so slow of mind. But a coincidence like this is enough to excuse anything. If I could be sure that you are not jesting with me, seeing how my whole mind is taken up with this book Sir, I can feel for your surprise, an- swered Frank, handing back the book, for which the other had made a sign, be- cause my own is even greater; for I nev- er have been read aloud beforeby any- body else I mean, of course; and the sound is very strange, and highly gratifying at least, when done as you do it. But to prove my claim to the authorship of the little work which you so kindly esteem, I will show you the letter I spoke of. The single-minded poet produced from near his heart a very large letter with much sealing-wax endorsed, and the fer- vent admirer of his genius read: DEAR Snt,In answer to your favour to hand, we beg to state that your poetical work the Ilarmodiad, published by our firm, begins to move. Following the in- structions in your last, we have already disposed of more than fifty copies. For- ty-two of these have been distributed to those who will forward the interests of the book, by commending it to the Public; six have been sold to the trade at a dis- count of 75 per cent.; and six have been taken by private purchasers, at the full price of ten shillings. We have reason to anticipate a more rapid sale hereafter. But the political views expressed in the poemsas we frankly stated to you at firstare not likely to be popular just now, when the Country is in peril, and the Book trade incommoded, by the im- mediate prospect of a French invasion. We are, dear sir, your obedient servants, TICKLEBOIS, LATHERUP, BLINKERS, & Co. To Mr. FRANK DARLING, Springhaven Hall. You cannot call that much encour- agement, said Frank; and it is a most trusty and honourable house. I cannot SPRINGHA YEN. 257 do what a friend of mine has done, who went to inferior publishers denounce them as rogues, and call myself a martyr. If the book had been good, it would have old; especially as all the poets now are writing vague national songs, full of slaughter and brag, like that Billy Blue thing all our fishermen are humming. You have nothing to do but to bide your time. In the long-run, fine work is sure to make its way. Meanwhile I must apologise for praising you to your face, in ntter ignorance, of course. But it must have made you feel uncomfortable. Not at all; far otherwise, said the truthful Frank. It has been the very greatest comfort to me. And strange to say, it came just when I wanted it most sadly. I shall never forget your most kind approval. In that case I may take the liberty of introducing myself, I trust. You have told me who you are, in the niost delight- ful way. I have no such claim upon your attention, or upon that of the world at large. Ii am only the last of an ill- fated race, famous for nothing except ruining themselves. I am Caryl Came, of yonder ruin, which you, must have known from childhood. Frank Darling lifted his hat in reply to the others more graceful salutation, and then shook hands with him heartily. I ought to have known who you are, he said; for I have heard of you often at Springhaven. But you have not been there since I came down, and we thought that you had left the neighbourhood. Our little village is like the ear of the tyrant, except that it carries more false than true sound. I hope you are come to remain among us, and I hope that we shall see 4/ 4/\ (V 7 THIS APPEARS TO HE YOUR HAT, AND IT WAS ON ITS WAY TO A POOL OF SALT-WATER. 258 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. you at my fathers house. Years ago I have heard that there used to be no espe- cial good-will between your family and minepetty disputes about boundaries, no doubt. How narrow and ridiculous such things are! We live in a better age than that, at any rate, although we are small enough still in many ways. You are not; and you will enlarge many others, Came answered, as if the matter were beyond debate. As for boundaries now, I have none, because the estates are gone, and I am all the richer. That is the surest way to liberate the mind. Will you oblige me, said Frank, to change the subject, for his mind did not seek to be liberated so, and yet wished its new admirer to remain in admiration, by looking along the shore towards Spring- haven as far as you can see, and telling me whether any one is coming? Mv sis- ters were to follow me, if the weather kept fine, as soon as they had paid a little visit at the rectory. And my sight is not good for long distances. I think I can see two ladies coming, or at any rate two figures moving, about a mile or more away, where the. sands are shining in a gleam of sunlight. Yes, they are ladies. I know by their walk. Good-bye. I have a way up the cliff from here. You must not be surprised if you do not see me again. I may have to be off for France. I have business there, of which I should like to talk to you. You are so far above mean prejudice. If I go, I shall carry this precious volume with me. Farewell, my friend, if I may call you so. Do wait a minute, cried the much admiring Frank; or walk a few yards with me towards Spriughaven. It would give me such pleasure to introduce you to my sisters. And I am sure they will be so glad to know you, when I tell them what I think. I very seldom get such a chance as this. There is no resisting that ! replied the graceful Came; I have not the hon- our of knowing a lady in England, except my aunt Mrs. Twemlow, and my cousin Eliza--both very good, but to the last de- gree insular. It is very hard to help being that, when people have never been out of an island. But I fear that I am taking you out of your way. In a few minutes these two young men drew near to the two young women,whose manners were hard put to hide surprise. When their brother introduced Mr. Came to them, Faith bowed rather stiffly, for she had formed without reason a dark and ob- stinate dislike to him. But the impetuous Dolly ran up and offered him both her hands, and said, Why, Mr. Came saved both our lives only a few days ago. CHAPTER XXXVII. NEITHER AT HOME. THOUGH Admiral Darling had not deigned to speak to his younger daughter about that vile anonymous charge, he was not always quite comfortable in his inner mind concerning it. More than once he thought of asking Faiths opinion, for he knew her good sense and discretion; but even this was repugnant to him, and might give her the idea that he cherished low suspicions. And then he was called from home again, being occupied among other things with a vain enquiry about the re- cent false alarm. For Came and Char- ron had managed too well, and judged too correctly the character of Vickers, t& afford any chance of discovery. So that, when the Admiral caine home again, hi~ calm andin its fair stategentle na- ture was ruffled by the prosperity of the wicked. Oh, he is a fine judge of poetry, is. he ? he said, more sarcastically than hi~ wont; that means, I suppose, that he admires yours, Frank. Remember what Nelson said about you. The longer I live, the more I find his views confirmed. Papa, you are too bad! You are come home cross ! cried Dolly, who always took Franks part now. What does my godfather know of poetry, indeed? If he ever had any ear for it, the guns would have ruined it long ago. No mostacchio in my house ! said the master, without heeding her. I believe that is the correct way to pronounce the filthy thinga foreign abomination alto- gether. Who could keep his lips clean, with that dirt over them? A more tol- erant man than myself never lived a great deal too tolerant, as everybody knows. But Ill never tolerate a son of mine in disgusting French hairiness of that sort. Papa, you are come hoihe as cross as SPRINGRAVEN. 259 a bear ! cried Dolly, presuming on her favour. Lord Dashville was here the other day with a very nice one, and I hear that all Cavalry Officers mean to have one, when they can. And Mr. Came, Franks friend, encourages it. The less you have to say about that young man, the better. And the less he has to say to any child of mine,the better, both for him and her, I say. I know that the age is turned upside down. But Ill not have that sort of thing at my table. When a kind and indulgent father breaks forth thus, the result is consterna- tion, followed by anxiety about his health. Faith glanced at Dolly, who was looking quite bewildered, and the two girls with- drew without a word. Johnny was al- ready gone to visit Captain Stubbard, with whose eldest daughter Maggie and the cannons of the battery he was by this time desperately in love; and poor Frank was left to have it out with the angry father. I very seldom speak harshly, my boy, said the Admiral, drawing near his son gradually, for his wrath (like good vege- tables) was very short of staple; and when I do so you may feel quite certain that there is sound reason at the bottom of ithere he looked as if his depth was unfathomable. It is not only that I am not myself, because of the many hours spent upon hard leather, and vile chalks of flint that go by me half asleep, when I ought to be snoring in the feathers; nei- ther has it anything to do with my con- suining the hide of some quadruped for dinner, instead of meat. And the bread is made of rye, if of any grain at all; I rather think of spent tan, kneaded up with tallow ends, such as I have seen cast by in bushels, when the times were good. And every loaf of that costs two shil- lingsone for me, and one for Govern- ment. They all seem to acknowledge that I can put up with that; and I make a strict point of mild language, which enables them to do it again with me. And all up and down the roads, every- body likes me. But if I was shot to-mor- row, would they care twopence ? I am sure they would, sir; and a good deal more than that~ answered Frank, who perceived that his father was out of his usual lines of thinking, per- haps because he had just had a good din- nerso ill do we digest our mercies. I am sure that there is nobody in Sussex, Kent, or Hampshire who does not admire and respect and trust you. I dare say, and rejoice to see me do the work they ought to do. They have long nights in bed, every one of them, and they get their meals when they want them. I ani not at all astonished at what Nelson said. He is younger than I am by a good many years, but lie seems to have picked up more than I have, in the way of common sentiments, and such like. You may do everybodys work, if you are fool enough, he said to me the last time I saw him; and ease them of their souls as well, if you are rogue enough, as they do in the Popish countries. I am nearly sick of doing it, he said, and he looked it. If you once begin with it, you must go on. I find it more true every day of my life. Dont interrupt me; dont go on with comfortable stuff about doing good, and ones duty towards ones Countrythough I fear that you think very little of that. If I thought I had done good enough to make up for my back-aches, and three fine stumps lost through chewing patriotic sentiments, why, of course I should be thankful, and make the best of my reward. But char- ity begins at home, my boy, and ones shirt should be considered before ones cloak. A mans family is the nearest piece of his country, and the dearest one. I am sure, sir, I hope, replied Frank, who had never heard his father talk like this before, that nothing is going on amiss with us here. When you are away, I keep a sharp lookout. And if I saw anything going wrong, I should let you know of it immediately. No doubt you would; but you are much too soft. You are quite as easy- going as I used to be at your agehere the Admiral looked as if he felt himself to be uncommonly hard-going now and that sort of thing will not do in these days. For my owii discomforts I care nothing. I could live on hobscouse, or soap and bully, for a year, and thank God for getting more than I deserved. But my children, Frank, are very differ- ent. From me you would never hear a grumble, or a syllable of anything but perfect satisfaction, so long as I felt that I was doing good work, and having it am preciated. And all my old comrades have just the same feeling. But you, who come after us, are not like that. You 260 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. must have everything made to fit you, in- stead of making yourselves fit them. The result will be, I have very little doubt, the downfall of England in the scale of nations. I was talking to my old friend St. Vincent last week, and he most heart- ily agreed with me. However, I dont mean to blame you, Frank. You can- not help your unfortunate nature for stringing ends of words together that happen to sound alike. Johnny will make a fine Officer, not in the Navy, but of ArtilleryStubbard says that he has the rarest eyes he ever came across in one so young, and he wishes he could put them into his Bobs head. He shall not go back to Harrow; he can spell his own name, which seems to be all they teach them there, instead of fine scholarship, such as I obtained at Winton. But to spell his own name is quite enough for a soldier. In the Navy we always were bet- ter educated. Johnny shall go to Chat- ham, when his togs are ready. I settled all about it in London, last week. No- thing hurts him. He is water-proof and thunder-proof. Toss him up anyhow, he falls upon his feet. But that sort of na- ture very seldom goes up high. But you, Frank, you might have done some good, without that nasty twist of yours for writing and for rhyming, which is a sure indication of spinal complaint. Dont in- terrupt me; I speak from long experience. Things might be worse, and I ought to be thankful. None of my children will ever dis,race me. At the same time, things would go on better if I were able to be more at home. That Caryl Came, for instance, what does he come here for ? Well, sir, he has only been here twice. And it took a long time to persuade him at all. He said that as you had not call- ed upon him, he felt that he might be intruding here. And Faith, who is some- times very spiteful, bowed, as much as to say that he had better wait. But Dolly, who is very kind-hearted, assured him that she had heard you say at least a dozen times: Be sure that I call upon Mr. Came to-day. What will he think of my neglect? But I hope that he will set it down to the right causethe per- petual demands upon my time. And when she told him that, he said that he would call the next day, and so he did. Ah! cried the old man, not well pleased; it was Dolly who took that little business off my shoulders! She. might have been content with her elder sisters judgment, in a family question of that sort. But I dare say she thought it right to make my excuses. Very well, Ill do that for myself. To-morrow I shall call upon that young man, unless I get another despatch to-night. But I hear lie wants nobody at his ruins. I suppose he has not asked even you to go there ? No, sir; I think he took his little place here, because it would be so painful for him to receive any friends at that tumble-down castle. He has not yet been able to do any repairs. I respect him for that, said the Admiral, with his generous sympathies aroused; they have been a grand old family, though I cant say much for those I knewexcept, of course, Mrs. Tweni- low. But he may be a very fine young fellow, though a great deal too French- riled, from all I hear. And why my friend Twemlow cold-shoulders him so, is something of a mystery to me. Twem- low is generally a judicious man in things that have nothing to do with the Church. When it comes to that, lie is very stiff- backed, as I have often had to tell him. Perhaps this young man is a Papist. His mother was, and she brought him up. lam sure I dont know, sir, answer- ed Frank. I should think none the worse of him if he were, unless he allow- ed it to interfere with his proper respect for liberty. Liberty be hanged ! cried the Ad- miral; and thats the proper end for most of those who prate about it; when they ought to be fighting for their Coun- try. I shall sound him about that stuff to-morrow. If lie is one of that lot, he wont come here with my good-will, I can assure him. What time is he generally to be found down there? He is right over Stubbards head, I believe, and yet friend Adam knows nothing about him. Nor even Mrs. Adam! I should have thought that worthy pair would have drawn any badger in the kingdom. I suppose the youth will see me, if I call. I don~t want to go round that way for nothing. I did want to have a quiet day at home, and saunter in the garden, as the weather is so mild, and consult poor Swipes about Spring crops, and then have a pipe or two, and take my gun to Brown Bushes for a woodcock, or a hare, and SPIRINGRAYEN. 261 come home with a fine appetite to a good dinner. But I never must hope for a bit of pleasure now. You may depend upon it, sir, said Frank, that Caryl Came will be great- iy pleased to see you. And I think you will agree with me that a more straight- forward and simple-minded man is not to be found in this country. He com- bines what we are pleased to call our na- tional dignity and self-respect with the elegant manners, and fraternal warmth, and bonhomie-as they themselves ex- press itof our friends across the wa- ter. You be off! I dont want to be cross any more. Two hundred thousand friends there at this moment eager to burn down our homes and cut our throats! Tired as I am, I ought to take a stick to you, as friend Tugwell did to his son for much less. I have the greatest mind not to go near that young man. I wish I had Twemlow here to talk it over. Pay your fine for a French word, and be off I Frank Darling gravely laid down five shillings on his dessert plate, and walked off. The fine for a French word in that house, and in hundreds of other English houses at this patriotic period,was a crown for a gentleman, and a shilling for a lady, the latter not being liable except when gentlemen were present. The poet knew well that another word on his part would irritate his father to such a degree that no visit would be paid to-morrow to the admirer of the Harmodiad, whose admi- ration he was longing to reward with a series of good dinners. And so he did his utmost to ensure his fathers visit. But when the Admiral, goipg warily because he was so stiff from saddle-work made his way down to the house of Widow Shanks, and winking at the iRoy- al Arms in the lower front window, where Stubbard kept Office and convenience knocked with the knocker at the private door, there seemed to be a great deal of thought required before anybody came to answer. Susie, said the visitor, who had an especial knack of remembering Christian names, which endeared him to the bear- ers, I am come to see Mr. Came, and I hope lie is at home. No, that a baint, sir, the little girl made answer, after looking at the Admni- ral as if he was an elephant, and wiping her nose with unwonted diligence; he be gone away, sir; and please, sir, mother said so. Well, heres a penny for you, my dear, because you are the best little nee- dle-woman in the school, they tell me. Run and tell your mother to come and see me.Oh, Mrs. Shanks, I am very glad to see you, and so blooming in spite of all your hard work. Ah, it is no easy thing in these hard times to maintain a large family and keep the pot boiling. And everything clean as a quarter-deck! My certy, you are a woman in a thousand I No, sir, no. It is all the Lords do- ing. And you to the back of Him, as I alway say. Not a penny can they make out as I owes justly, bad as I be at the figures, Squire. Do e come in, and sit down, theres a dear. Ah, I mind the time when you was like a dart, Squire ! Well, and now I am like a cannon- ball, said the Admiral, who understood and liked this unflattering talk; only I dont travel quite so fast as that. I scarcely get time to see any old friends. But I came to look out for a young friend now, the gentleman you make so com- fortable upstairs. Dont I wish I was a young man without incumbrance, to come and lodge with such a wonderful land- lady ! Ah, if there was more of your sort, sir thered be a deal less trouble in the world, there would. Not that my young gentleman is troublesome, mind you, only so full of them outlandish furrin ways abideth all day long without ating ort, so different from a honest Englishman. First I used to think as he couldnt afford it, and long to send him up a bit of my own dinner, but dursnt for the life of me too grand for that, by ever sotill one day little Susie there comes a-running down the stairs, and she sings out, with her face as red as ever a boiled lobster: Looky see, mother! Oh, do e come and hooky see! Pollyon hath got a heap of guineas on his table; wouldnt go into the big yellow pudding-basin! And sure enough he had, your Honour, in piles, as if he was telling of them. He had slipped out suddenly, and thought the passage door was bolted. What a comfort it was to me, I cant configurate. Because I could eat my dinner comfortable now, for such a big heap of money never I did see. I am very glad heartily glad, ex- claimed the smiling Admiral. I hope he may get cash enough to buy back all the 262 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. great Came property, and kick out those mankind, and believed in diabolical pos- rascally Jews and lawyers. But what session. makes Susie call him that ? For Parson! for Parson ! cried Jem, Well, sir, the young ones must have starting off again as hard as he could go. a nickname for anything beyond them; Butter Cheeseman hath hanged his self and because he never takes any notice of in his own scales. And nobody is any themso different from your handsome good but Parson. Master Frankand some simility of his Admiral Darling was much disturbed. black horse, or his proud walk, to the pic- What will the world come to? I never tur, Pollyon is the name they give him, knew such times, he exclaimed to him- out of Pilgrims Progress. Though not a self, with some solemnity; and then set bit like him, for such a gentleman to pay off, as fast as his overridden state per- his rent and keep his place untroublesome mitted, for the house of Mr. Cheeseman. I never had before. And a fortnight he Passing through the shop, which had no- paid me ]ast night, afore going, and took body in it, lie was led by the sound of away the keys of all three doors. voices into a little room beyond itthe He is gone, then, is he? To London, room in which Mr. Cheeseman had first I dare say. It would be useless to look received Caryl Came. Here he beheld for him at the castle. My son will be an extraordinary scene, of which he often disappointed more than I am. To tell had to dream thereafter. you the truth, Mrs. Shanks, in these days From a beam in the roof (which had the great thing is to stick to the people nothing to do with his scales, as Jem Pra- that we know. The world is so full, not ter had imagined), by a long but not well- of rogues, hut of people who are always plaited cord, was dangling the respected wanting something out of one, that to Church-warden Cheeseman. Happily for talk with a thoroughly kind, honest per- him, he had relied on his own goods; and son, like yourself, is a real luxury. When the rope being therefore of very bad hemp, the gentleman comes back, let him know had failed in this sad and too practical that I have called. proof. The weight of its vendor had add- And my Jenny, sir ? cried the anx- ed to its length some fifteen inchesas he ious mother, running after him into the loved to pull out thingsand his toes passage; not a word have you said about touched the floor, which relieved him now my Jenny. I hope she show no sign of and then. flightiness ? Why dont you cut him down, you Jenny is as steady as the church, old fools ? cried the Admiral to three replied the Admiral. We are going to gaffers, who stood inorahising, while Mrs. put her on a pound a year from next quar- Clieeseman sat upon a barrel, sobbing ter-day, by Mrs. Cloams advice. Shell heavily, with both hands spread to con- have a good stocking by the time she gets ceal the sad sight. married. We was afraid of hurting of him, There never was such a pleasant gen- said the q~iickest-witted of the gaffers; tieman, nor such a kind-hearted one, I do Us wanted to know why a doed it, said believe, said Widow Shanks, as she came the deepest; and, The will of the Lord in with bright eyes. What are they must be done, said the wisest. Carnes to the Darlings, after all? As After fumbhin~ in vain for his knife, different as night and day. and looking round, the Admiral ran back But the Admirals next visit was not into the shop, and caught up the sharp quite so pleasant; for when he got back steel blade with which the victim of a into the village road, expecting a nice troubled mind had often unsold a sold walk to his luncheon and his pipe, a man ounce in the days of happy commerce. running furiously almost knocked him In a moment the Admiral had the poor down, and had no time to beg his par- Church-warden in his sturdy arms, and don. The runners hat was off his head, with a sailors skill had unknotted the and his hair blowing out, but luckily for choking noose, and was shouting for bran- itself his tongue was not between his dy, as he kept the blue head from falling teeth, back. Has the devil got hold of you at last, When a little of the finest eau de vie Jem Prater ? the Admiral asked, not pro- that ever was smuggled had been admin- fanely; for he had seen a good deal of istered, the patient rallied, and becoming SPRINGHAVEN. 263 comparatively cheerful, was enabled to explain that it was all a mistake alto- gether. This removed all misunder- standing; but Rector Twemlow, arriving too late for anything but exhortation, ask- ed a little too sternlyas everybody felt under what influence of the Evil One Cheeseman had committed that mistake. The reply was worthy of an enterprising tradesman, and brought him such orders from a score of miles around that the re- sources of the establishment could only hook them. Sir, he said, looking at the parson sadly, with his right hand laid upon his heart, which was feehie, and his left hand intimating that his neck was sore, if any- thing has happened that had better not have heen, it must have been hy reason of the weight I give, and the value such a deal ahove the prices. CHAPTER XXXVIII. EVERYBODY 5 MASTER. THE peril of England was now grow- ing fast; all the faster from being in the dark. The real design of the enemy es- caped the penetration even of Nelson, and our Government showed more anxiety ahout their great adversary landing on the coast of Egypt than on that of Eng- land. Naval men laughed at his flat-bot- tomed boats and declared that one frigate could sink a hundred of them; whereas it is prohable that two of them, with their powerful guns and level fire, would have sunk any frigate we then possessed. But the crafty and far-seeing foe did not mean to allow any frigate, or line-of-hattie ship, the chance of enquiring how that might be. His true scheme, as everybody now IT MUST HAVE BEEN BY REASON OF TIlE WEIGHT I GIVE. (Qi~9vx ~ 264 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. knows well, was to send the English fleet upon a wild -goose chase, whether to Egypt, the west coast of Ireland, or the West Indies, as the ease might be and then, by a rapid concentration of his ships, to obtain command of the English Chan- nel, if only for twenty-four hours at a time. Twenty-four hours of clearance from onr cruisers would have seen a hun- dred thousand men landed on our coast, throwing up entrenchments, and covering the landing of another hundred thousand, coming close upon their heels. Who would have faced them? A few good regiments,badly found and perhaps worse led, and a mob of militia and raw volun- teers, the reward of whose courage would be carnage. But as a chip smells like the tree, and a hair like the dog it belongs to, so Spring- haven was a very fair sample of the Eng- land whereof (in its own opinion) it form- ed a most important part. Contempt for the body of a man leads rashly to an nu- der-estimate of his mind; and one of the greatest men that ever grew on earth if greatness can he without goodnesswas held in low account because not of high inches, and laughed at as little Boney. However, there were, as there always are, thousands of sensible Englishmen then; and rogues had not yet made a wreck of grand Institutions to scramble for what should wash up. Abuses exist- ed, as they always must; but the greatest abuse of all (the destructioTu of every good usage) was undreamed of yet. And the right man was even now approaching to the rescue, the greatest Prime-Minister of any age or country. Unwitting perhaps of the fine time af- forded by the feeble delays of Mr. Adding- ton, and absorbed in the tissue of plot and counterplot now thickening fast in Paris the arch-plotter in all of them being himselfthe First Consul had slackened awhile his hot haste to set foot upon the shore of England. His bottomless ambi- tion for the moment had a top, and that top was the crown of France; and as soon as he had got that on his head, the head would have no rest until the crown was that of Europe. But before any crown could be put on at all, the tender hearts of Frenchmen must be touched by the appearance of great danger the danger which is of all the greatest,that to their nearest and dear- est selves. A bloody farce was in prepara- tion, noble lives were to be perjured away, CARYL CARNE WAITED IN THE 5IIELTER OF A TREE.[5EE PAGE 267.] SPRINGHA YEN 265 and above all, the only great rival in the hearts of soldiers must be turned out of France. This fo 1 job workedas foul Radical jobs do nowfor the good of England. If the French invasion had come to pass, as it was fully meant to do, in the month of February, 1804, perhaps its history must have been written in French, for us to understand it. S~, at any rate, thought Caryl Came, who knew the resources of either side, and the difference between a fine army and a MY EMPEIiOR! HE SAID MY EMPE1~OR! [sEE PAGE 269.] 266 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mob. He felt quite sure that his mother~s horn would be exalted in the land, when country would conquer his fathers with- he had guided the conqueror into it. Sure out much trouble, and he knew that his enough then he would recover his ances THE POET OF THE WHOLE STOOD SINGINGTHE SIMPLE-MINDED THRUSH.LSEE PAGE 2~7.] SPRINGIIAVEN. 267 tral property with interest and be able to punish his enemies well, and reward his friends if they deserved it. Thinking of these things, and believing that his own preparations xvould soon be finished, he left Widow Shanks to proclaim his mer- its, while under the bold and able con- duct of Captain Renaud Charron he ran the gauntlet of the English fleet, and was put ashore southward of Cape Grisnez. Here is a long reach of dreary exposure, facing the west unprofitably, with a shal- low slope of brown sand, and a scour of tide, and no pleasant moorings. Jotted as the coast was all along (whereon dry batteries grinned defiance, or sands just awash smiled ticachery) with shallow transports, gun-boats, prames, scows, bib anders, brigs, aiid schoon ers, row-galleys, luggers, and every sort of craft that has a mast, or gets on without one, and even a few good ships of war pondering malice in the safer roadsteads, yet here the sweep of the west wind, and the lon~ roll from the ocean following, kept a league or two, northward of the mighty defences of Bon- logne, inviolate by the petty enmities of maii. Along the slight carve of the coast might be seen, beyond Ambleteuse and Wimereux, the vast extent of the French flotilla, ranged in three divisions, before the great lunette of the central camp, and hills jotted with tents thick as limpets on a rock. Came (whose dealings were quite un- known to all of the French authorities save one, and that the supreme oue) was come by appointment to meet his com- mander in a quiet and secluded spot. It was early February now, and although the day was waning, and the wind, which was drawin0 to the north of west, deliv- ered a cold blow from the sea, yet the breath of Spring was in the air already, and the beat of her pulse came through the ground. Almost any man, except those two concerting to shed blood and spread fire, would have looked about a little at the pleasure of the earth, and felt a touch of happiness in the goodness of the sky. Caryl Came waited in the shelter of a tree, scarcely deserviu~ to be called a tree, except for its stiff tenacity. All the branches were driven by the western gales, and scourged flat in one direction that in which they best could hold to- gether, and try to believe that their life was their own. Like the wings of a sea VOL LXXJV.No. 44020 bird striving with a tempest, all the sprays were frayed alike, and all the twigs hack- led with the self-same pile. Whoever ob- serves a tree like this should stop to won- der how ever it managed to make itself any sort of trunk at all, and how it was persuaded to go np just high enough to lose the chance of ever coming down again. But Came cared for nothin~ of this sort, and heeded very little that did not coiicern himself. All he thought of was how lie ini~1it persuade his master to try the great issue at once. While he leaned heavily against the tree, with his long sea-cloak flapping round his legs, two horsemen struck out of the Ambleteuse road, and came at hand- gallop towards him. The foremost, who rode with short stirrups, and sat his horse as if lie despised hiin-i, was the foremost man of the world just now, and for ten years yet to come. Came ran forward to show himself, and the master of France dismounted. He al- ways looked best upon horseback, as short men generally do, if they ride well; and his face (which helped to make his for- tune) appeared even more commanding at a little distance. An astonishin~ face, in its sculptured beauty, set aspect, and stern hau~htiness, calm with the power of tran- scendant mind, and a will that never met its equal. Even Came, void of much im- agination, and contemptuous of all the human character lie shared, was the slave of that face when in its presence, and could never meet steadily those piercing eyes. And yet, to the study of a neutral dog, or a man of abstract science, the face was as bad as it was beautiful. Napoleonas lie was soon to be called by a cringing worldsmiled affably, and offered his firm white hand, which Caine barely touched, and bent over with defer- ence. Then the foaming horse was sent away in charge of the att2ndant trooper, and the master began to take short quick steps, to and fro, in front of the weather- beaten tree; for to stand still was not in his nature. Came, bein~ beckoned to keep at his side, lost a good deal of what he had meant to say, from the trouble he found in timing his wonted stride to the brisk pace of tIme other. You have done wellon the whole very well, said Napoleon, whose voice was deep, yet clear and distinct as tIme sound of a bell. You have kept me well informed; you are not suspected; you are 2& 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. enlarging your knowledge of the enemy and of his resources; every day you be- come more capable of conducting us to the safe landing. For what, then, this hurry, this demand to see me, this expos- ing of yourself to the risk of capture l Came was about to answer; but the speaker, who undershot the thoughts of others before they were shapedas the shuttle of the lightning underweaves a cloudraised his hand to stop him, and went on: Because you suppose that all is ripe. Because you believe that the slow beasts of islanders will strengthen their defences more by delay than we shall strength- en our attack. Because you are afraid of incurring suspicion, if you continue to prepare. And most of all, my friend, be- cause you are impatient to secure the end of a long enterprise. But, Captain, it must be longer yet. It is not for you, but for me, to fix the time. Behold me! I am come from a grand review. We have again rehearsed the embarkatiQn. We have again put two thousand horses on board. The horses did it well; but not the men. They are as brave as eagles, but as clumsy as the ostrich, and as fond of the sand without water. They will all be sea-sick. It is in their counte- nances, though many have been practised in the mouths of rivers. Those infamous English will not permit us to proceed far enough from our native land to acquire what they call the legs of the sea. If our braves are sea-sick, how can they work the cannon, or even navi ate well for the accursed island l They must have time. They must undergo more waves, and a system of diet before embarkation. Return, my trusted Captain, and continue your niost esteemed services for three months. I have written these new in- structions for you. You may trust me to remember this addition to your good works. Cames heart fell, and his face was gloomy, though he did his best to hide it. So well he knew the arro~, ance and fierce self-will of his commanding officer that he durst not put his own opposite view of the case directly before him. This ar- rogance grew with the growth of his power; so that in many important mat- ters Napoleon lost the true state of the case through the terror felt by his sub- ordinates. So great was the mastery of his presence that Came felt himself guilty of impertinence in carrying his head above the level of the Generals plume, and stooped unconsciouslyas hundreds of tall men are said to have doneto less- en this anomaly of Nature. All shall be done to your orders, my General, he replied, submissively. For my own position I have no fear. I might remain there from year to year without any suspicion arising, so stupid are the people all around, and so well is my name known among them. The only peril is in the landing of stores, and I think we should desist from that. A few people have been wondering about that, though hitherto we have been most fortunate. They have set it down so far to smuggling operations, with which in that tyranni- cal land all the lower orders sympathise. But it would be wiser to desist awhile, unless you, my General, have anything of moment which you still desire to send in. What sort of fellow is that Sheese- man l asked Napoleon, with his wonder- ful memory of details. Is he more to be confided in as a rot, ue or as a fool l As both, sir; but more especially as a rogue, though he has the compunctions of a fool sometimes. But he is as entire- ly under my thumb, as I am under that of my Commander. That is very good, answered the First Consul, smiling with the sense of his own power; and at an hours notice, with fifty chosen men landed from the London Traderah, I love that name; it is appropriate-you could spike all the guns of that pretentious little battery, and lock the Commander of the Coast- Defence in one of his own cellars. Is it not so, my good Captain l Answer me not. That is enough. One question more, and you may return. Are you certain of the pilotage of the proud young fisherman who knows every brain of sand along his native shore? Surely you can bribe him, if he hesitates at all, or hold a pistol at his ear as lie steers the leading prame into the bay! Charron would be the man for that. Between you and Charron, there should be no mistake. He requires to be handled with much delicacy. He has no idea yet what he is meant to do. And if I understand his nature, neither bribes nor fear would. move him. He is stubborn as a Breton, and of that simple character. One can always befool a Breton; but SPRINGHAVEN. 269 I hate that race, said Napoleon. If he cannot be made useful, tie a round shot to him, throw him overboard, and get a gentler native. Alas, I fear that we cannot indulge in that pleasure, said Came, with a smile of regret. It cost me a large outlay of skill to catch him, and the natives of that place are all equally stubborn. But I have a plan for making him do our work without being at all aware of it. Is it your wish, my General, that I should now describe that plan ? Not now, replied Napoleon, pulling out a watch of English make, but in your next letter. I start for Paris in an hours time. You will hear of things soon which will add very greatly to the weight and success of this grand enter- prise. We shall have perfidious Albion caught in her own noose, as you shall see. You have not heard of one Captain Wright, and the landing-place at Biville. We will have our little Biville at Spring- haven. There will be too many of us to swin~, up by a rope. Courage, my friend The future is with you. Our regiments are casting dice for the fairest English counties. But your native county is re- served for you. You shall possess the whole of itI swear it by the god of war and command the Southern army. Be brave, be wise, be vigilant, and above all things be patient. The great man held up his hand, as a sign that he wanted his horse, and then offered it to Caryl Came, who touched it li~htly with his lips, and bent one knee. My Emperor ! he said, my Emperor ! Wait until the proper time, said Na- poleon, gravely, and yet well pleased. You are not the first, and you will not be the last. Observe discretion. Fai~e- well, my friend In another minute he was gone, and the place looked empty without him. Came stood gloomily watching the horsemen as their figures grew small in the distance, the large mau behind pound- ing heavily away, like an English dra- goon, on the scanty sod, of no importance to anybodyunless he had a wife or childrenthe little man in front (with the white plume waving, and the well- bred horse going easily), the one whose body would affect more bodies, and cer- tainly send more souls out of them, than any other born upon this earth as yet, andwe hopeas long as ever it en- dureth. Caryl Came cared not a jot about that. He was anything but a philanthropist; his weaknesses, if lie had any, were not dispersive, but thoroughly concentric. He gathered his long cloak round his body, and went to the highest spot within his reach, about a mile from the watch-tow- er at Cape Grisnez, and thence he had a fine view of the vast invasive fleet and the vaster host behind it. An En~lishman who loved his Coun- try would have turned sick at heart and faint of spirit at the sight before him. The foe was gathered together there to eat us up on every side, to get us into his net and rend us, to tear us asunder as a lamb is torn when its mother has dropped it in flight from the wolves. For forty square miles there was not an acre without a score of tents upon it, or else of huts thrown up with slabs of wood to keep the powder dry, and the steel and iron bright and sharp to go into the vitals of En - land. Mighty docks had been scooped out by warlike hands, and shone with ships crowded with guns and alive with men. And all along the shore for leagues, wherever any shelter lay, and great bat- teries protected them, hundreds of other ships tore at their mourings, to dash across the smooth narrow line, and blacken with fire and redden with blood the white cliffs of the land they loathed. And what was there to stop them? The steam of the multitude rose in the air, and the clang of armour filled it. Numbers irresistible, and relentless power urged them. At the beck of the hand that had called the horse, the grey sea would have been black with ships, and the pale waves would have been red with fire. Came looked at the water way touched with sil- ver by the soft descent of the winter sun and upon it, so far as his gaze could reach, there were but a dozen little objects mov- ing, puny creatures in the distancemice iii front of a lions den. And much as he hated with his tainted heart the land of his father, the land of his birth, some re- luctant pride arose that he was by right an Englishman. It is the dread of the English seaman, it is the fame of Nelson, it is the habit of being beaten when England meets them upon the seanothing else keeps this mighty host like a set of trembling cap- tives here, when they might launch forth 270 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. irresistibly. And what is a great deal worse, it will keep me still in my ruined dungeons, a spy, an intriguer, an under- strapper, when I am fit to be one of the foremost. What a fool I am so to be cowed and enslaved, by a man no better endowed than myself with anything, ex- cept self-confidence! I should have look- ed over his head, and told him that I had had enough of it, and if he would not take advantage of my toils, I would toil for him no longer. Why, he never even thanked me, that I can remember, and my pay is no more than Charrons! And a pretty strict account I have to ren- der of every iRepublican coin he sends. He xviii have his own head on them with- iii six months, unless he is assassinated. His manners are not those of a gentle- man. While I was speaking to him, he actually turned his hack upon me, and cleared his throat! Every one hates him as much as fears him, of all who are in the rai~k of gentlemen. How would it pay me to throw him over, denounce my own doings, excuse them as those of a Frenchman and a French officer, and bow the knee to Farmer George ? Truly if it were not for my mother, who has sacrificed her life for me I would take that course, and have done xvith it. Such all-important news would compel them to replace me in the property of my forefa- tliers; and if neighbours looked coldly on me at first, I could very soon conquer that nonsense. I should marry little Dol- ly, of course, and that would go half-way towards doing it. I hate that country, but I might come to like it, if enough of it belonged to me. Aha! What would my mother say, if she dreamed that I could have such ideas? And the whole of my life belongs to her. Well, let me get back to my ruins first. It would never do to be captured by a British frigate. We had a narrow shave of it last time. And there xvill be a vile great moon to-night. With these reflections which were upon the whole more to his credit than the wonted web of thoughtCarne xvith his long stride struck into a path towards the beach where his boat was waiting. Although he knew where to find several officers who had once been his comrades, he kept himself gladly to his loneliness; less perhaps by reason of Napoleons or- ders than from the growing charm xvhich Solitude has for all xvho begin to under- stand her. CHAPTER XXXIX. RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. THOUGH Came had made light, in hi~ impatient mood, of the power of the block- adin~ fleet, he felt in his heart a sincere respect for its vigilance and activity. La Libert~ (as the unhappy Cheeseman s schooner was called within gunshot of France) was glad enough to drop that pre- tentious name, and become again the peaceful London Trader, when she found herself beyond the reach of French bat- teries. The practice of her captain, the lively Charron, was to give a wide berth to any British cruiser appearing singly; but whenever more than one hove in sight, to run into the midst of them and dip his flag. From the speed of his schooner lie could always, in a light wind, show a clean pair of heels to any single heavy ship, and he had not yet come across any cutter, brig of war, or light corvette that could collar the Libert~ in any sort of weather. Renaud Charron was a brave young Freiichman, as fair a specimen as could be found, of a truly en- gaging but not overpowering type, kindly, warm-hearted, full of enterprise, lax of morals (unless honourtheir veneer xvas touched), loving excitement, and ca- pable of anything, except skulking, or sulking, or running away slowly. None of your risky tricks to-night ! said Came, as he stood on the schooner~ s deck, in the dusk of the February even- ing, himself in a dark mood growing darkerfor his English blood supplied the elements of gloom, and he felt a dull pleasure in goading a Frenchman, after being trampled on by one of French posi- tion. You will just make straight, as the tide and shoals allow, for our usual land- ing-place, set me ashore, and folloxv me to the old quarters. I have orders to give you, which can be given only there. My commanding officer shall be obey- ed, the Frenchman answered,with a light salute and smile, for he was not endowed with the power of hating, or he might have indulged that bad power towards Camne~ but I fear that he has not found things to his liking. What concern is that of yours? Your duty is to carry out my orders, to the ut- most of your ability, and offer opinion when asked for. The light-hearted Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. My commanding officer SPRINGRAVEN. 271 is right, lie said; but the sea is getting up, and there will be wind, unless I mis- take the arising of the moon. My corn- man dine officer bad better retire until his commands are needed. He has been known to feel the effects of high tossing, in spite of his unequalled constitution. Is it not so, my commander? I ask with deference, and anxiety~ Car, who liked to have the joke on his side only, swore at the moon and the wind, in clear English, which was shorter and more efficacious than French. He longed to say, Try to keep me out of rough water, but his pride, and the fear of suggesting the opposite to this sailor who loved a joke, kept him silent, and he withdrew to his little cuddy, chewing a biscuit, to feed, if it must be so, the ap- proacliing malady. We shall have some game, and a fine game too, said Renaud Charron to him- self, as lie ordered more sail to be made. Milord gives himself such mighty airs! We will take him to the cross-run off the Middle Bank, and offer him a basin through the key-hole. To make sea-sick an Englishmanfor, after all, what other is he ?-will be a fine piece of revenge for fair France. Widow Shanks had remarked with ten- der sorrowmore perhaps because she ad- mired the young man, and was herself a hearty soul, than from any loss of profit in victualling himthat he was one of they folk as seems to go about their busi- ness, and do their jobs, and keep their skins as full as other people, without put- ting nort inside of them. She knew one of that kind before, and he was shot by the Coast-guard, and when they postmar- tyred him, an eel twenty foot long was found inside him, doubled up for all the world like a love-knot. Squire Came was of too high a family for that; but she would give a weeks rent to know what was inside him. There was no little justice in these re- marks, as is pretty sure to be the case with all good-natured criticism. The best cook that ever was roasted cannot get out of a pot more than was put in it; and the weight of a cask, as a general rule, dimin- ishies if the tap is turned, without any re- dress at the hung-hole. Came ran off his contents too fast, before he had ar- ranged for fresh receipts; and all who have felt what comes of that will be able to feel for him in the result. But a further decrease was in store for him now. As the moon arose, the wind got higher, and chopped round to one point north of west, raising a perkish head-sea, and grinning with white teeth against any flapping of sails. The s& hoon- er was put upoii the starboard tack as near to the wind as she would lie, bearing so for the French coast more than the Eng- lish, and making for the Vergoyers, in- stead of the Varne, as intended. This carried them into wider water, and a long roll from the southwest crossing the point- ed squabble of the strong new wind. General, cried Charron now as mer- ry as a grig, and skipping to the door of Cames close little cabin, about an hour before midnight, it would afford us pleasure if you would kindly come on deck and give us the benefit of your ad- vice. I fear that you are a little confined down here, and in need of more solid sus- tenance. My General, arise; there is much briskness upon deck, and the waves are dancing beautifully in the full moon. Two sail are in sight, one upon the wea- ther bow, and the other on the weather quarter. Ah, how superior your sea- words are to ours! If I were born aii Englishman, you need not seek far for a successor to Nelson, when he gets shot, as he is sure to be before very long. Get out ! muttered Came, whose troubles were faintly illuminated by a sputtering wick. Get out, you scoun- drel, as you love plain English. Go di- rect to the devilonly let me die in peace. All language i.s excusable in those affected with the malady of the sea, re- plied the Frenchman, dancing a little to encourage his friend. Behold, if you would get up and do this, you would be as happy inside as I am. But stayI know what will ease you in an instant, and enable you to order us right and left. The indefatigable Sherray put a fine piece of fat pork in store before we sailed; I have just had it cooked, for I was almost starving. It floats in brown liquor of the richest order, such as no Englishman can refuse. Take a sip of pure rum, and you will enjoy it surely. Say, my brave Gen- eral, will you come and join me? It will cure any little disquietude down here. With a pleasant smile Charron laid his hand on the part of his commander which he supposed to be blameable. Came made an effort to get up and kick him, but fell 272 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. back with eyerything whirling around, and all human standards inverted. Then the kindly Frenchman tucked him up, for his face was blue and the chill of exhaus- tion striking into him. I wish you could eat a little bit, said Charron, gently; but Came gave a push with his elbow. Well, youll be worse before you are better, as the old women say in your country. But what am I to do about the two British shipsfor they are sure to be British now in sight? But Came turned his back, and his black boots dangled from the rim of his bunk as if there was no- thing in them. This is going a little too far, cried Charron; I must have some orders, my commander. You understand that two English ships are manifestly bearing down upon us Let them come and send us to the bottomthe sooner the better, his com- mander groaned, and then raised his limp knuckles with a final effort to stop his poor ears forever. But I am not ready to go to the bot- tom, nor all the other people of our four- teen handsthe Frenchman spoke now to himself aloneneither will I even go to prison. I will do as they do at Spring- haven, and doubtless at every other place in England. I will have my dish of pork, which is now just cracklingI am capable of smelling it even Ii crcand I will give some to Sam Polwliele, and we will put heads to~ether over it. To outsail friend Englishman is a great delight, and to out- gun him would be still greater; but if we cannot accomplish those, there will be some pleasure of outwitting him. Renaud Charron was never disposed to make the worst of anything. When he went upon deck again, to look out while his supper was waiting, he found no change, except that the wind was fresh- ening and the sea increasin ~, and the strangers whose company he did not covet seemed waiting for no invitation. With a light wind he would have had lit- tle fear of giving them the go-by, or on a dark night he might have contrived to slip between or away from them. But everything was against him now. The wind was so strong, blowing nearly half a gale, and threatening to blow a whole one, that lie durst not carry much can- vas, and the full moon, approaching the meridian now, spread the white sea with a broad flood of light. He could see that both enemies had descried him, an dwere acting in concert to cut him off. The ship on his weather bow was a frigate, riding the waves in gallant style, with the wind upon her beam, and travelling two feet for every one the close-hauled schoon- er could accomplish. If the latter con- tinued her present course, in another half- lea~ue she would be under the port-holes of the frigate. The other enemy, though further off, was far more difficult to escape. This was a gun-brig, not so very much bigger than La Libert~ herselffor gun-brigs in those days were very small craftand for that very reason more dangerous. She bore about two points east of north from the greatly persecuted Charron, and was holding on steadily under easy sail, nei- tlier gaining much upon the chase nor losing. Carry on as we are for about ten nun- utes, said Charron to his mate, Sam Pol- whele; that will give us period to eat our pork. Come, then, my good friend, let us do it. Polwheleas he was called to make believe that he and other hands were Cornishmen, whereas they were Yankees of the sharpest order, owing no allegiance and unhappily no good-will to their grand- motherthis man, whose true name was Perkins, gave the needful orders, and fol- lowed down. Charron could talk, like many Frenchmen, quite as fast with his mouth full as empty, and he had a man to talk to who did not require anything to be said twice to him. No fear of me! was all he said. You keep out of sight, because of your twang. Ill teach them a little good Eng- lishbetter than ever came out of Corn- wall. The best of all English is not to say too much. The captain and his niate enjoyed their supper, while Came in the distance bore the pangs of a malady called bulirnus that is to say, a giants ravening for vict- uals, without a babes power of receiving them. For he was turning the corner of his sickness now, but prostrate and cold as a fallen stalactite. Aha! We have done well. We have warmed our wits up. One glass of what you call the grog; and then we will play a pleasant game with those Englishmen ! Came heard him say it, and in his heart hoped that the English would pitch him overboard. SPRINGIIAVEN. 273 It was high time for those two to finish their supper. The schooner had no wheel, but steeredas light craft did then, and long afterwardswith a bulky ash tiller, having iron eyes for lashing it in heavy weather. Three strong men stood by it now, obedient, yet muttering to one an- other, for another cables len~th would hring them into danger of being run down by the frigate. All clear for stays ! cried Pohwhele, under orders from Charron. Down helm! Helms alee! Steady so. Let draw! Easy! easy! There she fills ! And after a few more rapid orders the handy little craft was dashing away, with the wind abaf I the beam, and her head about two points north of east. Uncommon quick in stays ! cried Polwhele, who had taken to the hehn, and now stood there. Wonder what Britishers will think of that ? The British ship soon let him know her opinion, by a roar and a long streak of smoke blown toward him, as she put up her helm to consider the case. It was be- low the dignity of a fine frigate to run after little smuggling craft, such as she voted this to be, and a large ship had been sighted from her tops down chan- nel, which might afford her nobler spout. She contented herself with a harmless shot, and leaving the gun-brig to pursue the chase, bore away for more important business. Non phussed the big un; shall have trouble with the little un, said Master Pohwhele to his captain. She dont draw half a fathoni more than we do. No good running inside the shoals. And with this wind, she has the foot of us. near straight for her, and let her board us, Charron answered, pleasantly. Down with all French hands into the forepart of the hold, and stow the spare foresail over them. Show our last bills of lading, and ask them to trade. You know all about Cheeseman; double his prices. If we make any cash,welh divide it. Say we are out of our course, through supplying a cruiser that wanted our goods for nothing. I shall keep out of sight on account of my twang, as you politely call it. The rest I may safely leave to your invention. But if you can get any ready rhino, Sam Pohwhehe is not the man to neglect it. Bully for you ! cried tIme Yankee, looking at him with more admiration than he expected ever to entertain for a French- man. Theres five ton of cheeses that have been seven voyages, and a hundred firkins of Irish butter, and five-and-thirty cases of Russian ton~,ues, as old as old Nick,and neer a sign of weevil! Lor no, never a tail of weevil! Skipper, you de- serve to go to heaven out of West Street. But how about him, down yonder ? Captain Came? Leave him to me to arrange. I shall be ready, if they in- trude. Announce that you have a sick gentleman on board, a passenger afflicted with a foreign illness, and having a for- eign physician. Mon Dieu! It is good. Every Englishman believes that any- thing foreign will kill him with a vault. Arrange you the trading, and I will be the doctora German; I can do the Ger- man. And I can do the trading, the Amer- ican replied, without any rash self-confi- dence; any fool can sell good stuff; but it requireth a good man to sell bad goods. The gun-brig bore down on them at a great pace, feeling happy certitude that she had got a prizenot a very big one, but still Worth catching. She saw that the frigate had fired a shot, and believed that it was done to call her own atten- tion to a matter below that of the frigate. On she came, heeling to the lively wind, very beautiful in the moonhi~.ht, tossing the dark sea in white showers, and with all her taut can vas arched and gleam- ing, hovered with the shades of one an- other. Heave to, or we sin k you! cried a mighty voice through a speaking trump- et, as she luffed a little, bringing her port broadside to bear; and the schooner, which had hoisted British colours, obeyed the command immediately. In a very few seconds a boat was manned, and dancing on the hillocks of the sea; and soon, with some danger and much care, the visitors stood upon the London Traders deck, and Sam Pohwhele came to meet them. We have no wish to put you to any trouble, said the officer in command, very quietly, if you can show that you are what you profess to be. You sail under British colours; and the name on your stern is London Trader. We will soon dismiss you, if you prove that. But ap- pearances are strongly against you. What has brought you here? And why did you run the risk of being fired at, instead of 274 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. submitting to his Majestys ship Miner- vet ? Because she havent got any ready money, skipper, and we dont like three months bills, said the tall Bostonian, looking loftily at the British officer. Such things is nothin~ but piracy, and we had better be shot at than lose such goods as we carry fresh shipped, and in prime condition. Come and see them, all with Cheesemans brand, the celebrated Cheeseman of Sprin ghav en-name guar- antees the quality. But one thing, mind youno use to hanker after them unless you come provided with the ready. We dont want your goods; we want you, answered Scudamore, now first luff of the brig of war Delia, and staring a little with his mild blue eyes at this mans effrontery. That is to say, our duty is to know all about you. Produce your papers. Prove where you cleared from last, and what you are doin~ here, some thirty miles south of your course, if you are a genuine British trader. Papers all in order, sir. First-chop wafers, as they puts on now, to save seal- in g-wax. Charter-party, and all the rest. Last bills of lading from Gravesend, but you mustnt jud~e our goods by that. Bulk of them from St. Mary Axe, where Cheeseman hath freighted from these thir- ty years. If ever you have been at Spring.- haven, Captain, youd jump at anything with Cheesemans brand. But have you brought that little bag of guineas with you ? Once more we want none of your goods. You might praise them as much as you liked, if time permitted. Show me to the cabin, aud produce your papers. After that we shall see what is in the hold. Supercargo very ill in best cabin. Plague, or black fever, the German doctor says. None of our hands will go near him but myself. But you wont be like that, will you ? Less for his own sake than his mothers who had noue but him to help her Scudamore dreaded especially that class of disease which is now called zymotic. His father, an eminent physician, had ob- served and had ~vritten a short work to establish that certain families and types of constitution lie almost at the mercy of such contagion, and find no mercy from it. And among those families was his own. Fly, my boy, fly, he had often said to Blyth, if you ever come near such subjects. Captain, I will fetch them, contin- ued Mr. Polwhele, looking grave at his hesitation. By good rights they ought to be smoked, I dare say, though I dont hold much with such stuff myself. And the doctor keeps doing a hea.p of herbs hot. You can see him, if you just come down these few steps. Perhaps you wouldnt mind looking into the hold, to find something to suit your judgment quality combined with low figures there while I go into the infected den, as the cleverest of my chaps calls it. Why, it makes me laugh! Ive been in and out, with this stand-up coat on, fifty times, and you cant smell a flue of it, though won- derful strong down there. Scudamore shuddered, and d~rew back a little, and then stole a glance round the corner. He saw a thick smoke, and a fig- ure prostrate, and another tied up iu a long white robe, waving a pan of burning stuff in one hand and a bottle in the other, and plainly conjuring Polwhele to keep off. Then the latter returned, quite coni- placently. Cant find all of them, he said, pre- senting a pile of papers big enough to taint Sahara. That doctor goes on as bad as opening a coffin. Says he understands it, and I dont. The old figure-head! What does lie know about it ? Much more than you do, perhaps, replied Blyth, standing up for the profes- sion, as he was bound to do. Perhaps we had better look at these on deck, if you will bring up your lantern. But, Captain, you will have a look at our hold, and make us a bidwe need not take it, any more than you need to double it-for as prime a lot of cheese, and sides of bacon If your papers are correct, it will not be my duty to meddle with your cargo. But what are you doing time wrong side of our fleet ? Why, that was a bad job. Theres no fair trade now, no sort of dealing on time square nohow. We run all this risk of being caught by Crappos on purpose to supply British ship Gorgeous soweastern station; and blow me tight if I couldnt swear she had been supplied chock-full by a Crappo! Only took ten cheeses and fifteen sides of bacon, though she never knew nou~lmt of our black fever case! But, Captain, sit down here, and overhaul SPRINGHAVEN. 2W our flimsies. Not like rags, you know; dont hold plague much. The young lieutenant compelled him- self to discharge his duty of inspection be- hind a combing, where the wind was bro- ken; but even so he took good care to keep on the weather side of the docu- ments; and the dates perhaps flew away to leeward. They seem all right, he said, but one thing will save any fur- ther trouble to both of us. You belong to Springhaven. I know most people there. Have you any Springhaven hands on board ? I should think so. Send Tugwell aft; pass the word for Dan Tugwell. Captain, theres a family of that name there-set- tled as long as we have been at Mevagis- sey. Ah, that sort of thing is a credit to the place, and the people too, in my opin- iou. Dan Tugwell came slowly, and with a heavy step, looking quite unlike the spruce young fisherman whom Scuda- more had noticed as first and smartest in the rescue of the stranded Blonde. But he could not doubt that this was Dan, the Dan of happier times and thoughts; in whom,without using his mind about it, he had felt some likeness to hin~self. It was not in his power to glance sharply, be- cause his eyes were kindly open to all the little incidents of mankind, but he man- aged to let Dan know that duty compelled him to be particular. Dan Tugwell touch- ed the slouched hat upon his head, and stood waiting to know what he was want- ed for. Daniel, said Scudamore, who could not speak condescendingly to any one even from the official point of view, because he felt that every honest man was his equal, are you here of your own accord, as one of the crew of this schooner ? Dan Tugwell had a hazy sense of being put upon an untrue balance. Not by this kind gentlemans words, but through his own proceedings. In his honest mind he longed to say: I fear I have been bam- boozled. I have cast my lot in with these fellows through passion, and in hasty ig- norance. How I should like to go with you, and fight the French, instead of get- ting mixed up with a lot of things I cant make out! But his equally honest heart said to him: You have been well treated. You are well paid. You shipped of your own accord. You have no right to peach,even if you had anything to peach of; and all you have seen is some queer trading. None but a sneak would turn against his shipmates and his ship, when overhauled by the Royal Navy. Betwixt the two voices, Dan said no- thing, but looked at the lieutenant with that gaze which the receiver takes to mean doubt of his meaning, while the doubt more often iswhat to do with it. Are you here of your own accord? Do you belong to this schooner of your own accord? Are you one of this crew, of your own free-will ? Scudamore rang the changes on his simple question, as he had often been obliged to do in the Grammar-school at Stonnington, with the slow-witted boys, who could not, or would not, know the top from the bottom of a sign-post. Do you eat with your eyes ? he had asked them sometimes; and they had put their thumbs into their mouths to enquire. Spose I am, said Dan at last, assumn- ing stupidity, to cover hesitation; yes, sir, I come aboard of my own free-will. Very well. Then I am glad to find you comfortable. I shall see your fathei next week, perhaps. Shall I give him any message for you ? No, sir! For Gods sake, dont let him know a word about where you have seen me. I came away all of a heap, and I dont want one of them to bother about me. As you wish, Dan. I shall not say a word about you, until you return with your earnings. But if you found the fishing business dull, surely you might have come to us, Dan. Any volunteers here for His Majestys service ? Scuda- more raised his voice, with the usual question. Good pay, good victuals, fine promotion, and prize-money, with the glory of fighting for their native country, and provision for life if dis- abled ! Not a man came forward, though one man longed to do so; but his sense of honour, whether true or false, forbade him. Dan Tugwelh went heavily back to his work, trying to be certain that it was his duty. But sad doubts arose as he watched the brave boat, lifting over the waves in the moonlight, with loyal arms tugging towards a loyal British ship; and he felt that lie had thrown away his last chance. 276 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CHAPTER XL. SHELFING THE QUESTION. THERE is a time of day (as everybody must have noticed who is kind enough to attend to things) not to be told by the clock, nor measured to a nicety by the position of the sun, even when he has the manners to say where he isa time of day dependent on a multiplicity of things unknown to us (who have made our own brains, by perceiving that we had none, and working away till we got them), yet palpable to all those less self-exalted be- ings, who, or which, are of infinitely no- bler origin than we, and have shown it, by humility. At this time of day every decent and good animal feels an un- thought - of and untraced desire to shift its position, to come out and see its fel- lows, to learn what is happening in the humble grateful worldout of which man has hoisted himself long ago, and is therefore a spectre to themto breathe a little sample of the turn the world is tak- ing, and sue their share of pleasure in the quiet earth and air. This time is more observable because it follows a period of the opposite tenden- cy, a period of heaviness, and rest, and si- lence, when no bird sings and no quadru- ped plays, for about half an hour of the afternoon. Then suddenly, without any alteration of the light, or weather, or even temperature, or anything else that we know of, a chan~,e of mood flashes into every livin~ creature, a spirit of life, and activity, and stir, and desire to use their own voice and hear their neighbours. The usual beginning is to come out first into a place that cannot knock their heads, and there to run a little way, and after that to hop, and take a peep for any peo- ple around, and espying noneor only one of the very few admitted to be friends speedily to dismiss all misgivings, take a very little bit of food, if handy (more as a duty to ones family than oneself, for the all-important supper-time is not come yet), and then, if gifted by the Lord with wingsfor what bird can stoop at such a moment to believe that his own grandfa- ther made them ?up to the topmost spray that feathers in the breeze, and pour upon the grateful air the voice of free thanks- giving. But an if the blade behind the heart is still nuplumed for flying, and only gentle flax or fur blows out on the wind, instead of beating it, does the own- er of four legs sit and sulk, like a man de- frauded of his merits? He answers the question with a skip and jump; ere a man can look twice at him he has cut a caper, frolicked an intricate dance upon the grass, and brightened his eyes for another round of joy. At any time of year almost, the time of day commands these deeds, unless the weather is outrageous; but never more undeniably than in the month of April. The growth of the year is well establish- ed, and its manner beginning to be school- ed by then; childish petulance may still survive, and the tea.rs of penitence be fre- quent; yet upon the whole there isor used to bea sense of responsibility form- ing, and an elemental inklin~ of true duty towards the earth. Even man (the least observant of the powers that walk the ground, going for the signs of weather to the cows, or crows, or pigs, swallows, spiders, gnats, and leeches, or the final assertion of his own corns) sometimes is moved a little, and enlarged by influence of life beyond his own, and tickled by a pen above his thoughts, and touched for one second by the hand that made him. Then he sees a brother man who owes him a shilling, and his soul is swallowed up in the resolve to get it. But well in the sky-like period of youth, when the wind sits lightly, and the clouds go by in puffs, these little jumps of inspiration take the most re- spectable young man sometimes off his legs, and the young maid likewiseif she continues in these fine days to pos- sess such continuation. Blyth Scuda- more had been appointed now, partly through his own good deserts, and wholly through good influencefor Lord StYin- cent was an ancient friend of the excellent Admiral Darlingto the command of the Blonde, refitted, thoroughly overhauled at Portsmouth, and pronounced by the dock-yard people to be the fastest and soundest corvette afloat, and in every way a credit to the British navy. The man that floated her shall float in her, said the Earl, when somebody, who want- ed the appointment, suggested that the young man was too young. He has seen sharp service, and done sharp work. It is waste of time to talk of it; the job is done. Job is the word for it, thoi~ght the other, but wisely reserved that great truth for his wife. However, it was not at all a bad job for England. And Scud- SPRINGHAVEN. 277 amore had now seen four years of active service, counting the former years of vol- unteering, and was more than twenty-five years old. None of these things exalted him at all in his own opinion, or, at any rate, not very much. Because he had always re- garded himself with a proper amount of self-respect, as modest men are almost sure to do, desiring less to know what the world thinks of them than to try to think ri~htly of it for themselves. His opinion of it seemed to be that it was very good just now, very kind, and fair, and gentle, and a thing for the heart of man to enter into. For Dolly Darling was close beside him, sitting on a very pretty hench, made of twisted oak, and turned up at the back and both ends, so that a gentleman could not get very far away from a lady with- out frightening her. Not only in this way was the spot well adapted for tender feelings, hut itself truly ready to suggest them, wi~tli nature and the time of year to help. There was no stream issuing here, to puzzle and perpetually divert the human mind (whose ori~in clearly was spring-water poured into the frame of the jelly-fish), neither was there any big rock, like an obstinate barrier rising; but gen- tle slopes of daisied pasture led the eye complacently, sleek cows sniffed the herb- age here and there, and brushed it with the underlip to fetch up the blades for supper-time, and placable trees, forgetting all the rudeness of the winter winds, be- gan to disclose to the fond deceiving breeze, with many a glimpse to attract a glance, all the cream of their summer in- tentions. And in full enjoyment of all these doings, the poet of the whole stood singingthe simple-minded thrush, pro- claiming that the world was good and kind, but himself perhaps the kindest, and his nest, beyond doubt, the best of it. How lovely everything is to-day! Blyth Scudamore spoke slowly, and gaz- ing shyly at the loveliest thing of all, in his opinionthe face of Dolly Dar- ling. No wonder that your brother is a poet ! But he never writes about this sort of thing, said Dolly, smiling pleasantly. His poems are all about liberty, and the rights of men, and the wrongs of war. And if he ever mentions cows or sheep, it is generally to say what a shame it is to kill them. But surely it is much worse to kill men. And who is to be blamed for that, Miss Darlin~? The Power that wants to overrun all the rest, or the Country that only defends itself? I hope he has not converted you to the worship of the new Emperor; for the army and all the great cities of France have begged him to con- descend to be that; and the Kin~, of Prus- sia will add his entreaties, according to what we have heard. I think anything of him! cried Dol- ly, as if her opinion would settle the point. After all his horrible murdersworst of all of that very handsome and brave young man shot with a lantern, and bur- ied in a ditch! I was told that he had to hold the lantern above his poor head, and his hand never shook! It makes me cry every time I think of it. Only let Frank come back, and he wont find me admire his book so very much! They did the same sort of thing when I was a little girl, and could scarcely sleep at night on account of it. And then they seemed to get a little better, for a time, and fought with their enemies, instead of one another, and made everybody wild about liberty, and citizens, and the noble march of in- tellect, and the dignity of mankind, and the rights of labour-when they wouldnt work a stroke themselvesand the black superstition of believing anything, except what they chose to make a fuss about themselves. And thousands of people, even in this country, who have been brought up so much better, were foolish enough to think it very grand indeed, es- pecially the poets, and the ones that are too young. But they ought to begin to get wiser now; even Frank will find it hard to make another poem on them. How glad I am to hear you speak like that! I had no ideaat least I did not understand That I had so much common-sense euquired Dolly, with a glance of subtle yet humble reproach. Oh yes, I have a great deal somethi~es, I can assure you. But I suppose one never does get credit for anything, without claiming it. I am sure that you deserve credit for everything that can possibly be imagined, Scudamore answered, scarcely knowing, with all his own common-sense to help him, that he was talking nonsense. Ev- ery time I see you I find something I had never found before toto wonder at if you can understandand to admire, 278 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and to think about, and toto be aston- ished at. Dolly knew as well as he did the word he longed to use, but feared. She liked this state of mind in him, and she liked him too for all his kindness, and his hum- ble worship; and she could not help ad- mirin~ him for his bravery and simplicity. But she did not know the value yet of a steadfast and unselfish heart, and her own was not quite of that order. So many gallant officers were now to be seen at her fathers house, half a cubit taller than poor Blyth, and a hundred cubits higher in rank, and wealth, and knowledge of the world, and the power of making their wives great ladies. Moreover, she liked a dark man, and Scudamore was fair and fresh as a rose called Hebes Oup in June. Another thin~ against him was that she knew how much her father liked him; and though she loved her father well, she was not bound to follow his leadings. And yet she did not wish to lose this useful and pleasant admirer. I am not at all ambitious, she replied, without a monients hesitation, for the above reflections had long been dealt with, but how I wish I could do something to deserve even half that you say of me! But I fear that you find the air getting rather cold. The weather is so changeable. Are you sure that you are not ambi- tious ? Scudamore was too deeply plun,,ed to get out of it now upon her last hint; and to-morrow he must be far away. You have every right to be ambitious, if such a word can be used of you, who are your- self th~ height of so many ambitious. It was the only fault I could ima~ine you to have, and it seems too bad that you should have none at all. You dont know anything about it, said Dolly, with a lovely expression in her face of candour, penitence, and pleasantry combined; I am not only full of faults, but entirely made up of them. I am told of them too often not to know. ~By miserably jealous and false peo- ple. It was impossible to look at her and not think that. By people who can~ not have a single atom of perception, or jud~ment, or even proper feeling. I should like to hear one of them, if you would even condescend to mention it. Tell me oneonly oneif you can think of it. I am not at all a judge of charac- ter, butbut I have often had to study it a good deal among the boys. This made Miss Dolly laugh, and drop her eyes, and smoothe her dress, as if to be sure that his penetration had not been brou~bt to bear on her. And the gentle Scuddy blushed at his clumsiness, and hoped that she would understand the dif- ference. You do say such things ! She also was blushing beautifully as she spoke, and took a long time before she looked at him again. Things that nobody else ever says. And that is one reason why I like you so. Oh, do you like medo you like me in earnest? I can hardly dare to dream even for one moment I am not going to talk about that any more. I like Mr. Twemlow, I like Cap- t